| abstract | - The University of Corellia seems as unlikely a place as any to find Orson Tighe, middle-aged mechanic Jedi student. While in many disciplines, the man's opportunity for excelling in any one way of the galaxy were hampered by the diversity of his thought, he's always felt that it gave him a better perspective to see the Big Picture. It's a comforting reassurance to believe that you understand, at least somewhat, the way things worked in the galaxy. For Orson, the Force is a chance to redefine his picture of the Galaxy in a way that makes a lot more sense. It's almost as if his hand is wrapped around a lifeline which pumps some vital substance into people, places, and in particular, machines. The mechanic has caught a glimpse of the inner workings of things in a deeply personal way and there's no turning back for him. It's evening, and after a long day of reading and research in the University library, Orson has moved to the school's huge atrium. It's exceptionally dark in the deep vegetation where he's taken rest, perched on a half-height brick wall with his feet under him. A pile of old-style books sit in a haphazard pile beside him, the mound topped by a datapad which is currently off. Orson slouches, neck extended, listening to the rustling of insects, birds, small animals... In his grip, a complicated but organic-looking glass tube, tangled around his forearms. In his mind, the Force. His eyes are closed and he's in a steady meditation. The pleasant blue flashes of drifting glowbugs fire every now and then, like a swirling cloud of pale but brilliant blue motes of pure light in the otherwise darkened spot. It had been a relaxing day for Jessalyn, relatively speaking. Though she still cringes whenever she's anywhere near the Jedi Master's presence, the young woman found a measure of comfort with her old friend Leia Organa-Solo. Their shared worry for the other members of the group was a strong bond between them, as well as a sisterly affection that Jessa clung to, considering her own lack of familial attachments in life. The brothers she had never known in childhood were still little more than strangers to the young Jedi. But the princess is a woman with many demands upon her small, strong shoulders, and Jessa cannot rely on them as she might like. With the loss of Simon, and the distance she senses growing between herself and Luke, it's hard for to remember a time when she felt so alone. And so, after much deliberation, she has gone in search of Orson, scouring the city with her Force-senses as she seeks out his particular, familiar signature. As she finds herself entering the old atrium at the University, she smiles inwardly, appreciating the choice of settings. She pushes forth a kind greeting through the Force, projecting her presence into Orson's awareness, as she begins to peek down a few of the paths that meander off through the vegetation. _I've been looking for you, Orson._ The student moves his hands. The complicated arrangement of glass tubing shifts in his grasp. When it does, it's evident that the device is at least partially full of water, the multiple chambers, valves, and diminishing width of the interior waterways helping to create pressure on the air inside the device. It's a water flute, a fragile and somewhat older style of instrument, played completely by shifting the hands. The sound is mournful and remarkably full, though the score is being improvised. While the Force isn't playing the instrument, it -is- playing the player, and Orson's tenuous connection with the Force is strengthened with every low note. _I'm here_, he whispers, quiet and still finding his own true voice. The quiet music drifts down through this part of the atrium now, creeping on tiptoes through the cool dark grass and down to the edge of the artificial stream. There's no need to ask how she is; he looks for himself, touching lightly. Her footsteps cover ground lightly, the pale green gown she wears whispering around her feet as she moves. So unlike the plain garb she usually wears, it makes her seem older, somehow... but, her eyes have aged, as well, in the past few days. She doesn't hear the music at first, mingling so perfectly as it does with the song of the insects and other singing creatures in this place. But she senses through the Force what her apprentice is up to, and smiles as she begins to pick up the notes. Following the sound as well as her sense of him, she meanders through the atrium, pushing aside a leafy frond that blocks her path before coming upon the spot he has chosen. She folds her hands and stands off to the side, listening to the music and not wanting to disturb him, finding a slender tree to support her back. Her answer to his unspoken question comes only gradually, and perhaps after too much thought. _I'm... tired. But well_, she replies with a weary inner smile. Orson slips out of his meditation with less abruptness than ever, eyes coming open as he takes a breath. There's only a brief pause in the music, which keeps its same quality as before but with less volume. "Understandable," the man says quietly, uncrossing his legs and shifting to the side, creating a spot for her in the grass beside him. "You've come to a good spot for rest, at least," he observes wearing a strangely unsmiling face. The Jedi student's thoughts and eyes are expressive enough though, and he seems glad to see her. She pushes herself away from the tree and settles beside Orson on the grass, carefully adjusting the folds of the green gown she wears, the nervous gesture of someone not accustomed to dressing in relative finery. Giving the water flute a curious look, her appreciation for the music is obvious in the subtle play of emotions she shares. "It's very peaceful here," she agrees quietly. "You're quite talented, Orson... That was lovely." She leaves unspoken how much she missed his presence, a little ashamed of how much she's come to rely on him when her emotions seem about to overwhelm her. "It's not too hard to play," Orson says, carefully unthreading his hands from the coils of glass and laying it in front of him. The flute gives a lonesome moan as it is put away. "Taking things slow seems to be the key to doing it right," the mechanic says, finding Jessalyn's stare. A glowbug fires its blue light between their faces and Orson reaches to it, traces of his delighted smile blinking in the darkness, lit from the insect's strobe. It grips his index finger and crawls over the back of Orson's thick hand. Its bug mind on more pressing matters, it flicks its wings outward, sets itself, and buzzes off again. "Do you ever think it wouldn't be better sometimes," he asks, lowering his hand. "To just rest? To not have to blow up Death Stars? The peace of the Jedi is only in their minds. All of their lives. All ended in tragedy." He's thinking aloud and not really asking, but still he looks to his teacher for her thoughts. "All?" Jessa blinks, her brow furrowing as she considers his words. Regardless of the silky garment, she leans back in the grass, folding her hands behind her neck to support it as she gazes upward, watching the zigzagged flight of the escaping glowbug. "I don't believe that. I can't. The Jedi have been around for so long, Orson, much longer than we know about. When... when there comes a time when we've achieved peace in the galaxy, then I suppose that's when it's time to rest. And yet always be on guard." She rests one hand on her chest, fingers drumming thoughtfully on her breastbone. "Do I wish for more? I guess it's probably obvious that I do," she whispers. "Love, a family... a little peace and quiet. I would love to just... teach, and not have to ever wield a lightsaber again." Orson lifts his hand once more, the thought of wielding the lightsaber tingling in his palm. It had been an epiphany of sorts, when the Force moved his arms for him. The promise of power was exhilerating ... he stops and clenches his hand into a fist, quieting the thought. "All of those," the man says quietly, to the pile of books. "All of those from the stories. Most of them just myth, but all of them, dead." He doesn't have to mention Simon's failure and their own recent close call. It's the very reason for their retreat -- Orson looks Jessalyn over. "I wonder if there's not some value as well, in finding peace in our own lives. You know? To take one moment here and there, and be selfish and rest. If it helps to think of it like we're being good stewards of these weak minds and bodies, then think of it like that." He mimics her posture and leans backwards, resting on his elbows. "I see more conflict than peace along this path, despite everything else. I just don't want to run, forever, looking for some resolution. I want to find it here. Now." She closes her eyes, feeling the tug of his words. She believes the same way. It just seems so selfish now, of all times, to want those things. Of course, that was what she was looking for with Simon, when she admits the truth to herself... a little love and security in an otherwise chaotic and difficult life. "There's a time for everything," she says with a long sigh, the breath flowing completely from her lungs before she fills them deeply again. "You're right, though. A balanced Jedi should try to find time for both. At least, that's what I believe." How Luke would answer that she had no idea. But it seemed clear from what she knew of him that he refused any source of happiness for himself. Disgusted with that train of thought, she tries to keep it from flowing along the conversational link between them, a bit awkwardly in her haste. "Everyone needs to rest sometimes." "Listen," Orson says, holding up a hand. He'd rather not discuss the other man. Despite Skywalker's obvious power and probable good intent, the student sustained worse injury from the Jedi Master's help than he had from Simon's awesome attacks. Soon enough, it's obvious that he doesn't mean -listen-, at least not in the way he would have meant the word a few months ago. The Force flows through his mind, and through half-closed eyes, he searches out and finds ... In a moment, there's a rustle through the brush and a curious mammal appears, rust-red stripes around a gray fur-covered face. With a twitch, it hops into the otherwise private clearing and rests two little hands on the top of Orson's book pile, sniffing at the air as it regards Jessalyn with two huge eyes. Startled at first as she doesn't immediately sense what Orson's doing, Jessa sits up on her elbows, returning the earnest little animal's look as it perches upon Orson's history lesson. "Oh, my," she grins. "I hope he's not too hungry." She sits up, wrapping one arm around her legs and resting her chin on top of her knees, the free hand outstretched half-heartedly toward the creature. "You're learning much faster than I did," she recalls distantly, the thought frightening her a little. She's not in a very good state to be guiding someone through the steps to become a proper kind of Jedi. "Orson... I'm sorry about what happened, between you and Skywalker. I'm going to talk to him. He wants to meet you...." She trails off, biting her lip. "Can you try to give him a chance, at least for my sake?" The creature gives a little hop to come up beside Jessalyn, touching her calf with one hand and reaching for Jessalyn's outstretched fingers with the other. An obligatory sniff, a tiny lick, and it hops down, skittering back into the brush as Orson's gentle reassurance is not kept up. "I will," Orson says. "I know there are things I disagree on with him, but I will meet with him." The stiffness from being thrown has almost left his shoulders. "I've learned so much already, with you. I suppose that here, away from all the conflict ... well, it's hard to want to leave this." The mechanic waves a hand at Jessalyn, frustrated as his sudden inability with words. He sits up and leans ahead shaking his head and stacking up his books. It has gotten somewhat darker as the sun outside has gone down. The sweet cacophony of insects falling into a night-long rhythm have gradually filled the air. Watching the little beast bound back from the way it came, Jessa sighs softly, the dry night air making her eyes water. Yes, that must be it. She stands, brushing grass from her shoulders and the folds of the dress, gazing at Orson gathering his books. "It's not too late to back out of all this," she tells him at length. "I know that starting down this path is... difficult. Different. Scary." She plucks a few leaves that stuck themselves in her thick hair, frowning to herself. "No one is going to force you to become a Jedi." Orson carefully takes up the water flute, packing it up, then works on the stack of books: _Arm Holds and the Antiquated Grappling Arts_, _Understanding Plasma Amplitude_, _The Lost Ones - Jedi Stories collected from around the Republic_. "I don't mean that," he says. "I will be a Jedi." He moves to a knee and stands, carefully balancing the pile in his arms and turning to the plants. "Ah, forget it," the mechanic says with a frown, diving through two stalky plants and into the atrium. He doesn't even offer a goodbye, but his touch through the Force remains. Even there, his voice is silent, feelings raw ...
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