| abstract
| - Simon: Of average height and fair coloring, the young man before you has dark brown hair and eyes of a color somewhere between blue and gray. His hair is parted and cut short. His eyes are deep-set, looking more ready to draw his brow into a deep frown than a warm smile. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: intense. Simon is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. 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 bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Orson: Too short, not handsome, and a little too old. What's lacking in looks has to be made up for with something strong on the inside: determination and persistence, a certain grit evident in the look sent by his slate gray eyes. Lines around this human male's mouth and eyes tell of hard days and decisions in his past, each one a new crease in an otherwise young man's face. He is smaller framed, though quite stout with a barrel chest and strong shoulders. Still, he's not overly muscled, simply in good physical shape. Dark hair is kept in a simple style but is more often than not in a disheveled state. A few lonely gray hairs touch his temples. He might be around forty standard years old. He has a larger nose, on a round-shaped, bold face that is quick with a grin but usually caught up in a shade of thoughtful. A heavy jacket of gray-black coarse fur resembling mohair hangs on his broad shoulders, fastened halfway up his chest. A black shirt of simple material is visible beneath the jacket. A thick and heavily starched pair of dark trousers billow so much that it's hard to determine the individual pant legs, deep pleats making it look like a large billowing skirt. A strange half-boot lends support to his toe and heel, but leaves the tops of his feet exposed like a sandal. A copper-colored ring encircles his head with a dark round unfaceted jewel set over his forehead. A narrow crossbar angles out to either side from the crown, looking almost like antennae except they support a tiny row of fine chains and dangling costume jewels. 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. With a quick glance back into the room, Orson Tighe closes and locks his personal quarters on Myrkr for the first time since he, a Selas, two Jedi, and an AWOL New Republic soldier had arrived on the strange planet. While the technician had not gained tacit approval from Karrde to leave, he had filed the appropriate documents and left a note. Despite his busy schedule, Karrde would have been sure to have seen the note -- Orson wasn't seeking additional meetings with the smuggler chief. Things had been Difficult, since the asteroid. The short man cuts his head down the hallway, a small case full of some tools and drawings for his latest device in tow. After a short walk through the compound, with an amiable nod and inclination of the head to a few organization members, the man arrives at the landing pad, the Uwannabuyim prepped and ready for flight. After a few minor repairs for cuts and scrapes, and the sturdy old ship was ready for the Galaxy again. The ramp is already open, and the short mechanic lowers his head, moving for the YT-1300. The others should be somewhere around -- Orson takes a last long look at this planet. The next time he looked, he considers, it will be with new eyes. The few belongings that Jessalyn had brought with her are packed into a couple of bags she has slung over her shoulder as she comes trotting along the tarmac, a little breathless and rushed. Despite the circumstances of her coming here, she can't help but feel that the visit to Myrkr was a productive one, on several personal levels. Yet, she's eager to break free of this world. Being reminded of what it had been like before she discovered the Force had only strengthened her faith in it, and she's eager to leave. And to experience whatever lies ahead with her new pupil. And with Simon. She catches her breath as she heads for the ramp of the _Uwannabuyim_, glancing about for the others, and glimpsing Orson close by. "Hey," she calls out. There were invisible bonds wrapped tightly around Simon's heart in regards to Myrkr, now. The planet was so much like his home that he could forget that he was away, losing himself in the scent of tall trees and growing things. His curse in regards to the True Source was removed almost everywhere. In short, Myrkr was the home of Simon's salvation. Yet, there was another bond that tied him more closely. Jessalyn had stolen his heart and his breath away, and at that moment, he would follow her into the depths of Hell. Approaching the _Uwannabuyim_ from the opposite side as the red haired Jedi, he carries with him the only new belonging he'd acquired from Myrkr, the rose carved staff. Turning his attention between Orson and Jessalyn, Simon says to both, "Is it time, then?" Eager, Orson takes a solid step onto the ramp of the ship. Solid. The mass of that vessel made it easy to believe, when you were on it, that the floor was as strong and firm as the terrain of Myrkr. Except when Dark Jedi Masters were tossing the hull around with but a motion of their hand. The mechanic is looking forward to leaving, anticipating more training and practice, and being able to escape this queer Force-hating forest. What a luxury to not have to go to some small island just to touch the Force! "It's time," Orson pronounces, with all the pomp in his voice a judge might have, passing sentence. But that gives way to a grin at Simon, which he shares with Jessalyn, and he proceeds into the ship. In but a moment, he's at the controls, wardrobe and gadgets safely tucked away aft, working at the console. Orson's grin is infectious, and Jessalyn's usual bright smile spreads across her face as she watches her apprentice climb up the ramp. She shares her smile with Simon, as well, walking a few steps closer to him and nudging him with her elbow. It's impossible not to think about the possibilities before them now -- especially after the other night. Her excitement to be leaving is almost palpable. "It's time," she repeats, adjusting the strap of one of the bags slung over her shoulder. "Are you ready?" Without waiting for an answer, she stands on tiptoe, kisses his cheek, and darts up the ramp after Orson. Returning the smile, Simon nods his affirmative to Jessalyn before following her up into the ship. He stops at the top of the ramp and turns to look out at Myrkr one last time. He tries not to think about how much he would miss the place. He tries not to think about how much this felt like when he'd climbed about the tramp freighter that had picked him up off Telgosse in the first place. Failing miserably, he lets out a brief sigh, then turns back to move toward the cockpit. Looking at the blinking lights on the control boards warily, Simon says, "Where is it that we will be going, ship captain Orson?" Stuffing her belongings into one of the compartments in the main hold, Jessa follows after the other two into the cockpit, taking a seat in the co-pilot's chair, and assuming that position as she begins to go over the pre-flight checks with her trained technician's eye. When the readouts satisfy her, she glances over at Orson and pulls the strap across her body to prepare for takeoff. "Engines are online. Whenever you're ready," she says to the pilot, flipping a few switches and then gazing solemnly out the viewport, into the forest beyond the landing pad. Broad hands dance from side to side across the console, thumbing colored squares and flipping unlabeled rows of silvery switches. Orson pauses to look back at Simon. "Corellia," he says, measuring the reaction of the Selas and looking at Jessalyn for support as well. "At least eventually. My last trip there wasn't entirely for pleasure." Somewhere aft, a terse whine and then a rumbling boom. Almost certainly, Orson did get around to installing the quick close ramp he had considered during the maneuvers on the asteroid. He'd have to remind the passengers to be careful. "Strap in," the mechanic murmurs, and the Uwannabuyim eases forward off the hangar deck. The ship banks and curls up and over Karrde's base, headed for open sky and beyond. "I had some business to conduct there. Simple cargo issues. But I didn't get around to it. Got busy last time." The only space traffic on this planet is from Karrde's base, at least usually, and Orson minds the controls only as much as he has to. He looks back at the pair, twisting his newly tanned shoulders: "Unless there's somewhere else you need to be. I don't mind to make another drop on the way." "Corellia would be fine with me," Simon says, almost absently. His eyes remain fixed on what he can see through the viewport as butterflies take wing in his stomach. He had grown used to the feel of a ship taking flight, but this was a different trip. This time, he didn't have the True Source to draw upon for centering. This time, he was leaving a place that he could have easily lived out the rest of his years. The blue sky turns to purple, then to black flecked with stars. Simon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Maybe he wouldn't regain the True Source. Maybe he was cured, as it were. Maybe he had found redemption in the love of a woman. His eyes open suddenly and he lets out the breath he'd been holding. A wash of emotions he'd held back flow through him, and his senses begin to stretch out around him. The warm glow of the living energy that was Jessalyn and Orson attaches to him. Despite the warmth, Simon shivers and the hairs on his body stand up. Mildly disappointed, Simon turns a level gaze upon Jessalyn and Orson in turn. He says, "Yes. Corellia will be fine. We all have a job to do, it seems. Corellia is as good a place to begin with it as any." As the ship rises and rises further from the surface of Myrkr, Jessa feels the Force flow back into her body, invigorating and reassuring, and not just a brief respite from the blindness this time. Completing the takeoff procedures, her hands rest on the sides of her chair as she briefly closes her eyes. This is what she is, a Jedi, and she savors the re-established connection that binds her across the universe. She glances first at Orson, hoping his newfound perceptions and careful training will reward him with the same sense of peace and strength she finds. "Corellia sounds perfect to me," she says with a wide smile. Perhaps from there she would be able to track down Luke from the New Republic sources. If he was to be found at all. The soft, jewel-toned aura that surrounds her is back, and she's as aware of it as she is the vibrant presences of the two men sharing the cockpit. She looks back at Simon with a reassuring smile, accompanied by a gentle mental caress. "Isn't your ship back on Corellia?" She recalled him mentioning that. "Corellia it is then," Orson remarks, eyes on space. The nav computer to his side begins working, the display screen throwing a widening line of pale blue onto the side of the cockpit wall. Soon, Myrkr is a hazy green-brown sphere in the sky, only empty space ahead of them. Not completely empty though. When he quiets his mind, he realizes as much, and a shiver walks up the mechanic's spine. He gives a visible shudder and sits up straight, looking at the back of his own hand. The Force is here, even in empty space, and the repetitious exercises which Jessalyn has relied on during their stay has prepared his mind to sense it in its fullness. A ripple through the Force rolls off the man, growing stronger as he touches the computer and prepares the calculation for the jump to light speed. "Simon, do you have plans after we reach Corellia?" he asks, making conversation in a broken tone. Simon shakes his head to Orson's question, then gives Jessalyn a curious glance. The mental caress causes him to shiver. He doesn't recoil from it as he once would have, but an element of fear and apprehension courses through his being. He gives her a subtle shake of his head. Whatever it was that she woudl teach him in regards to sharing the soul, he wasn't ready for. Not yet. To Orson, he replies, "We will need to find someone that knows of what is happening with the Empire. We will need to find a place to go where we can be most effective. Perhaps first... we should find a place that we can instruct you in the ways of the True Source, and make you fully prepared, ship captain Orson." At first it's hard for Jessalyn to hide her disappointment to Simon's reaction, but she resolves herself to be patient. It's a big plunge he's set himself up for, and she doesn't want to frighten him. With a silent apology, she sinks back into her seat, then blinks a few times, looking at Orson, and then back at Simon. Did he just say what she thought he said? "So..." she says slowly, stealing a glance at the Selas once more. "You've figured out that Orson is... that he can touch the True Source?" she says in as calm and casual a voice as she can muster, inwardly hiding her shock and apprehension. Until things were more settled, she had hoped to keep that tidbit of information between herself and her apprentice. Simon's conflict about the Jedi and the Force would only make things more difficult. The mechanic makes an adjustment to their course, but hesitates to send them into hyperspace. He would have preferred Simon not be aware of his new talent as well, but even Orson's limited understanding of the Force and the way it worked made it obvious that his tentative touch must have been clear to the Selas. Orson wasn't used to thinking on that level, and he turns, lower lip caught between his teeth. "Training is a concern, yes," Ship Captain Orson replies ambiguously to Simon, looking to Jessalyn for support. They hadn't gone over what he was supposed to say, and without that, he's fairly lost. Smiling a crooked smile, Simon examines Orson with a look that measures him to the inch and weighs him to the ounce. There was a familiarity about him that he could feel now that the True Source was with him once more. He had felt it upon Markus Lisardis and Mira what seemed like a lifetime ago, and now it rolled off this man in waves. It felt as if the connection between this man and the True Source had already been strengthened. The tenuous stretching Orson had done had only been one of the few indications of the man's potential. "How long have you known, Jessalyn Valios?" Simon asks, turning his gaze back upon the Jedi. "Was this something you were going to keep from me for a long time? Do you think I can not help in his training?" To her own surprise, Jessalyn finds herself afraid as she hears the accusing tone in Simon's voice. She licks her lips, scolding herself for having thought they could keep this knowledge secret from him. And how could she teach him about love and trust, when here she was showing an extreme lack of the latter? Giving Orson a reassuring look, she swallows and turns to gaze back at the Selas. "I've known for a few days," she admits. "Orson asked me to show him some preliminary techniques, which I've done. But, of course I would love to have your help in his training." The statement is a half-truth, since she doesn't yet trust the ways of the Selas enough to let Simon have his way with Orson. The mechanic will make a solid and talented Jedi, she is certain; but she does not want the Dark Side to taint him so soon. But Simon would not touch the Dark Side again. Not now, not after what they had shared. Love had no place in the Dark Side. She reassures herself of this as she gives him a smile and reaches back to lightly pat his hand in lieu of a mental reassurance. A long stare at Simon: Orson slips toward that silvery otherworld, fumbling toward a more real place where people, places, and for Orson, even the machines of the cockpit, are outlined and made up of the Force. The mechanic looks onto Simon with both sets of eyes, and seeing through the Force and through his bodily eyes at the same time is enough to make his head swim. What he glimpses when he looks at the Selas gives him pause, and the student frowns. There would be more questions for Jessalyn, and her alone, later. Was there some flaw in his fledgling technique? "It's no secret," Orson suggests darkly, the weight of his voice contradicting his own words. "I need to address things in their own time. That's all." In a possible attempt to end the conversation, he poises a hand in midair, threatening to touch the nav computer. "So. Corellia, or no?" After being so close to Jessalyn, it was hard not to feel a bitter disappointment at this revelation. Turning his back toward Jessalyn and Orson momentarily, he folds his arms across his chest and lets his eyes light upon a bank of controls above the door leaving the cockpit. That wa the problem with ships; you were wrapped in a technological coccoon you could not easily escape. He turns back toward Orson and Jessalyn, speaking over his shoulder as he says, "You should have asked me to help with his training, Jessalyn Valios. Both people I have attempted to guide in the ways of the True Source have turned to increase the number of your Jedi Order." The bitter words were perhaps an unfair attack, but they were certainly true. The sensation of Mira's life force on the ship was a painful reminder of his failure. Stung by Simon's words, and not exactly sure what she's done wrong, Jessalyn sinks into her chair, turning her gaze toward the viewport, though her eyes do not focus on anything physical before her. She withdraws mentally from both men, her instinct to retreat from hurt kicking in even as she feels her heart begin to cringe with dread. "I'm sorry," she says simply. "I wasn't sure when to tell you," she murmurs, not really knowing if Simon hears her or not. Flicking her gaze toward Orson's hand hovering over the hyperdrive throttle, she nods her head. "Get us out of here, Orson," she says gently to him, trying to share a distressed glance with him. Sublights fade away, the ship drifting forward. The hyperdrive levers descend and the Uwannabuyim, coiled with energy, snaps forward, turning slightly on its axis as it moves into hyperspace. It's clear that the ship and its passengers have moved from one reality to the next. "Time's on our side," Orson points out, turning in the captain's chair. "There'll be plenty of time for training and other things, as we're getting our business handled. Right?" Orson looks to the back of Simon's chair, avoiding even a glance at Jessalyn. Now he's overly concerned about revealing too much of what he's doing with the Force or in his body, and he simply remains still, staring aft with a careful smile on his face. Drawing in several long, slow breaths, Simon reaches deep within himself to find his calm. He shudders again, another icy chill running down his spine as the ship jumps into lightspeed by Orson's hand. He then turns fully back to Orson and Jessalyn, unfolding his arms from his chest and dropping them at his side. He reaches hesitantly toward Jessalyn's shoulder, then stops and settles for resting his hand on the back of the co-pilot's chair. "I'm sorry," he says, the slurring, sing-song alien tinge to his words returning as strong as ever. "Amongst the Brotherhood, I was barely out of my own apprenticeship, and would not be asked to aid with the training of the new Brothers. I should not expect you to call upon me to help with training any more than I should expect the Chiefs." To Orson, he says, "As long as the Empire has the Death Star, we will never have enough time. They must be stopped before they destroy the True Source any further." He pauses and lets out a sigh. He says, turning once more to Jessalyn, "I am sorry for my petulance. Yet, if we are to create something strong than the Jedi or the Selas, it should begin sooner than later. It can begin with ship captain Orson. He could gain the best of both of us." Perhaps in spite of her deeper convictions, Jessalyn wants to believe Simon. She has the same generous heart that has always caused her both heartache and joy in the past, and she clings to the optimism that wants to include the Selas in every part of her life. Forcing herself to sit up and push aside her uncertainties, she turns her head to smile at Simon behind her. "It is up to Orson, of course," she says, putting the matter into the hands of the man whose life they will most affect. "But you know that I want to learn from you the same way you will learn from me, Simon." It's a distinction she hopes he will recognize; he has to compromise just as much as does she. "I should like to hear more -- much more -- about both the Source, and the, erm, Force," Orson says, not intending the rhyme and scowling at his lack of Jedi sophistication. The word 'true' for him seems more subjective in that moment and he opts not to use it in his description of Simon's power. "I suppose that's training in and of itself though, isn't it?" The mechanic locks something in on the controls and leans back, considering Simon. "You've got a good point, Simon. About the Death Star. But what then, after this one? They'll build another one. It's their third, you know. If not the Empire then some other despot, with some other killing machine. I'm with you, really ... I just don't want to rush through this. The training." That much of Karrde's latest advice had been valuable, and the well-meaning mechanic has taken it to heart. Take things slower. There was a dangerous path that Simon could meander down with Jessalyn in conversation. Thus far, this day, the only thing Simon could have learned from her was that her trust for him was flawed, despite all that they'd been through. She was demonstrating very Jedi-like qualities, making it difficult for the Selas to not see her as one. After the pain he'd felt at the hands of the hands of the Jedi, it was vitaly important for both of them that he should see her as the woman he'd come to know on Myrkr. Turning his eyes back to Orson, Simon says, "The True Source and the Force is one and the same thing, ship captain Orson." He pauses, then says, "Perhaps I should call you _student_ Orson, now. In any event, 'True Source' is short for the True Source of Life, the All Mother from which we are all granted our souls until the Last Embrace. It is our responsibility to protect this piece of the True Source that we are entrusted, for it is a piece of the whole. It is what makes it possible for the Jedi and the Selas to do what they must do. It is the most important lesson that you should learn. If you wish to call it the Force, so be it. It is a shallow name, however, that does not carry the same level of respect one should have for creation. "But I get ahead of myself," Simon continues. "There will always be those that would do harm to the True Source. There will always be bullies in the street taking advantage of those that are smaller and weaker. It is our calling to attend to those troubles that we can, and train those that will take our place to be able to attend to the troubles that follow." Jessalyn tries not to let Simon's semantic criticisms get to her; the nature of the Force was ultimately the same no matter what name one used for it. So she drums her fingers on the arms of her chair, listening to the Selas, and giving a slow nod of her head in agreement. "Anger and violence are enemies of the Force," she adds softly, avoiding use of the term "Dark Side" for now. Orson already understood that, and she appreciated his intelligence and insight that would keep her from having to point out the differences right now. The road with Simon would be a tricky one, and she would have to tread it cautiously and diplomatically. But that did not dissuade her from believing she could redeem him. "It's our job to defend livingkind from those forces." The broad-shouldered man nods at Simon thoughtfully, but interrupts him with a grin and a finger held aloft. "Just Orson is probably good," he suggests. "You might run out of titles after you get to know me better." Orson rests in discomfit for but a moment, feeling strange at being called a student with such emphasis, but his easy-going nature is so pervasive that he's virtually untouched by it. He eases back into his seat, and being the avid listener that he is, giving an occasional nod or a quiet "Yes" at the appropriate points to indicate that he understands, or at least, is following along. He looks between Jessalyn and Simon, gaze on both, a question forming on his lips that has been prompted by Jessalyn's point. "What do you call the Dark Side then, in the True Source? Simon." Orson calls out the Selas' name after the question, hoping to clarify who it was directed to. ooc Orson the Dork. "There is the True Source, and there is the Selas," Simon starts to answer Orson's question. He knew very well that Jessalyn would entirely disagree with this, but it was a difference in their religions that they likely would never see eye to eye on. "Become enslaved to your darker emotions, and you will use the True Source for evil and become one of the Fallen. Seek peace of your soul through mastery of your mind, through mastery of your body, and you will be able to live with honor. The only darkness that you will find in the True Source is what you bring to it." "There is the True Source, and there is the Selas," Simon starts to answer Orson's question. He knew very well that Jessalyn would entirely disagree with this, but it was a difference in their religions that they likely would never see eye to eye on. "Become enslaved to your darker emotions, and you will use the True Source for evil and become one of the Fallen. Seek peace of your soul through mastery of your mind, through mastery of your body, and you will be able to live with honor. The only darkness that you will find in the True Source is what you bring to it." On the surface Jessalyn has no quarrel with Simon's description. It was the decisions of an individual Jedi that decided whether they followed the good side or the Dark, and that was determined by the emotions that ruled them. The overall message of his statement seems to be the importance of manifesting peace and passiveiness in one's soul, and that much she knows to be true. She actually smiles back at the Selas, a familiar brightness in her eyes, before settling back into her chair to enjoy the mottled starscape of the ship moving through hyperspace. They were on their way to Corellia, where her own people were from, and she's relieved at this prospect. Perhaps she would at long last be able to contact those from whom she'd been separated for so long. "You'll know the Darkness from the Light," she adds simply to Simon's statement, knowing that Orson will remember the lesson she has already shared with him. Orson drags a hand through the dense field of a few day's stubble on his chin, nodding first at Simon and then at his instructor. It's an automatic look to her for support. He'd like to be able to say his trust is completely motivated by understanding the differences between Jessalyn's and Simon's approach. But he can't. It's more a feeling, and the lingering distrust or simple jealousy he has of the Selas is still at work, even in a small way. "I see," Orson muses, thoughtful. Without warning, he stands, putting a hand on either seat as he heads aft. "I think I'm going to go work on some things, and think about this some more." Be it handstands or ship repairs, it didn't matter. He'd be working on his control and understanding of the Force. Simon steps out of Orson's way, giving the pilot a wide berth as he makes his way toward the cockpit's exit. His eyes remain on the ship captain's back a moment before he turns his blue eyed gaze upon Jessalyn, seeking her green eyes. Whether it was comfort or challenge he was looking for, he couldn't say. In the back of his mind, it was if he could hear a small voice, whispering _Jedi..._ "It might be wise if you looked in upon Mira," Simon says to the woman. He knew better than to look in on her himself. The rift between them had never been healed, even with the opportunity that had been presented on Myrkr. The mention of Mira only reminds Jessalyn of the break that had occurred between the Selas and his former friend. She senses the challenge in his voice even as she recalls the very words she had spoken to him the other night. -When we leave here, I'm afraid that I'll just be a Jedi to you again, and not a woman.- His reassurance at the time had restored her confidence, and yet... the look that he gives her now seems to negate everything she had felt was so right. She unstraps herself from the co-pilot's seat, standing rigid and and defensive in front of Simon as she searches his eyes more deeply than she dares probe with her Force-senses. "I will look in on her," she says quietly, though her leaf-green eyes never leave his, speaking of matters that have nothing to do with the other woman. Her courage falters, and she shifts her stance as if she is about to brush past him into the main hold. Something stops her, though, and she finds herself standing close to him, vulnerable, breast to breast. "You know... I believed you, when you said that you wanted to know me fully, Simon. Even if I am a Jedi, I hope that's still true." Standing this close to Jessalyn, he didn't need the True Source to heighten his senses to inhale her scent. He draws in a slow, steady breath through his nose, enjoying her sweet fragrance in spite of his doubts. She didn't trust him as he thought she had, but that didn't mean she didn't still love him. It didn't mean he couldn't still love her. "I want to know you fully, Jessa," Simon says, his eyes not leaving hers. "I want to know what you see in me that you fear. I want to drive your fear away and show you the Selas ways are not the ways of a monster." "That's what I want, too," Jessalyn confides in a small voice, sounding almost child-like as she looks up at Simon through her lashes, afraid but needing the connection that they have established so far. Her hand reaches tentatively, then more certainly, to grasp Simon's fingers, green eyes young and guileless as she tilts her head to gaze up at him. "I've been taught to fear the shadows," she admits quietly. "But I want you to show me that there are no shadows in you, Simon. I'm sorry for being so scared." Fear was part of the Dark Side, too, and she finds it more difficult to dislodge than anger or aggression. Swallowing, she wearily leans her forehead against Simon's chest. Closing his eyes, Simon turns his face toward the cockpit's ceiling. He wishes for the sky of Myrkr to be above him. He wished for a cool breeze to blow across his face, kissing his skin lightly the way Jessalyn once had done. He wanted to be able to simply love this woman without reservation, and without fear of what it means to be close to a Jedi. Lowering his head so that he can look back into Jessalyn's eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops as the comforting words that come to mind sound hollow before they're even spoken. Words have done enough damage. Reaching through the True Source, Simon does as he had seen Jessalyn do. He extends a gentle, hesitant caress to the woman's mind. As he feels the warmth of her being, he shakes visibly, quivering nervously. Outwardly, Jessalyn's mouth rounds into a soft "o" of astonishment as Simon reaches out to touch her mind, her fingers curling around his hand, her head tipping back so that she can look up into his face with half-closed eyes. They are alone now, only the infinitely varied and changing view of hyperspace forming a backdrop to their silhouettes. _It's okay_, she whispers, but not with her voice, through the Force, her presence there as comforting and loving as the physical reality. _Don't be afraid of the real me, Simon. I love you, more than know...._ She shares the words, her hope as palpable and real as her love if he dares look into her heart. Her arms slide around him to comfort his shivering body, eyes closing as she focuses on the other sensations. Her mental touch sings of the beauty of her essence, the roses and sweetwater and jewel-colors born deep in every world's heart, a grounding and loving presence. Cort Stasus had sent words through the True Source directly into Simon's mind before. It had made the Selas want to gnash his teeth. It made him want to lash out wildly, angrily, destructively. Luke Skywalker and Ethan Katana had done much the same, where the Jedi Master's student had actually invaded his thoughts, pushing them and plying them to do what he wanted Simon to do. The Jedi Master had tried to do the same, only Simon had been able to beat back the Jedi Master's attempts. He had been able to protect Mira that time, as futile as that action turned out to be. Jessalyn's presense in his mind did not feel any different initially than what he'd experienced before, and he very nearly flees in terror. Yet, he had to prove his trust for Jessalyn. He had made a promise to her. Controlling himself, he breaths slowly as he closes his eyes. He surrenders to the touch, letting himself feel her essence more fully. It was different than the time he had tried to reach her comatose mind in the medical bay. There had been resistance then. Now, there was only a sweet embrace. There was only the feel of her soul, stronger than the hint he had come to know upon her release from the Puzzle Box. Tentatively, slowly, he adds to the feeling of roses and sweetwater. Trees, tall and with a trunk greater than what a man can put his arms around take form in his mental touch. The scent of pines and oak are added, with a hint of warmth like a sun's kiss breaking through shadows. For a moment Jessalyn revels in what Simon reveals to her, the elements of his soul that make him what he is, complementing her own in a completion that exhilirates her. However misguided his feelings about the Jedi, and no matter the mistakes others had made with him -- he who understood the Force in a different way than she was taught -- Jessa only wants to show him the connection, the tenderness. And because she feels such compassion for him, she begins to withdraw her mental touch. _I'm sorry, Simon. I don't want to frighten you_. She would not force herself upon him when he was not ready. As she does so, her hands grip his upper arms, and she kisses him tentatively. "I'm sorry," she repeats aloud, her voice a whisper. "You are forgiven," Simon says after a moment. He brings his left hand to his forehead and mops away the sweat that dampened his brow. Until he'd done that, he hadn't known how considerable the effort had been to maintain his self-control. He brings his right hand to caress Jessalyn's cheek and says, "Small steps are best. I think that we have taken a very large step this day." She does her best to hide her disappointment, not wanting to begrudge him his unreadiness. Ever since he told her that he wanted to know her soul as well as her body, she had eagerly anticipated the time when that would be possible. Perhaps she was looking forward to something that was more improbable than she had thought, no matter his intentions. She leans her cheek into his palm, savoring the caress as her pale green eyes close. "We have," she agrees softly. "I'm still the same woman, you know. Please... please don't let go of that." Her arms tighten around him before she pulls away to look up at him. "I don't want you to regret anything."
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)