The Beautiful Planet

[Cedric Grayson]

There was no way in Corellia's Nine Hells Darius could explain to Master Shatterstar why a Nightsister was coming to live with them. There was no possible way he could ever convince the Jedi Master not to confiscate the artifact they had stolen from the Singing Mountin Clan. Sera might understand, maybe but the padawan did not wish to chance it. This line of thought had led him to a single conclusion - he needed to procrastinate.

Given an ample amount of time, Darius was confident he could find a solution to this vexing issue. On one hand, if he left Mediha he be, he was unsure what she would do. She might go off on some vengeful journey to wipe out the mountain witches and die in the process. She might sacrifice a school of orphans to her spider god. He couldn't just leave her.

At the same time, his training with the order was paramount. The war was being lost, and he could not afford to sit idle while it drew to a close. Perhaps with a bit of time he might manage to calm the Nightsister down and help her acclimate to society.

Wishful thinking really, but it was all Darius had.

From that thinking came Hapes. The planet was ruled predominantly by females, a society that would not give Mediha as much of a culture shock, and members of the Jedi Order were respected to some degree. He'd sent a quick message to his master stating he would be gone for a week on a trip to study.

Thank the force it was all written via text. Darius was a terrible liar.

The old jumper shuttle set down on a landing pad in the capitol city of Ta'a Chume'Dan. Not the easiest name to pronounce, but it would do.

He and Mediha would be staying with one of the Hapan families for a short period of time. Having a Jedi as a guest was a sign of prestige in societies like this, and Darius had assured their benefactors that he would be compensating their hospitality. Hopefully that would keep things clean.

The Jedi Padawan stepped down the gangplank of the old jumper. He was clad in his Jedi robes; a traditional brown cloak hanging over the dueling leather his kind were known for wearing. His lightsaber was presented openly on his hip. This was one of the few times he could indulge in the title a bit.

There he awaited some form of greeting. It wasn't polite to simply walk in and announce oneself after all. Eventually Mediha would join him - she was doing some kind of womanly thing to prepare herself for socialites. He hadn't asked for fine details.

[member="Têhra"]

 

[Têhra]

Ta'a Chume'Dan/Syle'a Manor

Sunlight trickled through paneled glass, sending shimmering veins of brilliant colour throughout a small, snug bedroom. Slivers of brilliant blue and emerald danced against the walls like aquatic sprites in a tempest, illuminating the room and all that filled it's neat interior. It was the furthest room in the grand manor, a space that would only ever be occupied by a bastard. Seated cross-legged on a thick Huj mat in the center of the modest living quarters was Têhra, the dainty teenager having expended much of her energy refining a particularly intricate Twi'lek routine. Chalk covered the compressed sandstone floor near the large arced window, the pool of powdery white trailing off onto the rug in a succession of foot shaped prints. Scarlet ribbons, lace and tinkling bells were splayed out over the lip of a compact aluminium drawer, each an essential tool the girl used during her routines, both in private and public. With dark silken hair tussled into a messy bun and the faintest remnants of shimmering sweat kissing her porcelain brow, the young bastard was the very image of what was not accepted in Hapans aesthetics-obsessed culture. Covered in chalk, barefoot and clothed in a simple beige two-piece Têhra would have surely garnered derision from the masses that flocked the city in their pretty gowns and expensive shoes if they ever so happened to peer into her one place of solace. There was no doubt in the girl's mind that if anyone were to walk in on her less-than-presentable appearance she'd be publicly harangued by her wickedly devious family, or 'owners' as they'd so enthusiastically proven time and time again.

Alas, such concerns weren't as threatening as they once were, a fact that the diminutive beauty found equally startling as she did strangely comforting. If it wasn't for the diligent efforts of a certain Mandalorian beauty, then Têhra was convinced that her mental state would have regressed further into the sad little creature her aunt so overtly wanted her to be. She was a bastard, a title she could not clean regardless of who convinced her otherwise and she still lived in the outliers of her society, forever enduring the hateful and cruel taunts thrown her way by the impeccably beautiful woman she grew up with. Part of the girl wanted to tear herself away from such a burden, to embrace the freedom that Ali so gleefully coveted and yet her mind would always retreat back into its most vulnerable, forcing her to face the suffocating duty of servitude to the Syle'a household.

That day was not unlike the previous thousands the girl was made to endure, although there was the large possibility that it would prove to be worse, much worse.

It wasn't often that the manor was graced with the presence of a foreigner, let alone one that identified with the Jedi counsel or worse, a male, and it came as a genuine surprise when Zihanna Syle'a, Matriarch of the Manor and Mistress to all this malevolent and mind shattering, granted refuge for the aforementioned visitor. Was it out of the goodness of her heart? No, far from it in fact. The woman, as shrewd as she was politically minded, knew that sacrificing a sliver of her pride for the presence of a young force user would disavow any rumours of dissension from the Queen Mother. It was an act of deception feigned as charity and grace and no one knew better.

No one but a skinny little bastard burdened with the responsibility of entertaining her hallowed guest.

There was little Têhra could do to refuse the woman who owned her, especially when it involved the presence of a third party. Whilst the teenager had grown accustomed to the humiliation her aunt and cousins regularly put her through, it seemed all the more daunting to be playing house with a Jedi, especially considering how closely Zihanna would be paying attention. Têhra knew not what her aunt planned nor why she'd grant the young man full access to the manor, all she knew was that she was to stay close and 'make friends'. Whatever that meant, the girl dreaded to find out.

It was in the final hour before the proposed arrival did she lose herself in the dance, a desperate attempt to free herself from the stress that clung to her mind. The girl was alone in the manor, save for the maintenance droids that worked endlessly on the garden maze and the spherical fountain and the servants who bustled too and fro throughout the lower floor. If this Jedi were expecting the presence of another man then he would only find solace in the rare appearance of Zihanna's harem of man servants and helpers, a sad reality that would no doubt summon some culture shock. Knowing full well that it would be immodest and improper to greet the guest dressed as she was, the teenager slipped on a pale blue tunic, complete with a beige sash tightly wound around her waist and offered her herself a quick glance in the large mirror opposite her little bed.

"He's a mere Jedi, darling, I'm sure he'd fall for the flower between your legs just like every other male looking for a plaything. Don't think he's here to save you."

Zihanna's voice whispered in her mind, resurrecting the last conversation Têhra had with the woman before she left for her duties. The thought alone sent a shiver down her spine and left a bitter taste in the girl's mouth, her gaze tearing itself away from her reflection before she lightly bit down on her lower lip. Glancing at the 'bracelets' adorning her wrists and sighing, the dainty dancer offered her bedroom one final wistful gaze before setting off for the southern entry into the manor...a trail of white chalk shadowing her bare feet.

Soft footsteps echoed into the grand corridor leading up to the arched glass doorway, the fragmented figure of the lone Jedi masked behind the crystal panels until the girl gently waved away the glass. Peeling open like diamond petals, the doorway revealed a young man no older than the petite bastard, clothed in his regalia and with the old jumper laying dormant by the black rose bed. He was tall, boyishly handsome and completely ill fitting amidst the Hapan aesthetic. The girl almost felt sorry for him, having to spend his time on the planet under the constant gaze of Zihanna Syle'a. Shaking the thought from her mind, the girl stepped out into the open before offering the young Jedi a meek little simper and a graceful curtsy.

"Greetings Master Jedi, welcome to Syle'a Manor," Têhra said softly, her gaze trailing from his face and back down to her feet, of which she realized were still covered in chalk, "M-My Mistress regrets to inform you that she is currently away but has offered you every luxury the manor can grant someone of your seat. It is an honour to have you staying her." She recited quickly, covering one foot with the other as she began to feel all the more self-conscious in front of the young man.

Of course Zihanna Syle'a would saddle a young Jedi with a bastard on his grand visit to Hapes, a passive aggressive insult if there were any.

"...My name is Têhra, servant to Mistress Syle'a, her daughters and this household. I will ensure your stay is a comfortable, rewarding one Sir...Jedi Sir." The girl cringed, not even daring to look the boy in the eyes as she bit down on her tongue.

[member="Darius"]

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Darius had never really been called sir before. The majority of his youth was spent within the forests of Endor, and the few folks that you ran across who could speak basic there were never the friendliest sort. He was always the apprentice; the one who looked up to everyone else. Recently he'd earned himself some semblance of independence, though it was borne more out his deception than any real progress. To be spoken of in such a manner, as if he was anyone of
Import, caught Darius off guard.

"Darius is fine," the teenager cracked a warm smile, "Thank you for agreeing to assist me, Tehra. I know I came on rather short notice - please send Mistress Syle'a my regards."

The girl was young; around his age, or so she seemed. He knew servants tended to start their futures early on planets like these. Unfortunately, Darius was quite unfamiliar with most of the Hapan customs. Such was to be expected when one had little more than a data pad with out of date information for study. Still, he would do his best to adhere to whatever traditions were practiced on this world. He could only hope that Mediha would do the same.

"Luxuries?" Wut? "Oh, I couldn't - I mean I've only come to study.y friend and I will try not to cause you any trouble."

Darius took a moment to actually observe the young woman. She was pretty, kind of had to be given what planet she was one. In his earlier days, that might have stolen his attentions. Fortunately, Darius had matured greatly in the past year. His force bond with Kinsey saw to that, and the Vornskrs.

The teeth. The claws. The pyre of burning bodies. The sweet smell of an entire village being burned, so that scavenging beasts could not defile their corpses.

The memories were quick, and all too real. Darius felt his stomach turning, though he managed to keep the bile down through sheer will. The numerous scars that now marred his body were a reminder enough of Dathomir. He didn't need to let himself think about it all over again without reason.

"My friend will be a moment. She's getting pretty," he sighed, "Eh, preparing. I figure you understand." Darius drew his cloak around him and approached Tehra. Something was off about her. Not in the malevolent sense; she was different from the normal folk he'd sensed upon landing. Odd. "Care to show me the place?" Blue eyes bored into her. "If it isn't too much trouble?"



[member="Têhra"]

 

[Têhra]

The presence of someone Têhra's age, male and unrelated to her, came as a genuine oddity for the girl. It was a minor anomaly at best which hung in the forefront of her mind as she stood there with her eyes glued to her feet and her raven hair fluttering in the fragrant breeze. This was a stranger, a boy who represented another half of the galaxy that she'd only ever read about. The Jedi were a presence generally unfelt by the Hapan people, a movement that left the planet unhindered by galactic politics and the bravado of force users from either side of the spectrum. Têhra, dutiful and diligent in her studies, knew enough about the Jedi to know that the young man opposite her was not of the caliber of the fabled warriors that roamed the tales of old, vanquishing darkness from the galaxy and gracing fallen cities with the power of the Light.

They were mere stories however, grand tales that whisked her troubled mind away from the torment that loomed over daily life. Still, the dainty dancer felt something, a trickle of emotion that she could neither describe nor recreate when her mind dwelt on the ancient battles and the ever elusive Force that was harnessed by those gifted individuals. She knew there was something in her, something buried beneath the pain and loneliness but it was like a rose trapped in a bog, the teenager's blossoming revelation remaining a shattered fragment.

Alas, the teenager did not dwell on such a thing at that moment, she was still attempting to remain composed in the face of a visitor she knew next to nothing about. What was there to talk about? What more could she do than act like a glorified guide? She could show him all she knew of Hapan, grant him access into the grandest of gardens and the most beautiful cathedrals and galleries the planet could offer...but it would all be a hoax. She'd be painting a portrait of perfection that didn't exist, not when people like her aunt and cousins freely roamed about.

"My Mistress believes you'll study best in the most pristine conditions Mas- Mr Darius." The girl simpered, peachy lips curling upwards momentarily before she flickered her gaze over towards the dormant jumper, an eyebrow raised inquisitively when he mentioned the presence of a friend. She'd never been told there'd be two people, let alone another girl. "I see...well I'm sure she's already gorgeous." Têhra offered sweetly, rolling back her shoulders before glancing at the boy's face once more. He'd been looking at her the entire time? The thought alone was enough to make the porcelain skinned servant girl that much more self conscious.

Pale cheeks glowed with a rosy haze, forcing the girl to spin on the balls of her feet and swiftly lead the young man into the grand manor with little more than a curtsy and a wiggle of her finger.

"This manor...originally belonged to someone else but my Mistress eventually won it after the Queen Mother granted her the resources and wealth of the previous owner." Têhra quietly recited, biting the inside of her cheek as her soft footfalls directed the Jedi down the glimmering crystal corridor and into the western wing, a space commonly used by her absent cousins in their spare time. The ginormous room, gilded in gold and crimson tapestries was split in half, billowing sheets of lilac silk hanging from the roof and acting as a veil that separated the duo from the the grand view of Ta'a Chume'Dan. Golden ribbons of sunlight filtered into the ovular space, illuminating its features in a shimmering haze as it danced through the swaying veil of fabric.

"You can come here to meditate and study. My cousins...my Mistress' daughters generally ignore this space now that they'd acquired places of their own around the city." The dancer smiled a weak smile, brushing a strand of hair from her brow before eliciting a wistful little sigh. No doubt Zihanna's daughters would come at least once in the week to ogle the young Jedi, possibly try to woo him into their beds for a laugh or two.. "Will your friend be sharing the same room as you..?" Têhra awkwardly mewled, clearing her throat as she considered how inappropriate such a thing was to ask of a Jedi.

[member="Darius"]

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The palace, there was no other way Darious could describe it, was stunning. Up until now he'd given Coruscant the award for elegance when it came to the homes of the upper class. It seemed Hapes had rose to the challenge and exceeded expectations. The view from the landing pad alone was stunning, and he could only guess at what sort of luxuries lay within. Not that he was excited about such - a Jedi should not should not hope for such things. They made a man soft, and more importantly, often set the seeds of gluttony in one's heart. He would not allow such a fate to befall him; simple appreciation would be all that he would give Hapes.

"As the mistress wishes then," he mumbled in deference. He was a guest here, and he needed to act like it. Still bowing to anyone other than his masters made him uncomfortable; a result of his own overconfidence no doubt. At the very least, he knew he had it, and was actively trying to correct it. Pride was just as dangerous as gluttony. "I'm from Endor. This place is...big. All we have are trees and a few angry Gorax back home." he gave her a weak smile. Striking up conversation was not the padawan's strong suit, but he would try.

I'm sure she's already gorgeous.

He didn't offer a response all at once, instead opting to run a hand through short almond hair and look down at the floor. Mediha could turn a few heads, yes, but he would never dare vocalize it. Not that he feared the woman, just... "She's pretty. Uh, she's Dathomiri. One of the witches. She won't cause any problems, I promise."

He fought the urge to shake his head. He'd been reading far too much into Têhra's words; just like a child. His gaze shifted back to the girl and - was she blushing? Darius lofted a brow, though she might not have seen his inquiring look with how fast she turned about. Odd.

"They're your family?" He asked quietly as they made their way through the hall. It was as luxurious as he'd allowed himself to expect; perhaps even more so. Still, he kept his gaze on his guide. People held more importance to Darius than decor, not matter how grandiose it might be. "Must be nice having such a big family," he mused whimsically; entirely unaware of Tehra's rather dire situation. "I only ever had Master Sedaire for company. He was my teacher - still is, sort of. I -"

He paused as she explained how the mistress had attained such an estate. It seemed political games were a galaxy wide pastime rather than something the senators took part in exclusively.

"Sorry, I was rambling," he bowed his head in apology, "The room is more than adequate, and -" Sharing a room? "No! I, er, no, we won't. We don't have that sort of relationship. Simply traveling companions."

[member="Têhra"]

 

[Mediha]

This was the galaxy, then.

Mediha's pale eyes swept over the manor, taking in the intricacies of the architecture and keeping a sharp eye on the figures who passed by. It was a grand place, certainly, but overwhelming for the village born-and-raised witch, though she would never voice her concerns. [member="Darius"] had explained the basic culture said she might find it interesting, though his reasoning for 'why' had been evasive. He was a terrible liar.

Drawing her thoughts away from her companion and turning them to locating him instead, her magick washed out ahead of her as she finished walking down the ramp, closing the ship behind her. She knew that being off of Dathomir meant hiding herself as much as possible; she was no Lady Ras, away for so long she had been inducted into the Sith and taken on their customs more than her Clan's. She was a stranger to the rules of the galaxy and its many worlds; her only guide to them would be Darius, whom she was fairly certain was a novice himself based on things he had said during their short acquaintance. With this in mind, the young woman had dressed in the clean, but plain available clothing onboard: a gray tunic, black leather leggings, and black boots. Mediha tugged absently on the ends of the long sleeves as she proceeded toward the odd glass front doors.

There was no hesitation or awkwardness as she passed into the manor in the fading wake of Darius and [member="Têhra"] , following the trace of Darius down the corridor as if it was a widening thread she was slowly winding into a ball. A breeze passed by, cooling her face but hardly stirring a strand in the tight, complex braided mass of her dark hair. The society Darius had described seemed to place some emphasis on beauty, and Mediha-- though less than concerned with upsetting her hosts than with drawing unwanted attention-- had wanted to do something that would help her blend in, even if her clothing was unnecessarily simple for their society. She was glad she had taken the precaution, though she was sure it wouldn't be enough. Perhaps they would be very good hosts and offer clothing options for their guests if they were required to attend any kind of... celebration. Mediha hoped there were no such events.

There hadn't been enough time for her to finish mourning her clan, and there would never be an end to her desire for revenge. However, she was alone for now, but for one Jedi who seemed determined to 'help' her while also holding her at arm's length. Good. If he had tried to build some kind of intimate rapport with her, she would have had to discontinue his company, which was a difficult choice for someone with no real knowledge of how other cultures worked. This, Darius had said, would be an easy transition. Looking around her, Mediha doubt very much that this culture shared anything with hers other than the good common sense to keep females in charge. From what Darius had said, that was less than common in the galaxy; that did not bode well for her journey among the stars.

Eventually, Mediha had to find someone who could be useful in teaching her newer and stronger techniques. This was just one step in that direction. Darius's description gave her doubts that many in the universe knew magick, but the Force was prevalent. With the right people, Mediha might be able to expand her understanding as Ras had and blend it into a new magick, one more suited to her purpose.

The Dathomirian met no one in the delicately sculpted, echoing halls, though the faint sound of voices drifted back to her from somewhere ahead. She followed them, recognizing one of the sources as Darius, her eyes still taking in the graceful lines of the hall. Mediha could and did appreciate beauty, but she had never considered it particularly important. The architecture of the building was pretty and interesting in its alien nature, but Mediha was able to acknowledge and accept it abstractly. When she found the entrance that Darius's voice was emitting from, she turned with the expectation that it would be more of the same and found herself stunned. Her breath caught as she stopped in the doorway of the 'study' room, staring up at the translucent, billowing curtains that bisected the capacious space. Beyond it, the city gleamed, the hazy obstruction of the curtains offering an entirely dreamlike quality to the surroundings. It was a vision Mediha imagined she would look back on fondly once they were gone and it struck her as no sight on Dathomir ever had.

Wondrous.

A blink broke the spell, and the delicately boned, pale face immediately smoothed back into a steady mask as she redirected her gaze to the two individuals populating the area, one tall and one immeasurably shorter than he. Her eyes flicked from Darius to his lovely companion, silently studying her from top to toe without moving into the room.

 

[Têhra]

"...she's Dathomiri. One of the witches."

The statement hung heavy in the back of the girl's mind, the young man's voice echoing in the chamber of her thoughts as the sudden realization dawned on her. Something forgotten tugged at the dancer's fluttering heart, the neglected memories of a time long past surging back to reality like a broken holo. Her father, sad and sincere, with his weary gaze and spotted cheeks would always talk about the witches of Dathomir, of her mother and the tribe her left behind. Beautiful, brave and dangerous he would repeat sullenly, over and over as if he were enforcing those same few qualities into his bastard child, a means of protecting her from the life he'd forced on to her. Têhra, with all of that 'filthy blood' inside her, knew that she could not escape her heritage no matter how hard she tried to assimilate into Hapans culture. She would always be the stain, the unwanted leftovers birthed from the sins of man.

But there it was, a thread of hope that terrified her just as much as it enchanted her. A witch from Dathomir, her mother's people...brave, beautiful and dangerous.

Naturally, with such contemplative musings filling her head, the girl's teeth latched on to her lower lip and began to softly gnaw on the supple flesh. It was a bad habit and especially immodest in the presence of a visitor. Stopping herself before her teeth drew blood, the teenager glanced up at the young man as he questioned the state of her relations to the manor, a fact that summoned a particularly shamefaced reaction from the dainty dancer. He wouldn't understand and she could not harness the eloquence to explain it properly, not at that moment anyway. "They're...something like that. I-I have lived here for a while so I consider them family." She fretted through an awkward simper and furrowed brows, knowing that lying to a Jedi was as taboo as it came. Still, it was a good thing that the tattoo trailing her spine did not come into question, no doubt that would need an explanation if the Jedi were to ever take note of it.

Sucking in a deep breath and digging her thumbs into the palms of her hands, the girl forced herself into ignoring the onslaught of thoughts that stampeded through her mind. She did not need to explain anything to Darius, she was a mere servant and no one would needed to be saddled with her story.

"I-I'm sorry to presume Master Darius!" The girl cringed, averting her gaze as she daintily tip toed away from the young man and over to an illuminated panel that sprouted a detailed map of the manor once Têhra's palm graced it's crystal panels. 'Your friend, the witch she...she can stay-" The melodic voice halted, the teenager feeling something trickle down her spine, like droplets of ice kissing her skin. It was a familiar sensation but one which forced her a moment to pause, to lightly gasp and tighten her lips as she felt herself glance about across the bisected study area.

Blue eyes danced across the lavish surroundings, bouncing from one sculpture to the other until the wide eyed gaze caught the unfamiliar entity lurking in the background. For a moment Têhra thought it to be her reflection, a mere doppelganger clothed in black and grey rather than beige and blue. But the figure stared back, the haunting gaze keeping the servant pinned to her place as she anxiously blinked back.

"Hello..." She whispered in her small voice, the word falling from her lips as if it were a question.

[member="Mediha"] [member="Darius"]

 

[Cedric Grayson]

For a mere servant, Tehra certainly had a strong presence. Darius hand never been the type to judge someone by their current station in life. He judged people by their actions, rather than their titles. Still, she had a twist to her; something unnatural. At first it had simply been a nagging sensation. Now it was throbbing at the back of his skull: this girl's aura was almost overwhelming. A moment's thought allowed him to tune the unwelcome sensation out of his mind, but he fully understood what it meant. Tehra was force sensitive. Now was likely not the time to bring that up, but he would need to eventually. The order needed as many warriors as it could get; even the inexperienced.

Besides, though Tehra kept her feelings guarded enough, Darius had a bit of a hunch that she wasn't enjoying her current place in the pecking order. She spoke of these people as cousins, then insisted that they were not blood; as if they were some form of adoptive family. That wasn't right. Whatever relation the girl had to the rest of her family...well, Darius was assuming things.

"Don't be sorry. We're traveling together. Anyone would assume we had something going on. Though, she'd kill me if I ever considered it." Whether that was spoken in jest or not was another matter entirely. He parted his lips to speak earlier, but one of the scars was starting to itch. He'd come to understand what that meant; [member="Mediha"] would make herself known soon enough. The terrible burn marks that marred his body were the result of her actions. When she drew near, some of them became irritated. It was the force's way of announcing her presence to him.

He pulled up his right arm sleeve and examined the flesh. It was warped and darkened from the severe damage his lightsaber had caused. The line of ruined flesh ran from the middle of his arm up to the top of his shoulder, and all of it felt uncomfortable. That was when he remembered that he was not the only person in the room, and Darius swiftly lowered the sleeve. He turned to explain his actions when Tehra's attentions shifted to something else.

Mediha.

The padawan turned toward the Nightsister and cracked a thin smile. She looked different in regular clothing; almost odd. "How are you feeling?" He asked, concern lacing his words. Her sickness had not passed entirely. It wouldn't do to have her losing consciousness here of all places.

Tehra's attentions were off him for a moment, and he found himself feeling a bit irritated. It was a petty, boyish feeling rather than anything serious. He'd spent the past week and a half on Dathomir being hunted by crazy women, and helping another crazy woman fight them off. His body was practically ruined for Mediha's sake - there was little chance he would be getting much of anywhere besides the battlefield with his scarring. Perhaps he'd enjoyed having a normal woman speak to him for a moment.

That pettiness, of course, passed just as soon as it came. His concern for Mediha's health far outweighed it. "Oh! [member="Têhra"], this is Mediha. She's the friend I spoke of."

 

[Mediha]

The young woman hummed.

Not physically, of course, but spiritually. When her eyes met Mediha’s, the Nightsister knew with certainty that the hum in her senses was an indication of magick, of potential: beyond that, sharp and strong potential. If she had been of Dathomir, Mediha would have believed her to be quite a capable witch, and her magickal signature indicated the distinction of witch magick from the Force-magick of Darius; his power spoke differently to Mediha’s magickal senses, as she imagined all Force-users would. Her continuing infirmity didn’t affect that aspect of her skills. Her illness meant she didn’t have the strength at her fingertips that she had had before-- not yet anyway-- but her senses worked just fine and she would be able to defend herself-- and Darius, if necessary-- if necessary. This girl might not be a threat, but she had the potential to be. Mediha found herself giving the girl more than her fair share of attention, until [member="Darius"] drew her away from it.

His inquiry into her health as he noticed her prompted a faint, brief narrowing of her gaze as her eyes transferred from the girl to him. Displaying her weakness in public was not acceptable. Perhaps it was normal to air one’s concerns and vulnerabilities in public in the rest of the galaxy, but Nightsisters had no weaknesses, no moments of vulnerability. That way lay failure, and failure to a Nightsister meant an early grave.

Rather than addressing it, Mediha simply replied, “Very well,” and returned her gaze to [member="Têhra"] .

The reticent little thing was staring at Mediha as if she were going to step forward and eat her. Mediha found herself settling into disgruntlement. What had Darius been saying?

“We appreciate your hospitality,” Mediha stated as she broke from her place and approached the separated pair. Her magick pushed out, testing the girl, seeking the edges of her power and her defenses beyond it. How much was she trained? Darius was a warrior, but his comprehension of and control over his Force-magick was minimal compared to Mediha’s. How would this girl’s compare? “And thank you for offering us the opportunity to stay in accommodations of such luxury and splendor. I am sure we'll find out visit to Hapes very enlightening, not the least because of your efforts.” The diplomacy flowed easily from her lips, in spite of the long time it had been since she had needed to practice it and the fact that she had never found a real use for it before now.

She fell into place beside Darius, her gaze never having wavered from Têhra’s.

“Will we have the opportunity to ask questions of you during our stay?”

Untrained-- no, not entirely, but mostly. Her magick ran wild, as Anderit’s and Zared’s had when they had first come to Mediha, before she had trained them to center themselves and control the tendrils that leaked onto everything around them, blaring their presence to any witch within a mile.

Then again, wasn’t she guilty of the same herself at the moment?

At the chastising reminder to herself, Mediha drew her senses back, pulling all of her unseen magick back under her skin. She didn’t dare hide her presence in the Force, as it would ultimately not matter now and she didn’t need the drain on her strength. Têhra was not a threat yet, but she was a conversation Mediha would have to have with Darius later. He couldn't have been blind to her, even if her delicate frame drew his eye in a more primal sense.

Her eyes finally roamed the room again, studying several of the tapestries. "We aren't to stay here, are we?" The room had entirely too many openings, beautiful as it was. She had slept on worse than the plush cushions of the room, but it was an odd arrangement. Cultural choice, perhaps.

 

[Têhra]

It was always a challenge interacting with girls her age, the precedent set by her trio of cousins ensuring the diminutive dancer was permanently left in a state of submission and wariness when dealing with her fellow females. It was a horrible symptom to have, the immediate withdrawal of confidence around other women, and when the witch finally stepped out from the shadows and into the grandiose study Têhra was more than inclined to avert her gaze and bow her head. But that was not the only reason. The girl could not have been any older than the dancer, nor was she particularly imposing, she was utterly nondescript surrounded by the elegant and ostentatious designs and yet she possessed something that forced a subtle wince from the branded bastard. It felt like a weight on her chest, a heavy tug of air that compressed her lungs and put her ribs in a vice grip.

Was this the power of her mother's people? Têhra could not shake the thought from her mind, the unreachable sense of nostalgia evading her senses as she tried to make sense of what was happening. If the lessons her father taught her were true then the women from Dathomir were innately gifted in magick and possessed power unlike anything the refined populace of Hapes could even comprehend, accept even. The sensation was so foreign that the girl knew not whether she was in pain or simply numb from her realization, that she was in the presence of something great and grating.

Perhaps that's how her father felt all those years ago.

Alas, the sensation was short-lived and Têhra was left mentally floundering once the grip on her chest loosened and dissipated into the warm spring air. There was no doubt in her mind that Mediha was the cause and the intense leer the stranger offered her was a quiet confirmation for the utterly baffled teenager.

Curling her toes and sharply biting on her lower lip, the teenager sucked in a deep breath before flickering her gaze over to the handsome duo, unsure of how she should approach them now that they waited on her. Thoughts, terrifying as they were bewildering, danced in the periphery of her conscious as she manipulated the hologram till it showed a much larger floor plan of the manor. Bright blue eyes danced from the map until they found the space between the young visitors, her teeth finally released the embargo set upon her supple, scared lips.

"It's an honour Miss Mediha, I'll do my best to keep the both of you comfortable." The girl answered graciously, bowing her head slightly before glancing at the golden cuffs adorning her wrists and the faint silver crescent that scarred her palm. There was no doubt in the dancer's mind that any questions directed to her would eventually wander into territory concerning her place in the manor, let alone her relationship to Zihanna and its inhabitants. "You may ask me anything, I can't promise I'll have all the answers though." Soft words were quickly followed by a tender simper in an attempt to quell the anxiety that began to swell beneath her veil of sweet submission and servitude. How was she to endure this? To look upon people unburdened by slavery and loneliness? The thought wasn't born from jealousy but from a deep seated grief that wailed for a shred of what this duo possessed.

It was the witch's voice that broke Têhra's internal musings.

"This room will be yours to use for whatever you deem it fitting for, be it training or meditation. Your rooms...they will be on the third floor, away from any prying eyes." The dancer recited quietly, motioning with a manicured finger at the adjacent bedrooms located two floors above the magnificent study, a crystal staircase spiraling upwards into the marked location not far from a large tapestry in the furthest end of the viewing room. Both spaces were notably large, often used for honoured members of the Consortium whenever they saw it fit to come and stay for the winter ball.

"They both have a pretty view of the city." The girl smiled, lightly shrugging as if it would sell the accommodation more than the heavily details holo already could.

[member="Darius"] [member="Mediha"]

 

[Cedric Grayson]

[member="Mediha"] was not as striking to him as she was to Têhra. Yes, the witch had a bit of a presence to her, but it wasn't overwhelming. Perhaps it was because the first time he'd been exposed to that presence she had attempted to murder him. Perhaps it was because he'd had no awe for the Nightsisters before landing on Dathomir. Either way, he could pick up the show of interest between the two of them from a mile away.

"You two going to kiss, or...?" A hint of amusement laced his words. In his mind, he understood the interest. They were both women from matriarchal societies. Mediha didn't regard him as much more than an asset because of his gender; Tehra likely had similar private thoughts. That didn't upset him perhaps as much as it should. He snickered at the little joke and shoved his hands into the folds of his robes; his attentions shifting to the holomap.

It seemed there was no such things as modesty on Hapes. Some of his old teachers would have been appalled. Master Sedaire might have enjoyed it. It was all a source of interest for Darius, though he viewed things through the lens that the Jedi Order had provided him. Whatever private thoughts that might have momentarily manifested about Tehra were dashed away. Those musing were very un-Jedi and more importantly, arrogant.

"Good," he piped up when she spoke of the rooms, "I'm afraid I'm just not in a position to have ladies peaking through my window." Another bright smile, "This all very gracious of you and your patron," he bowed his head in gratitude. "You're free to join us whenever you like, Miss Tehra. We always enjoy more company."

His eyes shifted toward Mediha for a fraction of a second. Just long enough for her to catch the movement - he wanted her to know that he felt the girl's presence in the force as well; thus his invitation. He probably would have given it anyway, Tehra was pleasant, but he would need a reason for it to show Mediha. Otherwise she would assume he was looking for someone to warm his bed. Her opinion of him was already less favorable than he would have liked; no reason to make it worse.

[member="Têhra"]

 

[Mediha]

The muscle in Mediha's jaw popped as she clenched her teeth in irritation. The submissive simpering grated on her nerves. It was not that there were no passive females in her clan; a hierarchical structure demanded there be those who led and those who followed. However, none of them were exploited, none of them prostrated themselves in any fashion to her Sisters.

It was also not that she had no knowledge of slavery in the galaxy. She knew that women could be enslaved, but Nightsisters did not submit easily to that fate and would spend the rest of their lives pushing the bounds until they were free or dead. Willing submission to such circumstances was unthinkable. Untrained and slavish as Tehra was, it was likely she was not of Dathomir, but perhaps an offspring of some Nightsister who had made a deal to get offworld and then died, leaving the girl to face the galaxy alone. That concept was admittedly unlikely, at best, but, other than kidnapping, Mediha couldn't fathom how one with witch blood could be brought so low and show no sign of inner fortitude.

[member="Darius"] shattered her reverie, and the dirty look Mediha momentarily shot him for his humorous quip held equal parts disdain and withering disgust. His attempts at wit did him no service, and the fact that he was yet again pulling into the foreground things best left to subtext was a clear sign that she was going to have to have a conversation with him-- in private-- regarding intelligent behavior in new and unusual circumstances.

She turned her attention back to the map for Tehra’s explanation of their living accommodations, trying to stow away her irritation. The adjoining aspect of their rooms would be a benefit more than a problem; Mediha had the sense she and Darius might be speaking quite frequently during their stay here, and that would make it easy. She would have to make sure to investigate for listening spells and their technological equivalents.

Her gaze slid back to Darius when he invited Tehra to "drop by any time". He glanced her way, but Mediha couldn’t tell if the quick look was just to check her reaction to his invitation or was indicative of something deeper. Given his utter lack of subtlety thus far, she was going with the former for now.

"Would you show us the way there now? I'd like to see the rooms in person." Holograms were useful, but she couldn't get a feeling for the space until she was there. "And you can explain any rules we might need to follow along the way."

And I will follow the ones that seem reasonable.

[member="Têhra"]

 

[Têhra]

It came as a genuine surprise to the dainty dancer when the Jedi's quip tumbled from his lips and stained the hallowed grounds of the Manor's study. Of course, she was no stranger to such lighthearted jabs, her cousins often hurling lewd remarks as often as they could whenever she fell into their sight. The only difference this time was that it was uttered from the mouth of a male and if she were a mere shred of the woman her aunt was such a display of banter would have been considered exceptionally insulting.

Was he even allowed to make jokes like that? Or jokes at all?

Sharply inhaling and chomping down on her lower lip in an attempt to ignore the rosy tint adorning her cheeks, Têhra offered no response other than a muted little clearing of her throat and stifled simper devoid of any genuine amusement. She wasn't offended, she was simply stunned that such a casual quip would be nonchalantly thrown about in a place like this one. The things her aunt would've said if she heard it, the girl shuddered to think. Shaking the awkwardness from her limbs, Têhra hoped to return to the seemingly choreographed tour of the manor before another curious suggestion was uttered by the young Jedi.

"Uh...O-Okay, thank you for the offer Master Darius!" She sputtered with the confused ebullience of a child not entirely knowing what anything truly meant. What did that even mean, to 'drop by any time'? Thoughts and theories sprung forth into maelstrom of her mind, forcing the girl to muse over the multiple meanings of such an offer. She'd dealt with propositions to bed travelling politicians and dignitaries more times than was appropriate to remember and on occasion it was even encouraged by her Mistress to grant honoured guests with something a little more substantial than a private performance. The memory alone left a bitter taste in the girl's mouth and she furrowed her brow at the possible notion that was what the young Jedi could be chasing. But still, a part of the girl clung to the hope that the boy was simply being polite and friendly, a rare quality in the manor and one the dancer craved to witness on more than just the rare occasion.

Her gaze fluttered back to the witch once the awkward veil was broken by the other girl's voice.

"Yes...yes of course." Têhra chirped breathlessly, combing a hand through her raven hair before daintily swiveling on the balls of her feet and tip toeing in the direction of the winding staircase. Her eyes remained firmly set forward, the pink in her cheeks gradually fading back to the sublime porcelain shade as her silent footsteps ascended the shimmering steps, her mind still wrestling with what was spoken only several minutes beforehand.

"The rules you and I follow in this manor are...a bit different, but there isn't much you need to worry about," Other than everything, "just remember to offer Mistress Zihanna a short bow whenever you see her and...and well, she isn't exactly the sort for small talk so it would be best if you refrain from conversations that do not pertain to your study here unless she asks you specifically." The girl mused quietly, her hand trailing the rail of the staircase before the crystal steps transitioned into the wide open space of the third floor. It had been a while since the last time she was here and it still filled her with the same awe the first time she was introduced to the wondrously wide quarters. A polished golden tiles, detailed with floral patterns, adorned the floor of the open balcony that lay between the two bedrooms that were hidden behind two equally dazzling obsidian doorways. Large pillars, ancient and carved from the bone of a long extinct creature, supported the roof mosaic, a wondrous artwork made in turquoise and yellow which depicted the old gods creating the Violet Sea that shimmered not too far off in the horizon from where the Manor was located. Ta'a Chume'Dan, in all of its glowing silver glory, hummed not too far off in the distance, a dazzling spectacle that matched the beauty of the great indigo waves crashing against the coastline.

Têhra's momentary pause, however, was short lived when she remembered the rest of the necessary rules required to save the duo from the embarrassment of dealing with Zihanna.

"You are allowed to freely roam the manor except for the southern most area near the docks and my Mistress' bedroom, for obvious reasons." The girl muttered, pursing her peachy lips before wrinkling her nose. "That...I think that's all. You are guests so my Mistress will be incredibly lenient with the both of you so I wouldn't worry too much." The girl offered with a sweet little simper, an attempt at making them feel less alienated than they might've been already. Someone had to be pleasant with them right?

"Is there anything else you need me for?" The bastard asked quietly, glancing at both Darius and Mediha with wide eyed curiosity.

[member="Mediha"] [member="Darius"]

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Darius decided to keep his mouth shut then. No one he associated with these days could take a joke. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he followed [member="Têhra"] as she led them up the stairs. The upper level, much like the lower, was overwhelming grand. So great was its beauty that Darius began to feel uncomfortable. There was so much that one could compare to perfection - so much he could easily break with a single misstep. He hid his misgivings well enough, though his attentions shifted from the two women to simply trying not to step on anything he wasn't supposed to.

"Treat her like one of the masters then. Sounds about right," he murmured, just barely audible. Blue eyes shifted to watch the coming and going of the violet sea's tides. There were great lakes on Endor, but the seas were vile. They always smelled of rotting carcasses and were often dotted with hordes of scavenging animals. This was different: it was beauty, elegance, Hapes. Darius was beginning to have an understanding for just what 'Hapes' really meant. he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

They came to a stop, and Tehra inquired about questions. He had only one. "Where do we find you if we need you? We're rather ignorant about the culture here, and I've a feeling prodding the mistress with questions would only incur her disdain," he shrugged, "And you've been pleasant enough. I trust you won't tear my head off if I ask too much." A simple request really. His gaze shifted to the artwork around the room. It was so unlike Endor's homesteads, even grander than the military chapels back on Sullust. So...odd.

[member="Mediha"] at least seemed to be adjusting well. He expected she would acclimate to society here rather quickly. They would only be staying a week - long enough for Mediha to get used to things, and long enough for Darius to get his head straight. He needed to return to Zeltros soon, then there was the war, Master Sedaire's requests for the Corellian Jedi, and Kinsey.

Really could use your help right now Kins.

He allowed himself to draw some semblance of comfort from the bond that had been borne between them. It was one of the force; a connection of emotion as much as it was power. He reached out, though he felt nothing in return save for calm. She was safe, at the least. When he had the strength to do so, he would confront the Sith keeping her under his sway and free her. She'd spoken of coming to Sullust before. Perhaps with Mediha's help he could truly free her in the ethereal plane as well as the physical.

Tehra's gaze drew him from his private musings. She was sweet enough, albeit a bit shy. It didn't seem like she'd taken his behavior particularly well, either. He was still figuring out what to think of her, and more importantly, her connection to the living force. How to approach that?

"We'll try not to cause too much trouble. Promise."

 

[Mediha]

[member="Darius"] was blessedly silent for a time, allowing Mediha to focus on Têhra's iteration of the rules of the home. The fact that she placed Mediha and Darius on the same level as her did not bode well for what this world thought of them or outsiders in general. She couldn't blame them; she often thought the same of them. Mediha let the rule to bow pass; she had no idea who Zihanna was. If she didn't bow to her, the woman would have to accept it or challenge Mediha. Let her do so and look foolish if she wanted; Mediha would be respectful as necessary and as deserved.

The intense artistic beauty of the architecture struck her again as she ascended the staircase, sweeping her gaze over each intricate detail and still probably missing some, but it was the ostentatious showmanship of the balcony and mosaic set against the backdrop of the world that really made her step falter. She kept her wits about her, as she couldn't risk missing something that might compromise her safety later, but she would take the time to properly appreciate the stunning picture it all made once [member="Têhra"] was gone and her conversation with Darius was out of the way.

Southern portion of the home, hm? Mediha's eyes roamed the artistic details of the space they had stopped in. The "adjoining" section of the rooms had not been what she had expected, more akin to homes that happened to be nearby than anything. They had their own separate doors and a space between it to serve as a mediator for privacy-- and a way for their host to keep an eye on their activities. Têhra's commentary on Zihanna, though she was clearly trying to be polite, was providing Mediha with a clear image of a woman who got what she wanted and stepped on others for it because she felt herself entitled. Mediha didn't disagree with the idea in practice, but it reminded her to be wary. Leaders like that never truly ignored anything. That knowledge made Têhra's words about their freedom and anonymity ring false, whether the girl intended it or not.

Darius had valid questions; they would need to reach her eventually and still had no idea where most things were. Mediha turned her eyes back to Têhra. "And what is your role in the household, Têhra?"

When Darius promised to keep out of trouble, Mediha returned her eyes to inspecting the roof mosaic, silent. She could promise it, but she might wind up breaking it, so why make the effort?

 

[Têhra]

There was a certain air of freedom about the third floor that the girl endeavored to experience whenever given the chance to, which felt utterly silly during her more reflective moments. Perhaps it was a lingering sense of wanderlust that drew her to the secluded area. It was still the Syle'a Manor, but the golden tiled orpheum remained the only area that was the furthest from the keen eyed woman who presided over the Manor and its inhabitants. The only way in and out was the staircase, unless one thought a jump off the open balcony a much more welcoming escape, and it was this relative privacy that left the dancer feeling ever so slightly discontented with her own living quarters.

Darius' question offered the girl a moment's pause, blue eyes flickering from his face to his fellow accomplice as she gauged their presence in the room. They were certainly being pleasant about it all, but the attention she was getting made it all the more obvious that she'd be the one taking care of them throughout the week long stay. This was beginning to sound like glorified babysitting and it was especially odd that the girl didn't entirely mind that she'd been burdened with the task.

"No, I won't tear it off. I wouldn't want to mess the floor." The girl giggled, not entirely sure why she'd make such a joke, for the first time since their meeting. Biting the inside of her cheek, Têhra composed herself before her cerulean eyes fell to the floor, the reflection gazing back up at her. "I'm...easy to locate. The girl uttered quietly, combing black ringlets of hair off her brow before flickering a sheepish gaze at the duo. "In one of your bedrooms there should be little silver bell, ring it and I'll...hear it. " The girl explained quietly, not entirely sure she wanted to reveal to them the specifics of how such a mundane ritual could so easily summon her. It was but another game her aunt liked to play, a demeaning practice that conditioned the girl to forever and always react when the bell was rung.

Shaking the thought from her mind, the teenager tip toed over towards the closest bedroom door and gently opened it, revealing a space just as majestic and lavish as the rest of the house. Crimson and gold bathed the room in fine silk and tapestries, a herd of pillows mounting the circular mattress like some cushiony monolith. It was excessive, the very portrait of ostentatious comfort.

The seconds introducing the duo to one of the identical bedrooms granted the dancer a moment to consider her next answer. What was her role? The thought alone sparked more than just a moment reconciling her role in the manor and Hapes as a whole. What exactly was she to these strangers?

Was she a slave, branded and bound to a family who gave her no love or a piece of cheap entertainment, a resourceful liability that her aunt could use whenever she saw fit? Neither seemed like an answer she'd want to give, lest she planned on alienating herself even more than she believed she already did.

"I assist the Mistress in whatever task she deems my skills appropriate. I simply ensure people are happy and healthy here." Têhra lied through a pleasant simper, digging her thumbs into the palms of her hands before taking a step backwards. "Well, I guess I should say that both rooms have access to running water and there should be a Barabel vines with some ripe fruit available if either of you get hungry." The girl stretched, daintily swinging her arms as she attempted to change the subject.

"I'll leave you be for now Master Darius, Sister Mediha. I'll be in the greenhouse on the eastern wing if you're in need of anything specific, just...don't forget to ring the bell if you need me." The girl smiled weakly, regretting the fact that she so actively contributed to her own torture by reminding them of the bell. Alas, she'd dealt with the contraption for the past twelve years and another week wouldn't kill her..or so she hoped. With a final curtsy and a quick glance at both the Jedi and his witch companion, the girl quietly scurried off down to her safe haven...a place even her aunt refused to tread...

[member="Mediha"] [member="Darius"]

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Tehra was gone, and [member="Mediha"] hadn't seemed entirely pleased. Now he was alone with the Nightsister. This could go well, or not at all. The padawan watched as Tehra made her way back down the stairs, lips parting in an amused little smile. She was sweet enough - he was starting to like her. Still, she didn't seem entirely pleased with...well, anything really. Her smiles were fake. Her words were shaky.

Of course, she had laughed at his one joke, and her sweetness did seem entirely genuine. Then there was her connection to the living force, something he and Mediha were going to need to have a conversation about. They couldn't just leave the girl here, especially given her latent talent. Servitude was no life for anyone, and she had the capability to do the galaxy some good.

Darius made up his mind before he even opened his mouth.

"I like her. She's sweet, but something is wrong here," he frowned, "You felt her connection to the force too? Her magicks?" The padawan lofted a brow. He needed to at least confirm his suspicions. His capability to actually use the force was somewhat limited; there was the possibility that he was simply mistaken. If Mediha sensed it too, then he could be sure in his assumptions.

Blue eyes shifted to meet Mediha's own.

"I'm worried about her mistress, too. Doesn't seem like the friendliest sort."

[member="Têhra"]

 

[Mediha]

As [member="Têhra"] left them, Mediha's eyes traced the outline of her figure, half-memorizing her curves and clothes, sharply noting the cuffs that adorned her delicate wrists and the intricate, beautiful tattoo that traced her spine. Those things certainly did not match with the chalk on her bare feet.

The pair stayed silent, both staring after Tehra and absorbed in their own considerations. When [member="Darius"] finally broke the silence, as was common with them, Mediha gave him her full attention. She had been less than certain that he would notice Tehra's affinity for magick. At least she wouldn't need to convince him. When he broke into commentary on their host, the Nightsister held up a hand to silence him and sent her power out in a wave, seeking listening spells or other aberrations of magick that might indicate they were being watched. She found nothing, thankfully.

"Her mistress is a leader; she has no need for friendliness. We would do well to step carefully if we don't want to wind up dead or imprisoned." As she spoke, Mediha crossed into the bedroom, eyes sweeping across the furniture and other luxurious trappings. The bed looked... interesting. Rather than investigating in that moment, she settled into one of the vibrant scarlet chairs after carelessly tossing aside the gold pillows that would have made it difficult to sit, turning slightly so she could see [member="Darius"] as they spoke. "We won't be ignored. She also dodged an answer about her position in the house, which is an answer in itself. She is a slave, or an indentured servant at the best, but most likely a slave. Unreasonably servile and grating in its insincere slavishness, her personality leaves a great deal to be desired." No doubt, her master probably found that appropriate. Mediha was irritated by it; even the Nightbrothers didn't simper and they were devoted to the Sisters. "I suppose you would find a slave's personality 'sweet'." Mediha eyed him speculatively, but let that avenue of conversation drop. His preferences were none of her concern or interest. "Better for her if she broke those bad habits and embraced what she is. Her magick is strong, but very much untrained. It doesn't say much for the culture here, if they ignore something so obvious when it could be so dangerous and instead treat her like the last leavings of a rancor's kill." Her tone echoed her disdain and general irritation.

Unless they fear her if she is trained. That idea turned in Mediha's mind as she continued. "Our bigger concern is our standing. Tehra as good as told us that we're equal to her here. She is no valued member of the household. What, then, are we being told about how Hapes, or her mistress at least, views those who have power outside her understanding? What has she told us about how we'll be viewed while we're 'guests' here?"

 

[Cedric Grayson]

"They aren't going to expect much of us, no." Darius chimed in as he explored their quarters. It was far nicer than anything he would have expected, but then Hapes had blown all of his expectations out of the water thus far. The padawan shoved his hands into the pockets of his cloak and whirled about to take it all in. He did note share the dislike [member="Mediha"] seemed to be expressing, though he did feel as it was a bit much. This was a lot, even for guests. It seemed the Mistress cared far too much about people's impressions.

"Sweet in the nice sense. She's genuine, albeit confused." Darius frowned as he turned back to face the Nightsister. Tehra would need to be taken care of accordingly. Her talents were too important for her to simply remain trapped here. There was a war that needed to be fought, and the Order needed every Jedi it could get its hands on.

Of course Mediha wanted to use the girl for her own designs.

"Then let's do whatever we can to make ourselves look nice. We're to meet this mistress woman for diner in a few hours. Let's prepare."

[member="Têhra"]

 

[Mediha]

They think of us as worthless and he wants to impress them? Why is he so obtuse? Mediha leveraged herself out of the chair and dropped to the floor. Thankfully, she didn't have Darius's curse of optimism-- or a wardrobe outside of the basics the ship came equipped with. She would be as boring as possible to her hostess, and as unimpressive in appearance, and then the woman might at least underestimate her, if not ignore her entirely. "We'll need to get our things from the ship. Take this room; I'm sure the other one is much the same."

There was an interlude where Darius and Mediha retrieved their things and got settled into their rooms. Mediha took the time [member="Darius"] spent changing to explore her room and take in the view from the oversized windows in her room. Hapes was beautiful, and Mediha was somewhat awed by her surroundings, but the natural beauty of the planet seemed to fall flat for some reason. It took Mediha a short while before she realized it was because, while it was certainly more exotic than Dathomir, it had no weight to its beauty. Dathomir was sublime: a wild, untamed, and dangerous beauty one found themselves respecting even as they fought against it. Hapes was... a spider web without the cling. Gossamer threads, something beautiful, but easily torn. It had no personality, only surface beauty. The realization made Mediha view her own surroundings differently.

Is that what's bothering me? she wondered, stepping back into her room and looking at the furnishings with fresh eyes. Is the culture as shallow as the natural beauty of the place? Her instinct leaned toward agreeing with that premise, but it would take more time to know for certain. She had seen little of even the place where they were to stay, not to mention the city itself. It would take more than that to be certain.

[member="Têhra"]