| abstract
| - Remote Landing Pad - Yavin IV This is a large, grey platform with black burn marks that could only be made from ship's engines. At the far north of the platform, there is an entry ramp leading to a set of blast doors which have long since corroded and are blocked by a cave-in of the mountain into which they lead. Surrounding the landing pad is a ten foot high, hi-voltage fence. All around you are the forests of the planet, and you barely are able to catch glimpses of ancient stone structures hidden deep within the foliage of the lush jungles. Cronos A man in his late twenties, he appears to be a little bit more than six feet. He sports his silver white hair long, to about the shoulder. The large brown inquisitive eyes, along with his full black eyebrows, seem to be attentive all the time. His skin is tanned, along with the hard jaw line and well-defined nose and the prominent black and silver beard he currently sports, give this man a look between a gentleman and a scoundrel. His lips, almost constantly in an impish grin, along with the sparkle on his eyes project a very fiery personality. His body looks to be well maintained and built; strong, and definitely in shape. He is currently wearing a dark brown cloak that covers most of his body. Under it, sometimes a dark gray long sleeved shirt is visible. A white tunic over it, tied up at the waist by a black utility belt. The dark black pants, worn loosely and fitted to perfection, seem comfortable enough in him. Everything is complemented by a set of dark gray boots that definitely have seen better times. Orson Too short, not handsome, and a little too old. What's lacking in looks has to be made up for with something strong on the inside: determination and persistence, a certain grit evident in the look sent by his slate gray eyes. Lines around this human male's mouth and eyes tell of hard days and decisions in his past, each one a new crease in an otherwise young man's face. He is smaller framed, though quite stout with a barrel chest and strong shoulders. Still, he's not overly muscled, simply in good physical shape. Dark hair is kept in a simple style but is more often than not in a disheveled state. A few lonely gray hairs touch his temples. He might be around forty standard years old. He has a larger nose, on a round-shaped, bold face that is quick with a grin but usually caught up in a shade of thoughtful. Wearing a white tank top that reveals his broad shoulders and thick chest, the man looks as if he's been on safari. Grey trousers are covered in pockets and grime, tucked into heavy boots which run mid-way up his calf. He is sporting a rough beard, dark but striped white at the center. A black beret sits on his head, lopsided. A heavy blaster in a holster sits within easy reach. It has been some time since he has left Tatooine. Mira As women go, this one is relatively short. In fact, number of rather less than flattering terms may come to mind when looking at her. Short. Scrawny. Mousey. Dirty, however, is not among them. Her brown hair hangs limply just above her shoulders, neatly brushed. Her skin has taken on the reddish hue of one who has spent too much time outside on a hot day. Her light brown shirt is tucked into black pants, which are themselves tucked into black spacer's boots. A black belt is looped around her waist. Over this, she wears a simple brown cloak. Jessalyn The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'. She is relatively tall for a human woman, with long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills. Jessa is dressed in a drab green sleeveless shirt, and a pair of kakhi pants with plenty of pockets. Around her waist is a black leather utility belt. Her hair is held back from her face and clipped behind her head, though stray curling locks continue to fall into her eyes. The fit of her trousers and the sturdy brown suede boots on her legs emphasize her narrow waist and the long-legged rhythm of her strides. Cort A human male, in the between stages of adulthood and the teenage years. A good guess would put him around the ages of eighteen or nineteen standard years. His facial features are finely chiseled, high cheek bones dominating his face. His nose is thin and comes to a point, giving the young man a smug look. Sharp hazel eyes scour his surrounding and have a slightly unusual look to them. Strangely, they seem to be the eyes of someone much older than the boy. The kind of person who has seen and known much of this galaxy. Light blonde hair, almost white, cascades back to his shoulder blades. It is pulled into a tight pony tail at the back of his neck, allowing it to flow free behind his shoulders. He stands at an even six feet and his frame can be best described as average, not thin, but not overly muscular. The boy does not appear to be the healthiest of specimens. His skin is extremely pale, almost deathly. Pink bags painfully rest beneath his eyes, making him look as if he hasn't slept in days or if he is the victim of some epidemic. The thin lips that surround his mouth have grown cracked and chapped, but with the look of him, it's probably not from the weather. Currently, he is clad in a midnight black clothing, a long-sleeved pull over shirt and matching black pants. Black boots, shined with stunning perfection, are worn on his feet. A black utility belt is wrapped around his waste, hiding any objects he may be carrying. It has been some time since he has left Tatooine. Quite some time. Yet, for the man that used to call himself Markus, the vision and the dreams where to powerful to ignore. Almost as poweful as when he first awaked. As powerful as when he was supposed to search for the Master. Skywalker. Yet... that was a failure in itself. After searching for himself to no end, and Simon turning to the Dark Side, Markus had decided to go into self imposed exile, afraid that his influence over Mira would damage her. How he cared about her, even more than he wanted to admit to himself. He can't understand why, but the feeling was there. As an old and curious Corellian freigther makes its landing on the area that seems to have been designated as such, the white haired man's face carries a deep frown. "We are here, JD-1," he calls from the cockpit and back, moving to stand up. A silver protocol droid, an older model shows his head into the cockpit. "Wherever here is..." Lisardis muses, "I told you already, Master Lisardis, we were supposed to go to Yavin IV, which I imagine this place is-" and before the droid can finish, Lisardis raises a hand to stop him. "I know, I know, Deeone... Now lets see what the fates have in store for us." and with those words he heads to the landing ramp area, and opens up the door that leads out into the landing area. From her spot on the temple steps, Jessalyn had seen the small speck in the sky that slowly enlarged to form the outline of an old freighter. Her first instinct is to be apprehensive, and she stands, shielding her eyes from the glimmering afternoon sun, hazy but still bright through the heavy mist that's descended on this part of the moon today. Something unknown reassures her, however, and she climbs down the steps toward the tarmac to get a better look at the visitor. Most curiously, it's not a New Republic vessel. Who else knew about this landing pad, she wonders? Or would be interested in visiting an all but abandoned base? Pushing damp hair back from her pale forehead, she glances towards the Uwannabuyim, casting out with the Force to anyone who might be in range to her hear call. _We have a visitor._ The first thing to cross Orson's mind is jealousy. While the YT-1300 was a very common ship style, so far the _Uwannabuyim's_ presence on this particular landing pad was exclusive, and the mechanic's brain sets about clicking through several dozen differences and features between the two ships. He loads the last of his crates, having been using them as sort of a stacked wall around some space beneath his ship to wall off a certain mechanical project. It's almost time to go, to load Jessalyn, Mira, and Drew and set off on some official business, and while they're at it, puzzle on the disturbing uniformity of their visions. He releases his grip on the crate and it slides into the darkened hold of the freighter, bobbing in mid-air on its repuslorsled. Orson Tighe starts out from beneath the ship, claps his hands together to begin removing his heavy gloves, and gives a slow wave to Cronos and the droid. A very dirty Mira wanders down the ramp of the Uwannabuyim moments after Jessalyn notices the YT-1300 descending towards their landing pad. As she steps out into the bright sun, the girl squints up at the ship. Something about it was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't really place just what. It certainly wasn't the modifications that had been made to the ship, since Mira rarely paid any attention to such things. And yet something about the ship was almost comforting. "Huh," Mira says as she looks away from the ship, blinking several times. The bright star of this system was hurting her eyes. Instead, she allows the Force to keep her informed as to the ship's progress as she wanders over to where Jessalyn stands. As the ship lands, Mira turns and focuses on the ramp. First, it opens. Hiss. Then a man and a droid come out. A very hairy man. The girl tilts her head to one side as he exits, for though she does not recognize the man's appearance, she has a strange feeling she knows where she's seen that ship before. "Markus?" she asks softly, taking a few wary steps towards the White Ghost before stopping and squinting. For months, Cort had hibernated in the blackness of space where no star dare shined. The trance that he had fell into was so deep that not even Skywalker or Valak could detect his location. Asking Simon was probably little help either, since Cort's disappearance had happened as unexpected as his turn against the Master who trained him. When the time had come, the fallen Jedi snapped back into life with a vision of the Yavin system flickering upon his minds eye. While his interpretations of the Force and it's workings differ from the few gifted beings left in the universe, he knew when he was being summoned. But for what purpose? Cort, being the over-confident and sometimes foolish, had made his way to Yavin. His ship is now days behind him, as he made his way through the dense jungle. His soiled black boots eventually find the stoned pathway leading into the landing area, just as the group of Jedi are making their hellos. "Hello!" Cort shouts with a warm voice from the distance. "I know you guys!" The radiating darkness around him is unmistakable. For those who don't know him, his identity could easily be determined by a good guess. He is the Emperor's lost student - A murderer of both Jedi and Sith alike. "Stay here," Lisardis indicates to the droid, who simply bobs his head. The cloaked man walks down the length of the ramp, facing the people that came out to greet her. "Mira..." he whispers, picking up the girl. And he continues walking. "Cronos," he corrects for Mira, yet smiles at her. "But yes, you knew me as Markus." the man adds. He is on the ground now. Then a familiar voice hits him. Cronos snaps around, a silver cylinder on his hand, yet not ignited. "Cort," he whispers, almost a hiss. So is p mira=:giggles. this what the vision meant? Was him supposed to come here to face the other. What's going on. He turns towards Jessalyn and Orson, remaining silent. Confused, obviously. He had expected to find only the Jedi here, based on his vision... Not Cort... Not Cort /and/ Mira. There is no anger on the man, but there is certainly determination. The older of the two women who form the welcoming party for Cronos' ship watches as Mira takes a few steps forward, realizing that the girl knows this grizzled stranger. Markus, yes, Jessalyn thinks. The Jedi who had lured Mira away from Simon's clutches. The redhead smiles warmly in greeting, taking a step towards them -- but then that tingle of Darkness creeps up the back of her neck, and she gasps, looking around in shock and backpedaling. As Cronos brings up his lightsaber, Jessa furrows her brow and casts a worried look toward Orson. _Cort Stasus!_ At last, after all she'd learned about this most deadly and despicable Sith. This wasn't the first time Cort had been up against numbers that were not in his favor, from what Simon and Luke had told her about his murderous rampage at the Jedi School. Her slim fingers wrap around the lightsaber at her belt, more for reassurance than in an effort to pull it free. "Mira, stay back," she says in a soothing voice to the girl, not sure if she has her own lightsaber with her now. Carefree Orson disappears and he appears rooted to his spot. There is too much going on here all of a sudden. Even without the Force, this would be far too coincidental to seem right. Instead of stumbling under the additional burden of paranoia, Orson is strengthened by it, reeling in his emotional resources. The Force ripples carefully around the man, though even the rough skills that he had learned months ago were adequate to See Cronos, and then Cort. The rot practically rolled off that one. Previously an incomplete puzzle, Orson begins to move, alertness maturing in his chest and supplying the missing piece. In a moment, he's comlinked Drew to begin the preflight sequence and taken a handful of strides across the tarmac, standing at the tip of an imaginary oval formed by Cronos, Cort, and the pair of female Jedi. Offering Jessalyn only an askance look, he rests his hands on his hips. "Hello," he calls back to Cort neutrally, without any of this lightsaber business. It was the common response to such a greeting, after all. "Markus!" Mira exclaims, throwing her arms around the man's neck and giving her friend a hug. As she pulls back from him, she corrects herself, testing out the name, "Cronos." A large smile spreads across her face and she begins attempting to fill him in on everything that had happened since he had left on his quest to find Luke. While she had been upset at him for leaving, she was now only glad to see that he was okay. "I found Simon and we woke up Jessalyn," she says, speaking excitedly and very quickly, gesturing widly in Jessalyn's general direction. "And that's Ors--," she continues, breaking off as the "Hello," echoes across the landing pad. Mira turns away from Cronos to look towards the new arrival, Cronos's hissed "Cort" hitting her at about the same time as the word "Butcher" flashes across her mind. She reaches into her cloak, pulling a silvery cylinder with several wires dangling from the bottom out of a hidden pocket. Waves of the corrupted Force emitted from the young man rush over and through the gathered Jedi, touching each of them with their cold tendrils. He is testing them, teasing them with his new found power. Since the discovery of the Sith Holocron, his power has near doubled. His gray eyes flicker back and forth between them. "Well, most of you," he says, as his feet bring him closer. The sunken orbs most people would call eyes lock onto Orson. "You. Tell your friends to put their weapons away. I mean none of you harm." The waves of Force connect both Orson and Cort's minds for a brief moment, as the dark Jedi works his magic. "Jessalyn! It's good to see they have finally awaken you. You can thank me for saving you from Valak's trophy room later. In fact, most of you have reasons to thank me." Cronos can't help but be embraced by Mira, and this brings a wide smile to his face, yet, the arrival of Cort is still burning in his mind. He doesn't recognize the names, except for Simon but from Mira's tone he can tell that these are her friends, and for now, by extension they will be his. So he takes a step to the side, next to Mira, kind of in facing Cort along with the others. "Most," he says, repeating the word. Cort took Simon away from Cronos' life. Cort was the one that got between him, Simon and Mira. No, Cronos doesn't feel he has to thank Cort for anything. "My weapon is not ignited. Until that happens, I mean no harm to you either," the white haired man responds. His brown eyes briefly move to Jessalyn as Cort says the name. The name itself is briefly familiar, but the Corellian is not sure why. The red-haired Jedi calls on the Force, letting it fill her, driving back the darkness of her own fear, and straightening her spine into a rigid line. "Butcher of the Jedi," Jessalyn says, her voice smooth, her expression poised and confident. "Simon's Corruptor. I have nothing to thank you for. I would gladly go back to my state of imprisonment if it meant you were wiped out from the universe, Cort Stasus." But then she senses the Dark stirring of the Force as Cort tries to manipulate Orson's mind, and a telltale muscle twitches in her cheek. "Stop it," she commands with all the authority of a Jedi Knight in her tone. "You're not welcome here. I suggest you leave before we decide to carve you up instead." "Don't worry," he improvises, lifting his broad hands and patting the air downwards, smoothing imagined ruffled feathers. The finger that has slipped into his mind stirs those brains relentlessly, but the only hint Orson has is to have felt the touch; he's left wondering why his pupils are dilated. "We won't need the weapons. I don't think he intends any of us harm." Dropping his hands back to his belt, Orson nods, content, pleased with his own eloquence. He's a fairly accomplished amateur actor, though he's not sure why that has flickered into his mind at that moment. "It's okay," he calls out to Jessalyn in a stiffer tone, giving her a mild look of disapproval. Mira stands rather quietly while the others speak, more focused on the rapidly growing concentration of the True Source in this area than on thinking up witty retorts to Cort's arrogant statements. She might thank him for not killing her while she traveled with him and Simon, but it was more likely that she had Simon to thank for keeping Cort away from her. Mira reaches back and pushes the dusty hood back off her head and, following Jessalyn's example, straightens her posture. As Orson speaks, she looks questioningly at him, slowly becoming aware of the dark magic at work on his mind. Such manipulation of the True Source was inexcusable, and she turns a hardened look to Cort, her hand gripping her lightsaber tighter, though leaving her arm dangling at her side. "I feel I must correct you," Cort says, his attention turning towards Cronos. "Mira is only alive because I have allowed it. If it was not for me, she would have been executed by the Empire months ago." His advances stop only a few meters from the group. "Every smile Mira sends in your direction. Every time you feel her warm embrace, you can thank your stars that I have allowed you to have this." He smiles politely at the man, then turns towards Jessalyn. "I suggest you settle down, young lady. The woman that presented your broken body to Valak is now dead by my hand... Yes, maybe the lot of you could take me down, but not without losing a few of your own. More death is not worth the price of the offer I'd like to discuss with your Master." "Anyway, I don't have time to play these stupid games with you anymore. Already I've given your government the technical read-outs for his Death Star and still the Republic has done nothing. This is unacceptable to me. I have an offer to present to Skywalker which will remove Valak from power... permanently." "Now," Cort breathes with a touch of impatience, "Are we going to stop acting like Morganna or are we going to act like adults?" Cronos smirks, and it's kind of a scary one. After all, the man has been alone for quite a while, suffering the heat of Tatooine. "Or perhaps you did it, to keep Simon with you. I'm certain you didn't do it for your love of me," the white haired man remarks. "But if you wanted to harm us, we would be dead already," Cronos says, slightly shrugging. He makes no changes in his postures, nor does he seems to be listening to Orson any time soon. Somehow, perhaps through the Force, one can detect that Cronos' posture is not as threatening any more. "Their Master," Cronos does correct. For Luke is no Master of his, and Cronos has no desire to learn under the man. At least as things stand right now. The mentioning of Morganna, makes Cronos frown for a moment, but he remains silent. "It seems to me, that all you need to do is say what you have to say. Nobody here has attacked you," the white haired man says, gesturing to those next to him. "And I don't think they would, unless they had a death wish. So perhaps you should say your piece, and leave the speeches for some other time," and Cronos offers what could pass as a smile in his now eternally brooding face. "Skywalker isn't here," Jessalyn points out plainly, her posture relaxing only somewhat, though her eyes blaze like emerald suns. "If you have a message for him, I'll see to it that he receives it." Her hand adjusts its grip on the handle of her lightsaber, but it remains unignited at her side. She had known about Cort's cooperation that had led to the Death Star's plans falling into the seemingly dubious care of the New Republic. Cort wasn't the only one who was displeased at the slow pace of discovering and exploiting its secrets. The muscles of her jaw tighten, her gaze lingering protectively on the others, especially Mira and Orson. "No one will come to harm here," she adds for Cort's benefit, voice softer, modulated by the Force. You sent through the Force to Orson... Despite her calm, outward appearance, Jessalyn fearfully reaches out towards Orson, testing to make sure Cort hasn't done anything more sinister without her being aware of it. _Orson, he's manipulating you,_ she warns him. _Be careful._ A slight breeze seems to rustle past Orson, carrying on it the warm, moist Yavin air and the faint, almost imperceptible scent of roses. A warning, some concern, from Jessalyn. Hmm. He wasn't hugely interested in botany, aside from being interested in Jessalyn's hobby, along with his purely academic concern about the ordering of species when there seemed such a variety of cell structure and structural types on so many hundreds of worlds. "It's okay," he repeats, playing it cool and sniffing with mild derision, like any number of cocksure space freighter pilots that could be found on any number of worlds. With an easy nod to Cort: "We're listening." Mira remains quiet, but simply continues to stare at Cort in a manner that was slightly less than friendly. Acting like an adult had never been her forte. But, making an attempt at it, she crosses her arms across her chest and does her best to appear attentive, another one of the skills she was lacking in. As poor as she was at these skills, however, the training she had recieved in the True Source had helped Mira immensely. She was now able to sit still for long periods of time and concentrate on things, and while she was still scared of birds and her hygeine and taste in food was still questionable, she was getting better. So, summoning up all her patience, she stands still and listens to Cort. "Believe as you wish, my friend," Cort says in Cronos' direction. Of all the people here, Cronos is the one that Cort feels he has to watch the closest. There seems to be anger inside of him, which can become dangerous when coupled with the power of the Force. Plus, he may not follow Skywalker's childish code. While Jessalyn may be more trained and focused, it's usually the surprises that lead to things going awry. "When Skywalker returns, tell him to return to our usual meeting place. I have not been able to contact him. I hope that he is okay." With that, Cort turns and walks down the stone path from which he had first appeared. Eventually, he strays off the path, through the ditch that lines the road on the east side, and dissappears into the jungle. The smirk remains on Cronos' face, as Cort says his mind and then proceeds to leave. It's only when the other one is gone, that he lets his face returns to the same seriouness it had when he first arrived to the place. Now he takes a step to the side, facing the others, but letting the brown eyes rest on Mira for a long while. One thing that may have been noticed, is that while the others opened themselves freely to the Force during the exchange, Cronos didn't do so. He didn't try to mask his presence, but it is kind of as if he were holding something back. Kind of like hiding something, but not quite. "You may want to consider moving to another neighborhood," the Corellian states, arching an eyebrow as he returns his lightsaber to a small hook at his belt. Jessalyn's frown deepens as she watches Cort depart, her body relaxing only when he has disappeared beneath the canopy and she's certain that he's moving away from them. She rakes a hand restlessly through her hair, moving toward Orson as Cronos' gaze fixes on Mira. "Good thing we were just planning on leaving," she comments. "Where are my manners?" she huffs out suddenly, turning on her heel. "I'm Jessalyn Valios. This is Orson Tighe, my apprentice," she introduces with a little wave of her hand. "I'm surprised, really. I thought that Stasus was here because of the vision." Her brows arch expectantly as she tilts her head in Cronos' direction, some suspicion that he's been drawn by the same thing that the rest of them have been Seeing. "I'm Orson," the man introduces immediately after Jessalyn has just announced his name. The timing of it might make him appear rather bizarre, but in this group he's already pulled to first place in the Normal Contest. However, the timing of it means something, and he synchronizes a little grunt with his second wave to Cronos. Orson feels like his brain is struggling against the inside of his skull, and he's mostly speechless now, Jessalyn having stolen his last few comments. What she said. His best attempt: "Nice ship." With, of course, a slight waggle of the eyebrows. His lead is slipping. "This is Jessalyn and Orson," Mira says, gesturing to both of them, also appearing bizarre. But then, it was Mira. What else did one expect. "We met on Corellia. And I've been travelling with them since Simon left." She is quiet for a minute before adding, "You got here just in time. We were getting ready to leave soon. Are you going to come with us?" she asks hopefully. "Cronos," is all that the white haired man offers as a name. He inclined his head at Jessalyn and Orson. "I suspect he very well might have been," the Corellian adds, letting his gaze return to the path taken by Cort when leaving. "As did I," he admits then, turning towards Jessalyn and Orson once more. "It was powerful enough that I felt the need to look into it." a pause and he inclines his head at Orson's words. "As you probably have figured out by now, I know Mira. And I also know Simon," he says, this is assuming that Mira has talked about him in the past. When Mira starts speaking, Cronos falls into a respectful silence. "Simon..." he does echoes the name as she mentions it. Without looking at the others Cronos nods his head. "Yes, I imagine I'll come with you all," the man says, turning now towards Jessalyn and waiting for her to either accept his offer to join or reject it. The topic of Simon has a sombering effect on Jessalyn, who folds her hands in front of her, head slightly bent. "Both Mira and Simon have spoken of you," she says in a quiet voice, unable to keep from giving Orson a worried look. The effects of Cort's twisted macinations seem to be lingering longer than she would have liked, and she has to dampen down a sudden flare of anger in her belly. As Mira extends the invitation to Cronos, Jessa inhales sharply, her gaze fixing on the white-haired stranger, unabashedly probing with the Force as she gauges his strengths and surface motivations. The stony expression finally dissolves into a smile, and she gestures with one hand as she replies. "I sense the Force strongly in you," she says. "You've come far on your path to become a Jedi, but there is much yet to be learned. You're welcome to join us, Cronos. And if you'd like more training...." She trails off, extending the invitation with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "On whose ship?" Orson asks wryly, shooting a look back to Jessalyn. He's offended on a few levels, and is simply in a terrible mood. There was business to be conducted still, and Jessalyn had no right to casually invite Cronos - potentially a 'player' of Galactic scope -- to join them. With Mira it was different; Jessalyn knew better. All that could be easily forgiven, except that Jessalyn -herself- doesn't have even approval to be on the ship. At least not from the ship's owner. All the frustration flows from a single but large sore point on Orson: conflict about his own identity. Still, he was his own person, damnit, and more than -just- Jessalyn's apprentice. "Bah," he says, waving a frustrated but accepting hand at Cronos. "It's okay. Nevermind." With that, he turns and stalks off, toward the Uwannabuyim's open cargo bay. Cronos stiffens, as he senses the intrusion, at least he considers it an intrusion, into his mind. "You do sense that. Next time, have the courtesy of asking me if you can poke around first," the Corellian states, none too pleased with it. A pause and he nods his head. "I'll join you then," he seems about to say something else, but his expression softens a bit as he eyes fall on Mira for a moment. "I apologize for my tone before," he adds. "If you wish to help me learn, I'll do my best to try and do so," and note how he avoids calling it 'training', the same way he will probably avoid calling Jessalyn Master, or Mistress whichever the Jedi are supposed to use. His knowledge of the Jedi comes all from JD-1, and a lot of it seemed quite odd. A pause from Cronos, as he may be feeling some of Orson's feelings through the Force, or just simply reading his gestures. "I'm not sure your friend likes the idea. Perhaps it is better if I go my own way..." his words trailing off. He has already been through this. With Skywalker. Always the odd one, for some reason others didn't like him around. He ended up leaving Skywalker because of this, it somewhat hurts him that it may have to be the case again, and his feelings are probably quite obvious through the Force. Perhaps it's just her defensiveness after the appearance of Cort, but Jessalyn feels justified in her need to evaluate Cronos as a friend or foe. Still, she realizes he's right, and she starts to voice this. "I only want to help," she explains inadequately, Orson's sudden interjection leaving her speechless then. She watches him stalk away, unreasonably battered by the turmoil of emotion coming off of him. Even if the others can't sense it, she's inextricably linked to him, and it's difficult to gain her composure, heartache showing in her eyes. "Orson, wait...." she calls out, knowing it's no use. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Jessa steps towards Cronos, touching his arm lightly as she seeks out his eyes. "I'm not much of a Teacher, to be honest with you, but I can share what I know. I'll make my share of mistakes, as you can already tell." Her face falls into a stricken expression as she turns, fists held rigidly at her sides as she looks towards the ramp where Orson is headed, not caring that her feelings are obvious for anyone to see. For a half moment, Orson is proud of his rugged appearance: lean, strong body, caked in mud and a fair amount of sweat. It was his dirt, his sweat, and it put that much more distance between him and the rest of the galaxy. Maybe Mira was right. Karrde's mechanic disappears into the cargo bay. Cronos watches the exchange, silent at first. Then he chuckles, and it then breaks into a laughter, a loud laughter. "Emotions," he says, as if the single word would explain everything. He is smiling now, facing Jessalyn. "I commend you, Jessalyn Valios you and your friend are better Jedi than you give yourself credit," the man states, the smile still on his face. "The Old Jedi talk about the lack of emotion, when in fact it should be the lack of anger. Emotions on themselves are not bad, for they are the stuff that makes us alive. Acting on them without thinking," he touches his head with a finger, "that's what's really bad. "I'm not sure if Skywalker ever understood this... You will be a great teacher, Jessalyn Valios... For you are like me, just human," he nods his head. "So lets learn from each other, shall we? Should I grab my things, or should I take my ship?" Blinking in surprise at Cronos' laughter, Jessalyn turns to look over her shoulder at the tall man, a frown carved into her forehead before she realizes what it is that has him so amused. Listening to his words, a sheepish smile starts to form, and she shrugs her shoulders, embarrassed. Hadn't she learned this lesson already, thanks to a little affectionate encouragement from Orson? Cronos was right, she muses, and they both seemed to have the same perception of Luke's attitude on this matter. "Master Luke has a heavier burden than most," she tries to explain away, but stops, not really falling for the excuse herself, this time. She wonders briefly what else she's going to learn from her unlikely students. "Please, join us on our ship. I'll talk to Orson. He's all right -- it doesn't really have to do with you, you know." Glancing toward Cronos' ship, she offers, "Need any help with your things?" "He will get over it," Cronos says in agreement, scratching his beard. "The Force drove us together for a reason, until the time is right, it won't lets move apart. I don't have many things, I can get them without help. Now go... and ruffle his feathers," the man says, sounding older. He smiles, and turns around bowing his head for a moment. "As mine were cut a long time ago..." he pauses, searching for Mira with his gaze, but the girl's attention seems to have shifted to something else. Cronos smiles, or rather Markus smiles. For this is probably the last time he will be able to see himself that way. "Come on, JD-1 we are leaving," he calls in, as he walks back to the ship. "To the stars."
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)