Step on the Glass

[Moonfire]

Come on, it's just a comm-call. You don't even have to get on the holo, Mooney. Just pick it up and make the call.

The comm sat heavy in her hand, a simple UI illuminating the dark bedroom in cool tones. Pixelated icons bobbed beside the conversation bubbles that reflected the worries of a year now long past. How had it gone that long without speaking? Locke’s occasional missive from the frontlines of the Archeri invasion had told her all the most pertinent information; Vance was alive. Lidah was fine. Sick, for a time, and reasonably motivated to help in the galactic survival effort. To interrupt that with banal updates about refugee camps and relief work seemed… insensitive? Selfish? Frowning the young woman fidgeted some, pulling herself to sit up straight up, legs crossing one over the other in the silent room.

A green star showed that Hammer@Home was active. Awake and in a position to at the very least to check his messages-- Hopefully he wouldn’t mind a call, it wasn’t terribly late on Nar Shaddaa. Gulping back the prickle of nerves in the back of her throat Moonfire held the device to her ear, listening to the chirps and beeps of the signal stretching out across a ravaged, healing galaxy.

When the familiar click and greeting she cleared her throat again, at first froggy with disuse before meeting its stride; stuck somewhere between professional and nervously chipper.

“Vance? Hi, it’s Moonfire!” She shifted some in the cool grey sheets, pulling her blankets up about her hips as she struggled to find a comfortable position on the stiff Jedi-issued bed. “It’s-- It’s been a while; I know you’ve, uh, had a lot going on-- Locke says things have settled a little for you and I just, well, you know I was wondering if you’d like to go to a museum? With me?”

[Fromikeable]

Vance hadn't moved from the couch he'd sunk into this morning all day. Waking up on Circumtore, he'd promised himself that he'd try to give Lidah more opportunity to relax by heading back first, by tackling the first few things required to start the long and arduous process of cleaning up Nar Shaddaa. It'd be easy, he'd figured, to focus on things like cleaning and relief when compared to the experiences of the invasion itself.

But now that he was here, cuts on his face still healing, bruises finally changing color, bandages and stitches no longer bleeding, he couldn't find the will to do a single thing. No one was back yet. No one was ready to do anything. To call anyone to action, even just Hertz or any of the Blind Eye's staff, was to do basically everything himself. The casino had lasted the onslaught, and everyone's reaction was unanimous.

It was time to sit on their asses and, just this once, do absolutely fucking nothing.

The comm that buzzed atop his chest stirred him from a light nap, eyes barely opening, hand patting for the device blindly. Grabbing it, he didn't even try to read the calling number, answering without consideration.

“Vance? Hi, it’s Moonfire!”

Sitting up immediately, Vance had to bite his lip as the jolting motion aggravated a few wounds. Reaching back to prop himself up with a few pillows, the surprise in his voice showed with a "Moonfire! Hey!" Clearing his throat, his free hand brushed at his hair, as if worried that she could hear how unkempt he looked at the moment.

"A museum?" Finally getting himself together, Vance gave a quick "uhhhhh..." as his mind raced to catch up, finally fully awake. A museum? She couldn't possibly mean on Nar Shaddaa. And wait, a museum? That didn't have anything to do with the Exchange or the Jedi or the Unseen or anything remotely important. What was at a museum? Which museum? Did she need something? Why would she just call when he was free and ask-

Oh.

"That... sounds really, genuinely nice, actually."

---

The small Exchange courier set down on the pad with a gentle hiss of the landing gear, the engines whirling down. As the canopy popped open, Vance stood, eyes scanning the Zeltron spaceport with a degree of skepticism. His first voluntary, non-Exchange-related trip of Nar Shaddaa in more than a year was trying its damnedest to inspire some level of paranoia. The usual concerns of leaving the organization to operate without him mixed with newer, now-irrational concerns that a year under Archeri occupation had created. Around every corner could be a horde of fungal conquerors or a squad of underworld killers. Every sentient face could be a perfectly-attuned saboteur or hide-in-plain-sight assassin. Every shuttle could be-

Oh can it. Taking a deep breath, Vance finally let go of the controls and stood, stretching his shoulders. Grabbing his comm before exiting the ship down its ladder, he formed a quick message.

Be there in two seconds. Took a minute to land, couldn't find the usual ship, had to use a slower one. That reminded him; he had to go dig up the poor Augur Hawk when he got a chance.

Boarding a shuttle, it was only another minute or two before Vance was stepping off in the middle of Zeltros' beautiful historic district, the entire city a shockingly pleasant, somewhat musky smell. Smoothing out his button-down shirt and pants, Vance quietly wondered if he'd overdressed. Resolving that he had, he untucked his shirt and undid his collar button before proceeding, spotting Mooney. With a final check for his hair, he waved, smiling.

"Hey there stranger."

[Moonfire]

Museums were curious things. Every culture has some sort of reverence to the past, to the achievements or oddities or knowledge they collected across their communal and individual experiences. Across the galaxy, Moonfire had been lucky enough to see the inside of dozens of these knowledge palaces.

Grand, avantgarde expanses of white duracrete and plastisteel and glass filled with abstract Corellian art to small, well-preserved poet apartments on Coruscant, and even the teeny tiny little road-side information stand on Ruusan about odd little bouncers that roamed the landscape. Some, like the Kuat Drive Yards Corporate Information Museum, weren’t quite worth the price of admission, but most had some sort of charm. A charm Moonfire had hoped wasn’t destroyed too much by The Chorus.

Standing before the Musée des Arts et Métiers, the Jedi Knight couldn’t quite stomp down the buzz in the tips of her fingers, tingly and numb. Vigorously rubbing the pads of her fingers down the stiff dark denim of her pants, Moonfire glanced at the slight sheen of nude polish across her nails, just a shade darker than expected, with a prickle of irritation before glancing again at the comm. Vance’s last message, only a few minutes out, still splashed across the screen in little wobbles of pale blue aurabesh.

Thrill tickled the back of her throat as worried fingers moved to smooth the long inky braid, resting just over the anxious thump of her heart. A year was an awfully long time to be stuck right in the middle of the Archeri invasion, had it been kind to Vance?

She knew the answer to that already from Locke’s own hospital stay, from the quick reports between news cycles. From the aerial footage of Cerbozz’s Pit. She had no real idea of what that was like for him. She hadn’t called to ask. An appropriate stab of guilt struck right in the center, twisting her guts as a little wave of motion flickered in the periphery of her vision.

"Hey there stranger."

Mooney looked up from the jagged edges of her split ends to meet Vance’s eyes, a foolish grin stretching out her round features at the sight of him. Stepping forward she met his stride, arms wrapping him into a warm squeeze.

“It’s so good to see you!” She chirped into his side, the tingle of her fingertips graduating to a full-fledged crackle as Moonfire’s excitement nearly eclipsed her anxiety. Pulling away she looked him over, the healing bruises and cuts, scars silver crosshatched his decidedly well-groomed face. Her hands returned to their chaste position at her sides, tugging the strap of her satchel bag farther up her shoulder.

“I--” The words, a tumble of ten different thoughts competing for supremacy, stuck in the center of her throat, hands lifting up instead to gesture at the palatial museum before them. Stone columns holding up artfully sculpted archways in a playful abundance of domed ceilings, giving the building a regal, yet lumpy exterior. “I’m glad y-- I’m not sure if you’ve-- Welcome to the Musée des Arts et Métiers!” She laughed, struggling to calm the hearty thump in her chest, tongue caught completely off-guard as she inhaled perhaps a tad too deeply.

“Or, in basic, the Museum of Arts and Crafts. Locke mentioned you used to be very interested in artisans and I’ve always wanted to visit it, so, I thought it might be up your alley? It’s, um, not actually about art in the traditional sense. It’s-- Well, you’ll see. How--How was your flight?”

Yes, yes. Ask him a shallow question. It’s much better than you tripping over your words. Nagged a particularly nasty thought.

Careful steps lead the pair through the grand entryway into an impressive antechamber. The large dome above them was animated, a twisting artistic interpretation of the stars above Zeltros moved in real-time, mirroring their position obscured now only by the sun. Several arching doorways lead to a variety of exhibits, names in Aurabesh clear

Bobbing, suspended above them was the most interesting piece, the theme of the museum revealed in fantastic inventions of an old, old world. Gadgets, gizmos, and creations of an era many millennia past recreated and swirling in above in near-perfect replicas of Zeltros’ first forays into science.

Beaming the woman watched the whirlygigs and ancient star-charting equipment with open amazement, head-twisting, and neck-craning to view the floating history to a people’s ingenuity slowly turn. “What do you think?”

[Fromikeable]

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Vance froze, shocked by the arms wrapping around him and the body pressing into his. The gesture nearly made him jump, every nerve declaring doom. His hands zipped to her shoulders, ready to heave and twitch and fight and snarl and survive.

Then he felt the warmth.

It wasn’t just physical. The warm body tucked close to his made a cool day better, to be sure, but it was the sheer emotional… radiance. A glowing star in a dark sky. An even heat from a steady fire. It caught him off guard in the best of ways, his heart fluttering a bit as the hands at Moonfire’s shoulders relaxed and wrapped around her back instead.

Then just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and Vance couldn’t help but wonder what he would trade to have just another few seconds.

Her laughter drew him back. Reclaiming his senses, he looked up at the museum’s sign to read just what she’d said; a monument to the art of working with one’s hands. Smiling, he chuckled a little at her question, his entire body seeming to relax. When was the last time he’d been asked about something as mundane as a hyperspace flight? ”Uneventful, if you can believe it. It was the first time in a while I’ve been able to just enjoy silence for a few hours.” His smile traced back to her before faltering before an errant thought.

So you want her to be silent this whole time?

”Uh, I mean, y’know. Silence is, uh-- well it was okay, not really great, just-- ” Buying himself a second to think by clearing his throat, Vance capped the scrambling thoughts with a ”It was good, how as yours?” before shutting up and following her lead into the building. The museum afforded him additional excuse to keep quiet; the antechamber they entered alone was worthy of a few seconds of silent staring. Paying the tribute gladly, Vance’s eyes locked on the stars as they moved with a relaxed slowness. Starlight was an impossible find on the Smuggler’s Moon; even during the invasion, the light pollution had still been great enough to block most of it out. To see it even just recreated like this--

”I wish I could build one of my own.” Pointing a finger up, he tried to slowly trace a star. ”When I would talk to the Artisans, their machines always amazed me the most. Building a device that exists solely for the sake of art is just--” He huffed, a smile running across his face as his finger dropped.

”It was the coolest thing I could think of until I met Locke.” The words were chased from his lips with a moment’s worth of quiet wonder. A life never to be. Alas.

Looking at the museum’s signage, Vance picked a hallway at random and began to shuffle down it, slow and wandering. Entering through, the lighting around them changed to the colors of a Zeltros sunrise, hot pinks and bright oranges. The exhibit before them used the colors to full affect as another contraption, this one made primarily of wooden sluices and copper wheels, shuttled continuous streams of water to and fro. The resulting babble was rhythmic, even musical, with the sounds of splashes, currents, and wood against water forming a never-ending harmony.

”Did you always want to be an Investigator?” Looking to her, Vance’s hands clasped behind his back, his head cocking a bit. His voice, for the first time in ages, chirped with a curious tone.

”Or did you imagine doing something else?”

[Moonfire]

“Can’t complain,” Moonfire tilted her head back and forth, tugging the braid straight again over her right side before letting the creamy cable-knit sweat slide down obscuring everything but the tips of her small fingers, still buzzing despite the tip-tap of nails to the tips. “It always amazes me how quickly the galaxy pieces itself back together. Like, uh, it’d be a breach of some code of conduct to be anything but completely put together after the dust clears.”

Tilting backward Moonfire watched the tip of Vance’s finger, tracing the heavens as he spoke. His voice held a lightness to it she hadn’t heard before, breezy and unburdened. Refreshing. She watched as the digit carved paths across Republic space before trailing off.

“You should,” She started, the pair ambling from the entryway into the brilliant splashes of colors, warm and rosy tinting their skin and clothes in the tropical flush. Water streamed trickling in a little brook that curved and turned across the room as it fed the machine. Meadow-flora swayed in little tufts of grass and cotton-white blossoms as the water moved here to there, aided by wood and motion and metal. Stepping across the stones that wound the path through she continued. “I mean, I don’t pretend to know what your schedule is like-- But when things settle down it couldn’t hurt to have a hobby. What would you want to make?”

The mention of Locke slipped between her fingers, the shadow of a question lingering in its place. Beyond a doubt, Locke Nemsee was devoted to the Republic. Devoted to the Order, to do what was necessary to preserve peace in the galaxy. He just happened to be… involved with a former Darth. Lidah was inspiring, fierce, repentant. Further muddling the image she’d carried of what the ideal Jedi was like.

What was it Si Quan had said once?

The Force guides us all down our own path.

She wondered briefly what path she treads now, enjoying an afternoon with a former Sith apprentice. A man who longed to be a Jedi artisan, once upon a time.

“No, actually.” A hand lifted to absently scratch at the back of her neck, mussing a few dark strands in the process. “I didn’t do very well in youngling training. Sometimes I imagine them discovering it was a mistake, that I’m supposed to be in the Agri-Corps and only got this far because of a clerical error.” Moonfire laughed, a self-deprecating thing and shrugged. “My Master was a diplomat, so we traveled most of the time. I thought for a while about being a Watchman.”

Another life, another path she might have taken. Would it have carried her to this same spot? No, definitely not. So no need to mourn it. The Force brought her here, to this time and place, despite the tragedy that set it all in motion. “But I like being an investigator. Every day is different. You meet interesting people in the field.” She turned to him, eyes scrunching up with the force of her smile. “Go interesting places. It makes you feel like you’re making a real, tangible difference every time you catch the bad guy, as cliche as that sounds.”

[Fromikeable]

”I know that feeling.” Vance’s laugh joined Moonfire’s as she relayed her padawan experience. To say that his own had been tumultuous would be an understatement. When he’d been assigned to the Corps, winding up with Lidah had been a strange kind of relief. The thought that he might make more personal progress as a Sith apprentice than a mechanic in the Corps had been borderline sacreligious at the time, but as he’d borne witness to worse, it became a strange comfort.

Progress in the wrong direction had still been progress. And look at me now. That thought lingered even as his train of thought moved on.

”For what it’s worth, I think you would’ve made a great Watchman.” Trying to smile as they moved on, Vance’s effort faltered, and his brow knit. Keeping his mouth shut as his mind settled into debating camps, he lead them further into the museum, the sounds of the water machine echoing out of existence. The next device they came upon resembled a massive Newton cradle, a series of objects suspended by a series of different chains and ropes. Each swung in their own pattern at their own tempo, but just as each seemed to slow, another would cycle around and deliver a satisfying whack, rekindling the motion. As each went through its path, they interacted with different side mechanisms, producing sparks, moving small balls, and even setting off tiny bells.

”I just… I can’t help but ask.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, Vance looked to Mooney with a half-squint, his mind clearly whirling behind curious eyes. His body tensed a little even before the thought continued, less stressed and more unsure if the path of questioning was wise.

Alas, Vance Asano had never been one to deny a good question.

”I’m a bad guy by almost every definition.” Looking to the exhibit, Vance spoke with a frank, calm tone. ”I help run one of the biggest criminal elements in the galaxy. I actively break Republic, Imperial, and even Hutt law thousands of times a day. That includes capital offenses on the daily, and I’ve done worse in a past life.” He was quiet for a second as he tried to be selective with his wording.

After another second, he gave up and looked at her again. ”Why aren’t you trying to catch me?”

[Moonfire]

Chains and balls swung in long predestined arcs, lovingly calculated with piles of math she’d probably never fully grasp, before crashing cleanly back against its fellows. It was a delightful cacophony of snaps and chimes and whistles. Blue eyes watched them strike with fascination at how the movement of one could influence so many others, smiling as the passing compliment Vance paid her. The sincerity of it lifting her heart more than just a touch.

Master Balkk had been the Watchman of Trandosha once, a placement the large reptilian Jedi years after the fact still talked about over their biannual tea time. To have all of his homeworld beneath his care, to represent it before the council, in matters of security and diplomacy appealed to someone still looking for home after more than a decade moving from mission to mission. Sometimes during meditation Moonfire could see that version of herself, confident and capable and settled somewhere that felt like she belonged, that she could take ownership of.

Maybe that fantasy alone was why life hadn’t worked out that way?

”I just… I can’t help but ask.”

Her head tilted, blue eyes searching his expression for whatever trouble she felt brewing, the melancholy of her own thoughts seemingly infectious as another chrome sphere crashed into his brother in a shower of noise and sparks. Bells chimed and ball tumbled through winding pipes, lighting up the room as Vance asked her the most obvious question of all.

Why, oh why, wasn’t she slapping a pair of stun cuffs on the head of the Exchange’s chief enforcer?

“That’s a fair question,” Mooney said, her eyes unwilling to leave his despite the hard pull of cracking voice, desperate for a steadying breath as particles burst and fell across her eyes. A faint sense of deja vu, yet so far from precognition, brought her back to this very planet so many years before when a sith apprentice with golden eyes once told her to tiptoe towards temptation.
“A very fair question.”

Sucking in that breath between her teeth Moonfire’s hands busied themselves, picking at the little slip of skin beside her nail as she composed her answer. “The same reason I didn’t call the Temple about Lidah, I suppose…” Her head tilted back and forth, knowing it wasn’t quite the same. Vance Asano, as she’d come to know him now, was a far cry from a former Darth now running, as he so put it, one of the biggest criminal elements in the galaxy. Lidah had convinced her, through Locke’s trust and her own explanation of her life and things she’d done. How she’d scraped by for survival’s sake.

But Vance had never once needed to plead his case. Moonfire had known from the very first moment that he wasn’t a bad guy, from hotel-bombing investigations to late-night milkshakes to punching the man that’d haunted her for so long in a fury. Or was she just excusing her own painfully clear bias?

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to. I don’t know you terribly well, Vance, and I’d-- I’d like to, but what I have seen of you and what I do know about you and your life and what you do… I don’t think taking you back to the temple to face trial is going to help you.” Moonfire’s fingers plucked and tugged more at the little strip of skin beside her nail, intent on pulling it out. “I don’t think dragging you back to Republic space is going to make the galaxy a better place. You-- You may take part in all of those things, but you also keep the peace on Nar Shaddaa, things are different there, especially now...The cartels are in shambles, Hutt space has been almost decimated. The Republic is doing-- I don’t even know what. But losing the Exchange right now is probably the last thing Nar Shaddaa needs. Power vacuum, right?”

Her eyes flicked back up to his before watching the swinging pendulums crashing, sparking, flashing all behind him, a chain reaction that skipped and scattered across the cavernous dome. A lesson in motion and morality. Breathing in again she met his eyes decisively. “And, in my not very objective opinion, you’re not a bad guy Vance… You’re not perfect, but, I mean, obviously, neither am I. But you’re not bad, I don’t believe that.”

[Fromikeable]

Fuck, I ruined it. The crack in her voice as she admitted that the question had merit made his eyes lock on hers, as if Vance was afraid he might not ever see them again. Even if the question was valid, did he really have to bring it up now, after everything they’d just been through with the crisis? It could’ve waited until later on, even if it had just been later in the day.

No, it couldn’t have. Part of him wondered if Lidah and Locke had ever discussed as much frankly. The rest of him knew that yes, of course they had.

Even as her eyes broke away, his stayed glued to her face, watching every twitch of her lips, every flit of her sight. Her answer unfolded, and much to his surprise, it completely aware. Concessive, even. There wasn’t a hint of damnation, even with the mixture of admission that, by all definitions of her job and his, he should be in a cell on Coruscant awaiting criminal trial.

By the time it ended and her eyes returned, his were a little wider with surprise. The blank expression on his face made it clear that the silence that followed her opinion was one of severe consideration.

”... I don’t think I’ve ever imagined someone justifying my existence.” Placing his hands in his pockets, he finally shifted his eyes back to the contraption before them, a few rhythmic sounds ringing out before he could add, ”Especially a Jedi.”

Chewing on the thoughts for a moment, Vance found himself at a loss. He’d wondered for years about how future run-ins with his former Order would turn out. Perhaps he’d grown too cynical, but every imagined scenario had been terse at best and lethal at worst. Even if his recruitment into the Sith Order could be excused, his actions thereafter couldn’t. Not when so many had been of his own free will and volition, when he’d come to admire a woman like Lidah Faine.

Was it that he’d imagined wrong all these years? Or that he’d never imagined a Jedi like Mooney? A person like Mooney?

Realizing how long he’d been quiet, Vance stuffed his hands in his pockets. ”Um… but thank you.” Braving a smile, he managed one that was small and authentic. Reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck, a bit of awkward embarrassment began to leak through. The more he thought on it, the more grand the compliment started to seem. How did he even respond to something like that? Especially when he wasn’t so sure it was correct?

What would Lidah do?

”You, uh… don’t really hear things like that in my line of work.” The hand at the back of his neck waved lightly in explanation as they began to walk toward the next exhibit. ”People typically put stock in what I am, not who. There are exceptions like Lidah and Locke, which is why I hold them close.” His smile spread a bit at the thought. Without those two, would he have lasted? Absolutely not.

So we’re holding her close then? A hue of pink flashed through his cheeks.

”Uh, that’s not to say that I’m going to hold you close. I’m not going to hold you at all.” Immediately standing a bit straighter, Vance cleared his throat. ”I mean, I enjoy our friendship. If, uh, we’re friends. I mean, I like to think we’re friends. And I’d like to be, like, really good friends. Uh, not too good.” He glanced up at the ceiling as his hand returned to scratching the front of his neck. ”Like an acceptable level of good. Which you’d determine. Unpressured. Totally comfortably. Which could be, y’know, really good, but only if-”

Biting his tongue, he pushed lips into a tight line and gave himself a single disapproving nod. ”Force, I’m sorry. I must sound like that guy from the auction.” Desperate to move on, he almost didn’t notice the next exhibit as they walked up to it. A duo of large monoliths stood tall beside one another, metal wires curling from their sides. Below them, white spotlights flashed upward, projecting shadows at just the right angles to produce silhouettes in the shadows. As the lights flashed, a brief scene played out in repetition; two humanoid figures putting launching their hands at each other. What motivated them to do so could only be left to the imagination.

”Who was he, anyway?”

[Moonfire]

Moonfire winced visibly, watching the movement of silhouettes. Here and then gone. Rushing together only to be ripped away a moment later as the angles change.. Her nude lips parted and then closed a half-formed attempt to backtrack sitting on the tip of her tongue. She hadn’t meant to justify his existence, only meant to explain from a purely objective stance why her totally not objective bias was logical. Had it come across as too cool? Too crisp? The Moonfire of ten years ago would have applauded that, been pleased to find the sweatered woman had achieved some level of control. Why did it taste so bitter?

Vance’s smile was a balm, thin and soothing to the flush of heat on her cheeks and with it Moonfire let the urge to explain herself melt away. She watched as calloused hands moved to scratch the fluff of dark curls at the back of his neck, trapped in his own twist of uneasy thoughts. Moonfire’s hands hitched once more the strap of her shoulder pack, thumb and forefingers occupying themselves instead with the rough fabric instead of her now raw cuticle.

“We’re friends, Vance.” Mooney outstretched her hand, the one not occupied with channeling her own anxieties into a bit of leather, to let it gently squeeze Vance’s elbow. A thought formed, another justification, about how Vance was a good person. How he’d done everything in his power to stop the Black Suns bombers from causing more havoc across Nar Shaddaa, how he’d gotten himself mixed up in the auction knowing she was a Jedi but never once betraying her. But it all felt weak. Wispy, vaporous conclusions he could brush aside as doing his job. “Who else can I trust to give me restaurant recommendations in Hutt space?”

Carefully she steered him into the next exhibit, dedicated entirely to early attempts at flight. Massive wings of taut white linen with slim, light bones of pale wood fluttered. A figure of mythos soared across the high domed ceiling across a moving sky, flirting with the Zeltros sun-- The wax and feathers of his wings fluttering down amongst the hushed chattered of the crowd. Other machines and mechanisms tried their hands at joining him, crank-powered spinners and gliders among them.

The pause was long enough to be awkward as she gnawed her lower lip. Finally, staring up at Ikaaris above them she’d figured out how to explain him. “His name is Zexva, and… To be honest I don’t have a lot of concrete facts about him.” Her shoulders shrugged, releasing his hand as the arms wrapped about herself. “I know he’s a Sith, and we met a couple times when we were younger. Once when I was fourteen and again when I was sixteen,” A shaky breath rattled her chest, as if embarrassed by the absurdity of it. “The first time was on Ruusan, I was assisting with a dig in an old temple and he came in-- He seemed nice. He asked for a tour and told me he was an adventurer, showed me this little dried rancor claw he’d gotten on Felucia and--” She shook her head, a hand working its way into glossy strands at her temple. “I was stupid and didn’t realize he was manipulating me until he attacked me. It was-- I don’t even know, it was really strange.”

Flickers of memory, the scent of electrical discharge and ozone coupled with the fierce rage of golden eyes in that glittering cavern made her stomach flip end over end. “It ended up okay, I mean, I thankfully wasn’t hurt or anything and my master gave me a whole long talk about it and I thought it was over until he showed up again a few years later.”

Shrugging she looked back up to the cool blue of Vance’s eyes. “Here, actually, on Zeltros. I’d been given an afternoon to myself and he just showed up and asked me to either fight him or run away with him? He didn’t make a lot of sense and forced me to kiss him and I thought, well, maybe I can help him? Get him to my master-- Get him away from the sith, help him escape. He seemed so--so, I don’t know, earnest and unhappy. It was just more manipulation. And then I never saw him again. Until the night we got milkshakes.”

Looking up at Vance she shook her head again, laughing at the greasy shame that worked it’s way down her spine. “I wasn’t a great Padawan, I guess.”

[Fromikeable]

Friends. Such a wild word to hear. It had felt like such a given when Vance was a padawan. Perhaps it had just been the Jedi teachings of peaceful co-existence, or the stable upbringing, but back then, saying that someone was someone’s friend had been the easiest thing in the world. The word was almost like a greeting, flung about with an ease and casual understanding Vance couldn’t remember. Since, he’d still managed to make friends in Io’an, and in Ylva, and even in Jazen, much as he wished it weren’t so. But they hadn’t been natural occurrences. He had worked with them before he’d grown fond of them. He didn’t get to develop the friendships; he’d had to.

They were still friends, but to hear Mooney say it? Vance couldn’t help but relax, his posture a little looser, his smile returning just a little bigger.

”Zexva, huh?” Vance’s face scrunched as the history unfolded. A twinge of jealousy flared when he heard that the Zeltron, in all his slimy and creepy ways, had gotten a kiss from the Jedi. Uncomfortable with the image and unsure of what to do with the envy, Vance quickly stamped it out with a quick scan of his memories. Had he ever met a Sith apprentice like him? Granted, he’d only been in the Sith Order for a few years, but surely they could have met. If they had, would Vance have tried to buried the memory?

Probably.

”What an absolute piece of garbage.” Drawing his hands from his pockets, Vance shook his head. ”I would have killed to get away from the Sith. Maybe he meant what he said, but to just keep twisting it into traps like that-” Vance waved a hand, cutting himself off. Wherever the Zeltron had gotten to, Vance hoped he was miserable at best, and dead at worst.

”I think you were a fine padawan. You wanted to help; that’s what the Jedi are supposed to do.” Looking to the exhibit, Vance’s eyes were drawn to the others below Ikaaris, the figures and their contraptions all in varying states of failure or decay. Some shook their fists ruefully at the sky in envy. Some scurried about their failed inventions, trying to fix or alter what prevented them from joining him. Still others, far off to the fringes of the scene, could be seen moving with malicious intent, a single figure even reaching for what appeared to be a bow and arrow, his thumb held up for lining up a future shot.

”You’re free to think this is dark, but sometimes I think people can’t be helped. Or are beyond giving help.” Staring at the would-be shooter, Vance’s mind began to wander back to memories that were much harder to forget. ”It’s on the individual to change, even if they have the power and support to do so.” Vance paused for a moment as a very specific memory flashed through his head, a sort of phantom pain searing through his skull. Glancing at her, he debated even mentioning it. She’d never believe a story like-

”During the war, Lidah and I were on Taris. You’ve probably heard the Republic side of that story, the devices the Empire used, the disaster, all of that. It’s all mostly true.” A little surprised that his mouth had moved before his mind had, Vance swallowed. In an attempt not to focus on how he’d basically just admitted to aiding in the orchestration of a war crime, he cleared his throat quickly and continued.

”I had only been her apprentice for a few months, by that point. I hated my life at the time, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t trust her at all. I had begun to understand her, but that’s just not the same thing.” Vance rolled a hand. ”Anyway, we were on the planet’s surface, and between what we were doing and who she was, we were pretty big targets. After a few fights, we were confronted by Master Levin. The High Council member.”

”I know he felt my presence.” Vance’s eyes squinted a hair. ”I know that he knew how awful I felt, how absolutely wretched everything I was doing made me feel. And he didn’t care.” Vance’s hand balled into a loose fist and wagged in the air near his face a few times. ”He hit me so hard that I’m pretty sure I died for a minute. I’m still not sure how I lived. A Jedi healer from the sidelines, I think.” Dropping the fist, Vance returned his hands to his pockets.

”Don’t get me wrong, I deserved it given what we were doing. But… I don’t know.” Vance shrugged lightly. ”I guess I was hoping he’d understand? It’s a little selfish.”

[Moonfire]

Slight pressure reminded him that she was there, her painted fingertips insistent but gentle as Moonfire squeezed his elbow again. It seemed impossible to picture and yet her runaway imagination rocked the scene. A young man with bright, pleading eyes crushed beneath the palms of a merciless enemy. Cold chills worked their way up her spine, prickling to gooseflesh beneath her cream sweater. He’d known him. Had grown up around him. Had looked at the High Councilor with the same quiet awe that she had in childhood and had that awe and that plea for help rejected with vengeance.

“I-I…” Her words caught, half-formed in her throat as she grappled with the revelation. With Vance’s justification of what had been done to him. Master Levin, a man she’d admired by reputation alone, had struck out at him? Had seen his fellow Jedi in the worst situation imaginable-- Captured and terrified and forced to act against everything the Order ever taught them and sentenced them to death? Outrage colored her presence in sharp, unbidden flicks, like water trickling from the cracks in a vase. Her other handballed as she struggled, for the first time since she was a child, to wrangle the rise of anger in her throat.

Could this be a lie? A small part of her whispered. The part of her brain desperate for logical thought to return. The part of her wary of a sob story from sad eyes. Could this be someone manipulating your feelings? Could Vance, a fallen Jedi, be trying to color your opinion of the Order with a story? No. Resolutely Moonfire could feel the shift of his emotions, soft impressions in a gentle breeze of his aura. Hesitation. Fear. Frustration. Regret muddled with acceptance and gilded with proper, tempered anger. It burned her throat and soured her stomach with her own acerbic offense.

A breath steeled her as Moonfire forced herself to speak past her feelings for the first time in a rather long time. “I don’t presume to know exactly what you’ve done and what you were forced to do-- But it feels remiss not to say that what happened to you is unacceptable. Wh-what Master Levin-- Or anyone for that matter…. It was wrong. I don’t ever want to-- That’s not what a Jedi is.” Her voice crackled as Ikaaris soared above, swooping with a rush of grassy scent. “I’m not--”

A lump in her throat forces her to swallow, left hand moving to her throat as she regained her composure, the flash of anger melting back into righteous nurturing. “Please don’t ever think that you deserved that. You-- You didn’t, Vance. What happened to you was wrong. To want someone to help you when you were vulnerable isn’t selfish. It’s-- That’s part of what Jedi do. They’re--” Her throat cleared again. “Striking you down when you were desperate for help-- I… I can’t imagine a less Jedi thing to do.”

Perhaps she was naive. Perhaps she was biased. Perhaps a galactic education and her own struggles with emotionality left Moonfire too easily riled, but in this moment she was positive that nothing could change her mind. What had happened to Vance Asano seven years ago was wrong, and no code, or training, or Master could possibly tell her otherwise.

Relaxing some, feeling the winds of indignation leave her figurative sails, she laughed, brows arching beneath the tuft of dark bangs. Bashful. “Save maybe giving an impassioned stuttering speech in the middle of a museum exhibit, huh?”

[Fromikeable]

Vance’s mind slipped into the memories as he recalled them. Time had healed the most egregious moments of shock, but the raw sensations still stood out. The twists in his stomach. The force on his face. The burn in his lungs. The anxiety that had weighed just as heavily as the rakghoul virus.

The unrestrained longing for death by the end of it all.

The sound of Moonfire’s voice catching, the distress in her voice climbing as she spoke, snapped him out of it. He couldn’t help but stare at her as she did her damnedest to digest the story. He frowned as she did; he hadn’t meant to upset her. Was it too dark a tale? No, she was a Jedi Knight, and an investigator at that. She’d undoubtedly experienced grit like that herself. Maybe it was the context then? Perhaps he’d been a bit too self-serving. Oh dammit all, this is why he hated even mentionin-

”It was wrong.” The external confirmation surprised him, his expression going blank. Was it? At the time it had felt as much, but as Vance had cried into Lidah’s shoulder on the ship ride home, as he’d spent the following months squinting his way through check-ups for the bone as it healed, he hadn’t been able to find a way to feel blameless. It had been harsh, final judgement. No debate. No question. A fist from the heavens, or at least it might as well have been, come to smite him for the insentient sins he’d committed in the opening plays of his apprenticeship.

It was selfish to think he’d deserved anything better... wasn’t it?

Without a spare thought, Vance raised an arm, his hand plopping on Moonfire’s far shoulder, his elbow behind her neck. He gently pulled her close, squeezing her shoulder lightly, pressing her to his side.

”I don’t know about that.” Vance gave her a tiny smile. ”It was a nice speech.” The hug lasted a precious minute before he tried to remove his arm, to let her go. His body lingered, leaning a little too far into the half hug to end it on a dime. When his arm finally left, his hands went back to his pockets, his elbows tucked close to his sides, and his eyes wandered. They settled on the doorway to their right, leading back to the entrance hall of the museum. They’d made a full circuit of the first floor, and looking over, one could hear the cranks of the star machine in the distance, the moons of Zeltros making an arc across the ceiling.

Very nice.

[Moonfire]

Moonfire sank easily into the chaste hug, her head cradled and braid pinched by the elbow behind her neck. She hadn’t expected affection. The small part of her that was skin-starved, like all Jedi really, simultaneously shocked and delighted by the contact. Her heart fluttered bird-like in her chest as Vance’s words rumbled against her side. Moonfire could hardly hear them over the sparks that flit across her skin and the warmth coloring the tips of her ears.

“That’s--” Her voice caught again before a deep breath banished the gizka twisting and croaking in her throat. “Thanks, it doesn’t happen that often, I promise.” A watery grin met his eye, her hand reflexively laced about his hip squeezing him before the pair untangled. Get it together Mooney. You’re a Jedi Knight, for Force sake. Tripping over your words and getting emotional. You’re acting like--

Inner monologue was swiftly cut off as she realized how close they walked together. How much part of her wanted him to wrap an arm back about her shoulder. That Vance smelled nice. Really nice as her head buzzed, full of insects and wild thoughts.

Clearly, Zeltros was getting to her. This planet had a way of doing that to do, it’s violet and pink people’s infectiously affectionate natures were hard not to emulate.

When they reached the end of the main exhibition hall Moonfire glanced down at her chronometer, the corners of her lips dipping into a small frown. Was it that time already?

“I have a meeting in about an hour I should probably get ready for…” Button nose wrinkled, hands moving back to wring end over end about the strap of her bag as she peered up at Vance, her smile brightening. How much trouble would she get in for missing a meeting with Zeltros Security Force? Probably a good deal. “This was really fun, Vance. I think my favorite part was the giant crashing… balls thing? Did that have a name? I wasn’t-- I was really enjoying the conversation, heh.”

Shaking her head she tossed away the threads of anxious thought to straighten some, still dwarfed in size by her companion. “Thank you so much for joining me. I really wish I could stay longer.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance battled a moment’s worth of worry when Mooney looked to her watch. Fears of overstepping boundaries, of making her uncomfortable with the hug, disappeared as her face contorted. That she didn’t want it to be over either made him squirm slightly in the best of ways. She’d leaned into the hug, she’d contributed with an arm of her own, she’d just-

He felt emotionally out of breath. Like he’d just dived into a pool unprompted and hadn’t wanted to resurface until his lungs had burned.

Mooney’s returning smile called Vance back, his own lips twitching upward uncontrollably. ”So was I. Uh, the conversation, not the giant Nuu’tin’s Cradle. Well, I enjoyed that too, but-” A waved hand cut himself off.

”Thank you for inviting me out.” Clearing his throat, Vance rolled his shoulders back, trying to match her straightened back with his own. A hand came up to adjust the collar of his shirt, the other attaching to his side at the wrist and moving as he spoke. ”I can’t remember the last I just spent the day out and about like this. It was fun!” A soft chuckle closed his eyes for a moment in an almost jolly smile, the hand at his collar coming up to scratch the side of his head.

Don’t just let her leave, ask to do it again!

”Listen, uh… before you go. Are you going to be working around Nar Shaddaa during Life Day?” His speech picked up in tempo, making sure the words could get out before his mind could catch up and hesitate.

”We were thinking about having a dinner with Locke. You should come too.” The hand dropped as his fears returned, a smattering of self-scolding demanding to know what in the hell he thought he was doing inviting Mooney to what was effectively a family dinner.