Private Back to the beginning

[Loske Treicolt]

Kiffu​

Glimmik Beats​

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I’m just happy I get to come along for the adventure this time. Frank’s tone almost inflicted a bitterness to it, that Loske felt remorseful about.

“Green is not your colour, Frankie.” She chided gently, trying to keep things light. He was right, though. [member="Kaili Talith"] had created him to be a companion droid to her, helpful with galactic updates and she wouldn’t be anywhere close to where she was today with Frank’s downloads of information, communication, and ultimately patient friendship when she was spiralling through the stars solo. She recognized that even though he was an astromech, his blank slate made him a smart astromech. She caved with a sigh, and depressed the repulsors as they entered the atmosphere of the golden gem below. “But you’re right. I’m sorry, this Jedi training is a little more all consuming than I thought it would have been.”

That was naive.

“That was also an apology..”

There was an awkward silence between girl and machine, one that was interrupted by the incoming comms from the planet below.

“Unidentified starship, we don’t have any scheduled arrivals. Please state your business.”

“I’m also really nervous,” Loske admitted, before she opened the two-way channel to the traffic controllers below. “This is Loske Matson, captain of S.S Bruno here to visit the science facilities for some studies.”

There was silence. “Do you have a landing permit?”

“No, I don’t have a landing permit.”

“You need a landing permit.”

"Yeah, you said. I don’t have one.” She could feel her cheeks getting flushed. Part of her had hoped that saying her name would just get clear admittance, but she supposed it was fair that nobody knew who she was. She’d never really been on the planet as far as she could remember, and her mother was decidedly disinterested in her. She really didn’t want to pull the talk to the Kraliçe card - or even mention her mother’s name. So she bit her lip as the silence was finally filled by a semblance of an invitation.

“Do not deviate from your present course. Permission granted to land on platform eighteen.”

“Platform eighteen, thank you.” Loske turned the channels off and leaned back in her seat with a heavy exhale.

I accept your apology.

 

[Khyon Drogo]

The arrival of S.S. Blue was something the Guardians were unprepared for. They had no idea what the ship meant. It was also incredibly rare for captains to give their first and last names, and the confidence it had been delivered with was unprecedented in these parts. Immediately, they had searched through their database for a Loske Matson in previous appointments or scheduled visits to the detention of science and research. There had been none, there was no trace of this individual.

The next step was informing the Chief of the Guardians, who was also, the Kraliçe. The governmental structure of Kiffu was fairly militant, but partial to maternal law. That meant the royal family were esteemed warriors on their own right, and the leader would be a woman. Khyon had been second-in-command for as long as he could remember. To the current Chief's grandmother, father, and now her. It was he that sent the message to [member="Kiskla Grayson-Matteo"], and lead the welcome party to the strange-looking ship.

The captain that exited the stationed transport appeared non-threatening, and was accompanied by a basic astromech. His guard did not drop, however. It would be foolish to assume that a lithe vessel before him presented no danger. The closer he drew, the more hesitation filled his step. There was something curious about the face of this newcomer, a face that was all-too familiar but a shadow of the unknown.

"Welcome to Kiffu." The hand greeted, his tone even and sounding uninterested. "What business do you have at the research facilities?"

Audaciously, she spoke "Why, research of course."

"Of what nature. The efforts here are confidential."

Something buzzed in his pocket, and he held up a finger to stay the blonde woman from speaking. His datapad informed him that the Kraliçe wished to see the new arrival. A thick, dark brow lofted in confusion and he looked up at the girl who seemed to be patiently waiting.

"The Kraliçe will have your audience first."

To his horror, [member="Loske Matson"] just groaned.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Waiting game​

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Loske fell in step behind behind [member="Khyon Drogo"], while two of his other broad-shouldered guardians flanked her. Frank wheeled next to her, keeping the façade of a typical astromech weep-ooping and beeping where appropriate.

There was no conversation amongst them, which gave Loske the time to get a feel for the planet itself. It was arid, and welcoming. Like the planet and she already shared some sort of knowing secret between them, and they were being coy with one another. She’d obviously been here before, since her body seemed to adjust readily to the difference in atmosphere between the life support S.S. Blue offered and the extremity of the desert planet. She didn’t even break a sweat in the transition.

She focused on keeping her senses sharp, noticing that The Force here wasn’t as rich as some of the other planet’s she’d recently been to, but she could feel a definitive, finite nexus. It felt strong, and the more they walked, the more obvious it seemed.

The group drew to a halt outside tall, foreboding doors that stretched from the floor to ceiling. The pair of Guardians that had been behind her drew to either side of the doors as they started to part open, Khyon one step ahead of her and partially blocking her view.

The clicks of their boot heels echoed about the empty room, filling the continuous silence. Which was fine, she needed the extra few seconds to prep and wipe invisible dust nervously from her attire. The last time she’d seen her mother was on Sullust, when the news had been broken between the family. Kiskla had been well-dressed at the time, but distracted, and let [member="Marcello Matteo"] do most of the talking while she merely observed. It had been disappointing, and far from the maternal reaction Loske had craved.

When Khyon finally stepped aside, Loske took time to appreciate what she was seeing. The throne room was mostly bare, save for a few golden divets in the pillars. Modern and tasteful, and not too long. At the end of the marble floor was a throne made of metal. Behind it was live, crackling electricity. Kiffu’s number one asset. It seemed contained, yet wild at the same time. A comparison one could draw similarly to the pale beast that curled behind the throne and around near the feet of the woman that occupied the seat. Loske had no idea what it was, but it’s mere presence was threatening. Frank immediately indexed it as a Spark-dragon, and would inform his mistress later.

The woman on the throne was a silhouette against the crackling azure energy behind her, but in drawing closer, could easily be recognized as a rare, ethereal beauty. The embodiment of an iron flower. The strength in her jaw, her poise, everything about how she was sitting boasted she was someone who took the Kiffar trait of vigorously defending independence, while somehow maintaining an air of approachability and graciousness. She was clothed in pearlescent robes, the same colour as her eyes which looked down at Loske listlessly. Even her iris' were in stark contrast to the dark tattoo that stretched across her eyes like a masque.

Loske was at a loss of words seeing [member="Kiskla Grayson-Matteo"] so in her element. So much so, that it was an awkwardly long time before anybody said anything.

“Hi....mom.”

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Music
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A hand encouraging her general to desist lifted ever so slightly from the arm of the throne. It was a subtle movement, but the palm facing outward was enough for Khyon to step back. He’d reacted poorly to the intrepidness of this new visitor, and certainly believed her disrespectful salutations was enough to get detained, or at least dragged out from the queen’s sight.

Slowly, the elegant silhouette draped in white rose from her seat. The beast behind the throne stirred only slightly, lifting its head when it’s mistress moved in silence. The gentle tap of her feet against the stones down to the ground where her daughter stood. A transcendental appraisal initiated the moment the girl stepped foot in the palace, and only refined now that she had full optics on her offspring. Kiskla’s senses detected much apprehension from the figure before her. The clone was stronger in the empyreum than she’d been on Sullust when they’d first mett. Something had changed. That spark she’d felt before had been close to fading. It appeared the daughter had found a pilot light, and was now starting to grow into an infectious flame. A little caelum warrior. An ultrafine curve found its way to her lips, the only marvel of an impressed expression the mother figure had ever exhibited to the clone.

There was still a few meters between them, and Kiskla kept an even pace on approach. Balancing two options for a greeting appropriate for the little clone warrior. Apparently she’d come to visit the research facilities, which the mother deduced as her child seeking to know about her history. Likely seeking to answer the unknowns so she could gather enough contextual stimulation to grow that ethereal flame into a wildfire.

“Hello Loske.” She broke the silence, folding her hands in front of her and keeping a few feet between them as she drew to a standstill. By way of explanation for the poor salutations her daughter had received when trying to land, Kiskla explained the Guardian's point of view: “We didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to see me..”

Kiskla didn’t show it, not even a little, but the comment hurt. She hadn’t known about her two would-be-clone-children until that fateful day on Sullust. When she’d learned about them, she didn’t know how to react. She wanted to be overinvolved, to protect them. Marcello had advised otherwise, and suggested she wait for them to reach out. Pearlescent gaze narrowed at the youth before her, who looked to be about a decade or so younger than Kiskla herself, otherwise they very well could have looked like a mother and daughter. The resemblance was uncannily intentional. “Why are you here.”

Loske hesitated to answer at first, before finally exhaling and shifting her eyes around the room, intentionally not making eye contact. “I came to see the research facilities. To look into my past.” She held up her hand, as if that was indication enough of what she was intending. Kiskla was used to speaking in fragmented riddles, and could assume her daughter meant she was planning to use psychometery in the facility.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“I need to do that. I need to unlock everything that’s buried inside me, see all that’s been shoved and stowed away in there. It's starting to cause harm to people I care about.” The girl’s voice almost cracked at that statement, and a flicker of pity fluttered through Kiskla’s chest. Again, her expression remained stoically indifferent.

“You’re training to be a Jedi?”

“I’m training to use The Force.” Loske corrected, the waiver in her voice disappeared. This confirmed the former Grandmaster’s suspicions. Seemed there was much of her husband in this little clone.

From nowhere, Kiskla’s two blades snapped to her hands, ignited and swept powerfully toward the girl in an aggressive horizontal attack. She could feel Loske’s surprise before the the girl knew what was coming.

The one blade came in, and Loske dodged it, bending backwards and angling her shoulders. The next blade came in quickly thereafter, and the clone did the same thing, adrenaline and shock the primary motivator for her quick responses. Loske’s left right hand hit the ground to stabilize her backward bend, left leg coming around for a sweeping kick as she rotated and rolled away from the Jedi Master. Kiskla felt an invisible yank to the hilts of her blades, redirecting her next strike to pierce the marble floor rather than the clone, leaving hideous, cauterized streaks while Loske scrambled to the fore, pushing her droid out of the way despite his protests. Good. Kiskla hated droids. Loske also used this time to finally get her lightsaber out and use it. She brought it in a forward lunge to Kiskla, who met the strike with both blades and parried it away. Loske was using momentum now, twisting to the right and left with her downward slashes, pivoting from the same foot each time. One by one, Kiskla deflected with the respective opposing sword. Azure and gold exploded from each of the sword lengths when they met in cacophonous clashes. Loske made a downward strike, seeking to cleave, which Kiskla met with her blades in an ‘X, twisting it swiftly so the saber was relieved from Loske’s grip and spiralled high upwards. With no blade now to protect herself, a flare of panic was detected from the youth. Kiskla didn’t register much more than that, before the sole of Loske’s boot connected with her chest and sent her backward with a frustrated oof. Kiskla lurched forward, with a move that would have impaled Loske if she’d still been standing there. Instead, the girl seemed to have augmented her dexterity, and scaled part of the pillar, leaping to intervene and catch her hilt in mid air before landing behind Kiskla in a superhero touch down pose, activating the blade once again and launching forward, to which Kiskla met with a swoop of her two blades again, and Loske dipped her body to skim underneath the blow and kick out at Kiskla again. Something the queen attributed to Loske’s affinity for Teras Kasi. There was a lot of kicking going on here with this little blonde opponent. Loske righted herself again, poised to strike with a practiced fluidity Kiskla respected.

To buy a second or two to further assess her opponent, Kiskla rotated her blades on either side of her. Loske’s breath was heavy, Kiskla could see her chest heaving from where she was standing, and there was an aggressiveness to her posture that was unrefined. The pair activated again, kicking off from their respective positions and letting their blades collide in the middle. Twists, dodges and strikes were passed between them to little avail on either side, although it was apparent Loske was predominantly forced to be reactively on the defensive. In a whirl of blue light, the hilt of the golden blade clattered to the ground as Loske screamed in surprise as one of her mother’s blades seared through the flesh on her shoulder, cauterizing instantly. Burnt remnants of skin and ozone flooded her nostrils and she stammered backward, clutching at the wound on her upper arm. “What the kark! What are you doing!”

Kiskla’s intention was not to maim, but to test. If this girl was related to her, or representative of her even slightly, she’d have to prove her mettle. At this point, she had not. Apparently trial-by-fire was not the way she was training with her current master.

“Your teacher must be soft.” She observed, the thrum of her blades constant to her ears. Her breath was still steady, despite the perceived exertion. “If you’re learning to use The Force, someone will seek to kill you one day. You need to know how to defend yourself better than that.” Her blades disengaged, and she clipped them behind her back, drawing the opal fabric over once more to conceal the sister hilts. She lifted her hand with a similar gesture she’d used to dismiss her body guard earlier, and the abandoned hilt came twirling through the air to her touch. She turned it over a few times in her hands before holding it out for Loske to take it.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Peeling her hand away from clutching her shoulder, Loske twisted to appraise the wound. It wasn’t particularly bad, it was just smoking and stinging. It’d cut through the leather of her jacket and shirt beneath, exposing the burnt skin. She hadn’t expected to be flayed when visiting her mother’s home. The interaction shed some light on some of the stories Frank had relayed to her throughout the past few months, and it gave her a deeper understanding into how Kiskla could have made the decision to damn a young Jedi Knight.

She snatched her hilt, and clipped it back to her hip while she dropped to a knee, Frank hurrying over with a tube extended from his clunky body. A puff of white mist, bacta spray, dispersed from him and on Loske’s shoulder. All the while, she and her mother maintained an intense eye contact. Loske was glowering, Kiskla was listless.

“He’s not soft,” she muttered defensively, giving Frank a pat on the top of his dome when the treatment finished and rose to stand. “He just has a different pedagogy than you do. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Loske observed her mother’s impassive reaction, only lofting a blonde brow with an unimpressed hm. She continued to step, and Loske took the cue to fall in line -- from her peripheral she could see Khyon Drogo falling in behind them at a distance as well. “He?” A pause. “Where did you meet this teacher?”

This was a strange conversation, but Loske assumed they were heading to the place she wanted to go. She attempted to extend an olive branch again, despite the near dismemberment she’d nearly suffered. “Not a Silver Jedi enclave.” That looked to be semi-successful, as the corners of Kiskla’s lips twitched. “He found me, on Metellos. He, along with a few other Jedi Masters, were insisting I had an affinity for The Force. Something that would have been nice to know earlier. Instead of rejecting it, and being scornful, I could have embraced it. I could be further along now.” She jabbed, looking toward Kiskla Grayson-Matteo as they exited the throne room to the pillar-lined hallways. The air was dry and electric, and beautiful lights boasted the Kiffar’s affluence with electricity after years of refinement.

“You made quite a name for yourself piloting with The Alliance’s squadrons, I hear.” Kiskla responded to the positive side of things.

"Why weren't you around to help The Alliance?"

Kiskla sighed, unsurprised by the question. "The war is continuous, The Sith's methods will always be more extreme - they're willing to go further without morality to hinder them. After my time on Panatha, I needed to recover. I became irreplaceable here while mending. My place is here, for now. Where I can still have impact and control. " Loske shrugged only, and they walked the rest of the way in silence for the most part.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

The four of them; herself, Loske, “Frank”, and Khyon (she could have done without the droid), travelled via a transport with a driver. There had been no conversation for the duration of the trip. This was typical amongst the Guardians, though she could tell it agitated her kin.

The stretch of sand they traversed over seemed meticulously groomed. A stark contrast to the sister planet of Kiffex, which Kiskla was starting to reconstruct. It was tricky to spend time on the aesthetic of a planet laden with criminals - there were certain conventions instituted for practicality that had to be revered. Kiffu was a planet for the people, and her influence and approach had been similar to how she’d tried to influence The Republic of lore - like a lotus. Hidden beneath grime and mud, it was rising to a newly expunged capitol.

The sand speeder slowed to a stop outside a less than pristine looking building. The structure itself wasn’t an architectural feat. It had a main entrance, which had been blocked off, and two wings on either side. It looked to only be the single floor, but expansive from side to side.

Kiskla was the first to descend, followed by her Hand and then the two interlopers. There was a stretch of stone that lead up to the primary door, which she tread along. The corridors the women’s feet traced were made of stone and open air. A slight breeze kissed Kiskla’s skirt, enhancing the image of elegance and femininity she managed to embody so marvellously. Even in contrast to their surroundings.

With a wave of her hand, and invisible assistant removed the barricades to the side. The door yawned open, and they pressed inside.

“This is the first and last cloning facility established on Kiffu.” She explained, breaking the uneasy silence. "Never made it beyond a beta trial." She gestured around, the draping fabric that fell from her arms swaying with the movement. They were bathed in darkness and flickering blue lights. In this dim lighting, the likeness between herself and the other blonde was eerie, and she suppressed a shudder at the unnaturalness of it all. At face value, Loske was human. Her daughter...if Kiskla had been a teen and giving birth. Loske couldn’t have been more than twenty-four at this point, and by contrast she herself was only in her late thirties.

The mixed odour of various chemicals, sand, metal (blood or otherwise) assaulted their noses the deeper they walked. The glass that had lined the foyer had been shattered. Kiskla knew it was Loske that had been responsible for the destruction of this lab, but apparently the girl did not. By the end of her visit, she’d have a full understanding of why she’d been rejected. Her brother, Isar, had been a little more of a success, but still not replicable.

She halted suddenly, lifting her hand to pause Khyon as well.

“Loske, you’re going to have to read these memories alone. We’ll remain outside. Whatever you find in here..” she looked down, allowing her countenance to reveal a forlorn expression. There was an edge of regret that framed her words - and she tried to select them carefully. “We didn’t know. Marcello and I.

With hindsight, we wish we’d been more involved and privy to what was going on in here.” She levelled her gaze with her daughter, who seemed to be accepting the notion of an apology. She almost looked expectant of it, and as much as that may have irritated her, Kiskla accepted it. That was fair. “We should have been more curious.”

She gave a few seconds to let the youth respond. All she said was “Thank you.”

The Sheyf gave a nod of her head and withdrew from the scene, careful not to step anywhere that could cause harm to herself or outfit.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Loske barely heard Kiskla and Khyon leave. Without even touching anything, a wave of familiarity almost knocked her off her feet. Despite the staleness of the room, there was a distant odour that pricked at her nose. A smell she felt like she should remember. The shapes and grooves in the floor beneath her feet tapping at recollections in her peripheral.

Her hands traced against the walls of the narrow walkway. Grime picked up against her fingertips, clinging to her prints as a means of escape. The feeling of the walls grounded her in the present, while other sensory cues teased at her peripherals. The smells, even the air pressure, it all felt distantly reminiscent.

Bathed in flickering cerulean from broken lights and scattered electricity, still somehow controlled as it danced throughout the room, the girl’s silhouette came to a pause in an open chamber. It was empty, and looked as though it had been for some time. A manufactured biodome quite separate from the arid environment outside. Where falsehoods and science had been cultivated, there was now a moss-type plant crawling along the walls, a flora not found anywhere else on the sister planets. Much of the room looked destroyed, beyond the natural decay of time. The sprawling lychee or whatever it was, she could understand. But the devastation to the duracreet? That warranted curiosity and investigation.

Her footsteps took her to a heavily dented steel mortuary lift. With a deep inhale and exhale combo, she steeled her resolve. With nothing but absolute intent in her mind, she willed The Force to her side, her sole companion in this adventure. Her palm pressed against the edge, fingers gripping tightly.

Instantly, she was portaled. A vignette of technicolour faded her vision, and the girl was transposed to an alternate timeline. She staggered in her observation, using two hands against the bed to steady herself.

The first thing she saw was herself. Rising from the bed. She almost vomited then and there, but willed her nausea to abate and not interrupt the story.

The version of her had been poked and prodded. Bruised from exertion. The real-time Loske walked through the now-empty room, seeing it as if it were populated with intrigued expressions and her blonde former version undergoing a series of tests. It was uncomfortable watching her vulnerable self at the whims of those in charge. She was fully exposed, in every sense, so they could see every manifestation of their creation and her performance.

They cued a command, she accomplished it. They threw in an opponent, she vanquished it. Sparks flew from her fingers, powerful telekinetic bursts. Things crumpled before her eyes. Her arms moved in a series of elegant movements, a manufactured sword in her hands slicing and whirling. She was a machine, unthwarted by any obstacle over several blended days that flowed and melted into one another.

Lists were checked off, nods were given. Loske was there, in the room with her brother, contending with each other. They were perfect mirrors of what the masculine and feminine soldier should be.

The timeline was followed to the point of ultimate culmination. In the real world, Loske’s hand would rest on the shattered wall that had once stood. In the vision, a bruised version of herself would explode in an incredible display of lost control. Tendrils spiralled through the room, shattering glass. Unparalleled luminescence ignited her hair and skin, making her a glowing damnation with ripples of telekineses rolling off her in waves. The bodies in the room were sent flying, apparatus crumpled and burned, skittering all across the floor while glass shattered and metal curled in on itself.

The final test had been one too great for her to pass. And she couldn’t make out what it was, but this trigger caused the real world girl to gasp, stagger backward and crutch herself against the wall, a pant heavy on her lips while she tried to steady herself after hours in the past.

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