| abstract
| - Personal Barracks - Karrde's Base - Myrkr The barracks for the base's residents are clean and comfortable without being either too austere or too luxurious. Like the other buildings in the complex, the barracks are panelled with dark woods with blue recessed lighting, with approximately one dozen unmarked doors on either side of the corridor. Windows on either end of the building allow cool, piney breezes to flow through during the day, adding to the ambiance. The Players: Orson This stocky human male stands at only about five feet, thick arms, chest and fingers making up somewhat for his diminutive height. Dark hair is kept in a utility-conscious style, clipped short to his round skull - prominent specks of white hair pepper the sides. A too thick brow and angled face help the impression of heaviness about the figure; the face is complete with a broad nose and large square teeth that appear to be just a little crooked when his wry smile reveals them. Small folds of skin around his eyes and mouth indicate more years than his vigorous face would otherwise show. He is wearing neutral gray trousers, made of a thick fabric, only remarkable in that they represent hylomorphic "pants". A simple but heavy jacket, made of similar but darker cloth, hangs on his shoulders. Where it parts in front, a form-fitting white shirt with straight stripes shows itself. Dark boots round out the wardrobe. Despite its simplicity and economy, every garment is clean and well-kept. Even if unassuming, details are important to this man. 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. She is wearing a loose, cream-colored tunic made out of some light material, scooping low beneath her startlingly white throat and showing off a thin silver chain set with a rough-hewn but shiny blue-green stone that rests just below her collarbone. The tunic is belted at her narrow waist and the full sleeves end just above her pale slender wrists. She wears a pair of tight, dark brown pants tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs. It's late night on Myrkr, cooings and cawings drifting out from the surrounding forest, riding the creeping bank of thick mist into the compound and seeming very close by. Those same sounds and smells drift into the Personal Barracks as well, through open windows and the through the main door, as it is occasionally opened and closed to allow passage. The door slides open one of those times and in steps Orson, blowing a huff of air through his mouth. He jogs through the camp sometimes in the evening and early morning, working to build his stamina. He's learned certain lessons about being physically able since being shot in the leg just a few weeks ago. While it's a little childish, he also runs to avoid animals. Even Karrde's 'tame' vornskrs didn't seem to care for him. Up ahead, in the hallway, a narrow band of warm yellow outlines the hall: a light in Jessalyn's room. He proceeds in that direction and politely calls out, "Knock knock" before looking in. Sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room, Jessalyn is hunched over a datapad which casts a luminous blue glow over her face as she scans the readouts. The only other light in the room is the lamp perched over the desk, but it's enough to show Jessa's face as she glances up at the doorway and smiles. "Hello, Orson. What are you doing?" Something outside moves, an animal-like snicker followed by a low cackle-purr. Orson cuts his head to the side and holds up his hand, "Shh." The short man creeps into her room, past the woman, hardly breathing. Before he makes a short lunge for the traditional-style window and closes it quickly. "Something's chasing me," he says with a strange grin. "Crazy animals. You're up late, what are you doing?" He lifts his chin, angling for a glimpse of the datapad. Almost too quickly, Jessalyn closes the datapad and switches it off, smiling easily enough as she turns to watch him. "Something's chasing you? Well, don't lead it in here," she teases. "I was just looking over some information about Myrkr. I'm curious about some of the plant specimens I came across on my walk today." She's surprised at what a good actress she can be at times. Orson folds his arms up in a little knot over his barrel chest. "I won't," he says evenly. Not that Jessalyn would have difficulty with whatever animals he led in here. He's seen her in action, holding her own against the Emperor where even Simon failed. "Anything in particular?" he asks, letting his attention drift back to her bunk, looking for traces of the project she had been working on earlier. "There's some strange stuff out there." Jessa watches him glancing around her room curiously, but not knowing what to make of it, she gives a small shrug and turns the datapad back on. In a few moments, there appears a spinning 3-D simulation of a white and yellow flower with prickly thorns growing on its slender stem. She holds up the pad so he can have a better look. "I wanted to know what it's called," she says with a grin. "Look familiar?" Orson squints, leaning forward to take in whatever she's about to show him. Even the blue cast that tints the whole picture can't disguise it from Orson. He's hardly a botanist, but he does know a fair amount about flowers. One of his many hobbies. Or, one of his pointless flaws, depending on which member of the camp you asked. "I'm ... not," he swallows thickly, shaking his head. "I'm not sure that one has been named at all. Perhaps we should name it ourselves," he suggests, looking at her tentatively and all but frozen against the wall. It doesn't take Jedi senses to be aware of Orson's discomfort, and though it puzzles her a little bit, Jessalyn is determined to coax him out of his intimidation. "Oh? It doesn't have a name?" She can't help but smile at the prospect of naming a new specimen, the part of her that loves flowers is giddy with the thought. "Hmm... you're the one who found it. What do you think?" Orson turns fractionally and unfolds his arms, resting them on the windowsill. It's hard to see outside with the interior lights on; a cone of misty blue somewhere else in the compound is visible, the projected beam of an area lamp making a brave stand against the thorough black. Of course, he could see better if the lights were off in here. But then again, if the lights were off in here, he'd be in a dark room with Jessalyn. In some ways, he'd face the animals lurking outside the barracks with more courage than he would her. "Maybe we should think about it," he suggests to her distorted reflection in the glass. "How is the lasersword construction going?" Once more Jessalyn powers down the datapad, and watches him at the window quietly for a moment. Then she reaches to dim down the desk lamp and rises from her chair. "Well enough. But I think it will be some time before I can finish it." Her footsteps carry her to stand behind him at the window, and she looks over his shoulder at the outside view. The pitch black offers a fabulous view of the stars above, and her eyes are drawn upward, over the peaks of the trees. Orson's grip tightens on the windowsill, and for, a brief moment, he considers throwing up the sash and making a break for it. Then again, the man is nearing forty standard years old. Too old for this sort of business. Too old for Jessalyn. Too old to make himself the victim of some sort of self-induced and largely imagined feeling. He smiles at her slight reflection and takes a sip of melancholy, that bittersweet emotion strengthening and saddening him in the same moment. "I'm glad to have met you, Jessalyn," he says softly, studying the Galaxy along with her. That seems like an entirely odd thing for him to say at this moment in time, but Jessalyn only turns her gaze from the stars to his own reflection in the windowsill. "Thank you, Orson. I'm glad I met you, too. We owe you our lives." Her expression saddens somewhat, too, her brow furrowing so that lines of worry mar her smooth forehead. "Though I regret the harm I've brought to your friends. I wish there was some way I could make it up to Karrde. I know he doesn't trust me." Orson turns now, looking from the spectral Jessalyn to the real one. He's shocked to find her face so close, and he gives a little start. "No, you owe me nothing," he whispers quietly, looking up at her expression. "And don't worry about Karrde. He's just angry - he didn't want to admit his own goodness. He didn't want to feel like he was not in control of everything. Strangely ... Tatooine has been attacked by the Empire you know." He looks back to the stars, reorienting himself to face the Jedi. "Karrde is focused again. It's brought the fight out in him." "He would not have made the decisions he did on the asteroid if he didn't think it was the right thing to do. Just give him time to work things out." He nods at his own advice, setting his jaw. "Just some time to work things out. That would be best." Jessalyn folds her arms, the look of sadness lingering in her eyes as she twists her lips, perhaps trying to form words that do not come. Instead she sighs deeply, relenting to Orson's own advice. "I still wish I could help make things right. I'm such a sorry excuse for a Jedi." Not the kind of thing that she would normally say; the usual calm demeanor and casual confidence she exudes has disappeared, though. Her shoulders are weighed heavily with defeat and uncertainty, and she seems almost nervous as she gazes back at him. "If only I could find Luke." "No," Orson says firmly, inserting himself into her line of sight. "Don't apologize for sticking with what you think is right." Hardly eloquent, but the small man feels compelled to stick up for her. She's not. And then, in a quick motion, he moves to embrace her. It starts as a lean, but then he opens his arms and holds her, unfortunately having to stand on his toes. His lips part as they near her neck, safe in that cloak of thick red hair. But instead of an intimate move or word, he whispers, "Don't trust Declan." He pats her softly on the back as he does so, intending some encouragement. A little surprised at the embrace, the redhead returns it readily enough, her arms going around him, and as he whispers the warning, she nods her head knowingly, her hair brushing his face with the movement. "I don't," she admits in an equally low voice. "He asked me some questions earlier. He definitely doesn't trust the Jedi." Drawing back to look down at him, she frowns slightly, searching his face, and waiting to see if he has any more to add to his warning. Orson simply stares up at her, nodding slowly. And then, with an ambiguous movement, he gives her a little squeeze and brings his thick mechanic's finger up to his lips meaningfully, making the classical shushing gesture. The small man takes that hand and lifts it to her shoulder, pulling her down a little. "Don't worry about Karrde. He won't betray you." With that, he releases her. There's a touch of reluctance in him, but he curls away and looks to the stars again, the smell of her hair following him relentlessly. "So I was thinking, if you'd show me some things," he resumes in a suddenly loud voice, no less enigmatic. "I would be happy to give you the passcode to the tool room. We've got all sorts of energy cells, fusion cutter parts, casings and things. I'm certain you'd have enough to build your device." Still bent slightly to hear him better, Jessalyn considers his words, nodding her agreement to keep silent on the matter. When he turns to face the window again, she rests her hand companionably on his shoulder. "That would be kind of you. The main thing that I'm lacking is the crystal I want to use. I used part of one I made originally, using a book Luke found in Obi-wan Kenobi's old house on Tatooine. I should be able to retrieve it what's left of it." Of course, he had just mentioned the attack on Tatooine by the Empire, and so she frowns at the dim prospects of retrieving what she needs. "Obi-wan Kenobi?" he repeats, filing that away. "Well, I believe we can rig something up if you can come up with the specifications. We're capable of some fairly sophisticated crystal fabrication here. Maybe you could look at what we've got and get a better idea. Furnaces, silicates and the like, configurable magfield templates, whatever." That would be handy. Very good to help her. A nice side bonus would be some insight into how the things worked. His own plan for a saber were based on a fusion cutter. It wouldn't deflect things, would use a lot of gas and energy, but would probably be as deadly to an untrained Orson as a real lightsaber would be in his hands. "So I've been training some. Kind of on a fitness kick. Maybe you can show me some moves sometime." He hunkers down at the window and sighs lightly, just staring. It's a long time before he stands to leave the room, wordlessly.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)