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Steps Taken Forward, Then Sleepwalking Back Again...

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
Rudrig

A Dark God descended upon the lush paradise of Rudrig. Death, however, did not follow in his wake. Between getting things prepared for the Grand Moff's Inaugural Tour and other projects he had going on in the First Order Navy, the Fleet Admiral took some much needed shore time. His meeting with Sila still replaying in his head over and over.

Her words resting upon his soul like hot coals.

Pulling a cigarette out of his slacks, he sparked it up, dusting off his white Polo. A pair of sunglasses covered yellow eyes. He had sent [member="Dissero"] a message, alerting him of his arrival. He asked his son if he'd meet him in a local tavern. It was a bit presumptuous to just walk into his house. So a neutral location was selected.

Avicus' Apology Tour Part Two as he walked to the bar. He just hoped it would go better than what it did with Sila. He doubted it would, but the longer he waited, the more difficult making amends would become. It was time for him to right the wrongs of his past. The Sith Lord ordered a stiff drink, finding a quiet table in the back where he could smoke and drink in peace.

And where he and his son could converse without interruption.
 
Rudrig​
The Pressed Page Inn
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Though Rudrig prided itself in being one of the very few fully modernized planets of education in the galaxy, it was safe to say that there still remained various sections of the planet-spanning Academy that were historical. It was one filled with antiquituus buildings steeped in ages of history - a realm within which Dissero had often lost himself to.

Dissero had become accustomed to the labyrinth-like passage ways now. He'd signed on to fulfill the role of a Professor within the Institute of Rudrig, teaching classes on Galactic Historical Artifacts and Antiquities. This sector had become his new stomping grounds, suffice to say, so on the whim of receiving the letter from [member="Avicus DuSang"] this was where he chose to stage their rendez-vous.

The Pressed Page Inn was, shockingly, an historical inn. One of the rare gems saved from renovations and demolition for its particular clout within the Academy. In the infantile years of the institute's foundations many a great mind had met here, in this very Inn, to converse and discuss the paths they might take, the challenges they faced in a galaxy filled with war, and how best to prosper as an institute and nourish the minds of their young students. He wished he had the skills of his sister at times, to come and meditate and see the ages of time within the Inn pass by as though they were happening today. Sadly, Flow Walking was not part of his repertoire.

He stepped in only a short while following the arrival of the man he ought to call father but never truly had the chance. It wasn't difficult to track Avicus - he had a penchant for announcing himself through his Force presence. Dissero, on the other hand, found it prudent to quiet his own. Would anyone ask after him he'd simply divest to being polite. Rudrig was not a planet for students of the Force, but students of the mind. It was for this very reason he'd chosen the place as his new home, his own history here notwithstanding.

They weren't aware of that part anyway.

With the new home still in the various stages of renovation, decoration and construction and with it being the weekend, the named Prince of Kuat and son of the apparent Dark God strode in as a casual affair. His clothing was of nothing impressive; it showed years of wear through his many escapades across the stars and also it showed the signs of his work on the home. Sawdust, in particular, clung to the outside of his jacket sleeves and the tail hem. He spied Avicus with no trouble at all and - after a brief pause - moved to join the man in the far back corner.

Dissero had never much been very good at hiding his own emotions, it wasn't a skill he'd picked up from his mother, and so the vague air of apprehension to what the future of this meeting might hold likely showed on his face.

"Avicus," he greeted the man and extended a hand forward in offer of a shake, beneath faintly furrowed brows he also offered a good-natured expression, "thank you for coming."
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
Yellow eyes fell on [member="Dissero"] and the Sith Lord froze. A man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, he suddenly went cold. Going back behind his walls. His thoughts traveled back centuries ago, when his son became another victim of the Gulag Plague. As did the rest of his children. Their deaths taking pieces of him with them. Though his face, and even aura were stoic, inside he wept.

The Professor called his name, snapping him back into reality. He realized that he had failed Dissero for a second time. He stood firm, hand outstretched as he shook it firmly. "Merovign..." He pulled the boy in, wrapping him in a tight hug. He knew the gesture would probably go unreciprocated, but he could care less. He couldn't help but chuckle to the remark. "No... Thank you for seeing me."

He took a deep breath, the smell of sawdust creeping into his nostrils. It was good to see him. "My handsome son." he whispered, releasing the man as he gave his arm a light squeeze. His drink levitated to his hand as he took a long sip, the liquor burning his throat, warming him from the inside. He let out a satisfied exhale, sitting down as he motioned for Merovign to take the chair across the table. "Would you like a drink?"

He picked up the cigarette from the ashtray, taking a long drag. He prepared himself, trying to find the words to say. But it eluded him, so he just spoke from the heart. "I missed out on so much, and you have no idea how much I regret that. It's something I never want you to feel. For anyone to feel. I don't want to make this about me. It's about you. So, for what it's worth, I'm sorry." He took another long drag off of the cigarette, finishing his drink as he waved the empty glass to signal a refill.

"Quite the lovely spot you've picked. It reminds me of the King's Head on Coruscant." Yellow eyes drifted around the Inn as they moved back to his son. "Your mother tells me that you're to be married. And your fiancee is with child. Congratulations. I hope your blossoming family brings you a lifetime of happiness and fulfillment." he mused with a sincere smirk.
 
There was a twinge of discomfort at the intimate use of his private name. There was...so little history between them that hearing it spoken by the man made him feel slightly ill. He had to remind himself that this man was his father. His blood father, and despite the near non-existence of a past together he was still his progenitor nevertheless. In a way Avicus must have earned the use of the name from his mother. Certainly she would not have allowed it otherwise.

The hug was far less destabilizing than the name. Eyes gone slightly wide at the gesture, he returned it with a fair less amount of intensity. Merovign gently cleared his throat, an awkward smile on his face at the compliment as he was release. He itched at his head and took a glance around; Lesmertta the Hostess waved to him from behind the bar.

"Hello Professor Darke, your usual?"

"Ah, that would be fine, thank you Lesa."

The warm smile turned back to Avicus, blue eyes settling upon the smoke and the alcohol and visibly falling. Mero took the seat across from Avicus and stole a moment to look the man over. There were vague, fleeting memories of him from an otherwise full and harrowing life thus far. He'd not grown up with Avicus as his father but instead a Kuatian noble man named Salvador Darke. Merovign could only assume that Salvador's marriage to his mother had much to do with Avicus' scarcity in his younger years. As a matter of fact he hadn't even learned that Salvador was not his actual father until after the man's death when he turned 12.

Merovign always suspected that Salvador had never liked him - not that he'd been a miserable man. But Merovign looked nothing like the tall, lean, blond-haired-brown-eyed man of Kuat. Lorelei had sold their son's curious divergence in appearance to her own heritage.

He's a spitting image of my father, she'd said during a dinner at the palace one evening, look here; doesn't he look just like him? I do miss that man...died when I was quite young.

Salvador bought it with a pittance of fatherly duty, but he'd never been particularly loving so far as Mero could recall, they'd been about as close as Kuat proper to the shipyards...which was to say not very close at all. No one had questioned her further nor had been the wiser. No one ever questioned the Sovereign.

He fixed Avicus with a frowning-smile, wane in its intent to be understanding, "I appreciate the gesture," he replied calmly, glancing up with a thank you as Lesmertta served him a mug of steaming tea and a small flask of honey, "it ... " the desire to comment on a story lost or missing in the history of Avicus and his mother was there but as the man continued speaking of Rudrig and decided better of it, "it's quiet here," he continued as he poured a healthy dose of honey into his tea, "'fraid I'm not familiar with Coruscant though. Never bothered with the planet if I didn't have to."

Metal stung earthenware as he stirred the contents of his mug slowly and lifted for a sip, a pointed glance at the mention of his blossoming family, "Thank you. As do I. I don't mean to waste it ... what I've worked so hard to earn back. Verie means everything to me."

He set down the mug.

"I assume she told you about the wedding?"

[member="Avicus DuSang"]
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
The Fleet Admiral let out a sigh of relief. Atleast [member="Dissero"] was being cordial, listening to the man instead of throwing his words back in his face. His mind left the conversation he had with Merovign's mother as he studied his son. The man's thoughts moved to his childhood, Avicus' presence replaced with another man. A lifetime without a proper father figure, and it was of no one's fault but Avicus'. As his son stirred his tea, the Admiral's drink was refilled.

He snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray, pulling out another as he sparked it back up. Taking another long sip of his drink, he nodded. "Indeed she did. Said that you would be happy if I could make it. Told her I would be thrilled to attend. I had to pull a few strings to get the time off, but I'll be there. Your brother can accompany me, if the invitation extends to him. Though if it isn't, I completely understand. You two aren't that close."

Another fault of the Sith Lord. He took another sip of his drink, setting it down. "But tell me about you. About your intended. Your baby. Professor Darke, n'est-ce pas? Tres bien." he said with another smile.
 
He stopped abruptly, mid-sip, as the word brother was tossed into the conversation. Sputtering as he inhaled a mouthful of very hot tea, the man coughed as he set his mug down and wiped at the dribble on his front, "I'm sorry," the man choked, "what do you mean brother?"

[member="Avicus DuSang"]
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
Avicus paused, taking a drag off of his cigarette. "Did your mother not tell you about your brother?" Not that he could particularly blame her. Though, at the same time, Merovign knew who his father was, so why wasn't he told of Avicus' children? Exhaling the smoke from his nostrils, he let out a sigh.

"Viktor. Viktor Maurow-DuSang, current acting Earl of House Maurow. He's joined up with the Order of Ren within the First Order. Acting bodyguard of Grand Moff Fortan. I'm sorry. I assumed your mother told you about him."

[member="Dissero"]
 
Another cough, he tossed a rumpled napkin aside on the table.

"Fraid not," came the reply, "I am sure she neglected to tell me with the best of intentions. I, ah, was not aware you had other children..."

The family tree continued to expand. Perpetual branching, as his sister put it, it's what happens when none of us ever die. Five generations of Shamalains living side-by-side with all other networks of half-families stuck here and there. Merovign frowned, his brow furrowing somewhat in thought, "if he would like to attend I see no harm in it, though I cannot speak to it being the most opportune time to meet new family. I'm certain I'll be rather busy getting married."

[member="Avicus DuSang"]
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
"Then let's just focus on the wedding. Introductions can be made later."

He sipped his drink, taking another drag off of his cigarette. "So tell me about you, Merovign." he said with a smile.
 
Blue eyes flickered slightly at the name. Dissero gently cleared his throat again.

"Hell of a broad question..." the man leaned back in his seat, brows raising beneath the weight of his father's expectant gaze, "Professor Amadeus Darke would be the correct name here, in the public eye. Darke is the name the normal peoples of the galaxy know me as. I'd...prefer if you'd refrain from using my bloodname in public. It's not for others to know."

And it made him uncomfortable hearing it spoken so casually with so many ears around. It was not how he'd been raised to use the honored bloodname - something to be kept secret, only for family and significant others to know. But perhaps Avicus did not know these cultural laws the Shamalains lived by, or maybe he'd forgotten. He wasn't one of their kind, after all, so could not be expected to live by a law that was not his own.

[member="Avicus DuSang"]
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
A hand moved up to his forehead as he rubbed the small crease beneath his third eye. He sipped his drink until there was nothing left, putting the glass down. If there was one thing that Avicus truly enjoyed, it was being lectured on etiquette by a half-breed. He felt the sharpest of quips running up his throat, but he swallowed it back down.

Removing his fingers from his face, he made a quick twirling motion as black tendrils of the Force wrapped around the brain of the bartender as she stopped what she was doing. Dead eyed, she picked up the bottle of Brandy and walked over to the table. Setting it down, she slowly walked back behind the bar. A snap of his fingers and the spell was finished. She looked around, swearing she was just washing a glass.

Refilling his glass, yellow eyes moved back to his son. "So tell me, Professor, how does Academia serve you? Are you satisfied in your career? Where did you meet your intended? Your mother tells me she's a very passionate woman." He picked his brandy up, taking a small sip as he reached for his cigarette.

[member="Dissero"]
 
At the display and spell set upon the woman Dissero felt a grave frown take his expression. He sat, discomforted by what he was witnessing, and felt the strange weight of a dark and heavy onus settle firmly upon his shoulders. The man gently cleared his throat and took a small drink of his tea.

"It has served me very well my entire life," he replied, blue eyes casting off towards Lesmertta as she regained herself, "in more ways than one. I have taken many things from this galaxy for the sake of academia ... this new position is part of a revelation that has been imparted upon me to give back in order to keep the things that mean the most to me. Like Verie."

"We met on Kuat. In some ways we grew up alongside one another, parallel entities that caught brief glimpses of one another throughout our childhoods but did not converge until much later. She's the daughter of the woman who once ensured the Kuat Drive Yards ran as a well-oiled machine; Avadreia Lacroix."

[member="Avicus DuSang"]
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
As [member="Dissero"] mentioned the name of Avadreia, Avicus choked on his drink. That's a name he hadn't heard in quite some time. His memories drifted back centuries. To a time of rebellion of bloodshed. Merovign had assisted him, his son was a valuable asset. Truly, he had grown into a strong man.

The Gulag Plague took his children from him. He loathed himself for surviving. Why was he spared when his beloved children all passed? It wasn't fair. It should've been him. Yellow eyes traveled back to his son as he set his glass down. A lone, crimson tear slid down his cheek. "Sounds like you're doing well for yourself. I'm happy to hear it." he said, with a smile.

Wiping the tear from his cheek, he picked his glass back up, taking a long drink. Refilling the glass, his attention turned back to his son. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I would never expect you to. But, I'd like to make up for all the time that I've lost. I want to be there for you and your family in the future."
 
The sputtering drew his attention - the lines forming on his father's face. Dissero wasn't an empath by any means but he also wasn't completely incapable of seeing emotion in expression. A red tear was unexpected and also mildly unsettling, reminding him of his own deeply-seeded corruption. Were tears of blood a side effect of years spent saturated by the darkside? He could only wonder, but he knew for certain he'd never cried blood before where injuries weren't present.

His brow furrowed, Dissero nodded. A frown tugged at the bristle of his face as his eyes dropped back to his drink. For a moment he felt inclined to correct the man seated across from him and inform him that it wasn't forgiveness that he sought. At least not from him. For as long as he had been alive, Dissero had known no true father figure but he did not feel to be at a loss for this. If nothing else, he felt he had grown into a respectable man in spite of these things. He was certain he had his mother to thank for that but couldn't help the wondering of what, if anything, he'd inherited from the DuSang bloodline other than his black hair and notable affinity for all things darkside.

"I'd like that," the words came finally followed by another nod, blue eyes tipping up to look at the man, "I'm certain Verie will appreciate it too...once everything is settled. There's a lot going on right now with the baby on the way and the wedding coming up."

[member="Avicus DuSang"]
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
"Yes, of course. If there's anything I can do for the preparation for the wedding and the baby, please let me know." He took a drag off of the cigarette, snuffing it out into the ashtray. "I do hope that you and your bride-to-be enjoy my gift. Do I get to meet her before the wedding? I completely understand if you are both too busy for such a thing, of course." he said.

Sipping his brandy, he looked back to his son. "You might not have inherited the abilities of an empath, but I can tell you right now that you've got the DuSang passion. The way you feel for your intended and the child she carries. The unbridled passion that comes with l'amour. Notre passion est sans égal." It was his father's passion that lead to the murder of his mother.

It was Avicus' passion for his career that lead to him being such a neglectful father. Not just for Merovign, but for Viktor and Ophelia as well. In doing everything he could to not end up like his father, certain aspects of the man bled through into his life. His eyes drifted off as he thought back to the time he killed the man under the guidance of the Horseman of Death. Perhaps one day, one of his children would come to take his life.

[member="Dissero"]
 
"I'm not certain," Dissero sighed, looking weary for entirely different reasons now. The man lifted a hand to his head, pushing fingers back through thick locks of black, "she's nearing the end of her pregnancy and hasn't been feeling her best lately. It's a...delicate state of mind and body, to be sure."

He cleared his throat, casting a gaze about, "One of the few things growing up a Sith did not quite prepare me for...the wrath of a pregnant woman. I would sooner tell the late Empress Desmius that I'd lost her holocron than raise the ire of the soon-to-be mother of my first child. Perhaps it would be best to wait until after the birth. Once she's feeling better." A smile, meek and apologetic as it were, but a smile nevertheless. It did please him that Avicus seemed willing to be part of things. It was a good start, he felt, but the timing was just awkward. He did appreciate the notation on his passion - it was something he could certainly agree to being. Dissero was nothing without his passions.

"That high Coruscanti?" he said, brow raising at the fluent foreign language leaving his father's lips, "Fraid I never learned it. Amorella speaks it fluently, though, among several other languages. She's a bit more..." he drummed his fingers on the table, "proper, posh, whathaveyou. I never cared for the lifestyle much. Could never keep the expensive suits clean and in one piece."

[member="Avicus DuSang"]
 

Avicus DuSang

The Patron Saint of Heartache
A smile crept across his lips. A genuine smile. A sweet smile. "No. Nothing does really prepare you for it. I've found warm baths, foot rubs, and just giving into every incessant demand with a smile and prompt delivery works best. It's basically slavery, but the alternative is terrifying." He paused, taking a drink of his scotch. "I remember when your mother was pregnant with you, she..." Avicus paused, setting his drink down.

"Well, that's a different story for a different day, n'est-ce pas?"

Filling his glass, he nodded. "Yes, of course. That would be great. The three of you could come out to Coruscant. Meet your brother and sisters; Ophelia and Aria. I know it's a lot. This conversation in itself is just so very heavy. But, it would mean a lot if you could meet the family. As we'd all love to meet your family."

Taking a sip, he nodded. "Yes. I learned basic long after I was a boy. Coruscanti was the language spoken in our home when I was growing up. I could set you up with a terrific tutor. You'd be speaking Coruscanti in no time. When I was your age, the suits weren't for me either. Sleeveless shirts, khaki pants, and military boots. Suits don't hold up well in combat. The old outfits never constricted movement.

"Kept me mobile on the battlefield."

[member="Dissero"]
 
Amusement found its way into his expression and a good long chuckle followed his father's response, waning at the mention of his own pre-infancy. A brow raised, earnest curiosity. So little had been said of his life before what he could remember. Though he had spent much of his childhood under the pretense that he was, in fact, the son of Salvador Darke, he'd grown to suspect otherwise all on his own.

It wasn't until his 12th winter that he'd been told the truth. He remembered that day well; the hills of Darke Estate under a blanket of white. Salvador had come down with a strange illness and been bed ridden for months before he passed. His mother had taken to keeping him busy, away at lessons as usual. Dissero couldn't say exactly what had possessed his mother to drop the truth - he supposed that was the day she finally decided she was tire of waiting.

Or perhaps, as he had slowly come to believe, that had always been the plan and the timing had simply been something of purposeful convenience.

Dissero listened to [member="Avicus DuSang"] speak of meeting family and visiting Coruscant, learning Coruscanti--perhaps something else entirely had set that particular conversation in motion that day.

Fingers tapped the rim of his mug, the Waitress stopped by again to ask after any other orders. Dissero shook his head and called for the check, handing her his credit chit.

"That all sounds wonderful," he took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose, "oh, I suppose you'll be needing this." Handwritten invitations produced from jacket breast pocket, he passed it across the table to the man sitting opposite him, "Your...other children are welcome, of course. Just let me know if they plan to come and we'll add their names to the guest list."
 

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