The Maze

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Of all the prospects this one had to be the oddest. She was an Echani half-breed; a creature left to herself in a great garden on an out of the way world. One of the seers had seen her, and informed Darth Mephirium of her emergence shortly thereafter. The Sith Lord had set out for this distant world alone, posing as a psychiatrist who specialized in severe mental disorders. It had been a simple thing to reach out to the girl's father and secure his blessing -- Mephirium, or rather Cyril Grayson, was to reach out to the girl and try to understand why she was ignoring her father.

It was all rather simple on paper. In reality, Mephirium knew that finding the girl was going to prove difficult. She had sequestered herself in what might as well have been hostile territory. The garden, of which Mephirium had been told about by the girl's father, would be a challenge to peruse. The older man had been convinced that Mephirium could simply talk his way in, as if she might answer the door for a stranger rather than her own flesh and blood.

Mephirium knew better, but any help from the old man was desirable.

And so he had come, clad in a simple hooded jacket and black pants. The only sign as to what he really was, was the cylindrical hilt that hung in his jacket's pocket. Alone, he approached the great entrance to the garden. From beyond it, he could feel a land teeming with unkempt life; a sharp contrast to the industrial nature of the city he'd just come here from.

"No one at the door," he mumbled to himself, amused. With a thin, confident smile, Cyril Grayson walked through the gate.

 

[Lysandra]

A trail of indigo careened through the empty blackness, chasing after the gentle hum of the distant cruiser that glided through the sky before it dispersed into shimmering blots of green. Emerald turned to jade as the birds of Eden answered the mechanical moans from the heavens above, the wind of their wings sending little gusts into the botanical haven. Sweet, somber melodies chirped through the canopy of dragon lilies and fireflowers, the crescendo of sound sending sprawling oceans of colour through the mind of the young woman wandering blindly through the rosy moss and the weeping willows. She was a specter draped in tulip's silk and silver, her pale figure tip toeing past the ancient trees and the blossoming flowers that grew from the vines that drooped from murmuring canopy.

"Roses whisper good night 'neath silv'ry light.."

A girlish song danced into the air, calling out to the birds that quickly answered in tune. It was an almost symbiotic performance, a song and dance for no audience but the creatures that fluttered through the trees and the flowers that swayed in the breeze. No one dared tread through the sanctuary, not anymore anyway, not after the accident. Whether it was due to superstition, paranoia or a sliver of respect for the young woman that mindlessly skipped through the vibrant shrubbery, no one bothered to check up on Cressinia's daughter. She was an adult, or so they said, a girl grown with the freedom of a child and the wrath of a fierce storm. Some thought her a mere victim, caught between the relentless push and pull of fate till she'd abandoned any thought to return to reality. Others believed her crazed, a madwoman and kinslayer. '

'Lysandra, taker of daughters and slayer of mothers' they would whisper beneath hushed breaths, weary glances flickering at Eden, the supposedly cursed half Echani's little haven. Alas, such rumours never caught the attention of young half breed, for she was too caught up in the kaleidoscope of her own mind to care.

One would simply have to hear the peculiar lullabies that sprung from her lips and through the large garden to know that she was alive and well, if they were curious enough to do so.

"Asleep in the dew they hide from our view.."

She sung, with eyes now fluttering open to view the cascade of greens, purples and pinks that speckled the fragrant scenery before her. Swaying, like a dandelion waltzing with the whistling breeze, Lysandra felt a content little simper spread across her lips as a nearby sparrow answered her tune in it's sweet little falsetto. A soft giggle danced off the young woman's tongue, bare toes wriggling into the furry carpet of moss underfoot before she took a dainty step forward. The light pitter-patter of her slender feet against the skin of Eden summoned momentary wisps of colour in her vision, deep green puffs of smoke that vanished whenever her soles brushed against the ground. It was a curious little gift her mother and father gave her, to see the color of sound.

Alas, the plumes of deep green were not to last when a hollow, feminine voice rung out in the glade not too far from the gleaming silver entrance. A spark of electric yellow coursing past her peripherals as the garden's introduction was sparked back to life.

Welcome to EDEN. Cressinia Erskerwhey's garden exhibit zzt-currently-zzt ranked Xasuri's 638th most popular function venue.

Please leave any weapons, baggage or waste near the counter by the zzt-West-zzt gate.

Current visitors...two.

​The announcement shattered the whispers of the labyrinthine forest, seemingly sparking the garden droids into a slight frenzy, the quivers and shakes of their now rusted hardware scraping red veins into the back of the lone echani's mind. Lysandra stood motionless, her jaw clenched and her eyes unblinking as she let the thrum of the announcement disappear into the mist of her mind.

"Slumber sweetly my dear for the angels are near..." She whispered softly, intently gazing at the tangled green maze before her, the icy orbs tracing the faint speck of light marking the entrance from where the announcement was made.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

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A dark shadow loomed over the garden. Like the serpent of ancient tales, it slithered through the sanctuary's gleam; a rot that threatened to tear away at all that nature's glory had built. It moved with an intent that might have been hostile, were it not for its master keeping it on a close leash. The serpent lashed out at all the purity around it; snapping and biting at any sliver of illumination it could find. Its terrible fangs never found purchase; the leash about its neck pulled ever tighter.

With a gesture, Darth Mephirium rained the serpent in. He envisioned the great snake flying up to his outstretched fingertips, its head thrashing about and its fangs gnashing. Just as with the plants, the fangs did not find flesh. With a twist of his thumb, Mephirium cracked the beast's neck. It faded into ethereal nothingness; its body melting away into the forgotten shadows of children's tales. The aura that permeated Mephirium would not pierce this grove, for it was pure and serene, and he had no right to ruin it so.

With a slow, rhythmic pace, Mephirium strode through the gate. He walked like some nascent god recently birthed from an abandoned tomb. His back was straight, like that of the finest military admiral, but his smile was warm and inviting. His eyes shone with the spark of a predatory intellect, though the way he moved was passive rather than that of someone on the hunt.

He knew where she was long before he ever saw her. She was a vortex within the Great Ocean: not sunken beneath its depths, but atop it, whirling like a chaotic cyclone. The ocean's currents had no power over her, for she moved to her own inhibitions. She was a brightness made brighter still by her surroundings; the source of all this purity, and yet...

"You've a secret," Mephirium mused, "Something I doubt even you let yourself remember. Oh, this will be interesting." He rumbled with quiet laughter, all the while knowing she would not hear him just yet. The amusement was real, all the same.

The sound of the droid's voice made him loft a brow, though he was in no hurry to put himself on alert. The girl did not mean him any harm, or at the very least, he could not peruse any ill intentions from her presence within the ethereal. No, she felt curious, along with a myriad other things Mephirium could not make out with accuracy. Good.

A few more steps brought him to the center of the grove. His fingers trailed along the garden's flowers, and they seemed to almost raise forward to meet him in turn. Vines gently swayed against his cybernetic fingers, and the small creatures of the artificial haven scurried about at his feet. It was almost like a fairy tale that his sisters would have enjoyed. The thought made his stomach turn.

"Hello," he said once within earshot. "Is this garden yours?" He asked, his accent clearly core-world. Gray eyes like nascent thunderstorms peered out at her from a patrician face adorned with a thin beard, and short black hair. His lips curled into that friendly smile that had brought him so very far in the world of politics.

"My name is Cyril."

[member="Lysandra"]

 

[Lysandra]

Gleaming trails of luminescent pollen streamed underneath the whispering canopy, illuminating the emerald garden in dazzling stripes of shimmering colour as the soft glow of evening sun settled through the roof of the now unkempt garden paradise. Butterflies, beetles and fragile leaves swelled within the tepid air, only briefly visible within the tendrils of light before disappearing behind the rustling roof of Eden. Normally, Lysandra would have found herself mesmerized by the ephemeral portrait of beauty that was the ever dancing labyrinth, alas her mind wavered from the bountiful distractions that swarmed within the great garden in a bid to focus on whatever it was that Eden's 'receptionist' picked up. It wasn't often that the once prized plot of sprawling vegetation was attended too, in fact it had almost been three years since the last time it was put under maintenance.

Xasuri had abandoned it and the whimsical girl within, leaving the sprawling maze to carve its way over the indigo mangroves and tickle the underbelly of cloud cover that occasionally swept over the dense ecosystem.

By now the great maze was an entity of its own making, no longer marred by the meticulous hands of those that sought a controlled aesthetic. It was wild and vibrant, teaming with life and brimming with a nigh-omnipresent cacophony of sound. Birds sung, leaves bristled and the ebb and flow of the great gnarled willows hummed into the atmosphere like an ethereal choir, joining the lone Lysandra's nonsensical melodies. She was part of it as much as it was a part of her, a peaceful symbiosis that afforded the porcelain skinned beauty senses far deeper than simply seeing what sound looked like.

She could feel Eden. It tickled the back of her mind and whispered unheard words through the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. It was another voice amidst the many, a gentle coo that settled the maelstrom of sound and fury that thrashed somewhere in the kaleidoscope of her mind. It was pleasant to say the least, pleasant enough for Lysandra to heed its call whenever she was open to listen and at that moment, staring into the open glade that dipped into the great maze, she felt something nudge her attention.

"Curious little voices..." She murmured aloud, picking a frayed leaf out of her tangled snowy hair and staring at it intently. "Slithering. Slithering...like a slug." Lysandra mused to herself, quirking her head and pursing her rosy lips as she felt Eden sway her attention back in the direction of whatever it was that awoke the garden.

With a hop, step and a jump over a trickling stream and a moss carpeted log, the impish young woman found herself near the clearing of the tangled maze, with her lithe figure propped atop an unhappy looking stump. Peaking past the foliage of a fireflower bush, Lysandra was met with the very curious sight of a stranger dressed in strange clothing. It was a man, certainly looked like one anyway and he was dressed in attire the half Echani had not seen in quite a while. He stood still and smiled like someone who knew exactly what he wanted. Accented words tumbled forth from his mouth like scarlet freckles, tingling the girl's peripherals as she ogled him from behind the foliage like a child would a newcomer.

Wintry eyes narrowed momentarily, as if some semblance of rationality attempted to piece together the reason for the odd fellow to be here. Perhaps he was a friend of her mother's?

"Perhaps it is, if she lets me." Lysandra finally called out from behind the blossoming fireflowers, her melodic and airy voice carrying over the orchestra of birds that tumbled into the sky upon the man's introduction. There she stood, half disguised by the garden's edge in her tattered silver dress and messy moon kissed locks, a young woman held in the clutches of her youth and the whispers that riddled her mind...whispers that told her to turn around and run.

With no more than a coy smirk, the girl vanished from the sight of the man named Cyril, her silver silhouette melting into the great emerald labyrinth that her mother had made for her. There was no doubt in Lysandra's mind that he might chase after her, of which she and her plants were ready for...

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

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For all the grove's majesty, there was a wrongness to it. The breathtaking scenery was both graceful and wild; perfect yet savage. Beneath the thin veneer of beauty lay dangers, and Mephirium had no doubt in this galaxy or the next that it could swallow him whole, if it so desired. Yet, such desires were likely not its own, but the thin slip of a woman who watched him from afar. Her words came to him from what felt to be both a short distance away, and a sound that echoed across open miles. The garden's acoustics were not something he had any semblance of reason for, and he could only narrow it down to one single explanation.

The girl's presence within the ethereal touched this place. It was bound to her, molded to her every decision and thought. Whether she knew it or not, this garden was as much her protector as it was her home. If he showed any ill intent, it would seek to devour him. If she felt any semblance of threat from him, the land itself would rise up against him. Part of Mephirium was excited by the challenge. To test himself against such an unorthodox foe would be refreshing, but then he had no intention of infuriating the garden to begin with.

He caught sight of her just as the thought left him. She was as described to him: a delicate creature for a delicate place. She and her garden were the antithesis to all that he was. Where his reality was one of grim realism and terrible burden, hers was one of aloof pleasure and a lack of caring for the consequences of the world. It was an ideal meeting, he decided, even as she spouted nonsense at him and darted off into the greater wood.

"You want to play a game then?" He asked, more to himself than anyone in particular. His lips curled into an amused little grin, and he began to walk after her. The trail was not one so easily followed: the great bushes' leaves poked at his sides like little needles, the intoxicating aroma of neon colored flowers threatened to steer his mind from his true purpose, and the rope-like vines seemed to stretch up and pull at his ankles every few feet.

Even still, he could feel her at the edge of the Great Ocean. The hurricane had not ceased, but rather grown in size. Though at the edge of her perceptions, she was most certainly there; a lingering sentiment imprinted upon his mind. She would not evade him so easily.

He moved with careful respect for the vegetation around him. Though he doubted the flora had any sense of sentience, it did not hurt to have a care for his surroundings. Alone, he tracked through the garden, his hunt for the white-haired woman only just beginning.

[member="Lysandra"]

 

[Lysandra]

A fragrant breeze, concocted of nightflowers, rich honey and moss, brushed against Lysandra's cheeks and through her tussled silver locks as she swiftly bounded through the shrubbery of the great garden. Her dainty feet made barely a sound, the muffled pitter-patter of her blushing soles against the dew kissed moss joining the throbbing heartbeat of the environment that stirred around her. Every footstep was neither measured nor calculated, the young woman flinging herself forward with gleeful abandon as she dove deeper into the bosom of the overgrown maze. What one may think to be a highly treacherous area was more akin to diving through silk for the impish half Echani, she knew she wouldn't trip, falter or face any perilous obstacles within Eden and it wasn't recklessness that drove such a thought, it was the fact that the garden simply wouldn't hurt her.

Vines slithered out of the way, splinters retracted into the earth and thorns simply tickled as she bounded through the flowery everglade like a bird that just discovered the joy of flight. She was an ivory juggernaut, one whose silly grin had yet to melt off of her lips as she cascaded past the dead husks of several decommissioned garden droids, their gleaming and bulbous forms now teaming with plant life that crowned their ovular heads.

It was an oddly beautiful scene amidst the glorious chaos that was Eden, a polished and flowery graveyard for the droids that simply faltered after the years of neglect.

"Don't frighten the guest, just be a pest." Lysandra chimed aloud, twirling momentarily on the tips of her toes as the makeshift graveyard began to quake with newfound life. Her skinny fingers threaded the aromatic air like a conductor performing a symphony, one that awakened something veiled by the corpses of the deceased droids. Chiming laughter echoed past Lysandra's lips as she felt something warm burst from within the tips of her fingers and into the air around her. A low hiss, amplified by the hollowed out drums of the droid carcasses, pulsed through the surrounding air and sent a jolt of purpleish-grey to scatter across the perpetually bewildered woman's vision.

Now that was a sound she had not seen in a while.

Blossoming from within the mound of durasteel and broken parts, a writhing flower of unparalleled beauty began to bloom into full view. It stood several feet taller than the wide eyed young woman and smelled of damp and sugar, the cloying scent momentarily flooding the surroundings before the wider fragrance of the garden slowly reclaimed its jurisdiction. It was one of the rarer specimens within the maze, an import that Cressinia thought to be a fitting security measure for the odd girl she called 'daughter'. It took no notice of Lysandra, of course, she was no more than a specter, masked by the veil of her surroundings and probably appeared as unappetizing to the fabled plant as the bitter, metallic droids surrounding it.

"Sweet Syren, sing your song. Let me dance before it's too long." The young woman cooed with a sigh, the words waltzing forth from her mouth as she pivoted on the heels of her feet and scampered up a nearby willow, her silvery silhouette masked by the waterfall of leaves and flowers that were threaded into the gnarled tree's tresses. Closing her eyes, the young woman allowed the garden a moment, a moment to clarify and contain.

Her visitor would be here soon, no doubt and he would have to play along for as long as she deemed fit.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

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It was tempting to simply reach out and snatch the woman up. It would take nothing more than a simple flexing of Mephirium's mental strength; a quiet turn in the tide of the Great Ocean. He could let his influence seep into the garden, twisting the flora form something beautiful into something grotesque. He'd seen it happen dozens of times. A Sith Lord deeply in tune with his own connection to the ethereal could open that connection's influence to the world around him, and the effects were almost impossible to reverse.

Then again, he did find that he rather enjoyed the garden. Though it threatened to suffocate him, its wild nature spoke to the more human side of him. It reminded him of the great forests of Gratos, or the fields in which he had worked on Naboo. Its emerald majesty was a far cry from the utilitarian black that his colleagues preferred. This was as much a break from their constant intrusions into his thought processes as much as it was a way to secure another asset, and so he decided to leave things unmolested.

Where vines parted for the girl, they snagged on his boots. Where thorns gently brushed upon pale skin, they clawed and dug into Mephirium's clothing. The bushes seemed to congeal like a blood clot attempting to prevent a poison from reaching the rest of the body. Mephirium forced them aside with simple gestures of power; the greenery breaking before him as all things were destined to do.

It was only the flower that gave him pause. He felt that he understood its purpose upon looking at it, some form of trapping plant, perhaps, but he did not truly recognize it. Regardless, the ripples of current that the woman had generated in the Great Ocean indicated that was the way he should go. Cautious, Mephirium approached the plant. he'd only started to reach for his weapon when it reached out and drew him into its sickly embrace. The petals collapsed in upon him, and sweet smelling fluid that burned at his fingertips began to flood the passage.

Cursing, Mephirium expelled a small burst of telekinetic force. The bulb exploded open, and he was sent tumbling along the forest floor. He pitched a roll just as the vines drew upward to embrace him as well, and managed to spring himself up to his feet. With a shake of his head, he wiped some of the excess fluid from his coat and spoke.

"Your garden doesn't seem to like me," he turned toward the sing-song voice. "Perhaps we can change that?"

[member="Lysandra"]

 

[Lysandra]

A ragged screech emanated from the pulsating throat of the botanical monstrosity, sending shards of red ribbons dancing about Lysandra’s vision as she watched the little performance unfold. If there was any method to her madness, the young woman, in a momentary lapse of rationality, knew that pitting a stranger against a man eating flower was probably not the wisest of choices. Alas, retrospect was a quality well dismissed by the half Echani and just as quickly as the thought came it vanished into the aether of her mind.

There she was, dainty form masked by the swaying waterfall of leaves that dropped off of the weeping willow’s brow. With her bare feet perilously dangling over the edge of a sloped branch and her eyes closed, the young woman allowed the aural splendour of the battle beneath her flood the darkness of her vision. It was a habit of hers, to simply grant the sounds of her surroundings the attention they deserved and chaotic symphony below was more than enough to quench Lysandra’s chromesthesia. Spurts of red scars lacerated the foreground of her mind, spiralling and sputtering like bursting veins as the muffled grunts of her would-be pursuer joined the odd squeals of the predatory plant she’d so flippantly summoned.

A shrill pop marked the immediate crescendo of the man’s performance, the life blood of Eden’s rabid child spilling onto the rusted corpses of the dead droids that surrounded its den.

“Odd.” The impish woman uttered aloud, wrinkling her nose momentarily.

Wisps of gold and violet sprung forth from the decimated remnants of the syren flower, the shimmering life blood of the carnivorous plant briefly illuminating the surroundings in its sickly sweet viscera. Droids were baptised in the luminescent gore, their ovular husks gleaming with a newfound life that would no doubt dissolve their metallic shells sooner or later. It was a beautiful sight made all the more curious by the seemingly unhurt, if dishevelled, presence of Cyril the stranger.

“Changing the habits of a garden seems a little silly, Mr Cyril.” Lysandra lightly piped back at her thorn prickled visitor.

Tucking the lower half of her dress between her thighs, the snow kissed rabble-rouser reclined backwards until she dangled upside down aloft the gnarled branch, now halfway visible to the odd fellow standing in plant gunk and goo. With her shimmering hair flowing with the tentative tide of the wind and her arms carelessly dangling either side of her, Lysandra looked no more threatening than a squirrel. A sheepish grin was etched onto her porcelain features amd a chuffed little rhythm bounced somewhere in the back of her throat as she peered down at the man. There was no indication that she’d be joining him back on solid earth any time soon.

“You’re not the first person to try and catch me.” The girl simpered coyly, her upper torso swaying back and forth in a playful manner, "Most just give up or get lost." She shrugged, curling her head slightly to get a better look at the man in question.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

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Cyril made a huffing noise that was all too comical given whom he was. Were any of his constituents to see how he was spending his evening...well, few would likely see him as a force to be feared any longer. He set his hands on his hips, and dared the plants to lash out against him once again. Surely they were smart enough to see the fate of the flower and give him distance. Or perhaps they were plants, and plants did not have brains, and Cyril was making a fool of himself once again.

No matter!

"I'm a bit more tenacious than most men," he spoke, his voice both gruff and steady at the same time. He was a sharp contrast to everything the pale woman was. She was bright and melodic; a song upon the edge of his consciousness, and a promise of better things. He was all dark and to the point, lacking all of the carefree characteristics of his counterpart.

"I don't tend to give up. Get lost? Probably, but I always find my way." He continued as he started slowly walking toward the garden's keepers. Eyes of slate and stony gray peered up at her as he drew ever closer, his brow furrowing at an unspoken question. He stopped just when he felt that if he stepped any further, she would flee, and spoke.

"What happened to the others who became lost?"

[member="Lysandra"]

 

[Lysandra]

For a moment, Lysandra felt something tickle the eye of the maelstrom in her mind. It was a nagging voice that nudged out the great opera dictating the cavalcade of whispers that echoed in her mental labyrinth. It spoke in colour and aromas, of burning tar and sulfur and deep red and royal purples. Expunged was any semblance of attempting to tear a rational explanation from the voice, for it lingered as long as she gazed upon the man that stood triumphant over her rather lackluster attempt at entertainment. Discerning the meaning behind the sensory overload was something the young woman had grown to accept during her time in Eden, and the odd sensation paired with how different it was from any other thought given to her left the pale skinned troublemaker in a moment of pensive silence.

Beware.

A single word, one she tore from the clouded depths of Eden's throat and held in her mind's eye. Was she meant to exercise caution? The thought alone planted the seed of a smile that only grew larger the more the young woman dwelt on it. What was wariness but fear draped in over sized armour? She was the heart of the garden, or so her mother meticulously hammered into her mind, and Lysandra's instinctive lack of caution coupled with her complete faith in the botanical bodyguard saving her skin allowed for a swift dismissal of Eden's warning.

"So like a prince you gallop into my garden in the hopes of winning my affection?" The young woman simpered teasingly, effortlessly swinging downwards before latching onto another branch and embracing it's girth with her body, chin resting in the palms of her hands as her feet coiled around the trunk of the tree. By now she was fully visible to her would-be suitor, all white and silver and smelling like honey and fireflowers, platinum hair a tangled mess of leaves and feathers. She was the spirit of freedom manifested on to the material plane, a skinny little girl-thing with a grin on her lips and a twinkle in her wintry eyes.

"They let their hubris take them, Mr Cyril." Lysandra murmured, cocking her head and motioning towards a pleasantly arranged pile of bones adorned with a crown of flowers not too far from where the man desecrated the Syren flower. It was a memorial, if anything...a garish burial for a stranger who thought Eden benevolent enough to snatch Lysandra away in the dead of the night. Alas, where he thought to plant his seed in the girl's belly became a little switcheroo with the great garden pollinating his loins and flesh instead. "Some where bamboozled, bombarded, buried in berries, burnt by a burner bush, beaten by buttercups, beheaded by bluebells and broken by bramble groves...", Lysandra meticulously listed off the top of her head, a finger extending for every manner of torment experienced by the unfortunate fellows who deemed Eden a conquest. There was no malice in her voice, no gleeful sadism at the boggling deaths that occurred, just a sing song voice that memorized the ill-fated circumstances that occurred.

She paused, furrowing her brow momentarily before finally reclaiming her gaze upon the syren splattered stranger.

"Some just accept defeat and go home. No shame in that." She sighed, a sympathetic smile painting her pink lips as she felt the garden prodding her mind once more. It still reeked of worry. "Have you come to take me, Mr Cyril?" Lysandra mused incredulously, one eyebrow raised as the great willow slowly heaved back like a cautious beast defending its young.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

The cadavers stared up at Cyril, and their silence spoke of more than words ever could. He watched them through wary eyes, his brow furrowing as he assessed the situation. The garden was as deadly as it was beautiful, apparently. Were he to remain, it could prove to be quite likely that he may join the corpses. Then again, his reasoning for coming to this place were more pure than that of his predecessors. Whereas they had come to claim the garden's jewel as some form of conquest, Cyril had come out of curiosity. He wished to see what lay within the garden, and now he had.

"I would not call myself a prince," he replied, his fingers trailing across the tall fronds of the plants on either side of him. The foliage did not recoil at his touch as it had before; perhaps it was aware of the damage he might cause. It was possible that the garden's flora understood the fate of the great flowers, and knew that such a malevolent end could befall any of them at any given time. If the garden so desired, it could overpower him, but there was no guarantee that the great patch of green would survive the battle. His cybernetic fingers whirred as they twirled long stalks between them, and his free hand gestured up at the pale mistress.

"I have never been one for hubris." Slowly, he strolled ever closer. There was no hostility to his gait, though it was not passive either. Cyril could command the Great Ocean with a simple thought, and he would fear no garden. The power to burn this place to naught but cinder thrummed at his fingertips, but unlike most, he knew restraint. This was not his realm, and he had no right to decide its fate. "Nor am I one to be bamboozled." He laughed, mimicking her accent with a twist of his words.

"I did not come for you, no." He stopped just a few paces away. Arms folded over his chest and eyes fell to the woman. He smiled. "I came to see your garden. Your being here was not known to me."

[member="Lysandra"]

 

[Lysandra]

There was a momentary shift in the tectonic force of the garden, a silent and gradual quiver that rumbled beneath the sea of trees and flowers. Spores danced amidst the auburn streams of sunlight, manic in their routine as a unanimous cacophony of feathered wings beat against tepid air that pervaded the emerald maze. It was as if Eden were exhaling, relinquishing the hold of a tempered sigh that threatened to reawaken more of the perpetually subdued flora. If the garden were a conscious entity, it was tip toeing along the precipice of simple euphoria and unbridled wrath. It was all colour and chaos, sweet smells soaked in blood. Life itself coiled through the moss and wood of the forsaken tourist attraction, throbbing like a slumbering beast that governed every twig, sprig and spiderweb that filled the unseen nooks and crannies that filled Lysandra's home.

The mere presence of the strange visitor was more than enough for Eden to react the way it did. Even when the pale faced waif neglected to keep her guard up, the land that embraced her made sure it's 'heart' remained untouched.

The impish girl, now completely focused on the modestly clothed stranger, felt her attention sway from his proud stature, to his unwavering gaze and then to his rich voice that stroked the forefront of her mind. It was a familiar accent, peppered with a dull twang that fled the grasp of his throat. Deep reds, like the colour of the crimson tide in Esshan, slithered past the girl's peripheries as the sound of his voice met the lens of her mind. Laughter, gravelly and deep, rebounded through the forest air and painted a momentary splattering of purple and scarlet. Odd was his affectation but riveting was his tone, a man of confidence and well...a man who did not fall to the first embrace of the overprotective greenery. Lysandra found the entirety of his being as curious as she would a blue bee and she did not stifle the amused simper that curled its way on to her peachy lips.

"A man who would come to see my garden would simply settle for the garden." Lysandra mused, cocking her head as she gazed down at the stranger named Cyril like a wintry cat inspecting a rump rodent. "I would not think a floral enthusiast would go out of his way to chase me through all of that." She noted, blinking upwards at the beaten trail he'd left behind in his mad dash to find her. It was a rather garish sight, one that granted the girl a small and guilty smirk. With a sigh, the half echani momentarily pouted into the air before letting her body go lax and flipping upside down once more, her dangling figure now face to face with the suspicious.

With her legs locked around the branch and her arms crossed over her chest, the waifish garden dweller found herself momentarily granting the man named Cyril a discerning once-over. Even upside down he was a rather funny fellow to behold, with his body still draped in the flower's battered corpse. "The ladies must like you, Mr. Cyril." She teased with a feathery laugh, her form lightly swaying back and forth as her eyes darted downwards to his waist near his jacket's pocket.

"A bulge." Lysandra blankly noted, a slender finger jabbing the vicinity of whatever it was that caught her gaze. Almost unanimously, the flora in the surrounding area drew invisible eyes onto the man's form.

For the direction of a possible erection must be met with botanical objection.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

The sound of avians chirping made Cyril look up toward the skies. The garden's flora had grown strong and tall in its time left untended; it had been forged to protect the little sprite that called it home. With a lofted brow, Cyril took his surroundings in. He'd observed it in the Great Ocean plenty -- scanning for anything that might due him harm more or less required that, but now he looked upon it with his eyes. It was perfect and pure, yet also savage. Beneath its thin veneer of untamed beauty was the promise of an untimely and uncomfortable death, be it in the jaws of some carnivorous flowers, or in the strangling embrace of a gathering of vines.

He had been careful up until this point, and the thin sheen of plant-gore coating his body was testament to that, but he had not yet taken it all in, per se. He found that he rather appreciated the place, even if it was doing everything in its power to see him dead. He only needed to prove to the garden, in its primordial sentience, that he meant the young women it kept safe no harm.

No direct harm, anyway

"I was curious as to why the in was trying to see me murdered," he spoke, and it was not a total lie. "Giant plants attempting to eat you is not exactly a common occurrence. I'm surprised they don't do the same to you."

With the finesse of a politician, he dodged her question. His weapons were his words and the charismatic smile he wore; a smile that promised friendliness and plain curiosity. Neither were faux things.

"Why is that?" He asked, his words halting as she asked her question. His eyes traveled down to his belly, and a chuckle fell from his lips. No point hiding the weapon, then.

"You'll have to buy me a few drinks before that," he snickered, drawing forth the object in question. The metallic hilt gleamed in the light, utterly unaffected by the chaos Cyril had run through.

"This is my lightsaber."


[member="Lysandra"]