Destruct the Architect

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Anaxes​

Enough was enough. The details that came with prophetic wardenships were vague, and Kiskla had decided for herself that this game of ethereal cat-and-mouse was time to draw to a close. After speaking with her self-exiled beau, she realized she couldn’t continue parading around with the idea that she could maintain control over something so vastly wondrous and powerful. Respect where it was due.

Her palm pressed against the pad that instructed the doors to hiss open, the room only highlighted in the moonlight that poured through the tall, stretching window. It was a small office, as most of The Republic's officials were crammed into a single building. This chamber on Anaxes boasted nothing like the one on Tython though, but it was enough for her to focus and isolate herself to get a lot of her job done. Though she sometimes had to take a personal leave. If she didn’t want to be betrayed by her own machinations, this was the route she was going to have to take.

The blonde took measured steps across the floor as the door snapped shut behind her. Lackadaisically, she twisted her light hair upwards and into a loose bun on the top of her head, watching the comings and goings of the hover crafts outside as she walked. Halfheartedly, items hovered through the air as if they were being organized. She really didn't need to pack much, just her communication devices and a jacket, really.

Cold spread along her fingertips as she touched the stretching window pane of her office. The moonlight outlined her silhouette to those looking from the outside—but even with the contours of her visage ignited in the white glow, her look was distant. She wasn’t looking in this world, instead, her mentality was stretching to an ethereal realm beyond what most could even begin to comprehend. Everything was alarmingly silent.

[member="Harland Gates"]

 

[Harland Gates]

Where Coruscant had been a home, and the Jedi temple a fortress - this place was child's play. At least that was the notion from a man who'd been on both sides of the now former ziggurat, now lain in ruins by the Sith. Anaxes had a single spire where the five towers of the Jedi Temple made this thing look like a slightly wide antenna. It was hard to forget the temple on Coruscant, but he hadn't spent a great deal of time in those polished marble halls lined with crushed velvet carpet in all the royal colors of the rainbow. He'd spent time in the jungle, the swamp, the grasslands and by waterfalls. Naboo was more of a second home to him than that Temple ever was. However it had only been that way because of one very gifted, and equally stubborn blond. His childhood partner in just about everything from Jedi business to rebellious adolescence, and anything in between. This bond however seemed to be strained to the point of fracture after five years of absence and a complete lack of communication. The years had changed them both, some for the better and some for the worse. Although Gates hadn't lost that cocky demeanor, he recognized a change when he saw one, and he had. In her.

"You're not gonna turn a light on or anything?" The crinkle of a medical freeze pack was the next sound as he shifted in a less than comfortable chair in the corner of the room. The blue semi-liquid pack rested just over his left eye, held there by a propped up hand. He hadn't been counting exactly, but he wagered he'd been here a good twenty minutes since he heard any sound outside her door. "Warn me if you do, will ya?" Apparently these offices weren't exactly soundproof, and thus far he'd kept quiet. The spacer jacket left open revealing the dim blue shirt as he languished from a shiner that had uglied up his mug a bit. He'd been there, sitting in the dark, just letting the compression of pressure and ice cold temps negate the swelling that would normally occur. He could of been in his ship, he could of been off-planet, so why was he sitting in the midst of the Grandmaster's chambers nursing a bruise? For one, it was a good place to hide, and number two, he wanted to see the look on her face. He got a certain kick out of things like that.

Five years had done a lot for her, and despite that ice-cold attitude she'd given him a little over a week and a half ago, the spacer wasn't gonna shy away because of a cold shoulder. Kiskla had turned into a remarkably attractive woman. He'd always known her to be adorable, but she'd done transformed into something Jedi weren't supposed to think about. Good thing he wasn't one of those anymore! The couldn't be helped sly grin spread on his face, causing a small wince of pain as he shifted the bag over his eye and cheek. Yeah, he'd gotten clocked, and it was far from the first time and wouldn't be the last. His mouth still functioned, that was proof enough he'd be hit again, and probably soon. He had given her only about a minute before he broke the silence, watching her gaze out at the city traffic with a distant longing resting in her bright eyes. She was a mystery to him again, he didn't know much about this incarnation before him. He knew the girl, he knew what he thought to be her heart - but she had changed a lot.

"Ever the night-owl. Glad to see some things never change." He offered another comment, attempting to take up any of the awkward pause or time of sitting slack-jawed that he'd manage to be sitting here, completely missed by visual or even a Force que. He didn't radiate the Force like he used to, it was barely a sensed thing in him at all anymore. One didn't need to be cut off from the Force to dampen their signature -- it was as simple as apathy and neglect, and it'd be diminished to barely a whisper of it's former resonance. It was also a two way street, he didn't even get a ping so much from her, even though he normally wouldn't of been able to miss her. She was one thing though, but as to how he was able to get passed the guards, the various levels of security, and gain entrance to her private office all by his lonesome - that was another matter entirely. One he was quite proud of too.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla has been woefully distracted by a world that wasn't part of this physical state. She had just been slipping out of her connection, after realizing how quiet the misty 'verse was, when a familiar voice made itself known. Shamefully startled, she blinked and turned around quickly, muscles tensed as an involuntary reaction to defend. The jacket and datapad stopped hovering.

And yet, it was so far from necessary. Light eyes tracked over the ridges highlighted by the moon and a small grimace crept forth on pouted lips. This cousin-of-a-scowl turned into a smirk when she realized just what she was looking at. [member="Harland Gates"] had gotten himself into some trouble with someone who packed a tougher punch than himself. She couldn't say she was overly sympathetic, however, having just been dog piled by four Sith Lords on Teta. Or maybe just three and an acolyte. Whatever, it had meant four less for others to contend with.

Kiskla released a heavy exhale while she moved from behind the desk-- not hosting any regard for his sly commentary as a Force-command instructed the office ignite with artificial illumination. Her slender arms folded brazenly across her chest while she leaned against her desk, crossing her ankles. Now her eyes were focused again, and not glossed over as they became when she ventured Beyond Shadows-- or surfed through time with Flow Walking and Psychometery.

"What are you doing here." (And like, how are you here...) The blonde questioned flatly, despite the slight air of humour that threatened to sprinkle on her words.

The humour escaped, ever so slightly, and she arched a brow; the contours of her face adjusting to project a smug façade; "Do you need someone to beat the bad guys up for you?"

 

[Harland Gates]

The spacer wasn't entirely surprised when his request to get a heads up on illuminating the office fell through just as quickly as her datapad and jacket did. He'd startled her on purpose - so he probably deserved that. Scrunching his nose up and furrowing his brow as the ambient artificial light rose to a level suited for normal activity. He didn't have a headache or a hangover, but the light wasn't exactly what he was wanting at the time. Tonight had been a little rougher than usual, hence his current predicament, and placement of the molecular cooling bag. If he had expected sympathy though for his ailment, he had certainly come to the wrong person, and the wrong place. It was worth the shot in the dark to see her get surprised. Fooling a Jedi Master, especially a Grand Master of the Order was still a treat for the man who had once been just as thrilled when he did it as a Padawan. Kiskla seemed less amused than he was, but that could have been that exterior she projected like a mask of stoic light separating herself from emotion. In his opinion, it wasn't flattering despite doing the same to damn near everyone else in his life. His mask though normally involved sarcasm or some form of humor.

"Would have comm-ed, but tonight hasn't been my night for would haves." Gates suggested as she questioned him about why he was in her private office, unannounced. The fact that she hadn't asked how (out loud at least), lead him to conclude she remembered that he was quite resourceful when he wanted to be. "And we've got to do something about your Jedi etiquette." Hal said, eyeing her with a mock tone of 'elder' advice. "Second time you've seen me in five years, and not so much as a 'how are you'. Manners matter, sweetheart." He added it in, as he'd heard the name before. The sweetheart of the Republic - and he'd yet to see that side of her since Naboo. He was lecturing yes, but he was also grinning the entire time, in that sarcastic sense that made those coral blue eyes of his glisten with delight. The smiling hurt a bit, causing his sore jawline to be rubbed by the cooling bag. He lifted the bag a bit though, letting her get a good look at the bruise that trailed down in an dull blue and purple hue from his cheek to his lower jaw. "You know how they say it's not as bad as it looks?" He asked in complete rhetoric before placing the bag gingerly back onto his face. "They lied."

His slouched position shifted as he edged forward, fingers clipping the edge of the nearby datapad and lifting it into his lap. Glancing over at the jacket and putting some remedial arithmetic into practice. Kiskla never packed much, they were trained not to. Jedi didn't have attachments, or were of the possessive persuasion. They had what was of use, and they rarely brought more than that with them on a single trip. He'd done somewhat the same in his travels, though he certainly had fallen into the temptation of more is better, especially in the area of gambling. Ironically enough, that's why he had the bruise. He didn't activate the pad though, just rested it on his knee, and lightly drummed his fingers on the surface. Despite seeming like an aloof version of a former Padawan, just clinging to the old days, Gates had kept up on recent events. Even with his trekking here and there within the mid and outer-rims, he heard what had gone on at Teta. He didn't have specifics, but he knew she was involved. Half wondering if she was cross with him for not showing up in the Wild Goose to aide.

"Why? You offering?" He asked, rising from the chair and laying the datapad down on the desk beside her. He didn't suspect she was, but she implied, and he played along. "So, they finally letting you have a vacation?" He asked, resting to the side of her, still cradling that cooling bag to his face, casting a sidelong glance in her direction. His reference to they of course being the council, and indicating she was on a short leash with them. Ace had never been the most obedient, save to her Master, and even then she pushed boundaries. He was trying to gauge her level of rebellion even now. Even though he had time before to kill before she arrived in her office, he hadn't disturbed a single item. That is until now, when she was actually here to watch. Idly he picked over the various objects on the table, occasionally shaking a decorative orb to see if it would grant wishes other than being a grand flimsi weight.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

"I figured we're beyond how are yous considering it's quite evident.." Kiskla gestured toward the medical sack that sagged against his wound. Manners her well-toned ass! He had invaded into her office-- she didn't need to curtsey in salutations. In fact, she didn't particularly have time for any sort of diplomatic endeavours. She could feel a churning within herself, something that needed to be purged immediately -- she couldn't continue to stand for light, and be a beacon to those who were conflicted themselves, when she was prey to the same metaphysical burdens. And then some.

Then gates was up and at 'em, intrusive as ever. She'd been like that once, actually, she still was. She found people were more willing to give answers when they realized personal space meant nothing to you, and their discomfort was their sacrifice. Something about him being here made her put on an agitated front, becoming a brick wall rather than the one scaling these things that were erected for safekeeping. Kiskla was known for her approachability, but here she was, abstaining from any sort of kindness toward the maverick. Maybe she was challenging him, challenging herself? He was certainly proving unchanged -- so the challenge was to herself. Proving just how different she had become. She'd been forced to, whether she liked it or not. The Jedi were facing dark times, and they needed someone brilliant and benevolent. She'd never been one, in fact her attitude had been more akin to [member="Aaralyn Rekali"]'s current one until she found a path to pursue: unification and redemption.

"You're like a child." Kiskla muttered, snapping up the datapad in her firm grip and pushing away from the desk -- as if he were contagious with anarchy and the history of Padawans Grayson and Gates. There was a scuttle to her steps as she became more cognizant of how boring she was being. "This vacation is going to turn into a quest of replacement if you don't ---hey--- stoppit!" she interrupted herself to swat his hand away from a delicately structured holocron that had been a gift from Varanin -- something she'd yet to explore. Actually, she had explored it, and been booted out when she'd answered 'Yes' to being pure and good. They'd seen the monster in her prison. It was the final tipping point where she decided The Architect in her alchemical cuff needed to go. As if it knew what she was thinking, the metal began to itch, and Abeloth's burn ached against her skin. Simultaneously as she reached out to swat his hand, her finger slipped on the datapad and a projection of her destination expanded against the floor. A story told in cerulean projection gently rotated while she retracted the arm to control [member="Harland Gates"] and moved to find the 'off' button. Within seconds, the research she had been doing was slurped up into the world of data and cyberspace.

"I'll walk you to the spaceport." She said flatly, indicating he should go. And that she too, had places to be.

 

[Harland Gates]

While it was infinite fun to rattle the Grand Master when she was trying so very hard to remain an immovable grump, Gates was also quite curious about what she had been collecting in these missing years between them. Anything displayed on her desk must have been important, and worth looking into. He knew what a Holocron looked like, he'd never bothered to study them, but he got the general idea. The process of storing the thoughts and ideas of your take on the Force inside a delicate puzzle box was not his idea of a few well spent months. For Gates, it'd probably be like a few hours for all he remembered, having chosen to forget most of what he'd endured at the daily...nearly hourly lessons by his first Mentor in the Force.

As Kiskla plucked one object up, swatting his hand away, he went to the next, turning it over and giving it a firm shake, listening to see if she was storing loose credits in a hidden compartment. One of these had to be a savings back of some kind he wagered. And while it seemed like a random search, he was also looking for pictures, something to indicate a past history on her desk. Apparently she wasn't vain enough to decorate her wall with mementos of the past like most desk-jockeys did. Grayson was far from the office type though, even when he knew her, an office was the last place he expected to find the woman.

"We're beyond a lot of things Ace - it is however nice to hear sometimes." He gave a retort to her earlier comment while moving around her to pluck the jacket into his grasp, while she tended to straighten and manage the items he'd rearranged in a haphazard order. A closer inspection would see a rudimentary Dejarik setup utilizing the various decorative items. A single sniff of her jacket brought him back a few years, inhaling Kiskla's signature scent before he laid it over the nearby chair. The child comment only warranted a head turn to the blond with his tongue extended, showing exactly how childish he could truly be. A long close-lipped grin followed suit as he moved around her to spin the Holocron on it's levitating base like a roto-top, only to have her snap his hand away and clumsily activate the datapad.

"What are those, like a credit a dozen these days?" He asked, knowing the holocrons were far more valuable - at least to those who put an emphasis on the Force. As he made the statement, he leaned behind her, glancing over the schematic on the floor and getting a good bead on it before turning to present a smug expression. His face inches from her own, dipping his chin from their height difference.

"A Grand Master escort. I must be something special." Gates said with an implacable grin before he turned and scooped up her jacket, holding it out to her like a peace offering. "After you m'lady." He offered, giving a half bow at the waist, the molecular cooling back being lowered in the process, only to swing around and plant right back on his face as they would exit her office. He knew he was being an arrogant son of a bantha, but if she was going to stonewall him, he was going to make her pay for it. For all the differences between Gates and Grayson, their stubbornness was quite an apparent match. It was however possible that Gates enjoyed his role in it just a touch more than she did.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

For a while, there was a dance going on between Gates and Grayson as he wove around her office, trying to irritate her. He was mostly unsuccessful, until the point that she kicked him out. Her hand reached out to snatch the garment from his grasp and she slipped her bare arm into it, pulling the collar up so it touched her jawline.

Without a word, her plump lips remained tight and she lead the way. Perhaps even with an indignant stomp to her footwork. It was nighttime, and most of the hallways of the building were empty save for a few guards here and there. While they walked toward the impressive spaceport, Kiskla’s light eyes maneuvered around the halls, and down the stairs etcetera. (Yes, they were taking the stairs. No way she was locking herself in a tiny space with [member="Harland Gates"].) —All the while looking for opportunities to slip past the guards. It seemed not only difficult, but perhaps perilous. Which meant Hal had really wanted this interaction to happen. Which likely meant he had an alternative purpose.

While they walked, she glanced at him once or twice, stealing looks without detection. Gone were his curly, golden tresses. They were darker now, almost red. He still had a sharp jawline though, but it was stubbled with the hair he’d vied for in youth. She simpered slightly at this.

Finally, the dimly lit walk to the hangar filled with brilliant light. The spaceport was still very much alive. Pilots boarding and unboarding, mechanics skittering about frantically, flight control barking into comms. It was always a show at these points.

Surprisingly, Kiskla exhaled a heavy sigh of surrender. “Fine.” She droned, stepping into the ultraviolet radiation and letting it wash over her the further she walked into the chaos. “How are you, Curly.”

 

[Harland Gates]

The wall of separation between the two had been built within their five years apart. The space between them evident, having filled up with everything they hadn't said to each other. Whether that was intentional, or just attempting to spare each other from further pain - the wall stood. You couldn't have missed it, even as they traveled side by side through the quiet corridors of the central Spire. Kiskla had adopted a stoic resolve, define on her angular facial expression and tightly closed lips pursing every so slightly with thought. Harland's approach had been a mix of sarcasm and bravado, meeting each situation with a taint of humor and sense of being an aloof brigand. While the approach was different the goal was the same - shut out the Galaxy, no matter the cost. It wasn't healthy, but it just might have been necessary.

Unlike most women, Grayson was a tall drink of Corellian water. She nearly measured up but Gates had her beat by a few inches. In another time, and another place, she would have been plastered head to toe across any number of marquees as a holo-net model for the new cure-all skin cream, or the fashionably less dressed diva on the go. She had always had the looks, and Gates had noticed well before now that the woman in his current company was bound to be in the spotlight one way or the other. Better than most he understood a bit about what she had to deal with. He had been on the receiving end of correction from various Masters of the Order, and he knew that he wasn't unique in that aspect. Couple with that what happened on Coruscant, and he knew stress was a close and familiar presence to the blond.

The molecular cooling bag had run it's course, and was ditched minutes after they hit that corridor. The angry colors of the bruise had faded into dull tones of blue and purple, barely showing any signs of swelling. His cheek and jaw would be sore for a while, but the retribution for this shiner had been dealt out well and above his own wound. Thumbs tucked against the thick leather belt about his waist while they strolled the grounds heading for the expansive space port where he had parked his freighter. Grayson hadn't seen, nor had he yet offered to introduce her to the Wild Goose. Harland's pride and joy was an older model freighter that was just big enough for him and a few guests. He wasn't in the smuggling racket (at least not more than on rare occasions), so his ship was meant for one thing -- personal travel. As boots transitioned from the permacrete to durasteel floors, a look of surprise was forcefully mitigated as Kiskla broke the silence with a question he'd been waiting to hear.

"Not so much anymore." Digits rose and combed through the somewhat disheveled auburn locks, shaking out a new pattern that was just as rugged as the last. "That floppy mop didn't lend too well to my intimidating manner." She'd scoff at that thought for sure Harland surmised as he dropped his hand back to the belt. His childhood nickname had been reserved for the blond before him. He may not have enjoyed the connotation anymore, but he appreciated the sentiment. "Aside from this beauty mark though, I'm still flying." Gates gestured to his bruise and then let his arm relax again as his blue eyes shifted for a moment towards the hangar, spotting his craft in a nano-second before he altered his gaze back towards her. "Speaking of, you've gotta meet her." Harland said with a winning smile that was still painful to muster given the bruise. Footfalls turned and headed not more than a few dozen meters before the sight of the HWK-290 came into view. Laying a palm upon the underside of the craft's nose and giving it a rub.

"Ace, this is the Wild Goose. You have my permission to swoon."


[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

It wasn't just the hair, it had extended beyond that. They'd both had rather interesting techniques. At one time, [member="Harland Gates"]' engine had sputtered out. To avoid a direct impact with the ground below, he'd pulled a series of loops in the air. The smoky trail left behind had looked like a twisted grey wire wound against the sky. Of course, it had ended well as they were both standing here today, but it had given the nickname application beyond his spiralled tresses. Curly flights and curly helmet hair.

"No? I thought it complimented your twinkle toes just brilliantly."

On land, those pesky Jedi Robes had been the bane of his existence. Garments that hadn't been touched by tailors could make for nasty rivals, when the hems chose to dance with practically every single outstretched obstacle in existence. Hal had always been better suited to the skies than on the ground. Especially during the awkward, gangly teenage years when he'd truly lacked majesty.


Then Gates got excited. Like, the kind of excitement a father had on his medical-student graduate's ceremony day kind of excited. It was almost contagious -- but Kiskla was rather perked by intrigue, instead of contagion. Call it skepticism, or omniscience but he doubted the she Harland referred to was an actual sentient being. Not out of spite, but for the fact that they were in a hangar, and she sincerely doubted that any woman worth Harland's time would have more gull and spunk than to obediently sit in a hangar on Anaxes while Harland crept around a political building for galaxy knows' how long. Unsurprisingly, Kiskla was not incorrect. Her old-time friend presented, with as much gusto as a well-practiced ring leader (Save for the spandex and fishnets, thank galaxies), his pride and joy.


It uh, didn't look like much. She recognized the model though, it was expensive -- reserved for those with a fatter wallet back in the timeline. But still, it was not the most beautiful of models. Kiskla wasn't that dense though, she knew the true attraction of a vessel was in the performance. Still, it didn't prevent her from arching a blonde brow skeptically, not clutching her heart with a sweaty palm in the usual swooning fashion. Instead, droll cadences sputtered out with words one wouldn't expect from a Jedi. That had gone unchanged. She liked to shock from time to time -- though the political arena didn't offer much opportunity for verbal combat without any consequence.

"Five years, and this is the only she you've managed to get inside?" She was like a disappointed grandmother at a Holiday gathering when her grandson either hand't eaten yet, or hadn't got a girlfriend. Or a job.

Depending on the stage of life, no grand-babies.

The Kiffar Jedi shrugged, placed both hands on her hips and lackadaisically strolled toward the ship, arching her neck to get a better view at some of the pannelling on the underbelly, and coming to a stop by the ion canons. Her palm rested on the curve of the external weapon, and gave the dormant extension two taps.

"What could you possibly use these for. You're not keeping trouble are you?"

 

[Harland Gates]

Harland had a problem with land legs, that was for certain. He'd much rather sail the cosmos, than be cruising the pavement at an amble clip. Hal preferred lightspeed versus a pedestrian gait, but the Galaxy was full of problems you to deal with whether by land, air, or Force forbid...the sea. He didn't much enjoy getting knocked into the drink - and while he could swim, the aquatic life had never called to him, much as he used nautical terms in a space-faring sort of way. He'd been a little more put together though in his five years abroad. Ditching those brown flowing death-traps had been a welcome relief, preferring in favor the more fitted look - hence the leather spacer's jacket that hugged his torso. While Gates had his shortcomings as an awkward teen, the Kiffar in his sights had not been a beacon of grace and charm like she appeared to be now. Prone to giggle-fits, and a morning routine where she had been -literally- dragged out of bed on more than one occasion - Grayson had her idiosyncrasies too.

"Anyone you walk away from, right?" He asked, rhetoric lacing his question as he moved around the nose, patting the outer hull with a meaningful palm clap. This was his bird, and he'd been with her for a while now. Every pilot knew their ship, but great pilots understood them. The Wild Goose didn't look like much, but Harland held a bond with the freighter like it was part of his family. Other females in his life had even gotten jealous about he treated the ship versus them. To another pilot though - especially one as ever gifted as Kiskla, Gates knew she saw the promise in it. It was however one thing to guess at the abilities of the craft, and another thing entirely to feel them as it rushed between canyons, or dusted the ground with a near vertical exit velocity. Even the lurch of the hull as it ripped through the stars in the hyperspace lanes above. The thrill never got old, and he didn't want it to. The smile on his face, mostly due to the fact that he was getting to show off the bird faded to surprise when the chilled veins of the Grand Master let her tongue out to play. He didn't think she talked like that anymore - and it threw him back a bit.

"Whoa." He offered in a slow mouthed response, an eyebrow quirked up at the comment. Gates didn't stay stunned for long, evident as a the sly scoundrel smile shaped his lips while he rested his forearm upon the ship's nose. "The Goose isn't the only female in the verse I've charged up the loading ramp." He defended himself, as he somehow felt compelled to do in her presence, taking her comment as a pseudo challenge. "Besides...look at me Ace - you think I haven't had the opportunity for a few connect disconnects?" He mused sliding his palm over the nose while he watched her saunter from a gazing position matching his post by on the opposite side of the nose, noting the ion cannons beneath. Bowing his form down, and looking at her beneath the freighter's bow and offering a charismatic smile. "What about you Master Jedi - been practicing Alchaka?" While the grin said he wanted an answer, it was mostly to make her squirm. The Masters would give wide eyed and stern warnings when their Padawans threw words like that around -especially when they just learned them from the older - less collected Knights. In truth he -really- didn't want to know.

The Ion cannons were an added feature. Despite the weight of them, he found that a few warning shots were necessary, especially in the lines of work he found himself in. He was certain the Jedi wouldn't approve of his extra-curricular lifestyle, and that had a great deal to do with why he had chosen this life. The man had options, but the independent life of a free-lancer suited him far better than anything where he had to give a kark and answer to someone higher. Sure he had employers, but he was part time and could and did walk away when he didn't feel it was worth this time. Her inquiry about them was in interesting choice. Stepping around the nose of the craft to lean against one of the cylinders and glance at her from mere inches away.

"I think you're forgetting." He motioned with his hand towards the bruise that still lined his face. If Gates was walking, he was assuredly talking - and that meant trouble was not far behind. Blasters were well and good, but they didn't provide a lick of comfort out in the black. Ion cannons however, did. "So, it's been too long since we sailed together - you've got somewhere to be, and I don't. Let's take the Goose up and get you on that vacation." He offered in a casual sense, but the offer still stood.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla rolled her eyes behind the protective curve of Goose’s nose at [member="Harland Gates"]’ indication of his attractiveness. A self-evaluation of his suave attitude — and then he flipped the conversation to her. Actually, yes. But Kiskla was a private girl, and discussing carnal details with someone she’d grown up was not something of high priority on her agenda. Instead, she offered a coy grin and a single, sharp quirk of an eyebrow suggestively to his use of long-abandoned Jedi jargon.


Instead of focusing on the repulsiveness of Hal investigating into her romantic affairs, she distractedly wondered if he remembered learning that word.

She’d giggled far too loudly for the library, and he hadn’t been any quieter. That had been an interesting lesson indeed, picking up more about what not to do, rather than actual Jedi applications.

The Kiffar was suddenly pulled back to the present by Gates’ suggestion that he be her pilot. Oh no, oh no no no.

"No, no oh no.” Kiskla shook her head concisely and held up her hands, palms facing him as she took a step back — just to reinforce her defiance.

Kiskla was about to immerse herself into a situation that she wasn’t sure how much control she’d have over -Hal was hardly able to take care of himself, let alone anyone else if things turned sour and she turned into more of a handful than guaranteed. She needed to be somewhere pure. Somewhere isolated. Dagobah, she had thought. “That’d hardly be a vacation.

I’m going alone on this one.”

 

[Harland Gates]

If the outright and flat denial of his transport services had made any impression on the resting form of the star-pilot, it certainly didn't show. Her distance from him was assured despite some suggestive and dare say, playful banter exchanged between the two. She was distant from Hal, having put not only five years, but several worlds between them. Both in the literal and metaphorical sense, they were on different cosmic trails - and still they had intersected. Perhaps by design, but more by poor planning and holo-feeds. She had asked him when he arrived first on Anaxes why he was here; and he had been honest. He was here for her - though perhaps not for the reasons she suspected or even that he insinuated. She knew just about as much as he wanted her to, and the same could be said of how much Gates knew about the five missing years between them. So, her resigned plan to travel the stars all by herself was an expected reply, although certainly far from what the spacer wanted.

Boots crossed over their counterpart, his slouched position indicating nothing but an aloof representation of his feelings. She thought she had him pegged, and yet this was how he played the game with virtually everyone in the Galaxy. Grayson could read him though, if she wanted to - if she thought about looking beyond that exterior, she might of seen something a bit more complicated than the rugged and somewhat carefree attitude he brandished. Arms came to cross over his chest while she took a step back, uttering her abject decline of his transporter advances. There was that smirk again, something he rarely went without - something practiced no doubt time and time again. The self-assurance was positively radiating from his form, only stamped home by the drawing of his fingers up to view their exterior and a scratch at his scruffy chin. Then the glance her way, a knowing coral blue stare that seemed to sparkle; laden with mischief.

"Alone. Good choice of words." Gates said, turning his blue eyes nearly skyward for the time being. The surprising part is that he wasn't protesting. He wasn't begging to be her tour guide through the stars. It might have been expected the way things were going, but Gates refrained from that act. A flick of his tongue against the inner lining of his cheek made a elongated clicking sound within his mouth. "Considering the destination you've got in that pretty little head of yours, I'd say it's downright apt." Boots uncrossed, and Harland pushed off the Wild Goose tugging on his leather jacket and turning to face her. "There's no one going to meet you on Dagobah Ace, and as far as resorts go, I don't really think swamp cheque is your flavor of the month." He'd glanced the datapad readout in her office. It wasn't hard to gather from there a pretty good guess as to what she was planning. He took another measured step forward, hands slipped to place against the wide leather belt about his waist. The humor in his face had dropped, and in its place resided a more serious and straightforward visage.

"So I asked myself. I said 'self', why would a Grand Master of the Jedi Order take a solo retreat to ol' Dagobah?" His head cocked to the side and he started to move again, this time around the Jedi Master. His foot falls moving to angle to the side as he recounted his thoughts aloud. "Seems to me that the last time Dagobah broke holonet news was that of the Dark Harvest." He glanced her way and gave a nod. "Yeah, I read about that mess." He was worlds away at the time, but he'd heard the chatter. Looking back, his hand gestures became more prominent as he explained himself further. Apparently he was giving no quarter for rebuttal. "But I thought better that even you wouldn't venture there to investigate the mystery of the black lagoon all by your lonesome." He smirked and turned on his heel, pivoting in the opposite direction to circle around her in a counter-clockwise fashion. "Then of course there's the only other Master Jedi that took a trip all those centuries ago to that backwater jungle. Certainly older, a lot shorter - and some would say almost puppet like. He went there alone, and he never came back...." Gates paused and then added in, "...in corporeal form that is."

At this juncture he'd done two half orbits around the Grand Master coming back to her twelve o'clock where he clipped his boots together and resumed his stance. Blue eyes locked on her own, as a small hint of a smile came about, giving her a moment of pause from his words. Gates was generally not that analytically minded - or rather he didn't always speak in such a well thought out pattern, despite his use of slang verbage.

"There's only one conclusion I'm coming up with." He paused for effect. "You're going there because you're trying to spare the rest of, what I'm assuming to be, the entire Galaxy from something you don't want them around. In other words, you're going to do something dangerous - or possibly stupid?" He landed on that last word inflecting his voice into the form of a question - when it really was just a clarifying pause. She could hide her reactions all she wanted to, but Gates knew well enough about the Jedi, about Grayson, and about what little he gleaned to work down that invisible flow-chart and arrive at this conclusion. He was honestly hoping she'd surprise him again and call him out on a flawed process. He was hoping for it, mainly because he thought the alternative of him being right would not only be unprecedented between them, but it would also mean that she wasn't marching into something even she thought was too heavy to handle for the rest of the Order.

He kept her gaze for a moment, holding it own by sheer force of will, before his eyes narrowed a bit and he adjusted that red leather about his torso and kept quiet long enough to hear her reply. And yes, it was hard for the spacer to do so.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

“Both.”
Not a single breathy pause wasted between the end of [member="Harland Gates"]’ sentence and the beginning of hers. “Perfectly balanced.” At this, her brow quirked slightly, indicative of a deeper suggestion. Kiskla had been an epitome of balance for quite some time. She’d been contagiously rebellious, but also collected when necessary. Through vigorous training and demanding hours with Marclonus, and sometimes even Selev, she had been conditioned to be remarkably perceptive and understanding of The Force as a whole; rather than simply the view of light and dark. It was for these reasons that the masters had speculated that the fabled story about destiny would apply to her. Etcetera. As for danger and stupidity, she was vastly familiar with both — she’d never been a stranger to rash decision-making, and rarely hesitated in decisions that affected herself. It was only when a larger number was concerned, that she became pensive and cautious; a mature thoughtfulness that was a foreign concept to the Ace of Gates’ youth.

"I think that’s the most thought you’ve put into any of your studies.” Kiskla remarked, her eyes never leaving him as he fidgeted and paced with faux authority on the subject. To counter his brazen fold, her own slender arms crossed across her chest and her hip cocked — remaining silent while he stomped around on his high horse. “Master Selev would be floored.” Neither of them had put much theory into application during their studies. Both Gates and herself had enthusiastically embodied the implications of ‘It’s better to ask for forgiveness, than wait for permission’ and ‘Learn by doing’.

They had become experts in the ‘What not to do’ quite prematurely. Both Masters Marclonus and Selev had been quite exasperated frequently — but there was always some amusement to their mischief. Besides, it couldn’t have been all bad. Both of them were still alive, despite their reckless pastimes.

Her gaze diverted from his challenge and drifted toward the curve of the starship he was offering to her. As usual when she was thinking, her fingers ran through her hair — and another trait became audible. Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth in perceivable irritation. That hand that had travelled through her tresses dropped to her hip and her lips drew into a thin, resolved line.

She didn’t have time to be offended by his comment about the swamp. Oceanic orbs navigated back to the leaf on the wind, and she delivered her musings:
“I said alone, Harland.” Well that was weird, using his full name. She suddenly felt very maternal. Either way, she had little use for a companion — perhaps if Hal had pursued his studies he could pour Force Light into her, but she doubted he even lifted pebbles anymore. A little pew pew pew would do little to subdue her if she did become possessed. She knew this-she’d killed a late master. Acting as a vessel; without being aware. She wouldn’t dare want to do that to Hal. That was one of the reasons she hadn’t told anybody about this departure. The unknown.
She had considered asking [member="Marcello Matteo"] for his assistance, but she’d thought smarter. Kiskla was a capable individual, and really didn’t need to inhibit anybody’s work for her own little endeavours. Besides, she wasn’t really scared about anything — failure was never an option she laid out (despite how bad that was for the accuracy of analysis). And too, this had been a whim. It was less of a planned purge, than a necessary step to take. How could she boast paragon if she cast a larger shadow than most? There wasn’t a live being in the galaxy that knew about the actuality of the alchemical cuff on her wrist. Two had, at one point, and they were both dead now.

Okay, now thinking about it, maybe she should drop him a message. Or something — but first dissuade the situation at hand! How to talk down a manifestation of the past? It was supposed to be an independent venture, and she was stubbourn to the core. “Speculations and snooping aside, this is a one-man trip. Even if it is one-way, all the more reason for the solo venture.”
They weren’t joined at the hip anymore. He didn’t have to make any sacrifices on her behalf. Besides, it had been something in the prophetic story about a single warden. She alone had been limping with this crutch, and she alone would be the one to eradicate it. Over the years the influence of The Son had weakened, he no longer held stead over the realm of Sith. She’d worn him down immensely, but also worn down herself. Their relationship akin to a river and stone. He wasn’t an influencer or in reign of the darkness, but he was detectable by her foes, and they tempted him, trying to draw out that shadow within her. It wasn’t just a perilous situation to herself, but if she were to become compromised in combat, it would affect others as well. It just really wouldn’t be good — all around a pretty detrimental scenario.

Her free hand gestured slightly as she spoke, reflecting visuals for the syllables that poured from her mouth. “Your offer is kind, but I can’t guarantee anything by accepting. Consider this decline a friendly gesture."

 

[Harland Gates]

Tabaga and Vrelt. A classic case if ever studied by the intellectual community, making point for point this little song and dance between them. At one time in their lives it would have been an act of play, because their trust in each other had been resolute. That had been fractured, and strained in their absence. This game was now more of a stalemate, pitting the pawn of stubborn resolve against its equal. Her calm defiance resembled the last time he'd seen the woman in the Spire. He was surprised then at the change in his childhood companion, but that shock had worn off - and it had become almost adorable to the spacer; almost. Their back and forth banter hailing from those younger - simpler times had evolved passed amusing snark and sarcasm. Neither held true animosity towards each other, and while there might of been lasting bitterness in both the spacer and the Grandmaster, each cared for the other. He wouldn't of gotten within ten feet of her if it had been anything different, and they both knew that.

"I just had other interests." While his dedication to the things of the Jedi had been marginal, and followed most of the time out of obligated duty - he had truly focused on the art of sailing the stars. Not unlike the blond before him. Gates retorted curving his mouth into a small circle while raising and squinting one eye at her mention of his former mentor in all things Force related. Master Jos'na Selev had been one of only two Jedi that Hal had given consideration of since his departure from the Temple. Selev was long gone, departed and at one with the Force (or so it was preached), and the other stood before him with her arms crossed. The man had been a beacon of wisdom - containing measureless patience; so notably because he dealt with Gates without resorting to drinking. He still missed the man, and would often find himself recalling quotes that were burned so far into his subconscious that it was impossible to get rid of; much to his chagrin. Even dead the man still chastised his former Padawan in memory alone. "Selev? He'd of popped my ego, right upside my head." It was a common reaction to when Gates thought his actions were gloat worthy.

He let that thought trail along in the back of his mind, quietly churning and marinating in the idea of his former Master. Probably the only authority figure he'd taken on a serious note, and actually wanted to please - despite his outward attitude. Selev had seen through the brash and daring curly headed teenager - he'd seen the potential in him, something that Gates didn't often see in himself. He acted like he did, he acted like he was a karking prodigy most of the time. Thinking on the situation at hand, he knew exactly what Selev would have advised in this situation. A small snicker raised in his throat, but he quelled it quite quickly. Stow aboard her ship, and try and bring her back in one piece. The sage advice though would be ignored - he wasn't some kid who needed to play hide and seek. A shake of his head was offered following her slightly averted gaze back towards the Goose, returning the blue on blue iris locked gaze when she spoke. Using his full first name was a sign of caution to the spacer - another trait of his time with the Jedi Order. There was a hierarchy to how much trouble he was in, related on a scale of how he was addressed.

Padawan Gates - Please listen.

Gates - Wake up boy!

Hal! - You're about to be really sore...

Harland - Dead! - that's what it meant. It meant do this or die.

Brows knit as his name brought him back to the present, casting the cerulean orbs her way, focusing on the crossed arms, the cocked hip, and that tone void of compassion - laced with stone cold fact. The emphatic refusal did nothing but fan the flames of his resolve, igniting the spirit that mirrored her own defiance. It was somewhat frustrating however to keep hearing the reason slip from her lips. He was trying to do something noble, something really heroic - and she was trying to confuse him with facts. How dare she! Hal's unimpressed visage kept the regard stoic while she even hinted at the idea that should she not return, it would be even more suited to a solitary trek. You could see the annoyance in his eyes, the thin lines creasing around them while Kiskla explained with perfect clarity how it would be best if no one but her took this voyage. That wasn't sitting well with the Nyriaanan, and she was certainly not off the hook so easily. To add further insult to injury, she even thanked him for his offer. The impertinence!

"I'll consider it a thinly veiled excuse to be a fething martyr, Kiskla." He said stepping forward, his eyes on her, his arms folded against his chest. "Dangerous and stupid - remind you of anyone?" His brow quirked and head cocked to the side while his arms opened and spread to further identify with the terms. "You're looking at an expert in both. Now, you're getting in the Goose with me, or I'm going to follow you all the way to the murky green." It was a challenge more than a request, but he wasn't above pulling the girl over his shoulder and sticking her in the cockpit himself. "And you know that no matter how good you are up there in the black, there's no way you're gonna shake this tail." He offered the sentiment as he pressed his right thumb against his chest. "You may be the Grandmaster Ace, but ain't no power in the verse gonna shrug off this spacer." Not when it came to friends. He didn't say it, but it was implied.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

A martyr? She had enough opportunity to die for her causes without seeking out a scenario to swallow her up. Her lips drew into a thin, bemused line at this time. [member="Harland Gates"] was insisting he storm himself back into her life and wiggle in enough to make himself comfortable. That weasel! Although at this point and time, he was the only one in the galaxy that may have had the faintest idea about what was going on. When Kiskla had been a Padawan, there had been a period where her moods dipped and curved as a result of nightmares. At first, they’d assumed puberty, but that simply wasn’t the case. It was something far more holistic and ethereal than that — something beyond the natural flow of hormones and genetics. The supernatural influence.

Kiskla sniffed haughtily.

Technically, she and Crimson could venture into the stars and shake Hal, but it would be exhausting. By a manipulation of the constant ebb and flow of The Force, Kiskla could weave the knolls of the White Current to conceal the visual of the RZ-1 A-Wing altogether. But this was a complex control to exercise of The Force, and Kiskla needed to reserve her energy if she were to go against an ancient celestial Architect.

As if on cue, the burn beneath her alchemical cuff began to itch. Only a strip of contorted skin peeked out beneath the ornate metal, but it drew her attention to it enough for a nail to scratch against the scar. A reminder of just how real the realm of Beyond Shadows was — a burn from Abeloth herself; when Kiskla had reached into the forbidden pool.

She’d fought tyrants, cannibals, Sith Lords, random Anzati assassins, Abeloth’s tentacles, conquered the Architect as a teenager, all this, and Hal still had the nerve to call into question her abilities? Of course, this wasn’t in the same spectrum, but it still agitated her to the point that her full lips tucked together and she pursed them, eyes narrowing for a flicker of an instant.

“Okay first of all,” her finger snapped up warningly, commanding the attention of a stern instructor. She’d handled enough group training classes with Padawans to know how to epitomize her early Master. “You have no idea how easy you would be able to shake — second of all if you want to talk power---“ time was ticking away, ignorant of the squabbling childhood friends. She didn’t finish her second point because he was just standing there with that stupid, smarmy grin plastered on his stupid face. Kiskla was patient and polite to a point. She’d already almost bragged, but that wasn’t her nature. It had never been. She may have been cocky and self-aware, but she never outright boasted her accomplishments verbally; she was just very actionable toward challenges.

“Gods!” Kiskla expelled with exasperation, throwing up her hands “You must be some new level kind of bored to be this obsessed. Fine, fine, but if by some stroke of fate in the 'I-told-you-so' cosmos you do die, it’s not my fault. I told you no. That’s going to be for the record.” Grumpily, she turned hotly on her heel. The soles of her boots slapped against the concrete as she stomped to and toward the ascension points. On first look, it would be a ladder. Convenient. So convenient. As a Jedi, she was prepared to travel on whim. All she had on her person was her belova operative bracer, the cursed alchemical cuff (which never came off), and her two lightsabers. Boots, pants, tank and her spacer jacket was all necessary for the elements.

Still didn't mean she felt prepared, though. In fact, less so than usual. But she daren't admit it.

 

[Harland Gates]

Anyone that knew anything about the Grandmaster before him understood that her lips were almost entirely the sole source of all her emotional expressions. They curved, they bent, they shaped each feeling in a language that was almost catalog-able if you had the time and patience to record the movements. Even now, those habits had not died within the woman, and he was picking them out like they were part of his native tongue. He was testing her nerves, and that much was wholly evident, getting dangerously close to causing her to react. Perhaps it was a bit of revenge from getting to see him blow up when she had pressed his buttons in the Spire earlier in the month. Though to ask Gates - he would of simply remarked that it was a crude form of foreplay. He would also have gotten slapped for that most assuredly. While Grayson's mouth could pinpoint her emotions, Gate's mouth just got him in trouble so deep he'd have to take a turbolift to get out of.

The sharp snap of her hand drew his blue eyed gaze in her immediately direction while she went on to lecture him about the incorrect assumptions he had just made. A snort of derision offered as she claimed the ease of throwing him off her proverbial space scent. He hadn't tangled with her Force prowess when it came to cruising the cosmos, but he was confident in his own abilities; arrogantly so. The switch of subjects however to his latter comment is what caused that sly and smug grin to keep resting on his face. She paused, he waited, and then nothing came out. His form leaned forward a touch, while he nearly drew a hand to the back of his ear as if to listen even closer for the rebuttal that wouldn't come. The scoundrel of a former Jedi was truly dancing on the ice if Grayson's patience. He'd of already offered the questionable 'yes' from his lips, attempting to further goad the woman into finishing that thought. His flagrant display was cut short as he shouted in deity affirmation.

"See, that wasn't so hard." The grin came back as his arms unfolded resting at the slit of each pant pocket while he rocked forward on the heel of each boot. She mentioned an untimely demise -- his untimely demise, and made it perfectly clear that if should kick the bucket, he wasn't able to balk at the conditions and terms of their makeshift agreement. Both eyebrows clipped upwards twice in a row before he let out a mock sound of sympathetic regret. "Aww. Your compassion is overwhelming Master Jedi." He was truly laying it on thick - but he was also reveling inwardly at the victory he'd wrought with his clever phrasing and stubborn streak. "Yeah yeah.." he waved at her warning. "The record shall so reflect, now get in the ship." He smirked and followed her childish stomp of feet that took her up the ladder rungs and into the cockpit. "But that doesn't mean I won't haunt that Jedi ass." Gates had never been as cavalier in his speech as a Padawan of the Order. It was quite apparent that in the last five years he'd become even more loose lipped than she might recall.

The HWK-290 boasted a pilot's seat up front and directly behind was the co-pilot's seat. To the rear of that was the seating for four other people, a sizable cargo hold, and what consisted of a makeshift galley on board. For a freighter this small, everything was compact for maximum efficiency, but the two seats upfront boasted enough legroom to make long flights comfortable. Gates swung himself up and over the nose and into the Wild Goose choosing to focus on the console for the moment and not worry that the blunt and shiny end of a lightsaber was going to smack him in the head for that comment. The thrum of the engines rang to life in the rear of the craft while the lid of the cockpit slid backwards, overtaking the nose to encapsulate the ship's bow. The blond hadn't even wanted to share a turbolift with the spacer, and now she was settling in for a reluctant trip across the Galaxy in the confines of a small freighter for a much longer venture. That turbolift was probably looking better right now.

"I'll try not to impress you too much before we make the jump." Repulsorlift engines kicked in as the craft bobbed upwards and then immediately leveled itself while the landing gear folded up and retracted beneath them. An immediately throttle up blasted the Goose forward, rocketing the freighter from the hangar bay and into the open air. He gave the yoke a hard jerk to the right as they passed the Spire, looping around the building in a tight arc that would make some Fleeters question his sanity before starting for the sky.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

In her adolescence, Kiskla would have replied to the commentary about her hiney in a barbaric fashion. She’d have either knocked the heel of her foot against his chest (seeing as she was higher on the ladder) or stepped on his fingers. Even now, she mused how easily it would be to clamp his mouth shut by hooking a kick beneath his chin. But then she’d have a toothless pirate, and that coveted Jedi façade would be blown right out of the water.

So she settled with an inaudible murmuring of Kiffar dialect beneath her breath.

Once inside the body of the Goose, the grumpy Grandmaster situated herself assumptively in the nearest seat to the controls — while still allowing [member="Harland Gates"] his time to frolic in his domain.
With her shoulder blades buried in the seat, and arms pressed firmly against her chest, a small snort escaped her when he declared not to impress her too much.

“Please.” The blonde shook her head, enviable golden waves quivering in response - “The only thing you could do to impress me would be less talk more action.” To confirm her point, her hips wiggled slightly to adjust the distribution of her weight and she settled comfortably — or as much as permitted.

The purr of Goose’s engines flooded the immediate area of the hangar. At this, Kiskla half anticipated to see a Twi’lek climb out of a bunker or something, someone who’s libido was spurned by the roar of the vessel’s thrusters. Alas, no blue lekku emerged and Kiskla had to settle with observing her former confidant’s machinations to project them into the onyx canvas that awaited.

Once puttering out in space, her shoulders shrugged to shimmy from her jacket, and one arm after the other she rested her now bare elbows against the arms of her chair. For a while, she didn’t say much. Her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the ship’s controls — remaining silent. She was mostly reviewing her plan in her head, finding flaws that could be potentially devastating not only to herself, but anybody else. The last time she’d tangoed with these celestial deities, she’d nearly burned herself from the inside out — and that was on Mortis. But she’d earned the rank of warden then, and she would again in the next few days.

The cuff on her wrist caught an angle of light, and refracted it when she moved — causing a subtle glint. One hand gently folded over it as her limbs angled to cradle both fists in her lap. “So how have the stars been treating you? And tell me,” she absently picked at an imaginary piece of fluff on her thigh “—did you come by this ship honestly?”

She’d no clue what kind of person he was now. Whether he be the typical smuggler scum, or still boasted some of his Jedi honour. His training had been rigorous, mostly because they’d both been so specialized and isolated — she doubted it’s influence could have totally melted away. Even if he wished it would. The comment wasn’t totally insulting, her trademark simper followed suit and an accusing brow quirked in his direction — though it was harmless. Stolen or honest, the deeds were done. It was just a segway into knowing more about the enigmatic Gates.

 

[Harland Gates]

Four pale blue streams streaked across the sky of Anaxes, as the flare of each rear wing thruster propelled the craft through the sky lanes of the Republic's current base of operations. For as rugged and off-kilter as the pilot seemed while walking the city streets, the smooth and graceful maneuvers that twisted and turned the Goose were contrasted with the expert skills of the former Jedi. If there was ever one area that Gates could accompany his big mouth, it was kissing the sky in pretty much anything he got behind the yoke of. Even that sometimes got the pilot wishing he'd of set his jaw a little firmer and bit his tongue. The faded bruise across his cheek an evident reminder that not everyone could or would stomach the unending smart mouth. His passenger had one on her too, though it seemed she had learned to temper her adolescent passions, and form a downright respectable attitude. While it would make Hal roll his eyes at the persona he didn't trust for a second - he had to admit she was a Master at the craft. The stray thought of leaving it to a woman to master deception came and went - without exiting his mouth this time.

"You've always been more show than tell." He uttered back while they crossed the sky-lane traffic and headed through the towards the Republic's ever watchful fleet towers. He didn't need to radio in, all he had to do was pass at a unique angle and they would get the drift. The Goose bore right going into a knife edge as the cockpit's main view points were directly above. Those in the tower would get a fleeting but long enough glimpse of a smug red jacket wearing pilot directly upfront of the Jedi Grandmaster. "Blow 'em a kiss Ace, we're outta here." A two finger salute was offered to the crew in the tower before he slipped out of the maneuver and increased the velocity to punch through the atmosphere above. Wispy clouds tore by the exterior hull like static smoke columns before the atmosphere thinned and the black welcomed them with it's ebony embrace. It had been too long since he shared a cockpit with the blonde behind him. Despite her reluctance to become his passenger, he felt right at home with her on board.

The ride was comfortable enough, as the pilot and co-pilot seat had been fitted with a fur overlay for a more pleasurable ride, and little knick-knacks adorned his console. A few vanity stickers littered one of the side panels near the arm rests. Faded and worn, while some were still new and shiny. Emblems of flight crews that might of been recognized or foreign to the Kiffar behind him. Others were hallmarks of the symbols of different planets he had visited. There was even a few ticket stubs plastered into the mix that told tales of races he'd either attended or been in. It was hard to tell. There were more souvenirs from his time aboard littered about the cabin, and even some from his older days. Though unless Kiskla got it in her head to snoop about and try and unlock compartments in storage, she wouldn't really find anything that would make him react the way she had when he touched her holocron. Digits typed in a few coordinates and let the onboard computer detail the best hyperlane route for the ride across the Galaxy to their destination.

"Oh this bird is all mine." He said over his shoulder while he flipped a few switches to warm up the hyperdrive core. "I've paid for it over and above; blood, sweat, and credits. Not necessarily in that order." Hal affectionately patted the arm rest, giving the leather trip a squeeze with a smile on his face. "Out here..in the black, that's pretty much all you can ask for. So I keep flying." He offered before the pitched tones of the computer answered back with a clear jump for hyperspace. "We're locked, time to punch it." Hal expressed the ready and then drove the throttle forward, hitting the hyperspace lever and drawing the silver arm forward to it's nesting point. There mere pin points of distant light before them elongated becoming hundreds of white lines painting the horizon with streaks of starlight as the ship burst forward and blinked out of visual range.


*
Eight Years Prior
*

Naboo
Theed Palace
Military Flight Deck


The white streaks of light surrounded the cockpit drawing the nose into the unfathomable reaches of the dark void. A long and winding tunnel crafted eons ago by the first charter pilots who were investigating the great Galaxy. It was a silent trip through the black, racing passed star systems like they were going out of style, and into uncharted territory. There was also the snoring? The loud unabated nasally snore that radiated from a young, baby-faced teenager who was cradled awkwardly in the simulation chair. The trio of screens before him boasted the virtual hyperspace lane he was supposedly going through, but it was simply on an endless loop of a fancy screen saver. The darkened wing of the Theed Military Air-force training base echoed only with the sound of a slumbering Padawan, who was also drooling on the metallic chair. He'd done it again, another long night playing pilot when he supposed to be reporting back to that hovel that Master Selev called a home. The older he got, the less and less likely it was that the Jedi Master would see him coming back home in the evening. Often it had been an exercise in patience for the elder Jedi, and as such an exercise in rebellion for the learner. It wasn't outright defiance, but a complete disregard for boring adult responsibility.

The trail of his antics the previous evening were strewn across the floor. Starchart flimsis were laid out in haphazard array next to the simulator, while a stack of Theed Palace food containers that had been smuggled in were piled up. The Jedi robe had been lovingly wadded up into a ball as his pillow while he slept off the affects of pulling another all-nighter attempting to crack the last vestiges of a security code that had locked him from travelling further than he wanted in the software. This was designed for Theed pilots, not for traversing the Galaxy on a whim. It was severely limited, and the more and more he stayed here the more and more restless he got to get out there again. While Gates wasn't exactly anything of a Force prodigy, he was more anxious than any of the four in his party to get back out on another mission. It meant another chance to fly after all.

The on-set of a far too early morning ritual was coming to a middle, and despite the evidence of Gates' pact with the sandman to saw enough logs to make the Endor forest jealous - soon enough he'd have to confront the mistake of being late to training - or whatever Master Selev called it. He had names for everything, but they seemed pedantic and ritualistic at best. Gates called it training, and nothing else. He didn't see the use in sugar-coating the discipline. Unfortunately both Masters knew that a holo-alarm was not the way to wake this wayward youth up. They were wise enough to send in an expert. A blond expert.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Eight years ago. ​

Naboo ​

Kiskla was never a morning person. Antares’ first lesson with her had been at the crack of dawn — and he’d since then tried to condition her to appreciate the wee hours of daytime, but with little avail. That bushy-tailed, bright-eyed spirit of ambition had long ago deterred and the groggy grumpiness had replaced it routinely.

Even this morning, the blonde wanted to just roll over and return to her realm of wondrous slumber. Her ponytail was knotted, and cheeks flushed from being smothered into her pillow when both masters insisted she rise. An important mission! A fellow Jedi’s life in jeopardy? Finally, something cool to pursue!

**

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

The ponytailed, fist-clenched youth stalked down the corridors. For someone so slight, her feet were certainly not treading gently. The impact of soles and duracreet echoed in the cavernous curves of the hallways leading to the flight deck. She was mumbling things in kiffar beneath her breath. Not cusses, per say, but not pleasantries either.

It was a well-practiced parade. She knew her way backwards and inside out to the flight deck, and soon reached the area that was occupied by a trio of simulators. One was in use, the other two entirely abandoned. For a moment, Kiskla enviously imagined all the pilots pleasantly sleeping, instead of being prodded from their slumber like cattle. Moo.

Oh well, if she had to do this, she’d do it the fun way. Today she was supposed to be furthering her lessons with mentality. Apparently Kiskla was quite the persuasive little person — who’da thunk it!? Antares was still trying to place her between consular and guardian or some other titles like that. Problem was, she was as quick-witted as she was prodigal with The Force. Perhaps with more training, things would reveal themselves more. But for that to happen, she had to get back to it, and to get back to it, she had to get [member="Harland Gates"] to move his stupid butt.

Without much second thought, Kiskla devised her plan and quickly scaled a nearby ladder to an elevated platform that overlooked the simulation pods. This spectator room was divided into thirds, each one with a series of colourful controls lining the walls, and a view screen facing down to where the pilots would be engaged in various virtual tests. Her little patootie quickly found itself comfortable in one of the command chairs, and her fingers took control of various buttons and levers. It was like a technologic salad, one she’d toss until the faux ship came to life once more. He had it set on auto — that lazy bum. Kiskla frowned deeply, her brows furrowing.

Instantly, by her will, his pod began to tremble violently. Every crimson alert in the cockpit would twirl and screech. Kiskla leaned back in the seat, reaching over her head for a tiny little flicker lever, to which she prompted to fling upward in 5…4…3…2..——1. Cue the screen of a horrific crash that shatters the screens. If the alarms and warning signs hadn't been enough, hopefully that'd shake him.

If not, she'd think of something nastier.

Kiskla didn’t just wake up on the wrong side of the bed. She oft’ woke up on the wrong side of the galaxy.

 

[Harland Gates]

An auto-feed of silent hyperspace lanes had lulled the teenage wannabe spacer into a full coma, dropping him off into his subconscious to count Corellian sheep. This wasn't a pod meant for sleeping, nor was it meant for actually travelling through hyperspace - it was all just a clever ruse anyway. While the data feed was accurate for planetary location, and conditions - the pod was a glorified chair with a view screen at times. Especially when the simulated tunnel of the hyperlanes was sliding across the triple screen within the pod like half-dome. Little did Hal know that in the quiet of the early morning, this peaceful respite from the galaxy at large was about to be quite rudely interrupted. This interruption coming in the form of a torrent of alarms screeching across the console while the entire pod was bathed in bright red lights flashing in patterns that would make a Miraluka epileptic.

An orchestra of chaos violently shook the pod and the passenger who began to rattle against the metal chair as the impending doom looming on the view screens tore by, leveling the turbo-shocks on the pod's frame to shift with their full might and sway. From within however, the padawan was grimacing on his makeshift pillow, desperately attempting to cling to any vestiges of sleep as his leather boot struck the console several times in attempt to force to shut up and let him have some peace and quiet. He didn't really process anything of sabotage to his chosen bed, he just wanted quiet! Apparently kicking it was not working as the pod jerked the tail end up, and then straight back down, throwing his body right out of the chair, and onto the hard - unforgiving durasteel platform stomach first. He landed as gracefully as a stone, and just stayed there, splayed out, and incredibly unhappy.

"Owww." The teenager let out a full groan, as his face was pressed to the flat metallic surface. No longer was he comfortably asleep, but unnerved, jostled and coming to a reality that possibly hurt worse than Master Selev's scoldings. A blonde mane of curly locks was disheveled, while the imprint of a few lines of metal grating rested on his right cheek (of the pod chair's design). Raising one hand, while he still laid prostrate on the ground, he murmured a complaint. "I don't recall an ejector seat being an included feature." He pointed out in a slurred speech before he slowly pushed himself over and rolled to his back. Coral eyes blinked while he rubbed them, attempting to get a clear visual on his surroundings. A padawan normally would use the Force for something like that, but that wasn't in the cards at the butt-crack of dawn, especially after waking up to that ruckus. Vision swirled into place finally as the fogginess abated and a clear picture came into view. High above the pods, the should of been empty, observation deck was sporting a pint sized administrator.

"Of course it's you." His voice rang out, though he didn't move. "This..." Gates gestured to the pod and it's simulated wreck. "...doesn't count. Just because you crashed yours off the support struts, doesn't meant I have to as well...Ace." His tone was dismal and full of annoyance while he pushed himself to a semi seated position. "So which one sent you this time?" He asked, but then quickly rose a brow, understanding why she had decided to forcefully eject him out of the pod in the most jarring way possible. "Both of them...it was both of them, wasn't it?" He knew what that meant - when the Masters tag teamed to get him to do something (even as simple a task as waking up) he knew he was in for it when he got back. "Did that at least put a smile on your face?" He asked. Kiskla was like his kid-sister in some ways. She was younger than him, but just as stubborn, and certainly as playfully rebellious as he was. They got along rather well, even if they often annoyed each other like crazy. While he was the older of the pair, he wasn't the best of students, and Kiskla had a connection to the Force that was envied by other Padawans. Gates was an exception to that rule, he didn't get impressed by Force prowess, at least not any that'd he seen. Unless you count patience of the gods as a Force power - where Selev would take that title time and again.

Moving to his feet, and shaking his mop of curly sun kissed tresses, drawing his hand over the locks and mussing them up until they fell in a manner that befitted the rogue. Hands clasped to the side of the pod as he gave it a scrutinizing gaze. All the warnings lights were still blood red, the screen hosted actual cracks to where his boot found purchase with the view screen. He'd certainly be paying for that (one way or another), not to mention that it would have to be manually reset after he was thrown around inside the cockpit. A shake of his head in frustration was offered, before he turned his attention around, folding his arms across his chest while he leaned on the bruised simulator, angling his gaze to watch Grayson descend from her position of marionette madness.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]