The (Force) Dead Can't Testify

[Dirk Bannahan]

A world -somewhere within the jurisdiction of the mighty First Order; a city -rapidly industrializing as wealth and hope poured from the war-fraught systems coreward bound. Though the offensives had paused and patrols were thick there evolved a sort of quiet away from the front. As people moved towards the more aptly defended capital system money and resources poured into planets that previously did not enjoy such sudden growth of assets. This world was no different.

It was good to be off an assignment with some agency to do whatever one desired. Rae, prone to being a hermit, didn’t often imagine herself sitting in a restaurant with the common folk on a breezy day in the city. But here she was, sitting alone somewhere in the back of the establishment, reading a book while drinking cup after cup of highly stylized caf. It was a habit she picked up after spending time with Staff Officer [member="Ezra Klev"] during a recent operation. The Ren found the stimulant to paradoxically calm her nerves and the unnatural appetite which tended to accompany those stints of hungry panic. To her credit, she had never once lost control, though it was assumed this was due to the esoteric training of the order of the Ren itself. Admittedly, even she could not claim to know much about the secretive cult or their machinations.

This lack of knowledge wasn’t a source of discomfort for the somber looking girl.

Instead, Rae subtly paid attention to the Force Signatures of the other patrons, quietly touching upon their distinct presences with a mental touch as light as the very motes that floated in the sunlight. Everything was peaceful -contemplative- at least it was, until a certain person destroyed the gentle equilibrium.

[member="Persephone Alonna"]

 

[Persephone Alonna]

Persephonne never felt out of place. From the University of Avalonia campus, her home for the last half a decade, to the imposing offices of [member="Itash Mecetti"] , no matter when the half-Zeltron found herself, and easy-going comfort always followed. A small knapsack filled to the brim with scrolls, flimsies, and even the odd text or two rested on one shoulder, her gait slightly tilting to one side under the weight of her burden, the subtlest of changes in posture not easily noticed unless one was specifically looking for it.

Today was a day of rest, a day off from the week-long research project she’d agreed to embark on, a day she fully intended on spending exploring the bustle of a burgeoning industrial city, so drastically different from her normal base of operations. Long maroon hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, a few locks escaping the confines of the plait to blow in the light breeze that swept through the streets every so often.

The Golden Apple

It was the name that caught her attention first, a harsh neon sign engraved with stylistic apple shot through by an arrow, uncommon imagery that slowed the girl to a halt, her palm flush against the cool glass before she could stop herself. The quiet babble of conversation washed over her as Seph entered, the soft smile she always wore widening as the theme continued deep into the small café, other elements of ancient mythology scattered throughout the small room.

Enraptured as she was deciphering each small figurine, symbol, and holo-display, the half-Arkanian nearly stumbled into the small service droid buzzing from one table to the next, a crash of cups and plates falling to the ground rapidly followed up by a cacophony of angry beeps and clicks. A light pink tint rose to blanket her cheeks as she bent down a rush of apologies falling from her lips as she struggled to assist in the clean-up, only to be shooed away in a torrent of irate droid-speak.

”I’m sorry- I really didn’t mean- let me help with- Now that’s juts rude!”

An indignant huff as she re-settled the bag that threatened to tumble from its precarious perch against her shoulder, the girl turned to flash a smile at the rather unamused Chiss behind the small coffee bar, attempting to quickly regain her composure.

”Um- I’ll have a...tea, please. Um, black. House specialty?”

As he turned his back, presumably to prepare the requested beverage, a relieved sigh escaped her lips, the bustle behind her having died away quickly. Icy-blue eyes cast over the eclectic collection of tables and booths, searching for anywhere she could settle, finding twin violet orbs locked onto her own.

[member="Racosidae"]

 

[Dirk Bannahan]

Besieged by the infinite darkness trapped beneath those violet eyes, a massacre of thought occurred. First: a void. Emptiness drawn about the simplest of human questions; also known as the most basic question.

What?​

​

What is happening?​

Never had Rae encountered a vortex, opposite of life, just standing there like it was a girl. Was this a trick? An attack? It's true that the order of Ren tried their best to prepare their ranks for any channel that could oppose them or their Father, Supreme Leader. This, however, verged on absurdity. The diminutive Ren could recall training which regarded the hiding or submersion of Force presences and how to defeat those relying on such sleight focused abilities. Never was there a reference to this type of space. Visibly shaken, the gray skinned girl somehow paled to a more sickly sheen as sweat began to offer a cold, paralyzing trickle down the small of her back.

Without thinking, Rae’s hands moved up over the table and she instinctively reached out in the Force, working her powers over the patrons, touching upon their signatures and pricking into their minds to see into their surface thoughts. Except she couldn't touch the interloper. Try as she might to warp her might upon the skull it was like flexing a fist to grasp air. There was nothing to grab unto, and worse yet, it felt as though an abyss was sucking up her energy as she coasted outwards. To Rae, the room thrashed and warbled with Force power, enough to vibrate the fabric of physicality if one was trained to see such currents.

Nothing happened. ​

The other guests in the room might have felt a slight tremor of discomfort, a cold chill, or a sudden itch on the temple. Unsettled, Rae let her hands rest upon the table. Suddenly, she felt weak against the grain of the stars, contending with the unknown with no proper way to understand.

Unless…​

Rae did something very uncharacteristic: she waved the pinkish girl over to her table, indicating for the newcomer to take a seat.​

@Persephonne Alonna​