A new inclusion

[Froggy]

The room remained illuminated only by the dimmed and wavering glow of a nearby candle, casting no more light than what was needed to identify the various obstacles that were scattered within. Amidst an assortment of small furnishings bathed in enough darkness to make identifying their purposes difficult, stood a tall slender figure. Her emerald eyes remained directed away from the candle that she had situated at the corner of her living quarters, and instead toward something in the palm of her hand.

More explicitly, it was a sort of palm itself that she held - the armored gauntlet belonging to the armor she had acquired during her time amidst the services for Idcirco. Even beyond the grasp of his...'employment'...the armor still seemed suitably fashioned to blend in effectively with the rank and file of the Sith Order. Still, like any other trinket in her possession, it required maintenance.

She idly pressed a small piece of cloth against the metallic surface, and with the occasional glance to the door, she idly went on polishing the armored gauntlet until the surface became reflective. It was only when she could see an almost flawless reflection of the candle's flame, that she moved on to another area on the gauntlet's surface...though caution remained invested in keeping her fingers and the cloth away from the sharpened talons attached to the tips of the gauntlet's fingers.

The rest of her armor remained carefully laid out, like a discarded skin left next to the meditation mat that she'd placed at the end of her room. Portions of the suit had been slipped from the rest to assure that the clean would not be confused with what still required work. Work, that Sera was carefully carrying through with, though still slowed by the occasional glance to the door. It was-...

...it was the feeling of an unknown approaching. Perhaps it was an older association that she had simply not entirely familiarized herself with, or perhaps she had never bothered to really try and identify with during their initial meeting. Whoever it was, they were drawing closer, and it had brought a discomforting sensation to the back of Sera's neck. The faintest tug serving to lure her memory down the corridor and to one of the lifts, had soon become a frustrating pinch that occurred frequently, only to cease whenever she actually looked to the door itself.

Yet she could do nothing but wait.

Whoever it was that had approached, she held almost no intention to greet them at the door. She intended for announcement, or for their forced entry....either way, some distance was enough to assure that she would be somewhat prepared in the event that the terms were not as positive as she would have hoped for.

[Rugs]

Torrance walked quietly along the dim, empty hallway, with little more than the soft pit-pat of his footfall’s whispered echoes off the rocky walls to keep him company. The loneliness surprised him, even for this, a usually-quiet corner of the Temple. It was unusual not to see at least one other soul out and about in the hallway.

But there were none, not for the moment, and he reckoned that wasn’t much of a concern of his. The desert sun had set not too long ago. Perhaps the others were simply minding their own business in their quarters, as the occasional glow of life and presence he passed here and there hinted, or were out elsewhere, doing the things Sith do when stuck at the Temple.

He himself was on a mission, with a quiet determination set in his gut to see it through.

He’d made the unfortunate discovery, about a half-hour ago, that someone had broken into his room and smashed apart a necklace with a small, blue gemstone hanging from it. The crystal itself was fine, and so Torrance was not as angry as he could be, but the chain that held it together was ruined.

Replaceable. Repairable, maybe. But it was a very calculated attempt to rile him up, and he wanted to know who was behind it and why.

Only a few people in the Temple, all of whom were his peers, had any inkling of what that necklace meant for the young Kiffar. With the fact that nothing else in his room had been harmed, he knew it was a message. Of course it was — he was a prodigy, of sorts, and strong for his age. Though he was far from invincible, his peers, especially those who disliked him, knew that challenging him head on was often a fool’s errand, and so often looked for other routes to gig him.

Of course, smashing his belongings was a potential folly, with the Kiffar blood running through his veins. But the psychometry that he claimed by birthright was a spotty thing he still struggled to command; it’d lent him no support so far.

But a number, inconspicuously written on a small piece of paper seemingly-forgotten near the door left a clue. Perhaps.

274.

After pondering it for a time, he realized the number matched a room in his wing of the Temple, where many of the new or younger Sith stayed. It wasn’t a sure shot, but he’d begin there.

So now he walked to his destination, long-hilted lightsaber swaying quietly at his side with the rhythm of his footsteps. He wore a dark green tunic over tan, loose-fitting pants. His physical appearance alone wasn’t imposing. He was young — a few weeks short of his 20th birthday — and roughly five and a half feet tall and a build that was sleek and lean, rather than broad and bulky.

His slightly feminine face, framed in long, thick black hair and decorated with flowing tattoos that rose form his chest and neck along the sides of his faces and the bridge of his nose, didn’t really help. But he carried himself with a quiet, steady assurance, and a potent, tightly contained power resonated within him, for anyone with the sense to listen for it.

Torrance felt his stomach tighten as he neared the room. Someone waited within. He steadied his nerves and willed himself onward, though he did not intend violence unless it was forced on him. First he wanted to know if the person had anything to do with his broken memento, and if they did, why.

If he’d found the culprit, he’d leave them be for now. There were much more satisfying ways to get payback than brutish beatings in the middle of a hallway.

He reached the door and paused, lifting one hand to run a hand through his thick hair and the single feather he kept twined within it. His other hand tightened on the shattered jewelry in his pocket. He hesitated, then knocked.

One, two, three times.

[Froggy]

The wait had been....dissatisfying to say the least. Between the ongoing struggle to polish the gauntlet she held, and the acknowledgment of the stranger beyond, she had started to grow a little uncomfortable. The 'unknowns', as they had since been titled, always lingered nearby with some sort of flavor about them. Their presence was to Sera, existed as a sort of feeling, possessing differences that she could not yet characterize. All that she could feel, as she did with this one, was direction and distance...plagued by a flurry of tones that she could understand no better than the many unknowns she'd met before.

...and then the knocking came.

A rather calmly spaced sound, not forceful, which was both reassuring and alarming at the same time. Sera was soon to meet someone with a manner about him that differed from most of the blood-thirsty fools assigned to be trained throughout. Still, that didn't mean he was a peaceful individual. A calm knock could have ranged anywhere from someone new, to an intelligent individual wishing to avoid the creation of a scene.

Such were mere inclusions to the many thoughts going through Sera's head, as she turned for the door only halfway. One hand readily accepted both the rag and the gauntlet that she'd been cleaning, so that her other could be extended in the direction of the door to open it as she had been taught. What followed in turn was-....nothing. The faintest sound, almost akin to the muffled noise of pressure, served to communicate that Sera was indeed trying to open the door with 'the force', though within a few moments she surrendered, for fear that the sound was evidence only of a heightened blood pressure, rather than any proper demonstration of her ability.

She shook her head dismissively to this and steadily limped towards the entry to her quarters.

What masters of the force probably took for granted, was still something Sera had needed time to learn. All the same, she made herself as mobile as she could be in order to reach the door so that she could interact with the control panel beside it. A single press of one of the buttons, soon opened the door to reveal a man standing on the other side who was unsurprisingly shorter than Sera. The difference in stature, while certainly one that she exploited as any other through the simple act of staring down, left her uneasy. Her size afforded her a few advantages, though the man had a better center of gravity, and was probably infinitely more experienced than she.

She didn't offer any words, instead she simply looked to the man in expectation. He no doubt had words to offer, and Sera certainly had time to listen, though she didn't want to surrender too much of her own self for his own analysis. Discussion could come later, once an understanding of this stranger had been established.

[Rugs]

Torrance felt a being move within as he knock, knock, knocked at the door. Moments passed in silence, allowing the Kiffar more time to consider just what he’d do if he found his culprit here.

Violence was tempting, he had to admit. Even to a normally-reserved soul like himself. If the person was who was looking for. If they broke his necklace.

Especially if it was a petty show of payback for him besting them elsewhere.

That didn’t feel right though. But how else could he make them see? How else could he force respect for himself and his belongings here, where strength and raw force seemed to be the one and only currency in any exchange betwixt two beings?

Why can’t it just work when I need it to? he thought, frustration bubbling as he glanced down at his hands. Psychometry was supposed to be a tool, an answer where there were none otherwise. All too often, it’d surge to the surface when he didn’t want it, feeling his head with needless, confusing imagery, and go utterly silent when he needed it most.

He clenched his jaw, flexed his fingers to a fist and lowered his hands. No, that wouldn’t do. He’d need to be calm.

The door hissed softly, gas escaping the hydraulic hinges that moved it, and creaked open. A creature, tall and gangly greeted him. Torrance might’ve gawked if he didn’t have better self-control. Instead his brows arched subtly as his eyes, then neck turned skyward to look at his new company.

Don’t recognize him… her? He thought. It seemed safe to eliminate this Sith from consideration, but no, that could be too easy. Who knew how many might have been involved?

“I am Torrance,” he said, voice soft as always. “I’m searching for someone.”

He hesitated here, not sure how to approach the situation. Should he tip his hand? The message in his room clearly pointed here, but what if that was a ploy? What if this Sith played dumb?

Probably should’ve taken more time to think about it, he chided himself. But he couldn’t turn back now, and so decided to play it straight.

“Someone did this,” he went on, holding out the chain so the tall Sith could see the broken necklace in his hand. His expression hardened subtly — not to threaten, but a subconscious underlining of how seriously he treated the matter. “And this,” he extended his other hand, showing the crumpled-up piece of paper with 274 on it, “was left in my room.”

Another moment passed in silence. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”