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| - Hideaway Beach - Plaxton City Surging whitecaps paint themselves onto the powderlike, white sands of this sliver of beachfront, tucked between the two massive bluffs that encircle Plaxton City. The waves have eaten into several places on the shore, forming rocky outcroppings and small coves, but one long strip is laden with pristine, whispy sand. A few Pula trees jut out, throwing their branches toward the tides. Bright, lusterous leaves fill the branches, offering shade for the ground below. A few hundred meters from shore, a jagged pebble of an island stands defiantly in the surf, holding up an old, unused lighthouse. The afternoon sky above is clear. Sitting off to one end of the beach, gray eyes fallen upon the decending yellow orb of Caspar's sun, Kyyel rests on a peice of driftwood that is situated high away from the waters. The man's face is calm... almost emotionless as he gazes out to the far waters. His eyes though... show an inner struggle... or conflict. The corellian runs things through his mind... things that were said, both past and present... The breeze blows Annalise's hair back from her face, and she squints against it as she takes her first steps onto the beach, almost reluctantly. It was a form of penance, in a way, to return to this place. Her mind is surprisingly clear for the first time in days, though that's more a result of her weariness than any sense of resolution within her. She's too tired of being tormented, too tired of her anguish. Standing at the water's edge, the waves lap at the toes of her boots, and she folds her arms across her chest as her eyes slowly close. Even as Annalise steps down onto the beach, Kyyel's eyes take a long while to shift away from the setting sun. With a heavy sigh, he stands up... looking far wearier than his years should allow. Stepping down towards the waters as well, his mind only barely registers the presense of someone else, and he shifts his gaze, to look towards them for only a moment. Seeing who it is brings his eyes wide open though, even as Kyyel's jaw drops slightly. He pauses... the sound of the waves barely overcoming the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Finally, with a tenitive step, he moves towards Annalise... almost letting his consciousness get lost in the swirl of the surf, "Jessalyn?" he calls out the name she had given him when she departed the previous time... the time she had given him so many questions with a single word. The sound of her name being called makes the girl turn around, a look of surprise on her face as she sees Kyyel walking across the sand toward her. She rakes her fingers back through her silvery blond hair as the wind tries to send it into her eyes, her heart suddenly pounding. "Hello," she says in a distant voice, her chin lifting up as she turns her green gaze across the opposite horizon. "I didn't see you there." It was something of a lie. Jessalyn was entirely aware of Kyyel's presence, it was one reason she had dared to venture out here to begin with. But now... something else tugs at her perceptions, and a sinking feeling begins to grow in her belly. Reigning her own emotions and her aura, she fights back her sudden sense of panic. She had been a fool to think that the worst possible scenario would be to run into Orson here on Caspar. No, there was someone else she dreaded seeing again much more than even him. Nodding his head faintly, Kyyel follows her gaze out to the horizon, even as the rim of the sun begins to touch the field of water. Stepping forward a bit more, he finds himself alongside her, though also partially behind, "I... didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was wondering... I mean," taking in a deep breath, he closes his eyes, shielding their gray from the rays of the sun. When he opens them again, his voice is still soft, but it has some of the determination that it held the other day, "I was hoping... you might be able to answer some questions I had..." The call had been dulled around the edges, as if something were smothering it. Nothing like the sharp, clear threads of communication he was so used to receiving from beings as luminous as Jessalyn. Nevertheless, he had sensed it and it drew him to this world, to this place, with an urgency like no other. Jessalyn was in trouble. In... more than trouble. Had it been fair to take the glimpse into her mind, to intrude in such a manner? He sighs. No doubt this thought of travesty would haunt him for the months to come. The Jedi shuffles through the golden sands of the beach, so akin to the caramel color of the dunes of his homeworld. Funny. He'd told himself time and again that he'd never willingly return to any places where sand was in abundance... and yet... he found himself on Tatooine time and again and now he is on the beach, the familiar swish-crunch of the granules offering a modicum of comfort to his soul in their familiarity beneath his boots. He blinks once against the sun, azure eyes scanning the area. She was here, he knew. The dullness had since faded. It takes him only a few moments to locate the familiar form. So, he had questions, did he? Annalise -- no, Jessalyn, turns to fully face the Corellian, a starkly cold expression on her rigid features. She looks him over, the probing of her senses undetectable by him, but probably obvious as her eyes bore into him. "What? About what I said?" she asks in a frosty voice. "You go and toss Jedi proverbs at me, and expect me to not run away? I'm done with them. And I don't need your help. I can get off this rock without your help." Defensively she draws away, her gaze riveted now over Kyyel's shoulder at the man she had sensed arriving, knowing the Dark ripples her very being gives off, but unable to care. The frozen, stoic face crumples into a mask of pain and she turns away. She looked so different now, maybe -- maybe he wouldn't recognize her.... -Yes, Jessalyn, you are a sniveling cowardly bitch. Just admit it.- Recoiling slightly at her words, Kyyel bites his own lip tightly, his head lowering down to look at his feet. His eyes remain there... so he doesn't see her attention divert. Instead, he speaks again, quietly, "I... I didn't know it was a Jedi proverb... I had no idea, Jessalyn," he turns back up slightly, just in time to see her turn back to face the waters again. His face grows a bit harder, his jaw setting, "I wasn't trying to make you run away." Jessalyn, Jessalyn... He finds himself shaking his head, chewing his lower lip as he approaches her, reaching out tentatively with a Force-tendril to both the Jedi and the other man. Dark ripples? Try waves. Much like the surf which shapes the contours of the beach, the Darkness has done something to Jessalyn's being, altered it, molded her lovely nature into something more broken and susceptible. Stop it, Luke. This isn't fair to her. Well... "Hey," he calls out neutrally once within earshot of the two, raising a hand in greeting. Sensing the powerful yet subtle touch of the Jedi Master's mind, Jessalyn recoils further, putting up mental barriers as she staggers back in the sand. Didn't he know what had happened, that she was no longer one of them? She was sure he must have sensed her descent from across the galaxy -- had, in fact, resented the fact that he had not been there to protect her, to guide her. With that thought, a handful of others rise up like bile in her throat, and she tosses the memories at him, the things she had always been afraid to accuse him of before. But the darkness emboldens her -- YouleftmetorotinValak'stemplerejectedmewhenIlovedyoudrovemeaway andnowlookitmeItriedtobeagoodJedigoodTeacherandIlovedhimandnowlookatwhat you'veturnedmeintowhereWEREyouIneededyouneedyoualways Haunted eyes flick between Kyyel and Luke Skywalker, and this time she rakes both hands back through her hair. "Leave me alone, all of you! You don't understand!" At the greeting, Kyyel turns slightly to see who the new arrival might be, his gray eyes holding a look that would be akin to needing a great deal of rest. They all but fly wide open at the sight of the Jedi Master, and Kyyel swallows softly, managing to bow his head slightly in greeting, even as he whispers, "Um... good day..." well, if he wasn't expecting one thing, this would have been it. At Jessalyn's outburst though, Kyyel whips back around to face the woman, his own eyes holding their own inner conflict, but that doesn't compare to the look in Jessalyn's own green orbs. Closing his eyes tightly for a moment, Kyyel reopens them again, to gaze at her with the same kindness he had earlier, "Then... try to help us understand." If there was any dullness remaining in the intensity with which Jessalyn's soul-wounds called out to him, it has disappeared, replaced instead by a sharp and bitter ache that knows no bounds. He hears her thoughts racing together madly, feels the dark knot which has wound itself tightly around her heart during the past few days and now folds shut, threatening to obliterate, to engulf. "Jessalyn," he says simply, opening the Force-gate between them, showing her his soul in its entirety, the regret and hurt he was experiencing at this moment plain to anyone with the gift of such sight. How much more intense must it be for someone as attuned to it as Jessalyn was? The Jedi takes a few steps closer to his old pupil, one hand outstretched in a gesture of acquiescence, sharing the blame for what has come to pass, wanting to unburden her of the pain over Orson and her perceived failings as a Teacher. "Jessalyn," Luke repeats, "I'm here. I won't leave." For a few tense moments Jessalyn is torn, some part of her wanting to give into that Dark impulse, to lash out at them both. At Kyyel for his needling, naive kindness toward her, even when he had no reason to trust her at all; at Luke for being the source of so much anguish in her life, for abandoning her, for letting her carry a burden she wasn't ready yet to bear. But the soft, tender emotions seem to swallow her up, and the sound of Luke's voice makes her choke back a sob. She could sense his sincerity, along with all those other things -- his guilt and regret -- the same kinds of things she felt. But they had turned her into something twisted, capable of unspeakable evil. How could he forgive her? "Luke," she whimpers as tears leak down her cheeks, unable to keep from reaching her hand out toward his. Watching the scene between the two silently, Kyyel holds himself quiet... watching Jessalyn mainly with a bit of trepidation. During her silence, he wonders if he had only made things worse with his actions. As she speaks though, a faint, bare smile comes to the corners of his lips, and as she reaches her hand out towards Luke, Kyyel inwardly breathes a deep sigh of relief... Clad in a bit more of a clandestine manner than he usually is, the figure of Han Solo strolls quietly into the beach-head. His trademark thumb tucked into his belt leaves his shoulder jutting out, his gait slow and nonchalant. That's what he is. Nonchalant. As if nothing mattered in the Universe, he strolls on, eyes popping about the area, to insure that--while nothing is wrong in the Universe--he's not ignorant of the threats of it. The former smuggler is not alone, either, accompanied this early evening by his furry companion, Chewbacca. Together they stroll, ever on. A few deep noises from Chewbacca announce his presence, and Han gives a silent nod, and then, "Yeah. I'm sure he's somewhere. I mean, control said his ship was here. I don't think they'd lie about that kind of thing." A pause, and he frowns, his strut interrupted, "But then again..." His voice trails off. Finally, the man turns, and eyes catch the black clothing, the blue eyes, the sun-bleached hair, under his cowl. A delapidated smirk covets his maw, and he sets onward towards Luke. Again, the bitterness washes over him, but this time it is tempered with a note of clear sweetness, the kind born of a tentative trust between two sentients whose life-forces were old, wise... who recognized one another as holy by virtue of existence. Luke sends a gentle Force-touch in Kyyel's direction, sensing his confusion, not wanting to alarm the other man with the scenario as he receives Jessalyn's hand in his and then takes her into his arms, not resisting the grief and fear, offering instead to let them whip about him with all the fierceness of a Tatooine sandstorm. He stands quietly, the other Jedi's emotions flowing freely through the Force. He does not speak. He does not judge. He does not think. He simply feels the emotions of the other. The greatest gift that the Force allows is not foresight, nor is it strength. No. The greatest gift the Force bestows upon those who welcome it into their lives is empathy. The ability to allow the feelings of another sentient to pass through one's own heart without reservation. It is a relief to to unload her burden onto someone else, since Luke really was the only other person in the Galaxy who could ever begin to understand what she's been through, who could have a salvific effect on her heart. Jessalyn turns her face into Luke's neck, shaking as she sobs, clinging to him as she accepts the embrace. She hasn't forgiven herself yet, but the need for catharsis is too great for her to be able to pass up. Drinking in the tenderness, hating herself for needing it, remembering the last time she bared her soul to another -- Oh, but there was no stopping this. He had understood and forgiven her, with a heart much greater than her own. "I'm so sorry I failed you... failed everyone," she manages to say, the bright silvery head turning to gaze sympathetically at Kyyel through her tears. "I'm sorry," she says to him, too. Han saunters up to Luke and his new... girlfriend? Pausing a few meters away, he turns to glance at Chewie, before returning his gaze to the two, only managing to catch the last few words or so. "Hey, Kid," He offers, leaning in the air silently. Chewbacca offers a gruff greeting of his own, waving a single furred paw towards the equally furred head of Luke Skywalker. Another few rumblings, and he settles down, a feral grin over his maw. He would have picked the boy up, but, well, that space seemed to be occupied at the moment. And so, Han does the only sensible thing. He just stands there, silently, leaning in the air, his thumb tucked away, his delapidated smirk casting about. Noting the presence of Han and Chewie on the edge of his senses as he stands locked in the Force-bond with Jessalyn, her heart open and then dark knot beginning to slowly dissolve, Luke casts a furtive glance back at his old companions and manages a small smile. Han and Chewie. Maker, he was grateful to know them. Han's life essence was strong and unwavering in its capacity to reel others into the circle of its power, it was something the Jedi respected and which still inspired awe in him. Now he turns his attention fully to Jessalyn once more, the timbre of his voice meant to calm. "Failure... no failure, Jessalyn, no failure. You've stuggled and your path has lead you to this point, to reexamine what you feel to be true, to show you that the Force is fluid. It can obey the dictates of our will and it can bend itself to the stirrings of our actions... it carries us along and brings us to places in which we must look upon what has come to pass, and either think on how to change it, or continue along the same line." There's a change of season in the air. The temperature is still comfortable, warm even, plenty of beach-goers and warm weather activity along this strip of beach this time of year. Nonetheless, that change of direction is palatable to most that would care to pause and feel the rhythm of seasons. It's a little colder. Sounds are a little crisper. Autumn whispers a chilly promise, calling from her distant place over the water and riding ashore on a slow melancholy mount of moving air. That steady wind rolls into Orson Tighe even now, lifting wild brown hair and peeling the mechanic's jacket away from his torso and then dropping it. Over and over, like some plain gray flag flying from his broad shoulders. Of course Orson knew they were here. How could he not know? Indeed, it was why he had come. Orson takes tentative steps, digging heels into a low dune and crossing into the flat expanse of fine sand. Every step saps strength from his resolve, but he continues, face set, until the Jedi comes to that spot on the beach where breaking waves roll in, creep onto the beach, and touch the tips of his boots. He never looks to Luke, Jessalyn, the others. Jessalyn had tried to alter her appearance with somewhat heavily-applied makeup, smeared now by her tears and the fact that she's buried her face into Luke's collar. The changes in her physical appearance are still nothing compared to what has changed inside her. As the cool breeze begins to dry her cheeks, she meets Luke's gaze calmly, taking in the words. "I don't know if I can," she tells him, genuine fear rising to tinge her words and her emotions. Biting her lip prevents any further comment as she hears the approach of Solo and his constant Wookiee companion, and sees the stunned expression on poor Kyyel's face. She'd come to ask him for his help, but had instead lashed out at him for no good reason. And now... A deep breath of salty sea air fills her lungs and Jessalyn closes her eyes, tensing against Luke and refusing to let go, no matter how improper it may seem. Only he can understand or sense the new source of her dismay, and a very real urge to flee grips her. You sent through the Force to Luke... The familiar presence of Orson has a terrible effect on Jessalyn, her spirit reacting with a paralyzing dread that makes her want to flee at the same time. _I can't do it, Luke, I can't face him, please don't make me, it'll tear me apart. I trusted the Force, I let it guide me, and I never thought I would be so hurt...._ "You can Jessalyn..." Kyyel speaks again, his words tinged with a hint of ackwardness... but even still, he feels they need to be spoken anyway. Again, that roguish grin crosses his features, and his gray eyes shine brightly as he regards her, "I know that you can. I've only seen you for a day... but in that day, you had a remarkable strength. That's one reason why I wanted to help you when I saw you that day..." as he finishes his words... the confusion that was rampant in his mind earlier is forced down... tucked away to be dealt with at another time. Right now, he figures he can live with just a little confusion in what he's known. Han looks nervous, all of a sudden. His belt-thumb-hand comes up and lazily scratches at his neck, while he peers about. Getting caught up in Luke's love life usually ended in disaster. He always had that proverbial knack of getting into trouble, -especially- when there was a member of the opposite sex involved. And when that other was a Jedi, too? Whoo boy, watch out, because it would eventually turn out to be horrible. And then what? Luke would beg for help from Han. Naturally, Han accepted every time. No way he would let his brother down. Solo turns, and moves a few feet further from the pair, Chewie strutting along as well. The nerf-herder's eyes catch Orson, but make no recognition, and turn away equally so, to glance at the other beings on the beach. Luke sends through the Force... Luke receives Jessalyn's dread freely. _The Jedi are bound through the Force to one another for all time. Once the gate has been opened, it will not be shut. Acknowledge the fear, but do not let it consume you. We three are one, even as we walk our seperate paths. No wound is dealt the one that is not felt by the other. I have felt it and seen it and you need not be afraid, Jessalyn. Now wound is too great that it might not know the healing power of the Force._ To feel the hum of another strong life-essence drawing nearer is cause for both rejoicing and caution. Wordlessly Luke reaches out to Orson, acknowledging his presence and at the same time reassuring Jessalyn that there is no need to be afraid. Why should those gifted in the Force fear one another? The energy which had bound them together before time was time, it bound them still and would continue to do so for all eternity. It is as inexplicable as it is inescapable. He breathes deeply, still tolerating the anguish of Jessalyn without reservation even as he works to show her that such need not be the case. She doesn't have to fear Orson's arrival. Granted. It would be difficult. One did not forget soul-lacerations from one day to the next. Still, to reside in a sphere so removed from the warmth and comfort that the Force provided was unnecessary. As a Jedi, trained to draw upon the strength of the unifying energy of the universe, Jessalyn needed to be reawakened to this. The question remained... was Orson similarly asleep? Did he turn a blind eye to what the meaning of his training was, and lose himself in a sphere as dark as the one Jessalyn now resided in? Did he too fear the encroaching of the Darkness, instead of acknowledging it as part of the Light and moving past it? Luke's brow creases slightly. He does not want to intrude upon Orson in such a manner, and simply lets the mechanic deal with the situation on his own terms, as is fitting. Luke sends through the Force... As you reawaken to the warmth of the Force, so shall Orson be shaken from his sleep. Sand sings as waves slide backwards, hissing as stacked layers of water retreat from Orson. Folding his arms around an impossibly broad chest, the strength of the Orson's silhouette is threatened by a shudder. Something is about to break. But then he lifts a defiant chin, longer beard pressed back against his face by the wind. Like a fallen god... no, like royalty surveying his barren kingdom, Orson watches the horizon grimly, jaw clenched. The King of the Rain. Without even a ripple in the Force, the Jedi turns, carefully plucks from the sand the plain shell he had been admiring, and begins walking toward the assembled group. But Orson is walking more toward to consequence. Resolution as well, perhaps, though it was much to hope for. His voice arrives before he does, attention firmly on Jessalyn. "Would that I had been destroyed," the man considers, voice too quiet, deep. "And saved us both the hurt." A baleful glance to Han, Chewbacca, Kyyel, but none for Luke. Orson threads his shell between the broad fingers of one hand. Trembling hands cling to Luke's clothing, Jessalyn pressed so near that when she turns her head to peer over her shoulder she can barely see who she knows is there. Her body trembles almost violently even as she summons the strength to draw away, looking at the Jedi Master for a long moment as if simply gazing upon his visage will show her that he is right. The Force was such a luminous, certain thing around him, reminding her of all the things she had once had faith in. Letting him go, the Jedi turns, shame and uncertainty scrawled on her face as she takes an awkward step toward Orson. There's no way she can meet his gaze, that's for certain, but she does extend her hands ever so slowly. "Don't say that," she whispers, hardly believing the words spilling from her throat. "I'm a fool. What we had was worth it all, even if it was too good to be true." Noticing the other man for the first time now, Kyyel's face takes on a look of faint curiousity, even as he hears what is spoken between Orson and Jessalyn. Growing quiet, and somber, Kyyel stands up a bit straighter, but remains perfectly silent... unwilling and unable to bring himself to break this time between these two... who seem to have a great deal between them, be it good, or bad. Perhaps a bit of both? Still, a faint step forward is all that the Corellian takes, glancing towards Luke again briefly, before turning his eyes out to the quickly fading sun... now almost gone on the edge of the horizon. Another warm ripple spills toward Kyyel as the Jedi allows Jessalyn and Orson their space. He steps off a few tentative meters to stand beside the Corellian, keeping his senses vaguely tuned to the proceedings between the mechanic and the former technician. It seemed like many lifetimes ago that Jessalyn had been a technician. Then again, it *was* many lifetimes ago, for when one learned the ways of the Force, one was born anew. "Beautiful sunset," he remarks quietly to Kyyel, blue eyes kind, his hands slipping into the pockets of his tunic. Pausing for a moment as a warm wave of emotion rolls over him, Kyyel's smile widens, even as he turns his gaze back towards the Jedi Master, listening to Luke's words with the utmost of agreement, "It is indeed..." turning his eyes out again... the gray washed to a dull orange by the fading sun, Kyyel regards the horizon; where the sky and the ocean meet. Turning his eyes back for only a bit, he smiles at the feelings given to him... already having come to much the same conclusion himself. Kyyel regards both Jessalyn and Orson for a moment, and looks back towards Luke once more, a hint of sadness crossing his face, "I'm afraid I need to be going for the time being. If Jessalyn needs any further help... or any of you for that matter, please let me know. I'll do whatever I can," bowing his head deeply towards the Jedi Master, Kyyel smiles faintly as he turns back towards the lights of Plaxton, eyes remaining on the two others for only a moment, before he begins to step away from the beach. "I've tried to blame you," Orson admits, arms falling loose to his sides. "But... it hasn't worked. Blaming myself, the Force, is easier." An inane, wry grin forms on his face, and he reorients his shoulders as much to Luke and Kyyel as Jessalyn. "It's a cruel trick, this Jedi yoke. Use me as your instrument of miracles," he calls, to the Force, lifting eyes to that same beautiful sunset. "Promise me ideals. Lure me with that exhilarating touch." Sarcasm rolls easily off his tongue. Touching a hand to his chest, the bearded man's fingers splay apart and turn white at the knuckles from the pressure. "But check your emotions at the door! Hate. Love. It makes no difference." Orson lifts his other hand, cradling the shell in his palm. He looks at it, speaks to it, chasing it around in his hand with an extended finger. "I wouldn't have hurt you, not ever. I'd rather... anything than for you to have walked where you have these past days." Finally, he lifts unblinking eyes to Annalise. "But I am not... I." And suddenly, the generous well dries up, and no more eloquence is forthcoming. In fact, his solemn, lost stare just remains on the woman's face for a long time. Until he whispers: "Simon is right. We are the fallen." If Luke had not been standing there, Jessalyn isn't sure she would have been able to withstand this oddly eloquent speech flowing from the mouth of the shy mechanic. Her hands drop to her sides, rejected, again. Some flicker in her mind had begun to speak to her of the future, the Force reminding her of the worth of this man, of his importance and his destiny. He chafed against them, just as she had always done. But when he comes to the same conclusion that had been hammered into her since her departure with Simon from the Dimlyn Titan, she actually gasps, reeling back with shock. Only the presence of Luke and Kyyel keep her from fleeing headlong across the beach from him. Gods, was he right? Could anyone restore her faith? Blinking her aching eyes, Jessalyn looks over her shoulder at the Jedi Master, desperation on her face. How to reconcile passion with the Force? How could she be the person she is and be a Jedi? Wanting Orson has filled her heart, displacing even the desire to fulfill her destiny. If she could choose between the two -- "I never gave you anything you didn't ask for," she whispers toward him. "You begged me to teach you, and I did. You wanted all of me. And I gave all that I had to give. I didn't know it would be too much. But how could I not have loved you? How can I not still love you?" Turning bitterly away from Orson, she walks toward Luke without looking at any of them, vivid emerald eyes staring without sight at the ocean sunset, rose-gold glinting off the strange silvery hair. Luke sends through the Force... The pain, you're still hiding it. Release it to the elements, Jessalyn. Release it and the anger will follow. Your Dark will dissolve into Light. Acknowledge Orson as Learner, as untrained and acknowledge the mistakes that lie in the past. Don't deny a future rich with light and love. Don't shut yourself out. I need you. Orson needs you. We, the Jedi, need you. Tarrin makes his way slowly out of the fish house, right arm held loosely up in a sling. Makin his way slowly across the beach he looks our across the waters her seeming somewhat distressed. You sent through the Force to Luke... Her mind is in such turmoil. She's not afraid to show it to Luke, because really she knows no other way to let him know how thoroughly confused and lost she is. It's a much larger crisis than any she ever faced as a student, harder even than first accepting her gift and accepting the training at all. She had wondered before if it was a curse, instead, but until now had never -felt- that it was. Do credit to him? Accept Light and love? Those things had rejected her, not the other way around. Orson didn't need her any longer, and Luke was better off without her. She was tainted, foul, she had lost her faith and the Jedi should cast her out -- Oh, Luke, I don't know how to be what you want me to be. I -don't- have that kind of strength. What good is life without love? And how can we love when it leads to such despair? As Jessalyn moves away from Orson, Luke's shoulders sag almost imperceptibly. So it was. The Jedi had been unable to help her release some of what ailed her spirit. It will be a slow process, of that much he is sure. The small tinge of longing for his own Master to be here, to offer advice, nags at his being for a moment until he successfully stows away the fringes of self-pity and watches Jessalyn move closer. Had he been right to teach her? Or had he simply been insane? Maybe both. Luke sighs, the lines around his eyes more pronouned now than they were in the days previous and he shuffles around in the sand, watching the granules slide off of his boot, or coat it in a fine mist. Life. Time. Impossibilities made possible through the Force. They run together in his consciousness, unstoppable. Inescapable. Being a Jedi was a blessing. But that did not mean it wasn't also a burden, in its own way. A sacred burden, to be sure. But those made of flesh were apt to feel tired on occasion. Orson angles to drive a stake into Luke's mighty idealism. "There may be a place for pithy platitudes in the Jedi Scriptures," he remarks, voice cool, turning storm-colored eyes to Luke. "But not here." One part of Orson knows Luke is right. Another part of the mechanic expects to be driven to his knees by a Force blow from the Jedi Master. He hoped that other incident didn't mark the formation of a pattern. Orson is insolent, yes, but feels privileged to speak freely without being given third-party advice, Jedi Master or not. For all of Orson's words, he's just Jedi flesh coiled loose around a real, beating heart. It's all too much; the mechanic stares at the sand when Jessalyn begins. "If you must. If you must lay blame, you'll find me a willing recipient. It's a lighter burden than the loss of you..." Orson drops the shell that had been in his hand to the soft white sand at his feet, watching its moisture be leeched away. "To the Dark side." Orson means this. Sincerity is etched on the deep lines around his eyes and on his brow. He looks between the pair, mouth wrenched shut bitterly. "I'm sorry." Kola sits quietly on a small rock formation in a secluded area of the beach. Her boots by her side, one foot dangling in the water as she stares skyward. Her thoughts heavy with the events of the week. Caught somewhere between the quiet but stinging rebuke of her own Master, and the heartbreaking words from her former lover, the girl calling herself Annalise wraps her arms tightly around herself. "I'm not... blaming you," she whispers, knowing they can both hear her no matter how softly she speaks, turning hesitantly to glance back at Orson. "I just want you to know why I hurt. Why I couldn't do anything but... hurt. You were so...." So cold, so stoic. So much like Luke, in that way, and yet he was the one whose tenderness had begun to soften her heart to the point that she could even face Orson again. "So beautiful," she says instead. "Everything about you. I love you so much. But it doesn't matter now." Wanting to tell him that he has a bright path before him if he would only see it, that he would be stronger, now, having learned from her, but also learned to live without her. He would be a powerful, wise, and important Jedi. She had known that for a long time now, more certain of that than she had been of a real future as his mate. "Please." The Darkness remains tight around Jessa's heart, despite its desperate, tender beating. A mournful ache tears at Luke as Orson speaks and he touches now upon the magnitude of the other's hurt. Unlike Jessalyn, Orson's bitterness is far more sharp and painful, born of an old hurt that has not mended and is fresh in its insistence to affect his soul. It is so clear that the Jedi presses a hand over his heart, watching these two beings lose themselves in their own worlds of pain, refusing to accept that such need not be the case. Refusing, out of fear, or out of resentment, or both, to see existence for what it was. That it was not a dark, dank maze of suffering but that it was so much more... Were he any less in control of himself, he would have wept for them. Instead, he stands quietly, attuned to the other sentients whose grief threatens to gnaw even at him. How he longs to show them another way... the path they were destined for... And yet, he knows there is not much he can do if they are unwilling. He can show them, he can teach them, he can nourish the light within them. But he cannot force them to see. Like waxing gray moons, Orson's eyes stare dumbly at Annalise from behind salty shields of wet. He turns away from Luke and his old consort in time, before those eyes spill over and cut lines into his weathered face. He's only presenting his profile to them, though his feet haven't moved. The man clenches a loose fist and touches it to the bridge of his nose, partly hiding his face. "I'm sorry," he repeats in a broken voice, all out of poetry for the day. When he does lift his face, he's already walking briskly toward the dunes, deliberately away from this space of in-betweens. Between ocean and land, night and day, love and hate... Yes, resolution had been much to hope for, but the older man can still see light ahead, though the edges of it are indistinct. If Luke would stay with her for a time, then the Jedi Master could -- No. That's not it. Then the Jedi Master could be the things for Jessalyn she needed, and be strong enough. Orson Tighe breaks into a half-jog, thankful now for his relentless conditioning, and drags the unforgiving rough fabric of his jacket sleeve over his face. Refreshed from her time on the beach... as usual, Kola shakes the white sand from her boots and puts them back on. Standing and brushing herself off, she then runs a hand through her wind blown hair. With a agile leap, she clears the small expanse of water that has appeared with the tide. Kola heads back to her Embassy.
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