Foolish to Think

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie glanced at the retreating figures of the guards removing the stranger, somewhat distracted until Ptah mentioned Mahet, then her focus on the priest was laserlike. "You heard from Mahet?" she asked in a hurried whisper, her eyes suddenly shining with possibility. "What do you mean, unfound?" she asked, her tone almost disbelieving. How was it possible that someone had finally gotten in touch with Mahet and he didn't have anything of use to report?

"Please, can you explain? He's not with the Prince?" she asked, reaching up to stroke her brow fretfully. "He's always with the Prince."

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

"He is unfound," Ptah repeated. The elder Noghri seemed to fumble within his sleeves before slowly withdrawing his arms once again. Something in those aged, clawed digits glimmered in the light of the shrine.

"I have taken this from the prisoner," offering his hand, palm up, Ptah waited for Verie to approach, "it belonged to Him."

Upon closer inspection, there resting within his claws was an antique locket. A trinket Verie may have remembered the Prince wearing often.

"Take it, Gahiji."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie's eyes narrowed, then widened when she realized that she recognized what was in Ptah's hand. "What?" she demanded, recoiling a little, as if in fear of what she was seeing. It had come off the prisoner - Verie glanced over her shoulder at the doorway, which was empty by now. She reached out silently and took the locket, turning it over in her hand several times. She had no doubt as to its authenticity; she would know it anywhere.

"I -- thank you, Your Grace." She glanced over her shoulder again and then squeezed the locket in her palm before turning back to Ptah. "Can you -- I need to find out where he got this," she explained, turning and hustling off the altar, the chain swinging beside her hip. "Come with me," she ordered the pilot brisklyas she raced out the door and into the morning sunlight once more.

"Stop," she called out to the guards who were hauling away the prisoner. "Stop, please," she shouted breathlessly, coming alongside the group, raising her hands to show that they were empty -- well, except for the locket. "I need to speak to him, please," she said breathlessly, nodding at the prisoner.

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

The lead Noghri hissed at Verie as the group continued moving, but she was not kept from following or speaking to the prisoner who now craned his head as much as he could to look at her. It was difficult, given the iron-grip they had him in by the upper arms and by the hair.

He winced, stumbling to keep pace with them as moved down the hillside.

"I know your face!" he said, cringing at the claws now embedded in his scalp, "I know it...I - they," he tripped, feeling his ankle roll beneath him, "-dah! They think I killed someone. I swear I haven't, I swear it!"

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie hurried to keep up, her ballerina's legs easily keeping pace with the Noghri. "How do you know my face?" she demanded impatiently. "We have never met, have we? Unless, possibly, you are a fan of the ballet? But that seems unlikely -- no. It won't do to speculate. Please, sir, you must tell me. Who are you? What are you doing here, at this time, and how in the galaxy do you know me?"

She followed alongside the Noghri, the pilot only a few steps behind/ her. "It's unusual, though, isn't it?" she asked. "I've never seen you before, and yet, you know me?"

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

"Ballet?" the man frowned. Why did that seem so familiar?

He hadn't time to think. As Verie continued to speak, the Noghri steered him into a smaller side entrance of the mountain temple, still permitting the ballerina to follow. He was pushed bodily into a cell, but not before a strange metal collar of sorts was placed around his neck and locked into place. He instantly paled.

Force dead.

The door of his cell closed with a painful clang and the man crumpled to his knees, watching over his shoulder as the Noghri took their leave, one remaining to guard their new prisoner. Grunting, he shimmied closer to the door as Verie stepped in, a wash of slight relief that she'd deigned to chase her curiosity falling over his face.

"Kind Lady," he muttered, "too kind maybe." There was a smile there, a tragic one that did not cover the fear of hew new, unknown fate, "I do not know if we have met, but I know your face, this I am sure."

Wincing at his now swollen ankle, he leaned his head against the bars of his door, looking up at Verie, "I am Jedi Master Brom Burnside and I hail from Corellia," he took a deep breath, swallowed, and tried to figure out where to start. Everything was such a blur, so muddled. The last month of his life...where had it gone?

"I specialize in tracking down and uncovering thieves and conartists. Liars of the Force. It was my job to seek out the Sith who hid within the Jedi Council and powerful seats of the galaxy's nations, fooling those too weak to see through their lies, their illusions. Illusions don't work on me ... not even his. This man they think I killed - I have been tracking his movements across the stars for the last year. I happened upon him by chance, on Corellia, and I knew the moment I saw him he was not what he seemed. He carried something, a powerful trinket, the only thing that's been able to fool my mind to this day..."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

There was something not quite right about all of this. She was sure she had never seen this man in her life, but there was something in his story that spoke to Verie of Dissero. He carried something, a powerful trinket... If that wasn't Dissero to a tee, she would eat her hat. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was describing an object that Verie had recently come into possession of. But it occurred to her that she had the means to investigate this further. Something told her that she was on to something, but she wasn't sure she would like what she found out. Please don't let him be dead, she prayed silently, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment before she reached up and brushed her hair away from her forehead. "I need to look into this," she told [member="Brom Burnside"] curtly. "Can you w--what am I saying, of course you can."

Miss Lacroix left the cell and found one of the officers who had brought the prisoner in. She walked him through her request, trying to subtly reinforce her tenuous connection to the Noghri people to earn some points. At the end of the process, she was shown to the site of the ship's last resting point. She recognized it instantly as the same model that the Prince had used in the past, but she couldn't be sure it was his. Not until she walked inside and began to look through the ship's contents. The hair on the back of her neck stood up; something had happened here, something awful.

A trembling hand pushed the cargo hold's hatch open, and she crouched to step through. The echoes of a battle were unmistakable, but it wasn't until Verie saw a splatter of blood that her heart leaped into her throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth and buckled, sitting on the edge of a toppled cargo grate. In her emotional state, she jumped to the only conclusion that made sense.

Verie didn't remember leaving the ship or sprinting across the Honoghr landscape, and only vaguely remembered pushing her way into the cell block where she grabbed the bars on the door and shook as hard as she could, making an abrasive clanking sound. For all the racket she was making, her voice was deadly quiet when she locked eyes with the prisoner. "Tell me about that ship. Where did you get it?"

 

[Dissero]

Forehead pressed into the bars of his holding cell, Brom watched warily as the woman returned and nearly toppled back as she rattled the cell door.

"Ship?" the man began, eyes dropping, flitting from here to there as he wracked his mind and memory for the origins of that ship. Truth be told, he didn't know its exact berth, but he knew who it belonged to.

"It's his ship but I don't know...I woke up in it..." he looked down at his clothing, still stained in blood but who's blood, he wasn't so sure. Other than his recently twisted ankle, he didn't feel any other wounds. Brom shook his head, "I woke up and all I could think about was this place. I don't know why, I've never been here before, but there were memories in my mind of it. All these faces are so familiar," shaking hands moved to his head and wrung through the tangled brown locks.

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

"Whose ship?" Verie demanded impatiently. This was all getting too weird for her tastes and she was beginning to fear that something had happened to her Prince, something horrible. But to die at the hand of some dementia-ridden lunatic did not strike Verie as something that was quite the Prince's speed; no indeed.

"Listen," Verie said, trying to sound as patient and motherly as she could. She reached through the bars of the cell and placed her hands softly on [member="Brom Burnside"]'s shoulders, trying to exude feelings of peace and comfort and non-threatening-ness. She wasn't sure if it was working. "Listen to me, all right?" She stooped a bit so that she could meet his eyes when he rested his head against the bars.

"I need you to focus. This is very, very important. Please, please tell me everything you know about that ship, and whoever 'he' is. If you tell me, I can talk to these people and see about getting you out of here." This was a lie; she had no intention of busting this lunatic out of the joint. But she was willing to lie, cheat, steal, and possibly more to get information on Dissero. "Help me, please. You're my only hope." She hoped she hadn't laid it on too thick; the damsel-in-distress-big-brown-eyes-shining-with-tears was not the schtick for everyone. It just happened to be the closest thing to the truth that Verie could think of in the moment.

 

[Dissero]

Brom fell still as her hands connected with his shoulders, though her emphatic attempts were moot. The metal collar around his neck saw to nullify any use of the Force, though the physical intention still translated. His eyes slowly fell as she spoke to him, her words seeming to jar something mentally.

"Dissero," he said finally, voice gruff, "he called himself Dissero, the Archivist. I tracked him down to Fringe Confederacy space ... to Annaj. I stowed away in his ship during a re-fuel ... and confronted him at his next landing. Some hideout of his...it-" he lifted a hand to his head again, headache pounding away now.

"I'm sorry, I don't know how much more help I can be, Ve."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Her fingers curled around his shoulders. Dissero. The Archivist. Her pulse raced and she strained to focus her attention on him. Then whose blood was all over the ship? Was it Dissero's? Was it his blood, or this bizarre man's? Her eyebrows furrowed and she focused in on his words again.

"Don't worry," she reassured him automatically, her eyes shutting to hide the disappointed eyeroll. "You've been more than--" Her voice trailed off, her eyes then flashing open wide, her jaw dropping a little. She recoiled away from the man, as if an electric shock had zapped her fingers. Ve. No one called her that. Except --

"How did you know my name?" she asked warily, her dark eyes again searching [member="Brom Burnside"]'s face carefully.

 

[Dissero]

The man looked up, clearly confused, clearly distressed, clearly trying very hard to keep it together. It wasn't often someone of such centered, clear thinking lost their mind. It's not like it was something one could practice for.

"Did...didn't you say?"

Hadn't she? Now he wasn't sure, but the name had come so naturally to him, as though he'd known it for years.

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie watched him, her dark eyes narrowing. A coy thought came to her head: Mother always taught me never to talk to strangers. "No," she whispered after a moment, her tone disbelieving. And yet, despite the fact that he was obviously deranged, not to mention he had probably murdered her one true love, but at the moment he was her only lead. She thought that getting him calmed down would be a good way to get him talking and halfway lucid. She made a snap decision and reached back to unpin her braid, producing a bobby pin while her braid swung against her shoulders. "I said I would get you out of here. But first we need to get that thing off you," she said, while trying to rationalize her betrayal of the Noghri to herself.

If Dissero is in trouble and this helps him, then he can come back and explain that while I may be a treacherous, scheming shrew, I'm a treacherous, scheming shrew with the best of intentions, she thought, holding the bobby pin in front of her. "Hold your hair back. Let me see if I can find the locking mechanism."

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

His frown deepened, eyes closing as that headache continued to drive through his skull, a mallet pounding against his mind.

The man opened his mouth to say something, but he had nothing that would explain anything. More words, more thoughts, everything littering his addled memory, would only grow more confusion. At her command he looked up again, eyes glancing to the pin in her fingers, and nodded. Brom reached his hands around the contraption on his neck, feeling beneath the tangles of brow hair, "It's here, I think," the man leaned his left shoulder against the bars, pulling his hair from that side, and let her at it.

"...thank you...for helping me."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie was not a practiced criminal, nor had she had reason, in her storied past, to pry open a manual lock with a bobby pin. But like any girl her age, she had seen plenty of holodramas and soaps in her day, so clearly she knew that it was theoretically possible. "We're helping each other," she replied, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady while her other hand guided the pin in its work. There was a sexual metaphor here, but Verie wasn't particularly interested in digging it out, as she was too busy clumsily jabbing the pin into the lock mechanism, to no apparent result. She pushed, pulled, twisted, and jammed until finally - finally! - there was a faint click, and the collar's spring gave.

"There," she whispered, pulling the whole thing away from him. She drew the bobby pin out of the lock and brought it up to her face, studying it. It was completely deformed. "I don't know if this is going to do the trick for the door," she said, handing it over to him, then putting her hand on her hips. "Any ideas?" she asked, glancing covertly over her shoulder to see whether anyone was approaching the cell block. So far, the coast seemed clear.

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

Instant relief washed over the man's face as the collar pulled away. Headache now a dull, manageable pounding, he slowly turned to get to his feet, lifting himself with use of the bars. Pale grey-brown eyes flickered down at the mangled pin. He smiled, fleetingly, and shook his head.

"Yes," he replied, hands on the bars of the cell. With the Force at his whim once again, the man focused it through his body and into his arm. Slowly, with a growing well of power, he began to pry them apart. Whining and groaning in protest, the aged metal soon bent and then tore at the joiners. Broad enough to permit his figure, Brom carefully pulled himself through and stumbled to lean against the opposite wall, ankle smarting up a storm.

"That's going to be an issue," he breathed, looking to Verie, "I think it's broken...I can hold it with the Force, but if they come after me in numbers I don't stand a chance."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie glanced down and frowned. She had forgotten about that. Well, perhaps it was time to be a little resourceful.... Suddenly, the weight of the Traveler's Locket was heavy in her pocket and she pursed her lips. "I've got something that can at least disguise you rather convincingly," she said. "I've only ever seen it used, so I'm not a hundred percent sure it will work, but... it's the best shot we've got right now. I just need to get some DNA of somebody else and then if I can remember the magic words." Her eyes flickered up to [member="Brom Burnside"]'s face to determine whether he thought she sounded as ridiculous as she imagined it would to an outsider.

"Sit tight. I'll be right back." The pilot was waiting outside, right where she left him. She asked him for a strand of hair, then when he questioned her about it, she just yanked one out and ordered him to return to the ship. Verie re-entered the building and went back, giving an apologetic look to the other occupants of the building. She held up the hair to Brom. "I can disguise you as my pilot. Unless you can think of a better option?" she asked, pressing her lips together firmly. "It would have to be someone whose hair or other... genetic material we could get quickly and easily."

"What do you think?"

 

[Dissero]

He blinked at her, eyes straining curious at the locket in her hand. Familiar, so familiar. "Fascinating," he remarked, "change one's molecular make-up..."

Cogs turning internally, Brom's brow furrowed in thought, "seems like a solid plan. ...how does it work?"

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

"Magic," Verie answered glibly. "At least that's what I assumed. I don't know for sure how it works, just that it does. But I'll tell you what -- if we get out of this alive, I'll do my best to find out." She put her prized hair in the locket and then slipped it over Brom's head. "Okay. Repeat after me..." She began to recite the words that she had heard used before, repeating and repeating until the Traveler's Locket did its work. In no time at all, [member="Brom Burnside"] was gone, replaced with her pilot.

...dressed in the bloody garb of the Jedi. "Damn. Okay... look. This might work."

She swept her traveling cloak off. Thankfully her pilot was slight and slim, on a broader-shouldered man it would never have worked. "Put this on," she said, offering the traveling cloak to her new conspirator.

 

[Dissero]

A curious brown brow larked at the mention of magic. Brom blinked, holding back the comment there's no such thing but was quickly cut off by the chain put over his head. Incantations? Magic words? Sorcery.

Sith Sorcery.

A deep frown creased the man's face, his hands flying up to remove the object until...

Suddenly he was no longer himself. Skin crawling, bones burning, he felt his flesh shift and mold - a strange, other-worldly energy flowing through it. The proverbial bantha caught in headlights, he stared at his now much finer, paler hands before looking down at his clothing that now hung from his much slighter frame.

"What..." a glance to Verie, and the young woman had strangely grown. Or had he shrunk? A cloak was pushed into his hands to which he awkwardly twisted the thing over his shoulders, eyeing the fur lining.

"I feel silly," said the man as he looked down, making a grab for his pants that he felt starting to slip, "this is absurd. Amazing - but absurd. ...my boots are too big. Who am I supposed to be?"

[member="Verie Lacroix"]