The Stowaway

[Michael Cline]

Michael Cline kicked his feet up on the back of the seats in the space port's terminal working on a voice comm message, ignoring the information coming across the booming station's comms. He was busy with an away message after all, had to be just right.

"You have reached Michael Cline. I am unable to take any calls at this time. I will be available to return calls on..." He checked the datapad for the date and picked out the following Friday for a return date, speaking it a moment later. "If this is an emergency please contact" He stopped again, looking up the help desk for the casino before then entering that number. "Thank you and safe journeys."

He turned off the recorder, double checking the written equivalent that had come across on the data pad as well. Nodding as he was satisfied he checked his chrono for the time. Shit had he really lost track of so much while just working on a simple vacation message? When word came across Cloud City was going to receive not just the new Moff's visit but the Empress herself? Yeah. Vacation requests were put in and fast. Mike had no intention of being anywhere with that much Imperial and potential Imperial Knight activity. Especially when he worked in so public a sector. The last thing he needed was the glorious lantern jawed blondey boy Baastian Cain to stroll into the casino while he was on the floor, or frelling forbid Matatek Sel Vissica. He wasn't interested in being all that he could be for the Empire, no thank you. Was it paranoid to assume he'd be made as an adept that easily? Sure, but he wasn't risking it.

So instead he sat, relaxed, on Molavar. There really wasn't much here, but intersected with several hyperspace routes, which made it a great place to transfer from one location to another. He doubted there was actually much of anything on this planet outside of this hub, though it certainly seemed lively. Local color and flare, food vendors, some weird tourist trap promising exploration of a so-called haunted crash site. What a bunch of tosh. Nah, this was just Cline stopping between one leg of his journey and the next. From here he'd pick up the cruiseliner Padme's Tears and it was off to 2 days on Tattooine and 4 on Ryleth. Long enough to do some race-track betting on a desert world and move on to some Twi'lek parlors. He smiled at the thought, he hadn't been to someplace like that since him and Wil on Coruscant. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

Now boarding O-5. Now boarding O-5

That was him. He grabbed his bag and ran off for the gate not noticing the flashing display signs that talked of a last-minute flight change. The shuttle for Padme's Tears had been redirected to C-3, an announcement having been made shortly after the change that had been missed by a busy Cline, intent on getting his voice mail just right.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

* * *

SCARIF




The desert wasteland that was Scarif had once been a shining jewel; a paradise of pristine beaches and clear oceans. It was a gem that had been crushed beneath the angry hand of the Empire. Tarkin had unleashed his ire upon a single man, and an entire planet was scorched in the aftermath. Cool breezes were replaced with biting, hot winds that drew up dust storms, whipping them across the barren desert landscape for hundreds of miles.

The skeletons of civilization could still be seen, bone-white superstructers and crumbled foundations jutting out from the windswept sands to reach up to the sky, as though they were begging for help. And for revenge. The moving bodies that drifted from one lonesome outpost to the next had no vengeance to give, though. They were too busy simply trying to survive.

The largest scrap-built city, Fellspire, was a marginal hub of activity, inhabited by those who scrounged and scraped their way through life by collecting the pieces of junk and wreckage. A maze of slums and alleyways were filled with grime-streaked sweaty bodies, clothed in rags and any other fabric that could be found, bought, or bartered for. A strange sort of culture had grown up in Fellspire; with the sounds of loud and boisterous traders, the smell of desert creatures being roasted over open fire spits, the sight of mostly beige and tan shapes with the odd assortment of colors dashed in, the feel of a crush of bodies all around... it was a culture bent on survival in an inhospitable world.

The bowels of Fellspire were overseen by the Teks, a tight-knit group made up of Verpine and Kobok. They maintained the generators, keeping the lights on at night by sheer tenacity and desperate gambits. The old technologies had been bolstered and added to, but what they had on hand was only so much, and they were at the mercies of the fates.

But, there was a vault.

A vault that had not been breached. It was a mystery, and none had ever been able to enter. It was locked in such a way that no one had been able to break in.

Inside that vault, a seemingly unending bank of compartments lay unplundered.

And in the dark, a single, green light flared to life. It was a solitary point of illumination that flashed on and off. No sound, simply the light. Unseen however, was the transmission that it sent out. A signal that it was ready. It was waiting.

It sent that message out from Fellspire. Over the deserts. Into the sky.

And out into the stars.



* * *

[Michael Cline]

"Frelling damned stupid..." Mike cursed to himself with a growing frustration. He couldn't find check-in. There were plenty of people going to and fro to board the shuttle but there was no sign of ticketing. He didn't have time to this as the voice over the intercom spoke again.

Last call for O-5. O-5 departing in 5 minutes.

Screw it. He'd sort it out on the liner, he had all his travel paperwork afterall - and it wasn't like they were going to leave him floating in space for an oversight. He headed to the boarding ramp, finding himself pressed in the small crowd between a Nehantite and a surprisingly tall Sluissi. Both were carrying service bags and talking past Michael to one another, leaving the red-head to keep a step behind them so as to not interrupt. Cline was left wondering if they worked on the ship, which made sense considering it was the last shuttle. The guests had probably gone on ahead and that left any straggling crew and staff to come aboard. Probably why he hadn't been able to find a ticketing counter as well.

The shuttle was... sparce. He'd paid for first class, but he supposed that didn't take affect till he was on the liner itself. A dump of a space port like this was probably lucky to have anything that flew, honestly. He'd put in a pair of audio blockers after getting aboard the shuttle and closed his eyes. This was his vacation and he just wanted to enjoy some well-earned rest, frankly. At least until he hit up the pod-racing scene on Tattooine.

Meanwhile the Sluissi, Mator Trebalt was talking up a storm to his Nehantite companion, a Munjan named Vihaanyat Arjuunti while motioning to the resting human. "New guy?" Arjuunti asked, ears perking forward in curiosity. "Mussst be." Mator replied with a shrug. "Or crew who needed a ride." He thought carefully. "Sssort of looksss ttthe sssailor doesssn't he?" The Munjan guffawed loudly, slapping a hand on his knee. "You mean he looks like he just spent a week on leave and doesn't want to come back? Yeah. Looks like. Let's let him rest. Gonna be a busy one once we get up to the ship after all." They left him alone for the rest of the trip, ignoring his still resting form once they'd finally docked.

Mike blinked a bit groggily as he sat up, realization dawning on him that he was the last one on board. Dren, he must have nodded off. He stood and grabbed his bag heading down the ramp. That could have been bad if he'd ended up taking a return trip back to Molavar with the shuttle. He yawned loudly and looked around the bay. Yeah, must have been a crew shuttle. He didn't spot any other passengers around. He wasn't sure he had the energy to go hunting for someone to explain the situation to right now. He needed just a couple of quick hours, he thought to himself as he walked from the bay and into the ships interior, peaking his head into a few empty rooms before finally finding what seemed to be a waiting room, and availed himself of a chair, tipping his shades down to block the light as he let himself nod back off. Just a couple of quick hours, then he'd find someone and apologize for the confusion.

[Q. Samus Dage]

* * *



"Scarif."

He sat in her office, a seemingly unimpressed look on his features as he sat. His lanky frame was deceptively relaxed, and Samus Dage used this moment of downtime to enjoy what he could. A week previous they'd been on Jovan, resupply and restock. All normal, all comfortable. All regular. Of course, that was not to last, and Samus now found himself sitting in Captain s'Ilancy's office. That they were being sent off the border was different. It was outside of the norm, and he was concerned.

"You know that Scarif is a wasteland, right?"

Of course she did. Everyone knew that it was. I might not have been blasted into oblivion like Alderaan had, but it had been a victim of the old Death Star and Grand Moff Tarkin all the same. Everyone knew the story of Director Krennic, and his feud with Tarkin. It was a feud that'd ended mroe than poorly for Krennic... and for Scarif.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"I know, yes."

She wasn't entirely put off by her second-in-command's reservations. They weren't explicitly spoken, but she could see in his posture that there was caution. Even if Scarif was in Alliance territory, it was still a dangerous place; a far cry from the picturesque beaches and cloud-scudded blue skies.

"Something in the old spire has begun transmitting, however, and Command wants us to investigate."

It wasn't exactly the normal fare for them, and she wasn't entirely certain as to why she and her crew were being asked, but she was not about to question the order.

"It's an opportunity," she tried to rationalize.

"... to try and access all those old project records."

[Q. Samus Dage]

He knew that she was trying to help, as well as understand the order herself, so he didn't press the matter any further.

"In that case," with a slight groan he hefted his bulk up and out of the chair, "... I hope you brought plenty of sunblock."

[Michael Cline]

Mike was awoken by a strong push on his shoulder, and opened one eye to find a tall human woman staring down at him with a scowl. Great. Time for him to offer that apology. He sat up from the office chair slowly and outfitted himself with his best smile and smoothest tone of voice.

"You must be the concierge. I seemed to have gotten turned around from-" He was cut off as the woman grabbed his shoulder and pulled him from the seat, slamming him face first into the durasteel wall. That woke him up, and his shades tumbled to the floor between his feet. "The frell?! Listen, I know I'm supposed to be with the other guests, but I got turned around and needed a nap, its not that big a-"

"NAME." She barked angrily, keeping him pinned with a practiced hold. Who the Hell's office had he napped in for a response like this? "Cline. Michael." He snapped back. He could break her hold in an instant if he wanted to, and right now the sting of his face from it's impact point was making him consider it. But it was a long cruise and the last thing he wanted was to get kicked off before his vacation even got under way. "I told you I just got turned around from the other-"

She wasn't listening. "WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?" She ordered, pushing him harder against the wall.

"What does that have to do with anything, I'm a paying-" She slammed him again and Mike had just about had it. "Stop frelling doing that!" He snapped at her angrily in response. She snarled, but didn't respond with another shove, instead getting in closer to his ear. "Answer my question. Who do you work for 'Michael Cline.'" She wasn't asking anymore. It was a demand. "I work for the Cumulus Casino. What does that have to do with anything!?" Mike shot back, and he felt her grip loosen slightly, as if she was weighing something over before saying anything else. "On Bespin?" She said slowly.

Mike could only catch glimpses of her from the corner of his eye, but had realized in the last few moments she was wearing a uniform. Not the bright, cheerful outfit of a cruiseliner employee. His lips pursed at it all and he tried to piece it together. He'd done this before. He'd had conversations almost exactly like this before. Only those conversations had him on the other side of the exchange.

She was security, he fought to calm himself, to dial back the anger that had been ready to boil over. "Michael Cline. From Cloud City, Bespin. Yes. I was supposed to be a guest on this cruise ship and-" There was a laugh, and Mike felt his world slip away as it turned into a sentence. "This is either the worst cover story I've ever heard, or you have the worst luck I've ever seen. Either way, you're coming with me." She reached to her back and produced a pair of binders.

"... Why would that be the worst cover story you ever heard?" He said with a bit of urgency, trying to decide in that moment if he should allow her to cuff him or not. "Because this isn't a cruise ship - and it's pretty bold to admit to being an Imperial citizen aboard an Alliance ship." Mike's mouth went dry and he tried to piece together what could have happened. Had he gotten on the wrong shuttle? Had something happened at the gate? Oh dren, this was genuinely bad. "This is a huge misunderstanding." Mike said quickly, "Massive. Just... just let me talk to whoever's in charge, I can sort this out." She considered that. "Alright. I'll see if the Captain can talk to you. Let you make your case. In the meantime." He felt the binders slap down around his wrist and he cursed himself for not acting quicker.

"In the meantime you can enjoy the rest of your nap from the brig."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

SCARIF
Fellspire Market


Jeeca sat in her normal pile of blankets, like a nesting cliffhawk. Situated on a wide table set up behind the trinket-strewn counter of her stall, Jeeca's tanned face watched all that milled past. She was silent, unlike some of the other vendors that called to any and all that would listen. Cries for good deals and age-old relics from the time before the Great Light filled the air all around, and the old woman watched it all, listening with keen ears. Many walked by without a second thought, but the few that did stop to peruse her wares were met with a solemn nod and a few quick words.

Two men stopped, looking down at the assortment of charms. Most were made with the scavenged bones of those who had died during the Great Light, accented with colored metal fasteners and beads made from the extinct shell creatures from long ago. It was said that the bones of the dead brought luck, and the need for luck was in his demand here.

"Tai glaa," she intoned, gesturing to the necklace that one of the men held up.

"Tai?" he seemed to think on this, then gave his counter-offer. "... Unta and a half."

"Tai glaa. Jeeca dug for sur turns to find right bones. Come from Soratroo hands, very rare. Used red shell and metals for rest," A gnurled hand reached out, a single finger tapping the table, "... Tai glaa."

The man grumbled, but presently dug in his pocket for two thin metallized strips of sandglass. These he held out, and Jeeca snatched them away.

"Good business, much thanks."








Unta - One
Tai - Two
Sur - Three
Glaa - the monetary unit used on Scarif; it is crystalized sand from the Death Star laser blast, bordered in molten metal
Soratroo - Stormtrooper

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

* * *

There was a point in space over Scarif that seemed to shudder. It was for a fraction of a millisecond, but it was there. And in the next instant, that point cracked open to allow the winged shape of Khera'Va'ss'io entry into realspace. The smooth hull cut through the velvety, inky darkness with ease, angling to the left in a wide-swept arc that would allow entry into a stable orbit.

On the bridge, Captain s'Ilancy sat in her chair. She stared ahead at the ravaged planet below, biting her lip for a few moments as she tried to wrap her thoughts around this mission that she and her crew had been sent on. It was certainly not the most bizarre, but it was one with a heavy amount of history attached to it. The devastation that Scarif lived with now... it was horrendous. And even worse, it had been because of one man's vanity. An entire planet caught up in a feud that had terrible consequences.

Debris from the old planetary shield superstructure still littered all around.

"Looks like a graveyard."

Samus stood behind her, and she gave a nod to his observation.

"It does."

"You got any ideas on where to start searching for this mysterious signal that they want us to find?"

Again she nodded.

"I know exactly where to go," one hand seemed to curl inward on itself, fingernails digging into the palm of her hand.

"We're going to the Central Structure's spire."

[Michael Cline]

Deputy Security Officer Tes Vilraider was putting the finishing touches on her report from that morning over a cup of caf.

"...has requested to speak with Captain s'Ilancy about purported 'misunderstanding' Held in brig until further instruction."

The kid from this morning could have been lying, Imperial Intelligence, saboteur, who knew... or he was a stupid Imp. civ who got on the wrong shuttle. There HAD been a gate change not long before take off, it was feasible. Still, bad luck at the very best. She doubted he was getting out of the brig at any time soon. Probably have to be handed over to the Empire, and she didn't pity what kind of debriefing he'd go through. Still it'd be a heck of a story to tell her kids on the next holo. Javen would get a kick out of the whole thing, he had such a dark sense of humor. She sat the datapad down, and finished her caf, standing to her full height of 6'4". Stretching her back slightly and satisfied with the light pop she heard she walked out of the security office toward the bridge, she had promised to relay the young man's wishes to the Captain, after all.

She entered and stood at attention, waiting to be addressed.

[KHER]

KHER moved from his usually stationary spot to stand beside Officer Vilraider.

It seems Ms. Vilraider wishes to speak of our stowaway.

Which was a point of damaged pride for the old droid construct. That he'd not discovered their straggler until they were already in hyperspace... it was a terrible sign that he needed to run a battery of diagnostics and defrags on his internal systems. This sort of oversight would never happen again.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Samus had taken a few steps back, allowing Vilraider and KHER to have her full attentions, and s'Il allowed herself to lean back in her seat.

She pulled in a long breath, then let it out as she looked from her ship's avatar to Tes.

"Have you been able to get any information from him?"

[Michael Cline]

"A bit, ma'am. He clams to be an Imperial citizen by the name of Michael Cline. A resident of Cloud City, Bespin and employee of the Cumulus Casino; and that he was meant to be aboard the cruiseliner Padme's Tears. There was a last minute gate change according to the port's records that corroborates that claim." She cleared her throat ever so slightly at the next, much less standard statement.

"He's requesting an audience to make his case for himself, as well."

Her gut told her that Cline wasn't lying, and with how poorly he masked his emotions she wasn't sure he could pull off a convincing lie anyway. Either that or he was one of the best actors she'd ever encountered.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Cline. Cline.

Outwardly her surprise did not register, but inside her thoughts had suddenly become a maelstrom. Had she shut herself off so much from the Force, that her own ship now held secrets that she could not see so immediately?

The hesitation in her response was one that was soon rectified.

"Cloud City. He's... a fair bit away from home, then."

She frowned.

"Being an Imperial citizen on this ship is not a good situation for him to be in," her thoughts unraveled themselves from around her, stretching their tendrils out, '... but for the time being, he has done nothing except make a common mistake."

Her mind extended beyond the bulkheads, invisible feelers that seeped into the detention block, and into the cell where Michael Cline sat.

[Michael Cline]

Michael sat in his cell, hands clasped near his knees as he leaned over his waist, deep in thought. How in the frell had he let this happen? The whole point of this trip had been to avoid anything that could put him on the Empire, and especially the Knight's radar, and now he was in the holding cell of an Alliance ship. There was exactly zero chance he was getting off this ship and home outside of being transferred into Imperial custody, and even less of a chance he'd make it out of any debriefing with the Empire without chains on his wrist for failing to register. Minor infractions, sure, maybe even something more severe - absolutely. But being handed over by the Alliance? They'd absolutely have someone force sensitive present to make sure he wasn't compromised.

He leaned back and smacked his head into the cell wall in frustration at the situation. He'd screwed himself with his stupid vacation plan. A flicker of anger striking inside that he struggled to tamp down. Even better, get himself killed by lashing out in a rage. He smacked his head again, cursing under his breath as his anxiety ratcheted up. The tightness in his chest made it hard to breath, he hadn't felt this ill at ease since... no. Don't think about that. Don't even consider that an Alliance ship would have...

Couldn't they though? The Jedi were allied to them, weren't they? Why wasn't it possible there was one on board. His stomach lurched and turned over as his worries amplified. What was taking someone so long to make a decision, to talk to him. Maybe he could still talk his way out of this. Or at least frelling try. He let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding as he slung his head forward and looped his fingers behind his head in nervous anxiety. He just wanted off this damned ship.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The anger, aggravation, and frustration was all very familiar. She'd only sense him once before, but it was so striking that she could never forget his distinct signature within the Force. It was a roiling thing, yet strangely enough, held in check with scrabbling, ethereal hands.

Letting out a long breath, the Captain finally rose slowly to stand.

"I will see him."



* * *



The door to Michael Cline's cell opened easily, both sides whisking apart with a pneumatic hiss. In the doorway, her hands clasped together behind her back, Captain s'Ilancy stood alone. There was no need to have anyone else accompany her.

Slowly, she stepped inside until she stood just past the threshold, and without a wasted moment, the doors shut once more so that it was only the only company each had was the other.

[Michael Cline]

Mike had not been able to relax since he had begun worrying about a possible Jedi presence on the ship. In fact his anxiety had only seemed to raise and grow as the moments went on, building to a fever pitch that reminded him of his last encounter with a Jedi - pardon him 'not a Jedi' as she had put it. Mr. Prent's associate. Damn what had her name been? She had never been properly introduced to him, and he wasn't about to pry into his employer's private life, nor would Prent have appreciated it, he suspected. He had called her something though, while they were in the make shift holding facility for that thieving scumbag. Lak... or... no. Lok. He'd called her Lok. No idea if that was a first name, a last name or a pet name. He wasn't sure why he was so intent on thinking about it anyway. All it was doing was keeping his anxiety so high he could swear he felt her breathing down his neck.

When the door opened, he raised his head from where it had been buried in his hands and felt his blood run cold. He really needed to start trusting his feelings more, maybe that was the Force trying to speak with him because there she was. He let out a small groan and buried his head back into his hands again.

"Of course it's you."

He said, the flesh of his palms muffling his words as he drew his hands together to cup in front of his mouth, breathing into them as he attempted to regain some measure of composure. Another chill went up his spine as he suddenly took a closer look at her uniform. He'd asked to speak to the Captain... hadn't he? He didn't really know Alliance uniforms, but if she were the captain she certainly looked the part.

"I'm on the wrong damned ship." He mumbled, more to himself than to her at this point, the reality of just how screwed he was sinking in hard.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"I'd say you rather are," came her soft answer.

Her hands came around from the small of her back to clasp together before her. For the moment she said nothing, only simply staring at him for a short time. He looked ill at ease, which - given his situation - she could understand. The layers of this man were of such complexity that in their last encounter she'd been unable to fully understand more than the basic gist of him. He had the Force, and he was hiding. His reaction to her then, and his reaction to her now... they helped her to see a little bit deeper. Not much deeper, but a layer had been peeled away.

"Many people have found themselves on the wrong ship in the past though, so I will not assume that you here, now, is anything more than a simple misunderstanding."

There was a truthfulness to his emotions now that vented from him in easily read wisps.

"Unfortunately, being that you are an Imperial citizen, and this is an Alliance warship, you can understand the situation that I'm faced with."

She stepped forward, allowing her stiff shoulders to relax somewhat, and moving to the empty side of his wall-cot, lowered herself to sit. Arms moved then, to rest elbows on knees as her posture matched his own, and when she spoke, it was in a tone that was far less official.

"I'd prefer to keep both the Imperial Knights and the Jedi out of this matter, Michael. If you don't believe anything else that I say, at least believe that."

[Michael Cline]

He considered what she said and had a brief flicker of hope spark inside at the request, before nodding slowly along. It hurt nothing to at least hope she was telling him the truth at this point, he couldn't be in a worse position after all.

"Gonna have to accept that." He said with a small tick of his head as if filing it away. "And for the record, that's my preference too." He considered her, and how much she put him ill at ease. He couldn't shake it, wasn't sure it'd ever be something someone so used to wrapping themselves in the darkside could shake this close to someone like her, but... he was going to try. If nothing else for his own self-preservation. He extended a hand slowly. "We never actually met. Not in any kind of... friendly manner at least. Michael Cline."

Part of him recoiled at the idea of the gesture. He may not consider himself a Sith at this point, and she may not consider herself a Jedi, but that didn't change the opposing forces at play. His own fear at the situation he found himself in, the worry of being turned over to the Empire or even the Jedi seemed to make those feelings stronger.

He kept that in check, pushed it down, he had to if he was getting out of this - and she was offering him a lifeline. Do not bite the hand that feeds.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She took his hand, grasping it in a firm grip.

"Loklorien s'Ilancy."

There was still hesitation in his eyes, and she could not fault him for that. He was in an unfamiliar place with people who were not from the same side of the border that he was. Not only that, but in a far more personal way, the valley that was between just the two of them was wide. But, she could still understand his reservations. She knew all too well that side of the Force that he existed in.

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

Her hand pulled away then, and she leaned back so that she could rest both in her lap.

"I meant what I said, you know. Back then, about not being a Jedi." Back when they'd first met. It had not been under the best of circumstances, but she was determined that he understand the truth of her words.

"I was once the farthest thing from, actually," her gaze turned from him then, to look at the far wall.

"But that doesn't mean that I'm not still bound by what the Force wills. And neither, I suspect, are you."

[Michael Cline]

Michael's lips tightened as she spoke, of what she said and what it implied. Huh. He hadn't considered it was something that you could change. Sure Lancer had spoke of using Jedi teachings to find a third path for himself, but she felt like something else. In a small way the idea did help him be a bit more comfortable in his surroundings, in her being here. He considered how much he could actually trust her, how much of this was Bantha piss, or just more manipulations.

He shook his head a bit at the idea of the 'will of the Force.' What had the Force given him other than a lifetime of pain at this point - of confusion and anger. "I'm..." He wasn't sure what to say in response to a statement like that, to that idea. His own Master had only ever preached using the Force for fun, for advancement. Sudoku had not been a typical Sith, or 'Doomsider' as his former Master had preferred to call himself. Michael had figured out years later it was all the same thing, even if Ky hadn't known it himself. How little he had actually been trained before being thrown into a life and a world that he wasn't prepared for was coming into focus.

"Not sure I believe in the Will of the Force." He finally settled on. "But... I think I get what you mean. I think."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

There was a breath of a smile that pulled at the corners of her lips then, and she dipped her head.

"The Will, it is a strong thing. Whether it is the Force's, mine, or yours."

She pulled in a breath, and let it out again.

"I grew up being told that Fate was an almost tangible thing, and that it controlled us all."

There was a moment's pause, as she let her legs stretch out - not far of course, owing to her small stature, but enough to allow her to cross them at the ankles.

"But that is a notion that I simply do not believe in. Fate and Will are two different things; one is predetermined, and the other is the ability to go against that which is thought to be. A person's Will is so strong, and cannot be denied. Passions and intent are what give us life, and for me personally, the notion that my life is controlled by Fate, and not my own Will... well, that is not something that I am able to accept."

[Michael Cline]

Mike listened carefully and could feel the corner of his mouth turn up as she spoke.

"That's... nice, actually - and I mean that."

This was... surprisingly okay. When was the last time he'd talked to another Force user that wasn't... hostile? Ezra had threatened to kill him. He'd threatened to kill Lancer. s'Ilancy was just talking and it was comfortable, normal. What she said also made a far sight more sense than what he usually heard from Force users, though that could also be due to the types he usually talked to.

Ezra was a raving cultist worshiping at the heels of an abusive monster who had abandoned him. Lancer was nice but he came across a bit preachy for Mike's taste. Damn, when was the last time he'd just had a conversation with someone who he didn't have to bite his tongue around. Ky. It had been Ky - and Ky had been a liar and a manipulator.

Mike's comfort closed up a bit at that thought. He had to stay guarded, even if this felt nice. He'd been burned by too many, hurt by too many. Hells, didn't he have to watch what he said anyway? It wasn't just his connection to the Darkside that could give him problems here. There was also the consideration of who his employer was and what he really did for a living.

"Thanks... for you know... wanting to keep this away from the Knights." Didn't really matter which faction of them he was talking about at this point, neither result was good for him. He was an unregistered force user in the Empire, and a darksider. He'd be seen as an enemy to the Jedi and a recruit to the Empire. Neither things he was interested in being.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She sat for another few seconds, listening to his words and the silence that followed after he spoke. The was something pure in him that was familiar, and she cherished it. The confusion, the doubt, the need for knowing more... it was all so familiar. She let herself sink into it for a short moment before her hands moved. palms cam down to her legs, and she leaned forward then, using the motion to rock herself back up to her feet.

"The cells here are impersonal and barbaric, I know," she started, lifting herself to her full height. She was not a tall woman, but her presence was still - she hoped - something to not argue against.

"... if you would allow me," she reached a hand out for him to take, should he wish.

"You're not to be a prisoner here, Michael. There are enough empty crew quarters on my ship, and you will be able to use one of them, if you wish."

[Michael Cline]

He looked at her hand, a literal hand out to him and considered it as his brows knit. Why was this even a question, she was offering him a way out of the cell. She was showing him all the kindness in the world, honestly. He was so... unfamiliar with it. His world didn't do kind, at least not genuinely. This wasn't his world, he reminded himself and took the offered hand, standing. "Certainly wouldn't be averse to that." He said simply.

She was... interesting. Far more than his initial thoughts of her had been back then. It left him wondering about Prent and her relationship, as well. He'd only known the man as long as he'd been in his employ on Cloud City. They'd never gotten close, it was a work relationship - and Mike had kept his force talents from Prent for that reason and more. Would he have trusted him with that knowledge if he'd known he had a history with other Force users... Alliance captains, no less? Maybe, though his loyalty was still to Sasseeri more than anyone else in the organization, and that was HER information to offer when it came down to it.

Still maybe getting to know s'Ilancy could help him understand his boss more, he rationalized - his mind still looking for angles to the entire situation. At least there seemed to be a way forward that could salvage things.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She let go of his hand once they were out of the cell, and without ceremony the Lupine led the way from the detention block. A single security officer fell into step behind them, but she paused only long enough to wave him away. There was no need for his presence, and s'Il nodded in thanks when the man returned to his post.

As the two continued on, she allowed Michael to walk beside her.

"As things stand right now however, returning you to anywhere near the border in the immediate future is... not doable. You've managed to get yourself deep enough into Alliance space, and aboard an Alliance ship that is currently under orders. It won't be a lengthy amount of time before we're back to our normal routes, but it won't necessarily be short, either."

She hoped that he understood.

As well, there was still the matter of her having to make note of his accidental presence on her ship. Her meticulous logs which were sent to High Command would most certainly include this minor hiccup, but she was not one to look for ulterior motives that she knew were not there. And with that in mind, she would certainly couch her mentions of him in that light. She'd already been working through her mind, where to take him, and the most convenient she could think of was also the most likely.

"Once we are done here, my ship will be returning to the line, and to Jovan Station for restocks. I think that that may be the best place for you to depart."

[Michael Cline]

Mike side-eyed the security officer who fell into step with them a moment before raising an eyebrow in slight surprise at the Captain shoo'ing them away. That was... surprisingly trusting of her. He blinked a few times as he reasoned it out in his head. She seemed so on the level and honest about all of this. He wasn't used to dealing with someone who didn't have some kind of agenda in place.

The Sith had blown smoke up his ass to try and manipulate him into being a servant, student and sycophant. Ms. Sasseeri, though honest about her intentions, used him like a tool to be applied to situations and then had handed him off to Prent, who was just hard to read. That man had an eternal Sabacc face.

Lancer and Ezra both had their own plans in place, and had both tried to recruit him. s'Ilancy... s'Ilancy seemed to just be offering him a bit of genuine kindness and concern. It was simultaneously refreshing and distressing. He wasn't actually sure the appropriate response to it. His mind was working to find the angles he could exploit or manipulate, but it left him with a rock in his gut to repay her that way.

The knowledge that he was going to be stuck on the ship for a while, and presumably - as she explained they were under orders - without a way to contact someone in the Empire meant he was going to be potentially AWOL from the Casino for longer than his vacation. Damn. After what had happened on Coruscant he'd sworn he wasn't going to just vanish again. At least he knew someone Prent trusted could back him up on why it was impossible for him to call in. Landing on her ship in particular had been a strike of good luck it seemed.

He nodded along with her words, and let a sigh part his lips. "Jovan, huh? Never been. Guess I don't really have much of a choice in all this, but... ya'know I appreciate you not just tossing me out an airlock." He said the last bit with a lopsided grin trying to bring up his own spirits with a joke.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The two rounded a corner, and the Captain kept her gait steady.

"The first time that I saw you, I must admit, I was not expecting to find another Force user."

A lift waited for them in the distance, and they continued onward. Slowing to a stop in front of the closed doors, she reached out to depress the call button. Moments later the doors opened, and she gestured for him to enter first, waiting until he had gone in fully before following. Closed away in the next second, she passed her hand over a keybad, and the lift began moving upward.

"Sanis blamed me, you know. For not telling him about you. He seemed to think that I knew about you from the moment I stepped foot on the planet."

[Michael Cline]

"Really?" He said a bit surprised, "I was... well... surprised when you showed up myself." He admitted. "Honestly..." Cline started, immediately stopping as he weighed if he should be so open with her. He didn't really know her and she still set his hair on end... but that wasn't going to get any better by bottling up. That's what a Sith would do. Hide and obfuscate. Cline had sworn he wasn't going to go down that road, even if he continued to use the Darkside.

"Honestly." He said with a sigh, a sheepish shrug of his shoulders, "You scared the shit out of me, still do to be fair."

He gave a small shake of his head, chewing at his lip. "My experience with Force users has always trended toward one particular direction, if you understand what I mean. When I felt you just outside the door, which - is already a big red flag for me, cause... I'm not great at all that sense stuff - you felt so alien and opposite from what I'm used to I thought you were going to be some kind of monster."

He pursed his lips a bit, tapping the toe of his shoe against the floor for a moment, "Sorry about Mr. Prent. I'm... hesitant in who I share what I am with. For a number of reasons."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The lift began to slow its ascent.

"Oh stars, don't apologize for Sanis," she couldn't help the light chuckle that escaped her lips, "... I've known him for a very long time, so I'm used to his ways."

And then the doors opened, and s'Il led the way out. Another corridor, this one a bit narrower than the others, but she and Michael were still able to walk side by side, at least. Up ahead, three pilots lingered around an open door, two leaning on the bulkhead on either side of the door, and the third propped against the far bulkhead. Laughter floated through the air, along with a few garbled words from an unseen fourth, obviously standing just inside the threshold of the open door.

One of the pilots looked up at the approaching pair, and he straightened his posture. The others were quick to follow suit, as well as the head of a Rodian that peaked out for a bare moment before vanishing, only to be replaced with another body at attention.

"Captain," one of the pilot's offered.

"Mr. Keffa."

Eyes went from the Captain to the redhead, with a small bit of confusion but certainly no desire to ask.

"I trust that all is well?"

"Yes Ma'am. Just enjoying some downtime."

She gave a nod as she stepped past them, with Michael following closely behind her.

A few paces past them, the Rodian spoke up, "Kaitu, ma su chada tai ku eedawaney? (Captain, any news on why we're here?)"

The Lupine paused at that, her pace slowing to a stop as she half-turned to regard the small group.

"You'll know when I do, Mr. Frik."

A partial lie, but only through omission.

"What I do know is that it's something that our betters want to know more about," she amended. There was no real reason to be too glib with those who flew for her.

The group looked to one another, considered her words, and eventually nodded. They trusted her. Serving under the once-Commodore had been an interesting experience, but they'd all come to know that she was honest enough, and her intentions were driven by her experience. It helped (though sometimes didn't) that she had the ability to connect to the Force.

"You think we'll get some fly time?"

Now that was a difficult one to answer, and s'Il pursed her lips. She gave a sideways glance to Michael before turning to her pilots once more.

"I really don't know, Mr. Osagaira. But if we do get to that point, Halberd Wing will be out there."

This seemed to agree with them, and the pilots nodded. A chorus of 'Yes Ma'ams' were sent her way, and with a quick smile, she dipped her head in acknowledgment before returning to the task at hand: getting Michael to his new (even if temporary) quarters.

The two pushed on, leaving the pilots behind.

"If I might ask," she started, "... if you had gotten on the ship you'd meant to board, where were you intending to be?"

[Michael Cline]

Michael had kept quiet and tried not to seem too terribly out of place during the discussion. He wasn't really familiar with military procedure, and he had never had a desire to change that, but he could tell she was respected. No more than that. She was trusted.

A little voice tried to raise his paranoia in fear inside his mind, what are the odds she'd just happen to walk by these pilots, what were the chances this conversation would assuage so many of your concerns so neatly. Michael didn't let it show outwardly, but internally he was trying to silence the thoughts. It wasn't like that. Not everything was about manipulating him or using him.

Her words caught him off guard as he worked to contain the fear and doubts that had been an ever present ally to him for as long as he cared to remember. "What?" He startled before stumbling a bit on his own response, "Right, sorry. I, uh." He blanked for a moment before the memory sparked, "Ryloth. Well, Tatooine then Ryloth - it was... it was supposed to be a cruise. I just... needed to get away from Cloud City for a while."

Yeah, like the Empress' entire visit. Increased Imperial activity and the frelling knights hanging around? No thank you. There was a touch of bitter irony in trying to avoid the Empire's military only to end up among the Alliance's instead.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Ryloth," she repeated quietly.

"I can certainly think of worse places to be," she finally admitted, and allowing her pace to stop, the Lupine turned to a closed door. Reaching out, she placed her palm on the scanner, and the door whisked open to reveal an empty room.

Two beds, two dressers, a small desk, and a door to a small fresher were all that could be seen, and the Captain inclined her head, intending for Michael to enter first.

[Michael Cline]

He stepped in glancing about the room. He'd stayed in worse, Hell it actually wasn't that much smaller than his own apartment other than missing a kitchen. He gave a short nod and turned back to her.

"Thanks again for... this. I know dealing with me isn't exactly something either of us expected or planned on, so... thanks for being cool."

He meant that too, for maybe one of the first times in a long while there wasn't some measure of dubious innuendo, angle or expectation attached to the statement. s'Ilancy had been cool about all of this, and she hadn't had to. Especially not with how their first interaction had gone or what she likely suspected about his nature or his employment. She was a decent person, far more so than himself at any rate.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

'Being cool' was still a phrase that gave her pause. Teagan had said something similar to her once, the last time that she'd visited Ossus, and it was just as strange to hear now as it was then. But, she was still determined to remain as gracious of a host as she could, and so the Captain merely offered a nod in thanks.

"We all need understanding in our lives, as well as a helping hand at times."

She gave him a light smile.

"There is a basic map of the ship on the commstation on the desk," she went on, "... if you get hungry, the galley is stocked well enough, and our chef is usually willing to put something on your plate."

[Michael Cline]

He glanced at the desk with a nod of appraisal. "That's good to know, actually. I think I'll take that offer up sooner rather than later."

He hadn't eaten anything on Molavar before getting on the shuttle since he'd expected to fill up on the buffet aboard Padme's Tears. The anxiety up until now had set a knot in his gut thick enough he couldn't have even entertained the idea of eating something. Now that things were starting to look a bit less nightmarish the realization he hadn't eaten in at least a half day was setting in and his stomach seemed to have just as violent a temper as he did.

He looked over the map to get his bearings of the ship. It didn't seem like it would be especially hard to navigate, at least. He looked back at Captain s'Ilancy and thought for a moment before asking, "I don't want to step on anyone's toes while I'm here, so what kind of rules do I need to be aware of?"

The last thing he needed to do was frell up the kindness she'd shown him and get thrown right back into a cell.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

It was a question that she could understand the reasoning of, and for a moment she stood in silent thought.

"Well, there's not an awful lot you can do that will disrupt anything," shes tarted.

"The ship tends to take care of itself and right most wrongs, so I wouldn't be too worried over accidentally doing something untoward."

Her hands clasped before her, and she swept her gaze from him to the bulkhead ceiling.

"If you wish to settle yourself, and wait a small bit before eating, I will be available in 45 minutes to share a meal with you."

Her eye returned to him.

"If that agrees with you, that is. I understand that a meal taken alone can sometimes be necessary, so I'll not force you to do something you would rather not do."

[Michael Cline]

He scratched his chin and considered it before slowly nodding. He didn't know anyone on this ship outside of s'Ilancy, and simply walking into the dining area expectantly like he should have a 'Hi, I'm _____' tag affixed to his shirt could be at least awkward if not uncomfortable. He'd waited most of the day to eat, he could wait just a little longer.

"Frankly I wouldn't mind the company, and it'll probably take me a bit to get settled in anyway." He finally said out loud, "Plus you can tell me all the juicy details on my boss, so he won't be able to fire me for being gone so long." Cline said with a small chuckle, trying to cut through the tension he felt being so near to her. He wasn't sure that feeling of unease would ever fully go away, but he could at least do his part to chip away at it.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

45 MINUTES LATER...



Leaving the bridge in Samus' hands, s'Il had returned to her own quarters for a short time, spending only enough time to send a small, succinct message to Sanis, and to shed her normal uniform for something much more comfortable and less... official. There was no need to don her uniform this evening, and so she chose a modest outfit; a pair of older trousers, a loose-fitting shirt, and accents of jewelry that she'd found in the old Losstarot manor and had repaired. Her hair she left in her normal tightly-woven half-bun, and satisfied, the Lupine left her quarters and started the short trek to where Michael had been allowed to stay.

She reached the closed door of his own temporary cabin in little time, and reaching out, she depressed the chime button.

[Michael Cline]

After s'Ilancy had left him to fend for himself Mike had wondered what it would take to get his bags brought to the room. It had been at this point that the realization had sunk in that just because he'd gotten on the wrong transport, didn't mean his luggage had, which meant his clothes were likely on their way to Tatooine right now.

He'd spent the next several minutes after that realization finding creative uses of his favorite curses. He'd have to find out how to report it lost when he got back to Bespin. Even if it wasn't feasible due to wanting to keep under the Empire's radar there was nothing he couldn't replace after he got home. He had spent most of the remaining time going over what he did have present between what was on his person and his single travel bag he'd held on to.

He had his pad, the clothes he'd been wearing, credit chits, a single change of clothes that he'd packed away in the travel bag just in case of an emergency, and a few toiletries and other incidentals such as his shades and audio blockers. He'd have to mention the situation to the captain and see if he could get some basics. He at least hoped they had a laundry service on the ship, or this could become complicated quickly.

Putting the problems aside for the moment he'd changed into his other outfit, A pair of worn-in jeans and a loose-fitting t-shit. He was looking in the refresher mirror and trying to decide if he was underdressed to have a meal with a ship's captain when the chime rang. Looks like he was out of time for that line of thought. He walked to the door and pushed the button to open the door, feeling an immediate sense of relief when she was in casual attire herself.

Mike had gotten "Hey" out before he'd managed to realize how awkward he felt in the greeting. He was in a situation he had difficulty finding his footing in. In the syndicate everyone was either someone under him who he'd simply call by their first names, or someone like Mr. Prent or Ms. Sasseeri, who he showed proper deference to. In the Empire, if he had to deal with anyone - which he preferred to avoid whenever possible, it was the most compliant 'Yes, sir.' or 'Sorry, ma'am.' he could manage. No reason to ever make himself a target by even the smallest indication he wasn't a loyal citizen of the Empire.

But here he was on an Alliance ship. With someone who knew he was an adept and had authority here, but seemed to treat him as... a friend? Were they friends? Could they even be friends? He wasn't sure he'd ever been in a situation like this one before, or what the proper way to talk to s'Ilancy was. "So, lunch then?" He finally said with a cough, realizing how uncomfortable the silence he'd let grow between them was making him.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

He looked somewhat more relaxed than when she'd first laid eyes on him in the brig, but to be quite honest, that was not saying too awful much. There was still tension in his posture, but that was to be expected. And the both of them knew why. Offering an easy smile in the hopes of soothing his nerves, s'Il half-stepped back as she offered him room to step out into the corridor with her.

"I am told that our chef has prepared some of the dewback flanks and Rodian gejji noodles that she procured during our last resupply."

Hopefully the Kaleesh chef was in a personable mood, today.

"My pilots have assured me that everything is quite... tasty."

Yesterday they'd had some form of curry, with roasted nuna, boranut milk, and parrapeas over rice, which had been good, but the texture was a new one for her. She'd still eaten it, but there had been a large amount of trepidation before her fork had brought that first bite to her mouth.

"I hope that they're right," she further reassured.

[Michael Cline]

"Sounds good," he said politely. Mike wasn't actually sure he'd ever had dewback, and if he did he probably hadn't asked what it was. He'd never been an especially picky eater, and definitely not when he was someone else's guest.

He stepped out of the room, closing it behind him and waiting for her to take the first step toward the galley so he could fall in step just behind her. He'd looked over the map before leaving the room, but it would be easiest to memorize if he was following someone else, at least this first time. He people watched from the corner of his eye as they walked, various crew members went about their day without a second glance in his direction, and if they did he was almost certain the attention came from noticing the Captain, rather than the scruffy orange-haired youth alongside her.

He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, uncertain what if any small talk he could make. "Sooooo," he considered before deciding it was at least a question to break the ice, "Have you known Mr. Prent a while?" He'd only known the man for a few short years... dren had it been that long already? Some quick math in his head had him suddenly feeling the age he didn't physically appear, as his 30s creeped up on him.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

It was a question that sent her back in time, if only briefly.

"I've known him for a long enough time," she started slowly, as they continued on their way.

"You know, before all of the fancy clothes and high standings he currently enjoys, he was quite the pickpocket."

She grinned at the memory, of Sanis trying to steal - of all things - a few bottles of ink and a stylus from her.

She lead the way to a lift, gesturing for Michael to enter first once the doors had whisked open.

"He was not very good at it, I would like to add."

The obvious reasons why didn't need to be said aloud, as she knew that Michael would understand; after all, he could feel the Force just as much as she could.

[Michael Cline]

He'd paused, just for a moment, at the revelation of Mr. Prent's past. Blinking a bit as he was led to the lift, and considered that.

"Huh." He said a bit under his breath, and followed up with a second, slightly deeper, "Huh."

He had not expected Mr. Prent's background to be so weirdly reminiscent of his own, and he was suddenly curious what course of events had led to him being in Ms. Sasseeri's employ. He had, himself, come to work for the syndicate after attempting, and failing, to steal the Cizerak crime lord's handbag. His gift with the Force had convinced her he was an asset with keeping. Knowing that Prent had come from such similarly petty larceny was oddly humanizing of his poker-faced employer. "Hard to imagine him that way."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Well, he's come a long way from those old days," she admitted ruefully as the lift took them upward.

"Back then he always dreamed of getting himself rich, and I suppose now he's done that in a way."

The lift slowed to a fluttering stop, and as the floor beneath them stilled, the doors opened to reveal yet another corridor of bulkheads. Up ahead, the narrowness widened up to reveal a small sitting area with a doorway that opened to disgorge a small group of maintenance techs; behind them was the recognizable signs of a mess hall before the doors closed once more.

Leading the way out from the lift, the Lupine went on.

"If I may ask, how did you find your way into your current employment?"

[Michael Cline]

Cline still needed to be careful with what information and how much of it he gave. There was no way of knowing just how much of Mr. Prent's business she was actually aware of, and he wasn't about to give that away, any more than he had been willing to divulge his Force sensitive nature to Mr. Prent. His employers offered information when and where they wanted to, and it wasn't appropriate for him to overstep those boundaries.

"I used to work for the main office on Coruscant." He said with a shrug, "I sort of lucked into that job, actually." He pursed his lips at the memories of the days right after the crew had fallen apart. When he'd attempted to kill Kyashi and lost track of everyone else. He'd been back on the streets, surviving off grift and theft. His face turned down a bit at the thought of Sudoku and the role the boy had in him losing that particular position as well.

"I uhhh, I trusted the wrong person." He rumbled out with a sheepish embarrassment, sighing, "And while they let me stay on with the company, I got transferred to Bespin. I've been working for Mr. Prent ever since."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"I know what it's like to trust the wrong person," she offered in a level tone, and stepping past the engineers, continued to lead the way through the door to the mess.

It wasn't a large space, but thankfully it wasn't small either, and s'Il navigated the small smattering of tables toward where the counter was, and behind that was the kitchen where the old Kaleesh woman, Idiri, cooked. She was as much of a ruler of this place as s'Il was a captain of it, and more than once the Lupine had watched in amusement as Samus was scolded for eating too much, or Mr. Raghus was shooed away from taking thirds.

Set up like a simple food line, there was a stack of trays, metal plates and utensils, and a sliding counter to set the trays atop. Behind the glass were steel tubs of whatever food was available, and there had been more than a few times that most were close to empty by the time she'd managed to find time to eat.

Now however, they were still well before that late hour, and s'Il could see the Kaleesh woman working behind her counter, furiously slicing up a cooked dewback flank while one of her helper droids stood behind, stirring the contents of a large pot with a long wooden spoon.

[Idiri Su'ul Ahan'war]

The engineers had come and gone, as well as a few of the pilots. The Captain and her cadre of ravenous males had yet to make an appearance, and Idiri enjoyed the peace and quiet until...

The sound of the door opening and closing once more was enough to cause her to shift her eyes, and pausing her knife only long enough to regard the Captain and... a stranger? A scowl, and the Kaleesh slowly set the knife on the cutting board.

"You have brought to me a new face," she called out matter-of-factly.

"Fire hair," she said those two words with a snorted breath, and her knife was brandished once more as she set back to her cutting, "... bad luck, to have the fire hair."

[Michael Cline]

"You're not wrong..." Cline found himself replying under his breath.

His luck was terrible and had been for a very long time. Things were better now, but it still felt like a razor's edge day in and day out, his own anger, fear and history constantly threatening to drown him just as much as hiding who he was to everyone around him, for fear of Imperial discovery. He had bad luck, and he knew it. The old woman had gone back to her work without much additional concern, and Mike figured it had to be busy on a ship this big to keep the crew fed. People had different schedules, different habits, different needs.

Now she seemed to be cutting meat - no doubt the mentioned Dewback flank. It certainly smelled appetizing and Mike's stomach danced at the aroma - reminding him how long it had been since he had eaten...

That realization set in like an anchor in his gut and he was now sure that Dewback flank would be the best thing he'd ever eaten, at least until the hunger pangs were satisfied.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Our esteemed Matron of the Galley is not one to mince words," she chuckled out lightly while taking a tray and passing it to Michael before taking one for herself. The same was done for the plates, and then a knife and fork for each. Plate and utensils were all set upon the tray, which was in turn set upon the countertop.

With a partial upward twist of her lips, the Lupine watched the Kaleesh continue to cut.

"I am told you have prepared some form of dish from Sullust, today."

[Idiri Su'ul Ahan'war]

"I make the food that I have available," came the grunted answer as she gestured with a free hand for the Fire-Hair's plate.

"Dewback roasted with spices from a vendor on Jovan, and noodles that I think come from a planet of the Pride. I was told that the flavor is good, and so I agreed to buy a bulk."

Two thick cuts were speared by the tip of her knife, and she held it up to let it fall onto Fire-Hair's dish.

"Droid!"

The spindly old B1 Battledroid behind her immediately stood up straight, the spoon it held pulling out of the pot. It was a strange looking thing, having been painted a light grey with green and orange accents. A single eye had a black circle drawn roughly around it, and a ratty, food-stained apron hung from its neck.

Ma'am?

"Noodles." She roughly put two cuts on the Captain's plate as she spoke gruffly. "... one serving each."

Roger roger!

[Michael Cline]

Mike watched the meat glisten on his plate, barely registering the surrounding conversation. Right now it was the finest meal he'd ever seen - a five-star dish from the most exclusive restaurant on Coruscant, at least that's the signal his stomach was sending his protein-deprived brain, which found itself in no condition to argue. It wasn't until the repurposed droid dropped a helping of noodles from it's long spoon onto his plate that he was snapped back to reality.

"Ah, thank you."

He managed to recollect his manners enough to respond even as he found his stomach driving his attention back to the meal that was in front of him. He tried to hold his attention on the Captain, the Galley chef and the droid but couldn't help his eyes from wandering, nor his mouth from watering.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Noodle sauce over there," Idiri gestured with her knife to the last section of the countertop, where a small array of sunken bowls with ladles sticking out could be seen.

"Thank you, Idiri."

s'Il nodded gratefully as she extended her thanks to the old battle droid, Bone. Moving past the both of them as another group had wandered in to get their own meals, she set her attentions to Michael once more.

"I wasn't entirely sure why she wanted that old relic, and I'll honestly say that he makes me nervous, but she's been programming him with a bunch of her recipes, so I can't be too mad at him, I suppose."

Taking a ladle, she lifted it out to reveal a blue, thick sauce that looked to have small feeder shrimp mixed in. This she held up so that Michael could position his plate in such a way that she could top his steaming noodles.

"Still, when one has fought in the Clone Wars, there's a certain aversion to those droids that never really leaves."

[Michael Cline]

Michael watched the blue sauce shimmer on the ladle, the conversation still a distant drumming in the background as he wondered what it would taste like - he wasn't sure if he'd ever had a sauce that color on... well anything before. Was it sweet, was it strong? Was it... he felt the haze over his attention lift, just for a moment as he caught a statement that pulled him out of his hunger-induced fog and back to the Captain.

"Wait. You fought in the Clone Wars?"

He would have made the captain for a few years older than himself, maybe a decade at most. His brain had screeched to a halt at the sudden suggestion that the Captain was a fair bit older than she appeared, and more so that she had been around for the war that had established the Empire to begin with. He had no room to question how young or old someone looked compared to their actual age, considering, but it had caught him off guard regardless.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

A light smile, as she set to dressing her own noodles.

"Guilty as charged."

The ladle was returned to its original resting place, and s'Il gestured to a table that rested along the far wall.

"I was still just a Padawan then, but I saw enough action to have ugly memories. Though, I had some good memories as well, so I suppose that you could see it as a case of looking for any scrap of good in a terrible situation."

[Michael Cline]

He followed her to the table, sitting across from her and listening. So she had been a Jedi at one point. It certainly explained his initial reaction to her - and made him, sitting now across from her seem all the more unusual as he took a bite of the sticky noodle, eyes lighting up with enjoyment as he thought about everything he had just learned, and what it meant.

She had been a Jedi, and now was... something else? She had seemed almost insulted by the suggestion she was one the last time they'd discussed it. When they'd first met on Bespin - and what was he, for that matter? He'd been meant, at least if you asked the members of the Order, or Kyashi himself, to be a Sith. Darth Jirettai. There was still a pull toward that, always present and ever more so whenever he found his emotions getting the better of him - and wasn't that all too frequently these days.

Stop me if you've heard this one before, a former Jedi and a Sith drop out sit down to share a meal...

He gave his head a shake to clear the cobwebs even as he swallowed the second or third mouthful of noodles. He was losing track, had he already eaten half of it? Hadn't even touched the Dewback yet. He motioned the fork toward her a bit, edge taken off his hunger enough to at least focus properly again. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, a different knot filling his stomach than his hunger. There was so much unspoken between them, and so much he didn't know if he could say, or even should.

She'd been kind to him, helped him when she didn't have to and seemed to be taking a genuine interest in his well-being. But he'd been through this routine before. A Twi'lek parlor in Coruscant's lower levels. A cafe on Corellia. A seedy bar on Bespin. The Sith Ruins on Korriban. Everyone seemed to have an offer for him, a place they thought he could fit. He found his lips tightening up even as he dropped the utensil to cut into the flank on his plate, instead of engaging in the conversation he wanted to have. His usual defense mechanisms kicking into place to wall himself off and divert the conversation away from anything that involved himself.

"Padawan, huh. That had to be interesting."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"That's the nice way to put it," came the almost jovial response, as she cut her dewback slices into more manageable bites. The crust of Sullustan spices gave way to a juicy, meaty interior that leaked trace amounts of liquefied fat and blood in equal parts. Taking a small forkful, she disappeared the small chunk in short order, chewing while in the same motion leaning back. It was perfection; not overdone, and the flavors meandered throughout the texture of the meat with sublime perfection.

"My old master from those days was a good man, but he had the unfortunate luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, at the end of it all. Of course, I suppose you could say that about a lot of the Jedi during the Purge."

Another bite, thoughtful chewing, and she swallowed before going on.

"I was at the temple, when Vader arrived with his clones. They killed everyone they saw, and I only survived through sheer luck."

Next were the noodles, with that creamy, blue-tinged sauce. Lumps of feeder shrimp mingled throughout, and a forkful was dispatched with a quickness.

"The Jedi were brought down by their own traditions and hubris though, which I never saw until long after it happened. Now days though, I'm much more happy to live my life in my current situation, and follow the orders given to me. I exist because my will was stronger than the Jedi, but I also know when to look at the bigger picture."

[Michael Cline]

Mike had listened, and taken the time that she was talking to eat all of one flank and dig heavily into the second, it was delicious - his stomach had been right. Hearing about the Jedi, about the Purge from someone who had actually been there was so different from the holofeeds and history lessons he'd experienced on Coruscant. The Empire painted the purge as a necessity to stop a traitorous army, but hearing it talked about... it sounded more like an extermination - a genocide.

He shook his head a bit and leaned back.

She was disillusioned. He could understand that, frell he could relate to it. On top of that the talk of the Jedi's collapse being their own traditions? Oh how he understood that. He'd stood on Korriban and shouted as much to Ezra when the Sith had tried to recruit him to his 'New Order' hadn't he? That resistance to change, to finding a different path - he shook his head and bit back a laugh as he leaned back in to the table.

"Well, I'm glad to hear someone say that. So it's not just the Sith who are like..." He bit his lower lip instantly after the words left, cutting the sentence off. That was more than he'd meant to give away. Former Jedi or not it wasn't the sort of connection to himself he should be casually sharing - but he'd been so relieved to hear someone finally speak with some semblance of sanity he'd relaxed and opened up. He filled the space between them by returning to his noodles. Can't answer questions if his mouth was full, it would be rude.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She stopped chewing, and looked across the table at him from over the tops of her eyes. It was not entirely the sort of partial admission that she expected to hear, but heard it she did. Taking new stock of her companion, the Lupine watched him carefully, noting the attempt to return to his meal in the hopes of not having to further explain himself and his words.

Finally, she swallowed, and dabbing the corner of her mouth with a serving towel, took a long, low inhale. She let it back out just as slowly, setting the towel back onto her lap.

"I was once a Sith, as well."

It was a calculated sentence, to try and draw him back out, and assuage any misgivings he might've had in confirming his past.

[Michael Cline]

Michael had been averting his eyes from her, looking at his plate, looking at the table, over at the floor and then she'd said that. His vision snapped back to her face instantly, searching for the lie he expected to find on it, brow narrowing as he examined her for deception.

"Bantha piss." he chided almost accusatory. "Now you're just trying to tell me what you think I want to hear."

Even as he said it he felt how empty the claim was. She wasn't showing any deception on her face and he wanted to believe her. He'd possibly found someone who may actually get it, may actually understand what he'd been through. Someone who wasn't so wrapped up in some ancient grudge match that they wanted everything confined to a hard line of black and white. He leaned back in, fingers lacing together to sit in front of him on the table as he felt his tongue run over the inside of his lips, which had gone dry.

"Alright, let's say... for the sake of argument... that I believe you." He closed his eyes for a moment and forced out a long-held breath before opening them again to lock with hers - he wasn't going to look away through this. He wasn't going to break contact. If she was lying to him he'd know. If her emotions didn't give herself away, and she guarded them well, he'd be watching for anything else. A facial tic, a tone of voice, something. He needed to know she was telling him the truth.

"How does one go from being a Jedi who fought in the Clone Wars to a Sith... or was it the other way around?" He hesitated for a moment, "And then go from that... to where you are now." Wherever it was she found herself, she didn't consider herself to be either of those things anymore and Michael needed to know why.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She sat utterly still, her own food forgotten in this moment; in this pure, raw moment. He was fully committed, and now so was she. Her own hands came to rest first on the table, palms feeling the cool surface for but a moment before pulling together, fingers winding around one another. Her chest rose slightly, then fell with the breath she'd taken in and subsequently released back out into the space between them.

There was a look in her broken gaze - nothing accusatory or admonishing, but rather calm and thoughtful as she mulled over the best response.

It was a question that she'd never been asked before, and one that she felt she'd not truly considered. In those quiet times during the dead of night, when she awoke with a sheen of cold sweat over her skin, she perhaps had had such considerations to answer such a query, but it'd never been put to her so plainly. Except... except for once, and it had been Cirr who'd asked of her the simple 'what happened'. And he'd had every right to know, and she had showed him. But that old ritual would perhaps not be best here, and she could well understand that a man such as Michael Cline would probably feel uncomfortable consenting to such a personal sharing that Cirr had.

And so, she fell to words and honesty.

"Love."

Such a singular word. Moreso than greed and lust, love could be responsible for the most pure of heartbreak and terror.

"After the Purge, I fell in love with a man."

Her head dipped then, as she regarded her suddenly-unimportant plate of food.

"It was wonderful, for the time that it lasted. I had never known such a beautiful emotion, and when I found it, I clung to it. Except, back then it was not enough, and that man left me. He was afraid, and despaired for the turn that the galaxy had taken, and for how insurmountable the Empire had become. He had been overcome by it all, and abandoned me."

Again her gaze lifted, and she felt her body settle only slightly.

"After him, there was another. A man who I had met, and he consoled me, and comforted me. At the time, he shared my grief, for I was led to believe that he had gone through the same heartbreak of losing someone that he loved."

A single finger rubbed over one of her knuckles, as she recalled those early times.

"We drew peace from one another, and were even married. We were together for so long, and he had never once turned me away or left me alone. At the time, he was my world."

s'Il made a face then, a deep scowl that preceded the telling of much more unfortunate times.

"Even after he lifted the mask, to show me who he really was, he was still my all. I did everything for him, for any scrap of affection that I could glean from him. I gave him children, I killed for him, I betrayed old friends for him."

Her eyes bored into Michael, reaching across the divide between them.

"Have you ever done something so despicable, in the name of something you thought was good?"

[Michael Cline]

Michael felt the weight of those eyes on his soul. The gravity of her words, of this confession. There was no lie here, there was nothing but raw emotion, bared openly and shared with another. It threatened to overwhelm him, and then the question. Her question to him. Had he ever done that? He had to go back so far to remember a time when it was about more than the pain he'd learned to enjoy inflicting on others, about more than the grasping, jealous clutching of the life he'd managed to pull together since. He had to go all the way back.

He deflated a bit, felt a bitter sting to his eyes that he fought to push back, to keep himself in the moment, with her. To the story, not yet finished, she was sharing. He had his own story to tell, and it was clear now she deserved to hear it, but it wasn't the right time to interject his own. Not yet.

"A long time ago, yes." He said meekly, somberly. The voice barely sounded like his own, and for a moment he heard the soft tone of a younger man in his words. A teenager who had everything, once. Before it'd been stripped from him.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She nodded in understanding, taking note of the tone he spoke with. It was much less confrontational, now. Or at least, there was far less edge than there had been previously.

"In those moments, everything seems so clear, that what you're doing, you are doing for the right reasons, and your ends justify your means."

There was a pause, as she finally leaned back in her seat, letting out a ponderous sigh.

"Except, for me, they did not. I clung doggedly to a lie, hoping for my Master to grace me with soft hands and affection that was true. Unfortunately the love that he professed was as much of a mask as the face he wore for everyone else, including me."

Her hands moved apart then, shifting so that she could tap a single fingernail on the tabletop, almost idly.

"And then, my first love returned. He had spent so many years alone, wandering and staying as far from the Jedi as he could. But when he came back, he was like a man renewed, and while he has made his home now on Ossus, he never gave me up to the Dark. I suppose that I never stopped loving him, and when my Master betrayed me, I was able to see for the first time how I had been used."

She made a pained face then.

"I have heard stories about scorned women and the havoc that they can create, and I can tell you that there is nothing both so crushing and liberating as seeing how your love can be manipulated."

Silence fell then, between the two, but it wasn't long before she went on.

"And that is why I am here, now. I am paying for my crimes by doing what I now know is best. I have never believed in Fate or Destiny, as the Jedi and Sith do; I hold myself to my own will, and what the strength of it can accomplish. Whether it is large or small, it is mine, and belongs to no one else. There are too many shades of the Force to be constrained by a simple black and white view, so I refuse to let myself be taken by either extreme."

[Michael Cline]

Michael listened, and when she was done telling him her story he felt his breath hitch in his chest, biting back a laugh that tried to fall from his lips. He immediately raised a hand in apology, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, that's not funny. It's not." The rest of the breath he'd been holding slowly released and he felt himself leaning over the table, staring down at what was left of his meal - the food now the least important thing on his mind. "It's just... to hear someone else say something like that. To hear a story like that." He felt his shoulders relax and the tension in his frame slip, even if it was only for a moment it felt like heaven. How long had it been since he had actually just... breathed. Not the technical act of air in, air out that kept the body functioning. The long drawn out release of air that came in those rare moments when you just felt at home. It only lasted a second but he'd relish it for some time to come, he knew that much.

He found himself now at an odd crossroads. She had opened up, told her story and he should share his - but a voice deep inside told him to hide it, to silence it, to keep it secret. He warred with himself for a few moments, the air between them growing still and uncomfortable as he felt his frame tighten back up, his own story rolling around in his head as he tried to piece together how to share it, if he even should. He opened his mouth and nothing came out, closing his lips back as he knit his brow, and felt his pulse quicken. Anxiety threatened to overwhelm him and he knew if he didn't start saying something, he was going to say nothing.

"I was 16." He finally started, grasping the table with open palms as if it were a harness to tether him to the conversation, to keep him from blowing away. He wasn't sure he'd ever shared this story with anyone who wasn't involved in it. Not all of the story, not from beginning to end.

"I was 16, I think, when I came home to find my family..." He hesitated, feeling angry heat fill his eyes, quickly wiping it away to regain his composure, clearing his throat as he decided to leave the details to the imagination. "When I came home to find my family." He said simply, "This was... my first experience with the Force, and I knew, absolutely knew I had to run. That whatever had done that was going to finish the job if I did anything other than flee. I have never experienced such overwhelming terror in my life." He could feel his hands shaking at the memory and gripped one with the other to steady it, "I spent weeks hiding and wallowing in my fear, anger and hatred. Terrified of what I had discovered, of what could still happen to me, what would happen to me - and full of hate and rage toward the thing that had taken my parents... and myself for running from it."

His breath steadied again as the story moved forward. "That's when I met him, he was... only a year or two older than me, his name was Kyashi Hatake, but he introduced himself as Darth Sudoku. He swore to me that he was going to help me, teach me, train me, show me how to get the justice my family deserved, the revenge I wanted. Together we were going to find my family's killer, and all I had to do... was follow his lead." Mike shook his head slightly, "Darth Jirettai was the name he gave me, and we began to find others like us. Wil... Skye, Ky's own sister Leiko. We thought we were untouchable."

His hands went to his hair and he ran them through the red locks nervously, "Until Corellia. Until the Sith Order. They looked at us and they didn't see untouchable kids running free across the galaxy - they saw recruits, didn't matter if that's what we wanted or not." Mike closed his eyes and held a breath, he could still see Leiko's dead body clutched in his arms. "I never saw all my friends again, not together. Those of us who did get out only managed it when the Inquisitors interrupted... Leiko's funeral." Mike felt his temper flare as the timeline progressed and he knew what memory came next. "It took me a few months to find Sudoku after that, to learn he'd just started over. He didn't care about finding any of us, we were failures."

Cline's tone got lower, more dangerous, "He said he was so ashamed I hadn't become the Sith he expected me to be... the Sith he thought he'd set me on the path of being when he killed my family." the revelation, the memory, the betrayal hung on his lips like an angry insect's bite. "The Sith are just... monsters." He said quietly under his breath. "I'm not a great person." He admitted, "I'm pretty terrible, honestly - but that? That feels like giving myself up entirely, I can't do it."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She listened in silence, letting him tell his story with the freedom that he needed. It was not often that he could open up in such a way, she guessed, and s'Il allowed him the space to do just that. He spoke like a man that had so much to say, yet only when he felt safe enough to lower those defensive grids. She knew that feeling intimately. Each step he had taken, each progression down the road that could only be his... it was familiar all the same, and she found herself in perfect understanding.

And at the revelation of Sudoku's true motivations and actions... it was something that she found herself unsurprised by. The Sith were masters of deception, and she had been a party to that trait so closely.

"Lies are what the Sith know best; at least, those that are the 'True Believers'," she finally sighed out.

But, there was something else that he had opened up about, and straightening in her seat, she extended a single hand to him.

"It is an honor to meet you, Darth Jirettai."

He had given her a name from another life, and he deserved to know hers, from her other life.

"... I am Darth Acera."

[Michael Cline]

There was more he could say, his attempted murder of Sudoku. That it hadn't taken, and the angry Sith had returned nearly a year later for revenge. That it had been successful enough to see him frozen in carbonite, half a decade stripped away from him as a method to try and shatter Mike's life again. He'd never known what the intention was. If Sudoku had done it simply for his own sick enjoyment, and when he bored of the joke had left a suffering, sick Mike in that Coruscant back alley. Maybe it'd been meant to take everything away from him again, to leave him broken and alone enough to return to his former master.

For all he knew he'd been stuck in a storage facility that Sudoku had simply stopped paying for and had been dumped to 'thaw' like trash.

What he did know is that in the years since he'd seen no sign of Kyashi, no evidence the young Sith was even still alive. It had been a footnote compared to the rest of his story, but he'd gladly share it with his new... friend? Was that what they'd become. She still sent his hackles on edge, and that wasn't likely to change. Even if they were somewhere in the middle, a more morally grey shade, they were far apart enough that like opposing polarities of a magnet there was a force pressing back against each other.

He considered the extended hand with that knowledge - before shrugging it off and clasping it to shake. He'd get use to it, and Captain s'Ilancy was already proving to be a better friend than he'd had in a long time.

"Just... Mike is fine." He said with a small touch of discomfort, "I don't much feel like a Jirettai these days."

It was a statement made more as a wish than as a fact. The truth was he was feeling more and more like his old self all the time, the darkside trying to pull him down to a calling he had shirked for years. He had to hope that meeting someone else like himself, someone else to talk and share with might help unbottle some of the emotion that he felt like he was drowning in.

"But I am glad to meet you."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"And I, you."

She gripped his hand, holding it probably a bit longer than was proper. But, it was not the sort of lingering hold that those like Michael and herself would attribute to anything tentatively romantic. No, for them, it was something more of an understanding.

"Do not forget Jirettai, just as I have not forgotten Acera. They are a part of us, but they do not control us."

And then she did release him.

"They are us, after all. Not the best of ourselves, but they are still a part of us, and if we refuse them, they only get angrier and more forceful."

[Michael Cline]

It felt like an impossible task. Jirettai always felt like a shadow looming over him, ready to take control, ready to strip him of what he had. Run back to Korriban and declare your readiness to Ezra, complete his training and stand atop a pile of the worthless as the universe became his...

he gave himself a moment to shake free of the chain of thoughts that raced through his head threatening to become the only thing he could see - and rubbed the corners of his eyes, nodding slowly. "I'll try." was the most he could manage, and he would try, even if it terrified him. Nothing else had worked, and the nightmares only got worse. If his slipping control really was because he'd been trying to force himself to deny a part of who he was, then he was at wit's end enough to try something radical.

He glanced down at the remains of his lunch and realized the conversation had sated him in a way that the meal hadn't, his hunger gone for now.

"So... you know who I am, and I guess I know who you are now."

He considered the next words carefully, up until this point he was more of an accidental house guest than anything - Captain s'Ilancy had been kind enough to set up a cot for him if the analogy held, and it was only right to repay the favor. "What can I do to help around here, Captain?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

He had opened up in such a personal way, and she was loath to cast him aside. Rather, she smiled a genuine smile as she picked her fork back up, stabbing it into the small mound of creamy blue noodles still on her plate and beginning to twist.

"Oh, I can probably think of a few things," she smirked.




6 HouRS LATER...



On the bridge, she sat in her chair like a plumped nuna hen, confident in her position.

Scarif was a desolate planet now, scorched raw by the Empire; by Tarkin's petty squabbles with one Director Krennic. It was the sort of aftermath that made a person wonder if men with weapons was truly a good idea. Regardless of that notion, they were here now, in orbit over a once-lush world of long-gone beaches and tropical surroundings. Now it was simply sand; a dry, arid tomb that hid the crimes of Wilhuff Tarkin.

The tan orb that hovered before them was going nowhere anytime soon, and with a groan, s'Il pushed herself up to her feet.

"Come," she beckoned to the redhead that had been escorted to the bridge ten minutes beforehand.

"Let's have a look, shall we?"

Again she was leading the way, past the pilot's nest and up the shallow stairway that put them on the viewing platform of the wrapping viewscreen. It was a wondrous view, despite it all.

"What do you know about Scarif, Michael?"

[Tes Vilraider]

When the kid had been taken out of the brig by the Captain, that had been one thing. She presumed his story checked out, that he wasn't a danger and it was going to be easier to just shunt him off into some crew quarters for the duration. He'd be handed over to the Empire, or dropped off somewhere, if Cap was feeling especially generous, when this was all over anyway.

When she'd been asked to escort him to the Bridge? Now she had questions.

"So who are you, really?"

The kid couldn't just be some nobody Imperial from Bespin - some kind of double agent? Hell of a cover if it was, not a bad one, either. Or maybe he was some kind of expert that the Captain realized would be invaluable for the op. Could have been. Still just looked like a kid to her. I mean sure, in his 20s - but that boyish face all she could see was her oldest, Javen.

"Just Mike." He'd said simply with a shrug, "I asked if I could help, and... here we are."

Well that was boring - did kind of feel like the sort of play Captain s'Ilancy would make though. Serving on this crew had been anything but typical - and it made for great yarns to spin to the little ones.

Cap had taken personal custody and responsibility for the red-head when she'd arrived with him and after a sharp salute Tes found herself responding to a call in the galley. Someone had tried to sneak extras from Idiri again and gotten a good whack from the serving spoon. It wouldn't take much to break up the argument, but she had to chuckle. Sometimes the ship felt just like being back home taking care of her boys.

[Michael Cline]

Mike moved to stand besides s'Ilancy - just a step behind as well. She was still this ship's captain and he a civilian after all. He scratched his cheek with a thumb, the rest of his hand curled up beneath his chin and tried to think what he did know about the desert world in front of them.

Even with Mike going out of his way to avoid anything political, and even with what information the Empire clamped down on it's citizen hearing and seeing - he'd have to have been actively avoiding the news to not at least have heard of the planet. Some people claimed it had been a testing ground for the Death Star or a world on the verge of being lost to the Rebel forces. No matter what the truth was it was a ruin now. A hollow skeleton, which would have made it an ideal place to store and transfer any less than legal goods that needed to move through Alliance space.

He remembered there had been some talk of it's strategic use for the Black Sun, but that had been before he'd ended up on Cloud City and under Mr. Prent's employ, back when he stood at Ms. Sasseeri's side. He did wonder if anything had ever come of those talks.

He'd never been himself, and wasn't particularly keen on the direction the conversation with Captain s'Ilancy was going if it involved the sandy world. Mike had, had enough of digging through old ruins.

"Not a lot, honestly. The Empire burned it and you'd have to be crazy to want to go to it." he gave the Captain a sidelong glance as he said it.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

'Be crazy to want to go to Scarif'.

It was an apt assessment, she had to admit. There had never been a time in her life that she found cause to be on such a devastated planet, but here they were, now.

"Normally I would say the same. I heard enough stories about what happened here, and I have been to so many worlds destroyed by the Empire that I could never bring myself to add another to the list."

She shifted her stance, pivoting slightly sk that she could look back to Mr. Raghus, sitting in the pilot's nest.

"Bring us into a stable orbit please."

The Farghul nodded as he sent his attentions to the task she'd given him.

Another turn, and she was looking at the planet below once more.

There was no mistaking the inner feelings that surrounded this planet, and she spoke to Michael once more, her voice dropping slightly, so that only he could hear.

"One can feel the desperation here. The souls of so many lost to tragedy. You sense it, yes?"

[Michael Cline]

Even with Michael's limited skill in the Force, his lack of any proper training he could, in fact, sense it. He could almost guarantee what he felt was little more than a whisper compared to what Captain s'Ilancy was experiencing, but it was there none the less. The weight of the loss here felt crushing. Few experiences had resonated with him to this degree from a location.

The Sith Temple of Korriban when he had confronted the Alchemist Ezra Na'chtion. Fey'dann and that cursed urn. It felt like death.

"I do." he said simply enough, his words so low they barely felt like they'd actually left his lips. He blew out a puff of air through his nose and felt his cheeks tighten up as he looked at her a bit more solemnly.

"We have to go down there, don't we?" He'd already resigned himself to being pulled along on this little site-seeing trip. He had just had to play the part of an altruistic guest.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Well, I have to go down there, but whether you go, I'll leave that to your discretion."

She wouldn't force him to go down to the surface with her, but she wouldn't tell him to stay aboard if he didn't want to. Despite his brusque interactions, he had proven to be helpful in the past, during their first meeting and the subsequent 'adventure' that followed.

"Ma'am, orbit achieved," Raghus gruffly spoke up as he leaned back in his cushioned seat, "Mr Varin is prepping your shuttle."

"Thank you, Mr. Raghus."

A moment longer she stared down at the planet, in all of its bleak, beige glory. It hung in a sea of dark velvet, almost wallowing in the cruel fate it had been forced to accept. Letting out a long breath as she blinked, the Lupine disengaged her senses from the whisperings of so many lives lost, and sent a sideways look to Michael.

"Do not take too long to make your decision, however."

Stepping back, she moved past him, back toward the stairs that would take her from the viewing walkway.

"My shuttle leaves in thirty minutes."

[Michael Cline]

Just like that Michael had control of his choices. For a moment he didn't understand what she was saying, that he didn't have to go. He'd become so accustomed to following orders in his line of work he wasn't sure, in the moment, what to do with himself.

"Uh, yeah... got it." He finally managed to mumble out, still staring at the graveyard that lay on the viewing screen ahead of him. Lost in the echoes of those who died here. He didn't have to go with the Captain, he could have just as easily said no. He wasn't a soldier, or a 'good guy,' he wasn't even from Alliance space for this to be something that would ever concern him. He was an Imperial citizen, born and brought up on Coruscant, working on Bespin. What would the Empire do to him ever they ever found out he was complicit in whatever this whole thing was?

His own reaction to the thought, the slightest curl of a scowl as he knew there were no teeth to that threat made him wince. If the Empire ever got their hands on him it was over no matter what actions he'd engaged in. He was an unregistered Force Adept and had associated with organizations what could probably be classified as insurgent cells, if not worse. This would just be a bullet point on an entire spreadsheet of charges to be read against him.

But did he want to go down there? It would be just as simple to retreat to his quarters and wait this entire trip out on his own. Forget about the surprisingly nice Captain. Forget about the odd pull the planet seemed to have on your senses. Just throw on some audio files and forget any of this had ever happened. Cline had finally turned from the screen and started down the shallow stairway to follow the Captain's path considering his options when he thought of a justifica reason to travel with the Captain. Was he really willing to sit up here and hope that things would work out well enough to guarantee he made it home with only a moderate delay to his original timetable?

After all if something did happen to Captain s'Ilancy he'd be transferred over to Alliance Command, surely. Yes, going with her was in his own best interests, it was just looking out for number 1 again. Like he always had.

He hurried his step to catch up to her.

[Jeremy Varin]

* * *

The pre-flights were all completed, and Jeremy found himself almost happily in the small hold of his beloved nu-class shuttle, taking stock of the provisions held within the crew lockers.

A datapad in one hand and a stylus in the other, he worked his way down the line until he was finished, and continued on down the boarding ramp. The hydraulics were quickly inspected, the vents checked, and he found himself idly making sure that the scuffed paint wasn't too terrible - it was never fun when he had to fill out those outer hull maintenance forms for a spruced-up paint job, after all.

In the distance, he heard the cavernous doors of the hangar open, then close once more, and with one last look at his 'pad, he turned to the approaching...threesome?

The captain of course, and that infernal avatar KHER, and... the stowaway they'd taken on?

It wasn't exactly what he was expecting, and he turned fully to face the small group.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

KHER had insisted on joining them, and for once she welcomed the ship's ever-dogged determination. The spindly droid was like some constant guardian, and the Lupine took a small bit of comfort in his presence.

Spotting Mr. Varin easily, she set the pace at an even gait. Even from this distance she could see the curiosity in his gaze, and as she walked, s'Il idly brought her right arm up. She had made a brief stop at her quarters to retrieve her saber gauntlet, and now wore it with the cautious knowledge that to have it would be better than to not. The fingers of her left hand passed over the metal of the emitters, moving to the latches to make sure that it was snug.

"No matter what happens down there, Michael, stay close to either myself or KHER."

[KHER]

Tromping along behind the two, KHER kept his obsidian-black 'eyes' forward. At least, until the Captain spoke of him. At that point, his gaze went to the red-haired man that had been taken on.

I will only safeguard you because I have been told to do so, he felt the need to add.

[Michael Cline]

He cast a side-long glance at the wiry droid before turning his attention back to the shuttle before them.

"Noted." He grumbled in joint answer to the Captain's statement and the machine's surprisingly brunt addition. "I'll do my best not to require your services then." He huffed from between his lips to his metallic babysitter.

He very briefly considered letting the tinker-toy know he had no use for it's protection, and only bit his tongue to show consideration for Captain s'Ilancy. Mike would have preferred not to even travel with the scrapheap. He hadn't fully trusted droids since Corellia, and wasn't about to amend those feelings for this one.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Don't worry too much over his attitude," she gave a shake of her head.

"Old processors have a way of gathering peculiar behaviors, which makes for sometimes infuriating discussions."

She could still remember how KHER had harassed Zem constantly (though, at least one time had been through her machinations, to be honest), and it was not uncommon for the ship's avatar to take less-than-kindly to newcomers.

"Sometimes... it's just best to ignore him."

[Jeremy Varin]

Despite what he saw as a change of plans, Jeremy put on a genial smile as the trio approached.

Still holding on to his datapad, he put out his free hand to the redhead. Never let it be said that Jeremy Varin was of the impersonal sort.

"New guy, eh? Jeremy Varin, at your service; I'll be your driver for today," he grinned.

[Michael Cline]

The red-head took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Michael Cline, I'm... a guest of the Captain's I guess." He gave a subtle shrug to s'Ilancy as he released the handshake, not entirely sure how to describe the current situation.

He wasn't the 'new guy' - well he was but it was a temporary situation. He wasn't looking to switch his status as an Imperial citizen for one with the Alliance. Not that he was a fan of the Empire, it's just where all his stuff was.

[Jeremy Varin]

"Well Mr. Cline, I'd say welcome aboard," there was a rueful tone to his voice as he fished through one of the front pockets of his trousers, "... but I suspect our lovely ship has given you enough welcomes."

It was a poke at KHER, meant to hopefully diffuse the old droid's peculiar abilities in ruffling feathers.

Whatever he'd been searching for he found, and a small slip-of-a-box was pulled out. This he handed over to the Captain who took it with a nod.

"He's got a gruff attitude, but he's harmless, " a wink, "... for the most part."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She took the offering gladly, a thumb sliding open the thin lid and a finger from her free hand lifting up to slide out a doramine paper-tab. The lid was clicked shut once more, and she handed it back to Mr. Varin.

"Sometimes the curse of a centuries-old automaton is having to endure his eccentricities," came her addition to the shuttle pilot's assessment.

[Michael Cline]

He noticed the exchange between the pair, but said nothing. It seemed like a practiced motion so whatever the strip of paper had been was likely something the Captain asked for frequently - not likely anything to concern himself over.

The rest of the conversation left his chuckling softly, a nearly alien sound to him with how infrequently he found himself as relaxed as he was through all of this. This all felt... normal, even a little nostalgic for the days when his father had been a cargo captain and he'd help out on runs. Just friendly banter between friends.

"Don't worry about it," the red-head reassured, "I've just got a little... thing about droids. Not his fault and I'll try not to hold it against him."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

* * *

Ten minutes later found them firmly belted into their seats, with Mr. Varin up in the cockpit and finishing the last of his checks. There was a slight murmur to be heard, as he communicated with hangar control, but there was no way of discerning the particulars.

The main hold of the old nu-class shuttle had been redone to accommodate a more... comfortable ride. Gone were the thinly-padded trooper jumpseats, and proper passenger seating had been bolted in. The lockers had been shifted about so that supplies could still be stowed away, at least. Rations, survival gear, weapon lockers with extra ammunition storage, even a few datapads that'd been loaded up with thousands of novels and other entertainment; in the event that there was little else to do but wait.

With KHER choosing to stand himself along the far bulkhead, s'Il chose to use her time wisely. The doramine tab was placed on her tongue, and she leaned back as it dissolved into her mouth.

One hand came out then, to smooth down the front of her duty jacket.

"I never got to visit Scarif before it was burned, but I heard stories that it was stunningly beautiful."

[Michael Cline]

Mike could feel a knot forming in the pit of his stomach at the mention of the planet they were heading down to. Ever since he'd been left to stare down at it from the bridge of the ship it had felt like a cold hand twisting into his gut.

"I've seen pictures." He said quietly, hands folded together in his lap as he stared at the metal rivets that bolted his seat to the ship's interior. "Couldn't really miss them when it happened. Not on Coruscant, Empire tried to crack down on it, keep the people listening to the holonets for 'official information' - but you know how people are? Kids especially. You tell them not to do something, they're going to do it."

"All white beaches and blue tides." He said with a huff of breath, leaning back. "Told me everything I needed to know about the Empire back then. Keep my damn head down and mind my own business."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"A paradise lost," she agreed, a strange, half-lamenting tone weaving throughout her voice.

The muted chatter from above quieted to silence, and moments later the shuttle feathered up off the deck, shifting its orientation as it angled around for an exit vector from the hangar.

"Children are singularly bent on doing everything that they are asked not to," came her agreement to his earlier assessment, "... my daughter would be a text-pad example of that tendency."

[Michael Cline]

Mike's body lurched just a little as the shuttle began to move, an imperfection from the second-hand seats, it eased up quickly enough - a testament to the quality of the pilot.

He nodded his head in intimate understanding of what she was describing. He'd been one of those kids himself, his old man having hoped to straighten him out enough one day to bring him into the family cargo shipping business. He owned that business now, at least on paper. Even if it wasn't what his father had wanted for him... if none of this is what his family had wanted for him... at least it was a small thing he could hang on to.

"What's her name?" He finally asked, continuing the small talk.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Even though it was imperceptible to most, she could feel in the pit of her stomach the jarring switch from the larger ship's gravity out into the weightlessness of space. Thankfully the doramine was quick-acting, and quelled her rebellious gut.

"Teagan."

The Lupine smiled at the thought of her daughter, her memories taking her back to those old days on Cathar.

"She is on Ossus now, however. It is better and safer for her there. A warship is no place for a child, as much as I would like her to be here."

She should be back home, came the interrupting voice of KHER, ever determined to speak his mind.

At that, she could couldn't help the long, exhaled sigh and a bare rolling of her eye.

"He does not stop," was her chuckled mumble as a hand came up to rub across her brow. Determined to push her ship's interjection to the background, s'Il looked to Michael.

"And you? Any little ones?"

[Michael Cline]

The droid had an attitude, even with the Captain, that was unique. Captain s'Ilancy had described them as 'eccentricities' earlier, and that seemed to be quite accurate. What a strange crew it was.

"Not that I know of." he said with a laugh. "Haven't really had a lot of time to think about things like that." He rubbed the back of his neck and realized just how much of his life had been a desperate struggle for survival starting with his teenage years. "I'm married to my work, to be honest."

His work, which was acting as an enforcer and go-to for a criminal organization, he reminded himself. He still needed to be careful what he said. If he got too comfortable in his surroundings he could make a costly mistake.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

* * *
on scarif



The landing had been gentle, and Mr. Varin had refrained from lowering his pilot's chair so that the Captain and her charge could gather whatever effects they needed. The nose of the shuttle hissed open, slowly lowering down to allow the group of three the chance to exit.

"You will remain here, yes?" s'Il had paused, looking up to where the pilot's level remained locked above.

"Yes Ma'am. Looks like the landing pad here is pretty well deserted, so it's best one of us stays back to make sure no one pilfers anything."

She nodded in silent agreement, and gave a passing look to Michael before continuing the short trek down to terra firma.

It was a windswept landing pad, set into the ground. All around were the signs of desolation and even a few carcasses that had once been supply ships, but were now picked clean to leave only the bare bones of their frames. Ahead was a bunker, the blast doors pried open and revealing a cavernous black maw beyond.

KHER tromped up behind her, but thankfully said nothing for now.

In the distance was a toppled spire that no doubt had stood tall, before the terrible blast from the Death Star.

It was Fellspire, that much she knew.

It was also where the signal was coming from.

[Michael Cline]

Michael's head was killing him. A throbbing pain deep inside that seemed to originate somewhere in his stomach. It had grown the closer to the planet they had gotten. Now on the surface it felt as if he were being pressed from all angles and was struggling to keep himself standing. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he followed the Captain off of the shuttle and tried to push past the sensation that was clearly more than just a physical ailment. This place felt like grave dirt burying him.

He frowned as he stared at the devastated tower in the distance, and the detritus of what remained here.

"How very inviting." He commented low and sarcastic in the back of his throat.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The tone of his voice was enough to make her hesitate, and pulling up, the Lupine half-turned to regard him.

The efforts to push away pain was plain on his features, and a look of concern descended over her features as her head canted to one side.

"You are hurting," she spoke lowly, with conviction.

[Michael Cline]

Of course he couldn't hide anything from her, the Jedi are always... he blinked the thought away even as it came. She wasn't a Jedi, had told him as much, had shared her pain, so why could he do nothing but see her in the worst possible terms now? His head ached more as the thoughts remained muddy and thick.

"It's nothing." He tried to wave it off, "Just a headache."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

A raised eyebrow, and the Lupine eventually gave a nod.

"Very well."

She would not press him to open up if he did not wish to, and instead chose to let the matter drop.

A gesture to the bunker's doors.

"One of the tram rails leading to the old spire," one hand went to absently swipe away any unseen dust on KHER's chest, the old droid merely looking down at her slender hand as it went about its motions.

"I'd recommend staying out of there, though. We can make our way along the outer side."

[Michael Cline]

Mike had to wonder what manner of thing they would have found inside the darkened cavern. Something worth working this frustrating pain out on. He would just have to swallow it down, ignore it, like he always did. His mood had turned darker though, and he knew it was obvious. The Captain knew too. She wasn't saying anything because she didn't care. Why would she he was just a...

He pushed it down again. The sooner he was off this planet the better things would be. His constitution was draining quickly. It felt too much like Fey'dann, like he was back in that hole digging out an artifact he'd never been allowed to touch. Taken from him by Ms. Sasseeri, stripped from him, it had been his and then... he swallowed it down again. He had to keep this in check, at least to see this through.

"We should get moving then." He finally managed, starting to walk without waiting for anyone else. He needed to get off of this planet.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She let him take the lead for now, as her own thoughts withdrew to focus on their immediate surrounding. The covered tram tunnel was half-buried in sand and desolation, and as the small group made their way from where the half-open bay door rested ajar, they each went up a small, sandy hillock. Cresting the ridge, the view of the tunnel was unimpeded now, and they could see it stretch out ahead to where the once-tall spire had stood; now it was on its side, crumbled in places, and dotted with bright colorings of vibrant tents. For as desperate and lost as those who lived on this planet were, at least they insisted on pulling color from nothing and putting it on display.

Even along the length of the tram tunnel one could see small outposts of color, of traders having set up shop, and even a few travelers resting in what little shade could be found from the high sun above. A slight yet persistent breeze could be felt, and the far-off murmur of chatter and conversation could faintly be heard in the distance. It was a deceptively peaceful sight, if one ignored the roots of why this world existed in its current form. If you ignored the lives lost here.

Pulling even with Michael, the Lupine set her pace to his.

"I think it best if I introduce us," she spoke matter-of-factly.

There was still time until they reached the first pocket of life along the tram tunnel, and she wanted to make sure that Michael understood her intentions.

[Michael Cline]

Things were not improving for the red-headed former Sith. In fact as they had gotten closer to what passed for civilization in this desolate waste the emotions on display from the locals had simply added another background noise to that he was unable to block out.

Boredom, excitement, joy, anger, fear, courage, laughter, sorrow, hope, desolation.

So many emotions, so many conflicting feelings. Normally he could ignore his natural empathy, or even pick through it to tune in to one emotion, but the crushing weight the planet left on him had stripped him of his control. It was all too much, too quickly.

The captain was saying something to him, in his ear about something. He waved her off, hoping that he was agreeing with whatever she'd been talking about enough to cease her addition to the noise that was splitting his head. "Sounds good." He mumbled absently, walking on with his eyes staring at the ground ahead of him, focusing on the rocks and sand in attempt to ignore the rest.

[Zela]

Life on the far outskirts of Fellspire was not easy. Nor was life in Fellspire, for that matter. But perhaps there was something to be said about having the enclosing metal walls around you that provided a bit more security than just... well, than just nothing but tents and sand.

And just as unusual as a day without hardship, was a day that a ship from the stars touched down.

Zela had watched, as had the rest of those in her small troop. They were travelers, hobbling from outpost to outpost, taking shelter where they could and eking out a living in the best way they knew how. Raiders were a constant threat, and also the reason why her small group of people had been reduced in size not three turns ago. Young Maru had fallen, as had Pol and Jaan. Refa was recovering from wounds, and his sister Reon spent all of her time tending to him as well as the others who'd been hurt. Coming across the tramline to Fellspire had been a boon, as the raiders never ventured close to the ruined city.

But, with a skyship having landed, and three bodies approaching, Zela watched from relative safety. One hand on Refa's brow, she let her single good eye peer through the tent flap at the three forms coming closer. Slowly, she pulled away and rose to her feet. Shuffling out into the open, she reached over to the long-pike leaning against one of the outer support poles, and taking it up, let out a long breath. Two steps brought her forward, with Kesh and Yuli at her side.

They were not the sort to please the eyes, as lives spent on Scarif were hardly unaffected in some manner. Kesh was missing an arm below his right elbow, which he'd fashioned a prosthetic vibro-blade for, and Yuli was a canvas of scars.

Zela herself was missing an eye, a nostril, an two fingers on her left hand.

No one on Scarif was untouched.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

He was preoccupied; one did not need the Force to tell that much.

But, as they approached the nearest tent that had been set up alongside the half-submerged tunnel, s'Il opted to focus on the three cautiously moving out to meet them.

A woman and two men, the woman at the head. Not a one of them looked like they lived lives of ease.

A terrible thought then, as the Lupine let her gaze take in the woman's face before idly thanking the Bloodline that her own facial deformity had not been so severe. It was a thought that was quickly quelled though, as she watched the others, noting the proud stance each held themselves with. These were survivors, and they carried their heads high with that knowledge.

As they neared, she held up both of her hands, palms out and up.

"We wish you no harm," she assured in an initial greeting.

[Michael Cline]

The sudden arrival of the natives had drawn his attention from the ground he'd hoped to distract himself with. The emotions of the trio in such close proximity was like the beatings of waves against a ship in his head.

Curiosity and concern but under that something deeper. Anxiety.

She was anxious? There was an energy among them like they were waiting for something, or for some moment. The right moment. His muscles went tight in his back and he felt the anger erupt - driven on by invisible hands pushing him forward to take their vengeance.

"And if they mean US harm?" He snapped sharply, violently, all but lost in the building fire inside. He wanted to pull back from it, to temper the anger that once again seemed to be all he could feel, but it simply wouldn't be silenced this time. "They're in our way." He growled with vicious intent, hands balling tightly enough to dig his nails into his palms and leave thin rivers of blood dripping down to stain the sand beneath him. There was no hiding what he was to anyone present, least of all the former Jedi standing beside him. This was Jirettai manifest, an anger looking to burn everything around him down to scorched earth.

He could feel the cold smile starting to grow, the old song in his ears. He could kill them. All of them. These three nothings who had wandered into his path, the sanctimonious not-Jedi who had taken advantage of his kindness to lead him to this dead world, the irritating toy that had given him nothing but attitude since he'd met it. He wanted to, he was sure he did. So why wouldn't his body let him do it?

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Easy," she cautioned, her voice dropping momentarily.

The bleedout of his emotions was undeniable now, and the Lupine found herself pausing in her gait, sending a sideways look to him.

[Zela]

Zela gripped her pike, unsure of what to make of these three - one of which was a waspish, spindly-looking droid. The other two, a man with fire-red hair and the eyes of a predator, and a woman in a uniform.

"We don't have anything of value for you," she finally called out as the distance between them all lessened.

[Michael Cline]

His eyes, blurry at the edges now with strain and anger snapped to the not-Jedi. Once again making demands of him, telling him what to do, what she'd do for him. Who did this woman think she was? Before he could respond the head of the approaching band spoke again. This anxious one, this likely attacker. Kill her first. Protect himself, then the not-Jedi for trying to command him.

You were freedom, you were anger, you were... are... Jirettai.

Mike's foot dragged forward a step and his body felt like walking through concrete, muscles taught in pained resistance. This had to be the Captain's doing. She was surely using the Force to keep him still. His attention returned sharply to her and found her simply casting a concerned glance in his direction. He ground his teeth hard enough he was certain they'd shatter, internal rage burning with desire for wanton destruction.

"I..." He tried to start, the words dry in his throat. "I can't..." Labored breathing choked him as two sides of him fought for control, his body locked in statuesque stillness. "It's too much." He panted out between gasps of air, "It's all too much... this place... the... weight of it... I can't shut... I can't shut it out." This was worse than Fey'dann, worse than being near that frelling urn. He was going to lose himself here, fully and deeply. He was sure of it.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The verbal admission was all that she needed, and grinding to a halt, s'Il let her body relax, let her thoughts wash outward to splash over the frantic emotions that were radiating so heavily from Michael.

"Breath," she soothed, her gaze sweeping around to take in the wild tendrils that were writhing from him. She knew those feelings well, and gave him space while still pressing in gently with calm surety.

"Let the old ghosts pass through you. Let them speak, but never forget who you are. You are Jirettai, but you are also Michael. Feel the sorrow around you, but always remember that you will never drown in it... "

Her hand moved then, to rest a palm on his shoulder even as her thoughts pushed through the mental din that surrounded him. She guided many of the voices away, hoping to lead by example for him.

"... I'll not let you."

[Michael Cline]

Mike's emotions were a maelstrom in the moment, and he could feel the tenuous grasp he'd managed to pull back long enough to cry out for a lifeline slipping. He would fall here, finally smash upon the darkness bellow and simply be Jirettai. No more Michael, no more razor's edge dance with his own dark natures, merely the wallowing of an animal in his base desires for destruction and death.

"Breath"

The word cut through him like a gust, pulling the swirling emotions still enough to find purchase and hold onto himself. To see what all had encircled him in this moment, on this world. He clung to her words like a life raft.

'Let the old ghosts pass through you..."

He tried to focus on her words, on the instructions. He had never been a good student, but he had also never had a proper teacher. He felt it, still ever present and upon him, the weight of this planet, and for a moment he felt he was going to lose it all again. And then it passed, and instead of being thrown around by it, he felt it move around him, through him. His breathing began to slow, the grip of his fists which had cut gashes into his palms loosening as he began to relax.

"Feel the sorrow around you, but always remember that you will never drown in it..."

His vision began to clear, the storm calmed, less a maelstrom throwing about a ship and rather waves crashing against a dock. It could shift, it could feel the pressure, but it stood strong enough to let the waters move past it. Aware of the forces at play, but not a slave to them.

"...I'll not let you."

He managed to look up slowly, feeling for the first time since they had arrived like himself. No, more than that - he felt stronger than he had before, more sure of his position. His eyes focused on her, and he finally saw the former Jedi for who she was beyond his own insecurities and doubts. Darth Sudoku had called himself Michael's master, but it wasn't until now that he actually understood what the word meant.

"I... thank you." he said weakly, appreciation and awe present in his eyes. "Thank you." He wasn't certain he'd ever meant words more sincerely in his life.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her eye remained locked with his own for a few more moments, and eventually she gave a sage nod. Her fingers gave a final squeeze to his shoulder before releasing.

"All you need is to ask, and I will help you however that I can, Michael."

Her voice was hushed, and she was aware of the other three watching intently at the interaction between the two.

Finally, she allowed a smile. It was a wisp of a thing, but it was there for him. And then she looked from him to the woman at the head of the greeting party.

"I am Captain s'Ilancy," her voice raised in volume, "... my friends and I are only wishing to get to Fellspire. We do not want to bring you harm."

[Zela]

It was a strange thing to watch, this bizarre secret interaction of whispers. The red-haired man had seemed tense, his body taut like a wire about to snap... and then he seemed to calm himself. The other woman's words - whatever they were - seemed to smooth the look in his eyes. Zela's own grip on her pike loosened at the site, and when the woman addressed them, she let out a long breath.

"I am Zela," she started carefully, "... if you wish passage to Fellspire, then you are on the right path."

She sent a look back over her shoulder, to the two behind her, and the meager, brightly-colored tents further back along the tunnel.

"We do not wish to fight, and only wish to camp in piece for the night, until our wounded are healed."

[Michael Cline]

Mike took the few moments of continued interaction with the Captain to compose himself, fighting back the embarrassment of his actions. When she turned from him to continue the conversation that had begun, Michael could finally see that the emotions he had misread were concerns for their own safety - and that they were already dealing with injuries and difficulties.

There would be time for apologies later. For now he did as Captain s'Ilancy had asked and let her talk. The driving pain that had started when he arrived had finally eased down a dull ache, a sensation of over-exertion rather than outright pain.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"We have no wish for altercations either," she assured.

The trip to Fellspire would be hopefully uneventful, if the rest of those who were camped along the tunnel held the same tendencies. Of course, that was certainly not a foregone conclusion, and s'Il let herself descend into a thoughtful silence as she mulled over their choices.

"If you could help us reach Fellspire, I may be able to help your injured," she finally offered.

[Zela]

Biting her lip, she looked back momentarily to her comrades before looking back to the three.

"I would prefer not to leave my people," but... the hope that by offering help, they would be given compensation was enticing.

"... but if by doing so means that I can get help for my friends, then I will help you."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il gave an encouraging nod, then turned her attentions once more to Michael.

"It will be good, to have help during our short trip. I do not know the nature of those who live here, and it may be best to employ one of their own to assist us."

While not nearly so overpowering, she could see that he was still operating beneath the veil of discomfort. For a moment she fell silent, mulling over her next words. Eventually, she let out a long breath.

"Be calm, above all else," she furthered, hoping to help him gain more confidence in his own abilities, "... neither you nor I can help those of the past; we can hear them, but beyond that, there is nothing that we can do. And sometimes... sometimes all that the old voices wish is to be heard."

[Michael Cline]

Mike nodded once, taking in her words. No snark-filled response, no rolling of the eyes, no disregard for what she had said or even trying to hide his own concerns and issues. Simple and naked listening to what someone who clearly knew more than he did had to offer. He rubbed the back of his neck, a touch of shame for his actions present, but managing to keep himself together significantly better than he had when they'd arrived, and in truth more than he had felt in a long time.

That feeling resonated deeper than he was expecting, in fact. He felt more like himself than he had in a long time. Not Darth Jirettai. Not Michael Cline, Black Sun enforcer. Just... Mike, some scruffy pilot's son from Coruscant. He hadn't known he could still feel like this, didn't know there was any of this side of him left to feel.

"I'll do my best." He offered, looking in the direction of Fellspire before adding, "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure if it was the time or place, but the words had been eating at his gut since he'd been put back to his senses.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She gave him an encouraging smile, soft and gentle as it flitted across her features.

"Do not apologize," she half-chuckled.

"We are both on this world, and here, I suspect that 'anywhere is'."

It was a fairly odd thing to say, but to her it felt right, and an accurate assessment of the way things were on Scarif.

Her gaze returned to the scarred woman, and she let her shoulders hitch back.

"We are in your debt, Zela."

[Zela]

* * *


The trek along the tunnel was made mostly in silence, and she'd led them through a few other encampments; mostly traders who were either on their way to or from Fellspire.

With the woman, the Captain, walking up ahead with her strange waspish droid, Zela let herself fall into step beside the red-head.

"Your travels," she started slowly, "... how far from here have they taken you?"

[Michael Cline]

He had fallen into an easy pace with the others, content to enjoy the silence as he felt himself more able to handle the planet's unique haunting, for lack of a better word, and consider the circumstances around that improvement in himself.

When their local guide, Zela as she had introduced herself earlier, spoke up to ask him about his own travels he found himself forcing breath out from between tight lips as he tried to remember.

"Farther than I ever thought I'd be, honestly." He kept walking, "From major Metropolitan worlds like Coruscant or Corellia to forgotten places, Korriban and others. Though in retrospect I'm realizing most of them feel like worlds I've been taken to, rather than anywhere I choose to go myself..." He trailed off a bit at the sentiment, before managing to snap back to his new travelling companion. "And you? Ever been anywhere else, yourself?"

[Zela]

He talked of far-off places that she'd only heard stories about. Tall tales from the older generation, that she'd sometimes scoffed at.

"Only ever been here," she couldn't help the slight tone of self-pity that laced her words.

"My mother came here soon after the Great Light. She used to tell me that she came with a group of... " a pause, as she tried to remember the word, "... aid. Aid... workers?"

Her hand reached out to run a palm gently over the dusty outer metal covering of the tunnel they walked alongside.

"My father didn't come with her; she said he disagreed that she come here while pregnant, but she did anyway. I've never seen him, since I've never been off Scarif, and he never came here."

[Michael Cline]

Mike listened to her story and felt pangs of empathy well up in his gut. She was stuck here, brought to a world she'd never asked to be a part of and now couldn't escape. It was wrenching a heart that he hadn't realized he still had. this whole trip was forcing him to reconsider some very real truths about himself, and what he understood.

"I'm sorry." He said softly, letting his vision drift to the dusty ground for a moment, before looking back at the scarred woman. "Would you want to leave?" He asked, suddenly unsure as to why he was even asking a question like that. Asking her to come with them wasn't a decision he had the authority to make, and he was unlikely to ever return to Scarif after this. The planet was too much of a hotspot for him to handle. He was only okay thanks to Captain s'Ilancy's help and guidance.

Still it felt wrong to simply say nothing, to shrug off her plight - if she wanted to leave, surely there had to be something the Captain could do.

[Zela]

Did she want to leave? It was a question that hadn't ever come up before; at least, not in any real sense. Oh, they all had dreams of getting off Scarif, but those sorts of wishes were just that - wishes. In no way were they thought of as serious sentiments. Their lives here were hard enough without making existence unbearable with lofty thoughts of escape.

"Well," she started slowly. Her one good eye blinked, and she pulled her hand away from the tunnel to rub lightly at the top edge of her scar. It was a habit, that was something she'd never been able to break.

"... I suppose? I mean, we all want to leave, but it's just something that we all know won't ever really happen."

Zela gave a shrug at that.

"It's just wishes and dreams for everyone here."

[Michael Cline]

Michael wasn't going to get her hopes up by making any promises. It wouldn't be fair, not when he couldn't guarantee anything to her, but still he smiled at her. He'd ask the Captain about this later, see if there was anything that could be done for Zela. Where would he be now if someone hadn't once offered him a way out? Back in a gutter on Coruscant, picking pockets to survive? Maybe dragged kicking and screaming to the Empire's wonderful program for adepts.

The Inquistoriate, no that wasn't right anymore, that's who it had been. These days it went by the much kinder name of the Knights of the Imperial Throne. Same product, better marketing. Still it was a harrowing thought to consider, himself in a military uniform at the beck and call of the powers that be? No thank you. He served Ms. Sasseeri and the Black Sun because she had earned Cline's loyalty. Given him a home and a purpose when all he had left was survival. Sure it had left him with stains on his soul, but there hadn't been much value left to that once the Sith were done with it.

If he could help Zela find her way out of a wasteland like this one, then maybe there was still something good of him left. It was a nice thought.

"Hopes and dreams are important." He said absently, "Don't let go of those."

He couldn't remember his own anymore. He was sure he had them at one time, but these days his dreams were more frequently nightmares.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The small group passed through two more encampments, their way through eased by Zela's help. The inhabitants of Scarif were a suspicious lot, and for good reason, she supposed. Life here was in no way easy, and sometimes a single meal was the difference between life and death. During their trek, Zela spoke of the raiders, and even cautioned against the Flesh-Eaters that roamed the wastes. The very thought that beings had been driven to consume one another was something that turned her lips downward in a disapproving frown, and s'Il turned a troubled gaze out toward the wastes that surrounded them.

Even KHER walked with a strange gait, his inky black eyes turning to and fro as if expecting an attack.

The longer that they traveled, the larger that Fellspire grew. In the near distance, the forms of a larger pocket of traders and squatters could be seen, having built a tent city of sorts. Brightly-colored coverings, earthen tones of sandstone brickwork, scavenged materials, and a scattering of bodies milling about were beginning to take more shape. And, in a way, it was beautiful and pure.

Sounds and smells began to drift their way on the gentle breeze, and the Lupine slowed her pace slightly as she tried to take it all in. There was of course the scents of smoke and cooking food, but woven throughout all of that was a strange tinge of spice that she could not identify. It was enticing, and she turned to look at Zela, then Michael.

He held a strange look that she found herself curious over, and it gave her pause. But, she pressed on.

"Through death, life continues," the enticing scents were now rolling over them, and she hoped for him to see whatever good that he could in this ravaged world. She gestured to the smattering of colored tent coverings and sounds in the nearing distance.

"... don't you think?"

[Michael Cline]

Michael's thoughts had turned inward during the trek, to what could be done to help Zela. The more she had shared of the hardships and dangers here the more he was certain this was no place for her, it was no place for anyone really. This wasn't life. This was survival, a desperate struggle and little else. There had to be something better for their new friend, for everyone who was abandoned here.

He was distracted by his concerns when the group slowed and Captain s'Ilancy spoke to him to get his attention. He looked up, face still a mask of troubles - and nearly spoke immediately about the thoughts that plagued him when her question caught him by surprise and he was shook out of his internal monologue and suddenly there was life. His ears filled with the sounds of commerce, his nose filled with the smell of spices. He came to a standstill and found himself transfixed on what had sprung up out of the bones of this world.

His brow knit and the discordance of it all set him in an uneasy state. "It seems..." He said trying to get a handle on the warring emotions and thoughts, "young." He finally settled on and almost immediately felt the need to chew his choice of words over in his head. If there was something here, something salvageable it was so early in he infancy of it's creation that it seemed at risk of dying out with even the slightest attack.

"Forgive me, Captain s'Ilancy. This is all quite a lot for me to take in." Michael had experienced hardships, lived and struggled through scenarios he would wish on no other living thing, but the nature of this world. The death and loss here and it's seeming slow growth to attempt and be something more once again felt nearly insurmountable. It was surviving though, and starting to be something new. Through his uncertainty he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Hope.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"It is for me as well," she mused idly, letting her eyes track back to the scene before them. Beyond this tent city was Fellspire, which dwarfed the meager establishment of temporary shelters that had been erected. And yet, there was a strange sort of permanence that emanated from the hodge-podge of tents and hastily-constructed sandstone structures.

"This place," she chose address Zela then, "... what is it called?"

[Zela]

Still standing beside the red-head, Zela looked to the woman.

"Most just call it 'The Commons'. Plenty of traders and scavengers set up shop here. There are more inside Fellspire, but the deeper levels inside are watched over by the Teks. No one really goes past the interior blast doors, since they're protected."

[Michael Cline]

Mike took the opportunity, with the Captain and Zela talking, to take in the area they had arrived in, these commons. The open air market felt oddly familiar to him, and he was certain he had encountered locations like this in the past. Sometime during his travels with Ky and his crew. They had seen so many worlds then, many the red-head couldn't even recall the name of. Big and small, Ky led the group around by his whims. Where ever he was certain the Force had led them he had taken them. Sometimes it led them to another new family member, like when they'd picked up Skye or Wil, other times it led them into trouble, like their final days together on Corellia.

Whatever planet he had found himself on previously that reminded him of the market made him nostalgic, another brick down the memory lane that seemed to make up this trip. It felt like he was working backwards through all of this.

He had started on Cloud City, then found himself stolen away by forces out of his control, and brought back to the overwhelming ghosts he had last experienced on Fey'dann. He'd seen people in need of a hand up from the gutter, just like he had been in Coruscant after Corellia, and now he found himself staring down the busy streets of a marketplace that took him right back to the days before that planet had taken his second family from him.

How far would this path take him now that he was on it, and was he willing to keep following it in spite of just how uncomfortable it was beginning to make him feel. How aware of the person he had become he was now. How little of himself he still felt after all the scars of survival had taken their toll.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

There were plenty of heads turning to watch the new arrivals, three bodies coming from along metal vein from some trader or scavenger encampment further away was always a cause for curiosity. Only, two looked far too clean to be inhabitants of Scarif; one at least looked the part.

The low, constant buzz of chatter continued, with merchants doing business and buyers haggling down some price that they might've felt to be too high. It was the sound of a living creature, practically, the ebbing and flowing of conversation. Snippets could be picked out, and the rest blended together into almost a living thing that existed in the air all around.

For her part, s'Il let her hands come together at the small of her back, one hand loosely holding the opposite wrist.

"It seems that there is no shortage of life. A good thing to see, considering what happened."

[Michael Cline]

Mike had started to pick up on small bits of conversation, and beyond those he'd been able to tune in to the emotions surrounding him. There was far more... normalcy here than he'd expected. Considering the history of this place, of this world, he'd expected more despair, more morose. Instead it felt reminiscent of walking through the commerce centers of Cloud City, rife with equal parts disappointment and excitement.

He thought about what he had called it before, 'Young.' That still felt apt. It was life, and it was growing, but it was in its infancy. This world had been burnt to nearly nothing, destroyed as fully as a planet could without simply ceasing to be, and yet it was recovering. Slowly, but surely. It almost felt like there was a lesson in all of this, something to be learned about rebirth. He'd be damned if he was smart enough to figure it out beyond a surface recognition of it, but it certainly felt like there was something here - and even that small revelation was enough to bring a smile to his face.

"It's... rather amazing, if I'm honest."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Zela took them easily through the crowds, pockets of bodies huddled together around merchant stalls and trader tents while others simply milled about. Children wandered around, some even clutching tight to sticks of grilled meat or vegetables, occasionally taking a bite as they wove in and out of the legs of those who were taller. Each face here told mostly the same story, written on their features with a sandswept stylus. Hard edges, tanned skin, smudges of dirt, sand-crusted clothing... a myriad of small details that told the same general tale of harsh lives and dogged survival.

"The signal is still active, yes?"

It was a question directed to KHER, and the droid gave a rather human-looking nod.

It is clear. Perhaps not as strong as when it started, but there is no mistaking it.

"Any identity markers, yet?"

No Ma'am.

"Very well."

A look to Michael, then to Zela.

"We need to hurry."

The other woman nodded, and led the way without fuss, bringing them closer to the great fallen structure.

[Zela]

True to her word, Zela guided them through the Commons. She darted from one side to the other, trying to find the path of least resistance. Mostly it was easy - travelers like her were easy to pick apart from those who chose to live close to Fellspire. There was a strange need in the eyes of the Travelers; as though they were constantly trying to find the horizon through the tents and sandstone buildings. The passing stares she was used to by now, and largely ignored them, knowing that the scarring of her face was more than likely the reason heads turned in her direction.

At first she had been self-conscious, spending months alone with her small tribe out in the deserts, but eventually the need to socialize had become too great, and Zela worked through her aversions to begin showing herself once more in the small hamlets and salvage yards that dotted the barren landscape of Scarif.


Up ahead, a pair of guards leaned against a wall, their conversation slowing as they looked up to see the group of four approaching. One of them detached himself from the-hewn stone.

"Travelers ain't allowed, right now."

Zela would not be deterred; especially since successfully leading the Captain, her red-haired friend, and the strange droid to the Teks meant the medicines would be given to her.

"They're from off-world," she gestured to the three, "... They need to see the Teks."

"Teks don't see nobody."

In the distance, the great blastdoors loomed large, and beyond them was the city proper of Fellspire.

Zela had never been inside, and stories ran wild about what sort of treasures might be hidden away inside.

"The Teks would want to see off-worlders, though," she pressed.

Now the second guard pushed away from the wall, and both brandished their vibropikes; curious weapons that seemed to be constructed from scrap metal and spare parts more than anything.

"Said no, Traveler."

There was a moment of slight helplessness that flashed in her single eye then, and Zela felt her features draw up into a pained expression.

"Please... I -"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

This was getting them nowhere, and s'Il found herself stepping forward. She moved past Zela, and with a dismissive wave to the air, the Lupine gave a small gesture with two figners.

"The Teks will see us," she spoke evenly as her call to the Force around them was answered in kind. The pikes were lowered, and the guards gave up ground to her as she continued to advance.

Confusion could be seen on their faces, as though they could not truly understand why they had just denied the four entry.

"The Teks will see you."

And still she kept her forward pace steady.

"You're sorry for delaying us, yes?"

"Yes Ma'am," still they backed away, until once more they found themselves leaning against the wall, ".. our apologies."

"Very good."

Now she smiled, a genial expression that was turned to her comrades even as she beckoned them all to follow her the rest of the way to the blastdoors.

"Shall we?"

[Michael Cline]

Mike watched it all transpire with interest, he'd seen the act before, of course, Ky, the Sith, others in his crew, he'd even managed to pull it off a time or two before - but the practiced smoothness of it, the confidence she clearly had with her skill. He'd be lying if he didn't admit to a subtle pang of jealousy in his gut. Put into practice his skill in the Force had always leaned internal. Reinforcing and strengthening his body and muscles, using it to coerce others, or to move objects were gifts that even with numerous attempts and practice he had struggled to even manifest.

Not that he'd ever had a proper teacher on those matters. Kyashi had been too busy collecting followers and having fun, and every attempt to self-train had ended in the same frustrations. He faultered for just a half-step before managing to pull himself out of his own head on the issue and following the captain with a nod.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Taking the lead from Zela, s'Il drove forward into the 'city' proper. Fellspire was a vibrant place, and while there was certainly life and activity outside of the walls, inside was an even larger hub of energy and flow. The crowds were thicker, with vendors holding up grillsticks with various meats skewered on them, and others called to the shoppers while holding up fruits and small bags of brightly colored spices. There were handmade items being sold as well, and clothing that looked as though it had been spun from the brightest colors in the galaxy. There was still dirt, but there was also a bit more refinement to be found here. It was loud, it was busy, and it was as though Fellspire was a thriving beacon on a crippled world.

"Ta cha! Ta cha! Kai siu shashu!"

"Omagai! Dao cha kai zho!"

Two voices seemed to rise above the rest, and s'Il turned to look at two Weequay vendors who held up live, wriggling sand eels and armor-covered desert burrow-snails that let out small clicks as they vainly squirmed in the rough hold that held them aloft. The table they stood behind was a veritable bounty of fresh-cut vegetables, and a boiling pot of deep orange-colored broth sat on a portable burner. Another wide bowl sat to the side, full of dried pucks of translucent noodles.

Zela too, had sent her eye to the two, and there was an unmistakable hunger in her gaze as she took in the contents of the stall.

With a look to Zela first, the Lupine turned her attentions to Michael.

"When in Fellspire, yes?"

[Michael Cline]

The fiery-haired young man gave a uncommitted shrug in response to the question, a slight quirk to one eyebrow as he did so. He wasn't going to pass up the opportunity for a meal, let alone one that could be used as a momentary respite from their travels. It would give them time to assess and plan their next movements, and possibly get to know their new friend, Zela a bit better.

"I could eat."

He finally uttered the short sentence in case there had been any language lost in his own relaxed movements. He was starting to pick up small bits of what he thought was the captain's nature. A practiced refinement to much of her language and action. His own tone and style slipped into the casual with frequency - a personality quirk he'd never shaken from his youthful indiscretions. Even if he was sure to address his employers as Mr. Prent and Ms. Sasseeri and even the Captain by her title, he was still the same smart mouthed kid who acted far too personal with the people around him, and he didn't want to risk the confusion that responding with only a non-verbal answer could potentially cause.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

A silent, approving nod, and the Lupine returned her attentions to the two Weequay. Three fingers were held up, and the duo gave enthusiastic nods as they set about the task of preparing three portions for their newest customers.

One of the sand eels was slung down onto a thick cutting board, and a cleaver soon followed to swiftly sever the neck from the rest of the body. What followed was a flurry of butchery skills on full display, as one of the Weequay with an intricately woven topknot of hair decorated with colorful beads and bright ribbon strands, separated the eel into three lengths. He butterflied each piece, folding each one out and pressing it flat before sprinkling on a liberal amount of spices onto the white meat. And then each was placed skin-up on the fiery grill that rested behind the counter.

The other Weequay, a grinning man who moved with practiced and quick motions, filled three bowls with a puck of noodles each, then splashed in portions of flavored oil, bright green akai leaves, a soft-boiled hawkbat egg in each, and crispy fried bread squares. Over all of this was ladled the broth from the steaming pot. And another few handfuls of fresh vegetables were put atop all of it.

Moments later each length of sand eel was carefully slid into each bowl.

"Ocha kato sami," Topknot declared triumphantly.

Keying a chit, s'Il handed the small slip over. It was accepted with a gracious nod, and once three rough-hewn wooden spoons were swiftly pushed into the bowls, Topknot gestured to a nearby table.

"Lalo akimata sua'ba."

A nod of thanks, and s'Il gently picked up her bowl.

"Let us sit," she gently urged.

[Michael Cline]

Mike didn't need any more of an invitation than that and found himself scooping up the bowl of soup? It might have been soup. Whatever it was it smelled absolutely fantastic, and Mike quickly made his way to a seat across from the Captain and next to their guide. He had already taken his first mouthful, warm and full of spice and flavor. Whatever it was, soup or not, it was delicious.

The red-head became all too aware that in his rush to sample the meal he'd perhaps been impolite, he sat the bowl back down with a lopsided and awkward smile and coughed gently into his hand. When it came down to it, even under the tailored suit he'd been dressed in all those cycles ago when he first came under Ms. Sasseeri's employ he was still just a scruffy street thug with a veneer of polish splashed over top.

"It's good." He said in a quiet chuckle, and then promptly silenced himself to let the Captain talk. This was her show after all.

[Zela]

Just as quick as the redhead, Zela had cradled her bowl as though it was the most precious thing on this sand-burned world, and sliding down into a chair, she hovered her face over the lazily rising steam. The aromas were fresh and comforting, and without a second thought she brought a spoonfull of broth and a few of the vegetables up to her mouth. A quick blow, and she tucked in. It was hot, but she was used to having to eat hot food fast, and with a few quick intakes of cool air between her lips, she gave a few swift chews before finally swallowing.

With a nod in agreement to the man's assessment, Zela took another spoonful into her mouth. This time she chewed a little slower, going over in her mind the interaction that had transpired to allow them passage through the great blastdoors that kept Fellspire apart from the surrounding favelas and markets.

"How did you... "

How to even ask that sort of question?

"Did the guards... "

Her spoon gently prodded at the chunk of grilled sand eel resting along the side of her bowl.

"... Are you-" her voice lowered then, so that only those at the table could hear, "... are you a sahju*?"








*Sahju(saw-jhoo) - witch

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her spoon was halfway up when the whispered question came, and s'Il blinked as she let her mismatched gaze shift to Zela. The girl's word was most certainly foreign, but the context she'd spoken it in was enough for the Lupine to ascertain the general meaning.

She smiled in reassurance, and finally took a bite of her food. It was warm, and the flavors wholesome and hearty.

"I am an Alliance Captain," she answered.

Which wasn't really an answer all the same.

[Michael Cline]

Mike had opted to really tuck into the spiced soup, which was filling a void in his stomach that his earlier headache and stress had created by wearing him out. It was best to let them talk among themselves without pushing into the conversation, but found himself nearly choke down his spoon in surprise at how deftly the Captain had negotiated the question.

He gave a little cough, waving off several pairs of concerned eyes before catching his breath and setting his spoon down in his mostly finished bowl, a small amount of broth and vegetable left to cool at the bottom.

Jedi or not, she definitely talked like someone used to steering a conversation around uneasy questions of ability or title - and Mike was reminded of their first meeting. Of the questions that had come up from Mr. Prent in the wake of the situation. How he'd tried to talk around the answer without denying it. It had been a necessary skill in the Empire, and now wondered if it were the same in the Alliance. Yet another question for later between the Captain and himself, as the truth was he didn't know a Force-blessed thing about the Alliance. The Empire pumped out it's propaganda, but he'd always known it was just that. Same bantha piss they spouted about Force adepts.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

A concerned look to Michael, but her attentions were soon enough turned once more to Zela.

"A seemingly flippant answer I know, but it is the truth."

Dipping her spoon once more into her soup, she made sure to take up as much vegetables as she could before bringing it up to her mouth and eagerly partaking of it.

She swallowed, leaned back in her seat, and then sent her gaze to Michael. She couldn't help the easy smile that spread across her features.

"Michael and I... " a gesture to KHER, "... and KHER here, we are only trying to bring hope to Scarif."

[Zela]

An Alliance Captain. A being trying to bring hope.

Zela made a skeptical face as she brought her steaming spoonful of soup up to her lips. She gave a quick blow to cool the broth, then shoved it past her lips.

She relished the taste while at the same time pulling a critical expression. She turned to look at Michael.

"True, yes?"

[Michael Cline]

The soup froze on his lips as he held the spoon there for what was most likely entirely too long a moment as he thought of a clear way to answer that, that also didn't say too much. He set his spoon down and smiled.

"I'll be honest with you, Zela, I haven't known the Captain well for long. We were friends of friends, until recently - but I do believe we're here to help. If that brings some hope back to you and your people? Than I'd say it's true, yes."

Helping. The thought felt heavy on his head and odd on his lips. There's a difference in doing something because it's expected of you, or because it's best for you and doing something for someone else. He hadn't been required to come down to the planet with the Captain, he could have stayed on the ship. After what he experienced when they first arrived, the weight of emotions and nearly losing himself to it, it probably would have been safer, so why had he come. Curiosity? Some nebulous pull toward adventure? Or just because the Captain had asked him, and he felt like it were the right thing to do?

He'd told himself it were in his own self interests, but ever since coming to Scarif he'd known that wasn't true. This was about following the Captain here, about seeing where this led, and after having met Zela and discovering the plight of her and her world, about doing something to better their situation. It had been so long since he'd experienced it he had forgotten what helping someone else actually felt like.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She held back from connecting with him out of respect. Held herself from touching his thoughts and inviting him into her own so that they could commune and ponder - internally - the myriad of reasons that they were on Scarif now.

Instead, s'Il allowed a gentle smile as she sat across from Michael. She took simple pleasure in her meal, and ate in silence.

After a few spoons of broth and noodles, the Lupine looked to the cloudless sky above, giving a small bit of thought to her next words.

"Has anyone you know of been past the walls and into the Spire proper?"

[Zela]

"No one I know of," was the quick answer. And it was the truth. Zela had never known a soul that'd been into the actual old and crumbling spire.

She let her attentions turn once more to the redhead, regarding him with a critical eye even as she ravenously devoured her meal.

The noodles were cooked just so, and she sucked them through her lips with a passion borne of desert desperation. Food didn't usually come this easily out in the wilds of the Scarif wastes, and she wasn't about to let this good fortune go to waste.

"You two are together by chance then," she mumbled out through a particularly large mouthful before swallowing.

"... yes?"

[Michael Cline]

Michael had sat his soup back into the bowl, his appetite had vanished now, the deep thoughts he found himself being drawn into weren't good for his digestion, it appeared. Had it been a chance occurrence? There was so much talk among the Force sensitive about the Will of the Force, about destiny and paths - that even with his limited training and knowledge it had been impossible to entirely avoid. His... brother, Ezra, for lack of a more immediately hateful word, had gone on and on about the Will of the Darkside, of the future of the Sith Order in his ridiculous attempt to win him to his side. Michael had rebuked the stance, laughed at it in both anger and pity - but now, through all of this he was left wondering.

He had gotten on the wrong ship entirely through accident, a ship that just so happened to be the vessel the Captain commanded, on their way to this planet - to these experiences. For the first time in a long time Michael was genuinely left shaken, he let himself open up with the Force, as alien as that feeling had come to be to him. He had always had trouble opening to it, struggled with finer points of it's use. It always felt like a gate he was just behind, occasionally peaking through the cracks of, and catching the conversations that would slip through. He glanced at Captain s'Ilancy with stark uncertainty.

"... I'm not sure I know anymore, to be honest."

[Zela]

She watched him with a strange sense of curiosity, but her attentions were soon enough returned to her meal, and Zela redoubled her attack on her food. It wasn't often that she ate so well - usually it was sand beetles roasted over a sputtering campfire with little to no seasoning. This however was a feast fit for a king of the Scarif Dunes, and she took hearty advantage.

"That's fair," she managed to get around a particularly large spoonful of broth and noodles, "... who knows what the Gods of the Fates decide is best for us all."

Another few hurried bites, and her bowl was nearly empty.

"I'm sure that Scarif isn't where you wanted to be," she continued, "... but maybe you're meant to be here."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

It was an interaction that she took a particular interest in, and slowly taking a few levels from her own bowl, s'Il let her eye travel from Zela to Michael. The woman's invocation of gods was peculiar and rather thought-provoking, but it was the last bit of speculation that arrested her musings fully.

The Force was a living thing, and what it chose to weave into each of their own personal lives was something that wasn't always understood in the immediacy. And for as much as the other woman's words were directed to Michael, they resonated deeply with the elder Lupine equally as much.

Was Michael meant to be here? Was he meant to find himself aboard her ship? A small kernel of a thought was beginning to form in her thoughts in that moment, and she found herself biting her lip in thought. Her brow furrowed, and s'Il let out a long, low breath as her gaze finally swept away to cast over the stalls and merchants that surrounded them.