The Planets Bend Between Us

[Cryax Bane]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mP9nOtu3IU[/youtube]​

In reality, being Nejaa’s prisoner did not have the same allure that it had in Bane’s dreams. The entire time he had been on the Jedi’s ship, Cryax felt like a ghost, haunting Nejaa from afar only to find that when the boy raised his head, he looked right through the Chiss. Unless of course, he needed those nimble hands to slice something or repair something. It had been a long time since Cryax had tinkered around with a ship’s innards, but he managed to perform a few useful repairs to the Scimitar’s damaged shield generator, among a few other minor fixes. Once finished with the repairs, he outlived his usefulness, and Nejaa promptly made Cryax strip, and then shoved him in a ten-by-ten refresher cell. After he was cleaned and sprayed with a light mist of bacta, the cell was where the Chiss stayed, all but abandoned by the Jedi, who headed back to his cockpit. There was so much he wanted to say to Nejaa. His pride had finally evolved into humility, and a heartfelt apology lingered just shy of his lips. Bane banged his fist on the door of the container, but Nejaa didn’t return.

As grateful as he was that the Vong guts were misted clean from his body, the bacta shower did nothing for his internal wounds, which still roared with pain, eclipsing all other sensations. His stomach began to twist and writhe with hunger, and his throat felt as dry as sand. The cramped and claustrophobic cell had no seats or any other creature comforts within. Defeated, Cryax wilted down onto the floor, and sat with his head hanging between his knees, his blue-skinned fingers pinching his temple.

Who would even care if he rotted away in this cell? Who would miss him while he was gone? Maybe Jalek Sathora, but of course, his red-haired ex-boyfriend would assume that Cryax did not want to be found. Lorraei might be perplexed as to why Bane did not show up to their appointment, but the Chiss’ privacy was sacred, so chances were, no Holocalls would be made. His other lovers? Fat chance. Cryax did not have relationships with men that could be described as caring. His brother and sister were the most likely candidates, but just barely. The Chiss spent his entire life either pushing people away, or stealing what he could from them. He did anything he could to keep those around him from taking a peek behind the curtain. The only flower that grew in the darkness was the fact that there was no one around to see him in this sorry state.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Deep Space;
Cloaking Field;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

The pieces of Nejaa's mind lay scattered in shards akin to broken glass. Silence only disturbed him, made him feel useless, but he hated anything else. The Scimitar was therefore perfect, constant digital noises, constant upkeep on the hull's condition, various measures and system pings. That grumble of the engine which equates to silence until you really stop and listen; then you hear it. Behind closed eye lids lay quivering spheres. Dancing like in dream state though he was very much awake, struggling to maintain focus on exactly nothing. Clear your mind, he had always been told, open yourself to the force, let it speak to you. He was open to the force! He needed the force! Why was it not then coming to him!? For what seemed to be the fiftieth time, he shifted the position of his hands, one atop the other on his lap, reptilian fangs bearing down increasingly harder on his lip. Anger began to shade black with red and each deliberate buzzing noise from the ship's dashboard sharpened until more pointed than the needles of an interrogation droid.

There, ahead of him, displayed in near life form was a holo projection of Cryax's cell. Warped so that it took up most all of the cockpit, placing Nejaa in the scene from afar- across from the blue demon. But Nejaa did not look at him. Did not look at anything, only into the chaotic void of his own being. A jumbled and repetitively moving mass of tar colored clouds. Never still enough to be at peace, not like the Jedi had wished for him. Master Keba would have known how to train him, how to respect him as who he was. But they had cut him loose, let him fall, he was just an ordinary casualty to them. A number, a nameless master. Open palms constricted, curling in on themselves, tightening. How he wished a throat was in his grip, another arrogant councilor. Someone fragile so he could do it with just one hand.

He is here Nejaa, your darkness is here...
Use your darkness, boy, that is your weapon...
Bathe in this, Nejaa, for power will consume you...

Brows furrowed, pushed in on themselves. He could feel Bane there, hear him breathing. The wet sound of water. The thud of a black heart, separated by staggering gasps. The pain of his broken body. That was ice to Nejaa's burns, cooling and sobering. Nejaa's knuckles relaxed, his first breath without shaking overwhelming him. Fffffffffffffffff. Emotion poured through him now more than ever, unrestricted, mysterious and unfamiliar. Most Jedi would undergo any challenge to suppress themselves or squander who they were. Overcome any obstacle if it meant hiding from their natural feelings. God forbid you give in to the temptations and cravings of life, experience something so good it could become addicting.

Taste it, Nejaa...
Feel the power move through you...
The dark side, Nejaa, embrace it and you will live...

Another breath, and then again, they were becoming even, paced out. Monotonous. Tendrils of some other awareness began to sink like lactic acid into his muscles. Making him heavy, plaguing him with an oddly serene fatigue. Pins and needles covered his skin, a frown creased further then dispersed in slow motion. Without opening his eyes Nejaa glared at the holo-alien before him, used his dramatic sighs and exhales as a metronome. Focused on the discomfort Cryax must have been feeling as if it were his own. Peeling Bane apart and crawling inside that living body, sticking blue over his own and letting their thoughts find rhythm along one another. Until he too saw what Bane saw, felt the pull of an aching bone, cracked somewhere his mid section. The left side. Lax lips flexed, snarling at the ghost of his own creation.

He saw...
He saw...
He saw Cryax standing there. Alone, younger- small. In the distance other children, nondescript faces meant not to leave an impression. A chunk of some gear, no, an old data pad. Outdated by todays standards or the standards of a few generations, actually. Junk in the hands of most.

He saw that boy grow up, a smile fall into neutrality, then again to a faceted scowl, aimed at the galaxy. Aimed at himself. That sith, the woman, Matsu. [member="Matsu Xiangu"]! He saw her, too, the both of them. Standing surrounded in metals of various sources and makes. They were shaking one another's hands, but it wasn't formal... both of them were smiling.

Someone else, someone else entirely. A blue blade, Torin. Never alone, always shrouded in the ever present stench of the order. An apprentice to something he was taught never to understand, stranded, desperate looking. Like he was looking for something... or someone... looking right at Nejaa without seeing hi-- wait. Could he see him? He cou--!!

NeJAa LoOK OuT--!! NeJAa LoOK OuT--!!
NeJAa LoOK OuT--!! NeJAa LoOK OuT--!!
NeJAa LoOK OuT--!!
NeJAa LoOK OuT--!!
NeJAa LoOK OuT--!!

Torin had reached out, one hand hoping to find its way towards Nejaa- but the images blasted into ashen illusion as a blue blade pierced through Nejaa's chest. Sizzled and spat like grease on a pan heated to too high a temperature. Until he fell forward, catching himself for a hold which lasted only a few seconds. A deafening crunch of metal, and he shook. Him, on his knees before that woman. Her claws wrapping round his neck, eyes boring holes into him. All the while a screaming which had seemed tolerable before now split his ears, melted him out from the inside. Hands gripped at him, Torin's, those of the order, Cryax's.

"Guhhaahh!"

Nejaa's arms nearly punched his own chest, shattered eyes wide in horror of what he had just seen. Before him, unchanged, the alien still lingered about in a perpetual loneliness. Even when Nejaa almost choked, scrambling to regain his position, his composure. It felt like a train had run head first into him, lungs stinging in starvation, begging for more air than Nejaa could provide in one heave, or ten.

"We... we... what's..."

Like words from a mad man, followed by an intoxicated shamble and war for balance in the attempt of standing. Even while the cockpit's flooring was unmoving, he swayed back and forth as if in the water, clumsy arms aiming to remove the room's holo-projection. But he'd never make it there. Not before everything stopped all at once, throwing him into the array of terminals hard enough to knock him unconscious- only avoiding such a fate out of good fortune and a quick reflex. Stars which had stretched round them before cut from streaks to dots and everything lurched.

No vessel was meant to be sucked from hyperspace, nor taken out of it in any fashion beyond a proper digression. There was nothing... proper about this, creaking moans accompanying a red, beeping alarm which rang on not one, but three holo-interfaces. Climbing back onto weak legs and coughing, Nejaa nursed his side, moving with the projected Bane who no doubt also felt their rapid descent from such speeds.

It jerked again, everything, collapsing the ground under him for the last time and shooting him like laundry against the pilot's swinging seat. He couldn't see anything happening around them, no blaster fire when that's what it seemed like. No enemy craft, nothing on the radar. Each coupled warning or alert carried news of a new malfunction, a long list of system check failures beginning to compile on a touch screen under it all. His first thought was Cryax... what had he done!?

"Frack..."

 

[Cryax Bane]

The solitude of Bane’s cell was more torturous than any physical pain Nejaa could bring him. The isolation felt empty, like the regions of Unknown Space. It felt infinite. If the Chiss slicer tried to fill the silence with thoughts, they always twisted and turned down winding corridors he regretted taking, like a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake. His torture on the Omen. The Yorik Kul in his brain. His enthrallment of Kaine Zambrano. The death of Lysle Rigger and the murder of all of those innocent citizens on Makeb. These were the events that formed the clay that had shaped him into a golem of destruction.

Bane’s mood soon mutated from despondent to bored. He was tired of being stuck in his own head, with bad memories and reminders of his failures. Bane gave himself tasks. He poked at his bruises, chewed his cuticles, whistled, tried to patch together the wires of his malfunctioning cyberleg with his bare hands. He did things the things you did when you didn’t think anyone was watching. Cryax halfheartedly looked for a way out of his cell, reflecting on the crushed metal of the docking bay’s blast doors after Nejaa had ripped them open. If he were a Force user, he would be free by now. What a load of utter crap this Force business was. It was as if there was a genetic lottery, and you either won or lost.

Soon, his body began to succumb to a dull fatigue, and the Chiss lowered himself to the refresher cell’s cool floor. He lay there, listening to the groans and murmurs of the Scimitar. The noises it made were like a language that he didn't understand, yet it sounded beautiful nonetheless. Just as the crooning of the Scimitar’s engine began to lull Cryax to sleep, he was roused awake by a sharp rumble. In the next moment, the Chiss was tossed head over heels against the cell wall. Kteh! What the frell was happening? The ship began to pitch and lurch in an alarming manner. No no no no no. They couldn’t be crashing, could they? Another dip and he tumbled to the opposite side of the cell. The ship’s distress signals began to whoop and shriek as it rushed down. The air became thin and hard to breathe, no doubt from the pressure of their descent. Cryax wondered if it was something that he himself had done during the ship’s repairs. Perhaps, in his haste to prove himself useful, he broke more things than he fixed. That would be the most exquisite poetic justice, wouldn’t it?

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Deep Space;
Cloaking Field;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

"Blasted filth."

Nejaa's fists slammed into the dashboard once more, more so out of frustration and concern than in an effort to break anything. As such, everything remained in tact. Proximity alerts spun through each monitor, damage calculations and engine failures, as if their craft had merely ceased functionality- ion drives were burnt, the hull had taken further damage from their barely graceful descent from hyperspace and there was a rattling which overtook most other auditory senses. He only wanted to blame the chiss, though he had been watching that alien captive while he worked. If he had still managed to slip in his tricks, then the blame would befall Nejaa and Nejaa alone. He hated that line of though, biting his bottom lip and spitting some odd hissing noise. Another rumble, as if something had smashed against their starboard side. He moved as quickly as he could, reviewing any and all information the screens could give him in such a short amount of time. Their coordinates-- his, his coordinates had been cleared from the systems. No, the systems had been cleared actually, most of the information spritzing around in static chaos.

"Gravitational stabilizers malfunctioning... how... what!?"

He was no expert in these matters, more so a victim to any mishaps to unfold than an active hand in fixing the problem. Another violent outburst of anger and Nejaa cursed the galaxy; this would be the one time, the only time, where Torin's apparent expertise would be put to proper use. "Gaahhfrackit!" Just let me win, dammit, just fecking let me win. With a repulse of his body, a now crimson cut scowl laying plastered against already formed wrinkles of mind set anger, Nejaa flew from the cockpit. It could be counted in seconds, the time it took to reach Cryax Bane's cell door. He needn't bother wasting time with any code for fear of breaking his indomitable momentum. His hand clenched, flexed, and tugged at the hatch until it ripped open and into its invisible place inside the adjacent walling. There, in some pathetic pile, was that blue devil he detested.

"You--!!"

Nothing more, right hand falling and gripping at the chiss' neck through the force, screaming through his mind at the fowl alien. He didn't bother being gentle, punching Cryax against the back wall and instantly closing the space of his throat as he had found himself fond of doing. That choking, gagging noise sounded so perfect coming from this sloppy bile of an organic life form. If only there was some way to permanently fixate some kind destructive blockage there so he needn't concentrate to make this sorry thing suffer.

"Rear engines are failing, ion drives burnt from over exposure..."

He didn't move, looming in the open doorway, letting the force lay hands on Cryax so that he didn't have to feel anything himself. Or pollute his own skin with that of his opposite's. He meant to continue, beginning with "the coordinates are cleared from the system and we're getting proximity aler--" the youth's cruel tone was eliminated, instead replaced by not one but two large crashing thuds. Something large, something against smashing against them from the outside, and both of them capable of knocking Nejaa from his cautionary perch. The fragile frame of his ship groaned under the beating, dark jedi dropping Cryax back onto the ground from whence he came and stumbling out against the back wall.

"WHAT ARE THOSE PROXIMITY ALERTS!? WHAT DID YOU DO, BANE!?"

What's hitting us...?
What was happening...?

 

[Cryax Bane]

Whatever was happening to the Scimitar was bad. As the entire starship shook, its hull rattling like cymbals, Cryax’s physical state oscillated between weightless floating and being hurled at high speeds towards the walls of the refresher cell. He suddenly felt lucky that there wasn’t anything with him in the cell, because even the smallest of objects, a fork, a package of rations, would become a dangerous projectile at this velocity. His breathing felt pained as the cell lost more pressure, and his eardrums began to pop uncomfortably. Soon, the Scimitar made horrific noises, like a gargantuan beast in pain, and as it rapidly descended, Cryax half-expected to see the metallic monster rip apart, cleaved by the atmosphere itself.

Suddenly, Cryax’s head whipped around at the sound of movement at the door to his cell, and there stood Nejaa, a ball of obvious rage, ripping open the door with his bare hands, as if punching a code into a security terminal was not a dramatic enough entrance. The Chiss began to struggle to his feet, but before he could even stand, he was pulled up by an invisible hand and slammed against the wall of the cell. The hand began to slowly close around his throat, its grip tightening around his windpipe like a jungle snake. Cryax began to choke and sputter. Almost close to tears, he held his gaze steady on Nejaa who stood in the doorway glowering. The Jedi began to hiss at the Chiss.

"Rear engines are failing, ion drives burnt from over exposure..."

Cryax, fingers dug into his throat in a futile attempt to pry off the phantom grip, tried to shake his head to indicate his innocence in the matter of the falling ship, but it was obvious that Nejaa wasn’t buying it. The Chiss hacked and gasped for air as Nejaa began to sneer more accusations from afar.

"The coordinates are cleared from the system and we're getting proximity aler--"

Two huge thuds and the ship pitched again, breaking Nejaa’s hold on Cryax, sending the Chiss crumpling down to the floor on his knees, and hurling the Jedi backwards. Breaths came in painfully ragged gulps. Precious air seemed to be maddeningly just out of reach. A few more large croaks and his lungs finally felt sufficiently filled, enough to rise to a weak standing position.

"WHAT ARE THOSE PROXIMITY ALERTS!? WHAT DID YOU DO, BANE!?"

Cryax almost launched himself at Nejaa in a blind rage, but instead, he flew from his cell, desperate for his freedom. Why was Nejaa standing here Force choking him when they could be climbing into escape pods and avoiding a fiery death? He felt like Captain Obvious for thinking it, but they had to get the hell off of the dying behemoth before it shattered into pieces and flung their dead bodies into a starry grave.

“Ebeucot vn'ini!” Bane screamed, slipping into Cheuhn. “Who’s flying the fething ship, Nejaa?” The Chiss stared at Nejaa in utter disbelief, his orb-like eyes flashing blood red. Then he suddenly stepped closer and seized the handsome, but exasperating Jedi by the arm.

“Don’t answer that. Escape pods. Now.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Deep Space;
Cloaking Field;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

Gee, wouldn't that be nice.

"Th-There aren't any-- get'cherhands off me!"

Nejaa gripped Bane's wrists with a iron clamp, the ferocity of his face dampened only by the severity of their situation. Another thud, and four or five instant echoes crashed against them, shaking and crumbling Nejaa's further attempts to stand of his own accord. "And we'renot abandoning ship-" obviously, "get off me." Flailing until he finally found himself on his own two feet, Nejaa was forced to take a stance which bent him at the knee, rocking back and forth as the flooring under him cringed and dipped. Curls of anger burnt him like an open stove's eye, steaming shoots of air blasting from flared nostrils. He didn't like being corrected by his own captive, nor told what to do.

Between the two there was a moment of disarray, where the chain of command was questioned. But only for a moment. And in that time, Nejaa had come to terms with Cryax being right. They did need to pilot their craft if they had any hope of surviving the next couple minutes. "Move," Nejaa shouted in command, as if Bane's idea had been his. As if he had only come to collect Cryax for aid and it was the chiss who was now delaying things. Another, new alarm began to penetrate the cramped dome room full of holding cells, a second sound emitter originating from up and in the pitot's pit.

"Move, movemovemove!"

He didn't wait, instead pushing past Cryax in a forceful attempt to toss him against the nearly adjacent wall with his eyes alone. Nejaa nearly regretting coming back into the blaring red lights and blinking numbers or animated distress signals. But it wasn't until he looked through the slender viewports that he all-at-once forgot how to breathe. Rocks, moving walls of mineral floated around them, some of the obstacles larger than their scimitar- luck having saved them surely dozens of times over already. And yet, those came second to what lay just beyond them. Massive, so large in fact it seemed to emanate a pressure and noise of itself. Stretching in a sphere which bent elastically far beyond the line of Nejaa's vision was a the circumference of a planet's edge. A blue planet, shrouded in gasses and vapors, almost misty and illuminated.

"G-Get to the guns, shoot anything you can-- assembling auto turrets now--"

Crkkckkmmmbllbblckkk!!

 

[Cryax Bane]

"Th-There aren't any-- get'cherhands off me!"

Narrowed red eyes blinked several times. Cryax was completely astounded that there were no escape pods built into the Scimitar. What kind of death wish did these Sith pilots have? He felt a hand squeeze his wrist like a vice. Annoyed, Bane spat out a stream of Cheuhn curse words at the boy.

"get off me."

He returned the complaint with a glare. Cryax was beginning to tire of Nejaa’s brattiness, especially since all the Chiss was trying to do was help save his karking life. Both of their karking lives. Another lurch to the side, and Bane heart leapt into his throat. The naked Chiss and the clothed Jedi both reached out to secure their footing as the Scimitar jounced through space. Nejaa, his nose wrinkled in anger, shouted, “MOVE!” Then, Cryax got an eyeful of an angry and vicious glare as Nejaa shoved him out of the way, returning to who knew where. Bane heard the Jedi’s faintly accented voice from the cockpit.

"G-Get to the guns, shoot anything you can-- assembling auto turrets now--"

Cryax dutifully followed Nejaa’s orders. He had to if he wanted to survive. The boy was much more familiar with the inner workings of the Scimitar, and Stygium crystal technology was far beyond the Chiss’ mechanical expertise. He swallowed his pride and began to reluctantly search for the ship’s laser cannons.

Cryax had never fired a starship’s guns before. He had fired a slug thrower from the back of a moving Czerka bike once. It couldn’t be too far off from that, right? As he slid into the turret, wincing from the pain of his presumably broken rib, he realized: yes, yes it could. His glowing red eyes quickly examined the system. Nejaa had said the guns were auto turrets, so it was probably just a matter of finding the right targeting computer. After a few tense moments of trial and error, he found it, and to his relief, it wasn’t difficult to figure out. The screen of the targeting computer was a ring of static blue lines, with amorphous yellow shapes, floating haphazardly around the middle. When the red, blinking cross hairs appeared in field of blue, and the accompanying pinging sound reached a crescendo Cryax fired. Bane began to triumphantly score direct hits on the asteroids in the Scimitar’s path. Not so useless now, am I Mr. Niynx?

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Unknown Space;
Unknown Planet;
Atmosphere;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

Whites, and colors he'd never really seen before stretched around the blast shielded view ports. Hissing, like something was leaking gasses and pressurized air, and roaring as heat began to generate a red tinge throughout whatever they could see. They had fallen through the asteroid field, making the most of their precious and weakened shield generators for what little time they lasted- now everything was rushed. Although less violently, the whole ship shook in trembles as it pushed through the first layers of atmosphere. For a moment, in between the chaos and technical commands, both aliens had just remained silent, trying to look through the air and into whatever world they had stumbled upon. A moment where neither of them had anything to say, no emotion beyond curious desperation, were they going to survive the next few seconds.

"Atmosphere's heating us up... shifting all power to forward shield generators."

For once, and unexpectedly, Nejaa was decidedly calm. He was already in the act of cheating death, and, while Nejaa might like to describe it as a cool logical head, it was in fact merely the second stage of shock. Years of reflexive habit teaching him to reach out with the force in one's most dire moments, to let it bind you in a cocoon, whisper to you its secrets-- but he never felt any of that. Only pretended it, acted it out until it became a self triggered defense mechanism. A blue field of energy began to lace round the front of the Scimitar, veiling it in a relatively resistant edge. Although, not nearly enough to defend against the inevitable heat, red hot metal coating the outside of their shell. Sweat began to just about dump itself from each pore lining Nejaa's body- a clean sweat, making his skin glint with a particular, golden sheen. So much so that he tugged passively at the loose V'd collar of his new, more put together attire.

"An'... thrusters got hit pretty bad... no ion drives..."










Fear, a distant, unwanted feeling began to seep into his veins.










Crave your cravings, Nejaa...
Give in to darkness, Nejaa, let yourself bind to power...
You are power, Nejaa, use it...

 

[Cryax Bane]

Once the asteroid storm passed, the Scimitar drifted peacefully through the black sweep of space. Relieved to be alive, Cryax gingerly climbed out of the turret, folding his arm around his aching ribs, air gushing out of his lungs in a grateful exhale. Nejaa had deserted him, which wasn’t such a bad thing. It left him time to poke around the Scimitar, looking for his clothes and a med kit. After a few minutes of frantically rifling through the ship’s cargo holds, Bane found some medical supplies. A few bacta patches were applied to his cuts, and a compression wrap was tied around his midsection. Force knew if it would actually help whatever he broke in there. To his frustration, his clothing had vanished, and there seemed to be no spare garments anywhere on the ship, not even a pressure suit. To make matters worse his, ARCs had not been able to connect to the Holonet since they left Kashyyyk. Bane let out a sigh, and then went looking for the capricious Jedi.

Poking his head into the cockpit, Bane saw Nejaa, talking to himself or perhaps his ship in the pilot’s seat. The boy did not even so much as glance up as crossed the room. A large blue planet had captivated Nejaa’s attention more profoundly. The Chiss was again a blue ghost, unseen and unheard. Silver linings, at least he wasn’t being Force choked.

“Nejaa,” Cryax started, eyeing the boy with a raised brow. He rubbed his blue-skinned chest self-consciously. “Where are my clothes?”

While waiting for an answer, Bane’s luminous red eyes drifted downwards to the ship’s radar, which was curiously full of black space. Wait. That planet. It wasn’t on the radar! What the hell. He looked back up to the viewport, expected it to be a mirage. No. The blue planet was still hanging ominously in front of them, growing larger by the minute as the Scimitar coasted towards it.

“That planet,” he said. “Doesn’t exist.”

He wasn’t sure if the boy even heard him.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Unknown Space;
Atmosphere;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

Flames enveloped them as if they were a meteor, falling from the sky in too rapid a descent to properly recover from. At least, not by the hands of two barely practiced pilots, inept to the strange theories and concepts of emergency landing techniques. Positioning the ship at certain degrees, righting various edges to catch resistance a particular way. Even in the chaos around him, as red, yellow, and an oddly mesmerizing purple flashed in alarm sequence, his body lay still in silence. Watching the screen as power was lost from the forward shielding, then, in turn, as the shields he could see grew more and more dim. Their energy source long since drained and damaged, leaking efficiency in the form of dripping fuel from the Scimitar's torn apart midriff. One would think air was, well, wasn't solid. Had no form, though he was reminded otherwise as some pockets smashed the ship against itself. Rumbling spare parts, tearing off chipped metal bits. Shields at twelve percent... eleven percent... ten percent...

“Nejaa!”

He didn't react at first, far too caught in his own lull, tinkering with mental mechanics he knew yet nothing about. Trying to, at least, failing to grip the precise principle behind total relaxation and openness. But that silence rebutted in an echo, tossing his name again in the form of Cryax's voice. He, he wasn't alone. “Where are my clothes?” Even so, he mentioned nothing, gave no indication of hearing the chiss. Even while he did, like speaking was some task he didn't have the time for- or yelling, which would be required in some manner to break atop the noise of their molten falling, creaking and groaning, snapping into chunks, shattering hissing ricocheting from the storage compartments below.

“That planet... doesn’t exist.”

"You're correct... and there's a dark presence looming... somewhere... I don't like it..."

Nejaa remained faced forward, surprisingly tranquil to Cryax's proximity, unaware that it was very well himself he was sensing. The disturbance he himself cast into the force's furious blade. Brought to life by something elsewhere, something illusive, something strong, pulling him towards the world. Bribing him, as if this was a gift long deserved, and Nejaa was entitled to it. He payed no attention to the naked body, nor did he seem to find tolerance for answering petty questions. If Cryax looked for long enough, he would see a few garments already laying out, simple yet supple enough. From Nejaa's own wardrobe, blacks and grays, though nothing quite as reminiscent of the Jedi as any one person might suspect. Black pants, of simple fabric and inlaid with numerous pockets down the sides. A holster, too, though no weapon to put into it, perhaps more so functioning as a belt. The shirt was long sleeved, thin material, hooded with long draw strings which fell down the chest. It's neck cut, like Nejaa's, was low, in a scoop unlike Nejaa's ruffled V collar.

Nejaa's own were the undergarments of a Jedi's robes. Stained black, pitch black, dramatic silks synching by thick belts around the waste. Sleeveless shirt with four layers, each displayed around the neck, overlaying one another. A good portion, therefore, of his chest was exposed, especially when he leaned forward; or raised his arms for that matter, the holes where sleeves would have been long and built to show muscled ribs. Simple pants with dark boots, hugging his leg tight until about half way to his knee, a complicated and laborious looking series of laces and ties, though not overly distracting in its final result.

 

[Cryax Bane]

Staring straight ahead, the Jedi finally spoke, giving Cryax an affirmation and a few muttered words about a “dark presence.” As if that would mean anything to the Chiss slicer. Nejaa seemed determined to speak as little as possible to Bane. He was sitting way too still, his breathing shallow as if inhaling the same air as the Chiss would taint him with some horrible disease. Bane finally peeled his eyes away from the boy, and when he did, he let them travel around the room. There was an outfit neatly arranged in an inconspicuous corner of the cockpit. Cryax found himself surprised that Nejaa even bothered to put some thought into his clothing. He rose from his seat and snatched up the garments, clutching them to his chest as if someone was going to take them away, and fled from the cockpit.

Once he was dressed, the Chiss felt a bit more like himself. The fabrics were warm and clean against his battered body and they fit like they were tailored just for his build. He finger-brushed his hair and returned to the cockpit. Nejaa had not moved a muscle. As he flopped down in the co-pilot’s chair, Cryax frowned. The boy did not even a manage simple thank you for taking out all of those asteroids. So what if the laser canon was auto-targeting? He still pressed the karking fire button! Nejaa’s ungratefulness annoyed the Chiss.

The ship had begun to hurl itself towards the cerulean ball, and the scimitar was no longer drifting. It was being pulled down by the weight of the unknown planet’s gravitational forces. Unless there was something else tugging the ship downwards, those mysterious “dark forces,” Nejaa had mentioned. Either way it became clear that they were going to crash. And probably die. The thought made Cryax even angrier. What had happened? How had all of his plans gone so wrong? He lashed out at Nejaa, sneering.

“How are you going to land the ship, Nejaa?” he scoffed, his usual tenor now gruff with spite.

“The force?”

The Chiss let out a sharp, pained laugh. The clink of metal buckles could be heard as he strapped himself into the chair. Then, he put his head between his knees, lacing his fingers on top of his head, claiming the posture of someone bracing for an emergency landing.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Unknown Space;
Atmosphere;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

He felt it first just above the left eyebrow, a subtle tug of irritated muscles. Then something much more intentional. In a howl of anger, Nejaa's fist clamped and he swung his arm backward in a sloppy sling. It'd pick up and throw Cryax harshly against the contorted cockpit walling, much harder than needed what with Bane's pre-existing injuries. "You will be silent, creature." Cryax would fall back onto stretched bedding pad, now ruffled in a thrown about cover from a night without sleep. He took pleasure in the noise of cracking bone and skin against shelves of blackened material, and the escape of breath from useless ribbing. His eyes glowed, the bottom end of a fire's fume.

"Understand your place, or I will force that understanding upon you myself."

Nejaa's tone was seething, no doubt bearing teeth and curved with curling lips. Before he could properly answer, another thudding blast of the air's wall smashed into their front end, washing the flames which enveloped them away to reveal whatever it was which lay below them. Whatever world they had quite literally fallen into, a roughly colored and battered array of shapes and muddles textured lining the ground level. Nejaa's breath sucked in, and he stored whatever anger had previously controlled him.

"I'll use what's left of the thrusters to soften our fall... if they ignite."

As he spoke, he did, punching in a few blatant commands and arranging the autopilot system. "Get up, we haven't much time." A last few bolts of his fingers then a punch from a hammerhead fist and Nejaa spun from the forward pilot's chair, already in a preconceived dash towards the cockpit's passenger lift. Fear, mixed in a cocktail of determination plagued his movements and left no mercy on his face. "If you value your life," Nejaa left whatever might conclude that thought hanging, and merely turned to be taken down to the lower level. The lift barely worked, shaking and almost dropping to the lower level, nearly enough to knock Nejaa from his feet. One of the many cells, the one farthest to the back of the craft, had been converted into something of a safety net. The closest thing he had to an escape pod, more of a sealed room forged from materials more durable even than the hull's exterior armor. Installed with five chairs, each fully equipped with a league of belts and attachments, a small crate and another nondescript box of plastoids strapped in place, and a single light at the room's upward most point.

 

[Cryax Bane]

As he stared down at the cockpit floor, Cryax heard a shout. With the force of a gale, the Chiss was suddenly and inexplicably thrown from the copilot’s seat, his restraints ripping away. He slammed into what seemed to be the clawdite’s sleeping area, possibly re-injuring his still healing tissue. Bane groaned and wrapped his arms around his midsection, and then rolled onto his side. There was a knot of hurt in his brow as he looked up to Nejaa from where he lay. His teeth were gritted with outrage, his blue fingers clenched into fists.

“Take it easy!” cried the Chiss. “If I bleed to death from internal injuries, you'll die too, remember?”

So much for being silent.

"Understand your place, or I will force that understanding upon you myself."

Bane growled and turned away, too enraged to even look at the clawdite. Ten different Cheunh curse words lay right on the tip of Cryax’s tongue. That little nerf header would not treat him like this. Yes, Cryax was a liar, a murderer, and one of the lowest types of criminals in the galaxy, but he would not let that Moactan Teel prettyboy strip him of his dignity or make him feel worthless. The Chiss already did a bang up job of that himself. He sure didn’t need any help from this little punk.

Before Cryax could let loose that torrent of curses, Nejaa was on the move again, ordering Bane to follow him. The Scimitar was going to hit land soon. Wonderful. Now Nejaa could ignore him on the ground instead of in the sky. Cryax moaned as he climbed to his feet, all of his senses reeling. He found that he was barely able to stand, but despite his pain, he did as instructed, trundling after the boy to the passenger’s lift.

Once they reached the lower level, Nejaa brought him to a small room with seats and assorted random supplies. Cryax did not strap himself into any of the chairs, even though they were most likely the safer choice. He wordlessly curled up in a ball in the corner of the room and looked at the wall. His only acknowledgement of the clawdite’s existence was a muttering under his breath.

“I should have murdered you when I had the chance, you impudent little monster.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Near Surface;
Unknown World;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

“I should have murdered you when I had the chance, you impudent little monster.”
"Perhaps-"

Nejaa quickly shot back, the product of quick wit and a predictive personality married in perfection to that end. Though, even with a hardened expression there was no way to vanish the pin needles of pain which impaled him from deeper inside. Where he was forced to actually consider Bane's words. Under the scrutiny of many others, Nejaa was sure his death would come as a much appreciated favor. Both the Jedi and Sith had conquered whatever he had yet left of a home, or a home world for that matter. Soon too his only possession, the Scimitar, would be crushed into broken bits by an impact he could do nothing to prevent. On a world, or in a system he had no clue how to identify. Even so, he would have to survive- that was at present his only available option. Many masters, and even some of the skilled knights were capable of projecting protective barriers, shields of the force, more than capable of deflecting blaster fire back onto enemies or stopping the blunt force of a kick. Nejaa had never payed much attention to such abilities and he was beginning to regret that lack of foresight.

"But you will live, Cryax."

His face looked the part of all three anger, annoyance, and pained. The creature's pathetic musing sent chills down Nejaa's spine, the way he shuffled himself into a corner, the way he just waited for death. Even as the ship ruptured and broke, shaking uncontrollably and jerking from one position to the next, the pest took such an insufferable defense. It was all Nejaa could do to keep himself from smashing and burning the alien with a magenta purple storm of lightning- but Bane had his peculiar curse already set, and now he was Nejaa's official weak link. Though he had just began to clamp his own buckles in place, Nejaa was forced to reverse his actions and slowly rise in a lip curled, body curled leer. If Cryax had not yet experienced the sting of fear, real fear, he might find it now. There was a glazed coldness in his eyes which hadn't been there before, less fire, and more a dying fire's reflection. Like he had fallen into an autopilot and didn't want to be held responsible for what he did next. Saving Cryax Bane.

Two fingers, his right index and pointer, flipped upward and the force answered. Though more gentle than before, he'd take claim of Cryax's body once more, manipulating it through the air like a rag doll and shoving it into one of the seats. Already there, Nejaa's hands had the first and second buckle snapped into place before the chiss would regain full control over his arms and legs; and the additional two more secured in less time than the previous. As if planned from the beginning and in one motion, Nejaa laced his fingers around Bane's neck and pulled himself closer. Still a whisper would not be heard over the tattered noises which beat until his ears were soar and left ringing. He needn't squeeze, or try and further harm the thing, both knew he could not be lethal and neither the extents of Nejaa's cruel mind.

"I will not let you perish so easily. If you insist on plaguing me, I ask that you at least look after your own fowl life."

Thrusting Cryax by the neck, Nejaa rose and fell back to secure his own safety belts. No sooner had the last belt clipped inaudibly into place than a deafening shredding noise overtook the both of them, so loud it hurt. The condensed space jerked horribly to the left then began to spin- had it hit something?! An odd smell began to permeate around them, something which didn't smell healthy, instead highly chemical. Engines primed, and he remembered the thrusters he had implanted into the autopilot's system. Then that smell might have been fuel- leaking fuel? Nejaa's stomach nearly shot up and into his throat as their falling momentum was temporarily thwarted, the slight rise of weak repulsers suspending them all too suddenly. Had he eaten much it would have come out then- but he hadn't the appetite to consume beyond but a few kuni crackers hours earlier.

The final crashing wail of bursting engines and a whiplash-worthy lurch to the side sent them spiraling. Nejaa choked on a scream which coulnd't ever fully develop, but he kept trying. Another popping burst of jet's flame giving them enough of a cushion to hammer head slam into something hard and stop altogether. Breaking glass, singed and sparking circuitry, and the dead silence of any once active systems. Even the central, red light of the room had flickered, grown dim, and nearly faded altogether. Cryax before him was more of a crimson shape than another sentient life form. His bones ached, bruises lining the strapped tight areas from where he had been dominated by gravity and chaos, thrown about in the sky in a large, metal, box. It took him an unordinary amount of time to realize he wasn't breathing, and when he did he burst out in an explosive exhale- he couldn't hear it. Not over the screaming roar of his own ears, a high pitched stab from both sides of his head which overruled any other noises which might try and force entry.

"Cryuhhh..."

He tried, more of a moan than a name.

"Cryax... look a' me..."

 

[Cryax Bane]

Almost like a reluctant phoenix, Cryax felt his body rise into the depressurized air of the cabin. Once again, Nejaa had hoisted him aloft with the energy from his seemingly unending well of power. This seemed to be the trend: If Cryax did not go where the boy wanted him to, he would be forcibly put there by Nejaa. If only Bane had been consulted about his new fate. Be that as it may, he didn't have to like it.

"Stop it! Put me down you little ravri'ihah!" he spat. "Or so help me, I will cut you open and finish the job I started back at the Morgue."

The Scimitar pitched and quaked with a roaring howl, the death knell of a beast about to meet its end. The safety straps moved over the Chiss' broken body, snapping him in place with a clink. With a firm grip on Cryax's neck, Nejaa came in so close that Bane could smell his sweat. The crime lord wanted to wrench away his gaze, but it was no use, his gleaming red eyes were locked on the boy's.

"I will not let you perish so easily. If you insist on plaguing me, I ask that you at least look after your own foul life."

Bane's heart radiated a pained rage. With each new injustice, Nejaa was transforming from the object of the Chiss' desire to the object of his hatred. In the event that they survived the crash, which seemed unlikely, Cryax was already planning a swift escape.

Those were the last few thoughts impressed on his brain as the Scimitar tumbled out of the cobalt blue ball's atmosphere and headed for land.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]