Rest When You're Dead

[Marcello Matteo]

((OOC: Marked private but any Republic character can feel free to post if so inclined.))

Republic Medical Facility

Weeks had elapsed since the initial invasion by the Sith of Coruscant. It had been just a few days since Marcello had managed to leave Rothana and travel to his current location. A large part of him wondered when the next 'major' offensive would occur. Sure, he'd read reports of various supply depots being raided. Most of those reports, however, mentioned very little of Sith involvement. That, of course, meant precisely nothing.

While the Jedi Master's route back to the core of the galaxy had by no means been a direct one, it had been fruitful. It seemed the Order had continued to march on whilst he was away, to include the appointment of a new High Council. None of this surprised the Naboo Jedi, but it also didn't much concern him. Though he had yet to personally make contact with anyone, the locator beacon in his vessel had been active for some time - though he'd really only made a brief stop at Ossus.

As Marcello exited his dark blue N-1T, he exhaled heavily and slightly relaxed the zipper on his black flightsuit. The hilt of his lightsaber was concealed in a pocket near his right thigh, and he left his flight helmet on his seat. After arranging for R9 to be lowered and taken for a cleaning, he casually made his way to the medical bay. Several people were on his mind...had been since his hasty, wordless departure from Coruscant. But between [member="Ryan Korr"] and [member="Kiskla Grayson"], he only expected to encounter the former.

He hoped his apprentice had received plenty of rest because it was likely to be the last for a while. Their presence was needed not in the core or holding court in some Temple. Yes, those things were important and there were plenty of Jedi better suited to the task, more responsible for...management. Marcello and his apprentice along with him were needed to do anything and everything they could to prevent another loss such as Coruscant.

They would bring light to those that others would sentence to eternal darkness. This mandate came from no orders on high...and likely never would. They came from the challenging reality of their existence as Jedi Guardians.

 

[Fen]

Rehabilitation therapy after breaking a wrist, dislocating a shoulder, and getting stabbed by two lightsabers did not exactly fit Ryan Korr's definition of time well spent. Fortunately, he finally got around to his second to last round of therapy by the time a familiar presence arrived. Flight Control had had an alert sent to Ryan that his master's craft was spotted entering the planet's atmosphere. Bye the time that [member="Marcello Matteo"] stepped out of his starfighter Ryan arrived in the hangar.

The place smelled of fighter fuel, a rich scent that spoke of hard work and grimy hands. A unique smell, certainly. And one that Ryan himself treasured. He did not get many chances these days to spend time in the cockpit, but once upon a time he had been the best combat pilot in his group of younglings, in the simulators and, when he was older, in the actual starfighters. Those days were nothing but a distant memory now, overshadowed by later horrors.

Korr walked past mechanics and others. Clad in a simple white tunic and pants common to the Jedi Order, he seemed to stand taller, despite one arm still sitting in a sling. His fine features retained a hard cast, but a new light shone in his eyes. Purpose. Drive. He walked up to Marcello, something that could not quite be termed a smile quirked up his lips a little.

"Master..."

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Glacier-blue eyes fell upon the form of [member="Ryan Korr"] as the Jedi Master's apprentice approached. While Marcello's gaze never focused on the young man's cast, he felt the guilt of his apprentice's pain and suffering within his chest. The sensation was fleeting as the Jedi Master pushed past the momentary impulse to slip into old habits, absorbing the misfortune of others as his own. While he was not infallible and might have caused pain to others as a matter of inevitability or painful necessity, Marcello struggled to do so with a completely clear conscience. It was his burden to bear, and his weakness to overcome, period.

Managing a thin smile at the sight of Ryan, Marcello stepped forward. The fact that he was pleased to see his apprentice mostly well went without saying. However, the culmination of all of his emotions was only conveyed by the casual extension of a hand to the young man. "Apprentice. I see you continue to be resilient. Good. Death is a vacation you have not yet earned." For the briefest of moments, the corners of Marcello's lips quirked into a slightly broader grin. However, the large Jedi Master's impassive mask soon returned. "I am most interested to hear about your recovery, but I'm afraid the galaxy will not wait for us to reminisce." Motioning for Ryan to follow, Marcello continued walking through the hangar. The moderate buzz of activity presented enough noise to keep their words mostly unheard. "Have you been reviewing military and intelligence daily reports?" As if the question was rather superfluous to the larger point, Marcello continued. "The Sith have not ceased their harassment and outright destruction of Republic worlds while we lick our wounds. People, innocent people, are dying every week."

Stopping, Marcello turned his full attention to Ryan. The Jedi Master surely did not mean to imply that Ryan's recovery was not important. He merely meant to imply that it wasn't as important as the lives of the defenseless. "A...source...of mine within the GIA has distributed information to me about an upcoming plot they've managed to uncover. She's kept the information largely under wraps simply because, well, they've chased a lot of dead ends. This lead though...involves someone you may yet be familiar with. Former Master Apparine." Marcello's facial expression turned to hard, resolute lines as he arrived at the climax of his sermon. "We are going to Ord Mirit. Even if only for a minor victory, we will safeguard those that look to us when all hope is lost."

Finally, Marcello allowed his glacier-blue eyes to briefly drift to Ryan's sling. "What is your status?"

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

​

That had not been pleasant, and had not put the youthful Master in a good mood. By no means had it been a horrifying mission, but it had been an unnecessary distraction, freezing cold, and she’d had to endure physical interaction that left her covered in fluids from the belly of a Leviathan. Three things that weren’t on her bucket list, and she would have been better off avoiding altogether. OH, but she had learned that Syn and Iella were a thing. Like, officially, which perhaps explained her rapid ascent to the council’s chairs (although she’d sat on them quite well). #CattyJk

Nevertheless, they were done and over with and you’d think the irritable kiffar would be over it by now. She would have been, if more and more reports hadn’t been filing in while she had been detained with the distracting objective of a search and rescue. Those that called themselves The One Sith were showing up in sporadic spots throughout Republic Space — for the most part, minor skirmishes meant to wear forces thin, but The Galactic Republic was mostly coming out victorious. That didn’t mean, however, that death tolls weren’t escalating. Civilians, innocents, people that were generally supposed to be uninvolved and remain unprotected. This threat was escalating beyond Jedi worlds, and it was obvious that the Sith wanted nothing more than pure chaos to consume the galaxy and shake the confidence of the peaceful government’s citizens.

“Entering Anaxes’ atmosphere in 10 minutes.” Came the announcement, which broke the silence that had consumed Kiskla for the past few days while travelling with nothing but words. She blinked out of her stupor and pinched the skin between her eyes, furrowing her brow as she was suddenly very cognizant of the leviathan’s innards scent from a closet quite far down the hall. Her overcoat had been stained with the odour, despite her efforts to rub snow against the garment and ‘wash’ it. Leori had taken off with Iella and Syn back to Silver Jedi headquarters, which meant Kiskla was simply left with The Republic troops she had undertaken the original mission with. The company of four had grown comfortable without conversation, and now they were suddenly chatting about Anaxes and what they’d get up to as soon as they touched down.

None of it sounded like work.

The transport was filled with sounds of automatic responses to the flight team below asking for codes, and they replied cordially. Shields were lifted, and the descent began as the pilot expertly navigated through the ships that hovered above the Republic planet and toward it’s designated landing bay. Kiskla moved to organize various data pads of information into a black pack while they neared the hangar. Unlike the troopers, she had an immediate meeting with The Chancellor (oh, surprise!) with information that could perhaps lead to a most fruitful counter invasion of their enemies. Especially since they and the Mandalorians were now, finally, at peace. Then, off to investigate some former imperial base for Yinchorr. Apparently since these Sith were from the depths of history, psychometery was in high demand.


The shuttle rocked to a stop, and the thrusters depressed while the engine turned from a healthy roar, to whine, to hum before finally silencing as the entire ship entered it’s cool down mode. With salutes, the soldiers exited in uniform, anxious to stretch their legs on a planet that didn’t make their joints freeze. Stupid Abimiir. The pack hit against Kiskla’s hip as she slung it over her shoulder, and she shifted it’s weight while stepping from the ramp itself into the brightly lit hangar. When she had left Anaxes, most spaces had been converted to healing facilities and clinics for the injured. From the general feeling (and somewhat stagnant smell) of the planet, she assumed this was still the case.

As usual, the area was abuzz with activity — people bustling with their chores to, maintaining ships, preparing for takeoff, there was much to do. War provided many opportunities for employment, and it appeared many new hands were on deck. Ever curious, her light eyes absorbed the scene; perusing over each ship’s shape and markings; one fighter eliciting an amused simper from the Jedi based on it’s tallies. Apparently it was successful at aerial dogfights. The look of amusement was replaced with one of surprise however, when a familiar N1-T revealed itself from the shield of a row of XJs.

Had she missed a report? A message? Truth be told, she hadn’t been metaphorically sitting by the phone waiting for a call, but she had anticipated something. Anything — some sort of submission to give her a heads up that ‘Hey bud, I’m actually okay! That leg thing, noo big deal. Totally bouncing back. YoLO’ — whatever! But, close to a month later, nothing.

She ‘hmphed’ when it’s pilot wasn’t immediately visible. Well, good. Suddenly, her foul mood was returning. Oh she was about to be such a girl, a position she didn’t like at all. [member="Marcello Matteo"] hadn’t been on Anaxes with a majority of Coruscant’s wounded; that had been her first disappointment and time of worry. She’d seen him spring up like a vigorous weed after losing a limb to Shara, and awkwardly be whisked away by the very N1-T that was sparking this memory. She’d partially wanted to test out her bedside manner that day, selfishly enough. Whether or not she’d point out his lack of limb, or actually be comforting in his time of blood loss, I suppose we’ll never know. She’d kind of wanted to experiment though; to show him how much she appreciated him actually coming to The Jedi Order’s defence and that he’d been true to his word and taken on the Padawan [member="Ryan Korr"] (even if the kid himself hated the very idea of her). One of the data pads inside her pack buzzed noisily against the plastic of another, and she shifted the weight on her shoulders again, holding the straps with both hands while she cocked a hip to observe the fighter dumbly. R9 wasn’t even about, so she couldn’t leave a message. Most convenient, most convenient indeed.
Unbeknownst to her, the pilot was indeed a fair distance away — but was definitely closer than he had been a month ago — or was it a month and a half now? Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, only more irritated. Or, out of sight out of mind? Nah.

 

[Fen]

Korr's eyes flashed at the mention of Apparine. He knew what Marcello meant. The wounds Ryan had sustained were nothing compared to the losses of the Republic. Every breath Ryan spent in rehab rather than against the Sith caused an unrest in his chest that would not settle. Korr was merely a padawan, but he knew how undermanned they were after the loss of the Temple on Coruscant. So many of his kindred had fallen either to death or to the dark. Facing Apparine would be a delight that Ryan knew not how to express. The storm inside his heart rotated with thoughts of slaying the traitor.

Hers had been the most egregious of betrayals. Trusted by the Council, considered a hero by many. Yet Ryan had always considered her and her compatriot Diana Moridena to be too hungry for war. Those who sought out violence oft perished in violent ways whilst bringing others to ruin. He found in his heart that he hated that woman. A sentiment he could not fully reconcile with the Jedi Code.

"I've kept abreast of the reports," Ryan rasped, face a stone mask. "We're losing this war." He glanced at Marcello's leg, then met his Master's blue gaze. "If you are ready and able, then so am I. I-" Ryan's gaze landed on a figure exiting a shuttle on the other side of the hangar. Long blonde hair, full lips, and a gaze full of fire. Korr blinked, gaze switching between his master and the woman staring at the N-1. His mouth clicked shut. He'd heard the rumors, but decided not to believe anything until he saw it first hand. He didn't involve himself in the drama of people's personal lives, not unless they dragged him in against his will. Watching the way she stared at the N-1. Well, rumors tended to carry a granule of truth amidst the hyperbole.

"Someone's looking for you." Ryan nodded his head in the direction of [member="Kiskla Grayson"], trying to hide the glimmer of amusement that flashed through his eyes. The youth's stern features rarely ever changed, but the eyes... the eyes betrayed everything.

[member="Marcello Matteo"]

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello nodded succinctly to [member="Ryan Korr"]'s statement about them losing the war. They absolutely were losing. There were probably some that would say the Republic was slowly gaining ground. There were some that said the Jedi had risen from the ashes of defeat stronger and better than ever. Those people were all stupid.

When his apprentice glanced at his leg, Marcello managed a smirk. He'd been about to reply that he was just fine when Ryan abruptly changed the subject. The Jedi Master's glacier-blue gaze followed the stone gaze of his apprentice. Several emotions radiated through the core of Marcello's being, but he managed to maintain a mostly expressionless mask.

Shifting his gaze back to Ryan, Marcello gave simple instructions. "The new Grandmaster, I hear." Marcello had not been present for the event. All the better, he would have nothing positive to say to any of them. "Prepare your things. We leave immediately." Stepping away from Ryan, Marcello added, mostly to himself, "She's not looking for me, and this will be quick."

Measured steps carried the Jedi Master in the direction of the only woman that held his affection in any manner. So much came to mind... Mostly thoughts of all the things he had not, would not say to the woman. Thoughts that he scarcely admitted to himself in the darkness of his own internal musings. Thoughts that would almost be destroyed by the air the second they were uttered. That was the measure of said thoughts' fragile nature.

When Marcello finally reached Kiskla, his face was a mask, betraying no emotion. His thoughts and intestines betrayed him all too easily however. He cared deeply for [member="Kiskla Grayson"] and had, in fact, missed her. Her company was the only one he'd longed for in his solitude. It was something he was not even remotely close to admitting. Not now. He viewed such thoughts and urges as selfish and tasteless given all that was transpiring.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Marcello nodded his head slightly. "Congratulations." He was not referring to her so-called ascension. "Glad to see you're alive." Why so cold? It kept him from unloading every single one of his personal thoughts on the woman. His comments and beliefs had been composed rather succinctly and sent to the Coucil already.

The Jedi Master would not dabble in the politics of it all anymore. He was taking action...with those he knew to be untainted. Those he trusted to understand the reality of their purpose. His apprentices. Period.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Gaah! Emotions! Scary things, those. Best to lock them up in a vault and throw them deep into the abyss; then space fold that abyss so they can never be found.
That’s what was best to do, but Kiskla missed that memo.

Apparently Marcello didn’t.

She turned from looking at the fighter, and toward the rugged spacer who initiated the conversation (and almost startled her save for his familiar Force signature). Momentarily, her eyelids flickered when he appeared and began the transaction. That’s what it would be. A transaction. Not a conversation--he immediately made sure she knew that.

Her lips parted to greet him, but she clicked her teeth shut. This is where I’d start saying she’d not be the first to admit anything, but she assumed that had been thrown out the window on Manaan. She wasn’t really sure the rules about this sort of things, if there were rules, but she didn’t like them if this was how things transgressed. Usually, she was the first one to keep people at arm’s length, a distance away but close enough that if she wiggled her finger they’d come crawling. She'd given [member="Marcello Matteo"] an opening not afforded to others to step from this distance and become closer -- in fact, he'd initiated it. Now, he was stoically indifferent; then again, they were in public so she couldn't act too bothered about it. Oh, technicalities and complications! Unfortunately, now they didn’t have to time to commiserate until comfort was reached.

So placid it was. Despite her wanting to know where he’d been for the past month and a half — and why he never messaged her. Or anyone, really. Her weight swayed, as she reconciled with herself how this would pan out.

“And you — although it would have been nicer to know a while ago.” The blonde took this opportunity to look him over briefly, although whether or not the prosthetic was any good was disguised by his garments. Not that she was a connoisseur of false limbs.

"I've heard R9s have a fairly good communication system." In reality, she wouldn't know if an astromech had better communication skills than an HK-36. They all gave her the heebie jeebies. After this comment, her gaze was distracted to look beyond his powerful frame, catching the faint flicker of red-hair belonging to the youth she’d asked Marcello to train. At this point, Kiskla softened and a small smile betrayed her; she hadn’t seen him (really seen him) since Ahto City; but he’d been true to his word. And, indadvertedly saved her life on Coruscant by taking on the Maleubus and leaving her to focus on the Epicanthix Sith. Heck, he was contributing to The Order on a grander scale than most and for that he deserved a gesture of appreciation. She might as well be the bigger person and say that at least, considering the times and events.

She stopped looking over and around him, and finally angled herself so she could look at her friend's face; giving him the option to look her in the eyes or not. She wasn't about to get into a measuring contest, she'd unfortunately surrounded that opportunity. A month since Coruscant, at least three since Ahto -- that was at least a quarter of a galactic standard year without any sort of correspondence between the two hot-headed individuals. The pride was strong with these ones. "You're off again," Kiskla observed, assuming based on the hurriedness of the Padawan [member="Ryan Korr"] and Marcello's usual crusading nature. He was the strong silent type in the sense that he would silently do what was necessary with undeniable strength. A breath poured from her diaphragm and betrayed her, only two words surfing the exhaled exodus "Thank you."

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello could not help but narrow his eyes at his alluring friend. The testosterone-fueled male in him wanted to roll his eyes and casually walk away, grumbling about the irritating penchant of all women to consistently be inconsistent. From her iniital rejection turned acceptance on Mandalore, to her very forward-actions on Manaan followed by radio silence to...this, Marcello almost didn't know what to think. Almost. The truth of the matter, Marcello knew precisely what [member="Kiskla Grayson"] wanted but was too proud to admit. How did he know this? He was, clearly, precisely the same. There was no logical reason for him not to say anything to Kiskla about his recovery...perhaps in the beginning stages if he hadn't wanted her to see him weak or something, but he really couldn't care less about that. The rest of the Jedi Order would probably be shocked to know that he'd seen their Grandmaster damn near helpless at least three times...which was the sum total of times it had probably even occurred in the time he'd known her.

Even as Kiskla's eyes shifted from his own presence, Marcello's own glacier-blue eyes remained glued to the soft features of her face and the fullness of her lips. The only time he looked away was to keep himself from being drawn in by quite literally everything about her. There wasn't really another person in the galaxy that could incite much of any emotion out of Marcello if he did not so desire. The instant her eyes found his once more, the Jedi Master opened his mouth to respond to...apologize, but his parted lips closed less than a second later. Kiskla had afforded him the opportunity to be reticent by changing the subject...though she changed it back to him leaving, again. Exhaling softly, Marcello nodded his head. "Yes. That is who I am...forever the man that leaves seemingly on a whim and is terrible at staying in contact during absence."

Casually and confidently, Marcello took a step forward, instantly closing the distance between the two Jedi Masters. At this point, Marcello was sure they were close enough for Kiskla to hear his heart thumping in his chest. Or perhaps...his heart was merely beating that loudly. "I give myself completely to the needs of the galaxy, Kiskla. I do it almost without thinking." Almost. "I've moved passed apologizing for any of my shortcomings, real or perceived. Every flaw that I have, makes me who I am. In the end of the day...we're just people trying to make a difference. I give much of my time and effort freely to those I do not know nor will I ever likely know beyond being the faces of the oppressed. This time, however, there is something I need you to know before I go."

The next step Marcello took brought him so close to Kiskla that there was scarcely enough room for light to shine through the separation of their bodies. Yet again...Marcello was forcing the woman into a rather public display. This time, however, it was not out of desire to cause a scene or break up the monotony of an event. This time...Marcello couldn't care less who or what was around. More specifically, in his mind, they were alone in an abyss of peaceful nothingness...it was more comforting than the freedom-filled void of space. "My heart and thoughts stay with you no matter where I am, and being in your presence is the only selfish desire I permit myself." So why didn't he take advantage of it more often? Life was imperfect, and he would not dare presume to deprive the Jedi Order or the galaxy of Kiskla's simple yet un-failing committment and attention.

As the last words left his lips, the large Jedi Master wrapped an arm around Kiskla's waist as his other snaked around her back to allow his hand to come to rest on the back of her head. Without concept of time or lack-of-privacy, Marcello delivered a passionate kiss to Kiskla's full lips that conveyed more than any words ever truly could.

Add power to the rumor mill? That was half-hearted. Marcello would add enough power to cause it torque apart and destroy itself, leaving only truth in its wake.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Well at least Marcello knew he wasn’t the best communicator — the only problem she had with that was that he was so calculative, and she was girlishly concerned with manipulation being a part of his overall plan. Maybe every detail had been charted and she was playing into a web that was built on innuendos and wild expressions that were misdirected because there was nowhere else to throw them? Let’s be honest here, Marcello had openly disliked her for quite a few years during her quote ‘Pain-in-the-ass teenage’ years — end quote. His admittance suggested that her paranoia was misdirected however, and she offered a knowing smirk in his direction, lowering her bag to the ground to fold her arms across her chest as if egging on his ego, encouraging more of an admittance to flow. But she was met with the honesty he had given her on Manaan, and she couldn’t conceal the glimmer of admiration that surfaced in her otherwise levelled gaze. He took her challenge, and stepped nearer; eclipsing her view of anything but him — it also forced her to slowly unfold her protective guard of crossed arms to keep her eyes matched with his own piercing hold. That’s what she admired most about Marcello, and why she was relieved he had obliged to her request. He was a good man, perhaps a little rugged around the edges, but he saw gaps and moved efficiently to plug them. He didn’t want attention to his actions, he merely acted out of necessity — and this next act was apparently deemed necessary so he declared.

A little expectant, and a little overwrought the blonde lent an ear to what Marcello requested he express. Then he closed in again, nearer, and she (to her surprise) didn’t reflexively stiffen and lift up a defence. He could very literally be either her bulletproof vest, or the very gun held to her chest; a kind of power she would never want to admit anybody had. Ever. Not now, not in this state of war and betrayal; Kiskla had grown up with deception and mono focused individuals who believed monogamy was something that meant themselves solely — no counterpart. What Marcello had to say couldn’t have been predicted. It could have been imagined, fantasized perhaps, but not accurately predicted. A mind and heart were the greatest things that could be demanded from a being. The physical could always be appreciated, especially with build like each of theirs respectively. But for dominance over the two elements of a human that drove motivation, that generated calculative strategies, that were the pinnacle points of existence? That was what romantics, tyrants, masters, everyone vied for. The gravity of this realization didn’t take long to be appreciated, and Kiskla instantly felt a little fluttery in her head and stomach.

The cinematic eccedentesiast's mould cracked.

Darn it, why were the good ones always Jedi?
Oh wait. That's the point.

Her features barely had time to showcase her feelings toward what he said. As usual, [member="Marcello Matteo"] moved without warning nor permission (though they were beyond that stage) and swallowed the breath Kiskla didn’t know she had been holding. Apparently he’d hitched quite the swell in her lungs from his entrusting expression. Evidenced by her torso only, the Kiffar’s body melted to his hold, allowing him to direct her angles to match his dimensionally dominant stance. This was far different from Mandalore, when the scene had been less peppered with observers; the seriousness of this situation was respected and reciprocated. Her own arms bent and grasped at his back, gripping where his shoulder blades rose and pressing her shoulders forward, relishing the embrace provided by Naboo’s child.

After several missippis of that pose, and after the point had been made, they severed. She didn’t move though, merely dropped her arms slightly to rest on his hips and share a short breath with his neck. Her light eyes were slightly foggy as she regained her composure (takes time after being swept off your feet, you know) and she blinked for clarity before speaking in a slightly breathy undertone. “Be safe out there.”

As far as their fortune went, it seemed coincidence was their best consolation. Not reliable, but not the worst option available — it had worked thus far. Marcello had summed it up unfortunately, taking the time for anything scheduled would be unlikely. Especially in the throngs of now.

Speaking of, he had to go. She had to go.

Well, if she didn’t have reason to end this war before (she did guys, don’t worry, she did!) she certainly did now — but that was selfish.

“Because thoughts and desires don’t offer the same solace as presence.” A small smile touched the corners of her mouth, but in actuality she couldn't stand anymore inspirations to bite the dust. “So don’t lose anymore limbs, hm?” There were a lot of things she wanted to say, mostly regarding the progress of his Padawans, but she considered that element of his portfolio would present itself in time. Time. Time, time, time — ever pressing. Ever ticking. The perpetual foe.

"Where to now?" See, if she'd had checked that buzzing datapad in her bag she would have known. Silly Jedi.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Eyelids that had fluttered shut opened slowly as the passion exchanged between the two Jedi ebbed with effort. Allowing [member="Kiskla Grayson"] to linger in his grasp for as long as she dared, Marcello exhaled softly before allowing his glacier-blue eyes to focus on Kiskla. The smile that adorned his face was a mixture of pure, unadultered love and disappointment. It was the reality of his life, their lives that was disappointing. Still...he drew more meaning from life with Kiskla in it, regardless of the length of time spent apart. Naturally he wanted to live in this moment with her...forever, but Kiskla was right. They both had things to do.

"No promises in combat." It was the most neutral response he could think of, and he refused to promise something to Kiskla he didn't exactly have complete control over. "I promise returning to you is a priority." It was. Not the only priority...but a priority nonetheless. After all, his principal overriding priority would always be to do what was necessary for those in need.

As Kiskla's made inquiry into his destination, the Jedi Master smirked. "Colonies Region. Been a few smaller scale raids in some of the more far-flung, less secure territories. My interest and involvement is based on reports that Daella has been seen leading raids in that area. GIA believes they've acquired reliable intelligence on the next target." Inhaling, Marcello's glacier-blue gaze briefly looked around the area. Most were still going about their duties. Some were watching the two Jedi as they completed the odd task or two. Regardless, they were all set to purpose. As much as Marcello wanted to take large quantities of time to aggressively work the task held in his large grasp thoroughly, it was not to be.

Settling his gaze back on Kiskla, Marcello shrugged. "Ryan, Carlo, and I are going to attempt to dissuade her from her current path." An ominous statemenet if ever there were one. Yet...it was quite true. As if understanding that standing there with Kiskla would only become more difficult to break from with time, Marcello seized her body into a firm, powerful hug. After depositing a soft kiss to her temple, the Naboo native released the Kiffar with a smile. "We'll see each other again and..." Glacier-blue eyes made a slow appraisal along the length of Kiskla's all too appealing frame. "...soon. I couldn't possibly be more serious."

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Her blonde head bobbed in solemn understanding at [member="Marcello Matteo"]'s frankness. There was unlikely anyone who saw anything and everything as realistically as the Jedi Master she was commiserating with. Kiskla had a certain naïvety about her; mostly stemming from ignorant youth and the feeling of invincibility (having coalesced with immortal entities contributed as well) -- it was certainly a contrast to the grounded Guardian. She understood his truthfulness though -- and besides, painting fanciful promises that couldn't be kept would be waste of breath and energy that could be conserved for a more positive redirection.
Like smiting the oppression!

"Daella?" The Jedi repeated in a low whisper, her brows knitting with concern. Former Jedi Apparine had been a formidable fighter for The Republic, although she didn't boast a strong resonance in The Force she was a skilled bladeswoman. With an unconvinced monotone, Kiskla repeated what Marcello had just said; she was not the most sensitive with timing. "You're going to dissuade Daella Apparine." Despite the sincerity of the task, Kiskla couldn't supress the smirk of her wild imagination. Dissuade -- yeah right. "Euphamisms are for politicans, Marcello." Kiskla managed to quip before being consumed by the physical showcase of affection, which she returned by merely sinking into the hold. Nice -- was that Tide®? She caught her breath when he withdrew and entered a vocal covenant of convening in the near future. The actions and sub-actions were too much a reflection of Ahto that she had to shrug slightly, and offer a light simper. How casual could she play this off? The gears of war were churning, grinding bodies as the clogs moved to keep things in operation. Either one of them could fall victim to any sort of fatality between now and .. 'soon' -- it was rather difficult to flirt with that knowledge ominously lingering at the edge of every decision. "Be safe. Carlo and Ryan are in the best hands --" she took a step backward and bent to pick up the pack she had set down earlier, the datapad with information of Ord Merit. While briefly glancing at the screen, in best efforts to busy herself despite the beyond pleasant interruption "How's Ryan viewing the Council these days?" She frowned through, as soon as the question left her lips and she rose to stand, helolding up a flat palm and shaking her head succinctly. "You know what, never mind. Just never mind. Be cautious though, and may The Force be with You -- all of you." She gave him a brief glance before stepping away. The Force be with you? Lame.

A few steps away, and Kiskla turned to look over her shoulder with a wry grin and a knowing tilt; "Can't wait to see the report."

And we all know what that means when someone unparalleled in psychometery says that. Or, maybe we don't and suddenly Marcello loves paper work. Then trot trot trot, into some ambiguous exit to go do Jedi things. Probably strategize.

 

[Fen]

Ryan had actually stashed his go-bag nearby. It carried everything he would need for a Jedi mission. He'd just awkwardly slung it over his shoulder using one hand, when he turned back around and witnessed Marcello and the "chaste" master of the Jedi Order kissing in full public in what was definitely one of those displays of affection which Korr's instructors had warned him about.

The corner of the Sephi's mouth twitched.

From across the hangar came a few catcalls from some of the mechanics. At that, Ryan's stone mask was close to cracking. He decided it was best to be about his own business and shoved his nose back into the briefing an officer had just handed him about the situation on Ord Mirit.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"] [member="Marcello Matteo"]

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello could only smile at [member="Kiskla Grayson"]'s comments about euphemisms. "I said attempt, no euphemism." The method of his dissuasion was another matter entirely - hardly a need to elaborate. His blue gaze diverted briefly at the light buzzing of his datapad. The Captain of the vessel distributing reinforcements to the Colonies Region wanted to accelerate departure from the Anaxes System.

Marcello's gaze returned to Kiskla just in time to hear her question regarding [member="Ryan Korr"]. He offered her only a subtle smile. His opinion much like his own was probably the most unguarded secret in the Jedi Order. Allowing the Grand Master to utter her goodbye, Marcello could only shake his head with a brief chuckle. "Until later, Kiskla."

Turning, Marcello proceeded back in the direction of his apprentice. He did not turn to address Kiskla's sarcastic comment, he merely flashed a casual thumbs up. He was sure some military officer would file some report. Unless he had something of worth to report on, the Jedi Council would hear nothing from him.

As Marcello approached Ryan, his face was a mask of tranquil acceptance. "The Grandmaster wished to know if your opinion of the Council had improved." Marcello didn't make the statement so much in the sense of seeking an answer as to convey information. "The Captain of the vessel we're hitching a ride on wishes to accelerate his departure plans." Allowing a thin smile to touch his lips, Marcello made only one more comment. "Let's go see to the Colonies Region."

 

[Fen]

The young padawan did not respond at first, expression contemplative as he genuinely mulled over Marcello's question while following the master to their destination. He'd heard of some vague reports dealing with the expulsion of Matsu Ike, but it was all very hush hush. Keeping that in mind, Ryan replied slowly.

"With the departure of the coward, Dragonsflame, and the present absence of the war monger Diana... my opinion is improving." He grunted, remembering Vulpesen - the man who had burned thousands of soldiers alive using weapons of mass destruction - and added, "Could still use some work."

He made no mention of the prior display of affection. Marcello's business was his own. If he wanted to talk about it, then he would. In the meanwhile, Ryan would stick to the job.

[member="Marcello Matteo"]

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello arched a surprised, curious brow at [member="Ryan Korr"]'s response. "You're much easier to impress than I would have expected." Neither Dragonsflame or Moridena had been the actual problem in Marcello's eyes. The issue rested in the general lack of any semblance of leadership experience or general capability to adapt to the circumstances of the galaxy exuded by just about every one of its numbers. However, it was largely neither here nor there. The Council affected very little...even less on the lower tiers of Jedi. No doubt...much to the contrary opiniong of the Council. In the end of the day, Marcello granted that a percentage of them did try, very hard. Effort, however, would never be enough in peace or war.

Waving a dismissive hand, Marcello stopped and looked to Ryan. The Jedi Master most certainly did not want to discuss Kiskla with his apprentice. The large Jedi was not ashamed of his affections, given his recent display, he just separated personal from professional with an almost calculative, practiced method. It was the only way he knew to remain focused, efficient. "I'll see you up there." Without another word, Marcello turned and retreated back in the direction of his personal starfighter.