| abstract
| - Fountain Square - Plaxton City The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. Water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.' Newly planted, lush trees now dominate the square, shading the area from the afternoon sky above is clear. Dark bushy leaves cover the branches, offering shade for the ground below. Patches of well maintained grass surround the base of the trees, allowing space for visitors to relax or picnic. The central, most famous area of Plaxton City, seems to become more and more park-like with the frequent additions and maintnence. A pair of Marines quietly watch over the area. Jessalyn The expression in Jessalyn's leaf green eyes is one of surprising complexity. The coherence and calm composure of a Jedi have left her, leaving 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 vivid color a stark contrast to her pale skin. Tired bruises encircle her eyes, indicative of exhaustion or some burden to great for her to carry. She has long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills, with slender shoulders, a narrow waist, and the best legs in ten parsecs. She is wearing a dark green, long-sleeved shirt beneath a velvet black tunic that is belted at her narrow waist. The full sleeves are cinched above her pale, slender wrists. A pair of tight, dark green pants are tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs. Rocklin Before you is a young human male of average height and narrow build. His hair is a deep brown, parted and cut short. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-gray look out over high cheekbones, which are accentuated by dark gray horns of bone. The horns are shaped almost like teeth, curved inward like a spider's mandibles. A goatee and mustache decorates the lower half of his face. All in all, the man's appearance and presence could be summed up in a word: fierce. Presently, the man before you is dressed from head to toe in loose, black clothes, appropriate for physical training. A black piece of cloth is wrapped around his head from just above his forehead, tied in the back and completely covering his hair and the back of his neck. A robe made of the same material hangs loosely on his arms, tied at the waist by a thick black rope belt. The bottoms of the robe hang low, stopping right at knee level. The pants are also loose and black, the sleeves tucked neatly into the tops of knee high, moccasin style boots a shade of dark, dark brown. Strapped diagonally across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandoleer, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft or cylinder rises over his left shoulder. It looks like some sort of rod, sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Tarrin A short young man of alittle over five feet in height. His eyes are of the clearest crystal blue. His hair a fine sandy blonde. His build is decptively slight, weighing perhaps only one hundred and twenty pounds. Tarrin wears a fatigue type uniform consisting of a shirt and slightly baggy pants with large cargo pockets. Both the shirt and the pants are made of a cloth that has an incredibly durable look and feel to it. Both garments are slate green in color, with blended black splotches, creating the distinctive pattern commonly worn by CDU Marines. The uniform is belted with a canvas belt, rather than leather, so as to be less likely to deteriorate in inclement weather. The fatigue pants tuck into leather or synthetic combat boots, polished to a suitable gleam. Over the fatigues is worn the duty jacket, made of similar fabric, but looking a little polished in style compared to the rugged fatigues. The duty jacket is solid slate green in color, with a silver tri-braided rope looped about the left shoulder. A CDU Marine vector apex is sewn onto the right shoulder, and unit markings decorate the opposite shoulder. A dark blue beret rests on his head with a small brass pin on it. The pin identifies him as a Praetorian. Adorning his collar is his rank insignia. Double gold starbursts indicate his rank to be Captain. A dull gray name-patch is sewn across the left chest reads Tarrin Stardiver. Strapped onto the belt is a military issue sidearm holster, capable of accommodating the Kylan-3; the chosen sidearm of the Caspian military. On the opposite hip are pouches for a few spare power cells to reload the sidearm, and a sheath for a standard issue combat knife. Ubi_Sunt A Doe-eyed woman with chocolate brown curls that fall past her shoulders, pour down her front and spill into her lap. She is dressed in a white robe sitting in a hover chair, the black straps that bind her legs form a contrast against the color of her dress. If she were not confined to a hoverchair she would stand at above average height for a woman. She possesses a doll like build. Her complexion is vanilla, her cheeks a gentle flush of cherry blossoms and her lips are like pink rose petals. Bordering her face and streaming down either side of her neck and trailing along her shoulders are soft tan brown spots that disappear beyond a ballerina neckline and into the gothic sleeves of her dress. The skirt of her dress falls to her ankles and she is wearing white leather boots. Remik A tall young male that seems to be in his mid-twenties, about 6 feet 2 inches in height, with short, cropped, dark brown hair and brown eyes, and a lightly tanned, fair skin tone. His sharp facial features give him a handsome, young face, which is shaved cleanly. He has no Sar spots which tells you he is Human. He has an athletic build from regular training and excersize. He wears a plain, olive colored tunic of a Caspian Marine. The epaulets on his shoulders reveal that he is a Lieutenant. At his waist is a black belt with a silver colored buckle. On the belt is a holster for a blaster thats rests in it on his right hip. A pair of olive colored pants and black military boots complement each other. Malus Standing 5"3" apears to be humanoid of some sort...exactly what is unsure. He keeps his boy wraped in a black cloak to hide most his phisacal features. His facial features are also undifinable for he keeps a black cloath wraping his face as well. All you can see is his one eye from under his hood....if that. Walking slowly, casually into the central, park-like area of Plaxton City, the one now calling himself 'Rocklin' speaks to his companion. Two lengths of wood are in his left hand, held over his shoulder like a fisherman carrying his poles. His voice is quiet, and his words come slowly, as if he was being very careful about his pronunciation of each syllable. "It always seems to come back to this place, for me." He pauses as another couple of Sarians walk by, briefly very close. When the Sarians are out of earshot, Rocklin continues, "It does not matter who is chasing me, or where I am running. It is always to this place, beneath that statue. It was here that I first saw Cort Stasus." There have been times in the past when Jessalyn has made that same observation about Caspar. For now, though, the most compelling of her memories is the last time she was here. How long ago? One month, two? It seemed now like it must have been another lifetime. So perfectly happy. So perfectly complete. Perfect in her faith in the Force, and in love, and in the future. Perfectly deluded and vulnerable. With blank eyes she gazes around the square, her arms folded across her chest as she walks alongside the tall Selas. She had been mostly quiet whenever in his presence during those two endless days in space, preferring to spend her time alone than to even bother asking him about food or water. In the end, she was grateful that most of the time she was left in peace to mourn in the isolated stateroom. There she could wrestle with her demons and wallow in her self-loathing without fear of his taunting eyes. Perhaps she could have pulled through it, begun to heal and recognize her own worth, if she wasn't faced with the epitome of her failures every time she was aware of Simon's presence. If she wasn't haunted by Orson's oh-so-present memories of sweet promises and whispered passion every time she closed her eyes. "What all do you know about Cort Stasus' career?" she asks out of sheer curiosity. Her brief meeting with the Sithling on Yavin had left her baffled, and she has a feeling it won't be long unil the renegade makes his power and presence known once more. "I know of what he told me," the Selas says, still speaking slowly and carefully. His slurred accent, which had become much less obvious since even his first meeting with Jessalyn, was almost completely hidden when he spoke slowly like this. "He dealt the Jedi and Luke Skywalker a terrible blow on Tatooine some time ago. He enraged the Emperor in freeing Mira and I from prison. He has done more than I in his attacks against the Sith and the Jedi. I was present when he sent the Emperor a message, breaking the Corrupter Morgannaz Tazeks and severing her hand." At this, Rocklin raises his right arm and looks at the growth of flesh protruding where a hand would be. It was pink and unusual, almost like a tenticle in its shape. Turning his attention from it back to Jessalyn, he says, "Why do you ask of Cort Stasus? I told you before... he would not have you, and you would not have him. I am not even sure where he is, now." "He's someone I've... heard a lot about, but have little direct knowledge of," Jessalyn answers Rocklin honestly. "Mira never talked much about him." She tries to hide her discomfort at the sight of Simon's uplifted, disfigured arm, but the hardened wall around her heart makes it easy for her to squelch her revulsion. "I wouldn't have him, the truth be told. I've had enough training for one lifetime." "His training is not for you," Rocklin says, slipping into his quick, accented speach. From the expression on his face, he was clearly startled at the prospect of Cort training Jessalyn. It was a possibility, a horrifying possibility, that he hadn't even considered. Cort would be hard enough to destroy without someone as powerful as Jessalyn by his side. "Here," he says, tossing one of the lengths of wood to Jessalyn without waiting for her to prepare herself. "We will start simple." He begins walking toward a grassy area, under the shade of several trees, just off the beaten path. Malus stands off to his self, cigar hangin out from the hood of his cloak. His eyes pear out..stalking whatever subject that might catch his eye for the moment. Ocasunaly smoke bellows out from under the hood as he takes long draws from the cigar. The flame-haired woman easily catches the staff when Rocklin tosses it to her, clearly puzzled. The thought of him training her was as foreign an idea to her as Cort training her was for Rocklin. Jessalyn's brow wrinkles as she processes all this, taking a few long-legged strides toward the grassy area to keep up with him, fingers curled around the staff. "What do you mean, 'start simple?'" she asks warily. The lengths of wood that Rocklin had brought with him were roughly a meter. They were smooth and round, with a deep grain and a soft feel in the hand. They were too short to be used as a proper staff. They looked like they could be dowels from a carpenter's shop. To answer Jessalyn's question, Rocklin spins quickly on the ball of his feet, raising his wooden dowel like a sword, swinging it quickly and mercilessly at the woman's head. His right arm he holds aloft behind him, looking much like a fencer. Even as he's performing the manuever, he says, "We'll start with confidence training." Malus continues skippin his eyes about, ocasunaly changing his positon..till eventuly his attention falls to the other two. Slowly he begains making his way close...but still keeping a good distnce. Eventualy he makes way to a larger tree, ducking behind it Malus settles in to see what he might learn..if anything. She has no time to do anything but react. Her lack of confidence doesn't even have a chance to kick in and make her crumble, submitting to the attack as she might secretly wish to do. Instead Jessalyn lifts her arms and blocks the blow from Rocklin, gasping in surprise as the two beams jar together. Glaring across at the man, she pushes her weight against the wooden dowel, trying to disengage them and taking a step back. "You're a fool if you think I'll let you train me," she informs him icily, brandishing the dowel as if it were her lightsaber. The one she's certain she'll never see again. "And I don't -want- confidence. When are you going to accept that it's over for me?" Shaking his head, Rocklin takes a step away from Jessalyn as well, putting a solid three paces between them. He says, slowly, "You do not hear yourself. You have deceived yourself. You believe that because you can decide something, you make it so. Don't you see how foolish that is? If you wish to roll over and die, then stop your heart from beating in your chest. Stop breathing." Without waiting for an answer, he lunges, whirling his wooden rod in three quick swings, aimed for head, then stomach, then upper leg. He speaks as he does this, sounding as if he wasn't exerting himself. "You can not stop living just because it no longer suits you. Like life, you can not stop feeling... other things... once you have been chosen for those things." Not being able to hear very well Malus watches intently. As the male lunges to the female he considers it time to move closer. Moving as quickly as he can he tries to circle around to closer tree. What ever is going seams to be interesting. A defiant gleam burns darkly in Jessalyn's eyes, like incandescent emerald stars. No matter the quickness and skill of Rocklin's attack, it is matched by the woman's own trained abilities. Moving lightning-fast, the dowel twists in her seasoned grip, blocking each of the three strikes as an enraged cry leaves her throat upon the contact. "You say that like you think I won't do it," she hisses at him. "Maybe you don't really know despair, Sezirok. To live without hope, with nothing to live for. You've found your causes to keep you going, even in your lost state. But I won't go on like this." The sparring sickens her, and she tosses the beam away, not watching as it bounces across the grass, and lifts her chin in a stubborn challenge. "Go ahead. Do what you want with me. I won't stop you." On his home world, Rocklin had seen his teacher's give lessons similar to this to sullen students. It seemed that the trick was to strike when the student least suspected, forcing their self preservation instincts to kick in. Self preservation was the most basic example that can be shown to someone to prove to them that they still wanted to live, no matter how bad the circumstances. The technique had been applied to Rocklin himself, in fact, when he first became Selas. The open target that Jessalyn presented now, however, would no longer satisfy the requirements for the lesson. He could drum her over the head with his stick now, and all she would get out of it was bruises and pain. Stepping in close, he brings his dowel down on her in an overhand strike, stopping the blow a hair's breadth from landing upon her brow. "You look me in the face and tell me I don't know despair," he says, scowling. "Stupid, blind, fool! You think my cause gives me hope? My death lies at the end of my cause. How easily you forget that I, like the rest of your order, is damned." With that, he brings his foot in and behind her leg, moving for a vicious foot sweep to knock her on her posterior. The girl doesn't even flinch, as close as Rocklin's dowel comes to crushing her temple. Her eyes still blaze throughout the tirade, tired of his condemnation and insults, tired of his foolhardy short-sightedness. But she doesn't even get a chance to form her answer before the sweep of his leg sends her reeling backwards, off her feet, to land on the grass with a jarring thump. The painful landing makes Jessalyn frown up at him, eyes glistening. "No. Whatever is in you now has replaced hope, and made you into a creature devoid of any humanity," she says somberly, her voice quiet in contrast to his enraged outburst. "That's the kind of fate I'd rather avoid." Folding his arms across his chest, Rocklin studies Jessalyn for a moment, considering her words. He knew exactly what he'd become. He had started off simply cursed and cast away. Now he was something much worse, with the honorable end before him a quick death by his own hand after eliminating the others in the galaxy that were like him. Did that really make him any less human? Walking over toward where Jessalyn had tossed her dowel, Rocklin ponders this. He picks up the rod, then pitches it to Jessalyn, saying, "Choose a different fate, then. But make a choice, because you are not dead yet. Remember this when you make that choice... if I were a horrible monster, would I be trying to wake you like this?" Rising, Jessalyn brushes off her trousers, watching him turn pensive. It reminds her of the man she had once known, and it makes her cringe, considering what might have been, and what might yet be. It's impossible for her to forget that flicker of the future the Force had shown her when she had been prepared to snuff out his life with all the power of her hatred. Could he really be redeemed? "I wish that you were trying to wake me because you cared for me. Not because you want someone to help you on your quest. You won't be able to destroy the Jedi, Simon. Trust me on this." There was a hidden question in Jessalyn's words, which Rocklin wasn't going to answer. He wasn't going to tell her if he cared about her. It would be either a lie to her, or a lie to himself. Deception was what the Jedi did, not he. Instead, he says, "Then I will die trying, without wasting time to feel sorry for myself doing it. I'll die fighting, with my head held high and my eyes wide open, honorably. Not as a pitiful wretch." "Like me?" Jessalyn asks solemnly, her eyes never leaving his face, accustomed as she was now to seeing the hideous alterations. A sad, tired smile quirks the corner of her mouth. It was too bad, really, she reflected bitterly. If he really wanted to convert her to his side, it would probably only take a little outpouring of tenderness, a little care and concern. Was she really that weak? Did she care if she was or not? "I'm not going to help you purge the Jedi, Simon. They're not my enemy. And they're not yours, either. You're your own enemy." The woman was trying to deceive him again. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it. Perhaps it was what the Jedi had instilled into her: a reactionary method of keeping people from prying her out of their number. Any fool could see that the Jedi were his enemy. They were the enemy of everyone and everything with the way they galavanted around the galaxy, prodding their fingers into the private minds of others, fouling the souls of those defenseless people, wreaking havoc upon the True Source. They were likely her enemy. Was it not by Jedi hands that she was brought to a level of despair like none she had ever known before? She was blind, and floundering, and still trying to deceive herself as much as she was trying to deceive him. Even knowing this, it still angered him to hear those words from her. She was trying to plant seeds of doubt into his mind, when he needed to remain dedicated to his mission. Without that dedication, he might consider the consequences of his actions to deeply. If he was wrong... He could not be wrong, and he could not let himself consider it. Turning his back on Jessalyn, he says, gruffly, "The lesson is over. Go on feeling sorry for yourself if you wish. Make grief your new lover. Stand by and watch as I do what I have to, if you must. Just don't get in my way." No, it wasn't the Jedi Order that Jessalyn had lost faith in, it was herself. She wasn't fleeing from them them because of some perceived flaw in their ideology, nor even because of how much she'd been hurt at their hands. She didn't want to infect them anymore with her mistakes, her foulness. She couldn't go back unless her soul was restored, her sense of purpose and surety in the will of the Force firmly back in place. But considering what it would take to make that happen... And she would rather wander to some remote corner of the Outer Rim and disappear forever from the fate of the galaxy than to dare ask the Jedi Master or anyone else to heal her. But now, it seems she stands at a crossroads with her Selas companion, and she tilts her head, watching him as he turns his back towards her. "You really don't want me in the way?" she asks, her voice soft, surprisingly sweet as she takes a step toward him. "You want to part ways now, Simon? I'll leave without betraying you, if that's what you wish." Slowly, the Selas turns back to Jessalyn, an arrogant smirk on his lips. Now he had no doubts about her deceptive ways. It was almost comical to hear that tone in her voice, wielded as much like a weapon as any lightsaber she'd ever held in her hands. "Well, that depends, Jessalyn Valios," he says, folding his arms across the chest. "You see... you say that you won't touch the True Source again. You may be sincere, but I know that it is not as simple as that. If you leave now, then I will know that you will have returned to the ways of the Jedi, and when next we meet, I will be forced to take you to the Last Embrace, once and for all. Stay with me, and I will know where you are and what you are up to. Perhaps you can be spared, when it is all over. Perhaps you will even learn that I am right in my mission, just as I was right about our souls being delicate. Perhaps in all that, I could learn to love you again, as I had before." He stops speaking long enough to scowl, narrowing his eyes to slits. For a moment, it seems as if the horns on his face actually twitch, like an insects mandibles. He says, "Leave, and I will kill you. Stay, and I will not. It's a simple choice." The red-haired woman bites on her lower lip, stifling a frown as she considers Rocklin and his offer. After all they had been through, he still couldn't accept the truest part of her, the compassionate and tender nature that had urged her to love him in the first place. His words about love almost make Jessalyn laugh. "So... let me get this straight? If I'll leave, you'll fulfill what it is I want you to do anyway? Which is why I've followed you in the first place? What circular reasoning. Very well, Selas. We're both exiles now, but we're not allies. Just remember -- if you ever do manage to kill me, it will only be because I allowed you to." Tarrin stops dead in his path and looks between the people here, blinking slightly he says, "Excuse me folk. What exactly is going on here?" having noted the work kill used alot. Standing very still, with his eyes latched onto Jessalyn in an unblinking stare, Rocklin reaches out to the True Source. His weapon was strapped to his back, within easy reach, and hers was probably drifting through space off in some system that had long been abandoned as a junk area. It was loud and clumsy with only one hand to wield it, and with people already paying them more attention than he particularly cared for, it wasn't the weapon of choice at this time. Instead, there was something much simpler he could do. If she would not reach out to the True Source, then it was a simple matter of reaching an invisible hand to her throat, squeezing the veins shut, pinching off the air passage. He could prove to her once and for all that she wanted to live, and that she would use the True Source to ensure that she continued drawing breath. Or, she would die by his invisible hand, and there would be one less Jedi in the galaxy for him to worry about. At the approach the stranger, Simon tilts his head in his direction without taking his eyes off Jessalyn or lowering his invisible attack on her. He says, slowly and clearly, "I am a trainer. We are doing a practice here to promote business, you see. We are trying to decide what to... demonstrate... next." She's dimly aware of the stranger's approach, but by the time Simon turns to address him, the air has stopped coming into her lungs, and she claws at her throat, caught completely off guard. Trying in vain to suck in air, Jessalyn sinks to her knees, her color shifting from pale to bright red after a moment passes. If she used the Force, she could fight off the invasion of the invisible fingers that wrap around her throat... but she's refused to exert that power, knowing how it will inevitably lead to the Dark Side. Death was such a better answer. So much easier than facing the Jedi again, facing Luke with her failures, facing Orson who held all her secrets and had abandoned her as if she were any other meaningless woman in the galaxy. Destroying her pride and confidence, destroying her future and her hope. Even as she starts to tip on to one side, she closes her eyes, not wanting to see Simon's face as she starts to slip towards unconsciousness, her vision blurring red, then black.... Fixing Jessalyn's position in his mind, Rocklin turns to face Tarrin, planting his left hand on his hip while pointing the appendage of misshapen flesh at the end of his right arm at Tarrin's chest. Splitting his concentration between attacking Jessalyn and dealing with this stranger was a difficult thing. Letting go his attack on the Jedi, he says, "You are entering a conversation in the middle, knowing nothing of where it began or where it was going. I do not think you want to get so involved. Perhaps you should move along." His eyes narrow, looking ominous above his mandible like facial horns. Noting the lady begin to sway and topple Tarrin move quickly to assist her and says, "You had better back off sir." never having been one to back down from anything "Perhaps it is you that should move along." reacing for his communicator on his belt he flicks it quickly to life. When at last Jessalyn is able to draw breath again, she finally does keel over onto one side, choking and gasping as she levers herself on one elbow in the grass. Without looking at Rocklin, she wipes her sleeve across her face, regretting that she hadn't blacked out. But there was probably a reason for that, too. Gently, Jessalyn touches Tarrin's hand, the one holding the communicator. "There's no need for that," she suggests in a modulated tone, her voice surprisingly calm, despite its raspiness. "He and I are associates. There's nothing wrong here." Would he even appreciate her defending him? She privately doubted it. But for some strange reason she's latched onto that image of the redeemed Selas, and she's going to defend it. Reacting as if seeing Jessalyn tumble for the first time, Rocklin jogs after Tarrin to offer aid to the Jedi. With emotionless eyes, he says, carefully, "She and I have been doing this routine for quite some time now. If we are not careful, it could kill us. Jessalyn is obviously exhausted from this. I should take her to our ship." Having not seen either one of them actually doing anything to the other he shakes his head his eyes getting just a bit wide, "What exactly where you doing to her?" he eyes narrowing on Rocklin Rubbing her fingers against her bruised throat, Jessalyn swallows, resisting the urge to use the Force to put the man at ease around them. But that's not the only tool at her disposal, and she's rather shocked with her ability to smooth her expression, put on a charming smile that doesn't quite reach her haunted, green eyes. "He wasn't do anything to me. It was a routine. I'm quite all right." She stands briskly, brushing at the grass stains on the knees of her pants, and sparing a glimpse toward Rocklin. Tarrin eyes narrow at Jessalyn as she stands, his eyes meeting hers for just a moment before looking back to the man, "Oh really." his complete disbelief at the statement obvious, as he turns to lock eyes with the man across from him once more.. Casting a glance toward one end of the park like area, Rocklin spots another marine, whose attention seems to have focused more closely on the three of them. Two people working out in this area was not that uncommon, really. Joggers ran by, some street performers did tumbling and juggling on various occasions... it was the nature of the infamous Fountain Square of Plaxton City that almost anything and anyone should happen by, sometimes violently. With Tarrin's presence added, it no longer looked so innocent, and Rocklin knew it. Stepping up next to Jessalyn, he slides an arm around her shoulders to help support her. He returns the look Tarrin gives him, saying, "We have things under control now, soldier. Do you want to make an incident out of nothing? Move along." His jowels creek with the effort of not grinding his teeth. Steps forward and infront of Rocklin, "Oh no you don't." having grown up in a abusive household, he recognizes Jessalyn's reactions, or belives he does, "I think you need to be leaving this lady alone sir, "I don't know what you just did to her." he smirks, "If may even be that farce stuff." his lack of belief in that apperaent as well, "But I won't be lettin you hurt her anymore.." Jessalyn's smile seems genuine enough, even when Rocklin slides an arm around her shoulders, and her brows knit together in confusion at the stranger's outburst. "Whatever you think you saw here, you're mistaken," she assures Tarrin. "He's done nothing to harm me. We were practicing a routine. Did you even see him touch me?" she points out logically, chuckling. "Come, Rocklin, let's get out of here." The redhead takes the tall Selas by the arm and begins to draw him away with her. For a moment, Rocklin considers helping Tarrin develop the situation into a full fledged incident. It was clear that the CDU Marine had an almost mystical sense about him, seeing through the facades that Jessalyn and Rocklin tried to maintain. When Tarrin momentarily pressed himself between Rocklin and Jessalyn, it was a very near thing for the goateed, horn-faced man from losing his temper and doing something really foolish. Jessalyn had the right of it, though. Taking a deep breath, Rocklin says, his voice slow and seemingly calm, "You will be letting us walk away. Now." Gut instinct tell Tarrin that something is horribly wrong here so he stands his ground, "I don't think so." recalling the Jessalyn's faint, the the type actors do, they can't control there coloring that way, and the look in her eyes after... his eyes looking on the man, "I don't know what you are holding over this lady but I am not letting you continue with it..." Hovering just along the edge of the square and a nearby street, A woman confined to a hoverchair watches the three in the square with some interest. She waves away a merchant trying to sell her a piece of ceramic and keeps her eye on what is going on. She taps a datapad in her hand before dropping it into her lap and skimming forward. She pulls up to the group and looks between them with a smile. "Hello. Is this woman doing alright." She glances at the man with horns, her gaze lingering there for a moment before turning her gaze to the red headed woman with him. "I am quite fine," Jessalyn assures the woman who approaches in the hoverchair, growing annoyed at the interest everyone is taking in her well-being all of the sudden. Funny, how now that she couldn't care less whether anyone came to her aid, there were heroes coming out of nowhere. Her smile doesn't waver, and she pats at Rocklin's arm protectively, shaking her head and offering a genuine, confused look to both Tarrin and the woman. "Please, let us be going. I promise that I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Stepping from South Mergansar Avenue, Kyo walks into the Square and looks around with Drax in hand and in tow. Argh... hungry, hungry, hungry. Looking around, the square seems crowded tonight and it is even harder to remember where the bar is. "K'so!" It was a curse to the hunger gods. Looking about still, her eyes fall on what seems to be a small or large squall. One or the other though it is still too early to tell. Fact is, it is a confrontation and it has Kyo's attention. For now, the hunger dies as curiousity takes over. Upon further inspection, Kyo quickly loses her interest and tugs Drax's arm. "C'mon. Let's find that place." The wooden dowel that Rocklin had picked up earlier had remained in his left hand, forgotten until this moment. Raising his arm, hefting the length of wood like a club, Rockling addresses the marine in a cold, quiet voice, "Step in front of us one more time and I'm going to think you are provoking me." The words spill out more quickly than he'd meant, and are laced with an alien sounding, slurred accent. Tarrin eyes narrrow slightly, "Oh you are threatening me now?" as the man raises the piece of wood, "Thats allways the method of the abusive type." smirking as Jessslyn speaks his expression says he doesn't believe here at all. Drax moves along the streets with Kyo. His eyes glance over at the fountain for a moment. He really hadn't been to Caspar all too much and always liked this particular spot. His stomach growls again, showing that there was somplace it would rather be right about now. His eyes ddart back over at Kyo as she says a ohrase that is quite foreign to him. 'Hmm, must be something she's picked up from those dreams...' He nods to the woman, in agreement, "Yeah, I don't know how long I can hold out." He wasn't one to go very long without food. And he had over the last day or two. But it was worth it. Now the woman in the hoverchair has been set on the alarm. She glares at the man with the stick, then flashes her gaze to Tarrin. She recognizes his military insignia and rank. "Captain, Something is not right here. I think you better make use of that comlink and get some security over here." She looks back at the man with a stick. "Now." Something flashes in the woman's eyes. "Put down the stick." The redhead tips her head upward, swearing softly to the clouds above. Rocklin wasn't helping their cause at all, no matter her attempts to deflect any suspicion. And so, the woman decides on a different route, and steps toward Tarrin and the hoverchair-bound woman with a small, conspiratorial smile. "Look, I'll tell you the truth, just so we can avoid any embarrassment, here, all right? My name is Jessalyn Valios. I am a Jedi Knight, and a visitor here on your world. This man is my escort and partner. I know it's difficult to explain what you saw, but I assure that I am not in any danger. He's... impetuous and stubborn, but good-hearted." A smile dimples in Jessalyn's cheeks as she looks between them, silently praying that the Selas won't do anything else rash that might prove her words false. "Please, just let us be on our way." A slow walk around the square gets a woman where she needs to go. Unfortunately, the crowd was making that hard. 'I hope they're not -all- going to the same place,' Kyo thinks to herself before coming to a dead stop. "Ah! Found it!" The illuminated agent turns to Drax with a wide grin. Dinnertime!" Sweeping a hand down her dress in attempt to straighten it, the other remains clasping onto the pilot's as she pulls him into the Sandbar. It's a wonder that Rocklin doesn't chip a tooth with the way he clenches his jaws shut. His knuckles go white around the dowel in his hand, which he lowers to his side. It quivers slightly, but Jessalyn still had the right of it. These people were sticking their noses where it didn't belong... but Jessalyn had the right of it. When she speaks to Tarrin and gestures toward Rocklin, the alien-looking man shows Tarrin some teeth, hoping the marine will take it for a smile. As for the hover-chair woman... Rocklin turns a cool look to her, saying quietly, through still clenched teeth, "It is my training rod. I do not wish to part with it." He flashes his teeth to her in the same fashion he had to the marine. Tarrin shakes his head and says softly, and can't believe the lady would come up with that big of a lie. After all a Jedi wouldn't let herself get stuck in a abusive relationship like that he shakes his head, "Nice story." he says cooly his eyes locking on the man. The woman takes her eyes off the horned man and leans back in her hoverchair and taps her fingertips on an armrest while looking at Jessalyn. "Your escort's behavior suggests otherwise, Jessalyn Valios. Which calls into question what you have just told me about yourselves." Her eyes return to the horned man. "That which is for training is not for threatening. Make up your mind but until then quit brandishing it in our general direction. It might make your words more believable." Well, it isn't much of a surprise to Drax that so many people should be in this particular spot. Wasn't it one of the more famous places in the city? Either way he continues to stroll through the square, course plotted for the Sandbar. His eyes fall on the establishment as they draw closer. 'There had better not be a line....' Bah, who was he kidding? He'd find a way to cut through to the front either way. He grins and turns back to the woman at his side as she makes her exclamation, "..And I can't wait." And so, he is pulled into the Snadbar by the woman. She seemed to be doing this rather often as of late... Hmmm. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around or something? Oh well. Drax didn't mind at all. If Jessa had the courage to use the Force to read Tarrin's mind, she would probably laugh aloud at his deductions about her. As it is, she regrets her vow that keeps her from proving her identity to the others, and instead gives them a mild shrug, taking Rocklin by one arm so that she coaxes the beam in his hand down into a less threatening angle. "You don't have to believe me. But you have no reason to keep us, I have no charges to press, and we have lessons to attend to. Good day." The Jedi turns on her heel, guiding Rocklin in a different direction that takes them out of their path. Tarrin says softly, "I don't think so, "AS she said, you prove yourself as other by your actions. If you where really those mythical jedi." he smirks, "He wouldn't have let his temper flare up and you wouldn't be hiding behind your own fear." he steps forward and place a hand on Jessalyn's shoulder. Rage boils within Rocklin until his heart pounds battery acid through his veins, and his muscles tense to the point of quivering. The gall of the man to step in front of them once more could have been enough, but then to actually touch Jessalyn... Like a jealous lover, Rocklin reacts. Bringing his left arm up, he whips the training rod gripped in his left hand up into an underhand crack, targetted for the marine's forearm attached to the hand on Jessalyn's shoulder. At the same time, he takes a step away from Jessalyn, freeing his right, misshapen appendage. "You will NOT touch her!" bellows Rocklin, spittle flying with the words. Yes, he was very much like a possessive, jealous lover, now. The woman in the hoverchair gasps and is wide eyed. Her gaze narrows and her dark eyes begin to burn like coals in response to the maimed man's action. She nods her head. "That, was very foolish. Assualting a member of our military is grounds for arrest." She grips the armrests of her hoverchair. That gaze shifts to the recovering Tarrin. "I'd make use of that comlink to call in reinforcements about now." "Rocklin!" Jessa lashes out, shocked. Or at least the expression on her face is shocked. Inwardly, she only sighs, wondering how she could have ever thought she could safely venture into public with this lunatic and have him pass for normal. Why she still feels she must defend him is beyond her; or, rather, she knows only too well. There's some galling flicker of compassion for him, some hope that he can be redeemed. She doesn't even realize that it's her own redemption she's afraid to face, and so focusing on the Selas allows her to divert energy from the real goal. Her own soul doesn't matter at this point; only saving Rocklin does. And so, with that part of the Force which she dreaded touching, Jessalyn twists her mind around the comlink in Tarrin's possession, crushing its inner components with a frighteningly easy power. She smiles rigidly, shaking her head, and lifting a hand that haults Remik in his tracks, so that his legs are completely immobile. "You don't want to do this," she intones gravely. Spins quickly back as Rocklin once more brandishes his stick, attempting to jerk his arm back out of the way as it quickly begsin to descend at him but not nearly fast enought. His arm gets nocked down with sickingly
* snap* stumbling backwards, he draws forth his Kylan-3 blaster from his hip and leaves it at Rocklin. Everytime he came to Caspar, it seemed things ended with him running away from the army. One would think Rocklin would learn by now that dealing with one marine was like kicking the top off an anthill. They seemed small and insignicant by individually, but in swarms their bites could kill. Holding his wooden dowel between himself and Remik, Rocklin smirks as he feel Jessalyn reach out to the True Source and begin brandishing it. It was odd. She wouldn't use the True Source to save her own life, but she could use it to come to his defense. If he wasn't on a holy quest, he would have to consider what that actually meant. But this was no time for any of that. Keeping a wary eye on the woman in the hoverchair as much as the marine he'd wrapped on the arm, Rocklin says, trying to reign in the rest of his temper, "This does not need to go any further." The woman moves her hoverchair back a few feet. "Good. We accept your surrender. Drop your stick and submit to this marine for the crime of assualting a military officer." She clasps her hands in her lap a pleasant smile spreading across her lips. When the blaster appears, Jessalyn's eyes widen, terrified of what Rocklin's reaction to this will be. She reaches out her hands, and the long weapon kept holstered along his back quivers, called across the space between them and into her grasp. Using it as the weapon she's been trained upon herself, she thumbs the switch, and a powerful green blade extends from one end of the handle. Her eyes are fierce as she merely extends her arm outward, ushering Rocklin behind her as she backs swiftly away. "You're not going to hurt him," she utters plainly. "This is ridiculous. You don't want to make enemies with us. Please." With that she turns off the device, showing her true peaceful intent, and turns to glance at Rocklin, her eyes telling him that now is the time for action. The lightstaff leaving his holster brings no small amount of alarm to Rocklin. Not only did it put him without his weapon of choice, it meant that Jessalyn had a lightsaber again. He spares Jessalyn a glance, catching the look in her eye before giving her a quick nod in return. There was only one action he could think of to take just before the swarms of marines showed up: escape. So be it. Turning a look back to the woman in the hoverchair, Rocklin smirks, then openly spits in front of her feet. Surrender was not an option, this time. Ignoring the marine's words, he moves with frightening speed. The dowel in his left hand begins to glow with an eerie, inner light of its own as he moves directly next to Jessalyn. Keeping the glowing wooden weapon between he and Tarrin, Rocklin puts his misshapen right arm around Jessalyn's waist, the creepy looking fleshy appendage wrapping to grip her like a ping tenticle. He dips deeply at the knees, then straightens, launching he and Jessalyn into an impossible jump, sending them flying at least 20 meters to the south. The hoverchair bound woman blinks and then remembers to shut her mouth when she realizes that her jaw has dropped open. She watches the fantastic aerial acrobatics that carry the maimed man and the woman with him several feet, landing them with a good head start on an injured marine and another who can't move. With speed that marks of superiour training Tarrin pulls his blaser around towards where the pair jumped, he selector swich is quickly flipped a moment before he depresses the trigger loosing stunning bolts at the pair. Pallando saunters in fro the west sniffly and fatigued though there is nothing in the balmy weather to acount for such. He barely looks up crossing from the Western North-South street to the central plaza with fountain. He looks up just in time to see some tourists hover bus heave westward as if in great hurry to be elsewhere with its summer time offwordlers. But his reverie is even greater broken as the familar retort of hand cannon discharge crispens the air sending an almost psycological electric shock making the military Sarian stand up straight and still taking the situation into diegestive interpretations. Ubi Sunt pivots her chair around once her surprise has faded and she catches sight of the distressed looking marine on the outer edges of the square that is frozen to spot. She propels her chair forward until she reaches him and apologizes before searching his pockets for a working comlink. She flips it on and proceeds to hail the local security force and give them the location she saw the man with the staff jump and give physical descriptions of him and the woman with him. She concludes the conversation by informing them that the man is wanted for assualt on a military officer. The True Source had guided Rocklin's legs when he launched he and Jessalyn into the leap. It had carried them over a handful of trees and benches, setting them on their feet some distance away from the marines. Now, it guided Rocklin's hand as he twists and turns his empowered wooden rod, directing it into the path of the stun bolts. The blasts collide with the dowel, deflecting off with a sound that reverberates through the square. Rocklin beats back the barage for several volleys, before finally simply ducking away and making haste, pulling Jessalyn along with him. Ubi places the comlink into the stilled man's hand, closing his fingers around it with minor resistance. She pivots her chair again, scanning the area. She sees Tarrin slumping against a tree, the retreating backs of the fugitives and Pallando. She calls his attention. "Pallando, a man that has assualted a military officer just ran off that way." She points in the direction. "If you hurry, you may be able to keep track of them." When the pair who had been in flight just a moment before land on the street, Jessalyn whirls around, brandishing Rocklin's lightstaff as he deflects Tarrin's laser blasts. He pulls her with him a ways before the Jedi touches his arm, stopping him. The green laser sword appears once more, and she deftly cuts open the hatch of a manhole cover dug into the street at their feet. Not sparing any more time, she takes a bold step into it, disappearing immediately from sight as her body drops underground. Tarrin slumps against the tree hard reholstering his blaster and clenching his eyes tightly.. Pallando rolls his eyes as if that is just what he needed, Sarian noblity Damasels expecing the hero. Pallando sigils with a single hand a Casohvian blessing and then salutes Ubi Sunt. Seeing that at least most of the fire is freidnly so far he jogs in the indicated direction calling back, "Whats he look like?" Plaxton City was a very clean city with more than enough water to wash its streets and storm drains to take the onsoons soon of the streets. Such was the accesible escape route for the pair well before thier persons had even been sighted by the Sarian. Jessalyn must have read Rocklin's exploits. It was like deja vu, dropping into the sewers, pursued by marines for what could be considered something of a misunderstanding. Only this time, it wasn't Mira that was his companion, but Jessalyn Valios. And, this time, he wasn't a noble Selas Brother, but a wretched Selas Fallen, twisted as the disfigured horns on his face. Folding his arms over his chest, closing his eyes, Rocklin follows after the Jedi. Even as he falls, he takes hold of the True Source, wrapping the shadows of the sewer around him like a thick, heavy cloak, and slowing his descent into the unknown underground of Plaxton City. Ubi Sunt hollers a quick description of the man and woman duo. She then propels her chair forward over to the captain slumped against a tree. She looks at him and grasps one of his hands. "Don't feel uneasy about leaning into me. It would be best if you were to lie down though. I don't think this chair can bear the weight of both of us." Tarrin nods and slowly drops to the ground, "Can someone explain how the hell he blocked the stunner bolts.. " his face showing he is still in extreme pain.. Cripes not just a marine but Preator smoke, Pallando revognises while recieving description. He is soon jogging off, wheezing with flem as he passes harmlessly over the open cover and continues oblivious.
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