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| - Cleared Area (Before Main House) - Karrde's Base - Myrkr Central to the base is this open area between the main buildings is this open expanse, with its meticulously trimmed bluish-green grass and the occasional dotting of wildflowers. When necessary this area can be used for anything from special (and discreet) picnic-type gatherings to the organization of certain cargo before and after shipping. Often the clearing is the location of Karrde Group employees exercising, playing some simple lawn games, or simply enjoying the outdoors in between duty shifts. The main house is just to the southeast of the clearing; far to the west is the hanger, while the barracks are situated against the trees to the north. The Players: Orson: Small framed, what this human male lacks in height he more than makes up for in stoutness. His barrel chest and broad shoulders create a slight air of heaviness about him, though he's not overly muscled. His dark hair is kept in a simple style, longer and somewhat disheveled - prominent streaks of gray touch his temples. While he possesses a strong, even somewhat noble face, he is not particularly handsome. The simple face turns thoughtful and pensive easily, though deep set lines around his mouth and eyes seem to indicate his ease with a smile. He is wearing fur pants, thick white, large and billowing at the legs. A black tank top covers his thick barrel chest; while fit and stout, he is not overly muscled. A gray scarf encircles his waist, evening the dark and light on the man and helping keep his clothes in place. It has been knotted on one side and trails almost all the way to the ground. Soft-soled but thick boots cover his feet. An oversized set of goggles are strapped to his head, stretchy material securing them in an 'X' shaped band around the back of his skull. The lenses are tinted rose red. 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 wrapped in a thin, light green silk robe that falls to her knees, and which conceals the darker green nightgown beneath it. Her hair is even wilder looking than usual, as if she has only just woken up and hasn't had a chance to make any sense of it yet. Her long legs are slender and bare, her feet slippered in green shoes, and her skin is pale and marked only by two high patches of color on her cheeks. It's late. A harsh cacophony of insect songs sound through the night, shrill chiroots and clickets in dull rhythym. Karrde's base is still fairly busy on the opposite end of the compound, a ship coming and going every now and then and cargo coming and going even more. On this end of the camp it is quieter and darker. Except for an occasional grunt and metallic ding. Out behind the personal barracks, in knee-deep grass and weeds, Orson is there, working. Be it from his recent odd schedule or the odd events around him, he's been saddled with an old affliction of finding no restful sleep. Instead, in an urge to be productive, he's led here, to a useless repulsor vehicle. It has ancient markings on it, pock-marked with rust and dented out of shape. And while it's propped up on a small boulder and two metal struts, it seems clean. One lamp on a stand draws an amber circle of light on the ground, its perimeter defined with alarming severity; its as if the light has hit a curtain of black or will only venture so far into the Myrkr night. The steadfast mechanic doesn't seem to mind this from his place in the speeder. He is half-crouching, touching some control and reaching around with his other arm to hold something else in the front access panel. It's a precarious position, and one foot is up on the side panel and his hind-quarters jut out in the air. There are other restless souls this evening on Myrkr. Jessalyn lies wakeful and alone in the darkened barracks, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the past few weeks play over in her mind again and again, her hands wrapped around the light coverlet which drapes over her body, keeping it pulled close beneath her chin. But sleep will not come, and finally giving up, Jessalyn rises from the bed and picks up her bedrobe which is hanging on the headboard. Tying the sash around her waist, she spares a glance out the window, which is opened to allow in the cooling night breezes. Outside there is a circle of light where Jessa can make out the outline of a vehicle, and someone poking around inside it. Moments later she's tiptoeing barefoot through the grass, coming upon Orson where he's hunched curiously against the repulsor vehicle. "Evening," she greets in an attempt not to surprise him too suddenly. "Need any help? I bet you didn't know I started my career as a glorified mechanic." A little geyser of silver sparks erupts from the front of the speeder. "Yow!" he yerps as he jerks his hand back. "Hey," he offers, looking across at Jessalyn upside-down through the hole created by his arm and a leg. "No, you didn't tell me that." Undeterred by sparks - he's lost count of how many times he's been shocked in his life - he puts his hand back in the hole, wiggles something and ... It starts with a wheezing cough, blowing noxious smoke from the rear. In just a moment, however, it settles into an easy purr, power coming into its old-style running lights and into the luminescent green console. Orson leans back and seems pleased - but not surprised. "Where did you do that?" He puts his hands on the front access door and pushes it down, swiping a rag off of the hood. He cuts his eyes back and forth from the passenger seat to Jessalyn, smiling meaningfully. Sparing a glance down at her inappropriate attire, Jessalyn gives a rueful shrug as she returns a grin to Orson and starts to walk around to the passenger's side, running a hand along the sleek vessel's fuselage as she does so. "For the Rebellion, originally. I was a flight technician. I resigned my commission as a colonel from the NR soon after I finished my training." Sliding into the passenger's seat, she looks over the control console, the greenish light casting a glow over her face, glinting off the clips holding back her hair. She casts him a sidelong glance, arching her brows and giving him one of her heart-stopping smiles. "You going to take it for a spin?" Orson makes for the side of the speeder, but stops to lean at the waist. He disappears for a moment - with a loud whump, he returns to view, grinning. With a heave, he jumps up and swings his body into the car. "Yes, Colonel Jessalyn," he says, fiddling with the almost art-deco looking console. The inside of the speeder is clean and comfortable, a hemisphere of transparisteel curling about them in front and to the sides. "Though I hope we don't end up in a spin." With that, Orson puts his hands on the controls, and holds his breath. Then, abruptly, he stops, and leans over, putting his arm around Jessalyn. It seems like he might be making his move - at last! - but he withdraws his arm and it's holding a wide black strap. He loops it over her shoulders, the draped straps and buckle forming a V on her front. But he lets her attach it to her waist belt. Too close. Redux. Hands on controls, hold breath - the speeder's engine begins thrumming smartly and the back end of the vessel lifts from the ground, the nose sluggish by about a meter. Orson drops a thumb to the console and pushes something repeatedly, fluid green in the control panel radiating out from his touch. The nose slowly comes up and they are hovering. He banks the craft slowly - they are high up - and turns over the barracks, slowly easing into the night. Jessalyn feels the craft begin to lift from the ground, she carefully adjusts her nightgown so that she can strap herself in, a little sheepish as this exposes just about every inch of her long legs. She manages to adjust the folds of the robe enough to satisfy her sense of modesty, and focuses her attention on the view. The sky above is rich black, dappled with stars, only occasionally disturbed by the lights of a passing ship sharing the traffic lanes, and below them she can see the barracks and the rest of the base. Folding her hands in her lap, she spares a glance at her pilot, still smiling, and tipping her head to the side as she listens expertly to the hum of the engines. "Nice. Sounds like you managed to get a little more juice out of her than she would normally have." Orson grins broadly, reaching down to the seat to put his hand on the old-style throttle. As he does so, his fingers just barely sweep her skin. This attracts his attention, as it would any warm-blooded male, and he looks down to take in those legs. So long. He doesn't want to make a show of his looking. Being smooth is what's called for here. Orson and smooth don't fit together well though, and he murmurs, "Wow." Before they crash, he finds the real throttle - not the one that's sent his blood racing - and nurses it forward. "There," he says, pointing across the cabin and down into the camp. Spotlights crisscross over one another in long bands laying on the starport tarmac. A simple pattern of lights, but it's worth pointing out to Orson. The night is amazing, cool but not cold, moist Myrkr air rustling through the air and streaming through Jessalyn's hair, lifting red locks like banners in the wind. He opens his mouth to say something - explain how he feels. But he doesn't. He reaches over and touches her knee, this time on purpose, and then just drives, leading them out above the dark forest. Jessalyn's green eyes follow Orson's as he points out the pattern of the harsh floodlights on the tarmac far below, a bright kaleidoscope from this vantage point. It's been a long time since she's flown -- not counting hyperspace -- and she sits straight-backed and alert, watching the sky speed past them, the treetops turning to a darkened, imperceptible blur as the craft leaves the vicinity of the base. It doesn't take Force senses to be aware of Orson's barely disguised reaction to her proximity, and she stifles a shy smile when he rests his hand on her leg, glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she brushes stray, curling tendrils of hair from her eyes, the wind making the dark red waves float on the air behind her. Orson lifts his chin slightly, nostrils wide as he scoops up a healthy bit of Myrkr's air. Scents swirl on the air, of cool dirt, forest leaves, some flowers here and there, maybe. Bold, earthy smells. He keeps driving, steering the little speeder above the treetops swiftly, remaining quiet - and his hand remaining motionless - for the next few minutes. Some time passes and he slows, removing his hand and steering the craft down. Ahead: a large clearing, some kilometer in diameter, in the trees. It's very dark, but starlight flashes off of the surface of water, swirling in soft pools about heavy rocks and down multiple tiers of stone in tiny waterfalls. Orson lands, perching the craft on a flat rock there in the middle of the moving waterfall. In another moment, the craft quiets, and it's just this couple, in the middle of the forest, in the middle of a waterfall, in the middle of the night. Orson's voice is soft. "I like to come here. Quiet. I found it on my last visit out." He looks around the speeder and turns on Jessalyn suddenly. "Are you sorry you came?" As the vehicle comes to light on the flat rock beside the pool, Jessalyn's neck arches so that she can see better, her smile luminous as she takes in the picturesque scene, lit only by stars and moonlight. Her lungs fill with the sweet scent of the water and the forest, reminding her strongly of home and her childhood, the flowers she would gather from deep in the rainforest, armfuls of them so heavy that she could not carry them all... Suddenly, she becomes aware of Orson and his expectant gaze, and she turns her head to consider his words, taken back a little by his abrupt intensity. "Not at all... this is a beautiful spot." She grins wickedly, unfastening the straps that hold her in. "In fact, I'm tempted to go for a swim." Orson is quickly put on the defensive, lips working but no sound coming out. He grabs the windshield with one hand and the back of his seat with the other, some yellowish foam popping out of the back of his headrest. "Are you sure that's safe?" he asks, hanging on for dear life. He's pretty sure it's not safe, for a number of reasons that have nothing to do with animals or drowning. It's not as if he hasn't noticed Jessalyn and Simon together. What was he doing? Just talking? It was hard to think, there was so much in the master mechanic's brain. He needed steadying. Perhaps more than that he needed assurance, support from someone with ethics and morals he could trust. The mechanic wasn't sure Jessalyn was that person. But here he was with her, having practically lured her out of her bedroom in the middle of the night by beating on metal outside her window and then flying her into the woods. "I mean, er," he stammers, motioning at her legs. Jessalyn mildly watches Orson stumble over his words, barely suppressing a knowing laugh that threatens to bubble up from her throat. She touches his arm, perhaps for reassurance, before she hops out of the passenger's side and walks carefully over the rocks to the water's edge, about half a meter below. "But it's been so long since I've got to go swimming," she declares, squatting down and then sitting so that her long legs dangle over the side. The sound of the rushing and falling water and the spray of foam fill her senses, and she tilts her head back, shaking out her hair, relishing the beauty of this planet, and wishing she could deepen the experience through her Force-senses. Orson lifts his neck to improve his view - wondering what exactly she's up to. "I'll take you surfing sometime," he says, lifting and hopping out behind her. "That's what I was doing, the first day. When you were on the beach, on Corellia." He comes to her side and crosses his legs, easing down. Close. "Listen, I don't want to get in trouble with Simon out here. He seems a good guy and all." What's he saying? A pair of yellowish streaks cut the sky ahead of them, two meteors painting bright bands far across the atmosphere. Hardly noticeable from beneath the lights of the camp. "I'm not trying to put the moves on you or anything, I guess." Well, that makes a lot of sense. He guesses? Huh? There is a soft splashing sound as Jessalyn's feet dip below the water's surface, and she looks down at them, her brow knitted with fierce concentration. Orson's words are puzzling at first, and it takes her a few moments to form a response at all. Her head turns, eyes nearly colorless in the dim light, and she touches Orson's hand in a comforting way. "I really don't know how I feel about Simon," she says quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the waterfalls, suddenly confiding. "I'll be honest with you, Orson. One reason I care about him so much is because... if I don't, I'm afraid of losing him to the Dark Side." It's the kind of admission she barely even makes to herself, and she averts her eyes. "You've done so much to help us. To help me. You're such a good person... I can sense that in you, your strong heart. I want you to know... as long as you choose to come with us, I'll keep you safe. That's my promise as a Jedi." Perhaps she strayed off the subject, but those are the things she's wanted to say for some time, and she searches his eyes for understanding. "There's so much I don't understand," Orson says quietly, squeezing her fingers. He turns from her, lowering his leg to tap at the surface of the water with just the tip of his boot. "Dark side, Emperors, True Source. I'm getting the hang of the lightsaber though, I think." He'll have to show her his plans for the fusion cutter lightsaber soon: subtitled, An Accident Waiting to Happen. "I care for you, Colonel Jessalyn. Simon, and even strange Mira too. I guess it just makes sense after what we've been through even in a short amount of time. But Karrde." Orson drops his other leg to the water's surface, tapping that one too. He almost slips, and clutches at Jessalyn's leg, bunching her robe into a ball where he grabs. Sly. "Oops. But, what? Yes, Karrde. My place is with Karrde for now. As long as I'm not fired or about to be turned in. You are very kind to offer that though." He takes in a long breath and leans closer. "Jessalyn, can anyone be a Jedi? Be taught, I mean." Now he stares back, searching her dark face for a response before her words come. It's hard for her to hide her disappointment, and as Orson's hand grasps at her robe, Jessalyn covers it with her own, clinging tightly and bending her head so that her expression is hidden by the curtain of dark red hair that falls forward. "I want... no, I need the help of someone like you, Orson... but you must do what you feel is right," the Jedi says, resignation in her voice. When she glances up into his eyes again, hers have turned to liquid as she crooks a tiny smile. "Anyone? No, I'm afraid not. One must be born with a sensitivity to the Force. Although, years may pass before you ever even know you have it. I never knew till I met Luke." Orson exhales slowly, still clutching at her. That hand says more than Orson has said in the past few days. "You'll have my help," he replies, keying in on her voice tone. "I promise you that. I can be more help where am I now. Both help to you, and to Karrde too. He's coming to grips slowly, with what we've done. It wasn't just me in that asteroid you know." He angles around to catch her face full on. "Karrde could have let us go without shooting the Emperor, and simply played dumb. He didn't." That seems an important distinction to Orson. "I've met Luke. I think I said that." It has the delivery of a stray, unrelated comment, but his thinking is clear. "Still. Maybe you could show me some things." He's stopped using the word 'tricks' and has graduated to 'things'. His own voice carries some disappointment now. Jessalyn is very quiet for a long stretch, and she glances away at the mention of Luke's name, her throat working as she struggles for control of her emotions. She clings to his hand as tightly as he does to hers, biting down hard on her lower lip, and grateful for the darkness which perhaps hides her stricken expression. "You met him?" she murmurs wistfully. "It's been so long...." There is no comfort down that train of thought; she's been down it a million times in her mind, and the only thing there is heartache and regret. Rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm in an effort to wipe away any tears before they fall, Jessalyn swallows the lump in her throat before speaking again. "Karrde has principles as well, but I don't like that we put him in a position where he had to make a choice like that. If we continue to work together, I want to avoid that kind of thing if it's at all possible." She sighs, raking a hand back through her hair. "Maybe this is all wrong. I know the Jedi Master asked for Karrde's help, but... the risks he has to take are far too large.... " "Yeah," he intones. More pieces to the Force puzzle being thrown into a random mess. A love connection? Like the Simon thing? Different? In any event, it's obvious there's some intensity of feeling about her. Orson swallows back his desire to ask some questions about lightsaber operation and moving ships around by sheer force of will. "I've got holovid of him actually, on Tatooine. He was letting me take some recording for a game I was working on ..." Orson's voice trails off. It seems like a very long time ago that he was working on his dejarik tables. A very long time. "I'll show it to you, if you like." Orson takes in a breath and leans back from Jessalyn, removing his hand. "You're right about Karrde. About when he feels forced. He gets mad. Some space between you guys is best. Between us too, if Karrde has it his way." Orson's foot taps the water again. He hadn't expected her to ask him to come with her. It was suddenly painful to think about leaving them and going back to regular work. Jessa smiles softly at Orson, turning to face him more fully even as he backs off. "Maybe Drew is right," she murmurs wistfully. "You have chosen the wrong people to work for. Do you really want to be in conflict with yourself like this forever?" Suddenly, the redhead is on her feet, the green bedrobe is discarded in a silky pool on the stones, and a loud, distinct splash sounds several meters out into the water. Orson is beaten back long enough to be mostly senseless when the woman does disrobe. Combined with the darkness, he doesn't see her at all. No fair. Under other circumstances he would disrobe and follow with some modesty. But now he's not in the mood. She's right, and it hits home, hard. "No," he answers in a whisper as she dives away. He reaches over with one finger and pats her robe softly, moving it around in a slow circle. He'd watch her, of course, move through the water in the dark, her lithe form visible every now and then. Just breaking the surface of the water. He'd be a gentleman, as well, and her bedrobe is folded for her when she comes back to the rock. Orson is not there, having sensed her approach and hiding himself in the speeder. He had planned out a joke about being out of fuel, but it didn't seem right now, and he touches the console to start the vehicle again, chancing a look over to the woman climbing out of the water. The swim is invigorating, the water cool and silky as it supports her body, and a welcome diversion from the intensity of the conversation they were having. It gives Jessalyn time to process her thoughts -- and Orson's obvious conflict. She didn't want him to follow her because of his attraction; she wanted his trust, and she wanted it to be earned. Not minding that he watches her in the dim moonlight as she swims through the dark pool of water, she finds herself glancing over, wishing he would join her, wanting to share a little lightness with him. Seeing Orson retreat to the ship, she paddles back over to the rock and climbs atop it, picking up her robe and wrapping it tightly around herself as she returns to the little craft. As she opens the door and slips inside, she bends her head and murmurs, "Sorry, I'm going to get the cabin all wet." From afar, Orson snatches his head back to forward, catching her dressing at what is for him, an awkward moment. But, when she moves for the speeder, he leans over to trigger the door controls. "Oh, don't worry about it," he dismisses. "I just hope the seats don't get your robe dirty. Maybe they'll dry out some." He reaches over and throttles up again. Same routine: speeder lurches on the ground, dragging its nose on the rock and dipping down just a touch like it's going to end up in the water before it is righted. It almost seems -wrong- to be flying in a machine after that moment in the cradled arms of Mother Nature. But, for Orson, working with a machine gives him focus and clarity of thought that he can't find anywhere else. And so, he remains silent, making fine-tuned adjustments here and there as they go, face pensive. Soon, they are flying near the camp again, and Orson angles them toward the personal barracks, turning off the running lights on the speeder. "Well, I enjoyed it." Bittersweet. Considering immediately climbing out of the vehicle after what was a quiet ride back to the base, Jessalyn glances over at Orson, troubled by his silence, and not knowing how to reach him through it. She draws a breath to speak, lips moving, but this time it's her turn to fumble for the right words. "Thank you," is all she manages at first as she reaches for the doorlatch. "Orson, I didn't... I mean, I hope I didn't upset you. I shouldn't have said that." There's sincerity and honest concern in her voice, and her expression is soft with compassion. Water drips from her damp hair to trickle into her eyes, and she wipes it distractedly away. Orson settles the speeder down roughly on its rock and metal struts behind the house, instantly cutting the engines as they touch down. "No no," he replies with a wry smile. "It's not like that. There's so many things to think about, that's all. I appreciate you Jessalyn. Who you are. You are beautiful in many ways." The mechanic, for the umpteenth time, reaches over and touches her leg, but it carries a different sort of grace to it this time. "You are good, and kind. You are a strong Jedi." Not that he would really know. But he sounds convinced himself, and narrows his eyes to emphasize the seriousness of the statement, hoping it is encouragement to her. It helps to hear a little confidence, when Jessalyn secretly doubts her own abilities, as well as the path she's been on ever since she woke from her long sleep. Her eyes brighten a bit, and she meets his gaze steadily. "It was the will of the Force that you found us," she murmurs, one hand resting on his shoulder as she leans in and presses a kiss to Orson's cheek. Then she opens the door and disembarks, shivering as the night air hits her damp skin.
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