She's got it where it counts, kid. [Archive]

Brenneka Gavran

Oct 12th, 2012, 10:20:17 PM

Eyes of a frosted pale green swept across the space as she entered it, the lights coming up automatically. Everything, including her latest problem-child project, was as she left it in her workshop. Brenn shrugged out of her jacket and hung it by the door as her other hand pulled a datapad from the desk. There were no new messages, save for a few mission logs she needed to sign off on.

Even with her recent move, she couldn't escape the tedium of paperwork. But she didn't mind all that much, as it meant she could still keep tabs on the most recent SpecOps agent she'd trained. Lips curled into a smirk as she read through the Clawdite's latest escapades, settling her tall frame onto the stool at her worktable. It would have to wait, however, as her other job took precedence in that moment.

In addition to being a SpecOps agent, she also served the Alliance as a weapons expert. There wasn't a weapon currently being used by the Alliance that she hadn't come across and worked on in her over two hundred years of experience. And the Alliance was hardly one to look the gift-gundark in the mouth when it dropped someone so capable in their laps.

Cropped sable locks were tucked behind an ear as she set the datapad aside and propped her elbows up on the worktable. Eyes narrowed as she contemplated the KX-80. It was in pieces, scattered across the surface, the latest project she'd been handed by a SpecForce soldier. While perfectly capable of routine maintenance and basic troubleshooting, more technical issues and special mods needed Brenneka's capable touch.

Such as Dax's KX-80. Picking up the trigger mechanism and a tiny tool, she proceeded to disassemble it and make the adjustments to the timing as he'd asked. At least, that was the theory...Brenn had tried it three times before and it had proved stubborn. This time, however, she slightly filed down part of the inner housing to allow a freer movement on the inside.

Arching a brow, she nodded to herself and reassembled it. Now when the trigger was pulled, it was a smoother, faster motion that didn't catch at all. "Impeccable timing, Dax. Just got it set the way you wanted." Brenneka turned slowly and held the weapon out to the man who had come up behind her.

"Damn. How do you do that?" he asked, an easy grin on his face as he took his weapon in his hands.

"Still not going to tell you, kid. Make sure you take that to the test range and put it through its paces before it goes out into the field. Let me know how that trigger feels." Bren replied with a smile curling up one corner of her lips.

"Yes, ma'am." Dax saluted her as she shook her head, then retreated and left her in silence once more.

Contemplating what to do next, she picked up one of her personal projects and decided that a session in one of the sparring rooms was in order. They were almost always empty at this hour of the night, and it would afford Brenn the chance to test the balance on the slender vibrosword (http://i46.tinypic.com/35lrp7k.jpg) with a measure of peace.

Ilias Nytrau

Feb 17th, 2013, 02:26:41 AM

As was often the case in the near dead of night, Knight Nytrau was not to be found in his usual daytime haunts - in one medbay or another, in his own small designated abode meditating on the Force, or perhaps recording knowledge or expanding his own. It was a practical duty of a Jedi to continue to learn. It was his belief that learning was and should be lifelong for everyone. Stagnancy was unacceptable - and not to be mistaken for inaction, for sometimes physical inaction in times that the powers that be demanded action was acceptable and called for.

As was often the case, the halfbreed was in the makeshift dojos of the Wheel. As was the routine, the ginger knight had run for some time to warm up, then strangely, came down from this by a time of meditation. For while the next act in his repertoire demanded intense energy, it also demanded a particular focus. Solo bladework often afforded him certain things that doing the same with a live sparring partner did not, and this was often where he was, in mind and body while the majority of the little fleet slept, padawans, fellow knights, masters, officers and noncommissioned members, and all.

For the truth of it all was a most simple fact: Ilias, whether it was a blessing or a curse of his partially mysterious genetics, did not require even half the amount of sleep that they all did. It left him with a lot of time to think, and when the thinking ceased to be anything of benefit, it left only the body and all the things that it could do. And on this night, the bladework was fervent, his dual blades a flowing fury of black and white, as the sweat build and flowed at a seemingly timed pace, in drops, and the tall frame of the half-human healer-warrior moved at a speed that only appeared to be aided by the Force - as if he faced an invisible opponent, memories of times long past in a temple that was no longer theirs at his beck and call. A symphonic piece of body, mind, and lightsaber.

It was a starkly different meditation, but a meditation nonetheless.

Brenneka Gavran

Mar 12th, 2013, 02:29:46 AM

Long, graceful strides took the woman down the hallways of the ship, making the twists and turns as if she'd been there for a span of years not a mere few months. A flick of her wrist saw the door to her personal quarters slide open with a soft whoosh, the lights inside slowly lighting as she moved through the space.

Brenn laid the vibrosword on her small desk, eying it with pleasure for several moments. It was a prime example of its kind, a modern forging with sleek lines unlike its heavier, chunkier forebears. A smile still lingered on her lips as she slipped into her sleeping space to change. Setting aside the sleek black bodysuit that was her daily uniform of sorts, she dug into the drawer that held her workout garb.

Choosing a blue sports top (http://www.polyvore.com/brenn_shes_got_it/set?id=74753907) and a pair of black shorts, she added a pair of shoes with a slightly thinner sole. Meant for dancing, she'd long ago discovered them perfect for her style of workouts. They left her with a feel for the floor beneath, but still enough traction to be useful. Fingers took up the sword once more, while draping a towel over her shoulder as she exited again.

She had started in one of the largest spaces at first, stretching her tall, lithe frame before warming up with a series of running drills that took her from one end of the space to the other several times over. Brenn paused, taking a moment for a drink of water as she glanced up at the chrono on the wall. It was then that she heard movement in the room beside her own.

It was terribly late, long past the hour when those not on duty would still be awake. Her physiology was radically different than a normal human's, given that it was tempered with K'paur blood, and left her with a much shorter sleep cycle. Curious as to who else was up and about, she allowed her steps to take her over to the space next door, her vibrosword dangling in her hand.

The door was cracked a few inches, and Brenn gently nudged it open as she stepped inside. Her frosted teal gaze swept across the small room before settling on its sole occupant with only a touch of surprise. She didn't recognize him, but something almost familiar teased at the edges of her senses. So much so that she leaned against a support pillar and watched him without interrupting the flow of his fluid, swift movements.

Ilias Nytrau

Mar 24th, 2013, 04:11:22 PM

The construct in his mind was not one built upon the memories of another Jedi, like Mandan who so often appeared in his solo practices of mind and saber, but a theoretical envisioning of the darkly half of himself – the part that hungered, that was capable of cunning relentlessness. It was like fighting a shadow of his skill that gave less consideration to ethics, the tenets of the light, and the resistance against the dark. This construct was the embodiment of the idea behind the black saber that moved sometimes in concert, sometimes uniquely and independently of its white-bladed counterpart.

When was the last time we had an audience?

Indeed – when? The last time he drew unintentional attention, he was caught in a much similar act, by the young blonde girl that had become his student. He had been watched many-a-time in the temple in his younger years and though he did not appear to be much older than those days, it did feel such that it was a long time. Some of his watchers had felt free to join him in his movements, providing the resistance that was truly needed, in practice. And the hungry one, he was always there, too. It was more than response and defense in his movements – for his peers, he had to keep himself in check, as well.

The dance of his movements, the crackling, swirling torrent of the dual blades that ran along with him, that trailed and went ahead of him, brought him into such a position that afforded him a glimpse of his newest watcher with his eyes – and the follow-through stole that observation from him.

We have an audience now. She only watches. Says nothing. But…

Something caught his attention, then, as his senses had checked her over. This one he did not recognize, as he retained every facet gleaned from an individual for future reference – this one was a new entry. The blades slowed as his footwork did, and halted, his breathing deep and the Force wildly alive about him, intensely aware of the being that had now invaded the silence with her presence, that she had only been in the adjacent room, and had been given little recognition by his awareness, until she had chosen to come here. The red-haired knight stood with his back to the entrance by which the unfamiliar individual stood, breathing in and out, the sweat of his efforts gleaming on his back. Both lightsabers in his hands slid into deactivation, their hum turning to silence, and both hilts passed to one hand.

“I do not tend to have an audience...” He began. "...at this late hour."

As he spoke, he rubbed his free hand up his neck and forwards through his short, red hair, then backwards from the hairline to his crown before dropping the hand to his spar trousers, wiping it free of sweat. He turned around slowly, to face his visitor. If there was a mostly common denominator to those that watched him in his saber meditations, it was that the majority were female. And he thought little to nothing of it.

“Furthermore, my watchers have almost never been anything other than my fellow Jedi.” He blinked, his eyelids falling and rising slowly, only faster than his long, slow strides to cross the room. “I admit I am curious. Is there something I can do for you, Miss…?”