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| - Lounge/Observation Deck -- NRSD Defiant This is one of many recreation lounges on this topmost level of the Defiant's superstructure. Viewports line the front and both sides of the massive room on two levels. Blastdoors to the aft lead to similiar lounge areas for crewmembers and enlisted personnel. Carpetted stairwells lead up to the upper tier of the lounge where the lighting is good and the noise level is normal. Those wishing a more quite reprieve can find it by going down a few steps to the darker, more secluded booths. Drax: The man before you appears to be a living mixture of both hard and soft. Though well built and muscled, Drax moves and acts in a manner speaking of a gentle soul and good up-bringing. The man's dark brown hair is cropped carefully on top of his head. It is slightly short, hinting at a former military crew cut, and is swept forward and then up, the hairs feathering and forming sharp clusters. A fair amount of color can be seen in his cheeks which is complimented by two bright emerald eyes. Presently, he is wearing a dark blue, tailored-cut dress jacket with a banded collar. The jacket's edge is trimmed with black piping, and is fastened by small glossy black buttons. Adorning each of his shoulder epaulettes is a square gray patch with five blue , indicating his rank to be Brigadier General. Over his right pocket is a subdued gold plate with the name 'D. Rendolen' imprinted on it. Golden wings spread above the pocket indicate Arands to be a pilot in Starfighter Operations. His left chest area is decorated with several different medals and decorations. One is a black orb ringed with silver with one small blood-red pip centered in it - an indication that he has been involved in and survived attacks by a Death Star. Each of the awards must tell a new and different story about the man. Notable are two silver , hanging from royal blue strips of cloth. His dress pants are black and have sharply pressed creases, with a black belt encircling the waist. A glossy black leather holster is affixed to the belt on his right, in cross-draw fashion. The pants cover most of a pair of black dress boots, buffed to glossy shine. Aurejin: A haunting visage of a man, too lithe and narrow to be completely human but absolutely towering at about 195 centimeters. His dark hair is streaked with silver, styled but mostly unkept, curling about his ears and far down his neck. Aurejin is fair-skinned, painfully so, but has a symmetry and composition about his face that is regarded as handsome by most. His face is lightly bruised under one eye and along his jaw bone, which seems so smooth as to raise speculation by the viewer that no hair has ever grown there. Perhaps the most striking feature of this man are his eyes, only plain circles of light gray on each eyeball where a normal person's iris and pupil would be. Contemporary, edgy styling marks Aurejin's dress. A likely tailored but otherwise non-descript white shirt hangs off of his torso, open at the throat to the center of his chest. A solid black thigh-length cape trails from his shoulders, attached at the throat of the man by a thin silver chain. Aurejin wears form-fitting utility trousers, the dark gray material of an all-purpose nature. They are tightened above the knee by leather straps on each side, which support a few leather utility pouches. A metal cylinder is attached to a hook at his belt. A pair of heavy but shined and well-kept black boots complete the ensemble. Kyyel: As you look over this human, the first thing you can tell is that he stands tall, a little bit under two meters in height. His build and movements are that of an athlete, or at least someone who keeps in shape. His head is covered by light brown hair, which is brushed straight back; the ends coming to rest just under the bottom level of his ears. A pair of deep gray eyes look out from his face, staying focused on whatever they are looking at. His face itself holds sharp feature; yet cannot help bring to mind pictures of rogues... as this man's lower face is covered with a good amount of rough-stubble. Kyyel wears what looks to be fairly common spacer clothing; a deep black shirt, which covers his body from neck to wrists. Covering the shirt over each shoulder, and running down his sides to link at his belt lies what looks to be segmented padding or armor of some kind, still allowing freedom of movement while providing some type of protection. His hands are covered by a pair of gloves suitable for piloting or fencing, the inner palms crafted to give support and padding in all the right places. The exterior of the gloves looks to be of the finest of tanned nerf leather, dyed a deep, dark black. Over his legs are a pair of light tan trousers. The pants fit loosely over the human's legs, apparantly giving him full freedom of movement. On his belt rests a holster for a heavy blaster, and on the other side, is an ornate scabbard, obviously for a sword. The scabbard itself is made of black carmteek leather, and over that is laid silver olumite, drawn out in intricate patterns over the leather. On his feet, a pair of worn, but still quite serviceable boots rest. Their coloring is a mix of dark browns and blacks, and seem to allow for the most ease of movement possible. Jessalyn: The expression in Jessalyn's leaf green eyes is one of surprising complexity. The coherence and calm of a Jedi have not left her, but there is a burning, almost haunted quality now that is difficult to ignore. Her flaming dark red hair falls to the middle of her back in unfettered waves, the color a stark contrast to her pale skin, which upon closer inspection is marked by fine white lines that criss cross her face. She is relatively tall for a human woman, with long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills. She wears an elegant, long, black hide coat that falls to mid-thigh, with a high, stiff collar and well-polished silver rivets. The fit of her black leather trousers an shiny, black boots emphasize her narrow waist and the long-legged rhythm of her strides. Perhaps things still hadn't been sitting well in Drax's stomach. The man sits on the bottom level of the Observation Deck, amongst the quieter and less populated area. A cold, untouched drink sits in a small ring of condensation that shows it has been there for some time. The jacket to the Alderaanian's dress uniform is unbuttoned, his elbows resting on the table, and his hands are folded together with his chin resting on top of them. With eyes staring out at the stars, it is clear to see that he is deep in thought. The door to the turbo lift opens up with the faint whirring of machinery and hydraulics, allowing its occupants to step out onto the main level. Kyyel exits the lift beside Jessalyn, and almost immediately, his eyes drift up towards the many viewports that give those here a view of the stars and sun of the system. A wistful sigh escapes him, and for a moment, the Corellian allows himself a brief smile as he gazes upon something he had learned to love in his years of piloting. His reverie breaks as he remembers the woman beside him, and he turns to face her with a faint smile, as he tilts his head once more, "They have a nice view... I don't remember having anything like this back in the CDF." He takes in a deep breath, then shakes his head once more, "C'mon, let's head down to the lower levels... when was the last time we got to enjoy any peace and quiet?" His voice sounds a touch tired, even as he tries to hide it. After her last session in the medical center earlier this morning, Jessalyn is almost herself, eager energy is coiled in every muscle. The doors part, and she steps out directly into the starlight, her hair a dark curtain in comparison to the glowing paleness of her face. Though still not quite "right," her features are smooth, only the faint hint of crossing white patterns mar her porcelain complexion upon close viewing. She distractedly returns Kyyel's smile without saying much besides, "Yeah," as if she didn't quite catch what he said but is feigning a responsive as if she did. Quickly, she heads down to the lower levels with her long-limbed stride, running her hand along the railing as she descends. Descending down the steps as well, but not bothering to use the rail, Kyyel gives Jessalyn a faintly worried look; even though she was looking better physically, he could tell that something still ate at her. Her response only seems to confirm that for him, and as he reaches the bottom levels, he looks around once more, noting the sparse occupants here with a quick gaze, before he turns his attention back over towards Jessalyn, about to ask her what she was dwelling on... even though he had a good idea... before he catches sight of Drax, and pauses, frowning for a moment before giving the woman a faint tap on the shoulder. "Hey Jessalyn... there's the General... you still want to talk with him about what happened in the hangar bay?" He keeps his voice to a whisper, even as he hopes this will snap her out of her apparant stupor, at least for the time being. The woman pauses as Kyyel speaks her name, and glances over her shoulder at him as he comes closer. "Ahh, yes. It's about time I checked in on him," she murmurs, seeking out the general with her own eyes then and moving towards his booth once he's spotted. Coming up from behind, she clears her throat, projecting a smile into her voice when she addresses him, "General Rendolen. It's good to see you up and about." She rests a hand on the back of his chair and tries to catch his gaze in the reflection of the viewport before him. The General's eyes dropped slowly down to the glass on the table. It had been well over a year since he had last had a glass of Elomin Ale. His forgotten habit. A metal hand reaches forward and carefully begins to close around it. Drax's attention is stolen away, however, by the woman behind him who is addressing him. Turning around to see who it is, he responds, "Why hello there." He raises his free hand and waves it over the other side of the booth. "Care to join me?" Perhaps a little company would do him some good at this point and smooth things over for him. For the time being, he forgets about the drink in his hand. "Good day General, thank you" Kyyel states softly, even as his eyes flash over towards the glass of ale nearby. It is met with a curious gaze for only an instant, but past that, Kyyel says nothing as he allows Jessalyn to sit first, and then takes a seat himself, "I hope that you're doing better after the commotion in the hangar yesterday... that seemed to be pretty serious. Is everything okay regarding that?" Leaning back a bit in his seat, Kyyel gives the general a curious look, while awaiting any kind of answer. "You know my friend Kyyel Marrak?" Jessalyn says as she slides into the booth across from Rendolen, gesturing broadly to the Corellian before folding her long hands on the surface of the table in front of her. "Thank you, sir. I hope things are faring better for you than they were yesterday. That intruder looked... familiar to me." Though poised and pleasant, there's still a tension, almost nervousness, faintly detectable in Jessalyn's solemn posture and mannerisms. "Oh, yes. I ran into him in the hangar yesterday and I do believe I have run into him before in the past." Setting down the glass, Drax sits back in his seat and brings his arms to his sides. "I have been rather busy since that particular moment, but things have been smooth since. Duties have kept me from following up too closely on the matter, but..." He looks to Jessalyn now. "Any information you might have on the individual would be nice. I'll probably be dropping by his cell at some point to have a more... civilized conversation with him." Looking back, the man spots a server droid and waves it over. "Anything I can interest you both in? Pickings are slim on a military vessel, but I have managed to acquire a good deal of things onboard. Tea, wine, Elomin Ale...? The real stuff, not the usual syntha-hol stuff that the military uses." Syntha-hol. The scourge of naval cadets. Kyyel manages a quick nod to Drax, and then rests one hand onto the table before him, while giving Jessalyn a surprised look, "Actually, if he's who I think he is, he helped me out with a little matter on Corellia and Tatooine. But I have no clue what he'd be doing onboard the Defiant posing as one of your techs. Afraid I don't know much about him past that; I wasn't aware you knew him too Jessa." Idly tapping one gloved finger upon the surface, Kyyel seems distracted for a moment before he looks back up towards the serving droid, as though just hearing Drax's offer, "Oh... um, Corellian ale if you have it; if not, then tea would be fine." After he finishes, he takes a moment to look back out of one of the viewports, while he gets a thoughtful look upon his face before he glances back towards Drax. "I'll try the Elomin Ale," Jessalyn says to the droid. "I don't think I've ever had it." She leans back, dragging her hands into her lap, still looking thoughtful despite the slouch in posture. "He seems to be someone who is always lurking around at suspicious times," she chuckles. "Kyyel knows more about him personally it seems. Hopefully he can answer your questions. I'd be interested in hearing the results of your interrogation." Drax nods to Kyyel and grins at Jessalyn, "An excellent choice." Turning back to the droid he drops his own Elomin Ale on the tray. "Corellian Ale and a fresh Elomin Ale for the lady." And so the man's vow to not drink again stays strong. For now. Returning to meet the group he continues, "Well, then what sort of character would you say he is? ... From past experience? We picked up his ship because he came barrelling into the system attacking anything that moved. Apparently, he escaped from his ship and hid away. I guess the man's attack on me was Fate's way of saying..." He raises up his left hand and flexes it for a second before returning it to his side. "...that this is what was ment to be, eh?" Looking back towards Drax now, Kyyel glances towards Jessalyn, and then looks towards the General with a confused expression, "Well... to be perfectly honest, he didn't seem that kind of character. His name's Stev; I ran into him twice... both times he actually went out of his way to give me a hand with something, and the second time was to actually help me locate someone who was... missing." Kyyel's face clouds for a moment, before the mood fades as quickly as it came. A sad smile crosses the young man's face, "He didn't seem the type to go blasting through a sector... but then again, he could have been putting up a front. Afraid I can't tell you much more than that." "I wish I could tell you more... it's hard to remember some things," Jessalyn explains. "Kyyel could be right, but it's not just a coincidence that he's been spotted in suspicious circumstances more than once." She shrugs lightly and straightens her back once again. "In any case, I'm sure it's not a minor matter. There are more serious things to worry about." Her dark brows arch in her pale face as she gazes across the table at the general. "I hope your health has fully recovered." Some tone in her voice suggests it's more than concern for his physical state. The air in the room changes. It's in one of those moments where quiet but otherwise steady conversation seems to spontaneously pause, one of those moments where everyone in the room looks up and marvels for a half-second at the bizarre timing, that Aurejin enters. He is a needle-like shadow out of the turbolift, lancing into the room with his long stride, a sour look on his face and white eyes visible through disappointed slits. He is making his way over to Jessalyn's area, guided by some other facility than vision but hardly breaking stride as those who would cross his path politely pause or speed up to avoid the wraith-like Jedi. The server droid begins making it's way back in front of Aurejin and comes to a rest beside the table. It's arm begins to move drinks to each individual while Drax continues speaking. "Yes, I will keep all of this in mind when talking to him later on. Perhaps I'll have him moved over to the Sluis Van. That ship has been transferred to my command for the movement of the Emperor. It would be best if we got moving soon on that, too." He looks to the droid and sees a small tea kettle and a few glasses. Apparently, the bartender took it upon himself to look after him. And added extra glasses... just in case he broke them again. Looking back to the bar, he gives the 'tender a nod of appreciation. It is then that Aurejin falls into his vision. "Well, Aurejin. A pleasant surprise and perfect timing. Would you be joining us?" He shifts over in the booth, offering the man the only available seat, the one next to him. Reaching out, the Alderaanian begins to pour a tea for himself. Kyyel gives a slow nod in answer to Drax's statements, but then Kyyel's body visibly freezes... not out of fear, for his face grows darker than it did before; right as Drax calls out Aurejin's name. Aurejin, the arrogant haughty Jedi, who only a few days ago Kyyel would have liked nothing better to do than cave in the man's nose, kick in his ribs, and then dump him onto Tatooine with a tent and few rations. Kyyel still considers the first as he turns to face the approaching wraith, his mouth forming a frown that fades into a thin line for a moment. With a exasperated sigh, Kyyel restrains himself, and forces himself to calm back down... now wasn't the time to be bringing up those matters, especially when things had already been taken care of. A quick nod is given towards Aurejin in greeting, as Kyyel's frown slowly disappears, "Aurejin." He looks up towards the man's vacant eyes; seeing that Mira was right yet again. Taking the ale, Jessalyn considers the general with a stern gaze before she sips from the mug. "Another major topic," she sighs. "I am curious about the New Republic's plans for the deposed Emperor." She might not have noticed Aurejin's entrance if it hadn't been timed so perfectly, when Jessalyn found that she was already gazing toward the door before he even appeared. The look on his face is enough to make her sit rigid and involuntarily frown. "Hello, Aurejin," she greets when he draws nearer, her smile slowly warming in her newly healed face as the general moves to make room for him. Uliq exits from the turbolift, looking a bit tired and weary. His footfalls make now sound on the carpeted ground and he passes the Bar, instead heading for the table at the fore of the room. He takes a seat at the head of a table, on the port side, careful not to face the door, but still wanting to gaze out at the stars. A passing waitress stops, and he places an order in hushed tones, as if not to disturb the group. As he waits for the food he watches the planet revolve so subtlely beneath a viel of clouds. Aurejin's frown remains firmly in place but he exchanges the greeting with Drax with a quiet word and a deferential nod of the head. "General Rendolen... not for long, my old friend." He reaches out blindly with a grasping hand to shake Drax' hand, but thinks better of it after he's begun the process and lets the hand drop. "Kyyel Marrak..." Aurejin pronounces with a hoarse whisper, eyes searching sickly for the direct line to Kyyel's face. They miss, and he stares past the Corellian's shoulder. "It's been a long time. I trust you've come to a greater understanding of rightness and justice and left the traitor Raines to her lessons in exile?" Aurejin simply stands there at the end of the table, a The General shifts in his seat to address Jessalyn's question. "Well, with regards to the Emperor, I was hoping to have the Jedi very much involved. The New Republic intends to put the Emperor on trial, but such a thing is impossible with his... talents. As you well know. The Sluis Van is ready to escort him to an alternative position and I was looking forward to meeting with you and Aurejin again to speak about this matter." Turning to the elder Jedi, he pushes forward an empty cup, "Can I interest you in some tea?" While asking, he begins to pour one for himself and holds over the offered cup. Perhaps calmed nerves would be best before telling him the other things he had to offer up. Soon a waiter returns to Uliq, bearing a steak of some animal and a glass of a clear something, probably tea as the man tends to shy from achohal. He soon begins to devour the steak, which is served a bit juicy, with a sauce on it. Uliq takes a seat at the small table. Kyyel would actually find Drax's words to be very interesting, and probably even would make a few comments on the entire situation with the Emperor. He would have, that is... if he had heard word one. Right now, all Kyyel is focused on is Aurejin; both of his hands balled so tightly into fists the leather of his gloves creak loud enough to be heard; the only thought in his mind is to keep control. His breath comes out quickly, but for the moment, Kyyel manages to keep his temper down, even as it begs to be allowed to run free. When he finally replies to Aurejin, his voice is low, "Mailyn's only betrayl was to herself, and falsely taking blame for actions she had no control over." He pauses now, and almost manages a wide grin from ear to ear; instead his face grows less dark, and his hands release a bit of their tension, "But you're right. It has been a long time. I trust though, Aurejin, that you've come to a greater understanding of justice in your own recent travels?" Kyyel's words could almost be mocking, but they hold no tone of it; instead the question is presented with all seriousness. Jessalyn doesn't respond to either Drax or Aurejin for a long moment except to stare up with rounded eyes at the Jedi's closely looming figure. If it is possible, she grows even paler as the blood drains from her face, until finally, she forces herself to speak, the words spilling out quickly before she loses the nerve to say them. "Mailyn met someone on Tatooine. Kenobi. He spoke to her... led her to shelter. There could be some...." The word "hope" fails to form, but she reaches out to wrap her fingers around Aurejin's lower arm that is braced upon the table. "Aurejin," she whispers testingly, emotion in her eyes. "He didn't know what happened." Uliq stands, as he is finished with his meal, leaving little remnants of the stake and tea on the table for the waiter to clean. He heads back across the trubolift and down to his quaters for some rest, pretending not to hear the conversastion, or the snatches of it, but intends to ask about it later. Aurejin turns slightly, hand sweeping across the surface of the table to grab Kyyel's lapel. He almost slaps Kyyel in the chest as his other hand fumbles for the front of the Corellian's padded armor. His arms flex, he tests the grip; it is strong enough to heft the man from his seat, should he desire it. He leans in, finally a good point of reference, his pale face drawn and severe, only centimeters from Kyyel's. "Yes... yes, I did. You make a reckless jest at my expense. Two apprentices, and one Jedi. Dead, by Simon's hand, murdered and with Raines' help. And yet you -dare- to... you insolent..." Marrak's Corellian Ale fizzles as it runs over the surface of the table and down the sides, free of its bottle. Aurejin heard Jessalyn, but those white eyes roam around on Kyyel's face, looking for something, an answer, a challenge. "Kenobi? These are more lies. More of Mailyn's lies? Or *his?*" Aurejin releases Kyyel's front at Jessalyn's grasp, Drax heard but momentarily forgotten. As the commotion breaks out Drax is about to stand and stop it, but it ends on it's own. He keeps his cool and pours a tea for Aurejin and then sets the container down. His hands move to his own and carefully raise it to his lips. Pausing for a moment to speak, he says, "Gentlemen, please." Turning to the pair, he takes a sip and then sets his cup back down. "Aurejin. The bodies of... your fallen brethren are at your disposal. I didn't know what you wanted to do with them. In addition to this, I have some news that is most displeasing. I learned of it only just after you left." His left hand taps away at the table as he takes in a breath. This wasn't going to be easy to say. "You and Jessalyn had spoken about Simon, saying he was dead. He is not. As you knew, I was previously on Corellia for my medical treatment. I wound up on the Defiant because a woman abducted me while I was sedated and brought me to this ship and then left with Simon's body. The switch was clean so she had time to escape before people knew..." Kyyel makes no other move in his chair as Aurejin fumbles for him; with each moment, Kyyel feels less anger for the older man, and more pity. It seems his words had left an impact on more than just Jessalyn and Mira. As the tall Jedi finally takes a hold of his lapel, he makes no move, and turns his head up to meet Aurejin's vacant stare. His words are strong, and his voice unwavering; he will not back down, "No jest, Aurejin. And no lies. Jessalyn is right... I didn't know what happened to you; either to Keladry or Jarin, or Harlock." Even as the ale begins to drip down onto the floor, Kyyel still makes no move, but continues on, "But Jessalyn is right; Mailyn ran into some guy named Obi-Wan out there; it's the only thing that would have explained how she lasted that long, because her supplies weren't touched, and she made it a long ways out into the desert without any of them to find -his- hut." Kyyel looks ready to say more; in fact, he'd been thinking out this very scene for quite some time now. Drax's sudden statement regarding Simon finally catches Kyyel's attention away from the tall Jedi, and his eyes widen in a bit of shock, "What? What the heck do you mean..." Kyyel winces inwardly; a woman came to rescue Simon, in a clean getaway. There was a very short list of people who Kyyel knew who would do that; actually the list only had one person on it. Jessalyn closes her eyes as Drax speaks, sealing the fate of Mailyn and Kyyel to the elder Jedi's wrath. The sense of dread overwhelms her sense of surprise; indeed, she had never truly believed that Simon could be dead, for whatever reason. She had survived, and Sezirok was probably even more resilient, kept alive by the fires of his hatred. "Gods, no," she sighs, shaking her head helplessly, and tightening her fingers around Aurejin's arm as she looks up at his face. "Has this woman -- the abductor -- been identified?" she asks the general in a worried whisper. Aurejin releases Kyyel fully, his hands open and head cocked, jaw thrust to the side. "General..." he says, kneeling suddenly at the table, looking vaguely at Drax. "Tell me this is some mistake. Tell me... that this couldn't have been Mailyn Raines, the one I placed in exile to atone for her crimes, the *enabler* of the Sith." Aurejin bows his head, shaking it, clutching at Jessalyn's hand across the table through the battlefield of overturned bottle and arrayed glasses. "Do not tell me that Simon is alive. Do not tell me that Marrak..." Aurejin's free hand lifts a centimeter and slams down into the table, sending a shiver of highly resonant power into the faux material. A depression is outlined in the center of the table there, as if Aurejin's hand was a superheated spike. The Jedi turns his head slightly to Kyyel, the matter decided. A low rumble forms in his throat. "You fool." Well, it seemed to be going... about how he had thought it would. Drax nods his head minutely for a few moments. "I wish I could say otherwise, Aurejin. You know that as well as I... It was a woman of some sort with an ID badge, forged papers, and some social engineering skills. Intelligence and several others have investigated things as far as they could and have come up to several dead ends. She was careful. Before the incident, all medical reports indicated that Simon was fitted with prosthetics and ready to be moved to an alternate location." Tea. Drax's mind shifts to a completely different topic. His initial thought was to take his glass and down it. But it was just tea. What was a fighter pilot doing drinking tea? His eyes shift to Jessalyn's glass. The drink wasn't her style anyways from her appearance. He reaches out and brings it to his mouth. Tipping it up, he downs it in one swift gulp. The General's next move is to look to the guards at the turbolift. With a few movements, he motions for the room to be cleared so that the group could be alone for a bit. "By all accounts she would have died out there, Aurejin. I did what I had to do... I never thought she would do this." Kyyel's voice is even, but his face and posture are no longer one of attack or defiance. They're of acceptance. It was his actions that allowed Mailyn's freedom... it was through him that he gave her access to save the hunter of Jedi. In all honesty, what else could Kyyel have truly expected to happen? It seemed almost fitting somehow. The young man's mind is in turmoil... for only a moment. Then peace reigns in his thoughts once again, accepting whatever fate may be dealt to him. He should have known Mailyn would do this... or at least try for it. As Drax leaves, Kyyel stands up now, facing Aurejin unflinching, "I had no idea she would do this, if I did, I wouldn't have let her out of my sight." The corellian sounds oddly calm, even as he looks back down towards Jessalyn, giving her a curious look now, "So, what will happen to me? What sentance will you pass on my head for taking her from Tatooine?" He glances back up to Aurejin, no mocking tone in his voice, no accusations. This time, it's Kyyel who's willing to accept his fate from the Jedi. "Before you say anything though, Aurejin, let me tell you what Obi-Wan told her. He said he'd been watching us for a long time; that she would help you, Aurejin; she and Jessalyn would help you." Now he grows silent, standing there before the older Jedi, and closing his eyes for a moment as he whispers a silent apology out to the stars. Jessalyn spares Drax an odd look when he forsakes his tea and ends up chugging down the ale she had ordered before, wondering how he can retain his calm when chaos seems doomed to erupt. The room empties, but that doesn't ease her tension. Instead, it makes her shift uneasily and tighten her fingers around Aurejin's before letting go and turning a beseeching gaze on the elder Jedi. "It's not worth it," she whispers, knowing he'll hear. "We have enough enemies without striking down those who err because of ignorance, but who believe in our cause." Her green eyes move from Kyyel to Aurejin and back again several times as the two square off. "No, Jessalyn. We have suffered too much in this manner. It has almost been the end of our Order, twice." Aurejin stands as well, matching Kyyel's height and then some, though his thin frame and lack of bulky clothing makes him look hunched and emaciated. "Marrak, he does not understand. His decision is made. If he traffics in the Way of the Jedi, then he must accept that Way completely." Aurejin's pale lips draw back into an odd-looking sneer aimed at Kyyel. "You fumble with this talk of peace and rightness like a boy with a man's work." Aurejin reaches up and touches the silver chain at his neck. With a click, it snakes over his skin as his cape falls to the ground in a pool around his feet. Aurejin steps away, turning his back. "There is no sentence for me to pass. You take on the burden of judgment, the role of a Jedi, and *mock* it with your mistake, a mistake that will cost lives. Your sentence is already pronounced. You want to know our way, to pretend to live by it? Are you so bold?" Aurejin tosses a metal cylinder at Kyyel. Jessalyn's lightsaber. "You will not disgrace Kenobi's legacy with these lies. You will not lecture me Marrak. Not I, the last of the Jedi." Aurejin measures out a number of steps and turns again to face the Corellian, a scarlet blade of energy clawing its way free from the now-ignited lightsaber hilt in his hand. Kyyel lifts only his hand to catch the cylinder, recognizing it as he sees it resting in his palm. A lightsaber. He closes his eyes once more, and then look upwards towards Aurejin again. So it had come to this? Even as Aurejin's blade ignites, Kyyel makes no move to turn, and in fact, makes no move to take any kind of stance at all, save to take the cylinder in both hands... twisting it into his grip until it is comfortably resting within his palm. It had come to this. Kyyel closes his eyes as Aurejin turns, listening to the faint hum of the blade before him. All he had to do to defend himself was ignite the one in his hands; to ignite Jessalyn's own lightsaber. All he had to do was risk death to this Jedi before him. For a moment, Kyyel's thoughts turn back to his first lesson in swordfighting, to the first words he had ever been told. -Fight only to defend yourself or others, don't raise your weapons in anger.- That would be what Kyyel would do if he were to ignite the blade now. "No. Jessalyn is right. This isn't worth it." Kyyel looks up now, and his face is stone. His hands fall to his side, even as he still holds the un-ignited hilt, "No Aurejin, I will not fight you. I admit my mistake. You and Mira are the last of the Jedi... I will not risk lessening that..." Without a word, and with a resigned sigh, Kyyel leans over and puts the cylinder down upon the table, then looks up, meeting Aurejin's empty gaze once more. "You're right, I don't know your ways... even if I have tried. I have lectured you, even if it's not my place. But I do not lie. I have never lied to any of you, nor will I start. Strike me down, Aurejin, if you will, but I will not fight you." Kyyel stands now, his hands to his sides, his eyes sliding down to look towards the scarlet blade. Would this be how it would end? Often the proverbial dookie was said to have made contact with a cooling device. Now, quite possibly, was one of those very such moments. Indeed, the shit had hit the fan. The New Republic had Valak in their custody, but had lost Simon. Somehow, the scales just never seemed to actually tip in their favor. Drax's eyes slip over to Aurejin, watching him as he measured the distance all too well. The challenge. The duel. However, if things were to progress in an honorable fashion, each must declare his second. It was an act of a day long past, but the General would not interrupt it. Yet. A hand reaches inside his jacket and withdraws a thin cigar and his lucky lighter. Perhaps now it was needed more than ever. Leaving the cigar jutting out from his mouth, he proceeds with flipping the head of the tiny Stormtrooper figure back to trigger the flame which he uses to give himself a light. His hand then returns to withdraw the cigar after he has taken in a puff. His ears perk up as he listens to Kyyel. The challenge was not taken. Hence, it could not go on. "Aurejin. This isn't the way to solve things." Aurejin's feet seem to slide into a position where his legs, hips, and spine are moving into a coordinated whole, the red glowing band of lightsaber lifted, en garde. He shuffle steps forward, blade humming throatily as he swings it through the air. "You continue to make unwise decisions," the Jedi says from behind what could easily be a lethal wall of lightsaber. If there is a strength in this one, it is in his hands, his understanding of timing, two lifetimes of careful study of possible styles... the weapon becomes a part of the warrior, or... today, the man himself has become the weapon. The appreciation of such is difficult, for his next move is blindingly fast, his weight drawn forward, ahead and down in a short strike with the blade. The sword hand lifts and strikes, but this strike is intended for Kyyel's jaw, Aurejin's large hand wrapped around the metal cylinder to hit with a strong fist and not the cutting blade. The Force is with him: strength and speed are Aurejin's for the taking, and those awful white eyes flash dangerously! The general is ignored, and so is Jessalyn, it seems. She gasps as Aurejin goes on the offensive, part of her crying out that this is wrong, while the other longs for the clarity of the Force. Could he be striking out in anger? She cannot sense it, and so she clenches her fists helplessly, rising from her chair to loom behind the Jedi and his opponent. "Now we are striking out at those who believe in the same things we do? Who believe in -us-?" she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. "Is this what you've learned?" Even as Aurejin comes in with blade swinging, Kyyel's eyes stay locked onto the Jedi's own. As Aurejin's strike comes to impact upon Kyyel's jaw, his only surprise is that it was with the fist and not with the blade. It is clear to whoever watches that Kyyel made no attempt to defend himself at all... he simply took the impact without so much as flinching; even as the force of the blow sends him careening back through the air, landing hard onto his back, and coughing loudly as he feels his jaw threaten to dislocate from the socket. As Kyyel remains sprawed out on the floor, Jessalyn's words are heard through a haze of pumping blood, and the taste of it fills his mouth. He looks up, a thick and dark red line running from his lips down to his chin, pooling upon his shirt, while his gaze remains strong, and firmly locked onto Aurejin. One hit. Kyyel registers that within his mind, even as he gathers his feet under without a sound; pain was something he could live with... he'd done so his entire life, and he does so now. The young man stands up, his jaw already darkening into a deep bruise as he looks towards Aurejin again, feeling his temper rising once more, "So this is what you turn to? Violence? I thought the Jedi defended justice and peace, Aurejin. Or has that cold rock in your chest you call a heart forgotten that, like it's forgotten mercy and pity?" His words remain deadpaned, even as his chest rises and falls with his growing anger, that Kyyel tries to keep control over. The Jedi's movement was swift indeed. Before Drax was even done blinking Aurejin had already swooped in for a quick attack. His eyes shift in his sockets, moving over to lock onto Aurejin directly now in sheer amazement. The Force was powerfull, indeed, from the looks of things. The General's thoughts shift for a moment. Perhaps one swift hit was enough to teach the lesson that what he had done was a terrible thing. Afterall, it is next to certain that Simon will cause immeasurable amounts of pain throughout the galaxy. Again, the cigar is brought to his mouth and again he takes in air through it. He savors the taste for a few seconds before opening his mouth and releasing thick smoke from it. The cloud slowly makes its way out of his mouth and climbs up his face until he finally breaths out to blow the rest away. Aurejin could have his lesson. For now. "Justice!" Aurejin shouts, incredulous, planting a foot on the booth seat that Kyyel had occupied a moment ago. He puts another foot atop the chair, and stalks over it grandly. A whoosh of the red blade divides the adjacent booth's table into broken halves and he steps through the now empty space. "When Simon and his consort take the lives of more Jedi, of more in the Republic, to whom will those dying call to for justice?" Aurejin steps through another seat and hops onto the floor, eyes wide. "You, Marrak? You who are so full of *mercy* that you would let them die so your own imagined definition of peace can be complete? Selfish!" Aurejin turns his head over his shoulder, the raging red fire of the blade aloft, pointed column aimed at Kyyel's throat. "Jessalyn, you cannot understand. Not... now." There is pain in his voice. The Jedi doesn't seek to inflict pain on her, remind her of her own loss. But ignore her? He would rather confront the red-haired woman. It was fairer, felt more right. "We don't need empty promises and lies! I can confront the Sith better than *this* what you call friend... believer." The saber handle twists in Aurejin's grip and he strikes again. There is a millimeter tolerance, a molecule's width room for mistake, but it's not needed. The weapon -- man and saber -- is perfect. A spark sounds and something flares, and when Aurejin steps back, the cut is revealed: Kyyel's sword has been divided into two pieces, and a glowing ember shaped into a gash, carved into the Corellian's upper thigh. Jessalyn flinches and looks away, resisting the urge to cover her eyes. Rendolen's continued coolness unnerves her, and she doesn't seek out his gaze in fear of betraying her own reaction. But finally a muffled cry of distress breaks the Force-blind woman's silence. "Stop it!" she pleads. "If this is the Jedi's way, if this is your way, then I don't want the Force again. I don't want to be part of that Order. You don't believe in any of the things you said to me, Aurejin!" The hurt is just as clear in her voice as the other roiling emotions that the ancient Jedi evokes in her. She turns on her heel, rejection, blame and pride making her spine a ramrod. She would not be a party to this. If she was incapable of intervening, she would reject it. And him. To Aurejin's statement, Kyyel's face grows dark, even as he spits his answer back over the red blade near his throat, "I would punish those responsible, Aurejin! Not punish those who's only crime is ignor-AAAH!" His words are cut short even as Aurejin's blade cuts his sword and him, the move faster than Kyyel's eyes can follow as he feels the burning pain race through his leg, while both halves of the sword fall down from the scabbard. Momentarily unable to support his weight, Kyyel's leg collapses under him even as his bellow of pain continues for a few moments more, one hand moving down instinctively to put pressure on the wound; un-needed though, for the lightsaber had already cauterized the cut, leaving it smoking with the scent of burnt flesh hanging lightly in the air. Kyyel's eyes are clenched tight, he had never experienced such pain before... and slowly he opens his eyes, biting down on his lip to fight away the pain like he had so many times before in his life, to continue his words to speak. Even as he steadies himself though, his gray gaze falls upon the two halves of the sword near his feet. Kyyel pauses. The entire galaxy seems to pause. All reason begins to fly from Kyyel now, all his careful words forgotten. Rage, anguish, and loathing all fill him together. Jessalyn's words are unheard, because Kyyel is deafened by the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Another cry escapes his throat, one that seems to shake the very room itself, one mixed of the purest anger and rage, boiling like magma through his body. The pain in his leg is forgotten now, as Kyyel finds another item near his feet on the ground; Jessalyn's lightsaber. Almost methodically, Kyyel reaches out to take the cylinder in his hand, turning it over once so that it fits firmly into his palm. His eyes look up now, focusing on Aurejin with feral emotions racing through him as he remembers his words to the Jedi... 'I will not fight you'. Without another thought, Kyyel hits the activation switch, and stands fully in front of Aurejin, bellowing his rage and sweeping the blade down in a massive two handed arc with all the strength he can find. Another strike and Drax can hold it in no longer. This was the step beyond just a lesson or a punishment. The kick to the downed man. With a fist landing on the table hard enough to make a crater equal to that which the Jedi had made previously, "Aurejin. That is enough!-" Jessalyn's timing was practically the same as his own. Once she has spoken, he contemplates her thoughts and then turns back to the older man. "This is not going to happen on my boat-" Again, he is interrupted, but this time it is by the activation of a second lightsaber. His hand slips to his side as he flips his DY into stun mode and prepares to draw if it is needed. However, by the time he is ready, Kyyel has already begun his own attack. Aurejin's stance seems to lose its power all at once, the blow given, the lesson complete. He blows out a sigh and his shoulders hunch and he half-turns to orient himself toward the flame-haired former Jedi. "Jessalyn... wait," he says, his free hand open and clenching at the air to begin some new impassioned plea to make her understand. But then the Jedi is at the epicenter of some sort of sonic attack, the scream washing over him and summoning an electric jolt in Aurejin's nervous system. He jumps. What's this? More lies. A trick! The venerable Jedi has no time to turn, and for the miniscule moment of time between the scream and the swing, Aurejin worries that he's been caught off guard and that the mistake may well have fatal consequences. He dips his knees and brings his sword hand behind his head, the saber hovering parallel and a couple of centimeters down his straight-as-an-arrow spine. It catches Kyyel's strike at the last moment -- enough for a deflection -- but the man has already turned and spirals up to his full height, the red blade buffering the blue-green one neatly. Aurejin's full strength is now available, and he presses Jessalyn's weapon away. And away. And toward Kyyel's face. Tiny veins are going to work beneath Aurejin's white and now almost transparent skin, little spidery networks of blue pulsing slowly. Tints of red and aqua color the Jedi's face ghoulishly. "You find the Sith way so easy, to love ours so much!" Aurejin's white eyes rotate weirdly, looking into space past Kyyel, like he's consulting some massive canvas, a piece of art, on the far wall. "Mmm. There's much anger in you, boy." Aurejin's voice has not lost any edge, but it now has a measure of at least one additional element: respect. Ice cold invisible fingers press into Kyyel's wrist, weakening his grip, and with a turn... Aurejin disappears from beneath Kyyel, darts out to the side, and has a lightsaber in both hands. Both are extinguished in the same moment and the Jedi steps away, facing Kyyel this time. He wouldn't turn his back to him again. "But you are not lost to it, or your foolishness. Stay your tongue Marrak, and you would do well." The lesson is over. Stalking away, Jessalyn had paid no heed to Aurejin's calling her name, but she is sadder and far more disappointed than even she can fathom at this point. The flame-haired woman had reached the upper level and was preparing to board the lift when her ears picked up the sound of another lightsaber igniting. Ice pours down her spine, and she whirls coming to railing at the edge of the platform and looking down in time to see Kyyel go in the defensive. "None of you understand," she whispers to herself alone, frozen in place as she grips the railing and waits to see if Kyyel relents. All they do is hate, throwing their arrogance around like a weapon... how could she have ever belonged? "Kyyel, listen to him," she says, her voice projected just enough to carry down to them. "For me!" As his blue-green blade catches Aurejin's own, Kyyel presses down with all his strength as his fighting instincts take over. Even in his fury, he could feel the difference in the blade from anything he had ever used before... despite its appearance when ignited, the lightsaber was no sword. Kyyel's position though, gives him all the advantage and leverage he should need; Aurejin's back to him, and his weight atop the blade. Yet somehow Aurejin turns, and despite his own strength, he finds his blade being pushed up, no matter how much he pushes back; no matter what he tries. The blades scream their defiance as they lock, even as sweat and tears fall down Kyyel's cheeks. As Aurejin finally stands and pushes the locked blades back to his own face, Kyyel locks his eyes with him once more, gritting his teeth with exertion. When Aurejin moves again, Kyyel feels a brief pain in his wrist, and then feels the lightsaber leaving his grip, and Aurejin moving out to his side... holding both of the sabers, and once more, Kyyel meets his gaze. Kyyel's shoulders rise and fall now... but not with rage any longer, though it still remains. This time, it is with exhaustion, for the anger that had fueled him so briefly now takes its toll, and the pain in his leg and jaw returns with a vengence, as a new feeling overwhelms him; humiliation. Kyyel can't win the fight... that is clear enough, but it's not for that reason which brings his shame... it is for the rage he screamed, and had taken a hold of for that brief instant. In that instant he had forgotten all he had promised or said. Aurejin's words strike him as though a slap themselves, and Jessalyn's words are heard, though faintly. Breathing heavily now, Kyyel looks towards Aurejin with confusion... and perhaps some respect as well now, as he unclenches his fists, and lets his arms fall to his sides. He does what Aurejin says... and Jessalyn as well. He holds his tongue, as he lowers his head in shame. The lesson was indeed over. Aurejin's cape lies flat on the floor where he had dropped it, its silver chain gleaming there in a coiled pool. He steps over it, opens his hand, and the chain is summoned, slithering through the air and into his beckoning palm. He walks and adjusts his gear and clothes as he goes, clipping the chain about his neck to reattach the cape, snapping Jessalyn's weapon to his belt, and sliding the other saber away. A polite bow is given Drax, a slow nod of the head both a gesture of appreciation and respect. The General would understand the importance of the lesson, and the discipline required for the impetuous Corellian. Drax would understand the importance of the duel, the intimacy of it. The thrill and the symbolism of the one on one dogfight must be a similar thing. Aurejin strides off, every heavy step sending a ripple into the lufting rear edge of the mid-length cape. Where was Jessalyn? This would require a great deal of explanation, no doubt. But he would find a way to show her his true feelings, apologize, whatever it took. The fragile state of the Order was at hand, but more than that, his promise to her would be fulfilled. Still, she is not at the fore of his mind. As he walks to the turbolift he opens his hand and slides it over the cool metal to search for the controls, he can only think of how very disappointed he'll be when he sees Mira... Begrudgingly, some part of Jessalyn does begun to understand, even as she stands there reeling with the implications and possibilities. She watches Kyyel with a stony face as Aurejin composes himself and ascends to her level, unable to tear her eyes away, and afraid to speak lest she disturb the strange, delicate balance that has been achieved. Finally, she backs away, turning only at the last minute to board the lift, not looking at Aurejin but staring at her boots instead. Her arms are folded, hands tucked up under each arm to steady their trembling. "I don't like this," she says bluntly. "You can't make me like it. Even if you are right." As Aurejin and Jessalyn both ascend the ramp to the upper level, Kyyel doesn't even bother to look towards them... he can hear them both fine in the dead silence that seems to have blanketed the deck. For a moment, his eyes fall down onto the two halves of his broken sword. He doesn't understand their words; his mind is still reeling from everything that had happened to him in so short a time. Confusion still runs rampant through his mind, with little understanding at all reaching his mind. Finding a chair still intact, Kyyel sits down upon it, turning so that his feet are near his sword, which he makes no effort to pick up for now. Instead his eyes focus out on the stars past the viewports... looking for some answers in their silent vigil in the sky. Not once does he look back towards the lift. Aurejin nods his head once, a crisp acquiescence to Jessalyn's determined will. "Nor do I," he utters quietly, a tapered finger jabbing the controls once more. A little chime sounds and he puts those narrow bone-like fingers on her shoulder, squeezing it softly. "Nor do I. I... need your wisdom, my friend. It is too much for me alone. I fear I am too old for this." The doors of the turbolift close on them, the bright top mounted light creating a ghostly nimbus around Aurejin's almost all silver hair. "We will find a way to restore you, Jessalyn. I promise you that." Aurejin sighs, exhaling exhaustion and excitement, shaking his head... and he hopes that today will have been a true lesson for Marrak, and that the Corellian won't do anything rash. But it never worked that way. It never did.
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