Ex's & Oh's

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

Once Samson settled down on one of the other fallen pillars she'd hear the distinct sound of a bag settled down on the ground.

The clink of metal brushed past.

"Hm?" Samson looked up, squinting slightly while studying the bright lights up in the night sky. "Those are stars, yes." He sighed and stretched. Then noticed the scrunched up glance she was sending him. "Oh. This is one of those nostalgic dreamy moments, yes?" A slow nod, before looking back up again. "They are... quite something, yes." It almost sounded genuine. The effort could be heard, but there wasn't much in the way of inflection. Not for a lack of trying, note. Just that Samson had little when it came to emotional attachment to...

Well.

Anything really.

Most of those feelings came from when you were a small child, the wonder, the hope, the dreams, none of that possessed a place in his psyche. Jairus had tried to explain it to him, but that had been about the look he had given to Irajah.

A look that Samson considered strange.

The brief discussion hadn't led anywhere.

One thing that Tryp would notice about the bag... there was no sensation of evil coming off of it. As if it was muted, suppressed. Cerbera had been quite nice to give it to him. But something told him that Raj had something to do with the sudden gift rather than anything else. It was a masterwork- the thick hide decorated with deep drawing of flowers and other flora.

Didn't feel like Sith Alchemy either.

"Did you manage to make more music then, Tryp?"

 

[Tryp West]

She'd squinted at him, not bothering to hide it.

"Ya know what's wrong wit' you, Sammy?" She asked, tipping her hat back slightly further. "Ya ain't got no music in yer soul."

But her tone was friendly and conversational, so it was clear that she wasn't necessarily trying to insult him. She shifted, ankles crossing and uncrossing in the opposite configuration.

"Nah. I'm off da chrono fer t'night. Tomorra' I'll try ta find a new piece ta work on. Ain't got no reason ta stumble 'round in da dark. Good way ta break my damn fool neck."

Tryp, of course, was as Force Sensitive as the average mynock- which was to say, not very. So anything related to the bag other than the physical detail? That was lost on her. Sure she could feel something that was deeply and truly evil- there were places where even the densest non-force user would get goose bumps and the hair raising along the back of their neck. But anything more subtle than a brick to the head and she was blissfully unaware of it. She'd learned to identify sith artifacts by trial and error, by a history of familiarity and just enough study to figure out what would burn her. Not physically perhaps, but there were some memories she'd picked up that still kicked around like a loose credit in an empty can. Loud, jangling, unpleasant. And she was disinclined to acquire more of those without a damn fine reason.

She *did* notice the craftsman ship however. How could she not given everything?

"Someone put a lot a' time inter dat bag. It's a beaut."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

"Music... in my soul?" Samson squinted right back then. Not because he thought it was an insult or anything, but because it confused him. That did not seem like a healthy thing to want for yourself. "That does not sound healthy. If you are experiencing something like that you should let me check it out, Tryp." The last thing that Samson wanted was for this nice woman to suddenly lose it- it sounded like another mental condition, to be honest.

But his attention was drawn away from it and back towards the bag.

It was beautiful. Samson did not need a nostalgic youth to see the craftsmanship either. Something told him that Cerbera had not been making it for him, because why would she go through so much effort then?

"Agreed. If its creator is anything, it is an artist." She was also pretty much insane and frightening. It took a special kind of person to walk into the realm of the Netherworld, because of a promise. Then coming right out with a soul dragged out with 'er. But... Cerbera had brought Raj back and that was all that truly mattered to him. If Irajah had his eternal loyalty, then the alchemist would have his entire gratitude.

"You can hold it, if you'd like." He'd rise up and hand it over to her, if the offer was accepted. "Nothing of the Force can reach in or out of it, or so it was explained to me. Far safer to transport artifacts like that."

Samson thought about it while she studied the bag, before nodding slowly.

"So, you spend your days exploring tombs and ruins? Or is there more you fill your time with." The wording might sound judgmental, but that was not the case here.

Judging was not something imprinted in him.

 

[Tryp West]

"T'ain't no medical condition," she said with a laugh. "But dat's exactly what I'm talkin' about. Right dere. Ya see a t'ing as it is, but not as it is. It's a meterphor."

Sitting up slightly, she reached out when he offered. She hadn't taken her gloves off after coming back up from down stairs, so she accepted the bag without hesitation. She admired the craftsmanship without reservation, turning it around, eyes tracking the patterns.

"Yep, artist da a magnificent job, an' ya kin tell 'em so fer me, if'n ya git a chance. Da Force stuff, well, Ah'll jes' take yer word for it."

Handing it back, she nestled her butt a little tighter into the crook at the base of the statue, tongue moving the twig from one corner of her mouth to the other as she chewed contemplatively on it.

"Mostly dat," she admitted, though it wasn't with any particular chagrin. "Ah got family I see as often as I can." She reached up absently, scratching the bridge of her nose along the patterning of the tattooed dots. "But dey're busy folk too, so it's not as often as I t'ink any o' us would like. I like da travelin' ya understand. Git itchy feet- again, not a medical t'ing Sammy, meterphor- so da life suits me. I play a couple instruments myself, good way ta pass da time. My ma taught me, but I've picked up a few she dun play- 'course she had ta respond by doin' da same." She smiled.

It was clear from the way she spoke about her family, the fondness and comfort, that she had the things that Samson lacked.

"What 'bout chu?"

[member="Samson']

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

The look of confusion was palpable, but Samson decided not to pursue it right away.

As a thing is, but not as it... is?

That was just confusing and didn't make much sense to him. Much like her as a person, if he was honest. Not in a bad way- people were strange and Samson was very aware that he didn't really fit in either. Hadn't fit in with Irajah and Jairus, which was why they had assigned him a bed in the lab rather than anything else. He was fine with it, comfortable even.

This was who he was.

Samson could hear the warmth in her voice when she discussed her family. It sounded nice. Even if it was slightly foreign to him, because that love had nothing of the undying devotion he felt for Irajah.

Odd.

"I-" Brows furrowed in deep thought at that. Why was it that every single notion on his lips was one that could endanger her? "I have not had much opportunity to find things to do with my time." That was the simple truth. "I enjoy working with my hands? Treating patients, it brings a sense of calm." Then the giant shrugged, before leaning back against the pillar and watching the stars.

"This journey is as much about trying to find who I am as much as it is about trying to find who I can be."

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp chewed, both on the twig and on what he was saying.

"Is good," she said with a firm nod finally. "Worst reasons ta journey than dat, I'll tell ya."

She turned her head slightly, giving him another solid eyebrow.

"Never woulda guessed ya fer a doctor, beggin' yer pardon. Meybe a blacksmith. A mechanic or sem' such. But I suppose it t'ain't dat far off. De mechanic anyway. Yeh jes' work on people insteada machines."

She frowned, but it had nothing to do with him, made obvious a moment later.

"Almost wish ya were a mechanic. Ship's bin makin' a funny noise lately. Wonder if'n I buy a tool set from a good one if'n I could learn how ta fix it myself. Huh, dat's an interestin' thought. Never tried anyting like dat afore."

Tryp was perfectly at ease, talking to him about the serious or the slightly silly, or not saying anything at all really. The woman was someone at peace with herself and the galaxy around her. Sure, there were things she didn't like, things that were horrible- some of which she'd encountered either first hand or through the memories of things that had come through her hands. She was confident in the small slice of the cosmos she inhabited. It wasn't much, but she knew it was something.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

"Hmm, I do get that a lot, unsure why." Samson responded with a shrug. The fact that he was a mountain with shoulders as broad as... well, there was no need to get too graphical here, did not even arise in him.

They chatted for a bit.

Sometimes silence fell between the words, but they weren't awkward at all. Food was exchanged, nom nom, and eventually Samson nodded to himself again. Pushing forward with what he had in mind and hoping that it would have a receptive audience. "I wonder-" Careful approach, he wasn't really sure how to bring this. Oh, she mentioned she enjoyed some company, but there was a difference with company and company.

"-would you be interested in traveling together for a bit?"

It had been an idea that popped up while exploring the depths with the artifacts. It made sense to him- she had a knack of discovering exactly that which he was searching for right now.

She seemed pleasant enough and she had caf.

Was there truly anything more necessary?

"I would be willing to pay for passage and your assistance, of course." It seemed obvious to Samson that he'd have to pay her. Hire her services, because nothing in this Galaxy was for free. Not truly. There were always some little hooks placed here or there. That was something instinctive, some sort of feeling that simply seemed natural and logical to him.

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp blinked.

Then laughed. A clear guffaw of amusement.

"Sammy boy, you ain't gonna pay me fer dat. If'n ya want ta tag along, ye can." She shrugged, still smiling. "Chip in fer whatever food ya eat, dat's all. Jes' know dat I travel where I travel. Dun plan it out in advance. Jes' go where da wind blows. Sometimes stay for a day. Sometimes a week. One time stayed fer three months an *still* dinnae see everyt'ing der was. So if'n ya dun mind dat, well, ye can come along."

It hadn't taken any thought. It was just clear to her that she wasn't going to take money from the man. She'd parse out the exact reason later, find the logic to it, but the gut response of it was not unlike accepting too much money from a child to buy them a piece of candy.

"Dun matter 'ow long. I reckon ye'll git tired o' it afore I will, but dat's usually 'ow it goes. Nah, dun argue. I'll even tell ye 'ow I know."

She swung her legs over to sit instead of lounge. Resting her elbows on her knees, she took the twig out of her mouth and pointed it at him, one eye closed. The lack of the stick didn't make her any easier to understand, unfortunately.

"We're all lookin' fer somet'in. But I'm findin' mine 'ere. Yer gonna too. But by da time ya find it, yer gonna realize dat it's time ter look fer somet'in new, or else dat ye were really lookin' fer somet'in else all along. One or t'other."

She smiled at him.

"T'ain't a bad life, da one I live. But it ain't fer ye. Not fer keeps. So sure, tag along. One planet. Two. Ten. But I'd put credits down, two to one," she said, grin widening. "Dat ye'll be de one leaving again, in de end."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

He listened.

Hadn't actually been planning on arguing with her about it, because her words were true.

This wasn't something that Samson wanted to do forever. At some point, perhaps tomorrow, in a week, three months, a year or more there would come a moment where he was done. When he had learned all that he needed to know and when his purpose would be clear to him. But right now Samson simply didn't know what he wanted to do with himself. Being an assistant to his creator had lost its flavor, he was incapable of protecting her and in truth Carach would do a far better job of that anyway, so what was left to him?

Travel, explore, learn and hopefully figure himself out along the ride.

"No bets are necessary, Tryp. I have a feeling that gambling with you leaves a person quite... devoid of their goods." Shake of the head followed. "We all have our paths. You have found yours, I am still looking for mine, once I find it? It will probably end in us parting ways, but until then?"

Inclination of the head.

"Your terms suffice." For now. He did not feel completely comfortable with it- her food would be a fraction of what he could help with. But perhaps he could find other ways to fund this journey of theirs without causing distress in her. "How long do I have to explore the underground?" It seemed obvious to him that part of the deal was that she would determine the pace of their travel. That was how he interpreted what she had said and it was quite alright with him.

It was not the assisting that had been the issue for Samson.

Rather the lack of internal expansion and learning.

 

[Tryp West]

Her eyes sparkled slightly, grin growing wider.

"Yer a wise man, Sammy-boy. I only bet when I'm sure I'll win," she said with a wink.

Stretching, she groaned, sitting up and working the kinks out of her neck with a series of pops.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, stretching one arm up over her head and grabbing the elbow with the other. "I 'xpect ta stay another day 'r two. 'Pends what I find tomorra. Meybe three, if'n I pick up somethin' with a song jes kin't wait. So. Least one day. Possibly three."

If he found things that he was clearly invested in? It'd be three, no matter what she said.

"I'm gonna hit da hay, Sammy," she said with a yawn and a scratch at her hair. It was obvious that she was camping out right here- there was no place nearby for a ship to land, he'd seen that himself, and just like him, she'd trekked in on foot to the site.

"Night."

It was as simple as that. She'd accepted him into the camp from the moment he'd stepped up. There was room, trust and companionship offered, as easily as someone else might offer a hand shake. There was no tension, no strangeness. Tryp accepted folks as they came.... and as they went.

[member="Samson"]