The Wicked and The Blind

[Chevu Visz]

Location: Lower City, Taris
Theme: The Wicked and The Blind

Lawless outcasts searching for their synthetic promised land. Criminals and thieves who bought freedom for the price of despair. Oily grifters. Bony-elbowed whores. Grinning organleggers. Hopelessly addicted glit-biters. The worst scum of the galaxy coated every inch of the Lower City like toxic stardust, a patina of degradation over every slab of duracrete. Humanity itself was a fugitive here. What else was to be expected from a planet with a moon called Rogue?

It was in this underground hellscape that Chevu Visz attempted to provide a small measure of creature comforts to those who were generally devoid of it. The youngest Jedi Marshall of the New Jedi Order of Sullust was camped in the streets of the Tarisian Undercity, surrounded by a forest of homeless and hungry, outlined in flickering neon. Her green fingers distributed rations, put credits in torn duster pockets, and covered the shivering with blankets, all amid the scent of roasting Jerbwat kebobs and unnameable bodily odors. It wasn’t a noble mission for the young Mirialan Jedi Knight. For as many people as she could help, she was acutely aware that there were thousands more suffering. This mission’s failure was inevitable, and it pained her. Doing good did not make Chevu feel any better. About anything.

The sensitive and shy Mirialan could almost hear the cynics crowing about all those “bleeding-hearted” Jedi. Perhaps, if she did not have Master Oomomo to thank for rescuing her from slavery, she would have joined in the chorus of naysayers. But things were different now, and some wrongs needed to be righted. Endless talking was for the senators of the Republic. Like all those brought together by the Galactic Alliance, Chevu was determined to act. She would not let the downtrodden be a footnote of their own planet.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

The first truth a child must cultivate is the notion that in the understanding of ethos, there lies a difference between good and evil. But in the deception of it, one must understand that evil lies within all of us. In fact, the only thing truly worthy of distrust is the man who claims goodness in his heart, despite his nature. He is the the thing most deserved of wary.​

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​The click clack of the metal cart hobbled across uneven cobble, the rusted wheels sprayed with a recent dusting of prevention. Gabriel, alchemized in a wholly different appearance and sound, pushed the cart with a certain fervor. For the longest time, he had always found favor in the vending of skewered meats, particularly lacking of cinnamon. He had always cautioned against it but in his faux recollection of the one named Dave, one thing was true. There was a potent taste to it, something unforgettable. Some would question why this man, entirely masking his presence, would come upon these people in Taris. The answer was simple, suffering.

Kneeling down, clicking the brakes of the cart on the slope of the paved path, he leaned down and faced a pauper. "What ails you my friend..." He smiled, a candid yet false expression. His deception lied in the appearance of sincerity, soaking in the pain of these people. It was palpable, wafting in the air, and he could sup on it for days. The old man, far beyond the age of his prime, trembled at the semblance of kindness. "I am starving..." Yes, you are. All but a single hand in the grave, to continue this pain would be cruel and the mind jumped at the long con. Retreating back to his vessel of wares, Gabriel pulled a couple of skewered meats from the metal of the interior. The opening of the warming chamber released smells of chutney and spices, lazily clinging to the stench of this world. The aroma was nauseating and appeasing simultaneously. Wrapping a napking around the two, Gabriel leaned back and down and placed the food in the man's hand, placing the other hand upon the greasy matted hair on his crown.

"Worry not, there are those who care..." The old man smiled, the decay staved off for this time to only linger longer. Gabriel returned the smile as he kicked the brakes off and proceeded down the street. There was nothing quite like the revitalization of hope, only to know that it would falter once more. One might as well give a blind man sight just to yank his eyes right back out. The thought warmed the Wrath as he approached a woman and child, wrapped in blue stained cloth.

"Tell me...what ails you?" He leaned down, a bottle of water in hand. The child was quiet, far too quiet for such a new born. It was then that he realized no breath escaped it, perished. He ticked, blue eyes staring into the woman, face coated in dirt and trails of dried tears. Gabriel puffed out his lower chin, saddened not by the loss of life, but by the missed opportunity. Life was fleeting, but pain and existence, they lingered as a gift. And this one was never given the chance to appreciate it, taken early by famine and negligence. He placed his hand upon the child's forehead but focused on the woman's broken heart, the inability to let go, and found warmth in it. "Such a beautiful child...may I hold her?" He said with a reflected smile, showing teeth of white.

He wasn't crazy, he knew this child was dead. But this woman was in limbo, frozen in time for her loss. He could do nothing with her so in turn, she handed the baby over and broke down. Banks overflowing, surpassing any historical flood.

"I'm sorry..." Gabriel said. "She must be cared for..."

Gabriel turned, only to find a young Mirialan performing the same tasks that he was now completing. But there, the morsels of pain were overwhelmed by the beacons of hope and love and care that sprouted out from her. It was nearly blinding and nearly inescapable. Gabriel walked forward, child in hand and body shrouded cloths of brown and green. With cowl over his head, he made no attempt to hide his visage. Only his presence, one entirely composed of good will.

"Excuse me..." He said as he walked. "Can you help us..." He turned his head back to the woman. Her tears could flood the ally, he wails as silent as the still night.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

The air was redolent with the scent of a meat cart, its entrails stirring the whole sector’s collective hunger. The teeming crowd paled away, revealing the owner, a blue-eyed man with a long, wiry beard. He had a newborn of an indeterminate species cradled in his rough, calloused hands. A woman sobbed somewhere, her wail threaded with an animal anguish. Chevu studied the man with a blank expression, then lowered her gaze to the child. The blueish grey tint of its skin told her it was dead. She raised her dark brown eyes to his, searching them for signs of lucidity.

He’s obviously mad, Chevu. What sane person walks around with a dead baby in his arms? The Mirialan Jedi blinked, a deep rut forming on her green-skinned brow. She wondered, what chimera did this infant represent for the lost wanderer? A compassionate expression came, but one that held the barest trace of suspicion. Finally, after a long pause, Chevu answered the cowled stranger.

“What can I help you with?” she asked him plainly, keeping her voice as devoid of emotion as possible. She didn’t dare pity the ones who came to this forsaken place. They did not deserve tongue-clucking condescension of those more fortunate. It was tantamount to treating them like dogs. Her eyes darted back and forth, from his face to the tiny cadaver in his arms, behind him, the sprawling tapestry of desolation.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

"The mother requires attention..." He found himself somewhere between a respectful smile and a gleeful frown, searching this woman for an ounce of humanity. He felt it, deep beneath her green skin. There was care there, and a mindfulness about her that blurred the line between keeping appearances and what was right. "The child..." He said as he looked down at her, body limp within the cloth. Strands of blond hair, fresh to bloom, were wilting against her forehead. Her skin smooth and still supple, death not far behind, he moved the hair back with his rough hands. The life of a vendor, or the illusion of it, gave him the body of a smith and the hands of a field worker. But beneath his wildly kept beard and braided brown hair, compassion was evident.

A lie, one told by his aura and persona, a thing constantly manipulated. He placed his fingers against her cheek and rocked her, a sad expression obvious. "She deserves a burial, far from this place..." He spoke through clenched teeth as he looked up to the Mirialan. Appearance of the early forties, he was a man who lingered long into his prime, unwilling to let go. But he smiled out of the corner of his mouth, if but for a moment, before his visage turned to one of pleading. An actor to the very end, her confusion and bemusement was something he would cling to. "I am new here. Do you know who I could contact..." He looked back down at the child, blue eyes fiercely defiant to the status quo. "I will pay, of course."

He showed his teeth as he continued to look at the girl, a prominent mid vein upon his forehead. Life was a brutal work of art, one that tore upon his feigned gestures. "She deserved a life. But now...she deserves our compassion." He looked back up to the girl, titling his head. "Will you help us?" It was no longer a question of if she could. It was merely a question of if she would.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

Chevu’s green lips tightened with worry. What to do when compassion was stronger than caution? What would Coren do if he were in her shoes? Starchaser was focused and no-nonsense, but he was not a callous man. He would help the braided stranger in his time of need, and so should she. The Mirialan tucked a strand of pin-straight hair behind her ear and nodded vehemently at the mourning father. Her hands were already working to hand out the rest of the relief supplies, bland rations, bacta patches, and gently-used clothing. In a matter of minutes, everything was gone and the crowd had begun to thin.

“Of course,” said Chevu, wiping her hands together to clear them of the grey, polluted dust that had settled on her smooth, young skin. With a quick glance at the still infant, she added, “I will help you find a proper burial place for your child if that’s what you seek.” A green hand lay gently on the rough-hewn fabric of the man's sleeve, and the corner of her mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles.

“You shouldn’t have to grieve alone.”

She slid the other hand into her pocket and retrieved a datapad, on which she lightly tapped, searching for a location. Once it was found, Chevu quickly memorized the coordinates, and stowed the device once again. She jerked her head, indicating that they would soon be on the move.

“There is a funeral home in this Sector that’s not too far from here. Does your daughter require any special burial services?”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

The blue eyed man, flecks of piercing ice, smiled at the display of kindness. The shift from suspicion to care was one that he celebrated and feasted upon, silently and without hint of intent, as the smallest of victories. The removal of one brick lay the path towards toppling the wall. "You are too kind..." He said, in almost a hush, as he looked down to the child once more. Wincing emphatically, he gave the woman another long gaze.

"I am not her father..." He almost slipped over his words. "Truthfully, I do not even know her name. But her mother, racked with pain and grief, was unable to give anything to me but this gift." He frowned but for a moment, searching the child for some sort of hint. He smiled. "She may have not been given a name, taken so early. But she looks like a Sarah." He rocked the child melodically, hushing the memory of cries, that piercing sound that would have driven him to snuff out this flame by his own hand. The Wrath had no time for whining, infants the embodiment of such weakness and misery.

"No child should be buried without a name...That is the only requirement. She be laid to rest with a name." He said as she started to lead him towards the burial location. He left the metal cart behind, locked for now but free for people to take. He had many more. "I'm sorry, I did not catch your name. I am Gabriel. I am new here, you are the first kind face I have seen." That wasn't necessarily true. But he wasn't one to elaborate on stories of murder and torture, not so early in the relationship.

[member="Chevu Visz"]

 

[Chevu Visz]

It was not often that one encountered such a kind soul, especially in the teeming Tarisian Undercity. The man was not even the child’s father, but yet he took a vested interest in making sure that the tiny creature was laid to rest with a modicum of dignity. The bearded stranger’s beneficence touched Chevu deeply. How many would have simply walked on by, leaving the mother to wallow in her grief? He even named the girl Sarah. The man’s kindness sank its hooks into her heart and tugged at the fragile muscle like a fresh catch.

“My name is Chevu,” she told the told the man when he shared his name with her. Coren had advised her to keep a low profile as a Jedi Knight. The revelation may unduly mark her on a planet like Taris.

“Let’s walk,” she suggested, her leather boots picking up the pace. She had more supplies to deliver before night time descended on the Lower City and the streets became markedly more hazardous for a lone young woman, even if she was a Force adept.

Chevu paused and turned to look at Gabriel over her shoulder. A deep worry line creased her brow. She suddenly looked incredibly young and fragile, an alien girl just barely out of her teens.

“Should we bring the mother?”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

"Chevu?" He smiled as he walked. "That's a very pretty name..." He stated as a matter of fact, as if the notion likely had already occurred to the Mirialan. He nodded in agreement as they began to walk once more. Despite his appearance as a pacifist, Gabriel was a veteran of war and combat. A prominent aspect of his position within the One Sith, this excursion into the more subtle nuances of darkness and manipulation merely an attempt to entertain himself. Even in this place, Chevu was undoubtedly as safe as she had ever been in her life, if not more so. Even so, he was ever wary of the risk such underground places held.

With the mention of the mother, Gabriel responded with a furrowed brow and a moment of silence. Now that he was speaking with Chevu, he had no interest in that other womans suffering. She was dead weight, as selfish and irresponsible as she was, she meant nothing to the Wrath. Merely a weakling and a pauper, suffering in the streets and helpless to her own deeds. She was the very reason he desired such fiery change in the universe, a destruction to that genetically passed compliance and willingness to lay down, accepting the fate one is given. And in this specific case, she was a distraction at best.

"I looked in her eyes...the mother's." He spoke quietly, looking towards the brick wall to his right as he walked. "She was racked with pain and numbness, overwhelmed with the child's fate. But her interest lie with the girl's spirit alone..." He moved a strand hair from the girl's face, calloused fingers cleaning some of the debris from the near porcelain forehead. "My interest lies in the spirit and the flesh, the two are intertwined." He looked up from the girl, to Chevu. "The child deserves rest and peace, absent melancholy. Tears will serve her no good now."

He paused, contemplating their path. "We will help the mother, once care has been provided for the daughter." There was no uncertainty in his words or tone, the priority of the daughter clear but the inevitably of helping the mother just as apparent.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

The Mirialan’s ink-black hair fell forward as she nodded in agreement. Sometimes forced comfort was the absolute worst kind of comfort. Gabriel was right. They should go back for the mother and help her on her own terms. She didn’t know why, but she trusted Gabriel’s judgement. Perhaps it was a gut instinct, or perhaps the way he cradled the child so lovingly. The stranger almost reminded her of a younger version of her kindly Master back on in the Pirin Temple, a man who was currently wasting from some rare Sullustan affliction. She beat back tears. He would get better. He had to get better.

There was a soft pinging from the pocket of Chevu’s leather jacket. She stopped and turned, studying the row of unmarked durasteel structures, a finger to her lips. They were standing right in front of the funeral home, although the building were so faceless, it would have been impossible to distinguish it as such. Death was ubiquitous enough that the business need not advertise.

The funeral home was a dark, discomforting place staffed by a lone Bothan in an undertaker’s uniform. He took one look at the small bundle in Gabriel’s arms and trundled off to find an appropriately sized coffin. Chevu turned and smiled awkwardly at Gabriel, averting her eyes from the child. The interior of the funeral home suddenly felt incredibly oppressive, and she had to steady herself against a nearby display coffin to stop the room from swimming. She was consumed with the overwhelming urge to simply get this over with. Perhaps some small talk would help.

“What is it that you do on Taris, Gabriel?”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

Blue eyes looked lazily across the threshold as he followed Chevu. The small bothan took the request on instinct, heading to the back of the metallic room and out of sight. The room was well lit but ominously dark, smelling of floral arrangements, bleach, and formaldehyde. Gabriel dropped his cowl, the revelation of his full face with beard and braided brown hair, long across the crown and top and cut short on the sides. He had the appearance of a wanderer, well anointed in the sins of this universe, but searching for a way to change it. At her question, he smiled.

"The same thing I do on every planet I come to..." The bothan exited the back room with a small wooden coffin. Gabriel winced and looked at the small figure of an undertaker. "Find a better one..." The small man nodded and walked back into the back room. The larger man turned to the Mirialan, insulted by what he was just shown. "I try and help people. As best as I can." The click clack of the undertakers shoes heralded a much more appropriate gesture, one composed of lacquered cherry wood and golden rails. The Wrath smiled, an expression he flashed to Chevu for a moment, before approaching the casket. Like something breakable and fragile, Gabriel slowly placed the child within the box, straightening her hair and clothing as he eyed the bothan. The man was preparing documents of transfer and requests for burial.

Gabriel turned and approached Chevu. "The effects of the war have spread further than anyone could have predicted. I merely try to offset that hurt as much as possible, where I can...through gracious acts." He said, inclination to place a caressing hand on her arm. A touch of humanity, reciprocated from moments prior, he squeezed gently and smiled. "Why don't you go outside? I will finish up the paperwork and I will meet you outside." He could sense her uneasiness in this place and thrived on it. But even beyond that, his interpretation of humanity would win out beyond the temporary pleasure provided by her discomfort. He nodded reassuringly. "It will only take a moment...I promise."

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

The more Chevu watched Gabriel the more powerfully drawn to him she was. How gracious and well-spoken, he was. He would make an excellent leader. She met his grey-blue gaze with her own, searching it, and nearly losing herself in the almost paternal promises it made.

“Blast this relentless war,” she said, a frustrated tic dancing along her jaw. “The Sith have left their impact on the galaxy in ways that go beyond the individual worlds they have conquered. Refugees flood planets like this and it creates a crisis of galactic proportions. People get exploited. Persecuted. Sold into slavery.” Her eyes darkened at the mention. Just a year ago, Chevu was bought by Blerga the Hutt, for whom she served, until she was rescued by Master Oomomo. It wasn’t a time she could stomach dwelling on for more than a nanosecond. The Mirialan glanced down at the knobby hand where it squeezed her arm, and gave Gabriel a solemn smile.

When Gabriel suggested she go outside, she nodded. She assumed he had the means to pay for the casket so she didn’t offer. She touched the wall panel gently and the door hissed open, warm, pungent city air rushing in.

Standing outside, Chevu toyed with the idea of inviting Gabriel to come to Sullust and join the Galactic Alliance. Perhaps he would be interested in helping to step up their humanitarian efforts. He was certainly charismatic enough to rally people. Perhaps they could build a place to house and feed asylum-seekers. As plans turned over in her mind, a filmy-eyed Rodian busker shuffled up to her and began to play a mournful tune on a Swuvehorn. When his song was finished she tossed him a few credits. The musician bowed and moved on to the next bystander.

Perhaps she should check in with [member="Coren Starchaser"], and let him know her whereabouts. Chevu procured her Datapad once again and tapped her fingers on the surface, beginning to type a message. Starchaser would probably worry if he didn’t hear from her before the evening fell.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

That downtrodden stare, the look in the eyes that indicated scars freshly formed from recent hurt. He frowned at the implications, though inwardly smiled at the chip of information. With the gift of intuition, the slightest influx of perception, he could understand the pain of her slavery with his own experiences. Long before she was born, he was a man in a cage that was whipped into fighting and killing and learning to relish the spray of blood in dusty arena. The echo of claps, thunderous applause, he nearly closed his eyes as he recalled it. Standing over 6'2" in this form, he was a muscular figure with an unending semblance of kindness, hidden behind deep oceans of blue. And he used that, watching her quietly as she left through the entrance they shared. As she did, he turned back to the bothan.

"12,000 credits..." The furry creature spoke hoarsely.

Gabriel smiled, not phased by it. This was a deception, one worth well over the 12,000 it would cost to send this child on her way. As he handed over the money, he filled out the information he could and left with a smile. The Bothan would likely bury her in a mass grave, or perhaps cremate her. And if Gabriel was made aware of that, on his own, he would smile at the capitalism and how it reminded him of the Coruscant Rotary Club. But if Chevu knew, the pacifist would turn towards reckoning and intent to arrest. But for now, he would merely come back out into dusk and humid air, outside of the Funeral Home. The door hissed shut behind him as he spotted Chevu, with a smile. She was messing with her datapad, an action that Gabriel would interrupt with a simple emergence.

"Thank you for guiding me here. I would have been hopelessly lost without your guidance, I am forever in your debt." He looked towards the skyline, the drift of the sun low upon the horizon. "Are you hungry, Chevu? I'd love to share a dinner with you." He paused, pushing his chin out slightly. This persona had much in common with the young woman, an anger towards this war feigned early on for the very effect. He sensed strife in her, the sort that was focused on the Sith. A target most deserving, an aim they had earned and sought. Once the strong were gone from this universe, the weak were that much easier to manipulate. And despite her youth, he sensed strength beneath green skin and onyx eyes. The type he would normally seek. He looked down towards her. "It will be dark soon. Will you do me the favor and accept my offer..." He smiled and placed his hand over his chest. "Put my heart at ease?" His concern for her well being was painted emphatically across his face.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

The hiss of the door gave Chevu a start. She hastily shut off her Datapad, message to Coren half-written. Shoving the device in her pocket, she smiled at Gabriel.

“Thank me?” she laughed. “I should be thanking you. The people in this sector have to fight for every last scrap of dignity.” Brown eyes flashed towards the funeral home. “In life and in death.”

Dinner. It was an unorthodox request. However, just as Gabriel suggested it, pangs of hunger began to gnaw uncomfortably at her stomach. In the cracks between the buildings, the sky was bloodshot pink with dusk; it would be smart to get off the streets. Plus, while she was writing Coren’s message, she received an alert that the second shipment of supplies was delayed on route to Taris. There was no need to rush. Over dinner, she could broach the subject of the Galactic Alliance with this gentle stranger. These simple things she rationalized in a fateful instance.

“I could go for a bite,” Chevu agreed, and swivelled her head around, studying the unfamiliar surroundings and realizing that she had no idea where they should go. unless they wanted meats on a stick. She shrugged and gave Gabriel a trusting grin.

“Take me anywhere you like. I’m in your capable hands.”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

"Their fight, their struggle...They are stronger than anyone can imagine." He said with a smile, happy to hear that she would accompany him. At this point, he had devoted time and money and resources to this query, he found himself slowly developing an attachment. Whether that was sincere or because of his original intent, it was hard to decipher. He wasn't one to deeply interpret his own emotions, merely be driven by them and honed into what he was. A monster. One that drew no line between obsession and care.

With a nod and arm for her to hold or be guided by, he would lead her to the next destination. Having fully committed to the act of vendor, he had bought the meat local from the markets. The smell of roasting meat, hanging fish and freshly dredged shellfish, all would come into sense as they entered the commerce district. He had spotted a seafood establishment, one that seemed a step above the rest. On their way, they spotted a pauper missing a leg and equipped with an empty hat. Gabriel approached and place a thousand credits into the hat and pressed his hand against the mans shoulder. "It wont always be so hard..." The old man, nearly toothless, grinned teary eyed, as Gabriel nodded to him re-assuredly and approached Chevu, as they began once more towards the entrance.

Pushing the glass door open for the Mirialan, Gabriel walked in and lowered his cowl as he approached the greeter.

"Just the two?"
"Yes, please."

The human scrambled through the menus.

"Do you prefer table or booth?"
"Either..."
"Very well, please follow me."

Gabriel motioned for his new friend to lead, a gesture of a hand forward. The restaurant wasn't anything special, in terms of looks, but it was obvious that it was a local favorite. While the front was well lit, the interior was darkened for mood and build of polished stone stocked on top of each other. A fire place clung to the back of the large room, emitting much needed heat and ambient light. Each table had its own dancing flame, licking at glass on top of driftwood appearing tables. With urban sprawl and oceans, they did the best they could. The capitalist in the Wrath couldn't help but appreciate the decor, a closeted snob.

"Your waiter will be with you momentarily..." With the set of the menus, the man was gone and the two were free to sit as they pleased. Gabriel searched the room with a pause, blue eyes nearly luminous in this darkened place.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

With only an inkling of hesitation, the Mirialan hooked her arm around his as they began to walk. Chevu’s parents died when she was five, and she’d been raised by the matrons of the family who took her in. When was old enough, she would be a servant, a handmaiden to a budding senator. While she was treated with respect, it was always obvious to her that she was an outsider in their family. Walking arm and arm with him, the young woman felt...protected? Perhaps even cherished? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it felt nice. When Gabriel stopped to help an amputee, Chevu blinked fiercely. That was an awful lot of credits. What did Gabriel do that he could afford to give out that much money to one beggar? Perhaps he was simply a rich businessman with a heart of gold. He didn’t look or dress much like a businessman though.

Chevu was broken from her reverie once they reached the restaurant. The smell of meats and fish broiling on stove, set her appetite on fire, and the roaring hearth warmed her skin. The Jedi Knight sat across from Gabriel in their booth, and nervously turned the menu over a few times.

“Nice place,” she said, a shy smile on her lips. A self-effacing head shake came. The place seemed a touch out of her own price range, especially on the Alliance’s shoestring budget. "You really didn't have to do this."

Leaning across the table, familiar and unguarded, Chevu locked eyes with Gabriel.

“Gabriel, have you heard of the Galactic Alliance?”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He held up his hand. He had placed his brown robe on the bronze hanger of the booth, revealing just as humble of clothing that he wore out in the Tarisian underworld. "You needn't dwell on it, Chevu. Money is not a concern." He smiled as the waiter offered them water. As Chevu leaned in, speaking about the Galactic Alliance, Gabriel tilted his head. As if hearing a secret, he put his ear as close to her as he could, locking eyes back with her. Pools of black, he leaned back, not breaking eye contact, as he mulled the question over. As the Wrath of the One Sith, he had heard the rumblings of this upstart group. With the faltering ideology of the Republic, stooping to the levels of the One Sith, the universe seemed to call out for a higher caliber of protectors.

He remained unconvinced, but for his persona. This wanderer, he was merely the vendor, descending from the Adasca clan of the Arkania. A hybrid, favoring the traits of the Kiffar, he was independently wealthy as money descended from the mountains of cloning. And his family, they were politicians and scientists, no true need for the amount of money they had. One day, maybe Gabriel would tell that lie to Chevu, not entirely removed from the truth. But that was always the case, even the darkest lies can be built upon foundation of truth. As he considered her question, toasted bread and honey butter was placed on the table, matching plates set across from one another. He looked up to the waiter.
"Thank you."

With a nod, the waiter was gone and Gabriel took the opportunity to take her plate and place it in front of him. Unraveling the towel, he started buttering the bread. "I've heard of the Galactic Republic. I've heard of the One Sith. I've heard of the Primeval and I have relatives who have spoken of numerous remnants popping up at every turn." He gripped her once more with a piercing gaze and a friendly expression. "But the way you just lit up...speaking about this Galactic Alliance." He smiled and placed the buttered bread in front of her. "I would have you tell me more." He didn't need the force to read her, she had something that she believed in. That was more important then anything, made the crushing of hope all the easier.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

Chevu was overcome with that suffocating sensation she had experienced earlier back at the funeral home. A few beads of sweat dappled her forehead. She took off her leather jacket, placing it carefully on the back of her chair. Her simple, military-style black tank top was hardly restaurant attire, but she was boiling all of a sudden, almost feverish. Their waiter brought them a basket of bread, and Chevu took a piece, immediately biting a crescent shape into it, hoping that her malaise was just low blood sugar.

“The Galactic Alliance is an organization of both Jedi and military," she explained. "They're folks who are dedicated to not only fighting the Sith, but also restoring the balance of the Force to the galaxy. We also organize humanitarian efforts, for example here on Taris. I’m here on behalf of the GA.”

She took another bite of bread, chewed carefully, and then spoke, a sign of good breeding. “I mean, let’s face it, Gabriel, no offense if you’re a part of it, but the Republic’s leadership is weak and mired in politics. Why, we even had a Sith visit one of our temples on Sullust, a Sith who told us that he was working with the Republic, and knew their Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.”

Chevu shook her head incredulously, followed by a sharp laugh. “Imagine! Working with the Sith!”

The feeling of unease gripped her again, and she nervously chewed a nail. Did she say too much? Was she being too trusting of the man sitting across from her? She suddenly wanted to bolt from the table, but was frozen in place by Gabriel’s striking blue eyes.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

Gabriel listened intently, his expression one of determination as he met her gestures with a calmed nature. She was nervous, he could sense it and more importantly, he could see it. Chewing on his piece of bread, he licked butter from his bottom lip as he deciphered her words. There was an ache there, a worry that there was so much to tell. And here he stood, a man she had just met, and she was giving away knowledge. The sort of thing that people paid hard credits for and here she was, nearly stumbling over her words.

He smiled in response to it, the idea of her trust was something he accepted as a success. That manipulation, deceit and betrayal before the relationship could even start - these were the things that would pay off.

The waiter approached and Gabriel took Chevu’s menu. Stacking them together, he handed them to the waiter and smiled. “We’ll take the steamer pot and a bottle of your mead.”

“Sir, those are very expensive items given recent market changes…”

Gabriel held up his hand and shook his head. “It doesn’t concern me. Please put our order in. Thank you.”

The waiter nodded nervously and left, Gabriel returned his attention to the woman across from him. “You don’t have to worry about offending me Chevu. I am no citizen of the Republic. I would never follow an organization that condones the outright killing of their enemy, no questions asked. It gives me hope to know that there is an organization that is trying to change things, to move against the status quo. Becoming the enemy, consorting with them, that is not the way of those who are good. It only hurts those caught in the middle.” He paused. “And the fact that you are part of this group...it only strengthens my faith in them. In this Galactic Alliance.” Out of Sullust, very interesting.

He picked up another piece of bread, chewing on it without butter, as he inspected the Mirialan quietly. Putting the piece of bread down, he wiped his hands of the crumbs and leaned forward with his left hand outward, held in front of her. “Can I see your palm, Chevu?” Maybe he wanted to read her, to look into her soul and see what stirred. Or maybe he just wanted to touch her again, to caress that vulnerability.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

The Republic’s “Black Flag” order. As soon as Gabriel said made an obvious reference to it, Chevu was reminded of the Holo-broadcast she watched, showing the Prime Minister standing on her podium, looking into the eyes of the galaxy and condoning murder, with no questions asked. It was a surprisingly hard line approach for the Republic, and it gave the Jedi Knight chills to think that someone would decree such a tyrannical act. Let he who is not without judgement cast the first stone. Did not the Republic’s Jedi Order have in their own ranks a former Sith Lady? What of the ones who could be turned to the Light? Or the wrongly accused?

“Yes, I fear the galaxy has gone mad, Gabriel. Perhaps it is the imbalance of the Dark Side, reaching out to permeate every fiber of space. To create monsters where there were only men. I sincerely hope that the New Jedi Order can restore that imbalance.”

Chevu smiled, her conviction lighting up her face like a fire. The topic of the Galactic Alliance was the kindling that fed all of the flames of her determination.

When Gabriel asked for her hand, the alien girl blanched momentarily, a knee-jerk reaction cultivated by a year of limited social interaction. Slowly, like a skittish animal, she extended a soft green palm for him to hold, her skin warm on his. All the while, she studied his weathered face, her brown eyes shimmering with tiny wisps of candlelight.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

"Don't worry..." He said with that same charm she should have become acquainted with. He took her left hand in his right, the table between them might has well have been as wide as a bench. For the purposes of sharing meals, a style of eating that was preferable in a location like this, the table was perfect. For getting close, it was even better. He looked deep into those brown eyes for a moment, a pause as he rubbed the inside of her palm with his thumb soothingly. After getting lost, he found his way back, baring his top teeth in a half smile, before tracing the lines of her palm.

"Before the Adasca family reclaimed me, I made credits on reading palms..." He lied. But the humble nature of it was something that was easily swallowed, smooth on the way down. The Adasca family was large and prevalent, cousins and family members extending across the surface of Arkania. A black sheep of the family, that was his sell, as the mixed blood of Kiffar and Arkania. It wasn't so far from the truth, an Arkanian father taking out his anger and guilt on a child as he dilutes the blood line with a Kiffar Jedi. A story for another time. "Your right hand is the one you were born with...the left, that is the development of your life."

"Here..." He said as he traced the lines on her palm with his left index finger. "There are four prominent lines: heart, head, life, and fate." He said as he placed his right hand beneath hers, using his left hand to straight the natural inclination to curve the fingers upward. But more importantly, he searched her up and down, reaching into that kind soul that lingered beneath soft green flesh. There were characteristics there, the sort that indicated a vulnerability and strength intermingled. And they were ripe for the taking. Pressing his fingers against her palm, he began to interpret the depth of her soul. "Here, the heart line is short but broken and marked." He looked up to her, from the pale green of her palm, curious. "You have been wounded recently...emotionally and physically." He recalled a darkened expression at the mention of slavery. "But the shortness indicates a wealth of care...you are quick to love. As you should be, there isn't enough in this universe."

He stopped, clenching his jaw, as he began to buy his own illusion. "Here, the head line." He pressed his hand against the center of her palm. "It's slope and length would indicate creativity. You are have an acuity for the fine arts. Cooking included, a woman after my own heart." He stopped and smiled before proceeding. "Your fate and life line are blurred. You have been given a great responsibility. But you don't trust yourself...despite your strength and enthusiasm, you have self doubt." He looked at her hand, playing at her fingers with both hands. "But those around you have full faith in you. I...I think I do too." He spoke quietly, the lick of the flame kissing at the scorched glass as he searched her once more. "I have faith in you."

Was that honesty or a lie. Surprised by his own evaluation, he wasn't sure where the truth began and the deception ended.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​