Orison (Complete)

[Kuzo]

M A E N A

Doctor Irajah Ven looked down into the cloning crèche, a small frown on her face.

She hadn't know that day what the buzzing in her head had meant when the masked form had brushed past her. It had taken research to unmask that creature after the fact. When she realize that it would have been her own face, head bowed, kneeling before [member="Darth Carnifex"], Irajah had shuddered, retched, nausea accompanying an epiphany for the first time.

Dosuun to Maena to Barkhesh and back to Maena again, the foundations of this moment had been filled with such blinding anger. How dare he? How dare he take her form, her face, and twist them into that simulacrum? That tawdy copy to bolster his game- his ego?

She had escaped them, he and [member="Darth Prazutis"] both. At least, she had thought she had. She understood then, in that moment of shaking fury that she would never be free of them. They played a game that she didn't even fully comprehend the rules of- Everything you have done was as we wished it - the smug, superior tone in his voice when he'd proclaimed that. If she drew power to her and fought them- they won. If she shrunk into nothingness, cowed and beaten- they won. The gambit of Doctor Ven yielded fruit, no matter what she did.

In someone else, that might have led to despair. Why fight? Why strive, why live ​if all of it only fed the wellspring of those you hate?

For Irajah, however, it simply meant that it was time to make her own rules.

So this is what he looked like once, she thought absently, the frown turning thoughtful. He looks so similar to.....

Steeling herself, she reached over, tapping in the sequence that would draw him out of the fugue state and into real consciousness. He had been dreaming all this time, and it was time to change that. Her hand shook slightly as it withdrew and she curled her fingers into her palm.

The crèche opened with a hiss, and she stepped up, unhooking a blanket from over one arm. His stumble was to be expected, and she didn't try to arrest that motion, only guide it so he didn't end up eating durasteel- as satisfying as that might have been to see the original do, this wasn't that man. This wasn't Kaine Zambrano, shivering beneath her hands. While this man shared his genetics, he didn't carry his sins. Carefully, she wrapped the blanket around massive shoulders.

"Good morning, Samson," she said softly, her words aimed at the back of his head. "The disorientation you are feeling is normal. It will pass soon, but don't try to stand until you are ready."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

M A E N A

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

The endless dream continued.

Ragged edges cutting, an ocean of blood surrounded and threatened to swallow him whole, he walked the line and tried to steady himself against the buffeting screams. Eternal silence before him, boundless noise behind... no path to follow, just the unceasing relentless sharp fringe biting against his naked flesh. Beneath, masses danced, underneath the surface of red and crimson, there was beauty and horrifying agony outlining it....

...and just as Samson thought he would fall? He was pulled away. Yanked away from the waking nightmare and back into living agony outside.

Fire ran up and down his spine as he stumbled out of the pod. Eyes latched together with frost and difficult to see through, he fell, as muscles were not yet used to carrying his own weight. Knees scuffed as his massive, unwieldy frame collapsed into itself. Only instinct preserved his face when he raised his palms in time to catch himself.

"I-" Air suddenly sucked itself into his dying lungs and resurrected them. This burned as well, as organs who never had to work one day in their existence, suddenly were forced into activity.

Samson dry-heaved and violently suppressed the urge to vomit... for there was nothing to vomit up.

Something wrapped itself around him, he tried to ward the assailant off, but the clone was too weak. All he could manage was the smallest of gestures, before the sudden lose of his own support caused him to fall further. Heavy shoulder took the brunt of the fall, but this allowed him to witness the person next to him.

Irajah Ven.

The name burned itself into his retina, echoing through his mind over and over and over and over again, until it was melodic music ushering him on. Almost immediately new ideas, novel and fiery as flames, spread through his still wakening consciousness, concepts were introduced to him as fast as he could burn through them.

Guardian. Protector. Assistant. Servant. Slave.... no, not slave.

"M-master." He warded off any attempts to assist him, as he slowly pushed himself off the floor and got himself to one knee in front of her.

The scratchy baritone voice hummed in the room. It was less a voice and more the presence of the undercurrent of a melody whispering in the air.

"Your will."

Then his head bowed with the rest of him.

 

[Kuzo]

Her own reaction startled her. They came swiftly, one right after another, impressions, coiling emotions, raw and jagged.

So that's what his eyes looked like.

Academically, she had been aware that the sulfuric yellow had been an aspect of the darkside. Yet part of her had been stealing for that molten gaze, readying herself for that view from her very nightmares. So to be greeted instead by those verdant eyes- it was like preparing for a speeder crash that never came.

She had not prepared herself for his voice, however, and that hit every nerve in her body- some she had even tried to forget existed.

She had stepped back involuntarily when he moved to kneel. She had expected it, even when he called her Master. What she didn't expect was her response to it.

Irajah had assumed that she would feel, if not pleasure, at least a certain grim satisfaction, at seeing her enemy in the position that he wanted from her. Instead, all she felt was revulsion. This wasn't at all what she wanted. She had thought it was. She has been mistaken.

"You can call me Doctor Ven," she said, her tone a little stiffer than she intended it to be. Not Master, though she recognized with some chagrin that would be a battle. Certainly not Irajah.

"I would like to check your vital signs, then we can get you cleaned up and some clothes on."

She had not thought this through at all, she was slowly realizing.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

Samson frowned while staring chiefly at the durasteel flooring beneath.

Doctor? Why would the man call her doctor? After all, he was not a patient of hers. Through the vague memories that were rising up, the word 'Doctor' evoked thoughts of service and duty. They served their patients and tried to help them, but this did not come even close to their relationship.

He served her... it was not the other way around.

But the conundrum was shattered once he repeated her words in his head again. Can call me. There had been no command inside of it, no, it was a simple suggestion of options.

This was something that Samson could work with.

"Of course, Master." The large man responded cautiously without taking his eyes from the floor. "I serve you gladly, you may check what you find necessary."

It was strange to him that she was seemingly (carefully) asking for... permission? It was clear to him that his creator could do whatever was her wish with him. There was no real need to ask for his opinion, she knew better what was best for him after all, there was little sense for his input.

 

[Kuzo]

Irajah was entirely unequipped to deal with this.

Her lips drew into a thin line and her fingers were pinching the bridge of her nose before she even realized she was doing it.

"I would prefer if you would call me Doctor Ven. And- look- I-"

What would [member="Matsu Xiangu"] do?

Er.

What would [member="Carach"] - Also not helpful. [member="Darth Imperia"]?

She sighed loudly.

At this rate, they'd be there all day. Her being polite and him kneeling at her feet. Nude.

Chit.

"If you can, please stand and go sit on the table over there," she finally said, the irritation at herself and the situation clear in her voice. She waved a hand in the general direction of the table, rubbing her temple with the other hand for a moment.

She turned her back on him, taking the few short steps over to the portable scanner. Her heels tak tak takked against the floor, crisp white lab coat fluttering with the sudden movement. She put her hands on the counter, leaning slightly as she waited, listening. When she was certain he was up again, *not kneeling*, then she would turn around. And when she did.

".... Um. You can use the blanket. To. Wrap around-"

What was she getting herself into?

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

It was more difficult than he had expected it to be... the simple act of standing.

Muscles atrophied were frozen solid and locked, which meant that it took him a few moments, before he had any true confidence in himself to rise up. In the meantime the blanket fell from his shoulders already and curled up on the ground by his feet. None of his attention was on that blanket though, as it was all occupied by the simply act of keeping his balance without falling. This was frustrating to the greatest degree.

His memories told him specifically what he had to do - one foot after another, letting gravity do its work and the muscles taking the fall as his body moved forward.

But it was far more difficult to do so in real-time.

"Blanket, Master?" Already his steps had taken him to the table, big hands brushing the stylized metal and shrinking back slightly against the cold.

"I can withstand the cold."

It was a firm tone. There was no need for her to worry about his body temperature, the cold bit, but it was nowhere near the level of extremity it had been a moment ago.

Even breathing was getting easier now.

With some difficulty Samson finally managed to scramble himself onto the table, swinging his large legs over the corner and resting there. Blood started to circulate more heavily now within his veins and his leg was starting to feel... strange. Invisible little needles stabbing at him from every direction.

Samson hissed in painful annoyance. "It hurts?"

Why did it hurt?

 

[Kuzo]

"Doctor Ven, please. And it's not about the temperature, Samson. It's a matter of privacy and .....personal..... space," she explained carefully, closing her eyes for a minute. "Just. Put the blanket on your lap, okay?"

Oddly, his admission that he was in pain made it easier for her to concentrate on the matter at hand. It was easier to slip into the role of 'doctor' which was a comfortable second skin, compared to the role of 'master.' She drew the scanner over, turning it on and frowning thoughtfully.

"Where? Here? Nothing to worry about. It will fade once the circulation in your legs catches up with your movements. You are going to need to take it easy for the next few hours, possibly the next few days. What you think your body can accomplish and what it actually can accomplish will take a little bit of time to synch up. Be patient with yourself."

From the last, it was clear that she at least wasn't expecting him to push himself.

It was easier, focused on the medicine. Not looking at his face. She could suppress the disgust, the discomfort. She focused on the scanner, nodding to herself occasionally.

"You are in perfect health," she declared a moment later, turning away without looking back up at him. "Once the tingling passes, there is a robe for you behind that screen. Dress and I will show you to your quarters here."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

Samson did not understand.

But any confusion about the subject was overridden with an exact command from her voice. It switched off anything that he could have retorted, questioned or raised eyebrows at, instead he simply pushed himself off the table for a moment to fetch the blanket. The pain in his leg dulled to a pin-point and faded back into the background as his mind was solely occupied with accomplishing the task that was given to him. Within no time and with exact efficiency the blanket had been picked up, before the clone returned to the table once again.

There, after sitting down, he put it neatly on his lap just as requested.

"I have done as you asked, Ma- Doctor." It was a strange sound and it did not fit into the narrative of their relationship, but for some strange reason it gave his Master a slim amount of... comfort?

Which was all that Samson could care about.

He went through all her tests without any complaints, suggestions or further additions. In truth, the clone wished to immediately put on his robe to please her more, but the command had been to sit and wait, until the tingling had passed. This was what was required of him and Samson was not going to do anything that went directly against the directive.

After a few minutes of simply sitting there in quiet silence the tingling seemed to pass.

Samson grunted vaguely, before pushing himself off and slipping into robes. It felt... warm? Comfortable. He hummed softly to himself in contentedness, the fluffy feel of the robe against his skin was quite pleasant indeed.

"I will treasure this gift. Thank you.... Doctor." He resolved himself to return to the true narrative, once they left the laboratory.

Outside of it she would surely wish to return to their true roles.

Instead of this strange roleplaying.

 

[Kuzo]

"It's.... just a robe," she mumbled. "It's not.... nevermind."

Her face was red and she didn't know why. Which annoyed her. The whole situation was not exactly what she had assumed it would be like- in fairness, she hadn't really considered all that far beyond the initial gesture. And now?

She had a living creature that needed things from her that she didn't know..... that she could provide. Perhaps she could, she had before (her heart twisted over the thanks for such a simple gesture, remembering Boo). But every time she looked at him, all she saw was them.

She could over come that. Samson was not them. He could be better than that. And not merely as some mindless slave (never her intention, even from the beginning) but as his own person. Could she help him do that, find that purpose within himself?

She didn't know.

"Follow me."

Not looking at him, she turned and exited the lab. The warrens in the laboratory beneath [member="Matsu Xiangu"]'s home were extensive, but Irajah navigated them without a thought.

It was easier with him behind her, her attention forward.

"This is temporary," she explained as she threaded them through the halls. "Tonight we will go to Dosuun. To Blackwater Reach. My home." Our home. "But you need to rest before traveling. And I have..... work to do before we go."

Work. In that moment, work was anything that got her out of his presence.

Stopping, she paused, indicating the room next door. Her words were stiff and oddly formal for her. "My office is just there. I will have food sent to you. There are clothes that will fit you.... you can choose what you would prefer, though you will have more choices once we reach Blackwater. For now rest, eat. I will come for you when it is time to depart."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

The walk down the many halls was filled with oppressive silence and for some reason Samson felt as if he was the cause for it.

Maybe he had not put on the robe fast enough? Maybe he should have immediately agreed to using her preferred addressation in the lab? Maybe it was simply something troubling in the tests that she had not wanted to share with him. Strangely enough the possibility of that last option soothed his worry slightly, perhaps it shouldn't have.

But the idea that it wasn't something he had done specifically made it easier.

Soon enough they arrived at the corridor with his room and the office Irajah used herself. There was more lighting here, he noticed, it was oppressive in its blinding furiousity. It made Samson squint his eyes softly, while they got used to the intensity.

She mentioned food - warm food filling and warming him, it was wonderful - and new clothes and a room for himself while he waited.

So much luxury for him, why he wondered?

That question was swiftly pushed aside as Samson paused, just as he was about to open the door and slip inside, it was hesitation that moved him to turn slightly to face her again. Before she could leave he pushed himself to question her ever so slightly.

"Could I please keep the robe?" Warm, fuzzy, comfortable, he understood she probably would want to take it away from him and leave him with more suitable clothing.

But maybe the clone could convince her.... somehow? He did not know what he could offer that she did not already possess by virtue of being his maker and master.

 

[Kuzo]

Irajah was caught so off guard by the question that she just stared at him in silence for a moment.

Those words, that tone, from that face was the most surreal thing she could ever expect to experience in her life. From any other lips, in any other voice, the question would have melted her, washing away any lingering reservations about taking care of this person. But even if she closed her eyes, that voice was still too familiar.

"It's.... it's yours Samson," she finally said quietly, her voice pained. "You don't have to ask me if you can keep it. Anything I give you is yours. I will not take it away from you."

Her right hand, the cybernetic one, clenched into a fist. Not a robe. Certainly not more.

"Not ever. Excuse me."

She turned fast enough that she almost walked straight into the wall before disappearing into her office. She closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it heavily. She stayed there, frozen, silent, listening.

When the door to his room shut, she slid slowly downward until she was sitting on the floor. Pulling her knees up, she buried her face in her arms and stifled a sob.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

Samson smiled.

It was a warm smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth and lighting up his expression just so. A quick bow of thanks followed suit, before the large man turned and finally slipped into the room and closing the door behind him. It was a large space - at least in his mind - for anyone else it might have looked like an average room, but for Samson it seemed like abundant luxury. After all, all he knew were the tight confines of his pod and the wide expanse of his own mind. In that scenario even a little janitor room would probably be considered huge.

The clone blinked when he noticed that the light here was as bright and vibrant as outside. This was good, his eyes had already begun to water at the offensive pressure of the lights, but this was manageable.

He brushed his fuzzy robe once more, before walking over to the......... cabinet. The word suddenly popped up in his mind and designated the wooden contraption as the place where he could get new clothes for himself. With some hesitation - he still wondered if it would disappear, if he left it alone for too long - the robe was carefully placed on the neighboring bed and started picking out strange fabrics and textiles.

Brows furrowed in heavy thought as he wondered what Irajah would like the most out of all of this.

The exhaustion was warded off for now, but he would have to sleep soon, that was for sure.

 

[Kuzo]

Sometimes, Irajah was so caught up in her work that she simply could not be bothered to track down something to eat, and the staff was long accustomed to delivering a tray to her at odd hours. When asked what they should send down, she had blinked.

"Just. Whatever the last thing you sent down to me was. That will be fine. Um. Just. More of it."

Not because she was also intending to eat- Irajah was most certainly not hungry, her stomach in knots. But he would need more to eat than she usually did, she had no doubt.

Food would arrive for him not long after he dressed. A knock on his door, the tray left without waiting. They never waited if she was working, and they simply assumed that the room she had directed them to was where she was. So the food appeared as if by magic. Hot soup, warm crusty bread, crisp salad, fruit. Two chocolate filled pastries were tucked in the corner of the tray and a large steaming mug of caf, black and sweet, balanced out the glass of cold water on the other side.

On the other side of the wall, Irajah brooded.

It was easier to parse out some of the roiling without seeing him. The resemblance of the 'younger' [member="Darth Carnifex"] to [member="Darth Prazutis"] was striking and wholly unexpected. She had prepared herself to face a copy of the monster who had taken so much from her- not what had actually come out of the crèche. She had miscalculated, egregiously, and now had to figure out what she was going to do from there.

Sitting at her desk, she dropped her head into her hands, running fingers roughly through her hair.

No matter how far she had come since Panatha, it hadn't been enough. Though she and [member="Carach"] had worked through so many of the layers of what had happened there, there were things that she had not fully come to terms with. She just hadn't realized it until that moment. Had Carach? He had been digging through her mind, occasionally ruthlessly, to pull everything that Braxus had done, every red flag that had gone unnoticed- after all, when someone was wearing rose coloured glasses, red flags are just..... flags. They had focused on all of the reasons to reject everything that he had done to her- to try to convince her and manipulate her to his own ends.

There was anger. Hatred, yes. A deep loathing for him, yes, but also for allowing herself to be so thoroughly fooled.

But the one thing they hadn't spoken of, that he hadn't pulled out of her, was that before everything had crumbled, she'd had feelings for the Sith Lord. Developing, forming, nebulous yes. But there had been affection from her side, even if everything from his had been fake.

She gritted her teeth, angry. At herself. At the situation. Angry for feeling. Knowing, seeing- understanding what had happened should have been enough to completely obliterate any shadow of that affection.

But emotions are messy, unpredictable creatures.

It was not the first time hers would make things more complicated than they needed to be. And it wouldn't be the last.

Reaching over, she tapped out a message, sending it swiftly to Terin, the Seneschal of Blackwater Reach. To swap the room she had originally ordered prepared for him to the unused guest quarters in the tower. The opposite side of the manor from her own rooms.

Oddly, it didn't make her feel any better.

*****

A couple of hours later she emerged from her office. Plenty of time to compose herself, send the current round of test data to Blackwater- and hopefully for him to dress, eat and rest, perhaps nap. If her own face looked unrested and tight, well, she couldn't work miracles.

She hesitated, the back of her fist an inch from his door. She could leave him on Maena. Arrange proper quarters for him here with [member="Matsu Xiangu"]. Raja sighed, and knocked.

"Samson? It's time."

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

There was a stark contrast between the activities in the two rooms.

Whereas Irajah was conflicted, worried and anxious about everything that had happened Samson was... anything but. In truth there was wonder in his eyes as his hands brushed past the various clothing articles, feeling the warm and comfortable textures on his skin and studying its pretty design with something of amazement. Looking back to his behavior a few moments ago it was no wonder that Irajah had seemed confused.

The first robe would have seemed so small and little when compared to the things hidden in this cabinet. He wondered how much all of this would have costed, a fortune to be sure.

Samson considered himself lucky his Master was so generous to him.

A knock at the door caused him to halt his search for the prettiest shirt, but there was no one there. Just a plate with food and... it seemed there was a note stuck under one of the cups. The plate was placed carefully one the bed, where he settled down and read the piece of flimisplast.

It cautioned him to be careful with the food and not speed through it.

Apparently there was a risk his organs would react violently against substances he wasn't used to eating. This seemed like a wise course of action and the clone wondered if this was Irajah's writing, it seemed graceful enough to be made by her hand, but that did not always say something.

He fed himself carefully and finally got some new clothing on, before laying down and trying to rest.

Difficult, because every time Samson closed his eyes and slipped into the darkness... all he saw was blood and jagged edges and screaming agony. In the end - after the third time of crashing out of the nightmares with his heart pounding against his ears - he sighed and simply decided to sit on the ground, his back to the door and leaning against the side of the bed.

Eyes closed he tried to regain some peace, but found it difficult.

"Master? Of course!" His eyes flicked open and he half-shouted over his shoulder, seeing as the door was still closed. Samson pushed himself off, grabbed the robe and pushed the door slowly open.

"I am ready."

The declaration was made without doubt, but if Irajah was paying attention she would notice the lines of exhaustion on his face, they were pronounced instead of softened.

 

[Kuzo]

She gritted her teeth slightly when his call came back through the door. Why hadn't she imprinted Doctor instead? Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all- she never could have realized how uncomfortable that word from his lips made her.

While she tried not to be, while she didn't want to be, Irajah was hyper aware of [member="Samson"] as soon as the door opened. Under other circumstances, distraction would easily cause her to miss something as subtle as the tightness around his eyes, or the tension at the corners of his lips.

However, he was that distraction.

Irajah looked up at him and frowned, ever so slightly.

"Did you eat and rest?" She asked, a little more sharply than she intended to. She was in no way angry with him, but it would be easy to misconstrue the tone.

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

Just as she noticed his tension, so did Samson notice the edge at her tone.

It made him furrow his brows in confusion.

Had he done something to displease her? Or was there something that had not gone right with her experiments? Either could be the cause here, but the man was not sure what he could have done to elicit a reaction from her. In the end the clone simply inclined his head and decided not to tell her the entire truth - mostly, because it seemed as if she had enough worries on her head already and because the question had been phrased in such a way that a vague answer would work just as well. Without putting more weight on her shoulders.

"Yes, the food was delicious, thank you."

The meditation was rest in a way, even if it had not been all that effective to ban the concerning images in his head. Why was it that Samson was experiencing them? He knew that he wasn't... unique.

He had been made.

But it still concerned him that those images kept propping up inside of him.

"I am ready to go." The clone finally repeated, waiting patiently for his Master to say the word.

 

[Kuzo]

The fact that he couldn't *lie* to her was enough that she didn't look too deeply beyond the surface of his words. She nodded, looking him up and down once more. She noted briefly the robe over his arm and sighed inwardly.

"That suits you," she said, refering to the clothing he picked before she turned away again, heading down the hall. They would meet [member="Matsu Xiangu"] at a later date- she was not currently on Maena, though she *had* seen him already- still in the crèche, not yet awakened. They would meet, and soon. But he needed to acclimate first.

She threaded her way up through the installation with [member="Samson"] at her heels. She had left her lab coat in her office, but her usual attire still covered her from chin to the middle of the back of her hands. Absently, she tugged at the end of her sleeves on occasion as they moved up the levels, her attention only noteworthy in how so little of it she spent on him. Enough that it would be clear to someone else that it took in truth much more of her attention to ignore him so thoroughly than if she had simply acted normally.

Her personal ship, a small transport perpetually unnamed, waited for them. She headed up into it, poking her head into the cockpit.

"How you doing Om."

Predictably, the droid didn't respond. Irajah sighed.

"Samson, this is Om, our pilot. Don't expect him to say much though. Om, prepare us for travel to Blackwater."

"Affirmative."

"Wonderful. Thank you."

There was no response from Om.

She moved through the ship, passing the medical nook, her quarters and a guest berth, and headed into the galley. As always, her first stop after greeting Om was at the caf machine. She paused, turning and finally looking at him again.

"Better not caf you up," she decided out loud. No telling how the man would respond to the caffeine.

She paused, suddenly awkward now that there was nothing else to do that wasn't directly interacting with him.

"Are you thirsty? Would you.... would you like to sit."

She paused, then reached up, rubbing her temple. "I'm sorry Samson. This is. New. Territory for me. And I'm not sure where to go from here. Please. Sit. Now seems like a good a time as any for you to ask me..... any questions you might have."

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

His thoughts were elsewhere as they walked through the various facilities, entered the hangar bay and finally slipped into her personal shuttle.

Which was strange.

Samson was not used to having these many thoughts intrude upon his mind and yet here they were. Most of it was centered around those dreams, the imagery that he couldn't push out of his retina and confused him greatly. But there was also his relationship with Irajah - what relationship? - he had expected her to be... different somehow, perhaps more resolute and clear-cut in her approach. Yet, there seemed to be hesitation in her walk, every single word spoken so carefully, as if she was afraid her entire existence would shatter from a stray sentence.

It confused the clone greatly.

Automatically the man settled down, once he realized she had repeated a command to him. For a moment there was an awkward silence when her outburst ended and hung heavily between them.

Brows furrowed and then Samson swallowed, trying to counter the dryness of his throat.

"Have I done something to displease you, Master?" There was a quiet and steady sincerity coloring his tone and as far as Irajah could see, he did not seem annoyed or even upset about the prospect. Simply confused, a little bit tired and wondering if there was anything he could do to fix whatever he had done to anger her so in the moment and beyond.

 

[Kuzo]

Irajah froze. For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then, she looked away and wrapped her arms around herself.

"No Samson," she said finally, her voice quiet and a little haunted. "You've done nothing to displease me. I am the problem, not you."

He *was them*. Except that, every time he spoke, every time he moved, there was no trace of what he had been created from in him.

"You remind me of someone. And. That's not fair of me. I'm sorry. You aren't him, and I will try to remember that, okay? The fact that it's hard for me, shouldn't be your burden to bear."

She was doing her best to talk to him like a person, a human. But she still wasn't looking at him. And she still didn't understand what he, in truth, needed from her. His Master. She didn't truly know how to be that.

[member="Samson"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Irajah Ven"]

Samson listened silently to her response to his posed question.

It was good that he hadn't been imagining her discomfort.

This meant that his ability to notice subtlety was passable and of use to her. A frown marred his brows as he wondered if there was anything he could truly do about her perception of him, but the more she spoke and the more he listened to her tone and noted her refusal in looking him in the eye while she was doing it...

The more Samson believed that this was simply something that Irajah had to work on herself. If he was able to help, he would do so, but the clone did not believe it would be wise to force his help.

"Master, without you I would not exist, you made me." Samson finally rebuked her gently. "You never should feel the need to apologize."

This was what the man truly believed.

She gave him everything, even if she didn't realize it yet.

"If there is anything I can do to assist, you can always count on it." With those last words said Samson closed his eyes and returned to his re-centering of his focus. In his mind their conversation was coming to an end with his reaffirmation of his support for her, what more was there to discuss?