From One Hammer to Another.

[Gabriel Sionoma]

​

Sulon​

​

Baron's Hed​

​

The Hammer and Honey Workshop​

The sound of metal against metal, clink and clank, echoed through the thoroughfare. With each lift of the hammer, he felt gravity and force take over. The thump against the anvil, the desire for ricochet, all coursed through his muscles. Sparks yelped and danced off the rust pocked surface with every smack, repeatedly taken to the plate until it could take no more. Lifting with the tongs, hands covered in thick gloves, he turned and dumped the piece into a tub of cool water.

He wasn't sure what he was working on. When removed from responsibility from the Alliance, given a break from his law enforcement responsibilities, and not needed at home to tend to the many needs of many people - he was content to hammer away. Taking something and making it better, by force, seemed to be the way things used to work for him. Now it was simply a matter of hobby.

Rubbing the short sleeves of his shirt across the sweaty brow, he pulled the goggles from his hazel eyes and walked towards the shop front.

"You done makin' all dat racket?!? I can barely hear myself think."

He gave her a strong serving of side eye, tanned arms coated in slick sweat and green hued tattoos, shir drenched from clavicle to belly button.

"Wut?! You can't take a joke any more!" The nearly toothless woman laughed. "That hammerin' take all the metal out of ya?!?"

Pools of burnt honey lidded as he remained silent. She responded, expression changing to worry. It was clear she wasn't sure what he was thinking or doing. Until he drew a heavy breath.

"You've been drinking that mead I made for you, right?"
"Gabe!" The electrum earrings and bull ring of the gypsy rattled. "It's 8 in the morning."
"I don't care." He chuckled as he walked over to the counter, grabbing a towel. "Drink the mead, Sheriffs orders. I wont have that pesky cough showing back up."
"Uh-huh. You just trying to get me drunk aren't ya! I see what you're up to."

He laughed as he walked out of the storefront. "It's less than 1% alcohol. You'll be fine."
"Hey!" The leather of her skin wrinkled with a red tinge. "You got an appointment this morning. It's soon!"
"Yeah, I know."
"If you don't show up...I'll sell them some of your crystals!"

He could hardly even here her, over the phantom sounds of metal ringing and the embrace of the early morning sun.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Miz Gaela Venn had died a tragic, premature death in a drug deal gone wrong. A case of acute lead poisoning. That had been on Taungsday, three days ago, in the backroom of the Cosmic Relay.

Today, on Primeday, Miz Gaela Venn stepped hale and hearty off a transport shuttle, boots settling in the red dust of Baron’s Hed. Her eyes – brown, but brighter than what her associates remembered – took in the sleepy town. Her ears, too. Casual conversation; the distant cling of a hammer; the shhhhnick of a blade peeling off another layer of wood. This one, closest. Her gaze fell to the source. A woman with a half-shaved mane of red hair lounged in the shadow of a nearby house, feet crossed on the fence, knife in hand, a light tune between pursed lips.

The traveller fixed her coat, sweeping dishevelled brown hair off her forehead. Long strides took her down the main street, consulting her datalogger every once in a while for the directions. Not that the place was particularly big. Or particularly populated.

It was, however, particularly hot.

Miz Gaela Venn, formerly of the Begeren Clan, was already regretting her choice of wardrobe. Beneath the perfect illusion of the VF, the woman was decked out in her usual armor. It had temperature control, of course. But here, the sun pounded down from zenith like it knew she called its opposite her home.

This sentiment deepened when her gaze settled on the workshop, its simmering heat, and the half-naked hunk of a man stood before it.

Her destination, and her target.

Great.

After that whole mess back on Nadir, they’d talked. A lot. Loray’d put up an information bounty, and they got an answer from an old associate. Of all people… And of all places. Baron’s Hed was nothing. Nowhere. A speck of dirt on the sole of the galactic boot.

Good place to hide, though – if you had any reason to.

“Hi there,” she called out, lifting an open hand. “You [member="Gabriel Sionoma"]?”

But who do you hide from, when your brother and lover are dead?

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Baron's Hed was often times barren, but not today. Not compared to the normal circumstance, dusty streets coated in thick piles of debris that collected in exposed cracks and upturned duracrete. He had made efforts to fix the problem but he was going about it the wrong way. It wasn't the weather, it was the aqua ducts. And it was going to take far more money than what Barron's Knoll or the commissioner could supply. It was going to take help from the Alliance. But not now, as the streets were far from empty. This was Vendor's Day.

For every week, 90% of the time was spent in quietude where vendors sporadically sold their wares on a schedule. But today, of all days, was the day where all the vendors came together to share and sell their wares. With each other, with the patrons, with even those who lived on high. It was not uncommon for even the Higgins family to crest the horizon, white fabric umbrellas held up to shield the sun, as they honored all the rabble with their presence.

Gabe moved lazily through the stands. He found a water vendor who was also selling heat clothes, an unusual fabric that had the capability to wick up sweat and cool simultaneously. Offering a favor here and there, he took a cloth and rubbed his face of the soot and debris that formed beneath the ring of his goggles. Moving on, another vendor offered fresh fruits and vegetables. Some where imported from distant planets, such as the crisp and fresh leaves of a Naboo lettuce or Geldan-Sun apples. All of which came at the premium of still being seemingly ripe and with rot. Gabe muttered to himself as he realized he would need to take out a second mortgage to pay for proper produce it seemed.

Settling on a local apple that was farmed not too far to the East of Baron's Hed, he offered a few credits and made his way back to his own shop, in hopes that he might have customers that would come to visit on Vendor's Day. That was when he heard the voice through the stale wind.

He didn't recognize the woman, not in the slightest. And he didn't sense anything of her. That was odd, but only in so much that he couldn't sense things from non force sensitives. Which was only odd because his wares tended to strafe towards the more esoteric uses of force powers, often benefiting those who already knew how to use it.

Taking a bite out of the apple, he tossed the heat cloth over his shoulder and squinted. "Ms. Venn?" He replied, hand hovering over his brow. Tonguing his cheek, he moved beneath the peppermint canopy of his work shop - though not without it's own coating of dirt and debris. "I wasn't expecting you for another hour or so..." He held up his wrist to check the time. "Ah, yep. I lost track of the time. Sorry." He offered a hand. "It's pleasure to meet you. I hope the heat isn't treating you too poorly."

The gypsy woman peeked her head out from the stall and snapped her fingers. "Close one. Just about to ship off all these crystals here."

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Ah. She’d quite hoped to avoid this.

Two more steps, and they were standing face-to-face. Her gut churned, but she reached forward anyway, resolute. Clasped his hand – not too firm, not too light. Human.

She’d learned to play the role well over her many lifetimes. “Well, it’s me who came here, innit? Can’t hardly complain when the weather don’t bother changin’ for my arrival.”

A dash of Coruscanti drawl, picked up throughout her years shearing the credits off gambling rings in the undercity. Wouldn’t hold up against a native, but [member="Gabriel Sionoma"] didn’t have that luxury. In this game of Sabacc, Miz Venn still held all the cards.

Her smile was small, but it crinkled the edges of warm brown eyes.

“I cannae say I’ll complain if we move somewhere inside, though,” she added as she released his sooty paw. If their conversation ever took a turn sought, close-quarters would be her ally.

That, and privacy. Or almost-privacy, at any rate. Gaze slid off the apparently taller man for a moment, taking in the hunched, grinning figure in the door.

She had… character.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

The handshake felt...empty. Not in grasp, though that felt light and as carefree as a royalty taken from the tip tops of Cloud 9. It was the lack of tactile response, the lack of transmission, that caught his eye. Being an avid practitioner of psychometry, the hands and finery were the gateways into the hearts and souls of those he crossed. This was only strengthened by his use of lightside alchemy and jal shey techniques, tapping into the hum and song of life. But when he gripped this woman's hand, there was nothing.

Which wasn't something that set off alarms. Far from it, he just assumed that she was mentally stronger or more shut off than his common patron. After all, many came here looking for something that catered to their very spirit. If anything, this set a gloom over the upcoming discussion - if he couldn't read her, building an item to her particular specifications would be difficult at best.

"Of course..." He stuttered as he retracted his hand. "Of course." Stepping further into the shop, the implication for Ms. Venn to follow, Gabe looked towards the gypsy. "Mother. Don't sell my crystals."

"I love it when you call me mother." She leaned over, hand cradling her jaw.
"I'd love it if you didn't sell my crystals."
"Love should be unconditional."
"Yeah...well..." He exhaled and turned left, moving down a small hallway that led into the next workshop.
"That's what I thought."

The rooms were of native Sullustan design, indicating age from more alien focused modernization. The hallway itself was naturally sized but the door frames were smaller and the doors were stacked on top of each other, allowing smaller figures to pass through the bottom without opening the top. But for someone of Gabe's broader size, it made him appear as a giant, if not entirely awkward. After wrangling the archaic brass knob on the top door, both swung open as they entered a relatively developed chamber.

Walls metal, riveted and nearly industrial if not for the shear style and color, the floors were porcelain white and planters of various palm plants littered the corners smaller room. A desk sat in the middle, body length glass windows sat on the opposite wall, looking out into the thoroughfare. They were one way mirrors, allowing Gabe the opportunity to think and watch without grabbing the attention of others. The desk was an immaculate carving of solid wood, moved from Kashyyyk, that paid homage to the battle that took place so long ago.

There were no electronics on the table, only a note pad and writing utensil. And as he sat down, he offered the seat across the way for Ms. Venn. "Your appointment subject line was vague, yet intriguing. So now that we our out of the sun, why don't you tell me what you are looking for?"

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

This one small interaction – brief, toothless grins and smiles betrayed by crinkled eyes – mother. A brown gaze traced the open features of the man, so familiar, yet so misbehaving. An alien, wearing the face she knew and loved. Meeting two eyes as he looked to his guest only added to the crawling down her spine.

World felt off-tilt.

She followed him inside, cataloguing the house: its layout, the furniture, the tools set out in the open. Exits – doors, windows, weakened walls. New, deeper rifts manifested here. It wasn’t a temporary base, a quietly self-sufficient habitat that provided just enough to support. Memories lingered in these rooms. Warmth and laughter, as opposed to absence and tired nights of tangled bedsheets.

This was a home.

“I understand you are a master alchemist,” Miz Venn spoke. The chair scraped lightly across the floor as she pulled it out, sweeping the coat out of the way before taking a seat. Buying time.

Her brow furrowed, fingers interlacing on the warm wood between them. “I hafta admit I don’t know much about it, so if ya could… heh, not laugh at my request.” Full lips quirked at the corners, pulling into an obedient smile.

“Could ye,” she waved her hand, searching for the word, “make somethin’... empathic-like?” She blinked her gaze away from his, looking through the wide window into the busy street. “A ring, or a necklace, or... somesuch?”

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]​

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He did laugh and it came from beneath hands moving across his lips, trying his best to stifle the chuckle. "I'm sorry." He murmured through hands that were now falling back towards the table. "I'm not laughing at your request. That's actually something quite common and for you, may be a substantial benefit. Just the..." He paused as he fidgeted around with the table, calloused fingers moving over the lacquer of the many different grains. "...idea of being a master alchemist is contrary to the practice. You are honed by it, not the other way around."

He leaned over, frustration clear on his face as a prominent mid vein waved across his forehead. "Where did I put that thing..." A switch clicked and a cooler ejected from the floor slowly and meticulously. Looking down, he wore the light coating of amazement. "I'm surprised that actually worked."

Leaning over, he opened the canister and withdrew a bottle. And two chilled glasses. "The form of alchemy I practice is not entirely...common." He admitted. "It caters to the lightside and in many ways, can cause physical harm to those who practice the force in other fashion." Wedging free the cork with a slight expression of telekinesis, he set the glasses down on the table and looked at the woman through the spiced mead resting within the bottle. "My form is a motley of many others that precede me: Jal Shey, Wan-shen, Felucian Skull-Blades, Geseril, Upari-Cutting, and...Lorrdian. With a bit of flavor added for my own benefit, of course." He smiled as he leaned forward, feeling each glass with a quarter sampling of the Ankarres Spiced Mead. The invitation to drink went without saying.

Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of the drink, after taking in the notes of the scent and spice. Perhaps it was common for the server to drink first, to indicate that the beverage was safe for consumption. Or perhaps he was simply thirsty from his early morning exercise.

"I'll confess that I'm having difficulty reading you. That makes my form of alchemy difficult."

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

“Ah,” said Miz Venn, dipping her head slightly with a sheepish enough smile. “I did warn ya I don’t know much about this sorta stuff.” She spread her hands in a good-willed shrug.

She watched his features weave and dance through expressions as he began explaining his art. Wide eyes, wide smile, first, when the cooler emerged from the ground. Mouth and eyes crinkling at the edges as he grinned effortlessly, elaborating on the specifics. Wasn’t hard to plaster a befuddled bite of a lip on her face – Aver knew as much about alchemy as she did about interplanetary accounting.

As he drank, so did Miz Venn slowly reach forward to pluck the glass from its ring of condensation on the smooth wood. Brown eyes flicked down to take in the interplay of light through the amber liquid. She dipped her head, took a whiff of the spicy aroma – a good excuse to close her eyes and piece together a response.

“How do ya mean?” she asked after a beat. Had everything to do with the Force Disperser, Aver would guess. But Miz Venn knew nothing about Force Dispersers, or, indeed, the Force.

“Readin’ me how?”

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]​

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Air escaped his nose as his gaze lingered on the woman. It was easy to trust people when he could see through them, could discern their intentions with a singular touch, and feel the aura that surrounded them. Absent that, he didn't really know who he was dealing with. All that knew of her, he would have to obtain from her words and accept it as truth. But she had to know of the force, he was sure of it. Even those who weren't sensitive, they gave off something that could be read or picked up through psychometry. He wasn't an expert at much, but sensing would definitely count in the realm of mastery. This wasn't a void issue, not like a Yuuzhan Vong or other force dead creatures. It was akin to peering into turbid water, doing his best to make out the murky floor.

"I'm sorry..." He sipped the mead as he shook his head. "I've been working all morning, I seem to have lost my sense of common courtesy." He set the glass down as he leaned back in the chair, creaking beneath the broad weight of a smith's body. "As a Kiffar, I have a rare genetic trait that allows me to discern the character of someone, even brief moments of their history or recent past - all from simple touch. Shaking your hand, for instance." He lifted his hand, calloused finger pointed towards her. The gesture emphasized the distinct black tribal tattoos with the sheen of green, and historical scars. And new scars, the sort that his brother wouldn't have. "If that fails, which some times it does..." He shrugged. "I normally can sense aura or motive by simple discussion. Whether your intentions lie in good will or in malice, for instance." He breathed in, tonguing the side of his lower lip. "But I'm not getting that from you, either. Which I will admit...is a bit odd."

He was blunt, a trait learned over his years of bartering with native Sulon residence and simply being a Marshall and Sheriff. But he was honest, to a fault. He knew almost nothing about this woman. Except that her request came out of nowhere and that she seemed interested in his abilities as an alchemist. Admittedly, that was something that he advertised and was known for. His smile reformed, warmth following the words that might have indicated the conversation was going South. "None of which is a deal breaker. The fact that you want something empathic in nature shows me that you are aware of these issues...or that you knew I would be. It also tells me that maybe you are bit closed off, emotionally?" He paused. "No offense. I'm obviously fishing around in the dark." He admitted, somewhat perturbed by the blind spot that sat before him. "My alchemy items are catered rather specifically to the wearer, often times being powerless to those it is not assigned. So if I can't read you...then I need you to tell me about yourself."

He leaned forward. "Anything will do. And because I'm asking much of you, despite having just met, I will tell you tid bits about myself..." He scratched his beard as he thought. "Ah, I hobby as an alchemist but many know me in town as the Sheriff. I work for the Sulon Law Enforcement Expeditionary Group."

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

“Ah.”

Been saying that a lot since she’d met this man. Which sounded stupid in her own head even as she turned her hand over on the table, tracing the fake birthlines along the palm. She knew this man. A part of him, anyway. The talking had clearly been all Gabriel, that much was obvious. Since his departure, Rev had assumed the quieter role of the two. Their bad cop, bad cop routine stayed the same, though.

Her brow furrowed.

“Ah guess?” Brown eyes peered at the broad man across the table. Uncertain brown eyes. She swirled the mead about her glass, chewing her lip. An obvious tell at Sabacc – an obvious tell here. Nervous, it would say. Unsure.

Truth be told, Aver wasn’t far off from the later. Whatever she’d expected coming here, this wasn’t it. The good brother was unlike his twin in everything but his full lips and sharp cheekbones. The eyes were the right shape, alright, but there was one too many and they laughed all wrong at her.

“Always been like this,” Miz Venn shrugged eventually, finally taking a sip. The amber liquid burned down her throat, leaving a refreshing trail of spice and… calm. She blinked, eyeing the drink. Odd.

At this, she outright chuckled. “Yer a copper? Ha. Fancy that. Never woulda guessed. Not much fer uniforms out here, are y’all?”

Replacing the glass on the table, the woman drummed her fingers on the polished wood. Stopped. Started again. Her lip was starting to feel raw from pointed teeth the man couldn’t see.

“Ah’m Coruscanti… if ye hadna figured it out by now.” Her smile was fleeting. “Dad was a mechanic, mom was a nurse. Me?” She paused, lifting her gaze from the grooves in the timber.

“I was a One Sith soldier.”

It’s from seeds of truth that the best lies grow.


[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"Not much for uniforms when I'm not at work..." He smiled, eyes narrowing, as he watched the woman. Uncertainty and anxiety over the conversation oozed from the pores, giving all the signs of discomfort one might have when being asked to tell truths about themselves. He knew she was Coruscanti, at least he had assumed that given her accent. He had lived for some time in Coruscant, in another life.

"I do wear them though. A badge for when I'm acting as Sheriff. An apron for when I'm a Smith. And a suit of armor when the Alliance calls for their Marshall." He took a sip from the mead, weighing over her last comment. In truth, that didn't really surprise him. If she was, indeed, Coruscanti - she may have been dragged into the war under the One Sith regime. While he couldn't recall such taking place during his reign, it had been many years. And lords were given given lee way in how they conscripted their forces.

"My father was a scientist. A doctor, working for AdasCorp on Arkania. Short hand for The Adasca BioMechanical Corporation of Arkania. Before I took on Sionoma as my name, following my fathers death, I was Gabriel Adasca." He looked towards the mead, mimicking the woman's technique of swirling it. In truth, it helped to bring out the character. "My mother was a Jedi Watchman."

Returning her statements with the very same, reflections of a different life, he leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk. Scratching at the grain of the desk, his eyes moved to meet hers.

"So you fought with the One Sith. That is...a bold thing to confess, in the heart of Galactic Alliance territory no less. Particularly to someone of such proximity to Omai Rhen. Admittedly you weren't aware of that and even if you were, it wouldn't matter. A similar confession landed me in a lava cell for quite some time." He took a deep breath. "So you fought on arguably the wrong side of a long war. Even if that side could contest that they won..." He looked up. "What did you do as a soldier for the One Sith."

He could have mentioned that he fought for the One Sith as well, in a certain fashion. But that seemed like kicking up old history that he wasn't entirely interested in going back over. Besides, he hardly knew this woman and the nature of his statements were merely to coax more from her. And everything she had to say kept leading back to the same assumption: That an empathic item could be of use.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Thank kark and all its offspring for her decades of Sabacc games. Words and secrets and lives never spoken about tumbled past Gabriel’s smiling lips with ease and largesse. A past she’d always sensed lurked at the bottom of the ocean, but never sank with the intent to pry it apart. They each held memories too scabbed with scars and dried blood to share – it was enough to know they were there.

But this man, this other brother, he spoke of them as if the pain had left him. As if there were no flaying of fingers, no beatings, no scars or excision of a twin who’d never even had a chance at life. Aver felt her heart beat up a thunder through her veins as she sat statue-still, wrestling her features into submission. Beneath the placid surface of the lake, fury rose like a tide.

“Ah did,” she admitted, tone turning terse. Not for the apparently unpleasant topic of conversation, but for the restraint Aver had to exercise to keep still. It fit either way. “What do soldiers do?” she asked, a wry grin curling her lips.

With a sigh, she ran fingers through long brown hair. “Look. It wasna pretty. Ye look old enough to have fought them, so Ah don’t hafta tell ya what the war was like.” Aver dragged her gaze away from the man, brow furrowing. Blue eyes peered through the window again, settling on the steady flow of locals past the colorful vendors.

“Ah… Ah was helpin’ da in the shop most of the time. Lots of work back then, ‘specially with the military. Then some shet happened, a rebellion or some such.” Her frown deepened. “Anyway, the bigwigs wanted new people fast. Pretty desperate, seemed like, ‘cause they picked ya right off the street if ya didna have two left hands and a lame leg.”

“Ah ain’t never shot a Jedi, if that’s what yer askin’.” Wasn’t even a lie, that – Vrag had always used a lightsaber. Or her bare hands. “Managed to git a medic position, ‘cause that’s what Ah was studyin’ for… ‘fore the army came. Patched up more folks than Ah killed.”

Finally, brown eyes found his again. So strange to see a gaze like that on his face. “It‘s been near-on fifteen years. What’s done is done.” Miz Venn sighed, dipping her chin in defeat. “What got ye landed in a lava cell?”

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"What got me landed in a lava cell?" He chuckled as he looked at the top of her head, hanging in defeat and exhaustion over historical retelling. Shacking his head, he took a larger sip from the mead. Sipping at wine and air, he set the cup down and huffed. "I've been told by numerous individuals that I share an uncanny resemblance to a particularly infamous member of the One Sith...though I suppose it's former now. Enough of a resemblance that every prominent member of the Galactic Alliance assumed I was him. I suppose that's the curse of having a twin on the other side of war. Mistakes happen though, in truth, I don't really see it. The resemblance, I mean."

Setting the cup down, he thought over that. He was aging, far more than he recalled ever aging while in his original body. Perhaps that was the product of experimentation. Perhaps it was the corruption. But as it stood, he looked more like the older and slightly stockier version of the former wrath. "I was told that he died but I never really bought it. He sought it out but I don't think he ever wanted it."

Hazel eyes looked towards the woman, quietly assessing her story for what he thought were all truth. After all, he had no reason to think otherwise. He was likely to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it was because he was never afforded that notion, forced to fight for his opportunity at redemption. Most accepted him but others, to this day, still struggle with the idea that he was anything more than the Wrath of the One Sith. "So your father was a mechanic, your mother was a nurse. Coruscant has a thousand opportunities yet you chose to follow in your mothers profession..."

He stopped as he uncorked the bottle and poured a bit more, offering the bottle to her in turn. "Why?"

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Oh, Aver saw the resemblance. She saw it in every gesture, every smile that he wore just a little off, and it made her blood boil. Or perhaps his blood, in truth. He could feel the anger lancing up her spine, clouding her thought, urging her to squeeze a fist around his throat and tear out his lying tongue.

With a long breath, she doubled down on the throbbing sliver. Not yet came the whisper as her eyes refocused on the brother before her.

“A Sith bigwig was yer twin?” Statement like that, anybody would be curious. Aver just wanted to see how much more she could draw out of the man.

Gaze drooping, she canted the glass to trace a finger along its lip. The faint humming soon filled the room as Miz Venn entertained another thoughtful pause.

“Coruscant has a thousand opportunities… if yer rich enough,” one-shouldered shrug, a brief glance from beneath furrowed brow. “Ah wanted to be a doctor, ye know. But that sorta thing cost an arm an’ a leg back when. Prob’ly still does.”

The thin song of the glass stopped as she drank again.

“Was always good with me hands from helpin’ out in the shop, and plenty o’ folks needed help with the war on. If ye were a soldier ye got medical care, but fer the rest?” She shook her head. “Sith ain’t never cared about collateral damage.”

“And when I started travelin’ with the army I got to help some civilians, at least. Saw plenty o’ grisly stuff then. It wasna pretty, but... blood’s never bothered me.”


[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He sipped, slowly, masking any tell on his face that he might have noticed something. Anger has an expressive tone, like the world around an individual darkened beneath a cloud on an otherwise sunny day. For some, it was passing overcast, inner workings of a mind that was dealing with microcosms of volatility - all were victims to this, who didn't have full control over their own mentality. For others, it was a long and dreary day, soaking the world in shadow and rain and giving not a moment for the suns warm breath. And for the select few, it was a thunderstorm with the clap of lightning casting flickering brilliant white lights - illuminating all that hid before them.

He wondered if it was the commentary on the Sith. Or perhaps something had happened to her parents. Or perhaps she recognized him, after all. The One Sith, particularly Reverance, was inclined to dive into the muck and grime of war. Not one for sitting back and watching, he preferred the feel of death beneath his fingertips. If it was a rebellion that brought her into the fray, it may have very well been the commemoration of Dave. And if it was that rebellion, she may very well have seen Reverance in the lime light.

But as she said, it was 15 or more years ago.

"A Sith bigwig...you could say that." He smirked, letting out a breath into the warm glass of mead. He was inclined to drop the topic, though he was full aware of how Sith viewed things. "And no, they don't care for much else besides themselves. That is the path they walk, narcissism and ego doesn't leave room for much anything else."

Pushing away from the desk, he emptied his glass with a swig before setting the glass down. "Well, come on. I need to size you." His workshop was far from comfortable, compared to this. But as far as her story went, it seemed she was used to that sort of thing.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Half a smile was all she had to offer. Part act, part truth. It was becoming difficult to maintain the innocuous façade of Miz Venn as their meeting wore on – Rev was buffeting her walls with twenty years of suppressed rage, and Aver herself was… she ground her teeth as Gabriel stood up.

She couldn’t name the feeling. Her gamut of emotion was as narrow and tight as the virgin hole of an old-timer Jedi, one of those who entered the order at the nascent age of three and never even saw a man naked, let alone karked one.

But that metaphor got away from her, didn’t it? Rev hadn’t quite rubbed off all of his talent on her in that regard. Maybe in another two decades.

Aver pushed out her chair and joined the other twin. “You get what ye need from that?” she asked as they began to walk. “Ah’m still not sure how this alchemy thang works. You need ta know me to work the space magic?”

Always better to be the one asking the questions. Seemed like she was out of the woods for now, but with this man… certainty was off the table. She had to keep on her toes, be ready to bolt at any moment if the situation floored it southward.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

The door slid open as she followed behind the smith. He chuckled as he shook his head. "No, not what I need. But we will make do. I've gleaned more from this conversation than you might think."

The hallway that separated the office from the shop was short in length but had a rather distinct shift in temperature. Half way through, the swelter of Sulon seeped in, nearly forming a barrier of humidity that they penetrated quickly after entering the narrow passage. Opening the metal door, he moved into the workshop. It was industrial in many ways, a blazing forge in the distance with work surfaces and counter tops planted throughout. Numerous half complete sets of armor hung from chains, attached to large wooden beams that ran across the ceiling. Flat surfaces were coated with iron residue and left over slag.

A particular countertop was strewn with various crystals and jewels, partially complete jewelry, and handles to knifes and other weapons. Lightsaber hilts sat deconstructed on cloth in a distant corner, drawings and schematics indicating unique and novel changes to the development of the hilts. Some showed inserted crystals, others were entirely empty. Some were made of wood, others in pre cast metal, while others were abstract in shape altogether.

Pulling up a chair against one of the cleaner surfaces, he propped up a knocked over stool that had been lingering on the floor. Gesturing towards it for the Miss Venn to take a seat, he sat down in turn. Pressing a single nearly unnoticeable indention on the surface, a computer screen ejected from the ceiling and a keyboard appeared on the flat surface. A cone, similar to an upside down lamp, extended from a metal arm that shot a flat teal beam across the desk surface. Gabe huffed as he stood up, yanking the monitor down to his eye level. "Stupid thing keeps getting stuck." He grunted as he sat back down. Rummaging through the drawers, he pulled out a pair of reading glasses and placed them over the bridge of his nose. "Unless you are really looking to learn how this works, your current understanding should suffice for our purposes." He read the screen, clicking on the keys, as he looked down the length of his nose.

"Ah Miss Venn, would you be so kind as to place your hand beneath the light?"

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

… glasses?

Out of all the things she hadn’t expected to see today, this was the most jarring yet. Aver narrowly avoided dropping her jaw at the sight. It was so… so incredulous. A sheer ludacrity. Something so utterly banal.

Aver stared, never so glad that Gabriel had turned his back on her while he fiddled with desktop technology. Was he… was he nearsighted? Somewhere in the back of her mind, her cold, combat-oriented psyche noted this glaring weakness. But at the forefront, the merc was caught halfway to a guffaw.

Still, the rational prevailed over the absurd situation. She cleared her throat and took the proffered seat. For a moment, seeing him from profile, Aver could almost imagine she was looking at Rev.

But then the twin spoke again, turning his warm eyes on her, and the instant was lost. She glanced down at the hands neatly folded in her lap. Considered. For a civilian – even one who was, supposedly, a retired soldier – the hand shouldn’t matter much. But for Aver? She put these hands to work, calloused from the grips of guns and hilts of sabers. They each served a purpose, and purposely served.

“Alroight.”

She lay her left palm flat under the beam, eyes fixed on the calm man before her.

The longer she spent in his company, the more sure she was they had nothing in common anymore. Just the flesh they wore.

And flesh was… fleeting.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"]​

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

He watched the screen as the light began to whirl. Static across the beam showed as it moved from wrist to the tip of the middle finger. He caught the flicker of red in the light as it moved back down to the wrist and started over again. "This technology is typically used to measure the sizing of every finger and the wrist but..." He turned the screen to her, brow furrowing in slight confusion. "Seems to be having difficulty." The image showed her hand in 3-D imagery but the lines were static and the measurements were inaccurate. Unless he was suddenly a very poor gauge for ring size and her thumb was actually a size 15. Which, it wasn't. "This piece of equipment is relatively new...Not sure what's wrong with it."

Could be some distortion in the air. Or it could be an issue with one of the bulbs. He couldn't recall the lifespan on those but he was going to be looking for refund if this was the extent of it. He'd only had it for a few months. "Well...that's unfortunate." He clicked escape on the screen. Then he clicked again and again. Until the thing kicked out of the program. With a lift up at the base of the panel, the computer moved back towards the ceiling. He reached down and pulled a drawer handle, revealing a deep well of random odds and ends. Pulling out a notepad and pencil, he set the notepad down and manually sharpened the pencil with a rusted knife. Resting the glasses down on the table, he looked towards the woman's hand and yanked out a bangle of rings - solid surgical steel, marked in size, that went up with half increments.

His fingers curled into towards his hand, scratching lazily at the scar at the center of his palm, before setting the pencil against his ear and turning towards the woman.

"Can I see your left hand...please?"

She needed to be sized and it seemed like it would need to be done manually.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

With a precise, sudden clarity, a single word crystallized in her mind.

Shet.

As she watched the imaging program whirr, sputter, and, inevitably, kark up, Aver felt dread settle in her gut. Unlike the man, she knew exactly what the problem was. She was also in a closed space with someone who, despite being different in so many ways, was still dangerous.

And attentive.

[member="Gabriel Sionoma"] was a man of keen eyes. Doubly so, in this body.

Time trickled into that syrupy quality that often accompanied the collapse of distant mountains. The brother rummaged about his desk, voice stretching out into rumbling syllables as Aver entertained a long internal sigh.

The options open to her had been abruptly decimated. It wasn’t the first time facing such adverse odds, but it was rarer for it to stem from her mistakes. If this were Sabacc, she just Bombed out.

Sheeeit.

Canting her head, Aver pulled her last play out of her ass. It was pathetic, but if Gabe was as trusting as Rev wasn’t… it might just work. Her lips quirked into an apologetic smile on demand. She gave a light chuckle, urging a little flush to her cheeks and a faint furrow to her brow.

“Ah— mind if Ah just use the bathroom first? Can’t say Ah’m used to drinks this strong.”