The Calm Before The Storm (Cyrel)

[Syren Wyssholt]

It is said that in order to move forward, one must go back. Consciously, Syren hasn't realized that she does just that - once a year. Years ago, she was left to die broken and alone when pirates raided Corellia. Her family was killed in the chaos, the love of her life was whisked away by some idealistic idea that he could save the galaxy when an even bigger fool implanted the idea into his head.

She'd only seen Rogell once since that fateful day her life was turned upside down. She hasn't seen him since. A good thing too, for if she had seen him more than that, she never would have walked down the desolate and addictive path known as the dark side.

Before wandering the darkness, she had chosen the light. In fact, she trained at the Jedi Academy for years, finally attaining the rank of a Jedi Knight. But that's when she met him. He enlightened her to the sheer power and glory of the darkside.He showed her the truth to the hypocracies of the do-gooders, easing her to stray from the straight path towards the righteous and over-glorified Saviors of the Galaxy.

Each year, on the anniversary of the Corellian Pirate Raid, she finds herself going home. Or, what she once considered home. Authorities never did find out exactly what band of pirates pulled off the successful and destructive raid, but each year, she finds herself snooping around.

Each year that has passed, no new information has ever surfaced. Whomever pulled off the raid did a damn good job. Most can't cover their tracks well enough to conceal their identities for over ten to fifteen years.

Then again, there were other allegations about the raid being connected to the Imperials during the aftermath. How ironic that would be if it were true. Afterall, she was once employed in the Imperial Navy.

Those thoughts are put out of her mind as she finds herself squatting atop of a hill which overlooks where the 'old neighborhood' once stood; plucking on a piece of blade grass.

The sunset is more beautiful that she remembers them being here on Corellia. The way the purples, oranges, blues, pinks and iridescents swirl through the stormy blue sky reminds her of some of the priceless works of art hanging in the Corellian Art Museum.

The night the pirates raided, the skies looked as pretty. Calm, a gentle breeze wafting in the air, delivering the scent of a storm building on the horizon.

Eyes as black as saccloth dance from thunderhead to thunderhead, the thoughts in her mind drifting back to a time long ago. She in her early to mid-teens and deeply in love with Rogell. He was a few years older and promised that one day, they would be wed. Life was good and she had not a care in the world.

"Damn you.", she scoffs as she tosses the blade grass down to the ground and rises. Pacing slowly, she looks from where the neighborhood once stood to the skies, replaying over and over the events which thrust her into her own living hell.

The sounds of children's laughter fills the air, carried on the winds which kicked up as a storm approaches towards the streets down the hill. Syren was sitting under the old maple tree, waiting for Rogell to show up. He called her, told her to meet him at seven o'clock under the shade tree; he had something important to ask her.

Seven o'clock had come and gone. Just as Syren was about to give up and head back home, the clouds opened up and a small fleet of ships came barrelling through. Laser fire rained down on the defenseless citizens below. The children's laughter became shrieks of terror and fright. They tried to run away, most were mowed down by an endless deluge of laserfire from the phantom ships above.

Ion cannons fired shortly thereafter; blowing up buildings left and right as the ships landed wherever they damn well pleased. Syren's gut instincts took over, dictating her actions. She ran down the hill in the opposite direction of her home. At the bottom of this side of the hill was the old dried up canal. It was there that the 'cool kids' use to hang out on saturday nights.

She ducked into the large permacrete tunnel and followed it lower and lower. It was the old access tunnel for the city workers controlling the dam. She stayed there until everything was over. The smell of acrid smoke and death awakened her the next afternoon. The images she saw upon exiting the old tunnel are still fresh in her mind today.

Syren just realizes now that as her mind reminisced, she walked the path she had taken on the day the Pirates raided. She glances to her left, then to her right; seeing a shadowed figure lingering just beyond the entry point of the service tunnel.

[Cyrel Annat]

And while Syren may have been there when the attack came, that same shadowed figure that she saw now had not been. Cyrel Annat was born in Corellia, and lived just a couple blocks from the now darksider. His own abilities had been noted by his father early on, though his father had hoped that they would be minor enough not to attract any attention. It was fortunate, for Cyrel at least, as he was away from the planet at the time of the attack.

He and his master had learned of the impending strike on the city shortly before it occured, and by the time they arrived, the damage had been done. The young man stepped down the ramp of their ship to the sights of burning buildings and already smoldering ruins. Bodies, debris, everything lay scattered around. Those that had survived the attack were already tending to what they could, and Cyrel and his then-time master aided in the process. A process which included burying his parents.

For many years, he did not return to Corellia. Up until the last couple of years, actually. Then, much the way Syren had, he returned their to pay homage to his parents and those others caught unaware in the surprise attack.

In the time he was away, he learned what he could from his mentor, and continued to strengthen his ability in piloting. The training was a bit difficult, due to the fact that they did much of it during the travels, not really having perfect conditions. A drawback, for certain, but he made due. He had little choice.

And while Syren had strayed down the dark path, Cyrel had remained to his teachings and clung to the light. It was difficult, especially after the death of his master and all the turmoil and conflict that followed. But enlightenment had come in the most unexpected place, a realization of why things occured as they did. Certainly, he could have sworn vengeance on the galaxy for the death of his parents, and then his master, but he did not. He had decided that when his thoughts began down that path, that he would remove himself from everything, find solitude and clear his mind. Thus far, it had worked well.

That same shadowed figure moved just slightly as Syren continued down the pathway, perhaps a head tilting. He could sense her presence, and though it was faint, there was a distinct recognition. The way that she walked, maybe. Something was familiar, despite the darker aura that he felt growing ever closer. He had heard the rumors, and knowing that few others ever came here, he could come up with his own guesses as to who she was. Turning around just as she was within a few feet, the tails of his dark brown robes swirled about his feet, and the distinct glint of the silver cylinder hanging from his belt could be seen. While he had changed in appearance a great deal since last she saw him, there would still likely be some manner of recognition. She had changed as well, though she was still the same young girl he once knew.

"I wondered when you would show up here."

[Syren Wyssholt]

She had felt Cyrel's presence before, but chose to ignore it. Jedi disgust her. Most would be grateful to see an old friend, however, she remembers that Cyrel was one of the luckier ones. He wasn't here to see his own parents killed or to see the area destroyed. Perhaps there is a part of her that hates him for that. Mayhaps its jealously. She doesn't know nor does she care.

"I could say the same about you. I certainly don't recall seeing you here over the past ten years."

Syren unfolds her arms; a hand moving instinctively to rest upon the hilt of one of her two sabers as she strolls a few paces closer to the service tunnel.

"Oh wait. I remember. Ditching your parents and leaving them to be killed wasn't as important as running off to train as a Jedi." She smirks.

Dark eyes wander the height of his body, scoping him out. Too bad he can't be frozen in carbonite. He'd definitely look good standing in the corner of my bedroom. Eye candy is a good thing to have around.

Her left hand rises from her hip to rub her chin a few times. Near the entrance of the tunnel now, she takes to leaning back against the curved permacrete wall, propping one booted foot against it.

"Why are you here? Don't tell me you've gained a conscious!? Time to return to your roots so you can possibly redeem yourself for not telling anyone ahead of time that the attack was coming?"

Dark eyes narrow to mere slits as she eases from the wall and takes a few more steps closer to Cyrel. Soft lips part, as if about to say something more, then they close and Syren glances back towards the hill over her shoulder.

Ask him. Ask him if he has seen or heard anything of Byorn Rogell, Dalin Qel Brella or Falk Bouro. Use Cyrel to find the twit, then vengence can be had. Finally.

Syren looks back to Cyrel, the corner of her lip twitches a few times as if chewing against the inside of her cheek. His training has paid off, apparently. Sensing the darkness that lingers within her soul isn't easy for many to do. Then again, these two grew up together. Well, they did until the skies opened up and terror ensued.

She's found her balance within the force. She uses both the light side arts and the dark side arts ... so long as she gains from her actions or reactions. Currently, as she snaps at Cyrel, she isn't using either side. She's just being a snotty little brat.

[Cyrel Annat]

The words did as they were intended, though she was not graced with a biting reply as she likely wanted. In fact, he didn't so much as flinch and to her eyes, she would see nothing at all to denote that her words had their intended effect. As she approached, he eyed her hand as it moved to her saber, though he did not think it would come to that. No reason that it should. At least, not that he thought.

"You may think that I left here by choice. I did not. My father sent me away with his friend when they realized my sensitivity. As far as being here when the attack came, my former master and I arrived as the last ships were leaving. We did know ahead of time, yes, but the pirates jammed all transmissions to and from the city. Our hails went unheard and our attempts at warning anyone were stopped. I arrived here in time to bury my parents."

He paused a brief moment, eyeing her casually, though he was trying to study her as well. More just to see what her intentions truly were.

"So, if you care to blame me for the deaths to make you feel better about it, feel free. As far as why I've returned, I've been here several times. I guess that our paths simply have failed to cross in that time. I did ask about you, but you're not exactly easy to track down. I imagine that is by your design."

[Syren Wyssholt]

"How convenient. The prodigal son returns in time to bury his parents six feet under, in the cold and dark. I bet you were kind enough to plant some flowers at the headstones before pissing on them, hm?"

A darkened brow arches as she wrinkles her button nose towards him. During their exchange, her hand moves several times to and from the hilt of her saber. Habit? Perhaps. Deeper intentions? Only time will tell.

"Why would you bother to ask about me? It's not like we had all that much in common. So what if our parents were friends and who cares that our backyards met? And yes, it is by my design that I'm not easy to track down. Though, I suppose I should feel flattered that you think about me."

Whether she is flattered remains yet to be seen. Of course, she isn't going to give Cyrel the satisfaction of freely devulging that information.

"As for blaming you? Nah. That would be a waste of time. It's not like I have to carry around the heavy burden on my shoulders just knowing that I could have most likely prevented most of the destruction and deaths had I been able to get the word out of the impending raid faster."

No, she is not pms'ing. Cyrel irks her and in a huge way. Just what it is about him that gets on her nerves, she isn't sure just yet. Maybe it's not even Cyrel himself that annoys every fiber of her being. Maybe it's what he represents in her eyes. Yes, that is most likely it.

She tires of the game already. Ok, she only tires of it for now. Cyrel will make a good plaything and one that will pose quite the challenge for her. He gets bonus points for that.

"You haven't learned anything new ... have you?", she questions cautiously, eyeing him closely.

During their exchange, she very subtlely reaches out with the force, trying to get a feel for Cyrel's true intentions here. The faintest of smiles cracks the corner of her mouth, but she turns to look away from him, hoping he didn't notice. She felt him, through the force, attempting to do the very same to her.

Interesting. Very interesting.

[Cyrel Annat]

"Well, we did spend more than a few years with each other when our parents would get together. You used to enjoy those times, as did I. I know that many things have changed and that we've both grown older, and apart. Perhaps I was wrong to think that you enjoyed those times as well. Perhaps you have simply altered the feelings of your memories to go along with your way of life."

He didn't move much at all as they talked, if one could call it talking. Speaking at each other, perhaps. If she was trying to bait him with the constant brushing of her saber hilt, it was not going to work. He had not come here for a fight, and that much would be clear when she sensed his thoughts. Likely to her irritation, his intentions now known to her were pretty much as he had said.

"And no, I have not learned anything new."

[Syren Wyssholt]

Whether he's irritated her or not remains to be seen; at least, seen by him. Being back home makes her restless, so her pacing and the habit of her hand moving to the hilt of her weapon is just to help ease some of the tension she feels.

"I'll be up there if you want to talk.", is all she says to Cyrel after allowing a moment or three of silence settle between them. Syren turns and wanders her way back up the hill, taking a seat under the huge shade tree.

[Cyrel Annat]

The rogue watches as she wanders back towards the hill, wondering what it was that managed to at least make her civil for a short while. She wasn't always this rough, though with all that had happened, he was not surprised. In truth, with the knowledge that they had chosen quite different paths to follow, he was more surprised that she had not challenged him to fight already. Something for him to think on, for certain.

He remained where he was when she arrived for a short while longer, eyes searching around the lands and skies. Peaceful once again, as they were for many years before and after the attack. He wondered how much longer there would be peace, or if a new generation would be faced with such an attack.

With a soft sigh, Cyrel turned from his spot and headed up towards the tree where Syren sat waiting. In truth, she likely would not have minded at all if he just left without talking, but he would have. She was not totally gone, as much as she wanted everyone to think.

[Syren Wyssholt]

Seated beneath the shade of the old maple tree with her elbows resting against drawn up knees, Syren glances sidelong towards Cyrel when she hears him approaching. She has quite a bit she'd like to say to him, but now is not the time. Besides, it wouldn't accomplish anything this early into their reunion.

"So where is that crazy ol' master of yours these days?"

Syren immediately holds a hand up, staying his response as she lowers her head some. That same hand which kept Cyrel silent moves to press against her forehead and she closes her eyes for a full minute.

"I'm sorry. In all honesty, I never expected to see you again. Figured you were just like the others who left me - all of us - here for dead. I suppose the emotions have been bottled up far too long and now they're exploding because .. well, because. I suppose jealousy is truly an ugly creature."

Syren glances up to Cyrel. Though her words are sincere, her expression and perhaps even her reputation most likely have Cyrel feeling skeptical about it all. Her expression reveals nothing, save for the fact that one; she is tired. Tired of what, though? Two; her heart has been frozen since the day of the raid.

[Cyrel Annat]

His jaw sets for the briefest of moments at the next apparent stab with regards to his master. Granted, she may not have known but he had suspicion that she kept better tabs on him than she let on. Perhaps, perhaps not. When she holds her hand up, he does keep his peace, allowing her the silence that she wanted. When she finally looks up, his face is relaxed again, though quite unreadable. He was skeptical. He knew that there was still part of that young girl he grew up with inside the body and mind of the woman seated before him. Buried behind all the anger and pain.

But he also knew that she could be quite ruthless and wouldn't put it past her for this to be some sort of trick for him to lower his guard. There was a happy medium that he could attain, which kept his senses sharp without appearing to be doing so. As much as he wanted to believe that the real Syren was peeking out, he could not take the chance of pursuing that end. Not now.

"I never left you, Syren. I was sent away because of what I have. And as far as jealousy. I cannot imagine what I have that you could be jealous of, unless you were speaking in the general sense."

[Syren Wyssholt]

Syren narrows her dark eyes at Cyrel then looks away. "Whatever, Cyrel.", she murmurs, weariness in her voice.

"There are some things which are best left forgotten. I buried much of the past and seeing you just raises what was once dead. Am I bitter?" She looks back up to him. "Yes. I am. Am I hellbent on revenge? You bet."

She rises, taking a step closer to him. "I hate what you have become, Cyrel. I hate that everything I had was ripped away from me. "

Souless eyes bore deeply into his. "And I hate what I have become." Her voice lowers to barely above a whisper as she states this last admission. As if unable to face him any longer, she turns and paces a few times under the shade of the tree.

A deep breath is drawn, held, then released slowly as she looks down the hillside towards the heart of the small town that once lied in ruins.

[Cyrel Annat]

"Then change, Syren. No one but you is stopping that." He pauses for a few moments, dark brown eyes watching her closely. In all likelihood, he was not the best one to speak in such a manner to her, as even he had his own steps down the darkside early on, though had managed to right the ship, so to speak.

"And instead you are hellbent on revenge against the pirates that attacked. And even if you do manage to track every last one of them down, and exact your revenge, then what? It will not bring your family back. It will not change what has happened. It will only leave you with the same emptiness that you feel now."

[Syren Wyssholt]

"Don't you think I tried that once already? It must be real nice being you - standing there, all smug with the holier than thou attitude."

Syren's eyes narrow, a dangerous warning burning deep within the dark pools.

"My revenge isn't against the pirates, Cyrel. That is where you are wrong. Once I do get my revenge though, I will not be empty. My life will be complete. I will have found my peace."

He infuriates her to no end. What he represents, his words, his voice ... the fact that he is right. That infuriates her the most. She's known it deep down but has chosen to ignore the fact. Now this bastard has the nerve to stand here and throw it in her face!

The long and slender fingers of her right hand curl and uncurl, the deep red nails dig into the soft flesh of her palm; any harder and she'll start to bleed.

"I tried it once before, Cyrel." Her tone has changed. Instead of being laced with venom, its soft, quiet; like velvet.

"I'm tired, Cyrel. I'm so very tired and ..." Her words end there. She looks to Cyrel for a minute or two in utter silence, then looks away.

"Buy you a drink?", she asks, snapping her attention back.

[Cyrel Annat]

"But did you have anyone to help you when you tried it before?"

He stands there watching her as she seems to struggle a bit with her words. Not so much the words themselves, but rather the civility in which she delivers them. Hot and cold in every exchange thus far. He did sympathize with her situation, and his earlier allusion to help was sincere. If she wanted his aid in this, he would give it, though he didn't figure that she would.

Her next question does take him quite off-guard, something completely unexpected and unlike the new her. It also gives him a few moments of pause to try and discern the sincerity of her offer.

"A drink? I don't see why not. Anywhere in particular?"

[Syren Wyssholt]

In response to his question, she shoots a glare in his direction. A glare that would kill in a heart beat had it been a viable weapon. The implication that she perceives from his words is that he views her as weak, and weak is one thing she has never seen herself as.

The allure and seduction of the dark side is strong and addictive. Once it wraps its cold, strong arms around your lithe form, it's nearly impossible to resist its devious charm and arousing temptations.

As most women are drawn to the things their mothers warned them the most about - dark and dangerous men being one of those things - the dark side is the forbidden fruit. One small taste of its power is all it takes to lure its victim down its desolate path.

"The Stardust." A little tavern which was one of few buildings which actually survived the pirate raid all those years ago.

As they begin heading down the hill, she ponders whether or not to ask him something. Most people don't seem to have any trouble at all speaking about the dead. Corellians don't have trouble per se, but its not a topic which is taken lightly. On Coruscant, a memorial had been established long ago, known as the Corellian Sanctuary.

The Corellian Sanctuary is a small, domed building that was designed to honor those Corellians who died off-world. Because the Diktat of Corellia would not allow members of the New Republic to land on the planet, natives who died while away from Corellia could not be repatriated.

So, exiled Corellians built the Sanctuary. Corellians ritually cremate their dead, then use industrial-grade compressors to compact the ashes into a synthetic diamond. The diamonds provide immortality to the dead, and are placed in the black walls of the Sanctuary to represent the stars in Corellia's sky.

Though Syren's family was killed on Corellia, she chose to take their cremated remains to the Sanctuary. The idea of giving her family immortality was important to her. Funny, of all the small diamonds placed in those black walls, she knows which ones are those of her family.

"How long has it been since you've been to the Sanctuary?" Inwardly, she hopes that he visits it yearly, even if his family might not be amongst the starry diamonds.

The sunset fades and darkness envelops the land. Creatures of the night begin to emerge and the symphony of their songs fill the summer air. The temperatures drop a few degrees, making it a temperate night to be out and about.

[Cyrel Annat]

"It has been a couple of months, though I usually stop by every time that I am in Coruscant. Depending on my current situation, that can be anywhere from one to four times a year. It just depends on what is happening as to how often I can get there."

He falls silent after that, the rather somber change that the mood has taken causing such. And so, the only sound beyond their surroundings would be the sounds of their footsteps as they continue down the path.

The glare was not lost on him either, though he thought it better just to leave that as it was. In all likelihood, the topic would come up again. Dark brown eyes glance around them a bit, spotting a couple light freighters on their way to one of the nearby spaceports. It had been a day pretty much like this one had been, or so he had been told.

"How long do you plan on staying here?"

[Syren Wyssholt]

Returning home once a year is never an easy thing to do. Not when one has memories of seeing their family killed; everything they knew obliterated in the blink of an eye.

The somber moment brings those images back to the forefront of her mind. When she's had enough, she clears her throat and folds her arms loosely.

"Only another day or two. Something's come up that I have to tend to." Something that will bring me closer to getting the revenge I've sought for so long., she thinks to herself.

At the bottom of the grassy hill, they head left and make their way up towards the boulevard where the Stardust awaits.

"This isn't easy for me, Cyrel.", she states; furrowing her thin dark brows deeply while moistening her lips lightly.

"Talking with you like this, I mean. I'm sure you're pondering the motives behind my offer to buy you a drink. And yes, I assure you, I do have alterior motives behind the gesture, but they are not what you think."

At the corner, they wait for traffic to change direction then cross the street. Coronet City bustles at night with people and aliens from all around the galaxy enjoying the night life.

A few blocks over and one ends up in the most dangerous part of the city. The crime rate continues to rise yearly and it's nearly to the point where even the local authorities won't venture into the Blue Sector anymore.

Jedi, Dark Jedi, Imperials and even Rebels are not foreign sites to be seen among those of Corellia. However, seeing a known Dark Jedi in the company of a Jedi causes more than a few brows to raise.

"Now I remember why I chose a life of near seclusion back on Coruscant.", she murmurs as they near the entrance to the tavern. Loitering around the front door are a few drunks, apparently harassing some of the women as they quicken their pace to hurry past the ill-reputed establishment.

Syren glances sidelong to Cyrel, wondering if he's going to pull a goody-goody stunt to dispurse the drunks.

[Cyrel Annat]

"Don't think of us as opposites, Syren. Just try to remember how we used to be when we were younger, growing up. We had no problems then. We've just taken different career paths."

A small, though genuine smile is offered then, before he looks back to the crowds in the city. For him, this was the first time he had really been inside the city in a while at night. Even when he returned before, he stayed away from it, landing his craft in the outskirts somewhere.

He doesn't comment on the alterior motives, not sure that he wants to know the real reason. Perhaps they weren't vicious, which would have been his first honest thought on the matter. And when it comes time to get to the tavern, he wonders if she won't just plow through all the drunks to get them on their way. And so, rather than watch that, he subtly waggles a couple of fingers, hidden from her view though she would likely sense the Force being used. A moment later, the drunks do leave the women alone, though for some reason those same drunks found themselves harassing a pair of younger Hutts. Needless to say they made quick their getaway.

Once at the door, he gestures for her to lead the way. "Ladies first."

[Syren Wyssholt]

"Different career paths, eh?" She considers that for a moment then shrugs her shoulders lightly. "I suppose that could work."

The Stardust. Not the best place to have a drink, nor is it the worst. Yeah, it's becoming more and more like a cheesy dive as the years go on; but its in the old neighborhood so it feels a little like home. The owner remembers both Syren and Cyrel from the days when their fathers would stop in after work for a quick drink or would spend sundays at the bar, watching sports.

Though he isn't here tonight, his wife is. She's playing bartender this evening. She lifts a hand and waves to the two. Syren smiles to the old woman and points to the table that she and Cyrel are going to occupy for a while.

Syren leads Cyrel around the bar and heads across the room; up two steps and down to the last booth on the right. She slides in and scans the common area before looking to Cyrel. Her expression indicates that she wants to say something, but she holds back; a characteristic that is unlike her.

[Cyrel Annat]

Most unlike her, he notes as he settles into the booth. Not too close, of course. He had returned the wave to the bartender, impressed that the woman still recognized the two of them. Of all those in the bar, though, she would likely be the most understanding of the two walking and talking together. For a short while, it was not dark Jedi and Jedi side-by-side, it was two kids from the old days just a bit more grown up.

Still a bit surprised at Syren's continued silence, he finally looks over to her to prompt a bit more. "You never were one for biting your tongue. Let's hear it."

[Syren Wyssholt]

Syren looks to Cyrel, memories of their childhood fade in and out of her mind. Including the day he left. She remembers watching him leave his house because she was watching from her bedroom window. He was her friend then, and a good one at that. If only she were old enough at that time to fully understand why it was he was sent away. On that day, though, she only understood that one of her good friends was leaving ... leaving her.

Dark eyes, as soft as velvet, affix themself to his. So many memories. Syren sighs and swallows, leaning forwards a bit over the table as she folds her arms against it.

"I'm tired, Cyrel. I'm tired of this deep-rooted hatred I burden my stonecold heart with. The unhealthy obsession I have at getting revenge against those whom were once my friends. Our friends."

She pauses, waiting to see if his expression gives any of his thoughts away. Though, if she really wanted to, she could read his thoughts. However, that is one area of her force skills she has done her best to refrain from using. Invading the mind of another is a form of rape; at least, in her mind it is. That's not to say she hasn't raped the mind of a nemesis before. She just chooses not to use it against someone she knows; such as Cyrel.

"I've made it difficult to track me down for a reason. I don't want to be found by a certain someone. "

She sits back, sliding her palms across the smooth surface of the table until just her fingertips are curved gently against the rounded and worn edge.

"I can't believe I'm doing this.", she murmurs as those dark eyes roll.

"If I continue on the path I've chosen ... it will kill me. Like a drug, it has its hold on me, Cyrel and I can't shake it. The seduction is so powerful, so delicious!"

Another pause as the owner's wife/bartender approaches.

"Now here are two faces I have not seen in ages! Such a cute couple you two make. Tell me, what can I get you kids to drink?"

Slowly, Syren turns her gaze from the woman to Cyrel, the right corner of her mouth twitching. Sure, Syren can burst the old woman's bubble and inform her that in no way, shape or form is Syren dating the Jedi seated across from her, but ... she has nothing to gain by doing that.

"Corellian double brandy."

After Cyrel orders his drink, the old woman gushes and gives each of them a hug. Not use to affection, or public displays of it, Syren clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She chuckles as the elderly woman pinches Cyrel's cheeks then wobbles off to fill their order.

"I left the Jedi Order for many reasons. One of those reasons is because a certain someone enlightened me to the hypocracies of the Jedi teachings. He showed me things and taught me things that I never knew, Cyrel. He seduced me and kept luring me in until there was no turning back."

Syren lifts a hand and rubs against the side of her neck a few times.

"H-. Cyrel? Will you h- ... he .. help ... me?"

For but a moment it looks as if tears are beginning to shimmer against her lower lid. Was it a trick of the light or where they truly there?

"Please?" Her voice lowers to an almost inaudible whisper as she practically pleads with him to help her. She's vulnerable. It scares her and it scares her more to think that someone from her past will eventually hunt her down and sink his grips into her cold, twisted heart once again; dooming her to an empty life that will end before it's suppose to.

[Cyrel Annat]

"Corellian Ale," he answers the bartender, trying not to smirk too much as the woman lavishes her affections on them, and also keeping silent on the earlier point that Syren left alone as well. There was no point in telling the woman otherwise, since if either of them denied it, the woman would have just told them that they should start anyway. The lady had always been like that, for as long as he could remember.

Once the bartender is gone again, Cyrel returns his attention to Syren, dark brown gaze plain and passive, giving away nothing of what he may or may not be thinking. His expression was equally unreadable. A couple of nods, more to himself than to her as she continues to explain, and he nearly does cough as she concludes her little dialogue. For all the ribbing that he once gave her while they were growing up, and even a bit of the bitterness from just a short while ago, he could have thrown it right back. But he didn't.

Instead, he replies with the same calm, clear voice that he had used most of the night. Perhaps this time it would not grate on her as much as it had before. This time, even in the simple response, there may have been one hinted emotion to it. Compassion. Not pity, but compassion and understanding.

"What would you have me to do?"

[Syren Wyssholt]

It's one thing to be staring someone down during a heated argument as opposed to having to hold your gaze with another when leaving yourself wide open to rejection or ridicule. It takes all the willpower she can muster to simply not look away.

"I don't know.", she states with an accompanying shrug. "What can be done? I feel like I'm trapped and if you remember from when we were kids, being trapped isn't something that sits too well with me. I get restless, defensive and it's not a pretty sight."

Though they are the same age, when they were children, Syren had gotten herself stuck up in the high branches of the same old maple she was sitting under earlier. It was Cyrel who climbed up and helped her down. She never lived that down. Looking at him now brings back that memory and she can't help but to shake her head and chuckle while rubbing one of her tired eyes.

Their drinks are served and Mrs. Nesbit chuckles merrily again, placing a pudgy hand over her heart.

"Ahh. It does an old woman's heart good to see that the two of you are finally together. I always told your mothers that you two would end up tying the knot! Now, when do you plan to have children, hm?"

The Corellian double brandy is spat out as Syren chokes when the old grandmotherly woman of their past announces that she expects to see children by these two. The back of her hand is used to swipe at her chin and Syren turns her head sharply, looking away from the woman.

"Oh dear. Oh my. Forgive me, my dears. I bet you two want to enjoy a quiet evening. I'll toddle off. Holler if you need me." With a cheery wave of her fingers the woman heads off to tend to her duties at the bar.

Syren scratches the side of her nose lightly and casts a long sideglance to the retreating back of the waddling woman. Her throat is cleared, then she looks to Cyrel.

"I could slip cyanide into her tea tonight." Sure sounds like a good idea. Then maybe she wouldn't have to hear the old hag drone on and on about she and Cyrel, seeing something that just isn't going to happen.

The look on Cyrel's face squashes her idea. Her mouth quirks and she tosses back the double brandy in one swig. The empty snifter is disarded to the edge of the table.

"You tell me, Cyrel. I don't even know where to begin. I tried before, you know. Practically hid myself away back on Coruscant. We see how well that worked."

[Cyrel Annat]

"I will not lie and say that it will be easy, not even remotely so. You will be tempted repeatedly to fall back and continue down the dark path. I can give you what guidance I am able, but the harder work will be yours. Your will. You must be strong to resist the pull."

He lifts the mug of ale to his lips for a drink while glancing around the interior of the bar. In truth, it had been quite some time since he had been here, and he forgot how relaxing it could be. This was not one of those relaxing times.

The company was good. He had no complaints about that, or the place itself, but something just did not feel right with him. Something that was, of yet, unexplainable. Perhaps it was just a brief bout of nerves.

"I know how hard it can be," he adds as he sets the mug down on the table again, voice lowered just a bit though still clearly audible.

[Syren Wyssholt]

"There's no need to tell me how hard it will be. Been there, done that ... failed."

The corner of her mouth twitches a few times as she looks around some, chewing against her cheek. Hearing that he knows how hard it can be only leaves her with one conclusion - Cyrel began a journey down the dark path; somehow, he survived and pulled himself back.

"What has happened, Cyrel? To him, I mean. Byorn.", she asks quietly, no malice in her voice. She didn't look at Cyrel when posing the question which has been at the back of her mind for the past ten or so years.

Slowly, Syren averts her gaze back to Cyrel's, holding her breath in anticipation of his reply.

[Cyrel Annat]

"I have not seen nor heard from him since I first left here as a child. In fact, you are the only one that I have seen or spoken to since that time. I was gone for quite a while, as you likely recall. I just lost contact with the others when I left and never tried finding them."

Another pause to drink more of his ale, dark brown eyes on her for a couple moments before looking around again. Apparently, those drunks had wised up to his little mind trick of earlier, though they were still staying well clear of Cyrel and his companion. They also seemed to be staying clear of the female clientale of the establishment.

Her question did not surprise him too much, considering that he had heard through the grapevine what occured between the two of them. But it was a bit surprising that she had not been able to track him down, unless she didn't want to.

Another sip from his mug is taken, his body leaning back into the booth as he sets his drink down.

[Syren Wyssholt]

"Most of the others died that day - or shortly after due to their injuries.", she informs Cyrel somberly. As Cyrel looks around, Syren signals for another drink to be delivered, keeping her dark eyes on his profile.

"I'm sure he's dead by now.", she states in an as-matter-of-fact tone, nodding towards the waitress who sets her drink down on the table.

"How about another topic, hm?"

[Cyrel Annat]

"I'm open to suggestions on that one, Syren. Coming up with conversations, as you likely recall, was never my strong point. I know that you and I didn't have problems with that, but we were much younger then."

Much, much younger, and they had the usual childhood topics to help them along. Much time had passed since then, and with them having gone separate ways, it was all the harder to bridge that gap. Having been a loner for some time had caused him to generally keep to himself, so starting up conversations with others was not an easy thing for him to do. And anything that he could think of at the moment hovered around the same somber tone they'd had most of the night.

[Syren Wyssholt]

Syren purposely lets silence reign between she and Cyrel for the next several minutes. She finishes her drink, swishing the ice around in the glass, listening to the soft tinkling sound created.

Dark eyes settle on Cyrel's as she places the glass on the table and slips a cube free and holds it up.

"Funny, isn't it?" , she begins, shifting her gaze momentarily to the ice cube held gingerly between her finger and thumb then back to Cyrel. "...this small ice cube is made up of thousands of miniscule crystals; formed simply by freezing water." Her gaze remains affixed to his while the slowly melting ice cube is turned slowly within her fingers.

"You know, Cyrel ... there's been reports on the news about another crystal..."

And that's where her end of the new topic of conversation pauses while she waits with baited breath to hear what he might have to say about the Eternity Crystal.

[Cyrel Annat]

"You speak of the Eternity Crystal, and those reports are rumors. Nothing more than foolish fancy dreams."

Of course, his own knowledge of the Eternity Crystal stretched a bit beyond the rumors, but his ability allowed him to keep those thoughts from becoming known to her. He could about imagine where she was going to go with this line of talk, and he also knew that there was little he could do to sway her mind.

"There is great danger surrounding that crystal, Syren. You would do well to keep away from it."

[Syren Wyssholt]

"If they are just rumors, Cyrel ..." she says as the glow in her eyes brightens. She caught his lie without having to use the force to read his thoughts. "...then you would not have just warned me of the great dangers surrounding the crystal."

The ice cube is run lightly over her lower lip before its placed into her mouth. Flirty? Yes, she is. Then again, the whole move could have been symbolic of one thing or another. Though, Cyrel knows her far too well to see it that way.

"You can't tell me that you haven't ever thought about the gains you'd receive if you ever possessed such a crystal, Cyrel."

[Cyrel Annat]

"Think about it, Syren. You and I have both heard these rumors. How many others have as well, and to what ends would those people go to in order to obtain it. The danger does not necessarily lie in one aspect, but many."

He pauses for a few moments, finishing off the last of his drink. Allowing his words to sink in a short while would help, or so he hoped they would.

"And yes, I have thought about what I could do with the crystal, and then I thought about the consequences of such an action. Perhaps I could go back in time and warn our family and friends of the incoming raid, but what would it serve? Who is to say that by getting our people to safety that they would not have died of starvation or cold from having their homes destroyed? By changing even the simplest of things, you could in turn set the entire galaxy off-balance."

[Syren Wyssholt]

Anger flashed in her dark, sultry eyes and her hand curled into a tight fist at his words. How dare he!

"And who is it to say that they would have starved or died, Cyrel!? Who is to say!? Curse you, Cyrel. Damn you to hell!"

Clearly more than miffed, Syren's raised voice draws some attention from nearby patrons as they turn their heads to see what the commotion is all about.

Reigning her emotions under her control once more, she folds her arms against the table's edge and leans forwards a hair's breath, settling seething eyes to Cyrel's.

"I'm not saying that I lost more than anyone else in the raid, Cyrel. I am saying that if there's the slimmest of possibilities out there to change it, to prevent the raid from happening at all ... it should be taken. It must be taken."

After a bit, she sits back against her seat and lays her hands palm flat on the tabletop.

"Besides. The galaxy is unbalanced as it is. Who's to say that this wouldn't help tilt it back in the right direction, hm?"

[Cyrel Annat]

"No one can say with any amount of certainty what would have happened since we only know what did happen. Obviously, what you do is your decision. I cannot stop you. I am merely advising you of the possibilities."

His voice was just as calm as it had been when he previously spoke, not at all unnerved by her outburst or the death-dealing glare she was currently giving him. With her, that might agitate her all the more. When they had been younger, he probably would have been goaded into matching shout for shout, but he was now at peace within himself.

"Things happen for a reason, Syren, despite the fact that we might not know what that reason is. In the wrong hands, the crystal could be devastating. I would not be surprised if measures hadn't been taken to prevent that."

[Syren Wyssholt]

A dark brow piques deeply as her eyes focus solely upon his. "You know far more than you're letting on, Cyrel."

When they were younger, not that Cyrel would know this, Syren had a huge crush on him. In fact, if she had never met Byorn ... well, she has wondered at times whatever might have been. However, that's all in the past and now she finds this man to be almost insufferable.

"And what are you saying? In my hands it would be devastating? How could it be devastating to go back to before the raid and either prevent or at least give our people - our families - fair warning that it's coming so that more lives would be saved?"

[Cyrel Annat]

"Do not put words in my mouth, Syren. You know well that my words were not intended as a slight against you. I am merely stating that the crystal is powerful, very powerful and likely too powerful to be meddled with. As always, you will do what you wish, but I am strongly advising you against this course."

[Syren Wyssholt]

"Why do you care, Cyrel? You didn't when we were young and there's no reason as to why you should now."

Her dark eyes grow more cold and dangerous as she says those words to him, meant to cut him to the quick. "You're insufferable, Cyrel.", she murmurs then glances around.

Silence lingers between the two for a good amount of time. Syren, brooding and lost in her own dark thoughts, finally gives her attention to him once more.

"Fine. You win. Happy now?"

Upset because she feels as if she's giving up a huge part of herself with wanting to turn her back on the dark arts, she slaps her palms against the table and rises stiffly. Without looking at him, she stalks off and throws the door open; then steps out into the night's cool air to settle herself down.

[Cyrel Annat]

Cyrel remains in his seat for a few moments, finishing off his drink and allowing Syren to cool off outside. It was much as he had expected from her. Hot and cold. Changing like the wind.

Her initial jab had hit, though not in the manner in which she intended. Truth was, he had cared back then, as much as he cared now. But back then, it was harder for him to admit those feelings, moreso than now. For the best, he decided to let that comment slide off his back and be forgotten, rather than give her the satisfaction of any manner of response.

And in regards to her last irritable statement, he had yet to win anything. Just because she decided now to use him for aid and guidance, did not mean that at some point later she would not revert back to her old ways. He hoped that such would not come to be, but there were no guarantees. There would be times that they would be separated, and during those times, the temptations would be greater for the woman. And she would again be alone to battle them.

With a parting wave to the waittress, Cyrel stands and makes his way towards the door once again, stepping out and looking for his temporary companion.

[Syren Wyssholt]

Oh she was there still. Pacing the walkway, talking to herself under her breath, cursing Cyrel's name in a few of the different languages she has become fluent in over the years.

When he exited the building, she didn't even bother to turn and look at him. Insufferable. That's what she keeps thinking over and over everytime she thinks his name.

Finally, when she's apparently over her little fit, she sideglances towards him and sighs; shaking her head.

"I was going to walk over to the old neighborhood. Would you like to accompany me?"

Yes. Her offer is sincere; perhaps her way of apologizing and attempting to move on to a completely different topic. Perhaps even a topic that they can both enjoy a few laughs over, reminiscing with childhood memories.

[Cyrel Annat]

"I suppose that I can so long as you can tolerate my presence that long," he replied with just enough sarcasm to alude to his thoughts on her apparent opinion of him. Then again, if that was the worst that she thought, it was a plus considering that normally, lightsiders and darksiders would be speaking with lightsabers rather than words.

The faintest hint of a smirk on his face was soon gone, having been mostly concealed by his facial hair anyway. He enjoyed Syren's company far more than she enjoyed his, and far more than he would openly admit. No sense in offering something that could in some way later be twisted against him.

Glancing back to the bar one last time, his dark eyes look to her before he nods for her to lead the way. He would fall in step with her a moment later.