Worry, shock, concern, the emotions were a usual pattern in the child's upbringing. Ruled by their Chuba of a father, Ginnie'd gotten used to being left behind and shoved around. Now in the thick of a stringent line of coming clean, Ginnie had been so concerned with being valued that she missed her brother's many cues. Isley loved her and he held her with the firm grip of what she'd imagined a good father would be. The near-teen grabbed onto it, basking in the filial affection as if it were the last draught of oxygen on the planet. "You don't want me to turn out like Dad, is that it? You don't want me to rule through fear, or fall in to hurting people? You're scared I'm gonna end up wicked and miserly? I… I can…. I can understand that. Yeah! Roon'll be fun. We'll have a great time. I bet I can use my brain to throw a ball higher than you can throw it with your hands!"
A little hop and a little jump and the fear dissipated. The quality of the force shifted in the room, as if it had waited for the timid grasp of the child to tame it. Allow it a lullaby quality. As her saber came to life, Ginnie watched the spatter of the beam, she felt warm inside with its glow and affirmation. Isley liked it. This was good! Ginnie was worthy of all good things. She'd done well.
"I.. I ah, I got these two scientists to help me get to Barab I for the crystals, and and I closed my eyes and tried to … to figure out how to find the crystals and I heard the wind, just like when the grenade went off and my ears stopped working and Daddy pulled off the door with his crush gaunt and… don't get mad. Promise! Promise you won't get upset. I know you! Promise." The girl mashed her fingers together, pushing them into her chest plate as she danced lightly from foot to foot. Dropping to the ground, Ginnie pulled the box out from under the bed and rustled around.
"Promise." In her hand was a small holoprojector of obvious traditional Echani design. The sworn enemy culture might not have been the blood feud it once had been, but Ginnie remembered enough to intuit Clan Verd might get upset by their young one's discovery. Pressing her lips together, she watched her brother's face - looking for a tell. "I tried to read up on the instruction guides but I still don't read good. But I found this in the Archives, it's from some Royal Collection of Chandaar." Ginnie's thumb flicked the switch and the holoprojector bathed the room in a calm grey-blue glow. The glow wafted and waved like the sun filtering through ocean pools, Ginnie clamoured onto her bed and watched - breath caught - as the waves caught the spirit of the room and bathed it.
Peace reigned within the filtered image, a perfect and complete rendering of pure delight grounded only by the man who brought his hands together through the illumination and the waves shifted to the spectre who had caused it in the first place. @[member="Manu Xextos"]' expression carried the grounded resolution of the born warrior, his white skin and silver hair the call sign of the Echani. Silver eyes opened, peering at the holocamera, which once had captured the sight as he swung down into a meditative position - no, swam. He swam in the air, so graceful and free. Jaw locked, the man portrayed in the crane of his neck and the flex of his fingers the inner demons which he rectified daily, hourly in his swath of peace. A silver-white lightsaber floated up as he placed both hands palm up on his crossed knees. Eyes drifting shut, he craned his head nearly imperceptibly and Ginnie did the same, and the lightsaber deconstructed before their eyes. The pieces floated in a grand mandala, a rich pattern of motion and geometrically spherical design. A moving meditation was the Echani, whose twitch of muscle and movement of tendon and bone spoke to the girl in an express no word could say.
Within his gait Ginnie had discovered pure language, she watched captivated as the lightsaber reconstructed itself before them, lifted and pieced together by the impetus of the Force. As the casing clicked into place, the Echani rose grasping hold and began to move fluidly through an elaborate series of Ataru exercises. "He's telling us a story, Isley. There was this evil guy, and he threatened everything the Man in White loved. See how he's fighting? He's replaying the battle, cleansing it. He's beautiful. I… I didn't know they could talk without their mouths, the Man in White taught me. According to Chandaari, he got frozen in stasis battling the evil man, he sacrificed himself for his family eight hundred years ago. I … I don't know his name. I watched it again and again and again until I got it right. He doesn't have to use words, Isley! I can listen without missing anything."
Precious language, that she could be fluent in the art of motion and better survive in a culture the Mandalorians despised, all due to her fleshly infirmity. The Man in White battled on, committing to inhuman acrobatics and strikes, each binding twitch and movement betraying his adoration for his family, his people, the history of panic, empathy, a medical soldier. Yet, as the projection moved opponents of metal came upon the Man in White. Each strike was the peacefully taken yet viciously lethal strike of the absolved conquerer, the heart of his darkest enemy laid transplanted in his chest, a bitter pill the Force in its wisdom donated to guide and balance. No struggle ensued in his art of precision and death. The Crusading Redeemer, the Protector, the Husband of the Kae.
Ginnie sighed. "I can see exactly what he's talking about and I don't have to read his lips. Have you ever seen anything that pretty?"
@[member="Isley Verd"]
