Dots and Dashes

[Neology]

She loved this place, it's scent, where the vaguely chemical smell of new technology mingled with dust and paper and old leather. The library stretched around her in three directions, lit by the long slashes of winter sunlight that poured in from the windows. Novus sat at the end of a wide table, the lacquered surface layered deep in open books and the occasional datapad, her back to a wall of gently humming servers. A wealth of data at her literal fingertips, utterly useless to her in hindsight. The Sith spymaster could, in an afternoon, parse two dozen field reports or mix a poison capable of slaying a rancor beast, yet never in a million years could she have found Yavin IV on her own. That unwelcome realization had been with her for weeks now, a lingering specter that seemed to taunt her. Not as clever as you thought you were, eh? She closed the book nearest her with a sigh.

Thankfully, even academia had it's mercenaries. (What a strange mental image that conjured.) Vouchsafing the loyalty of said outsider experts was a little more tricky, a tinge of nerves that the Sith was reluctantly learning to live with. Not that she wasn't hatching what if contingencies to fall back on, of course, but Dr. Hyul's vanity, if nothing else, was some assurance. He'd be throwing away quite the career to pull a vanish with a handful of Sith trinkets.

And yet all of that was elsewhere, irritatingly out of her hands. There were new problems for a new week: rakghouls near her landing site, Jedi on alert. She leaned back and stretched, spine arched, loose white hair cascading down the back of her chair. To her pleasure, the movement was utterly painless. The kolto had done its job on her ribs and shoulder. She wondered if the same could be said of her Jedi guest, or if he was still moving about the place with a limp?

Little matter. Part of the beauty of Rhen Var was that there was really nowhere to run and little to do. All she had to do was wait while her mere presence kept the library charmingly empty.

Minutes later, Novus pushed out her chair and stood. Carefully, she flipped her collection of histories closed, tucking two into the crook of her arm. Yavin IV aside, surely she could find an empty space on the shelves. ... And thus boredom makes servants of us all.

[Fromikeable]

Ever since he'd woken up that morning, Vance had been fending off everything from back pain to mental strain. From the moment he'd opened his eyes, the world had quickly ripped into his pupils, berated his ears, assaulted his nose, and pricked his nerves as his physical pain lessened and, subsequently, the gravity of his setting became more apparent.

I'm in a Sith Temple. He wasn't quite running and clawing at the walls, but he was certainly perched atop a steep, sharp edge.

The odd part was how gradual the feeling was. He'd known from the minute Novus... er, Darth Novus... Force almighty, in a Sith Temple with a Sith Lady. He shivered a little in his new dark robes, now actually fitted (albeit still a tad scratchy). Trying not to dwell, he shoved the thought aside until it didn't make him quite so paranoid; a secondary thought that sparked a whole new debate about the trustworthiness of his captor... teacher...

... his new associate. New Dark-side-slinging, red-saber-swinging, Sith-temple-living, dark-robes-giving associate.

But the odd part was that he had known that Novus was a Sith from the minutes after he had awoken on her ship. Even stranger was that she had straight-up told him the moment he'd exited that kolto tank. The tank, mind, that she, a Sith Lady, had stuck him in so as to save his life. The tank she'd stuck him in after saving his life twice-over already. The tank before which she had made no attempt on his life (see previous accounts of preserving it), no attempt on his mind or ideals (she had been downright welcoming), and had even offered him an option about as far from being shackled and tortured as you could get.

... but friggin' WHY?! That was the part that irked him. She had no reason to show him any kindness, let alone degrees of selflessness. Was it all just some elaborate ploy to win him over? Some idealistic attempt to convince him to leave the Order? Every part of him that could think of the Code screamed at him in shock that he wasn't doing everything in his power to resist, to run, to fight, to... do something! But putting aside the fact that there was nothing he could do... should he even?

That question naturally roused a second onslaught of shock from his more Jedi-like bits. It was all he could do to try and keep them from making him raving mad.

But such heavy thinking was interrupted by one of the most primal sounds in the galaxy; an empty stomach growling forth its demands for filler. Looking down at his own gut, the padawan frowned; he hadn't left the room Novus had given him in the enclave since they'd arrived, and that meant he had skipped last night's dinner and today's breakfast. His mind might have feared opening the door and seeing what was beyond eerily Jedi-Temple-like room, but his gut was simply no longer taking "no" for an answer.

So, reluctantly, the young padawan opened the door, peering down the hallway both ways in caution. Not a soul was to be seen, not a presence to be sensed. Another half dozen checks, and he finally stepped outside, dead quiet and intently focused.

... how far am I going to have to go for food? Even if the room given to him was just as easily the kind of trap he feared, he didn't want to wander from it. Leaving the door wide open in case of a quick retreat, he set out slowly down the hallway, keeping his presence tucked close; Force forbid he sensed Novus.

In short, he was a mammoth fro-touting mouse slowly sniffing his away about, looking for cheese.

In his dairy-desired quest, he passed room after room after closed door. An office... a large, empty room... a room filled with numerous antiquities... a closed door with a security panel (he gave that one a wide berth)... a.. library? That one gave him pause, making him stop right in the middle of the doorway. It was a ways from the grand, towering rows of the Archives on Coruscant that made up his youth, but... there was something familiar about the shelves that both relaxed him and made him all the more suspicious, delving him back into deep thought as his curiosity took sudden root. What could one find in the library of a Sith? Of a Darth, for that matter? Was it a regular library? Was there... history and science and art? Or was there... he didn't know... pictures of kicked puppies and crying children?

He wondered so much, he didn't even notice that there was someone in it.

[Neology]

Novus trailed her thumb over the spines of thin, leather bound volumes, humming tunelessly under her breath. Dispatch reports – very old, slightly redundant physical backups. Within, each mission out of Rhen Var was reduced to a couple neat lines: the name or names of the Jedi involved, coordinates, and outcome. A very boring read. She slid the two she carried back onto the shelf, sparing a second glance to ensure she'd got the order correct.

Turning, she caught a glimpse of movement in her peripheral. Dark hair, stubble, broad shoulders, a sense of frightful, frightened energy. The Jedi padawan might have passed for young soldier, she thought, save that she could sense his connection to the Force. (As well as the need of a haircut and shave.) Still, she made a mental note to make sure no uniforms went missing, least the thought occur to him as well.

“Good morning.” She rounded the corner of the shelf, flashing the young man a polite smile as she made her way back to the table. “How are you feeling?” Carefully, she powered down one of the smaller datapads and slid it into her pocket. One by one, she closed the books, stacking them in a maliciously disordered pile.

“News from Taris is that we're in the clear, for now. Death by misadventure or simply missing, I've heard both, but rakghoul activity in the area has been too heavy for a proper search.” She delivered this news without looking up, it occurring to her that the young man may not take it well.

[Fromikeable]

Vance physically jumped a bit as his wandering mind was halted by a simple greeting and a polite smile. At face value, it was downright generous; he would normally be in shackles somewhere in the basement being interrogated for information about the Jedi Temple on Taris. Instead he was completely unbound, free to move about the enclave as he wished (including his ability to stay locked up in his room for so long as he didn't need to eat), and was met with smiles and pleasantries that bore no ill will.

Beyond face value? He sort of wished he was in those shackles after all. At least then the captor's intentions were crystal clear.

"... uh... good morning." He blinked cautiously, as if making sure his eyes were still in working order. He gazed at her for a few seconds before remembering that he could move. Adjusting his legs back to a normal stance after his awkward mini-jump, he straightened out his robes (a small nervous habit he'd noticed over the last few days) and took a short breath.

"I'm..."

Sporadic, nervous, paranoid, completely suspicious, totally grateful, and absolutely confused? All at once?

"... hungry and still a little tired." Dear Force, you're a thick one.

As he watched her form a disorganized pile with the books (something that excited a small part of him; he rarely saw actual paper books at the Archives, being just a curious padawan), his face grew gradually more grim as she relayed the news about Taris. The less his body had ached, the more he had been replaying events in his mind, and the more guilt he was gradually amassing for the initial explosion he had set off. He had no idea how much damage he had done; he couldn't remember anything between the time he'd been thrown backward and the time he'd woken up beneath the rubble.

Though being pronounced dead with no search party certainly didn't put his mind any more at rest.

... I'm really not a Jedi any more. It was an idea he was trying desperately to fight. Sure he was missing in action, and sure he was in Sith custody, and sure he had to play the part of a Sith Initiate in order to not get stabbed. That didn't mean he had renounced his teachings, right? That he had abandoned the Code? The fight quickly turned into a mired debate of many sides; the Code wasn't so easily understood or applied under such scenarios. That only made him more wary of everything he did. What helped the galaxy? What didn't? What would get him exiled from the Order? What would let him live long enough to even return to them?

Would he ever get to return, for that matter? And (Force forbid) he was given a choice at some point far down the road... would he?

Squinting his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose, the ex-padawan took a few deep breaths, trying to absorb it all, or at least beat it all back down to a point at which he could think straight. When he'd managed that, his curiosity mixed with his worry, prompting him to utter the most immediate question.

"How many people did I hurt in that explosion?" The first thing that mattered wasn't which order he was in or what code he followed or broke. At the end of the day, he didn't want to be a murderer, and if he was already, he needed to know.

[Neology]

“Yes, of course. You've been through a lot.” She closed the last of the books, slim fingers lingering against the canvas binding. Had he stayed locked up in his room all this time? She was not unsympathetic. After all, Novus had spent her first few weeks as Sith hiding in the wastes of Korriban like a wounded animal. An inelegant transition, years and miles away from the person she was now.

She glanced up, blue eyes briefly appraising. It doesn't have to be like that anymore … So much had changed in just a few short years.

“Well, it sounds like we've got our agenda. Get you something to eat, then visit Dr. Tanoor.” She nodded her head, trying on a smile she hoped the young man would find reassuring. “Despite all evidence to the contrary, I don't actually know much about medicine. It would be best to let a professional take a look at your leg.”

Novus rounded the table and made for the door, expecting the Jedi to follow her. His question brought her up short, pausing beneath the wide frame of the library's double doors. She drew a long breath, fleet calculations stacking up in her mind.

“You were lucky this time.” The corner of her lips pulled up briefly, memories tied up in that word. Luck. Levin always disagreed. What was luck for the rest of the Galaxy if not the Force, unilaterally meddlesome?

“But it's difficult to tell for sure. There's always a few people outside the count, that no one would report missing. Especially on Taris. However, officially …” She shrugged her shoulders. “No reported deaths apart from your own.” Novus started down the hall, leading the way to the cafeteria and deliberately shortening her steps for the recovering Jedi.

[Fromikeable]

Luck was not the first word that came to Vance’s mind about his current scenario.

But, that zero, that precious symbol of nothingness, was a small relief. He knew it was only official… that it was only the people that they had bothered to count. Furthermore, it was only the people that they Sith could count and would bother to count; two filters of perspective and priorities that skewed truths and facts more than anyone liked to think about.

But… it would have to do, lest he go insane. And there was plenty already competing for that role at the moment.

Rubbing his eyes, he turned to look at her, seeing her motion for him to follow her out of the library. She was still polite smiles; an attempt at sympathy? Empathy? Apathy? He didn’t know any more (not that he ever really had). All that he knew was that he was just as he’d said; achy and hungry.

He also tried to ignore the fact that he was now, for all intents and purposes of the Republic and the Jedi Order, a dead man. A small part of him wondered if he was actually dead and this was all just some… post-mortem topsy-turvy vision that the Force was flowing through his still semi-conscious mind before it simply dissipated. A bad movie before his dirt nap.

I hope not, otherwise the Force sucks at directing. And who was doing the casting for this flick? They desered a flick of their own.

”Lucky? Eh heh… yeah, let’s go with that.” The padawan walked just a pace off to her side and about two behind her, too wary of their surroundings to be any further, too wary of her to be any closer. He grimaced a little, not liking the way he'd put that so bluntly; it almost sounded a little disconnected and sour. ”Let’s just pretend that the report is right, okay?” He had to think about it even less, it seemed; the only way his mind was going to handle that thought today seemed to be warped and... scary.

With that particular question answered (or at least satisfied and hastily shoved in the closet), his mind relaxed from its anxiety, returning to its normal level of… anxiety. What did he dare ask her? What did he trust her to answer? Would she answer anything?

Only one way to find out.

”... so, um… you’re a, uh… a, y’know… a D-Darth?” The padawan immediately cleared his throat, blushing lightly and tensing, as if he’d just mashed the button on a bomb. It was the elephant in the room for him, and while his voice wasn’t quite trembling with fear, his slight stutter and uncertainty showed rather clearly his comfort with the idea.

[Neology]

“Is there another word that you'd prefer?” Novus asked despite his agreement, a touch of amusement in her voice. “Fate, perhaps?” She cocked her head to one side, shooting a glance over her shoulder. The boy frowned, an echo of what she could sense, like sinuous shapes glimpsed through dark water.

“It's an attractive thought, of course. Say this was fated to happen, absolve yourself of responsibility.” She shook her head, leading around a corner. The cafeteria waited at the end of the hall, wide double doors propped open. “I don't like that interpretation, personally. We – Sith, Jedi, whatever – are fallible. I think it's important that we don't forget that.” Novus fell abruptly silent, brows creasing. Where was this coming from? A lecture for her pretend student, or an argument meant for someone else? She needed to be more careful.

“Let's discuss it over breakfast, hm?” Long tables and matching benches took up much of the wide room. One wall, connecting to a kitchen, was partitioned off with open serving tables, half filled trays of food arrayed under warm lamps. A few soldiers in Imperial uniforms lingered here and there, conversing in small groups. Novus selected a tray and went through the line, serving herself portions of scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, and toast. At another counter, she poured herself a cup of coffee. She waited for Vance, then took a seat at the end of one of the tables.

“Yes, you remember. I am a Lord of the Sith, and a bit more than that. I oversee the Empire's Intelligence network.” She picked at her food, sampling tiny portions at random; an undisguised and habitual test for poison that was, in this case, purely academic in nature. Satisfied, she popped a larger bite of melon into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

“Before that I was an apprentice to, well, another Sith, and before that I was a Jedi Knight.” She ate another bite, watching the young man thoughtfully, then shrugged one shoulder. “This is a good time to talk. Ask your questions.”

[Fromikeable]

Hm. Jedi and Sith were fallible. An odd thought to both Orders and, he was sure, the galaxy at large.

Jedi (and their counterparts) were… basically superheroes. Vance always remembered this one corner store he’d ventured to one day in a fit of daring exploration (well, it had seemed daring at the time). He’d worn robes and stuck out like a sore thumb, but his young age had been apparent enough to ward off any sort of ill will or awkwardness from the store keeper there. He’d bought a chocolate bar and looked through the stock… and there had been comic books. He remembered them vividly; half of them had Jedi in them, and in every single one, the Jedi was either a man gone made with supernatural power, wise and chiseled with an eye for intrigue, or heroic and noble.

It had sort of blown his mind at the time. In a way, as Novus was alluding to, it still did.

But semi-fond, perplexing memories of home were abruptly halted by the smell of food. Delicious, warm… no, possibly posioned, drugged, disgusting… the padawan tried his best to talk himself out of how much his stomach jumped at the smells as they entered the dining room. Beyond that, the hairs on the back of his neck stood halfway; there wasn’t a single soul outside of Sith uniform in the entire room.

He was in the den of the enemy. Or, at least, the den of people who wouldn’t think twice about shooting him dead if he was honest. Watching Novus and learning the structure of the buffet, Vance quietly took his own tray and kept his eyes down, greeting anyone who looked at him from his front with nothing but his big, curly fro.

And then she confirmed it, just to put that small lump in his throat again. Darth Novus. Vance tried not to let the phrase make him shiver, managing to reduce it into a small gulp as he piled his plate high with food he may or may not eat. As he scooped eggs, he felt a twinge of fear. A handful of bacon, and a dose of curiosity.

A glass of orange juice, and, well… the downside of keeping his eyes down was seeing Novus’s butt as he followed her to a table of her choosing, sitting opposite to her and continuing to stare at his food.

“Ask your questions.”

He shoved aside his trepidation, letting the damn flow forth far more quickly than he’d meant to.

“Why did you leave the Jedi? Do you kill Jedi? What sort of things do you do as a Darth? Do you hurt people? Is it personal? Is there anyone above you in the Order? Do they kill Jedi? Why did you become a Sith? What does the Sith Order do? Don’t you guys rule the Empire? Do all of these soldiers take orders from you? Do they kill Jedi?” His voice started at a whisper and until it became gradually more serious and urgent, finally ending in his most pressing, demanding, coarse question.

“What do you want from me? You kept me alive. You gave me robes. You gave me a bed, a disguise, hot food-” Which sat untouched, steaming in silent protest of its own waste. “- and you haven’t so much as asked for a single thing in return. Why?”

He blushed a little, deflating in his seat and taking a deep breath. So forward. So stressed. So accusing. So defensive. His voice had gotten a little too loud as he’d finally aired his suspicion, and he was suddenly filled with self-consciousness and just a little guilt. Part of him held the usual fear of some form of punishment for being so direct, but the vast majority of him simply sat on edge, waiting for an answer.

[Neology]

Wow. Though the young man had been idle in his room, it seemed his mind had been working. Novus laughed, short and abrupt, as he dropped over a dozen questions in her lap, hardly bothering to pause for breath.

“You've been thinking about this a lot.” She ate another bite, chewing thoughtfully before responding.

“I left the Jedi to join the Sith, or rather the group of Dark Jedi that they were at the time. Like you, I did it because I didn't want to die.” Novus glanced at his still-full plate, arching an eyebrow. She leaned over, spearing a chunk of scrambled egg from the center of his plate with the tines of her fork.

“It's not poisoned. If it was, well … In this case, you could watch the soldiers. They'd show symptoms first.” The Sith concluded her point by eating the bite from Vance's plate, then tucked back into her own meal, satisfying a rather indifferent appetite.

“Let's see. Yes, I've killed Jedi before. No, it wasn't personal.” Some of his questions she purposefully ignored – easy when he asked so many. “Yes, these soldiers would take orders from me, were I to give them. They have their own officers, though.” She sipped her coffee, warm ceramic cupped in loose fingers. “We work with the Empire; I imagine both sides feel they have the upper hand. They needed a counter for Jedi, and we needed an army.”

She blinked slowly as the young man got to the heart of the matter. What did she want him for, indeed? Carefully, she set her mug down, lacing her fingers together atop the table.

“There's no good way to say this. We need Taris, but we're not ready to take it. When you set off that explosion, I had to investigate, to make sure our hand hadn't been tipped. I wasn't expecting a half-dead Jedi padawan.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“My options were kill you or bring you with me. I know the value of a, hmm, let's say classical education. Killing you would have been a terrible waste, and maybe not just for the Jedi.”

[Fromikeable]

Ugh. Vance's head dropped the table, his forehead slamming into the metal surface with a force strong enough to produce a nice metal clang (and probably a small bump on his flesh later). His mind swam with new questions as she answered the first barrage, but only after her final response did he feel the need to smack his skull with something solid.

"So I'm literally a puppy with broken ribs you found in the street and decided to mend and collar rather than just axe. Awesome." He sighed rather audibly, his face flushing a bit more as he realized that he'd just thought aloud. He didn't mean to make it sound so pitiful, but it was how he felt; he was just some dope she decided could be better used than left to turn rakghoul.

His stomach grumbled at him. He told it to shut up. When it didn't, he sighed lightly again and blindly searched with his hand for his tray, fishing off a piece of bacon and raising his head, rubbing his new red forehead with his free hand. His stomach may had demanded that he eat, but his mind (which was certainly less than pleased by just about everything by this point) made a last ditch effort to hamper the effort. He therefore ate in ravenous, enormous bites, but at a snail's pace.

In a way, he was relieved. She wasn't going to kill for certain; that fact could finally begin to sink in. He'd known that she had reason to from his own accounts, but hearing it from her... well, it gave him reason to think that she wouldn't change her mind. At least not so long as he did whatever it was that she wanted him to do.

That led to the other hand; he was basically a slave, by his accord. He certainly couldn't go back to the Jedi, and even if he did, who was to say that they wouldn't just hang him from a tree and be done with it? By this point, he might as well have been a full-blown accomplice to the Sith Order; he was wearing their robes, eating their food, and chatting with their leadership.

"Kinda' starting to wish I had died..." He mumbled as he picked up his fork, finally starting to dent his mountain of eggs after her example. For all he knew, it was poisoned and she and her soldiers had simply all taken an antidote pre-emptively, but... screw it. He was hungry and didn't really have much to lose.

With a moment's silence of mental conflict (namely his attempt at beating down numerous unhealthy coping mechanisms, like denial that he ever had been a Jedi or that any of this was real), his mind's cogs finally began to spin again, continuing their questions in a half-hearted attempt to distract himself from his dilemma.

"Why did your life depend on leaving the Order? And why does the Empire need Taris?" He decided to withhold his broader questions about the war for now; the last thing he needed right now was to accidentally insult the Empire's casus belli.

[Neology]

Novus watched his outburst, frowning with obvious distaste. An appropriate reaction for his age, perhaps, but not a particularly useful one. Still, it was oddly reassuring to provoke a rise out of the young man. Nature verses nurture, the Jedi code only seemed to go so far.

“Broken leg,” she corrected, daintily wiping her lips with a paper napkin. She stared across at him, brow stormy, fork set aside. “I have enough dogs, Vance, both literal and metaphorical. Choose something else.”

She brought the mug of coffee to her lips, sipping slowly. The way he chose to eat was an irritating spectacle. The Sith tolerated it without comment, an indulgence that strained her waning patience.

“You wish that you'd died.” Novus echoed him, toneless, one silver brow quirking up skeptically. She pushed her tray away.

“Awfully melodramatic, but your gratitude is noted.” Unpleasant, to count the blood she'd shed on his account wasted. Five rakghouls, base monsters that they were, had still proved a difficult fight. Not much room for finesse, even without the trouble of carrying the heavy padawan over uneven terrain.

“If that's the way you feel, I'm going to have to insist that you stop wasting my time. I wont answer questions for a dead man. You have your saber; you can find your way into trouble from there.” Novus drained the rest of her coffee and stood, gathering up her things. A few steps over and she dumped the remains of her meal in the trash, stacking the tray and silverware in their respective receptacles. She rubbed her fingers on her pants, lingering on the seam.

“Now, if that was only a moment's foolishness and you'd really like to live, yes please with sugar on top, Dr. Tanoor's office is this way.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance had to make an effort not to actually choose another animal as she commented on his response. She wanted him to pick? Fine, he was way more useless than a dog. Why not a broken little mouse, or a limping gerbil?

Hell, by this point he'd be mighty surprised if he could even muster enough strength and ability to bite someone.

... ya' done? He sighed internally this time, closing his eyes for a moment. Outburst over. Emotions unhappy but satiated for now.

After all, complaining and turning sour wasn't productive, was far from enjoyable, and certainly wasn't helpful. He didn't have to like it, but he'd get nowhere from fighting it tooth and nail like he might've thought he had to.

Novus seemed to be of the same opinion, though the way she slowly worded her response made him feel a bit guilty, handing his head a bit as she echoed his own words back at him. Despite his unhappiness, he supposed that he did owe her some form of gratitude (so long as it wasn't following her doctrine or any sort of... compromise of character). She had done a lot, after all; she'd saved his sorry butt from succumbing to a fate arguably worse than death.

Whether or not it was worse than being a Sith remained to be seen. But for the sake of his sanity, his state of mind, and his ability to refrain from becoming a sour, twisted individual, he would give it the benefit of the doubt.

His new "master" (Force only knew that he'd never call her that) decided to give him no choice but to end his response, however, as she silently declared breakfast to be over. Shoveling in another few bites of eggs and grabbing a final piece of bacon, the ex-padawan followed suit, albeit giving her a small lead as before (in part due to the obvious fact that he'd just irritated her).

At the very least, his thoughtless decision to follow her confirmed that his moment of foolishness had indeed only been a moment's worth.

He sighed lightly. "Sorry..." He quietly wiped his mouth of any remaining food as his mind protested what he was about to say, especially in such confidence and lack of formality. For once, he decided to silence it rather than debate, eliminating what would've been a long pause of deliberation.

"I don't mean to sound so... sour, or... well, to complain so much." He sighed lightly one more time, putting his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"It's just a... big shift that makes me paranoid." He looked at his feet as he walked, hoping she could empathize. "The way the Order teaches it, this place is supposed to be fire and brimstone, and you're supposed to have horns and a pitchfork. And even when you start to realize that Sith are just Jedi singing a different tune, it's... hard to..."

He shrugged. "Imagine meeting one. Or talking to one. Or knowing one. Or having one save your life. Or have one not want something from you. Or have one offer you eggs and a doctor." He bit his tongue. Not his worst attempt at communication, but it wasn't exactly what he was thinking to the letter, and so he couldn't help but wish it had gone better.

Though at this point, he really wished a lot of things were going better. That made him make one small amendment.

"Or have one act so compassionate."

[Neology]

Novus acknowledged the teen's apology with a nod, leading him out into the hall without comment. Heads turned to watch; a curious sense of regard, of eyes and ears, that pricked her senses and tested her patience. Private conversations were so difficult to guarantee with soldiers and researchers about - a necessary risk. Their scrutiny was, after all, only a pale shadow of what the padawan might face on Korriban, where association with Darth Novus might form itself into greater threats.

The consequence of rank brought many new dangers to consider. At least they were alone in the hallway, for the moment. Between shifts.

“I know. You need more time, or maybe you think you should be fighting this. Perhaps you think fighting is what a Sith would do, so you don't.” She smiled, a bitter thing, and started down a gentle incline of stone steps. “It's not easy, having lived on both sides. As you say, certain illusions become harder for us to keep.”

The next hall was wider, lit by the cold sunlight that poured in through narrow windows along the right wall. Several doors and archways led to the left, into what passed as the Rhen Var temple's Halls of Healing – the domain of Dr. Tanoor and a pair of nurses. Straight ahead, the hallway terminated into a set of wide blast doors, flanked by two soldiers. Vehicle access.

“I wish we had time for that, for you to adjust at your own pace. We really don't.” She knocked on the office door, then peeked her head in. Satisfied, she looked back to Vance, waving for him to go in.

“I'll wait for you. This time.” She winked.

[Fromikeable]

Vance couldn’t quite tell if Novus’s words were making him feel better or worse. On the one hand, it almost sounded like she was empathizing; that she honestly knew what he was feeling and the struggles he was facing. It was almost as if she was sentient and not a great, big, scary Darth.

On the other hand, she had effectively just told him, “Suck it up, buttercup.”

... better than nothing. Considering that he had been so afraid of imprisonment that he hadn’t left his room for an entire day, he supposed tough love was better than none.

And that made him catch himself as they approached the doctor’s office. Eh heh. There was no love here. The Sith were the antithesis of love, remember? Passion, power, greed; all that jazz. There wasn’t supposed to be any compassion here, nor was there supposed to be gratitude or charity. Novus had still seemed to have shown him both, but he had to remember where he was and why.

Brutal. But at least it sounded… sentient. It made sense, in an odd, sort of cold way.

She’d saved his life. He therefore owed her a debt, and he got the feeling that he didn’t have much choice as to whether he could pay it back or not. “And we don’t have time because…” He was about to make some guesses, but with a wink and a wave, he was instructed into the doctor’s office. He wasn’t sure whether to blush or laugh at the comment, doing a little of both. She’d already seen him naked, but the idea of her overseeing a doctor’s appointment unnerved him in a way that he was particularly unready for. As such, he shrugged it off and didn’t even try to reply, quickly slipping past the door.

What awaited him was a half-hour long blitzkrieg check-up with two lovely, female Zeltron nurses (one pinkish blue, the other pinkish orange) and a very old, very straight-to-business male Duro doctor with very, very cold hands.

How he felt afterwards was apparent by the way that he waddled out of the office, smoothing out his dark robes with a face of discomfort that signaled just a little mental scarring. He thought those exams didn’t start until Humans hit their 20’s…

”Never hurts to starting checking early” my ass. Literally.

Fluffing out his hair and taking a breath, he walked over to Novus. “Doctor Tanoor is, uh…” He gulped. The silence should’ve communicated the unpleasantness he’d just experienced quite nicely, even if it wasn't intentional.

[Neology]

She watched him go, one brow quirking slightly, a sense of questions left unvoiced. Surely, she needn't explain that Sith temples were dangerous. Novus turned, blinking, and moved to the nearest window, resting her hip against the sill. The glass was chilly through the layers of her robe, even as the sunlight warmed the back of her head.

Somewhere in the transition from Paxis' personal assassin to Dark Lady, Novus had lost much of her taste for waiting, for patience. Two minutes passed in relative stillness, her gaze settling on some feature of stonework, idle curiosity about the temple's origins. She fidgeted, shifting her weight, pulling at the loose hem of her sleeve. A moment later, she fished her datapad out of her pocket, unlocking the screen with the pad of her thumb.

–

“Very thorough, as I recall. Though I think he gets bored with so few patients.” She stowed the device away, glancing up at Vance, appraising. Despite some embarrassment, the young man seemed fine. Novus smiled briefly, pleased, and straightened, stepping away from the wall.

“All is well, then?” She was only vaguely aware of the treatment for an improperly set bone – repeat the break and set again? In any case, she was fairly certain such a thing would take more than a thirty minute checkup.

“Well. Feel up to a little sparring?” Novus started back down the hall, motioning for him to follow. “I think it would help, to know where your last teacher left off. If you still want to make a convincing show of this, that is.”

Back up the steps, past the cafeteria, and into a wing of mingled offices and living quarters. Novus ducked into one of these briefly, retrieving a pair of training sabers, then led Vance out into a large open air courtyard. Once a meditation garden for the Jedi that livid here, it had seen little use in the last two years. A skeletal tree dominated the center, though any accompanying greenery had since succumbed to Rhen Var's climate and the Sith's neglect. Novus tossed the young Jedi one of the training sabers and stepped out onto the snow. She positioned herself side face, igniting the blade in her hand.

“Proceed.”

[Fromikeable]

Bored? That lovely experience was because the old Duro got bored?

“He's got a weird idea of 'fun' then.” He might’ve smiled a little at his small joke had it not been for the overwhelming discomfort he now felt of his own skin. Beyond that… had he really just told a joke to a Sith Lady? Beyond that, had a Sith Lady just sent him to a free, (overly) thorough, and honest medical examination?

Had she just asked “All is well”?

“Yeah, I’m… fine. Um… thanks?” His face was a pure look of discomfort, confusion, and almost a bit of concern, and his tone gave away his disbelief. By this point in the day, his mind was beginning to abandon some of its more demanding inquiries in favor of retaining sanity, looking for things it could at least temporarily hold to and rely on enough to provide some semblance of stability.

A few of those somethings were definitely overly simplified. He was alive. He wasn’t under threat of death. This woman liked him, or at least wasn’t about to discard his life in one way or another. They were all spiky, oddly-shaped pills to swallow, but… well, he’d stop taking them when he found something better. For now, his mind was just exhausted.

So when she asked him if he wanted to spar, what normally would have been a glaring “NO” reaction was instead a “Do I have a choice?”. Ergo his skeptical look remained, his shoulders tensed just a little, and he made a mental note of where his saber was; hanging from his belt on his right. For all he knew, “sparring” meant her jumping him right then and there, or having him shot at around the next corner, or actually sparring with him after having sabotaged his saber, or…

“You realize you’re going to kick my ass, right?” Or he could stop worrying about it. They’d well established he was at her mercy, and for the umpteenth time that day, he had to remind himself that if she wanted to hurt him, or kill him, or otherwise screw with him, she could be doing it far better and could’ve started far sooner.

So she’ll beat you up, let you think you’re fighting back, and maybe if you don’t somehow void the value of your life through it all, you can ask her for some lunch. He was still hungry; he’d only gotten to half of his breakfast through his moping. Alas.

So he followed her quietly through the Temple, distracting himself with what the Sith had done with the place. It had been militarized, surely, with offices and quarters and soldiers inhabiting them both, but its sense of eerie familiarity still permeated every floor, wall, and ceiling. Even the steps made the same sounds, the walls had the same textures, the building layout still basically the same.

The only real change that emanated with him was the dying tree they found in the courtyard. A relic of an age past? Or simply hibernating, waiting for the end to a winter?

… well, he knew better than to boil it down to dichotomy. More likely than anything, he got the impression that it would never quite be the same; a single note of passing time among stones of sameness.

Thinking when Novus tossed him a training saber, the padawan’s reflexes took over, the Force swirling about and catching the thing before it hit his stomach, floating it quickly over into his right hand. He began to notice the cold blowing through the area, the snow on the ground, the chill of the wind… and when he finally looked up, Novus, posed and at the ready, saber lit.

For some reason, she reminded him of a snow leopard. He could only hope that the imagery wasn’t foreshadowing.

Snapping his own saber to life, the ex-padawan stood opposite her and spread his legs, bending his knees and forming a classic Soresu stance. When she told him to proceed, it showed in his face, his mind trying to think of how to start the fight without leaving his particular field of expertise. What he settled on was breaking the pose just for a second, giving an advancing lunge forward as his saber snapped out at her shoulder, preparing to snap it just as quickly back and raise a defense.

[Neology]

As she watched, Vance assumed Soresu's opening stance – feet apart, saber up. She paid close attention to the leg he'd recently broke, pleased to detect no lingering trace of the damage. His height was, if anything, more noticeable in this context – how had she ever managed to carry him?

“Lucky for your ass, that kicking it isn't the point.” Novus flashed a slight smile, recalling his words from the hall. The teen lunged, his shoulders choreographing his intent. The Sith Lady spun to his left, saber flashing out to tag him in the ribs. He blocked it and she let her arm drop, stepping away. She held up her empty hand, signaling a short pause.

“Soresu, huh. Your form looks good, if slow. We can put part of that down to injury, but ... Maybe not all of it.” She paced a half circle, expression thoughtful. “You know, you haven't mentioned your master. That's curious.” Crossing over to the low half-wall that surrounded the snowy garden, Novus flipped open a large box. Reaching within, she filled her hand with marble sized ball bearings.

“I knock these off candles sometimes, to practice. For now, let's pretend they're blaster bolts, okay?” She focused, opened her hand, and sent the ball bearings into a loose orbit around the teen. At random, she flicked them at him one to two at a time, taking care to avoid his head.

“So, why not? I know the Jedi are supposed to be humble but I've never seen much evidence of that in practice. Why send you out on basic repairs like that?"

[Fromikeable]

Considering that she was holding a training saber, Vance wondered if he might prefer kicking to other things. Alas, he wasn’t given much time to think on it, as his half-hearted swing was lightly batted away, his dark green saber rushing back to his stance as Novus tried to seize her window of opportunity. Unfortunately for her, and surprisingly to him, he succeeded in closing it quickly, and his ass was left both unkicked and unscathed.

… well, for now.

Even with her signaling for a pause, he retained his stance for a few more moments than he might’ve otherwise. Deception was… well, what was the saying? “All’s fair in love and war.” The training saber only dropped when she had finished her observation, her comments making him raise an eyebrow. “Well I’m not exactly limber.” He’d long since come to terms with the fact that he was less of an arcing willow moving with the wind and more a solid oak getting smashed by it. Such an observation was only fueled by the amount of times his figurative branches had broken.

But as soon as the ball bearings were in the air, he was back in stance, trying to ignore her comment on masters with a pretty obvious silence. He wouldn’t even go there, preferring to keep his mouth shut this time by trusting his eyes less and his sensitivity to the Force more, all of the circles swirling around him visible and yet invisible. As they began randomly zipping toward him, they would be met with seemingly random, small jerks of his arms, his saber meeting them with as little movement as possible in true Soresu style.

He had learned that much, it seemed.

But she finally hit the nail on the head, and with a light sigh, he began explaining.

“Well, what do you do with a masterless padawan?” He paused, two of the orbs zipping toward him from different sides, causing him to quickly deflect both.

“Had about… four-” another sphere, another block. “No, wait, five masters in the past… four, five years?” Another trio of spheres, these deflected back with force.

“Decided I couldn’t just sit around and waste space any more, I guess. They didn’t want to put me in the Corps, or at least no one mentioned it. Gue-” One zipped right for his knee, just barely glancing off the blade as it made it just in time. “Guess being a padawan for 7 years makes you… I don’t know, an investment of time.” In truth, he’d had these grievances for years now, and she was simply the first one they had been openly aired to.

… why was that? Pausing, his focus shifting from the bearings to the strangeness of his current scenario, he raised a brow, thinking aloud. “... and now I’m complaining to a Sith Lady about Jedi administration… because… uhhhhh-” A bearing cut him off, smacking him right on the shoulder. Cursing lightly under his breath, he knocked it off with his freehand before rubbing the flesh, hoping it wouldn’t bruise.

[Neology]

“Well, what do you do with a masterless padawan?” A very good question - one that she'd have to answer for herself in the coming months. Beneath all that curiosity and fear, the young man was uncommonly shrewd.

“Five? And you're not kidding?” Novus vented a small whistle, brows lifting. “That's very … Odd.” She shook her head, shifting her focus back to the assault. It got him talking again, just as she had hoped. In addition, his Soresu seemed very solid, at least so far as she could tell. Of course, blaster bolts and bullets would be much faster than anything she could conjure.

“An investment. That's a good way to put it, but your count's off by at least another five or six years.” Novus waved her hand, drawing small circles in the air. The ball bearings began to return to her. Carefully, she sorted out any that had been damaged, returned the others to the bin. “I would imagine that it's no small expense, even if you count the training and education as free.” Finished, she folded her arms in front of her, hands tucked into her sleeves to escape the cold.

“The are worse people to complain to, I bet. And better. All my power and I can't change how the Jedi are run.” She flashed a brief smile, eyes glinting impishly in the dull, overcast sunlight. She motioned with a nod of the head, indicating the doors behind her. “We're done for the day.” Turning, she stepped out of the snow and paused to scrape her boots against the steps.

“I'd avoid any other capital 'S' Sith, were I you, but you've got the run of the place. My office is on the other side of those windows if you need anything.” Novus gestured vaguely, then pushed open the doors. Warm air bathed her face, leaving her nose and ears slightly numb.