Foolish to Think

[Verie Lacroix]

"You're my pilot," Verie responded matter-of-factly, scanning his appearance for a few moments. The Locket had worked! Verie watched as the man pulled her cloak over his shoulder. "Your name is Jenkins. Don't ask, just go with it." She gave him an apologetic look and then smoothed her cloak over his shoulders. "It will have to do. Come on."

She moved towards the exit, pausing to check that the coast was clear before returning to [member="Brom Burnside"]. "Can you walk? This might not work if you have the same injuries as the guy in the cell." Verie offered her arm. "Lean on me if you have to, but we need to get moving before anyone comes calling."

 

[Dissero]

Brom tried his bad foot and nearly fell over, "Yes-" he grunted tightly, steeling himself against the pain in a way that only a man could and did - that stoic, white-lipped stoney face. Over a well-maintained exhale, the Jedi introduced the use of the Force to his off-leg to enhance the hold of muscle and sinew. He couldn't heal it, but he could mentally lock the bones in place long enough--hopefully--to make their escape.

"Thank you," he firmly placed a hand on her shoulder and was once more overcome with a sense of deja vu. With a gentle squeeze, he nodded and recalled that same hand, "It would be better if I didn't. Might look...odd. Lead the way V...-Miss Lacroix."

Injure foot tamping soundly against the ground, bolstering his mind-over-matter abilities he followed her down the hall and out into the daylight, trying not to look too obvious about having to hold his oversized knickers up. The question of who was too fat or too skinny did cross his mind fleetingly.

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie's eyes narrowed at [member="Brom Burnside"]. "When we get back to the ship, you're going to have to tell me how you know my name. No nonsense this time." And Verie planned on searching for her own answers, too, perhaps my running a little experiment! The thoughts were coming quickly now - what if she were to put the blood on Brom's clothes into the locket, put it on, and said the incantation? Whose face would be looking at her in the mirror? The mysterious Sith-hunter Brom Burnside, or her beloved Prince?

She was a little afraid to try it.

"This way." They departed, heading into the daylight, with Verie's breath catching in her throat as they passed through the exit and holding until they were out of view of the cell block building. "I'm just over that ridge." She pulled out her comlink and lifted it to her mouth. "Get the ship ready to launch and open the gangway." By the time they reached the ship, the engines were humming. "After you," Verie said, sweeping her arm toward the gangway.

 

[Dissero]

The strange ebbing of confusion and pain slowly began to simmer in Brom's head as he followed the young woman to her ship and gimped up the ramp. Once inside he collapsed against the far wall and slowly sunk to the floor. Sweat beading on his brow, the man waited for Verie to make a clear entrance and close up the gangway before he tore the locket from around his neck and let it fly off down the hall.

Instant relief was his mind, like the swilling, churning contents of a glass slowly beginning to settle. He breathed heavily and found within a few moments that his clothing once more fit proper.

"That thing is pure evil," those sputtering words escaped him with a bite, stormy-grey eyes staring at the silhouette of the trinket now laying several feet away, "you would do well never to use it."

Closing his eyes, Brom wiped a hand over his face and pushed sweat-slicked brown hair away from his eyes. They were off the ground and he was free ... well, free from the Noghri.

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie couldn't mask her alarm and anger at his reaction to the Locket. She was sure it wasn't a pleasant experience, but it was her link to Dissero, and thus it was to be cherished. She glared at her guest and stalked down the hall to pick it up, cradling it in her hands like a tiny pet. She coveted it, like a reptilian little man and a certain gold ring, it was precious to her, and her eyes glinted with disgust at anyone who would toss it aside. "And you would do well to have a care for the belongings of others," she responded coldly, coiling the locket's chain in her hand, feeling the warm links which had once coiled in Dissero's hand.

Yes. Dissero... it was time. Was there any way to do this with any degree of subtlety? she wondered, studying the Sith hunter for a few moments. She couldn't very well attempt to seduce him; somehow it seemed wrong, even to track down her Prince. No, it wouldn't do at all. Instead, she adopted a conciliatory demeanor. "I'm sorry. It's just... this was a gift from someone special. But my heavens," she said, looking up and down at him as if seeing him for the first time, she took on the mantle of a concerned mother.

"You're a wreck," she informed [member="Brom Burnside"]. "Give me my cloak and your clothing and I'll have it all laundered. You'll find a 'fresher through there," Verie pointed towards the door to the crew quarters. "And some clothing. I'm sure you'll find something that fits you. I'll get us something to eat and then we can talk about what comes next."

 

[Dissero]

Frowning, Brom peered through his fingers at the woman.

He wanted to say how it had been a terrible, murderous gift. He wanted to say that she aught to toss it into the nearest sun. He wanted to say that she had no idea what sort of power was at work there. But everything he wanted to say came and went with a feeling of deep, gut-wrenching remorse at the tone of her voice.

Please don't be that way... the man felt these thoughts roll through his mind as if they were not his own, I can't stand to see you like this.

"For-forgive me," came his gruff reply, eyes shifting away from her as she approached again, namely due to the locket being right there. He flinched at the glint of it.

Get that thing away from me.

Brom sat forward and gently tugged the cloak from his shoulders, handing it off to her, and then slowly got back to his feet. Back to his foot, rather. With another glance that didn't quite connect as it made every effort to keep clear of that artifact, he nodded. Pulling off his jacket, he handed it over, too, but it was there that he stopped. The Jedi Master didn't make a habit of striping in front of any woman other than his wife.

Force, this thought hit him like a kick to the gut, she must be so worried.

"Thank you, Miss Lacroix," he said finally, hoping the words conveyed just how grateful he was for this escape and the slow return of his sanity. Without another utterance he limped off down the hall to find this fresher, leg pulsing painfully.

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie paused, wondering what he was waiting for, then -- "Of course, how silly of me." She paused and smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "You're welcome. You can leave the rest of your things in the hamper and the housekeeping droid will handle it. I'll leave you to it." She bowed apologetically and left, heading for the door and letting it seal behind her--

--before darting up the hall and into her own quarters, sealing the door behind her. She uncoiled the locket and took a sterile q-tip from her 'fresher, dabbing it in a red spot on the man's jacket. As she worked, she said a silent prayer, hoping against hope that this little experiment of hers would yield satisfying results. She felt a tremor tugging at her abdomen, a twitch that resonated through her body. A warning? Anticipation? Damned if she knew. She deposited the sample in the locket, whispered the incantation and slipped it over her head, letting it settle around her neck.

The pain began immediately, so stunningly overwhelming that she was nearly staggered by it, buckling over the vanity of her 'fresher as her hands gripped the edge of the basin. No, she realized as she opened her eyes slowly. Not my hands. She forced herself to look into the mirror and gave a strangled, startled cry at what greeted her. A jumble of features, one moment simply odd-looking, the next grotesque as they attempted to pull away from one another -- flesh stretching, tearing, bonding, only to stretch and rip apart again. Dissero's eye, lid fluttering - now @Brom Burndside's. The pain was incredible, made more troubling by the vision of her beloved Prince's features becoming deformed by--

What? Death? But Burnside was not dead, and his features were there too, tearing away from Dissero's. Verie watched the vision in the mirror, until it was too much. She was afraid that the pain of the ever-recurring mutiliation might literally kill her. She tore the necklace off with a hand belonging to one of each man -- Dissero's she would have known anywhere, Brom's she knew by the absence of her beloved's features -- and it dropped off her weak fingers, clattering to the metal floor of the 'fresher. She followed a moment later, collapsing onto the floor in heaving, silent sobs. She felt as if she had been kicked hard in the stomach; breath wouldn't come no matter how she panted for it.

"No," she whispered reassuringly to herself. "No, no, no."

The intercom crackled. "Miss Lacroix... do you have a destination in mind?" the pilot asked. Verie whimpered, pulling herself to her knees so that she could reach for the intercom button. When she spoke she knew her voice was a croak but she couldn't find the will to care despite the fact that the conversation was being beamed into every room on the ship. "No. Just get us into hyperspace. Anywhere... we'll decide the final destination soon."

 

[Dissero]

The struggle to disrobe and bath with a broken ankle was very real and very difficult, but the Jedi managed to do it. He'd been through worse, he told himself. That Sith Knight in the Senate had run him clear through with a vibroblade. Or how about the skin-changer posing as an Ambassador to Pith literally caving his chest in? Brom hadn't been able to breath properly for almost a year, despite the talented Healers in the Order. One did not simply undo a shattered sternum overnight.

Or what about that time he fell down the ravine on Korriban while on the run from a pack of hssis? Spent the next week seeing double-

Brom winced, looking at himself in a mirror that was fogged over, and rubbed the heel of his right hand into his temple.

"That never happened. You've never been to Korriban, Brom."

Don't forget the time Mahet caught you unawares and dislocated your right knee.

"Stop," the man spoke to himself and turned the cold tap on the sink to splash over his face, watching the water swirl down the drain below.

Old lizard never lets you live that down.

"Stop."

Reminds you of it every time you spar. Always goes for that knee cause to this day it never quit pop-

"STOP!" Brom wrenched his head up, catching a glimpse of a face that was not his own through the fog in the mirror. He gave a startled yelp and stumbled back, stormy gray eyes wide.

"Miss Lacroix... do you have a destination in mind?"
"No. Just get us into hyperspace. Anywhere... we'll decide the final destination soon."

Lips drawn thin, brow furrowed, Brom pushed wet hair from his face. When he looked to the mirror again it was just himself.

"...just the fog..." he muttered with another glance and grabbed a towel before gimping back into the adjoining room to find some clothes. As far as standard crew quarters went, everything was in order, though vastly unused. All details pointed to the pilot being the only crew, and given the man's smaller, slighter stature Brom had his doubts he'd find much clothing that would fit. Still, he rifled carefully through a footlocker, passing over dress clothing that was likely tailored. A second locker to his right yielded more viable options: exercise clothing. With a sigh he slowly pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt that while likely was a loose fit for the pilot, pulled taught over the brawn of his own upper body. He didn't care for the feeling, but he wasn't going out there without some form of cover.

By this time his ankle was so swollen that he was beyond any hope of getting his boots back on. He left his feet bare, and after mustering another round of Force brace on his ankle carefully limped back out into the hall and made his way to Verie's door. It was only when he lifted his hand to knock that he found it peculiar that he knew it was her door. It wasn't as if he saw her go in, but somehow he just knew.

Brom knocked twice, "Miss Lacroix," he called gently, deep voice a sober boom, "I don't mean to bother you, but if you have any sort of anti-inflammtory I could take for this ankle I would be greatly appreciative."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie forced herself to stand, looking down at the Locket on the floor for a solid three minutes before crouching down and picking it up. It didn't hurt to touch it, but the thought of putting it back on made her feel weak. She took it to her vanity, placing it in pride of place in her small jewel case before looking at herself in the mirror. Trails of tears had tracked down her face, revealing a thin layer of dust covering her face. She made a face and then bent, washing her face vigorously, partially to clean off the dust and partially to disguise the puffiness of her eyes. The knocking at her door caught her off-guard. "How..." she asked her reflection, then grimaced.

"Coming," she answered, pausing to get a medical supply kit from the Captain's wardrobe (Which she had commandeered for herself, naturally, upon letting the ship). She opened the door and waved him in. "I'm sure I've got something in here," she said, showing him the box. "Sit down and let's see what I've got." She knelt down at the side of the bed and set the case on the neatly-tucked blanket, swinging the hinged lid open. "Anti-inflammatory... anti-inflam-- ah, here. And I've got some compression straps, too, with bacta. Think that would help?" She handed him the foil-wrapped capsules then reached over to the mini-fridge which was stocked in part with water bottles. "Here. What are your thoughts on these bacta straps?"

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

"Those will do," sitting on the foot of her bed, the man promptly placed two pills beneath his tongue before perusing the bacta straps. It was certainly better than nothing, though bacta would do little to help the break until he could get somewhere to see just how bad it really was. Brom leaned to begin lashing his ankle, pain evident in his expression. Jaw set, he grunted as he pulled the straps snug before latching them in place.

"They'll help with the pain and the swelling," he said, rolling the dissolving pills from beneath his tongue and into his cheek, the faster to absorb the medication, thought he taste was awful.

"All I'll need now are crutches and I'll be able to move at a normal pace again," just in case the Noghri caught on or caught up.

He looked back over to Verie, watching her quietly for a moment. The image of her in crutches sitting by a fountain at night vividly flashed before his eyes. He thought he smelled rain.

A frown pulled at his face, "I am sorry for all this trouble I've put you through. I'm not sure how I'll ever repay you."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie watched him tend to his wounds, her dark eyes following his movements, crinkling at the edges with a little chuckle. "Normal pace? On crutches?" she asked, shaking her head. "Not in my experience. Maybe the Jedi do it differently..." Her eyes flickered up to [member="Brom Burnside"]'s then back down to his ankle.

"As far as you repaying me..." She paused before standing up and smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothing. "I know exactly how you will manage it," she replied. "You're going to tell me everything you know about the ship you crash-landed and the man on it. And before you begin..." She paused, her voice cooling several degrees. She could almost see her eyes frosting over in a chocolatey rendition of her mother's own glacial stare. "We haven't met before, but it's important for you to understand something about me. I'm nice -- or at least, I try to be. But you need to tell me everything you know. If I you don't, if you hold back, if you lie just a little and I find out? You'll wish I had left you in that prison cell."

Verie turned, again imitating her mother as she paced away and then back. "I hope you don't think me unreasonable, but this is a matter of life and death and you are the only lead I have. I need to find the man that owned that ship. Please, you have to help me. You'll be well-compensated if you do."

 

[Dissero]

As a man of the utmost respect for women, Burnside would and could find himself recoiling from the ice in those words, but he was hardly threatened. Certainly the devil a woman could be, but her words only assured him that she had, under no certain pretenses, any idea who she was dealing with or who she was after.

Brom's expression fell stoney, unyielding, "The man that owned that ship was a murderer and a very dangerous Sith. I don't know what business you have or had with him, but it places you in an unfavorable position. I spent months tracking him across the stars for all manner of crimes. Do you even know this person you are so desperate to find?"

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

"The man that owned that ship," Verie replied coolly. "Is the best man I have ever had the privilege to know. And he's in trouble and he's missing and I need to find him."

She paced away again, then turned back, spreading her arms wide as if to invite him to study her. "Look at me. I'm a ballerina. I'm not involved in international politics or the great battle between good and evil. I just need to find him and then you don't need to worry about me or whether my position is favorable or unfavorable. If you're so good at tracking him, you can help me track him and you'll have me out of your hair." She brought her arms back together, hugging her abdomen.

"Look. I'm not trying to pull a fast one here. But my mother died recently and she left me a lot of money. Real estate. Stock options in Kuat Drive Yards." She crouched down in front of [member="Brom Burnside"]. "I will sign it all over to you this instant if that's what you want, if you'll help me. Please. This ship. My jewelry. Anything. This is so important."

 

[Dissero]

Brom Burnside regarded the girl with an ever deepening frown. Grey eyes following her progression across the room and back again, he managed only to shake his head. In a moment of heartfelt compassion, he reached forward to place a hand on her shoulder, and again found it to bring on the most curious of results.

I never told you this but I kept your picture in a book on my desk.

Images of Rudrig flashed through his thoughts. The planet-wide university, the modern home amidst purple meadow grasses by the lake. A mountain range. An archive.

"Miss Lacroix," he began in a low tone, "I am a Jedi..." his mouth hung open with the words of I have no need or want for your money or assets, but most educated people knew these sorts of things.

I wanted to keep it in a frame, but I was too worried about the nature of the people I worked for. What they would think if they saw it. What they might try in order to garner my favor ... or my ire.

He closed his eyes against the voice in his head, lifting his other hand to his left temple, "I wish I could impart upon you the severity of that man's crimes. If all you know of him was the good, then you did not know half of who he was. A good man would not do the things I know him to have done."

An office now, and that book, sitting atop a pile on the corner. Inconspicuous. For some reason he knew that the picture was hidden beneath the lining of the back cover.

After I left the Empire I wrote you a letter every day ... and then I burned them. No one could intercept what didn't exist. It's the thought that counts, right?

He sighed, hand pressing into the skin of his temple. Brom wanted to yell, but found that wouldn't help his own case presently. Eyes open, they fell upon the pleading Verie, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie could feel her frustration and anger mounting. What the hell was it with these Jedi? They hoarded the moral high ground like it was gold. They couldn't be bought, they couldn't be badgered. And--

"My loss?" she demanded, recoiling as if he had struck her. She stood up and paced away, going to the doorway and bracing her hands on either edge of the doorway. She knew she was pouring pain and anger and sadness into the Force. Even in her untrained state, she could feel it curling around her like smoke. It was as disturbing as it was comforting; it taunted her to give into it.

And she did.

She lunged at him, snatching a letter opener from the side table as she did. Her slender and subtly muscular frame collided with his and she shoved him back onto the bed, wielding the letter opener like a dagger as her hand found his neck, pushing with all her might. "Enough of this," she shouted, her voice breaking. "What have you done to him? Tell me!"

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

Something about a dancer that's so mystifying...

Brom collapsed beneath her, arms splayed at his sides in a failed effort to catch himself. Wild eyed, he stared up at her, stuck between the instinct to grasp the woman and toss her away and a strangely strong desire to tangle with her in an entirely different manner. The latter brought on a quick blanching of his face in a moment of shame.

...it's not the grace or the control, it's the subtle strength you never expect.

"I've done nothing!" the man suddenly roared back, desperate for her to hear him finally, "I beg of you, stop this madness! Hear me! Please, Miss Lacroix, I'm trying to help you, I really am." His right hand found her left wrist, grey eyes flashing to the knife in her other hand, "My mind, my memories... they're fractured. Whatever happened between he and I has lingering damage that I cannot fix alone. I need to see a Jedi Healer, and then, maybe, I will be able to tell you more."

It was so hard to see you in crutches. But you handled it with dignity and poise. You made it a dance. That's how I knew you were strong.

"Please put that down, Miss Lacroix."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

"Liar!" Verie croaked through her raging tears. "I know his blood is all over your coat. Not nosebleed blood, or hangnail blood. You've done something to him and... and..." Verie sat back. Without the adrenaline rushing through her veins, her grief overwhelmed her, and she suddenly became aware of her position, straddling the man, wielding a letter opener as a knife they both knew she didn't have the stomach to use.

"Pathetic," she whispered under her breath. She looked down at the knife, briefly considering using it to torture the Jedi for information, but she didn't have the stomach for it.

"I don't know where to find a Jedi Healer," Verie said as she clambered off him. She dropped the letter opener on the nightstand. "Give the pilot the coordinates and help yourself to anything in the galley." She went to the door and pressed the activation button; the door slid open and she stood in a half-embarrassed, half-stubborn silence for a moment. "If this is a trap to get a known associate of a fugitive in a room with a bunch of Jedi..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, sniffling a little. Then what? Everyone knew Verie Lacroix didn't have the guts to do anything about it herself.

"Forget it," she said, her shoulders slumping as she looked away. It was defeat. "Just get out."

[member="Brom Burnside"]

 

[Dissero]

The feeling of defeat settled uncomfortably on Brom's shoulders and he could not, for the life of him, figure out why. Her words stung him deeply, and he heard them as though spoken by his beloved wife. Guilt churned between his lungs for things he did not do, but it was there nevertheless. He wanted to plead with her until she believed him, but why?

Why was witnessing such heartbreak on a stranger so intensely compelling in a way it had never been before?

Rather than fight it, rather than sift through what felt like a hundred-thousand alien thoughts in his mind, Brom Burnside chose to take a route he rarely ever considered: the easy way out. In a stoic silence the man pushed himself up and to his feet once more, mustering his strength to support the broken ankle through the Force and slowly exited the room. The sharp hiss-snick of the door sealing behind him cut like the blade she'd threatened to use.

Grimacing, the man pressed the heels of both hands into his eyes.

These aren't your thoughts. These aren't your feelings. These aren't your monkeys, this isn't your circus. Get yourself to a Jedi Healer - priority number one.

So it was to Ossus that they went. Admittedly not the closest place he could have chosen, but putting as much distance between himself and Honoghr was likely the wisest decision he could have made. When they arrived he made no motion to ask her along or, really, to bother her at all. Brom fully expected the ship to be gone by the time he returned.

Why he was so dead set on returning was just another one of those unanswerable questions.

But, a few hours later when he returned, he was relieved to see it had remained. Having donned fresh, fitted clothing, the man adjusted his long leather journeymen's coat before striding up the ramp, slowly but without a limp. When he knocked once more on her door, offering food from a starport grille, he waited somewhat anxiously for her reply. When, and if, she opened the door again there would be a look upon the man's face that spoke of something quite unsettling. He looked for all the world disturbed, as though he'd seen a ghost and not a particularly friendly one.

"Thought you might...be hungry. Please, will you sit down with me? I have some questions for you."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]

 

[Verie Lacroix]

Verie spent the intervening hours in a few different ways. First she lamented how little anyone respected her threats, and vowing to find a way to rectify that even if she was unable to find Dissero again. She was tired of feeling like she had her whole life: powerless and insignificant, overshadowed and overwhelmed by the other people and events in her life. It was not a pleasant sensation.

When she was done despairing over that, she turned to the more difficult issue: her Prince.

Could this Jedi be telling the truth? She had known that he had been up to some things that were certainly... extra-legal. And for sure some of the things he had gotten up to were dangerous. That was one of the reasons why they had parted ways -- Verie had been a little afraid of what might happen to her for being near him. But was he as evil as this bizarre Sith-hunter claimed? She couldn't make herself believe it.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, relaxing her with her hands resting palm-up on her knees and tried to clear her mind. It took some time as she finally drew herself into a meditation, reaching out with limited success to try to immerse herself into the Force. She needed training, still, but she was finally able to succumb to it. She remained like this until she heard a knock at her door. She waited a moment, collecting herself, before unfolding herself and going to the door. She activated the panel and looked out at him, looking for all the world as if she had just woken from a restless sleep.

"Thanks," she replied, self-consciously smoothing her hair before leaving and going to the galley. She busied herself gathering supplies, taking more time than was strictly necessary to avoid having to face [member="Brom Burnside"]. "Have you been treated by a healer? Are you quite recovered?"

 

[Dissero]

"I have," he responded quietly, moving slowly to take a seat. His ankle was healed, but would remain weak for a few days. He'd been directed to take it easy - no chasing down Sith criminals. Turns out, he wouldn't be needing to.

"...quite." The man cleared his throat, pulling out hotboxes of food while Verie collected plates and utensils. Pale-faced, the man watched her making her rounds, noting the purposeful avoidance of eye contact. The silence was deafening.

"Seems I had a fairly bad concussion - would explain why I'm having difficulty remembering things. I believe," he paused, glancing down at the box set on the table before him, calloused hands straightening it, "that I have only a damaged memory of the man you seek. The Healers suggested that I speak more with you about him to ...regain the lost information. Could you please tell me a bit more about this man - things that make him unique. Any particulars will be helpful."

[member="Verie Lacroix"]