Thread By Thread

[Loxa Visl]

Time passed. Days, a week ... maybe two? Time was only subjective to a creature that had lived for nearly three quarters of a century. In what days had passed them by she appeared at odd intervals within the archives, making no further contact with the Head Archivist other than short, courteous greetings. Fleeting and quiet as her presence was, Hal would discover -or not- that files of his archives came and went and that every so often new ones would be added.

The latest of which, were he so detail oriented, was that of ancient Byss historical blueprints.

One quiet evening, as the fortress sat under the threat of yet another torrential Byss rain, a familiar shadow descended upon the Archivist who stood hunched over his work.

"Archivissst," the low, husky tamber gently hissed in his ear. Descended upon a drop-line from the arched ceiling of the Archives, Eske hung upside-down just inches behind where the man would stand erect. Platinum white locks of hair hung heavy and dripping with rainwater while four long, spindly white and black-tipped arachnid legs curled downwards, several rolls of parchment tucked away beneath a bundle of black woven silk. Water hung beaded on the guardhairs of her lower body and drizzled down along her upper human form, running a course down her abdomen and between her breasts, dripping over the cusp of her jaw to merge upwards like backward tears along her beady, red eyes.

She did not blink, not even as they ran along the pupils to join at her crown within her hair.

"I require your assistance."

[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

It was if that opening experience had never happened. As if nothing had ever truly happened and it had only been a fleeting dream, or perhaps nightmare, giving Hal cause to doubt his own sanity over the course of the next studious few works.

Almost immediately he had opted to delve into any and all information regarding the Arachenri. Suffice to say, the Archivist found himself on a plane of frustration, as they were a rare species in such an expansive galaxy. There were scraps, there were unreliable first-person accounts but beyond that nothing truly scientific or informative. If he were to learn reliable factual information then it would have to be from the words of an expert, or a member of the species itself.

He was beyond apprehensive to ask her anything further.

Time blurred within study. The consumption of knowledge being the only real personal pursuit that Terrano engaged in at that point. That being said, there was always time for his standard regime. A fit body preceded a sharp mind.

Being quite frankly, an excellent and overly-organised Archivist, he did indeed notice the movement of files, and knew exactly which were absent and obsessively perused those that were added. Of course, they were always categorised so heavily that the ultimate technophobe could find whatever they needed. Needless to say, he had indeed inspected the most recent addition of the blueprints.

The sudden hiss startled Hal so much that he had almost instinctively headbutted the source of the sound with the back of his head. So taken aback was the former-Jedi that when he turned around to face her, his immediate response to seeing a wet Arachenri was a quick snap:

“I do hope that you brought a mop."

It took a few moments for him to actually register what he had said, and a few moments still to collect himself. A large intake of air was taken in through his nose, before billowing out again, his mouth a firm closed line, eyes a swirl of both fear and rage.

“What is it that you require?”

---

[member="Eske"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

"A mop?" eight eyes blinked in delayed unison, a tone of curiosity upon her tongue. The Arachneri stared at the man for a moment longer before tipping her head back to look down upon the floor from her suspended state. Ah, yes, the continued human phodia of water. So strange...but what, she pondered, was a mop?

He persisted and her attention returned, negligent of wonder to the dual hues of his eyes for the lack of ability to see them.

"Your mind," came her response, black-tipped fingers brushing lightly across the man's forehead that lay so conveniently within reach. She could smell the alarm on him, it clung to him like a luring cologne. Forked tongue flickered briefly from behind the hooks of fangs. Eske's arachnid legs unfurled the wet silk covering from a large roll of parchment, picking the silk up with another branching digit before throwing the rolls open to hang on display before the Archivist. It revealed hand-crafted blueprints of underground tramways and passsages that span the breadth of Byss' capital city and beyond.

"I have mapped unknown passages below the grounds of the city over the last month. I wish to digitize my blueprints and add them to the file so we may proceed with the expansion of the Archives."

[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

Nostrils flared in exasperation, she'd never heard of a mop? It wasn't really something that had come up in his investigations, Arachneri and cleaning supplies. To be fair, he had known some humans that had seemingly no concept of cleaning supplies either. Some of the dormitories that Hal had witnessed beggared belief.

Digits came up to softly touch his forehead as she requested the use of his mind, and out of instinct the Archivist reared his head backwards slightly, not so keen to play the physical contact game.

Instead he opted to do what came naturally, which she had so readily provided in the form of something to busy himself with. It was amazing how you could drown emotion out with enough distraction. Although, it wasn't something that always worked, mind you.

Approaching one of the parchments, he deftly held the previously rolled document open with his thumb and engaged in careful analysis. Not that he really needed to analyse it, if all she wanted was for him to digitize the documents. Inspection moved from parchment to the silk that held it. Curiosity still mingling inside his head regarding her species.

How strong was the material? How did it function? Could it restrain a rancor? And how much would be required? Could it hold a man?

Hal didn't exactly want to rip the documents away either, it seemed overly rude for his tastes, even if he did want to turn on his heel and get to work immediately.

“May I have the documents?”

---

[member="Eske"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

"But of course..." plump lips ticked by mirth of the man's reaction to touch, Eske delicately rerolled the parchments before lowering them back into his reach at the tip of her forelimbs. They lingered overhead of the man as he took the rolls and she watched, still suspended upside-down from her drop line, as he moved to assess them further. Confidence in his station as a seasoned Archivist held words of care for her project at bay as a sticky silence took the creature whole.

Observation of his mannerisms keen, the Arachneri's gaze traversed the form of the man hidden beneath layers of robes, the heat expelled by his body alone enough to prove alluring. Without a word she tucked upwards again, movement of giant legs slow, delicate, fluid. Her ghoulish figure followed his progression through the archives as he stepped to an adjoining row of stacks, roving along the ceiling corners with stilted grace. Where he came to a stop the ghostly she-spider hung overhead, lowering her massive frame once more upon a single thread in a slow, controlled descent.

The proverbial drop of blood from the nose, thick and viscous and peculiarly heavy.

Eight eyes watched, unblinking, she hovered over the man and his work, silver hair dangling mere centimeters above his head.

Whoooooo-aaaaaah book lungs softly drawing air.

[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

Thankfully this time there were no unnecessarily close discussions regarding warmth, and he could thus get straight to work in doing what she had asked. So he gathered the rolls of parchment and offered a stiff nod before turning on his heel and marching over to the required console.

Frankly he was glad to have something different to do, although, different was a stretch. Data input was hardly a wild swing away from archiving. In fact, it was actually very much the same. A task was a task, however and if nothing Terrano always took a small sense of pride away in being efficient in completing tasks.

An obnoxiously tidy desk was soon filled with unfurled parchments and Hal got to work.

Unaware of a certain presence, he was also a silent creature in his actions. Digitising her mapping work could have easily been done through easier means and specifically built programs, but as a meticulous man he found that details could be lost, he preferred manual input to automatic, so he could have things exactly how he wanted it. This was his domain, after all.

He remained standing, back occasionally arching over the desk for closer inspections as his neck craned to continuously look up at the console and then back down again. When deep in work the man's mind was mostly kept clear of all other stimuli, seemingly in possession of an impossible focus, it was a far cry from the Archivist that had stood there when they had had their last proper interaction.

The work did not cease, would not cease until it was done. For all of his deep emotional flaws, at least Terrano was a professional when set about on task.

---

[member="Eske"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

Time ticked by, the Arachneri took to the rafters over the heads of those within the archives below. A web was woven - simple, clean, beautiful, glimmering in the pale atmospheric lights. As thread pulled from spinnerets and ticked around the support lines one, by one, by one, by one, she maintained a curious attention on the man as he worked. Diligent little fellow that he was, relentless in the pursuit of knowledge and the expansion thereof.

The faintest of amusement pulled at red lips as she settled over her finished web. Eight dainty legs touched upon the surrounding corners as she settled thorax and abdomen along the sling of thread. She watched, unblinking, as he moved from one station to the next and back again. Transferring information, translating data into shapes and images, referencing measured notations on her parchments below. They had been exact but nothing, of course, would gather the precise data of every tunnel and every underground hall without some form of technology.

It would take years. Decades even to replicate what droids could do in several hours or days.

She intended to see them used but required the Archivist to make it so. Here, within the realm of the One Sith, a spider had no more power than what puppets she could marionette upon her web.

Two lower sets of eyes fell closed for rest with the upper four watched unblinkingly, awaiting the moment whence the work was finished and the next steps could be taken.

[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

Time found itself lost, as it often did when Hal was buried in work.

The problem with the Byss Archives were that it was distinctly much harder to tell what time of day it was. It wasn't exactly a den of light and beauty, all the time in the galaxy could pass and you'd still think that it was the dead of night. Didn't help that activity within the Archives were lacklustre at best, a side effect of constant war.

Nobody here came to tell him to eat, that there was nyo-

Pinching the bridge of his nose Hal could tell that he was fatigued and that it was likely very late in the evening, perhaps even early morning. It had thrown the rest of his daily schedule off course, it wasn't the end of the world however and would be getting remedied after he had slept.

Determined to finish in one shift he worked on, the amount of sleep the man was going to get dwindling to almost nothing.

Why he worked so hard for a woman that had made him so completely uncomfortable was beyond him, well actually, no it wasn't. A good work ethic went beyond personal feelings and Hal Terrano was nothing if not Captain Ethic.

Eventually, at goodness knows what time, he was finished with the task and carefully rolled each parchment back up and placed them next to each other with unnecessary neatness. It was a surprise that the former-Jedi didn't take out a ruler and make sure they were all completely straight while he repeatedly yawned.

Eyelids drooped, sleep called, and as the man made his way out of the Archive there was a small splash. The puddle. Of course she didn't clean it up, the Arachneri didn't even know what a mop was. He sighed, wondering where on Byss the cleaning droids were.

If you want a job done properly…

A quick trip to a supply closet and back again and Terrano was wielding a vibromop (which was a nice touch when he'd only ever used a mop of the non-vibrating variety. Moving in a fatigued manner he mopped the dark tiles, trying not to fall asleep where he stood.

---

[member="Eske"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

"I have a gift for you, dear Archivist."

Yet another visit in the early evening hours of Byss on the rare occaision that the sun had made a showing. Pale horizons stood beyond what transparisteel windows the Archive offered - a bleak sunset, the color of sickly yellow. Fitting, considering the Darkside that permeated the fiber of every living and nonliving thing on this planet.

The Arachneri deposited before [member="Hal Terrano"] several large datacrons, "Salvaged from Anaxessss," the hiss left plump lips with a certain satisfied lilt, "in wake of Master Venefica's ... departure." Eight red eyes watched the Archivist with the same eagerness she might display while waiting for the unwary to fall into her trap. Tck. Tck. Tck. Tck. Tck. Tck. Tck.

Spinnerets clicked softly, punctuating the enthusiasm of her words.

"Hand Carach was most pleased with the mission results."

 

[Hal Terrano]

Time continued to pass, rather uneventfully as the Archivist kept his head down and his studies up, it was often remarkable that he could have been considered a Sith. Outside of the Archives he did not take part in any of their activities, or efforts against their enemies. Likely for the best, he lacked the nature that would have thrived in those areas and would have only been a hindrance.

Botany was the order of the day. Some may have scoffed at such reading materials, but given the practicality of plant-life it was hardly something that Terrano would intentionally ignore.

However, blueblossoms and jade roses suddenly wrenched at old wounds within his head, a very familiar sickness striking cold within his stomach when without fully realising he had thought to himself:

How would these look in the sky garden?

For a few moments after that Hal had sat in silence, eyes trained forward but fixated on absolutely nothing, taking deep deliberate breathes as he took a moment to clear his thoughts, something that was much more difficult to accomplish upon Byss. Distractions worked far better upon such a dark world.

Thankfully, such would be provided.

Snapping out of his small moment with a slight start, Hal peered upwards at the Arachneri with a barely existent eyebrow raised. A gift? From her? That was a prospect somewhere between terrifying and curious for the Archivist.

“Oh!” More of the latter than the former as Terrano actively exclaimed, for once not sounded half-petrified in front of the creature. The affairs of Venefica or Carach were quite beyond his caring, but the contents of the datacron were quite something else.

“Thank you, Eske,” Hal declared only half-stiffly, his ability to show excitement clearly boundless, “this is...quite good,” and also his descriptive language, “and very useful.”

Was he supposed to get her something in return? Perhaps a raincoat with eight sleeves? No. That was ridiculous. The was an awkwardness hanging in the air. Was he supposed to say something else? What would be polite?

“I am glad that you are dry today.”

---

[member="Eske"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

An awkwardness felt only by the human, for it was a human emotion to feel. Arachneri were never awkward - they were precisely as they meant to be. Every single leg, every single eye, consistently placed with purpose, with poise.

Spiders may not trip, but an Arachneri found reason to be practiced in human emotions if only in a physical effort. A smile - perfected in warmth and grace - presented in return for the man's humble thank-you. Eske knew the exact degree of pull upon facial muscles to elicit empathy and connection. Too little seemed fake, too much begetted fear in face of her lethal fangs. This smile showed no teeth and pushed only just-so into the bottoms of her lowest eyes.

"Indeed?" she replied softly, head tilting to the side at the rather strange comment about being dry. Eske pressed her human hands together at her front, lightly trailing blackened claws across ebony palm before gesturing with a graceful switch to the side, "The lull in the rain has made it possible for me to re-enter my tunnels beneath the city," she moved closer, eight beady red eyes switching slowly from the holocrons to the Archivist, "I would be honored to show them to you, Lord Terrano, that you might appraise my efforts."

[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

Of course, what must have seemed like the most awkward compliment of all was naught but genuine. He did appreciate the Arachneri being dry, truly. Bringing in the rain amongst century old parchment, flimsiplast and consoles? Sure, cleaning up was a bother in itself but the potential for damage was something else. Everything was backed up, but it wasn’t the point, even Hal Terrano (despite logic) could appreciate the historical value of original sources.

“Yes.”

Then came her invitation, which was frankly a welcome distraction given the way that his mind had been wandering. Besides, it would be rather satisfying to see just how affairs were progressing in the depths.

“We can do that,” Terrano said with a short nod, before storing the datacrons within his desk, not exactly the most supreme methods of security, but he could take the time to correctly peruse them at a later date. Perhaps he had grown a sense of self-awareness, in another time he might have shunned the woman’s invitation in favour of the datacrons.

He stood, legs feeling slightly stiff from him having been sat stationary for so long. An occupational hazard when one was in a committed relationship with knowledge.

“Lead the way.”

---

[member="Eske"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

"Excellent," replied the arachneri, a chorus of clicks sounding in excitement.

~~~~

Lead the way turned into a journey through the lower levels of Byss, taking routes not oft traveled by the common citizen when speeders were far more convenient. Byss was, after all, a fortress world governed by a militial entity. Despite losing the reigning King and Queen many years ago, the system in place had proven its worth. An elected official, the next in command below the King, had risen splendidly to the occaision. A military commander, naturally, who worked as effectively as the planet itself.

Things on Byss were good, if you were the military sort.

For Eske these events were little more than a passing fantasy tale told to a child before bed. They had as much effect upon her and her life as one might think, which was to say very little at all. Above all, it was not the shift in power that had effected any changes within her activities, it was simply the appearance of the Sith at her literal doorstep.

Now here she was, embarking on a mission alongside the One Sith's Master Archivist. Exciting times indeed, she could hardly control the clicking of her spinnerets.

"Observe," said Eske as they came upon a maintenance shaft leading down deep into the bowels of Byss City, "the entrance is within the underground pipes. In the future I would find it pertinent to construct an official entry point and lift gate, with your blessings of course."

[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

Thoughts drifted in and out through their journey, why was it that the brain seemed to function better when physically moving? Did the act of movement help the flow of thoughts and words? Hal didn’t know, it was all just speculation and needed actual research.

At least it was an opportunity to stretch one’s legs.

“Yes, that would be agreeable,” Hal commented, as he peered down the maintenance shaft. Ease of access made sense in this case (as it did in most cases), a hazardous entrance was hardly ideal, but then it all came down to the reasoning of who this was for.

“What about the rain? Will it be an issue going forward?”

---

[member="Eske"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

"Not once I have completed opening up obstructed tunnels."

Blackened fingertips folded delicately at her front, Eske circumnavigated the broad opening of the access shaft. Foreward legs plucked the massive metal seal off the ground where it presently lay half-over the entrance - an item that often required four full grown men with tools to move. She sat it aside with very little notable effort.

"The access ladder has rusted and decayed halfway down. It is a 140 meter drop. I recommend using my dropline to descend. I can also carry you," eight red eyes visibly prowled the man's physique, "if you prefer."

 

[Hal Terrano]

A small frown, yes, a dilapidated and broken ladder was definitely against any and all safety protocols. Whose protocols, Hal had no idea, the Sith were hardly champions of safety in the work environment. What a ridiculous train of thought. The man had to just say that they were his own protocols, really.

A pale eyebrow was raised at the offer of being carried down. Hal didn’t doubt that Eske wasn’t capable of such, in fact having witnessed her effortlessly move the large metal seal the man knew that it would have been no issue. However he had no wish to be carried down.

“No, that’s fine,” he replied, forehead creasing slightly.

Was it an issue of masculinity, feeling as though he was being carried like a helpless babe? Or was it intimacy, being held close by a woman that looked at him as if he were a delicious morsel.

“The dropline will suffice, thank you.”

---

[member="Eske"]