Penance

[Marcello Matteo]

Yinchorr

Sweat cascaded down Marcello's body as his glacier-blue eyes fell upon his intended target, a rock outcropping several meters above the one he presently held his body against. After a deep inhale, the Rogue Jedi bent his knees slightly, causing the muscles in his legs to flex. With near-exhausted effort, he flung himself into the air and laterally several meters. The acrobatic move would have been cake had he been drawing on the Force, but he was rapidly learning that his struggle to accomplish his objectives necessitated an increase base of underlying stamina and capability - not that he was out of shape.

Chalked hands just barely grasped the surfaced of the sweltering rock as his sticky climbing shoes dug into the surface. For a brief moment, Marcello was tempted to look down, to admire the progress he'd made scaling to the massive summit. However, the Naboo native kept his gaze fixed on the goal, always concerned about the destination. In a moment of weakness on Empress Teta some four days prior, Marcello had allowed his past to influence his decisions...to weigh heavily on his mind. He'd spent so much time living in the past that he'd never really identified his own path. Now, however, he had.

One hand at a time, he reached into the chalk bag on the small of his back, re-caking his hands before he continued his arduous ascent. It was nearly another twenty minutes before the climb was complete...having lasted over the course of two days, breaks included.

Once he'd hauled himself to the top of the mountain, Marcello took several labored moments to catch his breath and evaluate the horizon. Yinchorr was...not a pretty place. A collection of city-states mostly in a continuous balance of conflict amidst a mostly barren desert with little to no surface water. Perfectly representative of the larger galaxy, in truth. A collection of sentients that were ultimately the same save for some critical personal views. Struggle happened...balance was maintained only by the efforts of a small few.

After all, change occurred simply when ordinary people did extraordinary things.

The soft beeping of R9, who had piloted Marcello's vessel to the summit earlier in the day, drew Marcello's attention. With surprising effort and awareness of the need to stretch, Marcello leapt into the cockpit to play the message he'd received. It was just the daily download of the news. The Jedi Master had dispatched a message to [member="Kiskla Grayson"] some time ago, two days to be exact. Though they'd exchanged very brief parting words at a staging area following the withdrawal from Empress Teta...they'd been superficial and hurried. Both with things to do and an uncertainty as to what to say.

Marcello never was much one for apologies. The decisions he made were always made for a reason...regardless of whether or not they'd been made for the wrong reasons. He wondered sometimes...would he feel differently if he had gone through with killing that apprentice? That would be a hard decision to merely 'accept'.

Leaning back in the seat, Marcello turned his tanned face from the healed scars that laced his exposed upper body to the sky and closed his eyes. The warmth of the sun quickly washed away any of his concerns. The path that laid before him was a treacherous one...full of the unknown. He could merely advance down it, dealing with issues as they arose.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Tython​

Enter issue number one.

It wasn't out of spite that Kiskla hadn't sent a response to [member="Marcello Matteo"]'s message (RE: Katarr poisoning). She was legitimately detained. As soon as Teta had concluded, she'd had to answer a lot of concerns, reacting to the mix of emotions that she had felt the entire time; the medics had wanted to pay attention to her after being dog piled, and she had her own questions she wanted to bring up to her council. The most important movement, had been her outreach to the rest of The Jedi spread thin throughout space. Considering the rapidness of time, it was a bit blurry what had actually transpired and what she planned to be actionable. But excuses aside, she'd meant to reply sooner.

By this time, three days sooner.

This liberation had been one of the most confusing for her. O'reen had been one to blatantly avoid. She'd meant to be diplomatic for Teta, as the senators had reached out to The Republic, but that had gone south quickly. The doubt of others had been sponged by her as she had tried to reassure them-- and then there had been that whole seeing Marcello fall. Or feeling it. She was still confused about that, as his (involuntary or otherwise) decision had been simultaneous with Vornskr's attack that brought her fears to film-like fruition.

When the reminder to reply frantically alerted her, Kiskla became sheepish. Should she reply with a humorous 'oops' or a simple response? It was a strange position for her, him being the only one she actually wanted to talk to, but her not knowing how to speak. And she usually knew what to say to everything. At least this time there was communication, unlike Coruscant after he’d lost a limb.

Still, Yinchorr hm? Not a pleasant planet — it was relative to Kiffu with all the sand and the heat. Could have been a worse choice, by the girl’s standards. At least it wasn’t blasted Hoth again. If Marcello sent a message, he was a simple enough man to mean what he was saying. If he wanted to see her, he wanted to see her. The realms of possibility were straight-froward with her friend -- and she wouldn't deny him (or herself) the opportunity to (for possible the first time?) meet without coincidence as the catalyst. Despite how the timing might have been inconvenient for the post-liberation efforts.

She was mostly just a pretty face anyways, right?

So she sent the correspondence of confirmation.

* En Route​

If she could remember the username to her StarSnap, she probably would have sent a selfie to [member="Harland Gates"] as a response to "When was the last time you flew?" -- ta-daa! She was taking a personal vessel for this trip. Not a big one either. She didn't want the bells and whistles of Crimson II and alternatively opted for her well-worn A-Wing. It cut down on travel time, and guaranteed total isolation -- especially when it came to proximity.

She used this time to rejuvenate herself, and just let The Force do it's thang without her interfering for once.

*Ta-daaa!
Yinchorr! ​

The yellow gem instantly filled up her viewport, and Kiskla adjusted her thrusters to enter the atmosphere. There was a demand for landing codes, and she acquiesced. Their minor defences withdrew and the triangular vessel zipped overhead. Creepily enough, Marcello's fighter was easily detectable on her radar (c'mon, he's had the same for years) and she frowned slightly. She wasn't even wholly aware Yinchorr had mountain ranges that boasted that elevation.

Nevertheless, to that location she B-lined!

With the mechanics of the RZ-1 model, it didn't take long at all to cut through the unoccupied skies and land a few meters from where that ever-familiar Naboo fighter rested. She reached up and pressed against the canopy as the seals hissed their release, and one long leg after the other stepped from her snug cockpit. Thankfully, it didn't need any fixes this time around.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Unlike his much more politically-inclined friend, Marcello did not suffer any of the hesitations of words or gestures where [member="Kiskla Grayson"] was concerned. It wasn't that he was necessarily more sure of all the various things that influenced either of their lives in this galaxy. It was the simple understanding and reality that no matter were he was or what state he was in, she would forever be at the forefront of his mind.

When the RZ-1 landed, Marcello flattened himself in the open cockpit of his vessel slightly, shielding dirt and debris from his face. By the time the dust had settled, Marcello's glacier-blue eyes caught sight of the unmistakable curves of Kiskla. Masking the pain of his physical and emotional exhaustion from the events of Teta, Marcello jumped down from the cockpit of his starfighter. Landing on slightly bent knees to absorb the shock, the large Rogue Jedi eventually stood to his full height.

Before approaching Kiskla, Marcello grabbed a large container of water. Quickly, he dumped the water over his body to rinse off dirt and sweat that had settled onto his skin. Setting the container down, he ran a hand through his long hair as he leveled a warm smile in Kiskla's direction...despite recent events. "You know...keeping my promise to you seems to get more and more difficult everyday."

Marcello referred to their last conversation some time ago on Anaxes...his pledge to always do what was possible to return to her. The difficulty of maintaining that promise was vested rather securely in the unpredictable nature of life. If he ever doubted the strength of his emotions for the woman before him, the doubts had melted when the thoughts of her had been the tipping point to bring him back from the brink of darkness. It had been the weapon he needed to fully realize who he was, what he wanted to be. She was his salvation.

It was a truth she would come to fully understand before she took her leave of this barren world. "I imagine you have questions." Slowly, Marcello approached Kiskla, stopping just in front of her. "Let me say what I need to say first."

No sooner had he words left his lips before they found the only purpose and reason for being they ever had in Kiskla's presence. There was one thing to be said for the continuous extended periods of time apart. The passion never waned in spite of all the varied strife in the galaxy. This time, however, it was Marcello that broke the kiss after a number of seconds.

His eyes opened slowly. "Thank you."

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

When she landed, and begun her well-practiced exodus, she was hit with a realization that had been absent.
Kiskla had slipped into an intimacy from which she would never truly recover. And she didn’t want to. Vornskr had made that very evident when he had used Force Insanity on her — true, the timing had been impeccable with Marcello’s fall to the darkness — but he had been one of her utmost fears. This from a girl with steel nerves. She realized she cared for him beyond what she’d admitted to herself, and if she was going to be coy with her own feelings — who could she ever anticipate being honest with?
Perhaps that was part of the problem she couldn’t fix. She was too afraid of discovery to be entirely candid.

So, she was ready to come to terms with herself and give Marcello the solace he had given her with his admittances. Involuntarily, she was drawn into herself until she caught sight of his large outline. Without hesitation, her steps quickened so she could close the distance faster.

She simpered at his mention of keeping his promise, and she nodded. "Between losing a leg and being hauled from the courtyard,
I think you're better suited to the skies."

He suggested that she may have questions, but she didn't confirm nor deny. Instead, within a mere handful of blurry moments, her slender body smacked against his in an overjoyed embrace. That part had strayed from her plan-- it was merely reaction despite the awkward moisture of his dusty bod. Her arms locked behind his neck as she elevated herself, just with a slight tug at her calves. She was smaller than the Naboo-born, and curved properly into his outline; her physical expression seemingly begging that he wrap his arms around her too. When he kissed her, one would have to wonder why anybody would initially reject those lips on Mandalore; the simple reason was none other than discomfort and loss of control. The second after he said two words of appreciation, she filled the gap of silence.


“Marcello,” she breathed, tightening her grip at the opportunity to whisper his name again — as if it weren’t well known that was his title, and it was a secret only they shared. It almost had been. Vistas had almost made sure of that. She had felt him die. Or, she thought she had. Kiskla was still rather confused between the dark side mental attack and the reality of what Master Matteo had actually suffered. That would be question number one (although why he had thanked her was also a mystery). "The Sith on Teta I was facing, he brought fear to vision, and I saw you, I saw you.." She shook her head, unsure of what it was exactly. Die, I guess. Ever the diplomat, she used a euphemism of the explanation: "Change. But it felt so real-- I didn't just see it, I felt your fall."

She'd not ask the obvious 'what happened' but instead allow [member="Marcello Matteo"] to reason with the fret on his own terms.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

There was a great deal that the two Jedi seemingly let slip between them without actual acknowledgment or lengthy thought. In certain circumstances it was nice to merely...exist, to not be concerned with the fallout of actions. That propensity for impulsive decision making was what had brought Marcello to his present point in life. Unfortunately, his impulses also created complications from time to time.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]'s outpouring of emotion wasn't really what resonated within Marcello's being. Yes - he was moved by her statements having never heard her respond with much more than sarcasm...and her initial comment did not disappoint in that regard. However, it was the strength of the emotions he heard behind her words and felt pulsing through the Force around him that...brought the most genuine smile he'd known to his lips.

Yet the smile dissipated far too quickly. He had almost lost this, her forever. What would have been the purpose? Sure...he maintained a fervent devotion to the task of safeguarding the galaxy through any means necessary. He'd almost allowed the easy path to disillusion him into thinking it the correct path. Marcello was not like Kiskla and the rest of the Jedi. He pretended reasonably well enough but false pretenses had to come to an end eventually. What he did not wish for, however, was the outright destruction of the Order, of his friends within the Order, of the love of his life. Rest assured it was the thought of Kiskla and [member="Ryan Korr"] that had stayed his hand...forced him back to a more recognizable path.

Still...Marcello remained, in his mind, unsuited for the Order. His fall from grace was neither sad nor unfortunate but...necessary. He could not operate within the constraints of ever-benevolent morality. Attempting to do so had driven him so near the point of insanity that he actually thought the way of the Sith would be better.

Realizing he had been quiet for far too long, Marcello exhaled softly. "I did change, fall. For a moment I was someone else entirely...with no regard for life or choice just my own selfish desires." Tightening his grip around Kiskla's waist ever so slightly, he concluded the depth of his thoughts. "I couldn't. The thought of you...the knowledge of a love I have for you and the galaxy at large were the only things that kept me from making the final step... From needlessly taking the life of an innocent."

Marcello was no saint and he understood the reality of collateral damage. If it was inevitable or served the greater good, he was completely secure in accepting the loss. That thought alone meant he had no business amongst the Jedi. "Yet...it showed me where I really belong. Well...I suppose it's more accurate to say it confirmed suspicion." Reaching up to gently brush a loose strand of her soft hair from her face, Marcello allowed his smile to return. "I can no longer remain amongst the ranks of the Jedi Order. I will depart its halls following Ryan's completion of the trials. You, however, will always have my love, affections, and loyalty."

Marcello's strength had remained much more resilient throughout the outpouring of emotion than he would have expected. His typical roguish grin shined through in the recognition that he cared little for setting or circumstances if he had the petite Jedi in his arms.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla was not simple minded. However, when she became devoted, she put her all into it. She had been indifferent to The Order two years ago, but now they took everything she had; and slowly, so slowly, it was beginning to reflect her efforts. Though individuals had to be considered, she couldn't reach out and affect everyone, there were always wrinkles in the tapestry. It was hard to get hundreds to react to your words, especially when The Order and Republic had been dragged through some rough times of late, which besmirched the name and credibility.

When Marcello confirmed that he had been consumed by another being entirely, her body became slightly rigid in his grasp. That must have been why the attack had been so powerful. It had literally brought Kiskla to her knees! Her thankful visage adjusted to one that reflected her internal concern, and her light eyes searched the contours of his face. He'd acquired new scars, as had she, but his stretched beyond the skin. His mind had been blemished-- or perhaps now it was cleansed. "Your own selfish desires," Kiskla repeated, in a breath that was near inaudible. Then he used the 'L' word-- slightly indirectly but still direct enough for her to be affected by it. Up until now, their feelings had gone unspoken and only demonstrated. That was a lot shoved into a few words-- it's like he'd been practicing and knew just what to say.

[member="Marcello Matteo"] had always been one of his own, roaming where he willed. The organizational structure of the Order had no affect on him-- from her observations the man came and went as he pleased.

"How many more feel like you." Kiskla fretted, lowering her arched brows "Those Sith on Teta, it was so unexpected." She touched her forehead and shivered slightly, despite the outstanding heat. "You've never favoured the council-- and many easily blame the enigmatic 'council'. But that's me. The council that isn't giving the reassurance or whatever you seek is, ultimately, me." She didn't mean that arrogancy. Kiskla was entirely cognizant that the individuals that composed the Jedi's administration were capable people in their own right, and wholly made their own decisions. By rule, though, any tie-breakers would be her judgement. And if there were to be a meeting, she would appear in lieu of their bodies. He said his loyalty was with her, but it wasn't with her professional self. Her personal self was useless, what did she even do? She was beginning to forget that, consumed with the responsibility of having to fit herself into a title that was a few sizes too big.

Before she got too worked up, another question spilled out: "So what does that mean for you now.What do you do."

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello's glacier-blue gaze held the cerulean hue of Kiskla's for several agnonizingly silent moments once she'd fallen silent. She communicated much from the luscious pout of her lips, but her emotions that washed over him gave much greater detail to the story. Steeling himself against the reality that he had, in fact, failed the Jedi and [member="Kiskla Grayson"], Marcello remained resolute in his decision. "Everyone must walk their own path, Kiskla. My decision is not a reflection of anyone other than myself. Blaming the Order, the Council was the easy way...the path of least resistance. Even in my exclamations of displeasure, I took ownership over my role to both the Order and the galaxy."

Placing his hands gently on Kiskla's shoulders, Marcello managed a warm smile despite the cold truth of the conversation. "You must not shoulder the burdens of an entire organization. It will destroy you in the long run. Accept your role as the guiding light of the organization, but you need not be the organization. Empower those that share in your responsibility to make the Jedi Order what it needs to be. If there is anyone that can restore the luster of the Order, it is you. Me though... I don't belong amongst the well-intentioned members of this organization. I've always been too crude, too rough around the edges for the company of...benevolent people." Marcello permitted his smile to transform into a subtle smirk at the thought. Though he was saying goodbye to the Order, he was hardly saying goodbye to Kiskla. In reality...the paths of all three were sure to cross on short order.

Leaning in to her, he whispered softly into her ear. "One such as myself is at his best unrestrained. We'll fight beside each other before long. As for anything else..." Withdrawing just enough to look upon Kiskla, Marcello allowed his hands to drop along the curves of her body back to her waist. "...I am never out of reach for you, and I will always come when you call." Marcello certainly meant that. With every fiber of his being.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

The walking of paths mumbo jumbo was from voices of old. Then again, Marcello was a little out of her age bracket. She could have sniffed that she doubted his ownership, as it certainly hadn’t felt like it. Kiskla knew that The Order was a monotonous leviathan that demanded everything, and she was doing what she could to enthuse others to get involved — for them to be important. But he was right, she was beginning to feel worn. Especially after reaching out to the other Jedi organizations, only to be met with radio silence. In the reality, her goal was to get The Order on it’s own feet enough for people to stop thinking they were dependent on someone who bore the title of Grandmaster. Apparently, it was supposed to be a title for life. As such, nobody had lasted over five years. Maybe she would, who knew. There was a small, imaginative projection of herself dedicating only to the Kiffu people, but she doubted that would come to surface. They were a warrior nation, she’d have to make a mental transition to befit that civilization. Maybe even domesticate a Krayt Dragon to sit at her feet. She was distracted from that thought by a sanctioned reaction, a tingle that started at her ear and travelled down her spine at [member="Marcello Matteo"]’s naturally suggestive nature.

The purpose of his self-imposed exile was beyond her still, but her shoulders straightened when he left them and travelled down the sides of her torso. He seemed satisfied to let the conversation end, but she still had so many questions. The immediate events of what had happened before Vistas surfaced — even questions dating as far back as to what he’d done with his time after getting his prosthetic. Perhaps one of her most nagging queries was relative to why he had chosen Yinchorr as the platform for his personal journey.

She wondered what that was like. To be constantly restless with yourself. Kiskla was confident he was reckless when he had been her age, just as he was now. She’d been suggested to go a direction, and then folded into a box to be presented as a candidate for a daunting role — he’d chosen his own path. Perhaps now he felt purposed, having tasted both sides of The Force and what both governments offered. His purpose would likely burn with a fiery resolve, and reap those coals of ignorance on the galaxy’s head.

Anything else? More like, everything else. Distantly, Kiskla wondered how the people of Yinchorr let their relationships develop. There were likely countless of bodies on this planet that were born here and would die here without ever leaving. They wouldn’t even have the time to explore every nook and cranny of this planet because they were busy dedicating their hours to full-time work, just to provide for either themselves or ones they were in relationships with. But every morning, and every night, they’d wake up with those people. They’d complain to those people. They’d bounce ideas back and forth with those people. Commiserate, laugh, kiss, flirt, tease, cook, all those things without wondering what was beyond a planet as barren as Yinchorr. In that brief moment, she made it seem romantic, but it wasn’t a reality she wanted, nor one she’d ever discover. For now, she was okay with The Order being her most committed relationship (or at least, her most time-consuming) and Marcello being her oasis. A small smile surfaced and she moved forward to step into him after he’d pulled away to observe. After all, men are visual creatures. Thankfully, from years of conditioning, she wasn’t too distracted by the muscular canvas so near to her. The hands that had dropped from his neck touched the fresh skin that pulled tightly together to seal the wounds from his latest venture and she exhaled a flat sigh.

There was so much he didn’t know about her still. The Jedi had only been a portion of her life until recently, where they’d expanded and just..globbed over the rest of her devotions. Time, she supposed, would be the benefactor of all revelations. In the meantime, she ached for his touch, having been denied it for months now. She took his cue to adjust the flow of the conversation and simpered pleasantly, arching a brow in his direction (obviously) and lifting the hand that had been on his scars to extend her index finger beneath his chin, tilting it slightly; “I'll do my best not to distract you from your self-inflicted duty then.” Her nose wrinkled humorously at the insinuation before the index that had been at his chin trailed through his damp hair behind his head, her other limp on his shoulder but slithering her elbow forward. Simultaneously, strips of gold wound around her finger lost in the forest of blond.

She stopped her movement when she was a hair away, lips light on his own so he could feel her next syllables, even if he didn't hear her flirtatious comment: "At least not too often."

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello was, typically, extremely direct in his oral exchanges. However, Kiskla had always challenged that blunt, callous nature. She might not necessarily agree, but there was a distinct difference from the way he interacted with her from others. Perhaps if she thought back to their first meeting, she would understand that reality. After all, their first entanglement had been very physical but not really at all pleasurable.

As much as Kiskla wanted to ask further questions, Marcello was willing to give further answers. It just...wasn't so much in his nature to volunteer much of anything. If he was thinking about her interpretation of his words, he certainly did not show it. In fact...he wasn't. There was very little he could do to make anyone understand the realities of his psyche and decision-making processes. The diverse complexities of his mind were not to be wandered lightly. In the end of the day, he dedicated himself to doing what was right. Anyone that wants nothing more than to be successful runs the risk of falling prey to the jaws of the 'easy solution'. For a moment, an instant, a blink, he had permitted his weaknesses to overcome him.

The blonde Rogue Jedi was by no means flawless. In fact, he carried a great many. Yet...every weakness he had and every mistake he ever made had shaped him into the individual he was, brought him to this point in life. If only for the lithe form encased in his grasp, he wouldn't change a thing. The lingering memories of dead friends and family no longer haunted him...but spurred his purpose. He'd lived within the confines of the perceptions and restrictions of others for too long. To be effective, he had to be uncaged, free.

As Kiskla's lips touched his, the Naboo native was motionless. Whatever thoughts had been drifting through his mind evaporated as his lips accepted her own. Allowing his arms to snake around her body and hug her against his own firmly, he kissed her with all the vigor and passion of a man standing in recognition of the fact that she was the only thing of true value in his life. The only entity that could hope to sway his heart, mind, and very soul with but a flicker of an expression.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

As a reactionary rule, Kiskla's body tightened when Marcello wrapped her up in the strength of his hold. Her fingers spread against the back of his skull and that limp arm found some shoulder to grip. His initial kiss had been tender and fuelled by a thankfulness she'd not known him go have. This time, she felt that appreciation as a surface, but the fuel beneath it was unwavering passion. Or at least, that's what she assumed. She wasn't an empath. What she did know, was that she liked this. She liked the warmth and safety of his hold, and the genuine feeling that surrounded his words. His actions reinforced them and it made her feel.. lifted. Like the weight of her responsibilities, and the expectations she had to rise to no longer existed.

Or at least they could take a backseat.

Unfortunately though, not for long. And as much as she wanted this meeting to continue on into eternity, there was much to do after the liberation attempt. There were many who had felt like Marcello, but had returned. She had to reinforce them, give them zeal and rekindle their enthusiasm. Or at least let them find themselves, so it wouldn't happen at a critical time as Marcello had experienced. Still, those thoughts were not at the forefront. What she was focusing on, was her own surprise for just how much she appreciated the Rogue -- and how much she wanted to let him know that.

So she would. Her lashes fluttered as she pulled away and re-focused on him, dropping her hands to his chest. The movement was followed by a slight step, but he'd pulled her in so tightly that her leg knocked against his prosthetic, which reminded her that avenue hadn't even been explored or paid attention to yet.

"I want you to know, that the decisions I've made in my tenure of this position," she didn't use the title. It was impressive (especially at her age!) and well-known, but he didn't see the type to appreciate it "I've usually made them with the intention to keep you, and those like you, who are uninspired by The Jedi and it's administrators, proud-- or at least appeased." Her lips drew in as thin a line as possible, and she shrugged. It was a small Segway to her next question-- one that would impact her pedagogical preachings:

"Marcello, if I don't ask directly it's going to bother me forever.

What did The Sith promise you that instigated your transition. You weren't the only one on Teta who felt conflict, and I want to know." She paused "No, I need to know.

Apparently I just got stuck with the Sith that wanted blood, not brothers." Nobody had tried any turning techniques on her! Maybe it was the title-- the promise of good. The curious edge of her flared, and she distractedly brushed away some wet dust that had settled on his upper arm. Asking to flow walk could be awkward--- especially when such powerful emotions were involved. Kiskla had gone back hundreds of years before, to a bloody battle with an exile from the past; the woman had been hesitant. She hoped [member="Marcello Matteo"] would acquiesce to her query for research more pleasantly. She wanted to see for herself. Jedi such as Knight Sardun had witnessed it, and reported it, but she didn't want reports. She wanted the experience: "Can I see what happened? If you open up yourself to me, I can travel back through your recollection.

But it might mean you feeling the same way again. I don't want to jeopardize or antagonize you-- and I'll be here-- you'll just be looking in on the memory, not reliving it from the first person." Lamely, she added another part as she slipped her hands down and into his palms, as if that would be reassurance enough "I'll be beside you."

These enemies were unlike anything the Jedi had faced in the last quarter century. She needed to be prepared for herself, and for those that were still a part if her flock.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

If it were possible for Marcello's expression to soften any further, it undoubtedly would have. The icy-blue color of his eyes did not accurately represent the warmth that routinely surged through his body at the mere thought of [member="Kiskla Grayson"], let alone her presence. Unfortunately, there was a flicker of disappointment in his longing gaze for but a moment. He understood her concerns for the Jedi. As a leader for years, he could even empathize with her plight.

However, he couldn't say that there was much he believed he could offer her. If she stepped into his mind and relived his experiences, she would not obtain any objective level of understanding. The only thing she would suffer were the complexities of his mind. The act of giving up that, the core of who he was...well...it took intimacy to a whole new level. Perhaps his apprehension came from a level of...unfamiliarity with Kiskla outside of the years he'd known her. Would it ultimately matter? No, he loved for who she was, not who she had been.

Placing his hands over Kiskla's, Marcello exhaled softly. "Kiskla...what is it you expect to glean from such an action? Does it really matter what was said, done? It will grant you no greater insight into the machinations of the Sith or my own mind." It was true, unlike Kiskla, Marcello had shared every aspect of who he was and who had been with her. His hesitation did not stem from a desire to keep secrets, it was out of a desire to impart whatever wisdom he could on Kiskla. If she allowed herself to obsess over any individual Jedi's experience or thought process, she would fail. It simply was not possible. "All you can do is ensure and show those that follow you what the Jedi Order is supposed to be about. If you instill that faith and understanding, it won't matter what words are whispered by the Sith. I will tell you this, however, for every aggressive action you take, they have a counter."

Silence fell upon Marcello's lips as he realized he could give her what he asked...within reason. He could show her what she would actually learn from without subjecting her to the true nature of his full emotional spectrum at the time. It shouldn't have mattered...he was returned, redeemed by something as simple as the thought of her and one other he was in any way close to. Reaching his right hand up to her left temple, the Rogue Master allowed the image of Darth Shara and his words to flow forth. He would allow her to see what she was combating. Kiskla and the Jedi Order suffered from the sins of those that had gone before. Unfortunately for Kiskla, she was part of that, part of the entire reason for the One Sith's stated existence.

"Your actions define you, Kiskla. Just as my actions define me, and that is why I have no place among the Jedi. To stay would be to discard everything I have ever said. I don't deserve the title because I do not have the strength to act as is necessary, to be the pure of deed that is needed to inspire others for a better galaxy." Slowly, Marcello lowered his hand and smiled softly at Kiskla.

She was wrong about one thing. He was proud of her for her achievements every second of every day. Period.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

"The machinations of your mind? Marcello, I.." She diverted from the emotional route to a safer one; "Don't challenge me." A sharp pull of one corner of her mouth followed suit. Though Kiskla was not an empath, she had a knack for weaving her way beyond the cavernous bones of others, and into the twisted and expansive pink coils of the brain; twisting their emotions and thoughts to her advantage. Persuasion was a forté. She liked to know how the mind worked, reacted, failed. She figured the techniques she used were similar to that of a medic and knowing healer. Pulling the strings of the body until there was a desired action. In one way, being able to play with the body like that was enviably attractive-- knowing the pressure points for pleasure and pain. Still, that was not something to think on now.

She could have say she wanted to feel the struggle, to empathize with others, but that would be a lie. Still she was a warden to the prisoner in her alchemical cuff-- she'd almost succumbed to letting him off his leash on Coruscant, and again on Teta by the coaxing of Kentarch. She knew the struggle, but she'd bested it through loyalty. Through sheer willpower and vision. Ha, that cuff. She'd hidden it so well since Darron had questioned her about it on Naboo (Save for on Ahto when it was the only thing on her body for a solid period of time). That was a primary difference between Darron and Marcello-- Darron wanted to know about her. It had been touching at the time, but now she valued her secrets. She understood their gravity.

Then Marcello touched her, and the share of memories began.
As a curse of genetics, Kiskla's eyes couldn't help but alter when anything projected visually against her mind, be it through Psychometery or otherwise. As a result, when [member="Marcello Matteo"] shared his viewpoint of the transaction, her iris' disappeared. In lieu, a pale blue, smoky veil coated her eyes like a translucent eyelid. She looked totally absorbed. At least her mouth didn't gape, it was perhaps the one thing saving her from looking like a rotten fish.

Suddenly, the liberation of Teta manifested once more. The projection of the Maleabus she had almost fought on Coruscant blossomed. It's large jaw quivered and snapped shut with each damning utterance, and she could see it's intent in its beady eyes. It made an argument that The Republic were the oppressors, the thieves, the disreputable. Could those that lead in the past really have left such a mark on the future? Was The Republic in such a dim light that the faintest shadow could reprobate the government in the eyes of the fickle public? It wouldn't be the first time. As a result to all these thoughts, and what she was hearing, Kiskla's chest tightened-- making her breaths shallower and her brows knit. Her calm façade contorted and her plans to counter whirred a mile a minute.
The beast was unwavering, even when she could see the tip of Marcello's blade as he attacked. She followed the story to the point of Vistas, when Marcello cut the connection.

She gasped, blinking rapidly as Marcello filled the silence. At this point, the part-time princess was only partially listening. Her cheeks felt like fillets, and her shoulders like bricks. Marcello had fell to those promises. Her Padawans were struggling from those words. Was she really such a terrible example that the propaganda of evil could cause knees to buckle in obeisance to a dark lord? Though her cerulean iris' looked unpolluted, she wasn't really focused on anything.

Kiskla caught the tail end of his explanation, for why he was no longer to work alongside her. Her eyes snapped up and to his face; "Look, I don't care what you do." That's not exactly what she meant. "You told me once that the only reason The Jedi would fail was if good Jedi stopped doing Good things. I hope you still believe that as much as I do.

I don't care what everyone's titles are, Jedi, Silver, Levantine, Exile-- so long as the work that needs to be done, is done. The titles only give credit to an organization-- sometimes due, sometimes not. If this way you believe you can accomplish your goals, then fine, you don't have to explain it to me. I trust you."

She stopped for a moment. Kiskla had never said two lines of three worded substrings since her mother's death. I trust you was one, I love you was the other.

She finally released a heavy breath, one that had been fuelled by many short ones and she shook her head, pushing herself over her personal speedbump. Her arms folded over her chest and she looked away, down at the random patches of what-would-be grass. "If I'm disappointed in The Jedi, I can't imagine how you feel. Or others. So do what you have to, Marcello."

At this, she turned slightly, taking somewhat lackadaisical steps to the edge of the face Marcello had scaled not long ago. Her toes poked over the edge, and she looked down, arms still folded as she leaned to the side to see over the added inches on her body. "What are you doing on Yinchorr?" She asked, both dragging the conversation on and redirecting it from one she constantly had with herself. The balls of her feet strained as she tested one foot, and the sturdiness of the edge. She was speaking against the sun now, and it angrily heated her cheeks and lips. Her nose seemed to be a special sweet spot for attention. "The last time I was here, I found someone from the future." She snorted slightly, and looked back at him, the hot wind tugging at the looseness of her tank and blonde strands. When she spoke, some hairs stuck to the corners of her lips and poked her tongue. "and when I leave, that very future is in a flux." If it meant staying with the rogue, she didn't want to leave. But as a figurehead and facilitator, she had to. Eventually. Even now, time was pressing-- but she was fighting it. Her head turned to the dull looking cities below, and she reached up to remove the troublemaking hairs while considering the implications of the desolation below. It really was unremarkable. And to some, it was everything.

And those are who she stood for.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello did not have the reaction that [member="Kiskla Grayson"] likely would have expected. Then again...perhaps she would. No doubt if he has been deeper inside her head, his reaction would have been much more volatile. Why? Because time and time again, Kiskla always presumed to know the truth of things based in the actions of others. Time and time again...she had been wrong. If any distance existed between them from an emotional standpoint, she had no one to blame but herself. Was there much about her he yet did not know? Yes. Was it for lack of trying? No. Marcello just did not pursue the pointless beyond a point that would only cause him irritation.

Not caring who she has been in the past as much as who she was now was a manifestation of the strength of his emotions. It did not mean he had no desire to know, ever. That wasn't even a logical conclusion to draw, ever.

As the young Jedi Master offered her series of responses, Marcello was silent. When she's finished and abruptly changed the topic to Yinchorr like it held some grand significance, he rolled his eyes. "It's a planet, Kiskla. I looked at a map, closed my eyes, and placed my finger onto it. Yinchorr just had the good fortune to be located beneath the flesh when I opened my eyes."

Turning, Marcello retreated back towards his vessel. Grabbing another bottle of water, he took a long sip before continuing on. "You listen, but you do not always hear. If you think I turned from the Jedi at any point because of some promise of a brighter future blah blah, then you don't know me at all. Shara was merely a facilitator for my own thoughts. He awakened the part of my mind that, quite simply, had always known the Jedi Order was not where I belong."

Another long sip.

"What has been my principle complaint over the years? That the Jedi Order preaches one thing but continuously does another. I don't care if the Jedi Order needs to lead militaries or wage wars. On the flip side, I don't care if you choose to live as monks and avoid conflict at all costs. The problem is the Jedi Order can't figure out what it wants. That is why it fails. I am tired of beating the drum of reason for it's music to fall on deaf ears at every turn."

Realizing that he had been crushing his water bottle, Marcello dropped it with a soft laugh. "I meant it when I said a Jedi need not be a member of the Jedi Order. Organizational loyalty is not the issue. I don't ever want to be called a Jedi for the simple reasons that it implies, presently, a general lack of understanding. However, my interpretation and view of what the Jedi should be also falls into this. I am neither a good nor bad person Kiskla."

Marcello's jaw set as the icy nature of his glacier-blue gaze seemed to return. "I am only what is necessary. You don't want my actions associated with your organization."

That was what she needed to worry about, not the words of some Sith, but the propensity for others to realize the Jedi Order was fractured beyond repair. Marcello knew...he'd made the exhaustive effort to rebuild. He'd helped to facilitate it...just to watch everything that had failed them in the past resurface with hardly a care. Why should the Council care? Clearly their positions were inviolate...not based on performance as the new charter implied. Else all but two would have long been dismissed.

Whatever irritation over the circumstance or the exhaustion from thinking on this general subject existed...quickly melted away. The Rogue's anger over many things quickly ebbed as he gazed at Kiskla. This was how their meetings always went. Him proclaiming his emotions and explaining his thoughts with her just asking question after question. One might wonder why Marcello never asked her questions. He was perceptive, observant. Beyond what most would ever know...for reasons they would never know.

His struggle against darkness was born out of a knowledge of his true lineage. Why he'd been sent to Naboo. He overcame the reality of his entire existence every single day. A reality he had conveyed to no one thus far, not even his former master. Why?

Because it was not his family tree that defined him, only his actions. Mentioning it was useless.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla deflated slightly at [member="Marcello Matteo"]'s pointed comment about Yinchorr. Here she'd had this romanticized image of him roguishly plotting the galaxy like a map, setting objectives for each system. Picking up fractured pieces and making everything good and well. And Yinchorr was, in her imagination, the platform to instigate! Well. Apparently not. She looked to her shoulders as they soaked up the sun, expecting them to sizzle. But they just soaked akin to the way her ears soaked to Matteo's words. She turned her back on the city below, taking a step inward and away from having her heels hanging over the edge.

“Reflecting on my organization?” Her brows lofted and hands fell to her hips. She would have asked What in the galaxy are you planning to do?! but she knew the response would be something akin to Whatever necessary. He was blunt in word, and action.

Hearing and not listening had been a trait of hers for a while. She was perceptive to a point, and then her imagination and curiosity took over. When he implied she didn't know him at all, she frowned slightly. This was, woefully, partially true. She'd known he existed since she was seventeen. What he did with that existence, was unknown until three years later with an opportune re-engagement on Anaxes. Between then and now, they were both very much aware of who the other was and what they stood for.With respects to The Jedi. He was valiantly honest with her, with both brutality and comfort. Whatever she wanted to know, or not, it was shared. He wasn't reserved.

She was.

Like Marcello, she didn't volunteer things out of the blue. In fact, she often replied with perplex riddles unless asked directly and she was cornered into a wall. She used to be a terrible liar, and that was the only way for her to give up the truth. Old habits die hard. Marcello didn’t ask, and Kiskla didn’t have to answer. Though, she likely would have if he weren’t so observant — she felt guilty for his openness and her concealment. That had been one of the things she wanted to clear up today, after almost losing him…

A small buzz from her hip caught her attention while Marcello was at a distance. He wasn’t speaking anymore, so it wouldn’t be considered rude to open the message — besides the times were turbulent and pressing. She received a few messages all at once — apparently the reception on Yinchorr was next to awful.

One was from Ember Rekali. Aaralyn at this point had been confirmed missing— Kiskla had already brought it up to the council to instigate an recovery investigation. Apparently that was now handled. She would reply immediately, and get in touch with the medical services of The Order to get Rekali the blood samples necessary.

Another was from a sketchy Force User called Master Vazela. He really wanted to meet.
Finally, was from a report that overviewed the casualties of Empress Teta, and the investigations that had gone into them (considering they were pressed for time, having lost the liberation attempt — there were a lot of loose ends). The timing to go into detail about the speculations was inappropriate, but there was a line that caught her eye. She’d been silent for some time, but Marcello would likely understand the paperwork having been quite active with missions for a good portion of his life. She would have replied to Marcello, but her lips were covered by her fingertips at this time.

“Marcello,” Kiskla whispered almost — he was distanced from her, and maybe didn’t hear, so what she said next was a little bit louder. She also took a step forward, light eyes still on the data pad. It was human to assume and draw conclusions, but even with a report there could be fractured information. Kiskla steadied her voice from shaking, and crossed toward him. Light eyes moved from the information to the man she marvelled most. He had a mind like Deadalus’ maze — intricate and winding, infinitely calculative and complex. And it didn’t hurt that his mind pushed him to act, which gave a complementary body that looked as though it had been carved by Pygmalion. Nevertheless, she had to do something about this information. She had to ask — somehow make it a benefit for him; at least he’d know, if he wasn’t conscious of it already. “Do you remember anything as Veritas.” It was a slight shift of the conversation, but it had been prompted by the contents of the report. Again, she didn't want to bring him pain -- but she had a responsibility to ask, especially if the opportunity was presented as such.

Apparently a Padawan on Teta had died. Her throat collapsed from immense telekinetic pressure — who the killer was had not been recorded. The people within the area however, had been Shara, Marcello/Veritas, Nephthys (name unknown), and Jedi. Unless she had a sleeper agent in the Jedi’s midst to worry about, The Sith were the primary suspects for the girl’s death.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Any thoughts or emotions that circulated through Marcello's being prior to [member="Kiskla Grayson"]'s question dropped from his mind like rain from the sky at the alluring Jedi Master's inquiry. Icy-blue eyes steadied on Kiskla's smooth facial features, watching her light hair flutter softly in the gentle, almost suffocating breeze of Yinchorr. The answer, of course, was simple. "I remember everything, Kiskla. I was nothing if not completely in control of my actions."

It was true. Marcello did not make excuses for his actions insofar as claiming not to remember or being out-of-control. The large Rogue was certain that people said a great many things about him behind closed doors, in the comforting confines of shadows where they thought their words were not heard. Unfortunately, people did not know that the shadows betrayed those not born of them...every time. That was part of the reason for Marcello's brutal honesty in all things. He was never the threat that snuck upon you. He was the threat you saw coming from miles away but could do little to deter, to subdue.

Which is why if he had killed anyone as the woman across from him was likely attempting to imply with her light-footed approach, it would already be well known. There would be no rumors or BS reports likely conceived of by people circulating idiotic statements without fully investigating the truth of actions. "Why?" The hardness of Marcello's gaze communicated not anger or disbelief...

It communicated only the pain that still riddled his body each and every day about what he had almost done. Not because the dark side had taken control of him or even because he'd hated the Padawan, Marcello did not know her at all. No. His everlasting, intense irritation with the Order as a whole had grown and festered to the point where he almost, almost killed one of their defenseless and tactically deficient members. What would it have proven though?

Nothing. Other than the fact that Marcello was not in control of himself. Which, as previously discussed, he never allowed to be his reality.

Period.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla asked because she didn't believe in assumptions. So, when Marcello neither confirmed nor denied anything directly, she was confident that meant he didn't have a guilty conscience. Right?

She didn't say anything immediately, only extended the miniature tablet in his direction. It was no larger than six inches in height, and three in width. The page she wanted him to see had stopped scrolling at the area of concern, with the recorded time (estimated by the coroner) and the speculations written on a secondary window, which split the screen between the facts and notes from first-hand observers. Of course, in times of battle these had to be taken with a grain of salt. No matter how conditioned the Jedi were to focus, there was still a lot in the immediate area that could have been credited to as distraction. Still, if [member="Marcello Matteo"] confirmed or rejected the information presented, at least she'd have the closure of knowing.

For it was sure to come up, and demand addressing. This way, she'd be prepared. Straight from the horse's mouth.

Along with the presentation of the datapad, she offered a brief explanation. Very brief;
"There were inconclusive reports from the period of time you let your desires influence you.

And I don't believe in assumptions."

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello accepted the device as his eyes finally left [member="Kiskla Grayson"]'s features to gaze at the screen. No emotion registered on his face, and he did not look up as he replied to the woman. "It's incorrect. As for my desires..." Marcello's gaze slowly tracked back to Kiskla's features as he tossed the tablet onto the ground. "They have influenced me my entire life, in every decision I have made. I do not fear my emotions or my desires. They are a part of me, and it would be pointless to deny a part of myself. Talk is cheap, however."

Though their distance was not terribly great, Marcello's next movements were subconsciously aided by the speed of the Force. Seizing the lithe Jedi Master in his grasp, Marcello spun her around, forcing her back against the relatively cool fuselage of his partially covered starfighter, his lips finding her own in the same instant. There had been enough talk of intentions, plans, and moral views. In truth...it had not been the reason he'd asked Kiskla to meet him in such a remote location. Not really...not the reason that stirred within the very pit of his being. It was merely his brain that told him the more...professional matters were of greater concern.

They never were. Kiskla always prevailed over any of Marcello's more prophetic, noble pursuits or thoughts. No matter what he suffered in life...she was the constant, the beacon he always used to guide him home.

Actions spoke louder than words.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

They're incorrect. That's all she got from [member="Marcello Matteo"]. That's what she was expected to use to reply with assurance if and when the issue arose. She could do it. Kiskla wasn't the best with technology, so when Marcello carelessly redirected the device instead of handing it back, she sputtered in objection briefly-- concerned that it would crack or something. That concern wasn't acknowledged, and like the datapad, her body was redirected from where she'd anticipated it to be. He'd considered the conversation over. He'd know. He knew what had happened, his situational awareness hadn't been as convoluted as who his compatriots were. Her idle frets about the discarded datapad were rendered irrelevant when her shoulder blades touched metal.

At first, she was delighted with the flip of intentions. But then her professional self overtook the compartment in her mind reserved for pleasure. It was pathetically minuscule, and already suffocated, what was a few more minutes. Hours. Whatever. It'd gone untouched for years-- mostly. Her palms pressed against his biceps, asserting just enough pressure to indicate there was a pause necessary. Sadly for Kiskla, professional matters were expectant. If not by herself, a precognitive crowd. It sucked.

"Marcello," she breathed, the tip of her slight ski-jumped nose still pressed against his own. Maybe it was because of feminine chemistry she wanted to discuss feelings, but his explanation had been too concise. Blunt could only carry on so far. Her voice was barely above a whisper, not that it needed to be given the blissful proximity. "Anger and concentration are not easily severed." She looked down, inhaling the hot air between them slowly. She knew. Years ago, she'd been there. For about as brief a time as Marcello-- perhaps briefer. "I know, before I met you there was a time I let myself go. It was quick but brutal -- I knew what I was doing, but even if I wanted to stop," her cerulean gaze snapped back up now, "I couldn't. Not on a dime. Not entirely decisively." True, she'd been a Padawan then, reckless and emotional, and he was a master. Calculative and controlled. She'd never told anyone this-- though she wasn't really explicitly telling now. Only sharing a brief overview in an attempt to bond. But it was still strange speaking of the incident on Raxus Prime out loud. "I believe you, I believe you were in control." This felt weird-- being so close but her spoiling it to reinforce what he'd already said. She did believe him, but she cared so much for him that she wanted to defend the rogue with every last honest breath that she could. Kiskla was all too aware that once they separated, something would come up. It always did. "Or that you tried to be, but you were dealing with a raw new awakening. A power you've not known before." She was definitely pulling from experience now. It had been overwhelming for her on Raxus Prime, and again when The Son used to abuse her body as his vessel. One palm reached out to the lightly stubbled jawline if the spacer, "I know you said you remember everything. That you were in control. That these reports are incorrect, but in that brief moment, even your second transition, something could have gone beyond your control.

I can't just.." She sighed now, and leaned back more on the surface of the Nabooian aircraft. Sometimes she really, really hated her position. "Say you didn't do it because I trust you. Because Marcello Matteo told me so. I just feel I'll need more. People always want something to blame." But what. He couldn't possibly offer anything more than telling her the truth, which he had done.

"No. There is no more." She was now voicing every single thought, musing aloud. She blinked slowly and exhaled softly, admitting defeat to her ramblings. Confidence. He needed her confidence, as she had his. He believed she would trust him, and it needed to be a two-way street. Unfortunately, this street his a roadblock when the reality of ownership would be not in Marcello's hands, but hers.

She sniffed a small, exasperated laugh. It was becoming predictable, where there were so many large problems throughout the galaxy that it was easier to focus on the details. On the finer things. The Silver Jedi had branched away from The Order because it was politics like this that obstructed the activity of being a Jedi. Marcello was giving her the truth, as usual, and she could trust that. And if she did, then others would have to as well. This was it! This was part of the problem! Overthinking things and trying to find problems. This would have been a good time to turn sheepish, but there wasn't time to go through the entire emotional spectrum. She was worried about what she was becoming. A brittle, political shell of her former rebellious self.

"Can you just tell me the report is wrong, completely, and wait more than ten seconds before changing the subject entirely?" Maybe it was just the space between the seriousness and the frivolous execution that had her unnerved. She liked to have time to build her arguments when presented with the facts; and galaxies knew she could hardly hold a thought when passionate, let alone build a case for defence. But she did like his aggressiveness, shame to admit! "Even if it's just eleven."

Actions may speak louder than words, but they were so deafening the words were drowning in the cadences of physical exchanges.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello's eyes held Kiskla's gaze even though his body registered a slight protest to her gentle request for...a moment. Keeping the Kiffar pinned in her present position, he allowed her to complete all of her thoughts. For a moment, Marcello thought that [member="Kiskla Grayson"] was going to open up to him about her past. However, it proved to be little more than a brief tease. Good. Marcello would hate to be disappointed by Kiskla suddenly becoming an open book.

While he appreciated her comments and the position she would invariably be put in courtesy of her position and their relationship, he did not have any sympathy for her. She had asked for an answer, and he had delivered it. That should have been enough. There shouldn't have been a need for clarification or some false pause of pain and sorrow. That did nothing for anyone. Marcello was already his own worst enemy about his momentary weakness, but he did not cling to the action. Things were rough all over, and he would no doubt continue to make mistakes. Besides...at one point or another, everything one did in life was exactly what they wanted.

Exhaling heavily, the Rogue Master slowly removed his hands from Kiskla, taking a step back. Would this forever be something hanging over their heads? Probably. Funny how so many were quick to immediately believe he had killed a Padawan based on some obscure and mostly incomplete report. Yet when he told them the truth...it was not enough? They needed to see him languish on the topic in order for them to think it genuine? Typical.

"You come here with accusations, and I am the one that needs to be more convincing? I've been living with anger and doubt all my life, Kiskla. This is not a new experience. In spite of all that, I always threw my all into doing what was necessary. With the exception of a brief ten minute span of my life, I have routinely put the well-being of others before my own. We've all killed countless of innocents in our quest to defend so-called peace and justice across the galaxy. Hordes of soldiers and Sith alike...extinguished with hardly a thought. That's what your Order has done. Is your Order suffering an Inquisition? Is the Republic? Perhaps you're going to tell me those are soldiers, Sith...the enemy, the evil. When the dust settles and those touched by the effects of this war are forced to rebuild, do you really think they give two shits about the prattle of either side?"

Marcello paused for but a moment. The answer was, of course, no. So why he was seemingly some big deal to the Jedi Order right now was beyond him. If he had killed the Padawan, he would have sealed his transition. He would be standing elsewhere as Darth Veritas, leading the forces of the One Sith in their campaign against the Jedi Order. Was he doing that? No. That should have been all the answer anybody needed, especially the ones closest to him. Taking a step back in to Kiskla, Marcello looked down at her as he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "Don't fret. You can't be the perfect organization because that is not the nature of any sentient race. Stop trying to be. Eradicate the perception that the Jedi Order is supposed to do 'no harm'. That is not an objective you will ever achieve. What you can do...is remain pure of purpose and heart. Be the servants of the galaxy, not the overbearing sword that crushes down on any not appealing to your specific way of life. That is how you mitigate the propaganda of the One Sith. Defend what you must, Redeem who you can, and remember in the end of the day, the living Force exists and sustains all life. Good, bad, and ugly."

Why that had turned into a sermon, Marcello had no idea. What he did know was that everything he had just described...he did not have the ability to do. It took a stronger spirit than his own. He had accepted his role in life. His was not a life of redemption. Merely cold, abrasive justice.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Well. Didn't the accusers usually come to the weary? It wouldn't be interesting the other way around. The heel of her palm twisted, and she tucked her elbow into her chest, pressing her palm against her lips in reverse so her fingertips touched her cheeks. This was her pensive position while he discussed the crusading nature of The Jedi. Kiskla Grayson hadn't actually killed many in her tenure as a Jedi. She could count them on one hand.


One hand and a half.


1 on Naboo. 4 on Raxus Prime and an accidental one on Kiffu, where it really wasn't her fault. The Anzat had been an assassin after her and been swallowed by a sand worm beyond her reach. And her late master, while inhabited though...not entirely her fault.


But maimed and otherwise? Sure.
The end of [member="Marcello Matteo"]'s quasi-oration aligned with her views already; but she'd never quite heard them vocalized. She'd just always kind of.. been tolerant (sometimes to the chagrin of others; Although Carn Dista was the most vocal).


"I know that." She spoke against the skin of her hand, making the affirmation muffled. “It wasn’t to be convincing. I just..” habit. She had always been a curious individual, but recently her investigative nature had been pushed and encouraged to find the root of errors, in order to cleanse the organization. Because if they were hollowed on the inside, it was anticipated they couldn’t develop a thick enough skin to defend the outside. Whatever her thoughts were, she didn’t finish her defence. It used to be her temper that flared, now it was her preemptive instincts that erupted.


Kiskla was known as a Redeemer. Many had come to her, and she’d started this road of chance with the shell of a Wraith. She’d approved of Vosra. She’d redeemed the Jedi name once, even, with the restoration of Ahto City, a campaign instigated by the councillor of reconciliation herself. Then Varanin and Jacobs had come to her. Tamara too. Thereafter, Bouqi, Sardun, Natalja, Pazela, and quite a few others. She’d believed them all (with a single exception). She believed in the inherent good of most people. To err was human, but to forgive was interplanetary. Marcello and herself had been close enough before to hear his heart, and he hadn’t needed to whisper any sins, burdens of even fears. Just blissful assuagement.
She could defend strangers, she could definitely do that for the man who had never once betrayed her in any way before. Especially since not a single untruth had been passed even during the accusatory period. That small smile of admiration surfaced again, creasing her cheeks beyond the seclusion of her hand. She didn’t want to be the queen of dwelling and festering. No. She’d uphold him.

Especially since he hadn’t even got started with his conquests.


Thoughtfully, the backwards hand rotated so that her fingertips brushed her lips in thought, ending with her central incisors biting the knuckle of her jupiter finger. Cerulean gaze tore from the man before her and to the barren ground. Bits of rocks spiked up closer to the ledge of the mountain, causing a break in the otherwise bleak terrain. Dirt and sand. Soon, he'd exchange this scenery for the black. She'd likely return to Tython and regroup. Or something. She wasn't totally sure.


Had it been ten seconds yet?


“You’re right.” Kiskla finally said, dropping her hands to her hip and nodding concisely. “We just both know details are distracting from the big picture.” Kiskla’s minor moment of doubt (be it of self, organization, Marcello, whatever) faded away like water twisting down a drain. “Distractions sometimes need dissuasion — and I can just bet this will be one of them. Teta was a revelation on many accounts, and with all the disappearances you’re sadly one of the few we can react to. People will just have to adjust their reactions beyond the speculative reports.” She cocked her head in the direction of the discarded data pad.


A light brow arched and the hand that belonged to the arm of the shoulder he rest resting on reached up and covered the back his knuckles while she spoke again: “For someone who doesn’t like the spotlight, you have a tendency to draw it once in a while.” Once with the Graug attack on Coruscant, and now again on Teta. Oh yeah, also by winning the Aqua Cup on Manaan — but that was a different circumstance. It was a shame the light never really shone in his direction for all his brilliant acts. At least his student had recognized it.


And her, of course.


Problem was, when someone did something right, people weren’t sure if there’d been anything done at all. For nobody recognized the smooth part of a rose’s stem, all you hear about are the thorns.


For a moment, the grip she had on his knuckles tightened and she caught his look, working still to flip the gravity of the conversation. "I'm sorry, Marcello." He shouldn't have had to explain himself beyond his simple no. She had to be more trusting. Then, her light eyes purposefully flicked in the direction where R9 usually would be assumed. "I hope you got that recorded, because I'm never saying it again."

Something to keep score of.