Fabula Eunt Domus [ORC, or other people hangin' out in the middle of BFE]

[Fabula Caromed]

Redshift Station
Fabula wasn't running anymore. Upon returning home to find it menaced by militant fundamentalists eager to "cure" her, she had turned the Pilgrim around and summarily done what came naturally to her. She sprinted for the edge of the galaxy and thought nothing of it. It meant she wouldn't get to see Flynn for a while, or check up on her clan, but it wasn't really much of a problem. She could keep up with her family through comm relays, and it wasn't like she couldn't go home; her home had never been Taris, or Mandalore, or even Dathomir.

It was the Rim. It had always been the Rim.

The Bloody Pilgrim's landing struts hissed as it touched down on some junker station in a sector commonly referred to as "the middle of frigging nowhere." Normally this sort of place would mostly be a waystation to wherever you were really going, or the end of the line if you didn't have anywhere else to be. On her way to the Rim this time, though, she heard a few stories about some kind of "hoodoo holy land," a mecca for vagrant sects of Force-users, shamans, seers, and whatever else. Escaping a purge by hiding amongst a couple dozen other breeds of renegade and vagabond sounded like a pretty decent idea. Hopefully it panned out, but even if this place was nothing like what she'd heard, it was far enough off the beaten path that no one would be able to trace her back to Flynn for a while.

When the well-loved boarding ramp of the aging XR-95 met the well-loved deck of an aging docking bay with a quiet clank, Fabula Cavataio hung her head out the side, holding onto one of the door's pneumatic stirrups. Her hair danced slightly behind her as the atmosphere stabilized between her ship and the station, and it distracted her slightly from her quick scan of the area. This place was exactly as ugly on the inside as it had been from the outside. That gave her hope, in a way. Most people heard of Jedha and thought of it as some kind of glorious golden sanctuary. It was closer to this. Cluttered. Ramshackle. Like scores of individual cultures and creeds all got mashed together without any lubricant to smooth the transition.

There was a quiet metallic thump with each step Fabula into the station proper, the ramp to her precious Pilgrim - her oldest and dearest friend - sealing shut behind her. She pulled her jacket up around her shoulders a bit tighter, less for warmth or protection than to make sure no one ran off with it. However sacred this place might sound, it was a dead-end station in the middle of wild space. There were thieves, and she didn't really want breaking some idiot kid's arm to be the first impression she left on this many people.

Absent a docking "authority" of any kind, Fabula wandered out into a corridor that led to another corridor that led to another corridor. She saw a few people and a droid or two shuffling about, totally ignorant or otherwise unconcerned with her existence. That was pretty typical of the Rim; you keep your head down and people are less likely to bother you. It did make it a little difficult to find anything resembling civilization, though.

All you really had to do, of course, was keep looking long enough. If a large enough group of people - meaning more than 20 or so - were stuck in the same place for a long enough time and with easy access to alcohol, someone was going to open a bar. Fabula didn't drink, but bars were full of people, and people talked. It'd be her easiest opportunity to learn more about this muckhole.

When she found a lively enough candidate, she walked in without hesitation. After all, what was the worst a bunch of smugglers and fugitives going to do? Shoot her?

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Fabula Caromed"]

Noomay the Bereth-Aku had served as medic on Jorus' ship, the Wretched Hive, for years now. Here, though, hunched over the bartop and a Book of Takodana, Noomay was the leader and Jorus the follower.

"And you say she was solid? Light?"

The tortoise nodded agreeably and flipped through the book. One claw settled on a second-hand penitent psalm, told as a much-amended anecdote. A thousand years could change an awful lot about scripture, and this old book showed the marks more readily than most.

"Though she was once a pirate, Captain, she found her way clear to a life that offered benevolent shelter and acceptance. To her, fighting the Dark Side was the struggle behind every war that mattered, including the war inside the sentient heart...Captain? If you'd like some time to think-"

"Sorry I got distracted." Jorus pointed past the Bereth-Aku healer's shelled shoulder. Noomay turned his entire head on its long neck.

"The Force moves darkly around that woman."

"I'd imagine so. More about pain and frustration than malice, though. Battle inside the heart, right? She's a friend I haven't seen since ever." He raised a hand and tried to catch Fabula's eye. "I think you'll like her."

 

[Fabula Caromed]

A bar was a bar was a bar. Fabula wasn't a connoisseur, but her trek along the length and breadth of the galaxy had given her at least some basis for comparison, and in her experience, most bars were just palette swaps of each other. Some had better or worse food, nicer or more detached guests, brighter or darker lighting...but in the end, they were all the same. They stank like alcohol, were full of people whose lives were a series of horrible decisions culminating in more alcohol, and they were full of grabby hands attached to people with no sense of personal boundaries.

Her outlook was grim until someone flagged her down. Fabula acquiesced, of course, partially because she needed someone to talk to anyway, and partially because she had a subtle compulsion to follow directions. From a distance and through a crowd, she couldn't tell who it was. She assumed it was a stranger. As she got closer and listened to her surroundings, felt and watched what was going on, it was clearer. When she listened to the Force, listened to her heart, she knew.

She remembered a little wanderer with a burden almost as heavy as her own, the kind woman who'd helped her...and that kind woman's husband. "Mister Jorus," Fabula began with a smile, bowing very slightly a bit away from the table. Nowhere close to the groveling she'd done in years past. "I've been a bit out of touch with Miss Alna. I hope you two are doing well." The pale woman took a seat as far from the stranger as possible. He felt uneasy. No need to make him feel more uneasy.
[member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi's original plan, before running into the Aang-ti on the heel of Jorus, was to find a nice little bottle to crawl into and be left alone. For better or worse, the galaxy had more obnoxious plans, because of course it karking did. He was somewhat out of retirement again, and frankly, back-water worlds on the rim suited him. Selling artifacts, bouncing about form place to place, and stopping whenever it suited him. However, he'd been out of touch more than he'd like to admit. And frankly, he was wondering as to the fate of some people. Ganna was probably more or less running the monastery's operations without him, but every time he tried to see her, he just...couldn't. He just needed to call her. Or not.


He wandered into the bar, shrugging as he "saw" the room. Hundreds of little lights where people and things were. Pieces, fragments, ideas...it all turned into a sort of dimly lit fog through his mind's eye. However, every soul had it's own "light," and provided it, in a sense. Three at the bar. Jorus' aura was....well, the way it usually was. Fizzy, energetic, looking to move and to see as much as to stay in one place. That man was always looking for another adventure, and his spirit was like smoke in a bottle, looking for a new place to flutter off to. Still, it was calm, despite it's fizziness, for now, Merrill was stable.

The other two were interesting, and new. The tortoise-like being had a sense of age and time about him--not a crumbling edifice, but a long-standing pillar. There was a certain wisdom to his eyes, the kind that came from studying ancient tomes and monitoring halls. It reminded him of Ganna. Hell, ti reminded him of his younger self as well. Bookish, kind, but just fiddling enough to cause trouble.


The third was....well, what the hell was she? Her aura wasn't so much clouded as it was a sort of tornado. If Jorus was blue and fizzy, and the old turtle scholar was muted and subdued, than she was....some sort of walking hurricane--no, more like a long-storied warrior. A hint of dathomiri magic--those witches always gave him some kind of trouble--and a great deal of honed control. Her aura was almost entirely contained within her body as opposed to outside it. A master of self-augmentation? He failed to hide a smirk. This was going to be far more entertaining than usual.

He pulled a small barstool slightly nearer to Jorus. "Haven't seen you since the Aing-tii thing," he said with a soft laugh. "Having fun, are we? Don't tell me you're taking on another student," he waved gregariously to the quiet woman with the brown hair. Now that he as closer...Oh. Hmmm. He nodded, his large hat bobbing a bit. "I'm Vorhi, it's a pleasure." The first rule of the gossiping old Sensei: Make the wrong assumption, so people correct with the truth.



[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Hm? Well now. Here for twenty seconds and already surrounded by the Force. Apparently the stories hadn't been exaggerated. Fabula managed a distant smile at the...blind man in front of her. Whether or not he could see it, she maintained her smile. He didn't stink like a Sith, but anyone who navigated perfectly well without eyes like that was likely a seasoned vet. Or a Miraluka. She'd never met one of those before.

"I'm afraid I'd make a terrible student for Mister Jorus, Mister Vorhi," Fabula replied without moving an inch. Her senses were lacking, but not deficient. No Sith, no threat, no need to scoot over or break any limbs. "Likewise a pleasure. I must admit, when I heard this place's reputation, it was hard to believe." She gave a quick look around and a shrug, the corner of her mouth turning up in a genuine smile. "Not so much now."

At the very least it was amicable to spiritualists and wanderers. She'd yet to find any street preachers or wandering acolytes, though, so she couldn't really give it the benefit of the doubt yet. It was at the corner of nowhere and even more nowhere, though, and it seemed quiet enough. A good shelter from the first storm Fabula had had to be honestly worried about in years.

[member="Vorhi Alestrani"] [member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Vorhi Alestrani"]

"Alna's doin' good, thanks for asking. Keeping busy. She'll be glad to hear I ran into you, and she'd skin me if I didn't give you her number."

As Vorhi and Fabula chatted, Jorus scribbled a comm signature on a gently used napkin. The number led to an anonymous message box that he and Alna used on occasion - one of several. Old habits.

"Don't think there's much I could teach her about the Force anyway, Alestrani. Could be the other way around, though. One of these days I might figure out her punch-through-walls trick." He took a long swig of his virgin lum and caught a droid's eye for another can. "Remind me how you two know each other?"

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Fabula's smile turned from detached to genuine when an old friend handed her a way to contact a woman who was basically her mother. Alna had done a fantastic job of disappearing from the face of the galaxy. Having a way to speak to her at all was better than what she'd had before. The pale woman folded the napkin and stuck it inside the breast of her jacket. "Thank you, Mister Jorus. You've given a drifter some peace of mind."

Raising an eyebrow, Fabula's grin found some humor at the barest mention of property damage. "It's not about how you approach the wall, Mister Jorus. It's about how you approach yourself. I'd be glad to explain what I mean, if you'd like, but I'd never presume to 'correct' your view of the galaxy with my own. That would be rude." The man behind her? Well, she didn't know him. But parts of him were familiar. He felt a bit like she remembered feeling, before her fragmented soul had been reunited on the Field of Blades. Not quite monastic, but passive. Allowing. A bit bumbling, maybe. Like one of those comedy martial arts stars from the holos.

"I'm afraid I don't. If we've met before, Mister Vorhi, I seem to have forgotten it." She started to give an apologetic look, realized he might not be able to see it, and doubled down by doing it anyway. "Of course, I couldn't be less surprised that the two of you are acquainted. Mister Jorus has an almost supernatural knack for staying busy."

[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Vorhi Alestrani"]

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi would have raised a brow at the mention of breaking walls. And the location's reputation? They were in the middle of nowhere, he could not help but wonder what reputation he was proving. Ah, well. He smirked back, playfully. What was throwing him, was the unfailing politeness. It was a little surreal to see someone so formal out here. Was she some sort of acolyte?


He waved over at one of the bartenders. "Whatever's handy for tea, please," he said setting a rather large drinking gourd on the table and smirking. "It's a pleasure, miss, but I'm certain I would remember you if we'd have met before as well. As far as walls are concerned, punching usually provides more than conversation, but I've been known to attempt both," he said with a chuckle. "Yeah, Jorus has a knack for keeping other people busy as well. I'm basically out of retirement thanks to you, you know that?" He made an odd head bobbing motion. Sadly, he had no eyes to roll.



"So what brings you out this far, miss? Its' rare to see someone as soft-spoken as yourself at the edge of nowhere."


[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Jorus Merrill]

[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Vorhi Alestrani"]

"Well, we were glad to have you all the same. That Aing-Tii crap could have gone full sideways. But I hear ya. Wasn't long ago I was retired too. Just too much needs doing out this way."

He grimaced. "And speaking of always on the move, I forgot I told Alna I'd overhaul the new series-504 drives. If I don't get those patched up, moving on to our next port of call will be like pulling teeth." As the service droid finally brought his lum, he slid out of the chair and put the can in his pocket.

"I should go as well," said Noomay. The taciturn Bereth-Aku had made the Book of Takodana disappear at some point. Now the tortoise slid off his stool. "A pleasure, but I must adjourn."

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Still busy then. Fabula really wasn't terribly surprised, all things considered. Jorus was always doing something, going somewhere, meeting someone. "If you're going to be around much longer, Mister Jorus, please come find me. I believe we could do with some time to catch up." She gave a smile and a quick nod, then returned her attention to other things. Since the serving droid had already brought tea, she doubled down on that order and physically turned to face the blind man. It wasn't lost on her that the gesture might have been a bit pointless.

"I wander, Mister Vorhi. I've never been content to stay in one place for long." After a moment, she grimaced. That wasn't it at all this time. "Though it'd be dishonest to claim that the only reason I was here was wanderlust. I'm afraid it's best for me to be as far from home as possible, for a while. This is very nearly as far from anything as possible." Her eyes faded off into the distance, and her expression softened into a wistful grin. "But then, this has always been my home. I get the feeling you might understand."

All of that time spent in jungle hells or desert hells or swamp hells or mountain hells might have been waking nightmares to others, but to Fabula they were some of her best memories. Corbos and Vendaxa and even Demonsgate, which was apparently local, all danced around in her mind like vignettes of coming home to Lynn or hugging Fable. And now she was traveling again. It was a calming feeling, reaching out into the black to see what she could find.

So calming, in fact, that it took her several seconds to realized she had spaced out from nostalgia. Recover, stupid girl. "I just realized that our introductions are only half complete, Mister Vorhi. I'm Fabula."

[member="Vorhi Alestrani"] [member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

(OOC: Just admit you're skipping out on the tab, Jorus )


Vorhi simply nodded thoughtfully. "One of these days, you are actually going to sit still long enough for me to buy you a drink," he said with a shake of his head. He mused on it. There was a lot that needed doing. And it definitely wasn't just the work of old coots with no plan. And here, an opportunity was standing exactly before him. One who found respite in the wilderness, and loved to wander. One who learned from conflict, and drew strength from within. Yep, this one could keep up. Probably.


"Trouble back a ways, then. Well, you're in good company for that. Most folks out here have something they'd rather not run to. Hell, wouldn't surprise me if there were a price on my head at this point," he said with the sort of ambiguous shrug that never quite meant anything helpful. "Still, you'll find that there's plenty of good work here, if you're up to it. Jorus can attest to it. Lots of law-givers and do-gooders, or mercs playing nice," he then snickered. "Or, in my case a barfly with a knack for stumbling into interesting situations."


It was at this point he'd realized that the young woman's mind had most assuredly gone off to a better place as he had been rambling once again. He sipped some tea as she snapped out of it and introduced herself. Fabula. That name, sounded like Dathomiri, although he admittedly had a poor ear for their tongue--the Nightsisters had never really liked him, to be frank. Then again, they never really liked anyone, and that went double for men, so he didn't feel too hurt about it. Still, he'd met more than a few witch clans. She didn't seem very "witchy", though. In all honesty, she seemed more like some sort of off-beat dark Jedi with a martial bent, but her aura was....conflicted was the wrong word for it. It was hungry. Hungry for opposition? For balance? Confrontation? That was interesting. "Of course, if you seek more challenging fare, there's always bounties and the occasional bit of conflict," he said, slightly teasing with his tone. He was up to something, but putting the shock ball in someone else's court was always fun.



[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Jorus Merrill"]

 

[Ortava Zakaz]

The tenloss privateer frigate loomed over the large landing bay, its hull sparking and belching gases as it taxied to a repair area. It was in dire straights after its last job but the crew of the Injustice had survived, again, though none the happier for it. The captain left the ship and the half drunk crew behind to do what they wished. In all likelihoodhe would pay them and hire on new blood for future endeavors, crews got comfortable after a while and forgot that they were employees, not dependants.

Two of the crew, his XO and Flight Chief, followed a few moments later and caught him on the duracrete of the landing bay. The, XO a serious faced Human woman had been his mate for several cycles now and he was inwardly glad she had joined. She wasn't a beautiful being by most standards her frame tall and muscled heavier than many men, her short blonde hair, too pale skin, freckled face and wide mouth were maybe not to some men's liking but she was strong, loyal, and nearly as ruthless as he was. So he kept her.

The other woman was nearly the opposite of the first and had been with him nearly as long. Short and lithe with dark hair, skin and eyes. She was a slave once, in the pits where Ortava had fought, she had been a rich man's pet. Little had changed for her really, other than the fact that she could go when she chose now.

The big man said nothing to them as they flanked him. His heavily scarred and tattooed body showing beneath the opened sleeveless long coat. He had lost a big score amd was in no mood to chit chat with anyone. He wanted to drink. He wanted to fight and he wanted to kark. Not necessarily in that order.

He stomped his way to the bar, his armoured boots ringing like hammers on the deck as he swept into the bar and slowly stepped down the steps inside. He scanned the place quickly, old training forced its way to the front of his mind as he sized up the people he saw with a glance. He recognized no one, but a few held themselves like they knew how to handle themselves. He would save that knowledge for later.

He stalked toward a corner booth and stepped over the table before he dropped into a seat and ordered their drinks. The woman slid in to either side of him as he stretched his arms over the backs of the seats and waited as one woman put a cigarra in his lips and the other lit it.

He would blow off steam here, and wait for repairs.


[member="Jorus Merrill"] [member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Vorhi Alestrani"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

"I've never much fancied myself a bounty hunter," Fabula replied with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "I feel like too often, 'bounties' are more like political bargaining chips than any indicator of how dangerous someone is. I suppose the present is always the best time to try something new." The tiny ball of wild and muscle and politeness gave a nod, sipped her tea, and looked over the rest of the room. If ever there was a diffuse assembly of life without rhyme or reason, it might have been here. Pirates, smugglers, explorers, and a curious breed that looked like cliche lawmen from old Corellian holos, all in one place. Like a more benevolent Tatooine. No one looked too dangerous.

And, of course, as she thought that, a man with the look of a tank made of meat and testosterone barged in. Fabula raised a bemused eyebrow and returned to her drink. She had no interest in being the clifface upon which the wave of anyone's ego broke today. Vorhi was far more interesting company. "Conflict is hardly the province of warzones or senate buildings. If it was, this would be a very stagnant galaxy. Conflict is necessary for growth. Without something to test ourselves against, we grow soft. Stale."

Leaning back in her seat, Fabula crossed her arms under her bust and smirked. "If this area is known for its conflict, then it's a healthy place to be, indeed. There's no such thing as too much growth. No such thing as too many tests."

[member="Vorhi Alestrani"] [member="Ortava Zakaz"]

 

[Xin Boa]

With the glass brought up to the level of his eye he gave it a little swirl. The caramel coloured liquid was clearly carrying some little floating particles. It wasn't supposed to. On balance, and given how his luck had already gone today, he decided not to complain. This didn't feel like the kind of bar that took complaints in a civilised manner. He threw back the drink and let the burn work its way down his throat.

They were good at quick service however. The bartender appeared with the bottle to offer a refill. Instead of accepting it Xin pointed towards another bottle hanging from the wall. It necessitated a new glass and the dirty one was taken away. Problem solved.

They said you could find almost anything out here on the edge of civilisation. A place where those who didn't want to be found by civilised could be found by someone who was not.

The issue was the astronavigator the Fleet had sent him to hire had already departed for other way. So Xin took a drink and waited for a message to come back with a new plan.

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

[member="Xin Boa"] [member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Ortava Zakaz"]


The blind monk waved a hand at something above his drink that probably wasn't there unless it was before taking a sip. He smirked a little. The tea here was a bit off, but then again, so was everything else. Or maybe it was him that was off. More folks entered the bar. One fellow, an odd one, big as a cargo ship, surrounded by women, here to play around. His aura was hectic, full of small bits of red. Not strength in the force, but definitely the sort of hard will of one prone to hard discipline and even harder rebellion. A pirate in a cantina on the edge of space wasn't uncommon, but he was definitely a bit more...present than your average captain.



A nautolan seemed to be staring down his drink. There was a spark of the force in him, but it was fairly mild and unhoned. Still, the man had a good sense of awareness about him, and in a place like this, noticing things mattered. Still, until he was approached, he'd keep an eye to current company. "Heh," he mused out loud, "You sound like one of my old instructors. As she would put it, 'a trial may be a hammer, but a hammer can beat out impurities as well as strengths. How we apply our trials to ourselves, that is what provides us strength,'" he said, swishing his arms about with a feigned flourish. "I suppose she was right, though. Conflict is but another theatre for lessons, and often the best test of them." He shrugged and stroked his chin. "I myself am originally a student of Teras Kasi, although wandering has led me on many paths," he said with a shrug. Frankly, it was a bit of an understatement. At this point, he'd fiddled in alchemy, the esoteric temporal weirdness of the Aang-tii, the maddening illusions of a half-dozen Sith sorcerers, Dathomiri witchcraft, and . Oh, and those moths with the Templars. The truth is that while he dabbled in lot, and knew of a lot more, there was always another lesson on the road. Hell, even a student could be an excellent lesson, in some settings. Some of his best lessons were learned by trying to teach someone else what he knew. Others, like the Aang-tii, were built on failing entirely.



He grinned a bit. "However, I suppose it's another thing to train, and another to test. Would you be up for a bit of sparring? I may look a bit demure, but I assure you, I probably can keep up. Although, it'd probably be best to take any display of prowess outside. Wouldn't want to get any of the wait staff involved, after all. They'd probably pull my tab," he said with a laugh as he put a few credit chits on the table.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

It was getting lively in here. A few minutes ago it had been a quiet watering hole, but now Fabula could have easily found any of a half-dozen tables to ask around at. Not a huge deal, of course. Vorhi was good enough company. Not thrilling or compelling, but she needed neither of those things right now. As yet another wastrel wandered in - a Nautolan with a hint of awareness about him - Fabula's blind companion suggested she go demolish a bulkhead with his face. Her expression melted through a pastiche of surprise, amusement, and finally interest, but always muted. Like paint that'd been left out in the sun too long.

"Mister Vorhi, how forward of you," the pallid woman replied, still smirking. "I don't think I've ever had someone offer me such an intimate suggestion so soon after we met." It'd literally taken her longer to get picked up in a few seedy bars than it'd taken this man to ask her outside for a quick jaunt. "I almost feel the need to defend my virtue...but I believe that would end in roughly the same thing~" Her tone was almost singsong. For the first time since Jorus mentioned Alna's name, she looked involved.

The raven-haired lass finished her tea, slowly and properly, like a lady. The image might have been a bit jarring with the contrast of a leather jacket and veins of Dark corruption spiderwebbing all over her face, but Vorhi likely wouldn't have picked up on that anyway. When she was finished, she reached into her jacket and produced a small trinket of Felucian feathers and wooden wires, leaving it on the table. She was lacking in both credits and whatever passed for currency in this speck of nowhere, so something of value would have to do.

"Well, I do believe it's the gentleman's prerogative to choose the venue." Fabula's smirk bordered dangerously close to wicked.

[member="Vorhi Alestrani"]

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

One of the nice things about seeing the force instead of light is that it was much harder for people to keep up a proper Sabacc face. Sure, Fabula may have been excellently under control, her demeanor that of a calm, demure stranger enjoying the sights of a new world. But the truth was laid bare in her aura. The moment he had challenged her, her face and posture may have hid it, but her emotions, her spirit, sparked up like a fire being fed a bottle of liquor. Beneath the controlled facade and admittedly impressive figure beat the heart of die-hard warrior who loved a good scrap, and frankly, that made Vorhi even more optimistic. This would be a grand learning experience.



He rose from the chair, folding his hands behind his back. "Well, we should probably pick some place a bit sturdy, then. First dances can always be a bit rough, after all," he said with snicker. "Besides, wouldn't do for us to be holding back on account of worryign about damaging important things, which I presume are manifold on this station." He smirked. The "spa", obviously. That should suffice. He grinned. "I believe I know of a place, then. Bit of an old barracks. No essential systems, and not a lot of fragile walls," he said with a nod. "In case it gets...intense, I suppose." He again snickered.


As he rose, he "looked" around the bar. Something was buzzing in the back of his head. He could feel it. But it could be fun to poke every bear at once. Or, he could trudge through the door and let heaven sort it out. He turned to the door and waved. "Shall we then? Weather seems right for a bit of mayhem," he intoned cheerily.



[member="Fabula Caromed"] [member="Xin Boa"] [member="Ortava Zakaz"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Fabula raised an eyebrow and continued her soft smile. It wasn't surprising that someone who was blind knew a Force user when he saw one, but it was curious exactly what he expected out of her. Property damage wasn't the sort of thing the average Jedi or even Sith usually got terribly into without resorting to a lightsaber. Still, it was entirely possible he was just trying to keep the local muggles safe. A particularly volatile Force duel might have impressive consequences if the wrong things got fragged.

"There's no weather in space, Mister Vorhi," the pale Dathomiri replied simply, standing from their table to follow after. One way or another, this was going to be interesting. If nothing else, she'd get to see how a Miraluka handled being violently assaulted. And really, wasn't that what was important in life? Learning from your experiences...even at others' expense.

As she passed through the bar door, Fabula pulled her jacket close again. "Do please lead the way. I've been meaning to see more of this station." And finding a place where it was safe to cut loose was a very important trip indeed.

Fabula spared a glance back inside as the two of them left. There were some interesting folk in here. She'd have to make a point to find more about them when she came back later...provided she wasn't thrown off the station for mauling one of its inhabitants.

[member="Vorhi Alestrani"] [member="Xin Boa"] [member="Ortava Zakaz"]

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi smirked. This was actually going to be a fun one for a change. He walked forwards and ambled, his stance more relaxed than anything else, as he led the woman about the station, through a few sets of stairs. "You'd think that, but where there's air, there's weather. The metallic tanginess of the filtration, the light wind of the atmospheric control systems, the dryness of the recirculators, the humidity of the water reionizers," he mused. "Where there's life, there are are ecosystems. Natural, artificial, those are distinctions the mind makes," he said with a wave as he walked across a small catwalk, no slightly above one of the "alleys" of the station, stopping at the door. "He we are. Should have enough room," he gave the door a slight "thump," and it opened. "Stubborn," he said with a chuckle, walking into...a large, nearly empty room. What was once a large hangar door was now mutliple layers of durasteel wall and bulkhead. The second floor, original some sort of maintenance bay, had been re-fitted into a small room with a view, and several hanging wind-chimes. Not that there was much wind in a contained atmosphere. There were also several small shelves of things on the walkway above them. Vorhi wiped the dust off a panel and then hit a button.



He smirked as the lights turned on. "Sorry if some of the lights are flickering. I don't use them much," he said with a chuckle. "This used to be a hangar or vehicle bay, but all the doors are no smaller than vehicles it's meant to house. So, it's a nice little gym with a few bunks on the upper floor. Good for target practice, or sparring," he said, gesturing to a few wooden training dummies. "I forgot to ask earlier. Would you prefer an unarmed matched, or would you rather wield a weapon? I'm flexible in that regard," he said with a smirk, turning to the one other sign of life in the room--a few small Cerean shrubs. He watered one of them, waiting for her response. It was very much a calm before a storm, he might as well enjoy it.


[member="Fabula Caromed"]

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Hm. Fabula had never considered her home to have "weather." But then, considering most of her time in space had been spent in the Pilgrim, rather than on big stations like this, it only made sense that she'd have a bit of tunnel vision. The room Vorhi chose was big, empty, and - if she hadn't been regulating her body temperature - a good bit colder than most people would prefer. She thought she could see her breath once, but that might have been a trick of the light.

Or, like...lack of lights. It was pretty dark in here. It wasn't a big deal, of course. Close range and a single target to focus on made visibility much less of an important factor. She'd have to trust her gut a bit more than usual, but it wasn't an obstacle she couldn't overcome. "I only carry one weapon, Mister Vorhi, and it isn't very useful for friendly sparring."

Fabula wandered a few feet in and raised her arms out to either side, taking a deep breath. As she did, she felt the energy in the air flow into her lungs. There was a warmth there, but not the sort that could fry an egg. It was the warmth of life, the primal essence of everything, bound in a container so small that it couldn't hope to withstand the pressure. Fabula's body twitched, and she brought her hands back in, slowly pushing them down in front of her core. That simple movement was all she needed to temper and compress that boundless, infinite energy of the galaxy into something more manageable. A lot of it escaped, of course. Forced out when it lacked anywhere to go within her, energy vented into the air all around her. It came out with her breath in a long, slow exhale.

But what was left was honed to the point of steel.

As she finished her motion, Fabula felt every cell of her body. She knew every tick and tock of her own internal clockwork. Her arms moved not out of some form of autonomic response, but because she directly willed them to. Her breath came in measured doses, never using more oxygen than was necessary to survive. Her mind felt sharper. More focused. There was a threat before her, and she was all too eager to conquer it. Every fiber of her being thrummed with the quintessence of all things. When she inhaled, she touched the Force, but when she exhaled, she was the Force.

After a moment of preparation, Fabula turned and struck a Wrruushi opening stance, wide and top-heavy. Her arms strayed to either side, ready for assault. Her shoulders tensed. Her eyes, still vibrantly gold, landed on Vorhi, poorly illuminated as he was in the darkness of the room.

She had no quips. Her voice was silent.

[member="Vorhi Alestrani"]