| abstract | - Personal Barracks - Karrde's Base - Myrkr The barracks for the base's residents are clean and comfortable without being either too austere or too luxurious. Like the other buildings in the complex, the barracks are panelled with dark woods with blue recessed lighting, with approximately one dozen unmarked doors on either side of the corridor. Windows on either end of the building allow cool, piney breezes to flow through during the day, adding to the ambiance. The Players: Orson This stocky human male stands at only about five feet, thick arms, chest and fingers making up somewhat for his diminutive height. Dark hair is kept in a utility-conscious style, clipped short to his round skull - prominent specks of white hair pepper the sides. A too thick brow and angled face help the impression of heaviness about the figure; the face is complete with a broad nose and large square teeth that appear to be just a little crooked when his wry smile reveals them. Small folds of skin around his eyes and mouth indicate more years than his vigorous face would otherwise show. He is wearing neutral gray trousers, made of a thick fabric, only remarkable in that they represent hylomorphic "pants". A simple but heavy jacket, made of similar but darker cloth, hangs on his shoulders. Where it parts in front, a form-fitting white shirt with straight stripes shows itself. Dark boots round out the wardrobe. Despite its simplicity and economy, every garment is clean and well-kept. Even if unassuming, details are important to this man. Drew: Drew is a tall, leggy blonde. You know the type; legs up to her chin, arms down to her ankles, lots and lots of crazy blonde hair. Her bedroom eyes are of a grayish, peridot green, her skin is a peachy tan, and her nose is heavily freckled. The hair is of a honey color, in artfully disheveled waves down to her shoulders. She's past her teens, and probably most of her twenties too, but it's hard to tell with her. She has the kind of body an athlete would have, good shoulders, a narrow waist, and coltish limbs. Her cheeks have a constant blush to them, much like some who live in cold weather; her nose seems to have been broken sometime, it is a tad long and slightly hooked. She wears a standard spacer's outfit. Comfortable brown pants reinforced at the knee with darker leather, tucked into soft ankle boots and a tan, stretchy shirt. If weather and situation call for it, she carries a blaster in a shoulder holster under a dark brown leather jacket. Simon: Before you is a young human male of average height and narrow build. His hair is a deep brown, parted and cut short. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-gray give the man a stern look at a glance. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: aware. Simon is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Strapped diagnolly across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Jessalyn: The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'. She is relatively tall for a human woman, with long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills. Jessa is wrapped in a thin, light green silk robe that falls to her knees, and which conceals the darker green nightgown beneath it. Her hair is even wilder looking than usual, as if she has only just woken up and hasn't had a chance to make any sense of it yet. Her long legs are slender and bare, her feet slippered in green shoes, and her skin is pale and marked only by two high patches of color on her cheeks.
* Creak* Quietly, the door to Jessalyn's room opens, first a few centimeters and then all the way. It's fairly early in the morning, light still rich with color and filtering into the windows of the personal barracks space. And out steps Orson, looking as if he's just pulled an all-nighter, face a little puffy, but otherwise in order and dressed per his normal routine. He's already bent over a datapad at this hour, mulling over the screen's contents. He moves to close Jessalyn's door without looking up, only noticing Simon as he turns. The short man pauses, perfectly still, looking at the Selas. Blank. Surprised. At the sound of the entry, Simon turns from the window to look upon the near-human, his blue eyes sharp yet carrying little of thier usual sternness. He says as he steps away from the window, "Ship captain Orson. You look like the rest of the people buzzing around this place, today. Worn down." Orson remains perfectly still, like a prey animal that's caught in the sights of some significant predator. "Hello," he offers, hand still on the door controls. "Yes, yes. I'm a bit worn down. Tired ... but a good tired." He hasn't moved at all. The mechanic puts on a mostly unconvincing smile, playing it down. Perhaps the Selas has forgotten which room was Jessalyn's. That would be good. Or perhaps he doesn't mind. In either case, it gives Orson just enough confidence to take a step. "You, on the other hand. You seem well. Everything okay?" At the sound of voices in the hallway, the door to Jessalyn's room once more opens, and she removes any doubt that it is indeed her room by emerging just behind Orson, in a state of dishevel, and wearing a green bedrobe. "Oh, hello," she greets with a sunny smile, obviously directed more at Simon since she had only just seen Orson, but then she holds her hand out to the slight man. "You forgot some of these data disks. Could you return them to Declan for me?" The small smile on Simon's lips spreads into a wide grin in answer to Orson's question, and he says, nodding his head, "I feel better than I have felt in a long time. A very long time." At Jessalyn's appearance, Simon turns and nods to the Jedi. He had been hoping to meet the woman in her room alone, but he had had no real plans other than to greet the woman. Orson's appearance shouldn't detract from that. Turning back to Orson, the Selas says, "Gaining a new purpose can give a man strength, Captain Orson. Things do not look pleasant now, but in time, Talon Karrde's people will be stronger for this." Speaking of Karrde's people, another one makes an appeareance. A woman with a blonde mop of hair steps into the hallway. Drew carries a briefcase in one hand, and a small computer under her arm. As if afraid to interrupt, she just beams the assembled group a thin smile in greeting, as she opens the door to her room. Orson is stricken somber, his face gaining a sincerity not there before Simon began speaking. The Selas' had a remarkable way about him, able to focus on important things and able to see into the heart of a circumstance without jumping to conclusions or making assumptions. Perhaps the nagging distrust of Simon that Orson felt was not justified. Humbled, he steps away from Jessalyn's door and to the window, nodding at Simon. "I believe you," he sounds. "And I've seen Karrde recently. His strength of will ... you believe he's gained a new purpose?" Orson pauses before his next question, just a moment, and it comes out awkward. "And you? You've gained a new purpose too?" He cuts his eyes to the leggy blonde and smiles, waving her over. Ever since Simon had told her he had decided not to turn himself over to the Emperor after all, a sense of relief had come over Jessalyn as well. She doesn't seem surprised at his lack of a reaction to the awkward situation, instead she smiles knowingly as she closes the door and steps more fully into the passageway, folding her arms. "I know Simon does," she muses, before glancing down to see Drew emerging from her own room, at the same time a squat servant droid enters the barracks, bearing the trays of food for the residents' breakfast. "Good morning, Drew. Don't let that droid get away before I get one of those pastries..." and the redhead starts down the hall towards them. Simon raises a hand in protest as Jessalyn moves off down the hall after the droid, but then lets it drop limply to his side. He shakes his head, then turns his attention back to Orson and Drew, giving them each a level, clear look. He says, his eyes settling on Drew, "It is good to see you well, Drew." He almost stumbles on her name again. He still did not have a surname or title to add to it. "You should teach Captain Orson to take time to rest when he needs it. "As for Talon Karrde," Simon continues, directing his gaze back to Orson. "He has learned that you can not play the game without winning or losing, eventually. Now he is playing to win." Drew's only acknowledgement of Orson's wave is a hasty one in return, that looks more like a 'Wait a second' wave than a greeting. She holds the door open with her foot, while tossing her briefcase on the bed and then slipping the small computer on her desk. Hrming to herself, she looks at the contents of her room blearily, and at the bed with a particularly longing look. Yes, she's been having strange hours lately. Her booted foot releases the door, and she lets her eyes drift to the group around Jessalyn's door, then the droid. She's tempted to raise her fingers to her lips and whistle at the servant droid to stop, but there might be people sleeping, so, she takes a few long strides and stands in its way. "Hey," she says vaguely. To her associate and the Jedi, or the droid, who knows. Orson sticks out his chin, lips pursed, with his jaw set. "Good," he murmurs. Of course, that's at the heart of the matter for Orson. Good. Not in some abstract sense, but in a way that touched each of the people in this room in a real sense. He couldn't call it idealism, but there was a principle to it. Even if it has cost him a long-term relationship with the organization and has deeply damaged his relationship with Karrde. It was worth all of that. "I'm glad to see you're well too," he adds to Simon, swiping at the air in front of him to indicate the Selas. "We've all been through a lot." The mechanic slides his datapad away, tucking it in his jacket and taking a step backwards from the group. Edging toward the exit. Crossing his arms over his chest. Suddenly feeling like he doesn't belong with these people. Coming upon the droid which Drew has so kindly stalled, Jessalyn picks up a plump, cream-filled pastry from the top of the platter, takes a big bite that that has the effect of covering her mouth with powdery white sugar. "How are you doing, Drew?" she asks the other woman after swallowing the mouthful. Then she eyes Orson as he seems to be making his exit, and offers him a puzzled look. Simon starts to take a step after Drew in Jessalyn's direction, then notices Orson beginning to creep away. He turns fully in the other fellows direction then and says, "Captain Orson. You are not getting called off to do more work at this early hour, are you? I would have a word with you, if you have time." Simon pauses for a breath, but doesn't wait for the other man to respond. He says, "I... Jessalyn and Mira and I... will need to leave Talon Karrde's group soon. We will need a good pilot that we can trust." He gets right up to the question, but leaves it unspoken, though the look in his eye is a questioning one. Drew scratches the side of her nose, looking down at the pastry tray as if in debate. She then looks up at Jessalyn and smiles, "Tired, but well. And you?" She glances at the Selas and nods to him, "Hello, Simon." Grrr, to all you rested people. She rubs her eyes now, as she walks past the pastry-eating Jessalyn to follow Orson. She needs words with him too. "Um..." she stops when Simon speaks, then stands back. Maybe it can wait. Her eyes travel from Orson, to her very tempting-looking room... "No," Orson replies to Simon, with a shrug, cutting a distinct glance to each person in the room. "I just remembered something." He stops in his tracks and listens. "Very well," the mechanic indicates. "We haven't gotten in any trouble lately. Perhaps I can help. Where would you like to go?" The short man now looks past Simon to Jessalyn. She's leaving too? He'll be left with Karrde and Declan. His eyes cut once more and land on Drew. Ah! Redemption. It's enough to make him smile, wide, in spite of the crazy things in his head. He repeats himself to Simon, and seems more sure this time. "Yes, we're happy to take you." "I'm doing well," Jessa replies to Drew, before taking another bite and then scavenging around on the server droid's tray for a napkin. Simon's sudden invitation to Orson makes her lift her head, eyes brightening, and she quietly nods her approval as she looks at the mechanic expectantly. "I think we'll make a great team. I would have said that we should go to Tatooine, but now...." Drew gives Orson one of those.../looks/. The kind that demand attention. The 'I need to talk to you later' kind. She beams both Jedi a weak smile, then lets her eyes stray back to the food tray. Maybe food would be good; she's got a feeling it will be a while longer before she can sleep. While stepping toward the droid, she says quietly, "Those pastries any good?" The Selas draws in a sharp breath at the mention of Tatooine. He had been in Karrde's study when the smuggler chief had shown him the pictures of the carnage. The True Source could have been with them, and they still would have been destroyed in the destruction that was wrought there. "We'll need to go some place the Empire will not expect. Some place where we can be effective in striking back," Simon says, confidently. It doesn't even occur to him how cocky it makes him sound. From the look in his eye, he is serious, though. Orson stuffs his hands in his pockets, nodding at this. As if he's been told it's going to rain in a few days, or supper will be served in the east room today. "That leaves us quite a few options," he replies seriously. "We've got several sorts of databases and a great atlas in the main building. I think Jessalyn might have a few ideas too." With that deft redirection of attention to the jedi, he takes a step backwards. "I've got some things to take care of," he explains, with a careful look at Drew. A 'I'll be in my spot' look. He nears the door and hits the controls, admitting some moist morning Myrkr air. "I had one of these pastries yesterday, they were so good," Jessalyn says under her breath to Drew. "I'm going to gain three kilos if I don't stop eating them." Arching a curious brow at Orson, Jessalyn shrugs, already going through a mental list in her head of possible hiding places. "See you later, Orson," the redhead calls as he departs, then she steps away from the droid and back down the hall, stopping alongside Simon and smiling up at him. Drew looks back at Orson, mouth filled with pastry. She nods to him, emphatically, then swallows. The emphatic nod continues when she looks at Jessalyn and at last swallows her first pastry bite. Her hand holding it waves up and down too in agreement. "Good," she says with another one of her weak smiles. There's obviously something on Drew's mind, and it has something to do with Orson. And the Jedi. She wipes the powdered sugar away from her mouth then says to Orson, even if her eyes are back at her door, "See you later." Waiving his non-verbal goodbyes to Orson, Simon turns his face into the pine scented gust of Myrkr air as Orson opens the door. He breaths it in deeply before returning Jessalyn's smile. He says, "You... have a bit of powder on your cheek." Turning his amused expression once more toward Drew, he says, "Will you be traveling with Captain Orson when we depart?" Stuffing what's left of the pastry in her mouth, Jessalyn gives Simon a guilty look as she swallows it down, and dabs at her mouth with the napkin. Something tells her that Drew would be more comfortable not having to answer that question right now, and she gives the other woman a sympathetic smile. "We can discuss all this later, hmm?" Looking toward the door to her room, she nudges Simon gently in the ribs with her elbow. "You have to see what I made last night." Drew beams Jessalyn a smile in return... the real, wide one that never needed much prompting, before. She's thankful for the sympathy, but if there is one thing she owes Simon, is an honest answer. She says quietly, "I don't know, Simon." Her hand stretches out to open the door to her room again, while she takes another bite of her pastry. Simon twists awkardly where Jessalyn elbows him before taking two staggering steps in the direction of her room. He lets out a soft grunt, followed by a light laugh. He stops and blinks at that for a moment; he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually laughed. He then turns and gives Drew a look as she answers his question, and his expression becomes more serious. "May you find the True Source, whichever way you may go, then," he says, his tone becoming serious once more. He then turns a more jovial expression back to Jessalyn and asks, "What is it? What?" "Orson was kind enough to bring me some tools that I needed," Jessalyn starts to explain, then blurts out, "it's a new lightsaber. I haven't tried to light the thing yet, but it's finished." She hits the control pad to her door, glancing back down the hallway at Drew, her brows lifted in silent invitation should she be curious enough to want to look, too. The door swiftly opens and the redhead darts inside. Drew just smiles at Jessalyn and Simon, then steps through the door into her room. She won't have to think about anything for a while. That is, until she wakes up. D'oh. A new lightsaber. The potential possibilities that opened up having Mira and Jessalyn both armed properly puts a quickness into Simon's step. Side-stepping before entering into Jessalyn's room properly, he takes a few hurried steps over toward the window where he'd been standing and grabs his wooden staff where it'd been leaning in the corner, the intracate carved rose prominent on it's vertical end. He darts back into Jessalyn's room then and says, "How did you do it? The True Source... I did not think it was possible without the True Source." The silver cylinder is resting on top of the desk, the tools and component parts all neatly put away now. Jessalyn walks over to it and picks it up, turning it over in her hands. The design was a bit more slender than her old one, a sleek design with the laser disc protruding from the end. "Well, I was lucky. The bubble disappeared long enough during the night that I took advantage of it. That's why I was up all night." She turns her head to look at Simon. Grounding his staff in front of him, Simon stands a safe distance away from Jessalyn. At least, he assumed it was safe. This was one of those few times where he could allow himself to miss the strength and sureness that the True Source afforded without feeling regret. He was good with the staff without the True Source, but with it he was better. With it, he felt unstoppable, which was where the greatest danger lay. "Well," Simon says, forcing his distracting line of thought away by focusing his attention on the Jedi's weapon. "Let's see it." Extending her arm, Jessalyn chews on her bottom lip, not quite so nervous as that time back on Tatooine when she'd first lit a lightsaber she built. She can almost see it, the pride in Luke's eyes as he stood by her in the old adobe home of Obi-wan Kenobi, the scent of the clean, desert winds that scoured the outer walls, the way her hands trembled when she first hit the switch. This time her hands are steady, and when she touches the button, a familiar blue-green blade extends brightly from the hilt. Jessalyn smiles with relief, feeling the Force flow through her and into the new weapon, an extended part of herself. The light of the lightsaber fills Simon's eyes, and a soft sigh escapes his lips. It's at that point that Simon notices the familiar feel of the True Source once more flowing through him as the suppression field shifts. A grim smile spreads across Simon's lips, and almost without thinking, he hefts the wooden staff into an en garde position. The True Source runs through him, through his hands and into the rich wood. Slowly, it begins to glow a light of its own. "Let us see what your weapon can do," he says. His smile becomes less grim and he continues, "That is, if you can control it well enough not to destroy this room." Jessa hesitates a moment, but a smile crosses her face, the feeling of completion pulsing through her as the Force strengthens around them. She can't help but be aware of Simon more thoroughly, sensing his living, breathing presence and the ripples he causes in the Force between them. She has an urge to touch his mind in a warm greeting, but stops herself in time as she adopts a defensive posture. "You think I can't control this thing? I'll teach you a thing or two," she teases as she takes a step forwrd. "So you may," Simon taunts back lightly. His expression suggests that he finds that possibility extremely doubtful, just before his face goes coolly emotionless. He takes a step forward to meet Jessalyn in the center of the room, his glowing wooden staff held in menacingly in front of him. Before Jessalyn is close enough to take a swing at him, he sets his weapon to spin in his hands a moment, the energized wood whistling through the air. A crackling sound cuts through air with its passing, signifying the wooden weapons heightened lethality. Jessalyn has to pause to admire his skill with the impressive weapon, aware that her own lightsaber will go flowing if the blade makes contact with the spinning staff. She tightens her grip on the hilt of her saber, taking a couple of careful sidesteps, trying to circle him. "That thing looks pretty dangerous," she concedes, eyeing him curiously. The Selas turns with Jessalyn so as not to give her an open flank, and stops his weapon's spinning. It slaps loudly into the palm of his right hand, and then he shifts it once more into the more standard en garde position he'd first shown. He says, "I cut it from a tree not far from here. It has been a good walking stick, so far." "How do you energize it?" the redhead asks, her technical curiosity getting the better of her, even as her eyes take on a distant quality, tapping into the sudden flow of the Force as she relies on it to guide her actions. In an almost ritual dance, Jessalyn continues to circle him, then swings the blade toward him to demonstrate basic lightsaber maneuvers, barely touching Simon's glowing staff when it connects. The True Source connected Simon to his sparring partner as much as it connnected him to the length of wood in his hand. Strength flowed into his muscles, as well as heightened instincts. Moving fluidly, Simon takes a longer step in the circle that he and Jessa were moving in, dropping himself lower bodily as he moves his staff to meet her strike with the length of wood between his hands. Unlike a normal wooden staff, the glowing stick in Simon's hands remains in one piece, keeping the Jedi's energy weapon at bay. A crackling sound of energy is emitted from the collision. Simon takes another step away from Jessalyn, then returns his staff to a defensive posture. "The True Source," Simon says, simply. "Nothing is as powerful as the All-Mother from which we all are born, to which we all return in death." A slight smiles curves Jessalyn's lips; there was something noble in the deceptively primitive weapon in Simon's hands, and she appreciates its simplicity as well as its obvious power, able to withstand even the slash of a lightsaber. Feeling the tentative connection weaving between them, she consciously strengthens it, exhilirated not only by the Force, but by her awareness of Simon through it. Breaking her sword apart, she executes a neat pirouette, describing a brilliant arc as she whirls all the way around to add the full momentum of her body to the next elegant blow. While the staff in Simon's hands was still relatively new, and not smoothed as much as he would want from wear and use, it moves easily in his hands. He shifts it, his arms and hands moving very little, yet causing the tips of the wooden weapon to whip through the air quickly. The buzzing of the staff cutting through the air increases in volume, and the crackling pop as energized staff meets lightsaber is louder than it had been before. The force of Jessalyn's attack is considerable, given the tight quarters they both had to move in. Simon lets his parry bounce the staff in the opposite direction, turning the momentum so as to feint with one tip of his weapon toward Jessa's head, while the true strike comes in low, toward Jessa's torso. A satisfied smile is on his lips as he executes the move. The flame haired woman was certain to block his strike as easily as he'd blocked hers, but it left a clear message that he was ready to step up their sparring match to the next level. Anticipating the move, Jessalyn catches her breath as she deftly brings her lightsaber down for the parry, the staff inches away from her ribcage when she stops its motion. She smiles at him a little warily, uncertain how far he really wants to take it, and aware that one of the Force bubbles could reappear at any time. But meeting his gaze, her wariness turns to a grin, and gritting her teeth, she forcefully pushes him back with the weight of her blade against his staff, then backsteps to brandish the sword in a defensive posture. "You gonna take it easy on me?" she teases lightly, giving him a flirtatious wink. "Take it easy?" Simon says as he steps back. He sets the staff to twirl in front of him in an almost lazy, playful fashion. He stops the momentum of his staff by bouncing it off one of his hands, sending it the other direction. He continues, "I will have to, it seems. You have one edge to strike with, I have two. Which of us must work twice as hard, do you think?" For a moment the young Jedi watches him, letting the mischievous smile spread across her face, green eyes intent as they look back into his blue ones. She licks her lips slowly, also taking a step back, her dark red head tilting to one side. Sensing the challenge in his voice, Jessalyn's pride won't allow her to relent so easily. "I guess there's just one way to find out." Giving a shout of effort as she lunges, she brings the lightsaber back over her shoulder before swinging it forward, aiming for the middle of Simon's head, the blue-green blade humming with energy. It's a straightforward attack, by Simon's reckoning. Jessa's saber was coming hard and fast in an almost vertical chop. Even without the True Source, Simon would have been able to read where the attack was being directed by the alignment of Jessalyn's shoulders. He did have to give her credit for her facial control, however; she had not given her target away with her eyes. Freezing his spinning staff into a guarding position, he moves to block the lightsaber as he had before, with the center section of the staff between his hands. It was an easy guarding motion, and one that he could not utilize with his lightstaff. With his weapon almost completely horizontal, his right hand over his left, he brings it up and to his left, exactly perpendicular to the straight line of Jessa's blade. It's then that the environment shifts, and the True Source no longer flows through Simon Sezirok. A widening of Simon's eyes is the first hint of troubles as his senses slowly begin to collapse inward on themselves. Minor aches and pains that he easily held away from himself through the True Source make themselves known, crashing home as if newly made. The brilliant glow surrounding the rose carved staff flickers and dies, and Jessalyns energy weapon cleanly and easily cleaves through his defenses. Knowing that the strike was coming and sensing the loss of the True Source was all that saved Simon from receiving a fatal wound. Even with that, Simon's feet still get in each other's way as he tries to jump out of the way of Jessalyn's swing. The lightsaber, the traditional weapon of the Jedi Knights for ages come and gone, slices through Simon's flesh as easily as it had the wooden weapon he'd been wielding. The wood of his weapon clatters to the floor as Simon turns in his backwards fall, clutching at his chest with his left hand. He lets out a gasp of air, then lands on his left shoulder and extended right hand. Pain saturates his senses, and he lays there, breathing, but motionless. Even as Jessalyn's arms are completing the downward motion of what she expects to be an easily parried attack, she also senses the sudden loss of the Force, and her eyes widen as she realizes there is no way to stop the blow in time. Perhaps with the Force she may have had enough reflexes to jerk out of the way, but suddenly blinded and disoriented, as well as paralyzed with dread, the saber swipes cleanly down Simon's chest, searing clothing and flesh as he drops quickly out of the way. Horror fills Jessalyn's eyes, and from a great distance she hears the clatter of her lightsaber on the floor as she deactivates and tosses it out of her hands like it was a snake ready to strike. She gasps out, rushing to Simon's side, gentle hands touching his face and his hands as she tries to deduce the extent of his injuries, looking carefully into his eyes and at the angry red burn marking his chest. Unable to even call upon the Force to ease the pain he is enduring, she blinks back tears. "Simon, oh Simon... I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry. How could I have been so stupid...? Oh, Simon...." Pain swelled with each breath, and Simon's heart pounded loudly in his ears. Dizziness, nausea, and a growing headache also were a part of his being, the discomforts crowding themselves into each moment, vying for dominance over the others. The burning gash was little more than a minor flesh wound, but with the sudden loss of the True Source, the feelings were exaggarated and intensified. More painful than the physical, however, was the sound of Jessalyn's anguished voice in his ear. Turning his eyes to meet Jessalyn's, Simon grits his teeth. He was on his back now, partially upright, partially supporting his weight while Jessalyn held the rest. He couldn't remember if it had been he or Jessalyn that had turned him over. Concentrating on making his voice calm and regulated, he says, "No no... Jessa. It is not that bad. My clumsy feet are to blame, not you." He forces a weak smile onto his lips in an effort to prove his words true. Jessa carefully supports some of Simon's weight, then gently leans him down so that he is prone on the cold barracks floor. "Hold still," she says in a shaky voice once he is in a safe position, then she quickly stands and rushes to a small table nearby, reaching around until she comes in contact with a rectangular metal box. She clumsily grabs it and returns to Simon's side, prying off the lid before fumbling through its contents. At last she finds the items she is looking for, and she carefully brings Simon's head into her lap as she kneels down, gently caressing his forehead before opening his shirt and applying a cool, moist cloth to the wound. When she's satisfied that the area is clean, she opens up a tube of anesthetic cream and smears a generous amount of it over the burn, hoping that the pain-killing properties will kick in sooner than later. She whispers nervously as she works, shaking her head in plain disgust with herself. "That's nonsense, I should have known better than to risk such a thing in these conditions. Oh, Simon. You're hurting. What can I do?" Her hair is brighter than ever in contrast to her ashen cheeks, her eyes like green, watery gems as the tears gather and fall from them. Being the type of person that Simon was meant that he had very little exposure to common medications, and the ointment is almost instantly effective. The intense, screaming pain in his chest subsides to a dull roar. Even the nausea and headache becomes less as the pain that had been the primary causes is drawn away, bit by bit. While Jessalyn works what feels like healing magic into his wound, his eyes remain locked on the woman's face. There was no cream or treatment for her to pull out of the little kit that was going to be able to do anything for the ache in his heart from seeing her fret this way. "That feels better," Simon says, lightly touching his chest near the cut. His other hand he raises to lightly caress Jessalyn's cheek as he says, "It will be okay, Jessa. Please do not blame yourself for this." Jessalyn gives him a look even as she turns her cheek into the caress, as if what he's proposing is the most ludicrous thing she's ever heard. But seeing the tension leave his face as the pain subsides, she relaxes somewhat as she begins to apply a clean bandage to his chest. Thank the Force he had been able to move out of the way, otherwise it would have been more than just Simon's wooden staff that was cleaved in two. She glances over at the broken end with the beautiful rose carving, where it rolled away near the wall. Once more she feels that she's causing more harm than good no matter her intentions. "I ruined your beautiful staff," she murmurs sadly. "I hurt you. Gods, I'm so glad you're all right." She dips her head near his, her tear-streaked skin brushing his face before she tenderly kisses his cheek. The staff. Simon turns his eyes toward the same piece of staff that Jessalyn had looked toward. He takes a deep breath, then regrets it. The ointment was dulling the pain, but not with sudden or deep movements. He winces, then quickly smooths expression in hopes of hiding his reaction. "I will make another," Simon says, quietly. "The tree I cut that one from still grows, not far from here. I will find another tree, and I will carve your flowers into the wood again. I will be as good as new, and so will my staff." Looking into the medkit open on the floor beside her, Jessalyn finds a vial of liquid, and pours its contents into a tiny cup. Bringing it to his lips, she murmurs, "Here, drink this. It will help the pain, though it might make you a little woozy. Maybe we can find out if there's a medic or doctor on base." Her voice is soft soothing as she gazes down on him with soft, worried eyes. "You'll be okay. Simon, I was so scared..." Her voice trails off, revealing too much emotion for her to continue. The fluid in the cup gets close to his lips, and then the strong scent of it fills his nostrils, and he makes a terribly sour face. Before he can put forth a real protest, the thick, strong substance was in his mouth, tasting every bit as terrible as he'd feared from the smell. He swallows, and then gives Jessalyn a look, his face pitiful. "Perhaps... I could just... rest here on your bed for a while." A pleading look enters his eyes. "Of course," Jessalyn replies quietly, slowly getting to her knees, and doing her best to help Simon stand, as well. She carefully guides him over to the bunk and makes him lay down, adjusting the pillow under his head so that he'll be as comfortable as possible. Bending over, she smooths the hair back from his forehead, brows knitted with worry. "Stay here and rest as long as you need, and if you feel any worse, tell me and I'll go get help. All right?" she insists. Keeping his groans and complaints to a minimum, Simon gratefully lets Jessalyn get him onto the bed, just before the room begins to spin slowly. It's not a perfect spin, of course; it totters slightly left and right as it turns. Jessalyn herself didn't appear to be affected by the rooms sudden motion. When she stood upright and spoke, she seemed to have moved to the other side of the room with remarkable speed. Simon blinks. Whatever it was that he'd drank, it seemed that his lack of tolerance for drugs was making its effects exagerated, as well. "All right," Simon answers. His normal, slurring accent is completely covered by a different sort of slurring. Simon frowns, then closes his eyes. The spinning was starting to make the nausea return. Frowning helplessly, Jessalyn keeps vigilant watch over Simon for a few more moments, aware of the effect the painkillers are having on him, and hoping she hadn't measured out too large a dose for the tall Selas. As she frets, fingers brushing his hair and cheeks, she suddenly senses another shift in the Force around them, and immediately she threads the connection between her and Simon once more. Her hand rests lightly on his chest, next to the bandage, as her eyes close, and she focuses her energies on re-establishing his equilibrium, trying to drain the worst of the pain out of him and into herself, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she inhales a soft gasp.
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