| abstract | - His brief jaunt out to find aid has left Simon in a somber mood. Sitting on his feet on the other bed occupying the room, Simon has his arms wrapped around his knees, such that he's poised on the balls of his feet. His breathing is shallow, nearly as shallow as the flame haired woman that has his undivided attention. Blinking almost not at all, he stands his watch, waiting for what is to come. The shadows themselves seem to fold about him, an extension of his darkened mood. Down in the lobby of the hospital, a single figure slips into the building from the street. She walks slowly, appearing to focus on a small wooden object in her hand. As she makes her way further into the building towards the turbolift, a nurse manning the front desk rises and trots after the robed figure. But Mira, seeming to almost sense her presence approaching from behind, stops and turns around, pushes the hood of her cloak back to reveal her face, and gives the nurse a long, hard look. The woman, the same nurse who had been in the lobby the day that Simon had brought Jessalyn to this place, slows her pursuit before finally waving the girl on. "They're on the fourth floor," she says, not wanting to upset the girl, lest Bazil come and raise a riot. Mira then turns and makes her way towards the turbolift, ignoring the strange glances cast her way. Her attention is again on the small wooden object in her hands. The girl reaches the turbolifts but, rather than boarding one of them, she turns and enters the staircase, slowly making her way up the four flights of stairs. Her time with Simon had made her wary of using technology when there was an alternative. After all, what if the turbolift got stuck? Then where would she be? Mira exits the staircase and plods down the hall to the room where Simon is, despite the fact that the nurse had only given her a floor and no room number. She pushes open the door to Jessalyn's room and peeks inside. "Simon?" she asks tentatively. "I did something. I got something for you." Drawing in a deep breath, Simon shifts his weight, letting his butt drop to the mattress and then bouncing up to his feet. His eyes remain on Jessalyn's sleeping form as he speaks to Mira in a crisp, yet not unpleasant tone. "What did you do, Mira? What do you have?" In the span of a hearbeat, the shadowy darkness that had been wrapped about him like a cloak falls away, and Simon seems more like he had been.'. Encouraged by Simon's tone, Mira steps into the hospital room, again reaching up to push the hood back from her face, this time so she could see in the dim lighting of the room. "This," Mira says, offering the small wooden object to Simon. "You said you needed something from the Sith. I took it from Luke. It's dark." Thus far, dark was the impression she had gotten from her encounters with the Butcher and the Huntress. Dark was the impression she got from the box. It was the only thing she could find among Luke's things that gave her that impression, so it was this that she had brought to Simon. Perhaps this would help to mend the rift she had caused between herself and her friend. Slowly waking from a amazingly deep sleep, Lehec begins to rub his sleepy eyes. "How did I fall asleep?" He asks noone in particular. All he remembers is one minute standing gaurd outside the doorway and the next he was on the floor just waking up. Standing even slower, considering his legs didn't seem to have the same urgency to wake as the rest of him, Lehec checks for his Blaster. "Good. Still got it." Lehec mumbles to himself. Turning into Jessalyn's room he is astonished to see Mira and a weary, gloomy looking Simon standing near Jessalyn. What was that that Simon was holding? A wood box? For a moment, Simon's eyes widen as he looks at Mira. Whether it be paranoia or a vision, the girl before his eyes is bathed in blood, with a hissing viper clutched in her hands. The gore on the creature's fangs is Mira's blood, Simon is certain. As quickly as it had come upon him, it disappears, but the emotions the vision had brought up linger. Without offering explanation, Simon steps forward quickly and seizes the box away from Mira before it can do her harm. It's then that he notices the newly awakened guard, just outside the door. He might complicate things. Perhaps. For a moment, Simon holds the box in his hands, letting the True Source flow through him, stretching out with his feelings. There was something... familiar... about the box. It looked like it could possibly be a child's toy, yet it was like nothing Simon had ever seen before. Finally looking into Mira's eyes, Simon's lips spread into a slow, hesitant smile. He could almost still see the blood framing her cheeks. "I'm... sorry. You have done well, Mira. This is... significant. You've done very well." Mira stumbles back a few steps as Simon grabs the box from her, as if he himself had bitten her. Retreating almost to the door, Mira peers at Simon like a wounded animal. What had Cort taught him to poison the friend she once knew? For while it was her who started him down the path, it was the Butcher that had been his leader down it, just as he had once led her down the path of the True Source. And then Simon's demeanor seems to change. He smiles. Apprehensively, Mira steps forward again, tilting her head to one side. For while a smile rested on Simon's features, it was eerily not echoed in what she could sense from the True Source. It was as if he were wearing a mask. And yet, he seemed to appreciate the gift. A hesitant smile appears on her face. "Yeah? You like it?" she peeps. Lehec stands transfixed in his new spot by the door. Something feels wierd in this room. He can see the fear and worry on both faces, but he can't seem to understand the reasoning behind it. Whatever the cause he knows that something big is going to happen rather soon and for some reason he is beginning to trust these shadowy people.."what is happening to me" Lehec thinks to himself. Actually, no, Simon didn't like this particular piece of work at all. The touch of the smooth tiles, small caricatures, letters and designs that made up the surface of the box made Simon's skin crawl. Holding it delicately, making sure his fingers didn't shift any of the moveable squares, he handles the puzzle box slightly away from his body. The feeling of familiarity still held to the device. "You have done very well," Simon says again. A non-commital answer, he was becoming more and more like Cort everyday. The thought no longer rankled like it used to. He turns his eyes toward the door again and says to the guard, "Come inside, or go away. Do one or the other." He turns back to Mira again and says, "How did you come by this? Do you know what this is?" Lehec steps slowly into the room, while attempoting not to make a sound. He stands just inside and next to the door waiting and listening to whats happening Mira steps further into the room, away from the door. A glance is cast behind her at the guard who she had passed in the hall. Something must have woken him up. "I took it from Luke," Mira replies, her tone proud. Yet even as she speaks, the guilt she had been ignoring since taking the piece from Luke wells up inside of her. The girl falls quiet, struggling with what she had done. It did seem to be making things better between her and Simon, and maybe that was worth the sacrifice. "Do you know what to do with it now?" she asks. Simon glances back at the box in his hands, and a fragment of the vision resurfaces. His hands are crimson with blood, Mira's blood. Perhaps others. The imagery is no convincing he nearly drops the puzzle box, not only from the shock of it, but from the feeling of slippery wetness on his hands. He shakes his head, to clear himself of the horror and dread. When he looks back at the box, he finds himself fighting an impulse to manipulate the tiny pieces covering the surface. For a moment, the way of working the puzzle box is at the edge of his awareness, like a word on the tip of one's tongue. He looks back at Mira and says, "Yes. Yes, I think I might know, now." Pausing, he gives the room a dissatisfied glance, then says, "This is not the place to do this. Come." Addressing both Mira and Lehec, he says, "Help me to move her. We must take her some place free of these dreaded machines. Perhaps to the water." A shudder runs up Mira's spine, but the exact reason for her sudden apprehension is unknown to her. Perhaps it was because she didn't want Luke to know what she had done. Or perhaps it was Simon's bloody vision. The girl was, herself, unaware of what had caused the tremor. But Mira shrugs off the feeling of dread and nods, pushing aside the shadows flickering across Simon's presence in an effort to believe that he was happy with her once again. Mira scrambles over to the machines that supply life to Jessalyn, unceremoniously yanking the plugs out of the wall. A few beeps eminate from the machines before their power source is severed and they go dark and quiet. "There's a beach not far from here," the native Corellian suggests. Lehec moves to the head of the bed. "Shall we being moving her now? I'm guessing that some gaurds might show up soon. We should try to hurry but also be as quite as possible." Lehec suggests. Why is he helping these people? Shouldn't he stop them? What is going on within him? Why is compelled to help? As he steps toward the foot of the bed, Simon extends his right hand toward one corner of the room, and his staff leaps to his hand like a well trained hawk fluttering to its trainer. He slides the cube within the folds of his cloak, then says, "Yes, the beach. And we shall be moving her now. All is coming together, Mira. Noble warrior. There is something in the air. The True Source is with us this night." As Simon reaches to help pick up Jessalyn, he looks toward his two companions, and his stomach twinges with what he sees. Yes, there was something in the air. __________________________________________________________________ Gold Beaches - Coronet City The crash of the surf here is not so loud as the engines of the Port, but they carry the same strength and promise of power, more magestic than any artificial energy. The deep blue of the water is complimented royally by bright gold sand beaches, stretching north-south of the City. It is a fine sand, glittering underfoot, and residents of the city as well as visitors relax in its warmth. The occasional CorSec officer patrols here, for the safety of the public. __________________________________________________________________ Mira, having unplugged the machines and freed Jessalyn as best she could from the tubes and cords that the hospital workers had attached to her, leads Simon and the guard out into the hall and towards the staircase. Though they pass several hospital workers, no one seems to pay the girl or her companions any attention as she makes her way towards the exit. The girl could feel Simon manipulating the True Source around him, though she did not have the experience to use it like that herself. Instead, she simply concentrates on Simon, studying what he is doing with the source. A passing glance is given to her as she passes by the nurse at the front desk, but the woman makes no move to apprehend or stop her from leaving. In fact, she looks almost relieved. Exiting the hospital into the noisy streets, Mira continues to lead Simon, carrying Jessalyn, and Lehac. She makes her way past a few blocks full of stores and carts. The more she walks, the more the air seems to smell of salt, and the more the stores seem to have pictures of fish hanging in teh window. Finally, coming over a small hill, the ocean spreads out before them. "Down there, I think," she says, pointing down at the sandy beach. "Will that do," she asks, glancing back towards Simon. It doesn't have the dramatic walls of water and angry surf that might be found in some of the Galaxy's fiercer oceans, but it's a good day for waves, and an older man, very far out in the water, seems to feel that fact in every centimeter of his short body. He is atop a smooth-shaped repulsor board, cutting troughs in waves with a slow grace that suggests he might have done this a lot as a youth. He catches a particularly large wave and crouches, gripping the side of his repulsor board and banking with it as a unit, darting out of a disintegrating wave with a sudden burst of speed. Moments later, he is sliding off of the board; Orson trudges through the shore surf, approaching the beach wearing a pensive, exhausted, look. Noticing the man walk through the surf, Lehec once again reaches for his Blaster, this seems to be a habit of his. "We have company. Doesnt look harmful but what would you like me to do about it?" He asks Simon. Raising the rifle to his shoulder preparing to fire if nessecary. This is a major breach of New Republic rules...to murder another and yet he was willing just for a few people he met only a few days ago. Something didn't seem right, yet somehow it did. The troupe reaches an arbitrary point some place halfway between the surf and the city when Simon directs them to put the unconcious woman down. Stepping away from Jessalyn's body, Simon tosses his staff off to one side and turns to face the majestic waters of Corellia, his arms outstretched, palms toward the sky. The feeling of something in the air was catching him up into something, and his skin ablaze. The cool, ocean breeze was refreshing. The impulse to manipulate the puzzle box was becoming stronger. It seemed to him that soon, if he didn't simply give in to the impulse, he would be pulled along like a puppet on a string. Reaching into the folds of his cloak, he decides not to wait for the inevitable, but embrace it. As his fingers begin to slide the pieces across the surface of the puzzle, he turns his back to the waters and directs his blue-eyed gaze toward Jessalyn's form. Lehec's words reach his ears, and he says, quietly, "No. Lower your weapon. No life must be lost here. It starts soon." A gust of wind picks up, swirling sand around the group. A low, gutteral sound begins to eminate from deep within Simon's throat. Carefully, he keeps his attention fixed on Jessalyn. Lehec lowers his weapon down to his side. What is Simon talking about? What will start soon? Is this what he has felt himself compelled towards his whole life? Mira takes a seat quietly on the sand, watching quietly what Simon was doing. She could feel the True Source building up around them, almost like a storm was brewing. Trying to remain calm, the girl only focuses on stretching out with her learned senses, concentrating on the movement of the silent power. Orson exits the surf backwards, pulling the powered-down and, consequently much heavier, repulsor board up onto the sand. His great chest expands as he hangs on to that last bit of adrenaline ambrosia: purely a meditative thing, his wave riding is less sport than art, more mind than body. But he's back on the land, and both normal gravity as well as the daily concerns of a busy man come pressing back with awful strength. The whirl of sand attracts his attention. Orson starts toward the group, alert but not expecting danger; if anything, to see what was wrong. He works a hidden seam at his throat, peeling the first few centimeters of his wetsuit away from his neck, closing the distance. The wind that had begun blowing with Simon's manipulation of the puzzle box increases, and the sounds of the waves crashing against the beach becomes louder as the waters start to crash with greater intensity. Fortunate for the surfer that he should come in before his ride became something terrifying. A storm in truth, a storm in the spirit, Simon and Jessalyn make up the eye of the swirling maelstrom, with Lehec and Mira on the very edge of danger, Orson moving closer to it. The moment stretches out slowly, the energy picking up, the very air feeling charged. A palpatible tension lies between Simon and the sleeping woman, following along the man's gaze. Slowly, ever so slowly, Simon's head turns, and his blue eyes find Mira's form. His hands rise, bringing the puzzle box to bear. To Simon, the box is once more the snake he'd seen in his vision. It leaps from his hands, striking with cunning speed toward the smaller girl. To everyone else, nothing leaves the man's hands or strikes Mira. Yet just the same, a harrowing scream is ripped from her throat, and an unnatural darkness consumes her. Her hollow form collapses on the sand near Jessalyn, her eyes looking on sightless. Simon's head is thrown back and he howls. Orson continues walking, bare feet squeaking as they sink into the gold sand. Those feet slow when their owner considers the growing storm in front of him, but it seems like there's a person hurt there, and well, today he's the type of person that looks into things like that. Soon, it's evident that this is no mere strong wind, and Orson all but comes to a standstill, lifting an arm to ward off the grit. Mostly mortified, the scream resonates something in him and he starts forward again. "What's happening?" He calls, not so far away, but surprised to hear his own voice sound so distant. Simon's lungs empty, and his scream stops. His head falls forward, his eyes instinctively, naturally, drawn back toward Jessalyn. She seemed to slumber so peacefully. Soon, Mira would look much the same. Mira, the one that had been his student, the one that had betrayed him to the Jedi. Was it justice that she should be the first to fall in his endeavor to awaken the sleeper? Jessalyn was still asleep, her spirit still trapped. Anger fills Simon. Anger for what he'd done to Mira, anger for what he was willing to do to wake this Jessalyn. His head snaps to his left, his eyes latching onto Lehec. Energy coealesces around the Simon's hands and the puzzle box, then leaps out to strike the marine in the chest. The weapon in the man's hand falls to the sand as he is picked bodily up off the ground. He screams much as Mira had, yet he does not fall as the girl had. Of course, he wouldn't. He was not cursed as Mira was, as Simon was, as Jessalyn was. He would never have to suffer the burden of the True Source, what this tainted world called the Force. His attention shifts to the approaching stranger, and an tenticle of energy whips from Simon's hands to strike Orson just as Lehec had been struck. The life forces of the men struck adds power to the storm that continues to build, raising the funnel of sand up a dozen feet into the air, walling them off. Orson's interest in the bizarre scene quickly fades as his attention turns to self-preservation. His body arcs backwards, a fine spray of salt water being thrown into the air as the wetsuit snaps taut. His body is strained, blood crammed into his head, and his pulse beats in his eye sockets. He hardly seems to realize he's off the ground. If he would only think to touch the gray bracelet on his wrist, to call for help, or even record this. But his mind is held in a tighter grip than the strength which holds him aloft. Then, whether it is from his own sheer strength of will - it can't be - or something beyond him, Orson starts to move, drifting slowly above the sand to beginning a slow spiral around the funnel. For the second time today, Orson is surfing. Mira's spirit was not enough. The added energy of the marine and the surfer was not enough. Jessalyn's form remains as motionless as it had before the dark ritual had begun. There was only one thing left for Simon to do. To stop now would be to make the sacrifices he'd made worth nothing. The wind and raging waters of the ocean continue to churn and make their protest at the continuation of the proceedings. The ground begins to quake beneath Simon's feet, and Lehec's body begins to turn about with Orson's, his arms still twitching painfully at his side. Again, Simon throws his head back and raises his cry, and then he raises the cube. And then, it's as if there are two Simon's, the physical form standing ramrod straight, holding the cube aloft. And the spiritual form, rising up out of the flesh, his arms spread wide in the air as if pleading to the sky. The translucent form of Simon continues to ascend slowly, gradually increasing speed until an arc of energy from the cube lashes out. Lightning flashes across the sky, and Simon's body collapses onto the sand. The wind and the waters go suddenly calm, the two eerily circling men are released from their grip, and the puzzle box tumbles forward, stopping close to Jessalyn. A terrible silence replaces the chaos. And then, the silence is broken, by an almost indistinguishable sound next to the ocean. The sudden, quick sound of wood cracking. With the sound of the crack, twin gasps can be heard from Mira and Simon as they gulp air into their lungs. Moving with quick spasms, Simon rolls to his side, looking toward Jessalyn and the broken puzzle box. A happy couple had been walking along the bench in romantic reverie. They had been headed toward the scene of falling victims, but their eyes had only been for each other. That is until the young blond woman's hat was blown from her head. It was sucked toward the growing spiral that is centered on Simon and the group. She screamed when she realized something terrible was happening. It had to be terrible. People weren't just lifted into a strange beach tornado every day. Her lover motions for her to stay there while he approaches to see if there is any chance to offer aid. The man quickly changes his mind at any attempt to offer his own person as aid. Instead, he runs toward his girlfriend in hopes to save himself and her. The new silence is almost eerily peaceful after the small maelstrom disintegrates. The swirl of sand falls to the ground, coating all those now prone upon the ground with a gritty, golden sheen. For several long moments, Jessalyn lies still as she has for so long already. But then, at last.... her nose twitches. And that small movement is followed by a hand that lifts to brush the offending sand from her face, and the fluttering of her lashes as they lift and she peers outward, first seeing the strangely familiar wooden box, and then the intent stare of a man she has never seen before very close by. Her lips move, and she apparently tries to speak, but only a dry cough and a spluttering of sand issue from her lips. Orson watches with wide eyes, a thin rim of colored iris just visible in those fields of white, like two tiny setting suns. He has enough control to take it in, heart pounding under pressure, mouth gaping. He watches the spectral Simon explode into lightning, sees the box but can't understand. The broad man looks as if he is going to land on his feet, one leg pointed out nimbly and his arms held aloft - but it is a mean trick of the force that Simon has been wielding and bargaining with, and the almost-human male falls to the sand with a heavy breath-stealing thud. He lifts his face and squints, huffing weakly to remove the sand from his mouth. A natural question would be along the lines of 'Is everyone ok?' or even 'What was that?', but this one remains wordless. He ducks reflexively at the sound of the breaking box but stays put, lacking the energy to run for his life. Relief. Peace. Completion. These are the feelings that overwhelm Simon as he concentrates on the normally simple task of pushing himself to his feet. His legs wobble wearily, and his balance is precarious as he slowly ascends to his full height. In truth, he felt more tired than he had ever felt before, stretched so thin to seem transparent and at the verge of splintering. He takes a step toward Jessalyn and his knee buckles. He falls to one knee, as if kneeling to propose to the woman. With a hoarse voice that cracks, he states quietly, "Jessalyn Valios. I have freed you, at last." Relief. Peace. Completion. "Oooh... my -head-," is Jessalyn's dramatic reply as she peers oddly at Simon, mustering strength to lift her head at the very least. She groans, finding her muscles reluctant to obey even the simplest commands, but manages to roll onto one side and lever herself into a somewhat upright position before the kneeling stranger. Taking a moment to look around her, seeing the others fallen nearby, and sensing perhaps the rippling, Dark repercussions of what just happened, Jessa shivers and wraps her arms around herself, brows furrowing in utter confusion. She knows this place. The beach near Coronet City; she herself was of Corellian heritage. But why is she in hospital garb? And why does she not recognize any of those around her. "Freed me from what? Who are you?" Her voice rises in pitch as panic starts to grow. "Where is my lightsaber? Where are the children?" Orson is suddenly aware that he is covered with sand, the abrasiveness of sand in the folds of skin on his brow a sharp notifier. He puts both hands flat in the sand and slowly lifts himself to a sitting position, checking out, in order, the miniature tornado, lightning, spectral image, box, and finally, the people laying around the blast zone. The thick cartilage rings of his trachea work up and down. Finally, he finds his voice. "I am absolutely speechless." Obviously not, but he at least uses a quiet voice. His words are carefully pronounced, like each one is punctuated, for emphasis. He nods his head at Simon along with Jessalyn's questions. After all, he was -dragged- into this, so he can ask questions too. "Yeah," he murmurs. Stretching forward, Simon plucks the broken puzzle box from the sand with his right hand. Immediately, he notices the change in the device. Before, it had seemed to have an energy all its own, and it left Simon with a feeling, like an after-taste of pure dread. Now... it was merely an empty shell. No, there was something else about it. Studying the box, he lets his feelings stretch into it. There was an impression left, like flowers in full bloom, fragrant and soft to the touch. And another impression, like the feelings of small, delicate rocks, hard yet smooth to the touch. And another... something Simon recognizes very personally. Shuddering, he offers the box to Jessalyn, saying, "From this were you freed, Jessalyn Valios." He pauses to look at the other conscious individual, the stranger that had been taking sport on the waves. "I am Simon Sezirok, a Selas of Telgosse." He turns his attention back to Jessalyn and continues, "I do not know where your weapon is. You have slept for a long time." Orson runs his forearm over his face, trying to wipe all -this- away and find reality beneath it. Nope, this was it. His battered body and mind lean forward to insert themselves into Simon's circle of attention, soaking up information now - visual details, the names. His brain practically whirrs as it files away information, but it is still pounding from the earlier funnel experience. "Orson," he inserts into the exchange at an inappropriate moment, lifting a hand to offer a sincere but out-of-place wave. The box. She had seen it before, too, back on Yavin. But... that wasn't the last time. Jessalyn finds her memories faded, fuzzy, unable to reconcile what she sees before her with the past she remembers with utter clarity. Taking the box reluctantly, she turns it around, a flash of fear lancing through her at the very touch. Emperor Valak's image and voice come back to her, reminding her, and she bites down hard on her lower lip. "How long? Is Luke here? Oh, gods...." Swallowing hard, Jessalyn drops the box, hating it, and pushes herself backward in the sand as she gasps for breath. The Darkness was still here, and the box wasn't its only source. Leaf-green eyes come to bear on Simon. "You're... not a Jedi," she deduces at the same moment that Orson approaches, and she looks up at him, gauging him for some sense of threat or danger as well. A broad, honest smile spreads across Simon's lips. How many people had approached him and accused him of being one of those accursed Jedi? He had to wake up this woman in order to get one person to do otherwise. Simon takes the words as a compliment. "No, I am not a Jedi. As I said, I am a Selas. Bound forever to the True Source of Life. Just as you are cursed, and that girl, Mira." He gestures toward Mira's quietly sleeping form. His senses stretch out to her, prodding and probing. It was a peaceful, resting slumber she indulged in, not the engulfing darkness such that Jessalyn had been trapped in. Simon turns his head once more toward Orson, nodding an acknowledgement to the man's brief introduction. This being had seen something terrible and horrifying, and was burying himself in the sand, or running off for aid. Orson clearly had metal to his character. He turns his eyes back to Jessalyn and says, "We should leave here before trouble finds us." Orson seems to sense Jessalyn's disorientation and concern at his presence and simply lifts his arms fractionally to either side. 'This is it', the gesture seems to say. He can hardly contain himself at Simon's comment though, and, despite showing some interest and sincere concern for Jessalyn, cracks a half-grin. "Finds us?" he says, including himself in the group. "I should say trouble has found us and had its way with us." Nonetheless, the short man focuses on standing up and gets to his feet. "But you -are- attracting some attention." His eyes scan the shore, looking for approaching beings and finding some. Those eyes would rather be looking for a good break of waves. He looks between the two other conscious people. "Do you need help?" He's finally gotten around to the question he came up here for. "I can give you a ride, or." He shrugs. Warily looking Simon over, Jessalyn frowns. It was impossible for her not to notice the sense of Darkness about him. But yet, she also knows he is sincere in his concern and desire to help her. Perhaps he is not entirely lost. For the first time, she attempts something of a smile, at the very least to disguise her own confusion and terror at knowing what has happened to her. "I think I... just need some help standing up," she says as she unsteadily tries to get to her knees.
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