To A Flame

[Dutch]

Even in the setting sun, the grid of traffic which framed the no-fly zone around the Jedi Temple was as active as ever. The hum of various speeders buzzed in the evening sky was a backdrop to the only other sound; a booming voice in eulogy. In one of many outdoor gardens within the Temple’s grounds stood a gathering of Jedi. The majority were within their traditional garments, a sea of robes with the occasional formal getup you’d see the more diplomatic types wear. The boots Cooper Tallus wore were neither traditional nor formal, and they thudded just loud enough down the stone stairwell which descended into the garden to be heard. The Jedi cursed them under his breath, and shot a sheepish glance with his dark green eyes to a stately Master who stared.

He gave a small apologetic wave and a smaller, pained smile and chose to stop near the bottom; instead of continuing his loud, late and awkward arrival. The Seeker was suddenly highly aware of how inappropriate his garments were, from the grungy maroon duster to an obscenely comfortable Twi’licious Punch undershirt beneath. His stance rigid in respect and discomfort, Coop shrugged the coat to better cover the winking Lethan Lady shirt and clasped his hands in front of himself. The Jedi all remained silent, except for the Master of the Order who was wrapping up his eulogy for Master Seeker Ono Bono. Coop turned his gaze from the disapproving looks of his colleagues to the smoke behind them. The smoke which rose from his Jedi Master’s funeral pyre.

The stone was set in the traditional way, with the duros wrapped ceremoniously as every Jedi before him had for cremation. Tythonian lumber was stacked skillfully in a nest to cradle the elderly figure, a variety of treasures and keepsakes other mourners had left scattered about the foot of the square stone. A holostatue stood next to Master... Cooper frowned, realizing he couldn't recall the Miralukan's name. But he did know and recognize a smiling, younger version of Ono Bono in his prime; complete with the wide-brimmed straw hat which so many attributed to him and three fingered hand. The statue seemed to look right at Coop, and a single red eye slid with a wink before the three-fingered hand gave a thumbs up.

And his once padawan returned it.

[Ghostie]

This one duty, above all others, Orren Fyek detested most of all.

Meeting with dignitaries, politicians, and military leaders was tiring. Worrying about the logistical and security troubles the Jedi Order faced turned the final strands of the Miraluka’s auburn hair grey. And there was, always and ever, the Sith and their Empire to concern himself with. But funeral pyres for members of the Order who had become one with the Force had claimed their own spot among the stress that the Jedi Master faced. Orren would, forever and always, respect his fallen brethren. Especially when it was a friend such as the Duros Jedi Ono Bono. But funeral pyres were always sad, somber events. Jedi were taught to not mourn, to celebrate one’s life and be glad that they had joined the Force. But such teachings were sometimes hard to apply, even for a member of the Council.

Orren had attended more than his share of these events, during his time on the Council. And he thanked the War for that particular fact. But this was the first that felt particularly somber and glum for the Miraluka. Not only had Ono Bono been a great friend, but Orren felt alone now. As he cast a gaze across the pyre, which was just starting to catch fire and spark thanks to the wind that tore at his cloak and ushered away the small bout of rain which had just passed, he figured that he was. While several Jedi and a few others had turned out in order to send the Duros off with Respect, Orren stood alone on one side of the body, looking out into the crowd. Usually, the rest of the Council would be standing with him. But since the War had ended, there was hardly a Council to call upon. Only one more concern on the Miraluka’s mind. Smiling once more at Master Bono’s body as the flames finally engulfed the Duros’s blue skin, Orren inhaled, and finally spoke.

“Master Bono left clear instructions for me…” Orren started slowly, and somberly, capturing the small crowd’s attention. “... He didn’t want me to talk about ‘any of the celebrate because he’s one with the Force gumbo’...” Orren used the deceased Jedi Master’s words as his own, which couldn’t help but bring a smile to the Miraluka’s face. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. “ … or be silent while the flames were going. He wanted us to talk about our favorite memories. To be glad, and not reserved or sad.”

The Jedi Master paused for a short moment, and brought his one arm across his body to gently grip the empty sleeve of his cloak. Setting his face, he watched the crowd to see if anyone would speak first. When all of the presences and attention were still focused on him, Orren spoke. His words were soft, just loud enough to reach over the crackle of the fire, but not sharp enough to break anyone’s own, personal, quiet show of respect for the Jedi Master.

“Master Bono and I were not particularly close growing up. But I remember, when I was a new Jedi Master and almost ready to set out across the Galaxy and archive other Force-traditions for the Jedi, Ono was the first to encourage my travels. He gave me a copy of the best navigation charts he had, pointers on flying, and all sorts of things to help me on my way…” Orren paused, remembering how the Duros had been almost frantic about getting Orren ready for his adventures, and smiled smally once again. “... His help still didn’t prepare me for the real thing, and it wasn’t long before Ono was rescuing me from the Kathol Rift when I was going to visit the Aing-Tii. After he rescued me, Ono traveled with me further to see the Aing-Tii, and he was… Well… He was like an excited youngling, meeting and learning from them with me.”

For the last time, Orren paused in the middle of his reminiscing, and let the words and the small smile he held linger over the crowd. In that instant, he saw a new Force presence approach, a bit harried and a bit embarrassed, yet just as reserved and respectful as the rest of the mourners. When Gaeriel Krieg started to make her way over to the newcomer, Orren had to assume that this was Ono’s former apprentice, Cooper Tallus. The Miraluka was glad to see that he finally arrived, and did not mind his tardiness in the slightest.

“So that’s my best memory of Master Bono. He taught me how to, even as a Jedi Master, always approach new things with wonder and grace, and always be ready to learn. How to be a good student, even as we grew older.” Stopping for a moment, Orren scanned the crowd. “Would anyone else like to say something?”

---

Gaeriel had not known Master Ono Bono well. He seemed nice enough in passing, and they had conversed a few times on the finer points of starfighter combat, but their relationship was hardly enough to warrant inviting herself to the man’s funeral pyre. Yet in Gaeriel’s experience, showing up at such events was as much as to support the living, as it was to honor the dead. While she had barely known Master Bono, Gaeriel had been close friends with his apprentice, Cooper Tallus. And he was the reason that she had shown up, to support and reassure the man. Even the Jedi needed it, on occasion.

Once again, Gaeriel could speak from experience.

Yet, Cooper Tallus was nowhere to be seen. Drawing her dark cloak just a bit more tightly around her torso, Gaeriel tried to stave off the chilling wind that tugged at her loose blonde locks, and the last dregs of rain. From her position near the back of the crowd, she couldn’t see much because of her height. But the looping, tall hologram of Master Bono, winking at everyone and giving a very casual thumbs up, was still visible from the chest and upwards, hat and all. If Cooper decided to not show, Gaeriel would have to hunt him down, give the man a friendly-yet-stern berating, and then support him in his difficult time.

Apparently, Master Fyek had decided that the crowd had waited long enough, and started the pyre. Afterwards, he started to speak, and the very precise instructions that Master Bono had left for his own funeral brought a smile to Gaeriel’s lips. One of the things that she had always liked about Bono was his casual unconventionality. The Jedi Knight hoped that she could be just as cool and laid back in her old age as the Duros had been. Just as the Miraluka was finishing, however, and Gaeriel decided that since Cooper had not shown up, she would have to find an appropriate time to duck out of the event, she heard the loud footfalls of boots behind her.

Turning, the short blonde saw a tall man dressed in a long leather duster and a shirt with a design underneath, advertising some sort of fruity drink. Gaeriel simply stood with her mouth slightly agape at the sight of Cooper Tallus looking like he had just stepped off some sort of Outer Rim smuggling freighter. As he came closer, she finally found her jaw again, and suppressed a large grin as best as she could. Cooper was, it seemed, extremely like the man who had raised and trained him. It was only fitting he showed up looking as he did. Slowly and quietly making her way over to the man as he found a spot near the back of the crowd, Gaeriel whispered once she found her head by his shoulder.

“Master Fyek owes me twenty credits.” She stopped for a moment, letting Cooper realise she was talking to him, and letting the joke linger for a moment. “I said it would be your Twi’licious Punch shirt, but he figured you favored that grey one with 'Gear Shift' on it.”

Smiling up at Cooper, Gaeriel flooded her Force presence with as much reassurance and compassion as he could for her fellow Jedi Knight. He was ruggedly handsome, perhaps a bit more scruffy than she remembered with his red hair. Gaeriel had, at one point, thought him a bit dreamy. But that was years ago during the War. And just as time healed all wounds, so to did distance dull all heart throbs, and Gaeriel had long since gotten over her younger self’s feelings. Now, they were committed pen-pals, and good friends. She gripped his forearm tightly, and her voice took on a somber, subdued tone.

“Bono wouldn’t want you to grieve, Coop. Master Fyek was talking before you arrived about how he had left very specific instructions, and wanted people to share good, fond memories. Not be silent and all that stuff as the pyre goes.” She stopped for a moment, and added. “I’ll stand with you as long as you want.”

[Dutch]

“Gear Shift” is a quality holocast with a starship-savvy host, but everyone that really knows me, knows my devotion to the Lethan Lady.” Cooper whispered in reply with a warm smile for his friend as her presence wrapped into his, the familiar aura welcome. He didn’t yet turn to meet her eyes, using the High Councilor who had volunteered to speak next as an excuse to not look her way. While he tried to listen to the Councilor’s speech, all he could really hear was the rumble of nostalgia which rolled between his wing-mate and himself in the Force. It tasted of past camaraderie and adrenaline, smelled of fighter hangars and cheap booze on shore leave. The sound of victorious whoops and uniting cries at loss. His stomach sunk with the feel of his strike fighter being torpedoed, and Cooper’s shoulder tingled as the starboard engine ripped away into burning atmosphere. A swoop of panic as he ejected, and the feel of a tight collar cinching his throat shut. The Seeker flinched back to the funeral as Gaeriel gripped his arm and spoke, his jaw as visibly tight as the fist gripped and near jerked away from the blond.

Coop said nothing at first, but did look towards Gaeriel at last, his green eyes touched with apology as he adjusted to stand closer. He moved his free hand, clad in a finger-less leather flight glove, to rest on her much smaller one. The Jedi noted the tremor in that hand, certain she would too if he could feel it in the arm under her palm. Tallus recovered his breath, and sighed at length as he felt the tension in his body release.

“I know. Bono and I had a lil’ ‘Come to the Light Side’ chat before he passed. Well, I think so. It was a dream... vision, or something. Either way, we said our goodbyes, really just needed to see if the Order handled him right. Glad to see Master Fyek did good.” Cooper said softly in his spacer accent, his words hidden by the Councilor who still spoke over him. The Jedi shifted to allow his friend to be closer, mindfully taking his Healer’s advice for familiar contact, but now looking away from her and back to said Councilor.

“I’m glad you came, Gaer, really. But right now, all I’m thinking about are nerf ribs, or like a bronto burger. Basically food. Right now, all I want is some food, some Twi’licious Punch, and a little less attention.”

The Jedi answered honestly, a turn of his head and eyes towards the nearest path away showing his intent.

"You comin'?"

[Ghostie]

The ‘Whaledon Bistro and Pub’ was a usually active place, considering it was in an upscale neighborhood only a few blocks over and a few levels down from the Senatorial District. The blue neon sign and noisy atmosphere glimpsed through the wide windows that came radiating out at the pair of Jedi walking up towards the establishment left no question about how well business was doing. Relatively new in opening, at least since the end of the War with the Sith Empire, the ‘Whaledon’ was owned by a Herglic named Melchi. A veteran of the War and an extremely good cook, Melchi liked to keep his business on the quiet side, when it came to altercations. So when a human man came tumbling out of the front double glass doors, rolling side to side across the durasteel of the pedway, Gaeriel’s eyes went wide when she saw the massive purple hulk of Melchi himself come waddling out of the door, not far behind.

“N’ STAY OUT!” The Herglic boomed across the pedway, his one pale eye with it’s scar visible on Gaeriel’s side, it glared only down at the young man, narrowing on him and him alone. A few patrons watched from the wide windows and attached balcony, but they only looked on with interest, and not with any concern or worry.

“Ugggh… I’m totally going to give your place a bad review on my blog!” The young man groaned, his baggy hat a bit askew, and Gaeriel noticed his glasses were slightly cracked. He carried a holocamera around his neck, along with a red scarf, both of which looked fine from the Jedi’s view. She made no moves to interfere, either. Gaeriel knew that if Melchi was after this man, he wouldn’t hurt him seriously, and there was a good reason.

“LIKE I GIVE A DAMN! I’D RATHER HAVE YOUR STINKIN’ BAD REVIEW THAN YOU BADGERIN’ MY STAFF IN THE BACK AND GIVIN’ MY PATRONS HELL OV’R THEIR MEAL CHOICES!” The human was on his feet at this point, and it didn’t take much more of Melchi’s threatening glare or booming voice to make hims scamper off. The few pedestrians that had stopped to watch soon followed after the Food Critic, and it was at this point that the Herglic turned to go back into his restaurant, when he spotted Gaeriel in her dark Jedi robes and cloak, and his expression softened into a grin. A few echoing stomps later, Gaeriel braced herself for the inevitable, bone-crushing hug that came with that smile.

“GAER! Good t’see ya!” Gaeriel was lifted off the ground for a brief moment as Melchi swept her up in his big, friendly grip. But once her feet were back on the pedway, and her eyes back in their sockets, she held the Herglic’s arms close, and gave him a grin.

“Good to see you, too, Mel. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare table tonight, would you?” But the Jedi’s question went unanswered as the Herglic’s half-blind gaze studied the man next to Gaeriel for a moment; Cooper Tralus, who had not been far behind.

“Who’s this? Y’ ain’t cheatin’ on me, are ya, Gaer?” Melchi’s joking question was followed by the loud sound of his reverberating chuckle.

“Coop’s a friend, Mel. And another Jedi, even if he doesn’t look it.” She shot the man next to her a small grin. “Don’t worry. I still know who makes the best Coruscanti Strip steak and tubbers this close to the Temple.” She said with a conspiratorial wink to the Herglic. “We were wondering if you had a quiet table, tonight. He’s never been here. But it seems business is rather…” She peeked around Melchi to spy where the Food Critic was trying to hail a cab, still slightly disheveled. “... Lively.”

“No worries, no worries!” Melchi waved off Gaeriel’s concern. “New customers r’always good, especially when they’re yer friends!” And with that, Melchi waved them on into the restaurant, and Gaeriel followed, Cooper in tow. As they entered the building, Gaeriel finally lowered the cloak of her hood. The Jedi robes, of course, attracted some attention, but having grown up that way, she hardly minded anymore. As the Herglic led the way through the crowd, Gaeriel lowered her voice and spoke over her shoulder to Cooper.

“Just after the War, I helped Melchi’s son out of a touch spot with some… Unsavory types, down in Black Sun territory.” She paused, fluidly gliding around an outstretched chair “That’s when I found this place, and it’s been a favorite since.”

“Alright then…” Melchi brought the pair to a corner of the bar, and stepped behind the counter. Not a table, but it was a more casual setting, and Gaeriel hopped Cooper would be comfortable with that. “... Sorry it ain’t a table, but it’s quiet. Can I getcha somethin’ t’drink? Or y’got yer mind made up on food, yet? Gaeriel comes in and orders anythin’ she wants, even if it ain’t on the menu sometimes, so don’t be bashful, Coop.” Looking at Gaeriel after giving his newest customer the rundown, talking to him as if her were an old friend and trying to make the man feel welcomed, Melchi nodded. “The usual ‘Sonic Screwdriver’ fer ya, Gaer?” the Herglic asked, but he was already preparing the slightly alcoholic, rather fruity drink.

“You know me so well, Melchi.” Gaeriel answered with a grin.