Private Seek thine enemy

[Isobel Serraris]

SEEK THINE ENEMY​

LOCATION — Ilum, Unknown Regions
TAGS — Lysander von Ascania
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and Vesper et Aurora.

A waltz upon frozen ground, upon a world long forgotten by civilisation--be that Jedi or Sith, all their echoes had long since faded from its icy grasp. Yet one cannot deny the poetry in the scenery; a follower of the Light and of the Dark swaying gently in one another's arms, together, upon soil abandoned by both their Orders, reunited not as foes on a battlefield, but as witnesses to the orchestral lure from the Force. For they were life and death, the bloom and the rot that fed the cycle of nature, and for once in a very long time, they waltzed in 'perfect' unison.

His plea for a repeat of her words endeared her thoroughly, as if he was oblivious to what she had said before. Her hands held onto him a little tighter as she shifted back into the rhythm of their steps. "I missed you. How a flower might miss the shadow on a warm day. The light is a wondrous thing, yes, yet the shade offers a shield, guarding the bloom against a scorching sun." Isobel whispered, as gentle as a confession, as soft as a secret never meant to be voiced.

Would Ashla's caress weaken if she remained near him? And if it did. . . would such a change truly matter? For there was little difference between the warmth of his embrace and the gentle blessing the Light had granted in past or present. Even his dear whisper settled within her thoughtscape with a tenderness equal to her devotion. Was it a glimpse upon her downfall? For one can one's words pierce so facilely through her enlightened heart? Yet the doubt found no footing within her mind, found no will to withdraw from his intoxicating embrace. Yet even she knew such thoughts bordered on the permission of a grave fault.

"I have long discarded those Padawan robes," Her voice was accompanied by a huff of amusement. The fabric had been so terribly itchy and endlessly vexing, for the sleeves were too long and prone to absorbing anything it grazed: rain, frost, or the thorns of the gardens. "Mayhaps that was the grandest mercy upon leaving the Order--to not be forced to don those horrid things. . . Although, I will grant them this," She spared a brief glance downward at the more knightly armour, with dark metals and a sash that made it appear almost nobly. "They were lighter than this~"

In a galaxy corrupted by a storm of war, conflict and deceit, what place could possibly be a sanctuary? Where could Sith and Jedi walk side by side without the promise of death? Her heart beat the song of the Light, and it could not be concealed no matter how she tried. And now that she has felt his, there was no denying the thunder of the dark side's fury within his chest. There was naught in this galaxy that could be called a home so long as they must be one another's sworn foe. . . "Where would that be, Lys?" The previous brightness faded into gravity as she looked him in the eye, her worries were a present thing--muffled but present. "Wariness and distrust is demanded of those around us. . . I would be considered a prisoner if I'd be seen with you," The fear in her voice trembled as she inched a sliver back--his hand still forcing him close but their faces held a small gap.

Her attention remained on the waltz for a time, the bright sparks of worry and a light brushes of anger slowly hardening by the frost once more. It never delighted her to feel irritation within her heart; it did not belong, such tools were fated to be utilised by the enemy. . . not by her. Deep breaths left her lips as she stepped left and back in equal cadence with him. The metal of her armour making soft clanking and chiming noises with each sway, the closest thing to music among the echoes of the temple. It was wrong. Echoed once more in the back of her mind, as she persisted in the arduous distance from him, not only physical, but the depths of her eyes wandered a different path than the dance--as if they resided on another plane of existence entirely.

His compliments failed to drag her back into the present, even if the corner of her lips twitched upwards in a--faintly--acknowledging manner, akin to a polite smile one would hand out after failing to grasp their joke or request. Her feet simply kept moving, and her eyes remained fixed on a point just beyond his head as her doubt flourished and withered within her mind. Sweetened reassurances battled the righteousness of her conscience, stating that she might bring him to the Light--but then again would passion not drag them into the Dark too. . . Was there a way to simply be without the Force tearing them apart. . ?

No, these were foolish thoughts, doubts that will overshadow the bliss of the moment. With a light shake of her head she withdrew from the crumbling foundation of her thoughts, and looked upon him once more. Bearing witness to his query about the symbolism she picked, a rose she would love to show him someday--yes, focus on these thoughts Bel. . . "I. . . I picked the blue rose, because I believe that after all we have endured apart. There remain these seeds or bulbs of mystery between us, whatever flower may blossom from that is up to the fates. Though I. . . I do wish to nurture it, to see what may come of it. Whatever shade, whatever flower. Allow me to at least try, Lys. . ." She confessed, as passionately as her adoration for flora.

"Unless you already believe it could be blue," 'twas more of a tease than an inquiry about his thoughts.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

The waltz tapered off, or perhaps it just paused; such distinctions mattered naught. An unseen pull remained, the way the gravity of a planet remains whether or not one is.. falling. Countless worlds had borne Lysander's footsteps, their floors acquainted with his tread. Never had any felt as unmistakably right as this one beneath him now on Ilum. Fate had never bestowed him kindness; nay, 'twas a stern teacher, unsentimental, and he paid in full over the years.. without a whisper of complaint. Yet Isobel's nearness drew yearning through him. In such presence did a mind, that often hunted for meaning or dissected realities.. at last discovered rest.

Thin clouds of breath mingled in the narrow space between them.. there and gone. What daunted him, of all the perils lurking in the galaxy's dark heart, was how badly he wanted not just peace.. but sharing it with her. Battles possessed logic, albeit brutal; this comfort, however, sat holier in his chest than any conquest ever had. Ashla's doing, surely.

A Nabooan enchantress wove her magic in another current of air, striking afresh. Pride, perhaps, had sewn his silence.. or perchance something more fragile. Uttered aloud, such confession might undo him wholly.. or so warned the conscience. "Your voice is a sanctuary I never dared seek until now. When you speak.. the entire cosmos itself slows, as if it listens with me."

The armor wasn't a vestige of war but a symbol heavy with meaning.. fate's harsh decree adorned with beaten metal plates. A thumb smoothed over one pauldron slowly, no different than the bars of a cage. "Too cruel," unfurled the confession, "that the universe should demand steel upon one destined for gardens."

Memoirs of the Tapani sector stole upon the mind, fields where she could laugh freely, and breath unshackled from caution.. a further continuation of this spell. "No roof beneath reign would dare name you prisoner," softly flowed the vow, chaste in arrangement. A lilt of defiant tenderness colored his tone next, if only for an instant. "Where I walk, judgment bows its head. And where you walk beside me.. it would dare not rise." Verily, even with a heart too grand, ruthlessness was there in ample measure when summoned. But tonight.. it slept. "I spoke no falsehood earlier. And if ever there were a soul the Core itself would kneel for.. it would be for none other than you. On Zardossa, it is said the sun crowns whom it pleases.. and I've no doubt it would choose you." Strange almost, how all of that flowed easier than the four words beneath it: come away with me.

Fingertips wandered gently across the contours of Isobel's ethereal countenance, the gentle arch of cheek, the edge of jaw, gliding along the elusive petals of that rare blue rose she spoke of. The palm that cradled her skin offered a caress, pleading for permission to explore deeper. A murmur with melodious grace, did hence slip from Lysander. "If there is something between us, Bel.. it is not fate alone that keeps it alive. Imperfect or true.. whatever path it takes, let us chart a course for a story only we can compose.."

His gaze descended slowly, pausing on a plush curve before wandering back the depths that already claimed him. "And if you wish to nurture this, whatever it may become.. then also know this well: I have long needed the Light you carry." Breath held, the space between them evaporated, lips melded in fusion; a testing pass, a tentative taste of what might be, enough to kindle the senses. After parting, he pulled back just enough to see clearly. The cold returned in increments. "I think.. I already believe it could be blue." A small, adventurous smile dawned before leaning in once more, inquisitive in quest of mysteries. A question posed and an answer sought, more eloquent than anything words could convey.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

SEEK THINE ENEMY​

LOCATION — Ilum, Unknown Regions
TAGS — Lysander von Ascania
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost, an old blaster pistol and Vesper et Aurora.

His adoring confessions were like warm sunlight after months of storms and relentless tempests, and one could not deny how deeply she yearned for them. . . nor how easily she could lose herself in the whispered devotions pressed against her ear. Tales of how she was his light, and vows that he would never allow another to dim it. No cloud may yet veil its light, not for a minute, not even for a second--the sentiment was daunting and yet she would not perceive it as a blade, or as a declaration of possession, it was endearing. . . It made her heart thunder in an ever increasing cadence.

"A sanctuary? Do those still exist amid this time of war and destruction. . .?" Words softly spoken into the thin air between them, she wished to believe the truth of his claim, but had only felt the sanctuary threatened by forces varying from nature's brutality, to that of society themselves. Perhaps sparks of it remained, and if anything his arms around her felt more like a shield against the cruelty of reality. . . A vow to keep her safe and protected whilst all else fell apart. "Forget it," she whispered in its wake, resting her head more fully against the dark fabric upon his chest.

When his touch grazed past the metal of her pauldron, her hand twitched at her side, acheing to reach out and stop him before he cut himself on an edge. "They are only the guard petals shielding a flower," her face continued pressed against the outer layers of his cloth as she gazed up toward him. "So they may not harm what truly matters." To evolve in order to survive was merely the natural order of life, whether it required one to grow wary or to surround themselves with armour remained only necessary, for dormancy would result in one's demise.

The promise of reprecussions to those who dare to deny her, forced the softness within her to harden gradually, they were the words of a sith--and from the way he spoke and had spoken before, they were not the words of a sith without prestige. . . without the tools to back up his claim. So it made her wonder, what role did he hold within the Galaxy (within the Covenant-controlled Core) that made him the authority to grant her (a Jedi) safe passage? It must merely be his connections, or at the very least, that remained the preferable justification. . . did it not? Though Lys undeniably possessed a silver tongue, and thus she could not help but wonder whether it truly originated from that alone. . . could it?

"The Prince of the Core and what, the Princess of Zardossa Stix?" It was more of an innocent tease, though the thought buzzed a light delight within her heart as her eyes did not withdraw from the sharp lines of his visage. The idea of stepping away from the dusty ruins for once to visit the planet he now spoke fondly of thrilled her, it would be a most gracious offer. . . And it lay in his eyes, lingering unspoken within the twinkle upon the green. "It would delight me to stray from ancient temples, to... to be with you for a handful of days, if you would permit it." Her lips pressed together briefly thereafter, a flicker of hesitation and embarrassed anticipation washing over her features.

The gentle caress upon her cheek chased away the ill-shaped signs of embarrassment from her features, leaving her only to bear witness to his words, as if they were the only thing that still mattered here and now. . . or perhaps here and ever. His bold declaration that his soul had chosen another meaning of the blue rose echoed persitently within her mind. Oh, how she wanted to believe it could be true, and yet. . . how could she? Yes, his presence alone made her heart race and freeze and her thoughts turn a mess and... foolish, but love was not a word she granted without further thought anymore. Perhaps it was not blue that would gain prominence within her heart, but instead the bright red of a bashful yet true love; only the fates might yet decide what blossoms from the bulb. And after his sudden withdrawal moons ago, she was hesitant to nurture it once again.

His face remained inches from his--close enough that his warm breath brushed against her skin with every passing moment. . . "Lys," No other word seemed to bloom within her thoughtscape, for it was only he that mattered and he who remained. The boy who once left her blushing at every remark upon Naboo, and the boy who had shattered a fragment of her heart with his departure. . . He was everything, and nothing at all. And still, she wished it no longer remained that way; her heart longed for him to be in her life once more, despite the shadows and the prophecy that now clung to him. Isobel bit her lip in contemplation, before halting her attempt, only to bridge the gap between them; pressing her lips to his cheek in an awkward and entirely unpractised kiss. Her nose nigh on bumping against his cheekbone in the act.