Behind Enemy Lines (closed)

[Ash]

The Jedi temple was a serene place, one where Jedi could rest easy, and the taint of the darkside was hard pressed to be felt within her walls. Well, that part was mostly true: Within her walls was a single man saturated with the energies of the dark side, and he lay leisurely across the full length of a bench, with his left arm behind his head as a pillow.

The entirety of Diarmuid's right arm and hand, as well as his forehead were bandaged up, and whatever else he may have had bandaged were covered by a Jedi robe that he was forced to wear. Of course, despite the better efforts over the last few days, they couldn't keep him from ripping his sleeves off, so basically they just gave up and let the man do as he pleased.

Now, seeing as Lancer was here for a few days, not even enough to be fully healed of his wounds from his last mission with the Sith, there were concerned about him simply using the force to break free and escape this place, or at least kill as many as he could before he was taken down himself, but a metal choker was suppressing his force abilities, and he was simply too wounded to fight his way anywhere.

Still, semi-freedom was better than nothing, even if he was forced to have at least a single Jedi Knight watching his every move, or at least two padawan's. He planned on playing nice: what use would there be in fighting when he knew that there was no way someone would come for him here, deep within Jedi territory and for someone who they could consider dead.

Lancer stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, and he shuttered slightly. a slightly pained look touched his face before he resumed his bored look. That was up until soft footsteps touched his ears. He was so used to the force that to not be able to feel it surprised him, and for a split second, he thought someone was here to kill him. His orange eyes snapped opened, and a human padawan, couldn't be more than 16 or 17 was walking up to him shyly or nervously. In her hands gripped across her chest was a pad. Slowly, Lancer pulled himself into a sitting position, his right arm never straying too far from his stomach as he sat up.

Um... here is the book you asked for, Mr. Diarmuid.

Thanks, sweetheart.

He took the pad from her with his good arm, and as soon as he had it, the Padawan quickly moved away, joining a rough Miraluka man at a more distant area of the hallway. On the pad was some history of the Jedi Temple; light reading to pass the time. For a little while, he sat and read that, until it mentioned Taris, and his eyes grew distant as the last few hours of him being there came back to him. The water, the gore, the scremes... everything flashed in his mind, and without the force, those feelings had nowhere to go. He gripped the pad, a pained and frustrated look on his face, perhaps with some anger and fear as well, but that backed away. When he looked down at the pad had a cracked screen. He sighed looked to the boy and girl watching him: the boy looked bored, but the girl seemed concerned. Sighing again, lancer tossed the pad to the ground and slowly laid back down, his left leg outstretched, right foot on the ground, right arm on his gut, and left working as a pillow.

[Meira]

"There you go. Give it a few steps."

Meira shifted her weight onto her hands, pushing up from the examination table and then forward onto her right leg. She settled all of her weight here. The limb had grown stronger. She could feel the difference in the thigh and calf muscles. They were denser. The left leg was a different matter. The healing process was slow. Caution had been taken to ensure that there was no infection. Where the right leg had been overused, the left had been neglected. Only recently had she begun to give it weight again, and it ached in complaint. She stepped forward, the only sound the sigh of fabric and the clear metallic clink.

They were able to save the knee. Meira had been mostly unconscious during the triage process that had taken place on a medical ship fleeing Taris, but she remembered hearing that the cauterization had been her saving grace. Those were the words that echoed in her mind as her mind failed her and she slipped back into the peaceful black. Her saving grace. When she woke again, the stump of her left leg was wrapped in clean white bandages. The doctor informed her that they had been overrun with the wounded and dying. Their supplies were stretched to the limit; she would have to wait until they reached Coruscant to be fitted with a prosthetic. It ended up not being an issue. She was bed-ridden the entire trip and had no need to move about.

Fitting the prosthetic had been a process. Meira had to learn to trust the robotic limb to respond to the impulses her leg had so naturally accepted from her brain. She could not feel the foot of the prosthetic touching the ground. Not as she had felt her own foot. She had to learn to interpret this and an infinite number of other subtle sensations through the pressure and nerve impulses at what remained of her calf where it connected to the limb. It took several sessions to find a good fitting, and practical prosthetic, but they'd finally managed one that worked for her.

"How does it feel?" the healer asked. He was a soft spoken Rodian who had been endlessly patient with her throughout the whole ordeal. At the sight of her eyes narrowing, he quickly reworded his question. "How is it responding."

"There's some lag, I think." Meira replied, knowing that she shouldn't be so cross with him. "Before I step. Just a slight hesitation."

"Give it here." he said. Meira re-seated herself and the healer took the prosthetic, twisting it to unlock it from the mount that had been implanted in her leg. After a few minutes of fiddling with the workings, he was twisting it back into place. "We can take care of this too..." he said delicately, gesturing to the thin, pale zig-zag scar on her thigh.

"It's not a problem." she said, lowering the fabric of her pant leg.

---

...he was there, on Taris. Did you know he'd been brought here?

Meira hastily finished the message, sent it, and tucked the comm into a pocket. She moved with purpose, but not haste, through the halls. The metal sound of every other footstep was dampened by the boot made to fit over her prosthetic. When she first heard who the prisoner was, she hadn't given it much thought. The name was difficult to pronounce and she had other maters on her mind. But with time, memories came back and she realized who he was. He'd been the first person she saw after wrecking that transport on Taris. They hadn't interacted much. Truth be told, she hadn't thought of him since. But now that she knew someone who had been there that night, who had endured it, was here in the temple, her mind would not leave it alone. She meditated and trained. She did her best to empty her mind, but the memories kept coming back. When the request for assistance interrogating the prisoner made its rounds, Meira knew that the Force would not allow her to ignore this. There was still healing to be done. She could not deny it. Burying it away would serve her no purpose.

She keyed past the security door, finding the two padawans on shift standing in the hall just inside. She dismissed them and they left without a word. The wall separating the room from the hall was designed to allow whoever stood guard to see into the room. From within, figures standing in the hall would be a blur, but still somewhat visible. The room Diarmuid had been given was spare. A bed for sleep, a bench for sitting, and a refresher unit that allowed a modest amount of privacy. Meira found him reclined on the bench. His garments were different, and he was absent his weapons, but otherwise he seemed the same as how she remembered him.

She was different of course. Aside from the robotic leg, Meira had decided to mold her long black hair into the dreadlocks style that was common among Kiffar. It was a warrior's hairstyle and the Jedi were now officially part of the war. Part of her thought it was only fitting. It was an angry part. She was working on that.

"Diarmuid." she said, after taking a breath to calm her mind. "Do you remember me?"

[Ash]

Lancer didn't know if he fell asleep or not, but for a moment, he felt like he was back on Taris again, before the mad dash for his life, and for those left to fend for themselves on the damned planet. Maybe he was awake thinking of it, but without feeling really any of the force, he couldn't be sure. Sights, smells, feelings, everything coming back to him. Then he saw everything as if he was looking at it from a third person view.

He saw himself standing near the top of a tower, looking down at a battle starting to unfold. Quickly, he watched himself jump off, and he went along too, flying to the ground an breakneck speed next to his allies. Landing, he began to fight off the Republic troops in defense of the Sith.

From there, the scene shifted again to a room: this one being a command center, right before...

There, grenades went off as a Jedi and Republic troopers stormed the area. He watched himself do all he could to stop them, then a brief fight before it shifted again: him jumping over rooftops watching rakghouls spawn from literally everywhere as he tried to get to safety. Him killing off a few Jedi to help some simple troopers who would only die later that evening.

Then he was at a gate, rushing to get in as rakghouls attacked them. Already knowing what would happen, he looked skyward as a transport barrelled towards them, carrying more unlucky people. As it looked as if it was going to land, everything shifted again, inside the building climbing, just as shit began to rock. Monsters attacked, and he could barely hold them off with the help he had. Lancer, felt his chest tense up as he watched rakghouls tear his allies apart and came for him.

Suddenly he was back in his body, eyes looking through the darkness at the glowing ultraviolet light he was seeing. He moved as quickly as his failing body could, until he felt a sharp pain. A monster took that chance to charge, its teeth closing around his face.

Then greenery... Dantooine. He looked at himself: Jedi robes, black against his teal tunic. He looked quickly to his right, seeing a bright young Twi'lek girl, beaming at him. He knew her feelings, even if they were forbidden in the order. Still, he was happy just to see this young girl being happy.

Then everything stopped, and grew darker, as if there was a filter put over his eyes. Everything shifted around, as if he was looking through broken glass as he saw the world enveloped in fire. He watched as his former master. Grog, falling in battle. It shifted again, as if fast forwarding, and Isi fell. All around him, everyone was either falling wounded or being murdered outright. Each time he saw this, he felt a little more of him shatter away, until a tall man hovered over him in a dark room, speaking words he couldn't hear. All he knew was that he felt fear.

Diarmuid's eyes snapped open, a sharp intake of air accompanying the motion. Above him was the same lights that were in his room in the Jedi Temple. He sat up, ignoring the pain in his ravaged body. His orange eyes focused, finally seeing a figure standing on the other side of a pane of glass. His eyes narrowed slightly as they focused in after his little mental adventure, and he could only imagined what she and anyone else in the area felt during his little spell. Finally, he remembered who the individual was. He had no idea just how long she had been standing there, but what he did know was he didn't much care, nor did he catch all of what she said.

Meira, a woman he met on Taris, was standing before him.

I remember you. You changed your hair up, and I see you have a new leg. I never would have thought you would show up here. Did they send you to try to rip more out of my head because you were there with me at Taris?

Diarmuid was standing up, and his tone was slightly bitter, as if he hated everything, despite his decent accommodations. His fists were clenched, but he ignored the pain running through his injured arm. He didn't know why, but he felt quite a bit of anger towards this woman. Maybe it was both Taris and Dantooine rushing through his mind. Meira was wounded but made it out alive. Isi was wounded and... He thought he saw a small bit of her in this Jedi's eyes... he could have been wrong. Slowly, he moved towards the glass, all sorts of random emotions and feelings spraying off of him.

Or maybe you just want to view the newest pet of the Jedi.

[Meira]

He didn't respond right away to her question. The silence was long enough for Meira to think that he was asleep and hadn't heard her. She had no interest in trying to delve into his mind, though she knew that his lowered consciousness and the collar would make it an easy task. She was a moment away from turning to leave when he suddenly sat bolt upright. He was breathing hard. After taking a moment to gather himself, Diarmuid spoke. He did remember her. As he continued, he stood and Meira got a good look at his apparent injuries. Those could not have been from Taris. They must have happened wherever he'd been captured. She didn't need the force to know that he was battling anger now. His body language told her that well enough.

"Pet?" she questioned, tilting her head to the side slightly. "What an interesting word choice."

She didn't answer the question because she wasn't entirely sure why she'd come. Meira had been asked to help interrogate the prisoner, yes, so she was here for that. But to deny that there was some other motive would be incorrect. The Jedi wanted intelligence, and she wanted... what? Answers? She didn't know what questions to ask. Closure? How could she possibly find closure in this? She breathed, in and then out slowly. Best to start with what had been prepared for her.

"Why did you leave the Order?" she asked. She could have been more delicate with the question, but that was something the old Meira would have done. She was different now. At first she wanted to deny it, but there was no point. Everything was different now and she was a fool to think that it wouldn't be. She was embracing it. War hardened people, or it broke them. She would not break.

She was told that it was hoped that Diarmuid would find his way back into the light and renounce the Sith. In order to do this, he would have to face his past and the choices he had made that had brought him to this point. The records show that he'd been a Jedi Knight, but had fallen to the dark side after the invasion of Dantooine. The details were unknown to the Order, but if they could get him talking about what had happened, they might be able to help him heal. Meira wasn't sure about that. It seemed like a slim chance, but she supposed they were obligated to try.

[Ash]

Lancer ignored Meira’s small comment after he called himself a pet. Her head was tilted to the side, perhaps in a questioning manner? He normally thought of himself as being fairly efficient at reading people: perhaps it was just because he was deprived of the force. Maybe it was because he wasn’t thinking strait right now. Whichever the case, it was best thought of for next time. His eyes narrowed slightly, and wondered if she was working to get into his mind. He continued throwing up a chaotic amount of barriers around it.

He also noticed she didn’t outright answer his question about why she was here. What it a ploy, or was she brought here thanks to the force. Maybe she was here to interrogate him, and was just trying to do it in some backwards manner, or just putting it off… Maybe, a thought crossed his mind, she was playing nice to get him to open up. Her words started to flow again after she took a breath, and his own orange eyes narrowing at her question.

It was simple: blunt and to the point. He had a modicum of respect for the woman for how blunt she was. Something told him that she shouldn’t have gone about it that way, but be that in his thoughts, its how she went around to it. He let the fist he didn’t realize he was clenching go, and he turned around slowly, taking a few steps back as he collected his thoughts. Was she trying to trick him into diving into his past to figure out exactly what happened to him? A small smile crossed his face. He was about to turn to retort when he stopped.

Maybe it was something else. Maybe they knew what happened to him, and they wanted to confirm it with him for whatever reason. Could they simply be playing mind games with him; soften him up and try to get all the information of the Sith they could before simply offing him. Use him then kill him. He chuckled slightly at this and turned finally, eyes sharp.

Does it matter why I left? You should know I left the order after Dantooine. And it was all your fault!

In anger, he punched the glass, splitting his knuckles and leaving blood on the glass. Though his actions spoke anger, deep within his eyes was sorrow and grief. Shen he said that it was her fault, he spoke it as an entirety of the Jedi order, and not her specifically. He leaned closer to the glass now, locking eyes with Meira.

Taris changed you in nearly the same way. What, didn’t see enough death there? Maybe if little Snowflake died in front of you, then you wouldn’t be standing in front of me.

Snowflake, the little name he liked to call Jaidan Shatani, but that wasn’t the point of his words. He didn’t mean to let slip that he lost someone on Dantooine. It slipped without his realizing it, but maybe the other would be too angry or surprised to pick up on that.

[Meira]

She watched him in the silence between her question and his answer. She could feel emotion swirling all around the man and thought it was probably a good thing, for him, that he had the collar on. Those who could access the force were subject to the same emotions as any other being, but their burden was the intensity in which they felt. The force bestowed one with many gifts through heightened awareness and connections to the world, but this included heightened sensitivity both outwardly and within. This is why the Jedi trained to diligently to control emotion, not to suppress it and not feel, but to maintain control even as one does feel. Those who fell to the dark side forfeited this control. Undeniably, it allowed for grand displays of power, but the suffering that was required... Meira had witnessed the power of the dark side and knew that she did not envy the Sith their bolts of lightning.

"Does it matter why I left? You should know I left the order after Dantooine. And it was all your fault!"

He slammed his fist into the clear wall and Meira watched as his hand pulled away and left a smear of blood. After a moment, her eyes returned to his face, her head tilting to the side again in silent question. Who's fault? Surely not hers. Meira had never even been to Dantooine. The Jedi's? It was not Jedi who attacked Dantooine. The Jedi defended it, he knew this. The only fault lay with the Sith Empire. They were the ones who attacked, and somehow this man betrayed his own people and joined them.

"Taris changed you in nearly the same way. What, didn’t see enough death there? Maybe if little Snowflake died in front of you, then you wouldn’t be standing in front of me."

A pause.

"Oooh." Meira said softly. She was beginning to see. She did not have the whole picture, of course, no where near that. But he had given her part of the edges and it was starting to take form. "You lost someone." Had it been a mentor? An apprentice? She couldn't remember from his file. Either way, he assumed she shared a similar bond with Shatani. Perhaps he was right in that. Her gaze turned inward for a few moments as she pondered that.

"Had Shatani died on Taris," she said after a time, "I likely would have died as well. So I suppose you are correct that I would not be standing here today." She began to pace along the clear wall. "But had I survived, I know one thing for certain." She stopped and connected eyes with Diarmuid. "I would not have betrayed the Jedi and joined with those responsible for his death."

Another pause.

"So why did you?"

[Ash]

Drip... Drip... Drip...

That was the only sound Lancer heard: the sound of drops of his blood hitting the floor. His healing factor was being taxed already, which was why it had yet to stop. However, the red stain on his bandages stopped growing. His orange eyes kept her gaze as his breathing slowed and he regained his composure as she spoke.

The other began to pace, catching and breaking his gaze as she did so, and spoke a few words. He analyzed her words, taking in everything behind his narrowing eyes. Her words made him think that she didn't hold the same connection to snowflake as he did. She simply said there was a good chance she would have died, but if he did survive and she made it out, she wouldn't have turned against the Jedi.

Slowly, he walked towards the glass, stopping around a foot away from it, and pressed his less wounded hand against it, his eyes looking soft as a somewhat wounded look appeared on his face.

Why do you care? What does it matter?

At this point, the wounded look vanished, and his eyes hardened as he took a step away now as a smile slowly crossed his face.

I'll tell you something; it doesn't matter. Its life or death, and I managed to survive.

All sorts of emotions began to well up inside him, and he could no longer sort anything out.

You want to know why I did what I did? I watched my Jedi Master Grog, my master, die trying to protect people. My Padawan, Isi`alect, basically died in my arms. I was beaten and broken: Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He turned for a moment, looking into himself as he thought of everyone who he watched die: soldiers and Jedi alike. He started to laugh quietly now, and looked back at the woman on the other side of the glass.

How would you take it if I broke out of here, beat you down, and killed every single person close to you: masters, padawans, friends. Lovers. Then I torture you to within an inch of your life, and let you heal, and repeat for weeks without a break. I think we should test this theory and see how long you can old out.

By now, he was nearly nose to nose on the glass, looking right at Meira, his eyes cold and hard, and his breathing heavy. Honesty was also falling off of him: his words were true from start to finish: from him speaking about Dantooine to about him wanting to break the woman before him.

[Meira]

"Why do you care? What does it matter?"

"I don't care." she said. "The Council does."

She was not reaching into him through the force, but she could sense his emotions as if she were inside his mind. He wasn't even trying to hold them back. If anything, Meira would have said he was intentionally projecting them. Why he would do this, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was the only way he felt she might understand.

Then came the actual explanation. Or at least what started it all. Meira's brow furrowed. Death was a terrible thing to witness. Even so-called peaceful deaths were painful. She could understand that at least, but it still didn't make sense. She couldn't think of a single Jedi she knew who hadn't faced death, either their own or that of someone close to them. There was more to this than death alone.

After another pause, came the rest. Meira watched him as he moved about, and then came to stand close, looming over her with only the glass between them. Her green eyes looked up into his, unflinching. She could not claim to know exactly what he'd been through, but if he thought that she wasn't familiar with pain... with loss, then that was his mistake. She had nothing to prove to him, nor did she have the desire to let him in on any of her own hardships. He knew of one, and that was enough. He was the prisoner here; he had no right to her stories.

She remained silent for a moment, looking up at him. Then, with a calm ease, she moved toward a cabinet set into the wall. Inside, there were a few supplies for the care of the prisoner. Among the clean sheets and towels, she found the small first aid kit. She opened it and took out the roll of gauze and a kolto patch. She left the rest in the kit, not wanting to give Diarmuid the opportunity to get his hands on any sharp objects. She moved to the door and waved it open.

"Come sit down." she said, moving toward the bench as the door closed behind her. Once seated, she waited for Diarmuid to join her. "I wouldn't last long." she said, honestly. "We all have our strengths, but mine don't encompass situations like that." She took his bandaged hand and began to unwrap it.

"There is no record of what happened to you after Dantooine." she said, tearing away the bloody part of the bandage. "You were presumed killed in action until your reappearance with the Sith." Looking at the wounded knuckles, she saw that he'd already stopped bleeding. She selected the smaller of the Kolto packages and removed the backing. She placed the medicated side against his skin and pressed, molding it around the curves of the bones and joints.

"I should think it is a relief for all of us to know that you had not left of your own free will." She began to wrap the fresh gauze around his hand. "But the question follows..." she let the words fall away as she tore the gauze and tucked the end to secure the wrap. When she was finished, she looked up into Diarmuid's eyes again. "Once you gained your freedom, why did you stay?"

[Ash]

She said that the counsel cared, not her. Empty words: there was no one here who cared: they were empty husks, devoid of emotion so that they wouldn't become corrupted by anything or anyone. He huffed some, but then Diarmuid was a little more than simply thrown off by the woman.

Meira walked to a wall for a moment, then returned with some medical supplies, and waved the door opened and she walked through. He was struck dumb by this act, and hardly heard her words, but before he knew it, he listened, and was sitting down next to her as she was undoing his bandages.

She was speaking words, but again, he was hardly listening as he stared at the woman, working on his battered hand. She unwrapped the soiled bandages, and began to apply a kolto patch to his knuckles, molding it to his knuckles. He noticed that her own hands looked so small to his own.

She continues to talk, speaking about how they should be relieved that he didn't leave the Jedi at his own free will. He chuckled quietly as she finished up with his arm, and tucked it in, asking a new question. She looked into his eyes as she asked the final question.

Why did I stay?

He stood up again, walking back and forth as he struggled to collect his thoughts. He almost wished he was being tortured again, rather than be quietly questioned like what was going on now. He knew that they just wanted information from him, but he really couldn't stop talking now. It was a little too late, and it wasn't like he was going to be free anytime soon.

He stopped pacing after a few moments, his back to Meira. Should he really be talking about himself? Should he turn in the Sith, and help them utterly loose the war?

I stayed because it felt right: the power: the women, the passion... the love. Emotions you can't have as a Jedi. The freedom you cant have as a Jedi. Murder and darkness are almost a backseat thing.

He looked at his hands now: and realized that not once, unlike most other sith, has he fired Lightning from his fingertips. His body never fell into corruption like most others. He sat down again, still looking at his hands. His voice was quiet as he spoke again.

There was another: I was captured on Dantooine, and brought... somewhere, where I was turned. But there... there was a Sith... unlike any other... ancient... hundreds of years old... he turned me... molded me... made me his weapon to be called to strike against the Jedi... but just one... there were more than just me under him... A saber user... a powerful force user... an assassin... and me with my spears... at least us were to be used when he called us... Fear kept me; fear of betraying my Master... this secretive Sith.

He quickly stood up, moving away from the woman, and his orange eyes stared at her darkly.

This is a trick, isn't it. This isn't the Jedi temple... you aren't Meira... You are trying to trick me... confuse me... I won't be subjected to these lies any longer... I should just kill you know.

Despite his words, he didn't make a move towards Meira, but stood where he was, his hands slightly shaking. He didn't know what he should think anymore... everything was just too confusing.

[DreadPirateMike]

"Your choices are your own, Lancer.  Even in this place, if you really think you want to try it.  But I do not recommend it."

The soft swish of the outer door signified that "Little Snowflake" had at last chosen to make himself a party to this discussion.  A bit tardy, but then Meira's message had left him slightly perplexed and he'd needed to get himself up to speed.  He'd heard of a Sith prisoner being brought to the Temple, of course.  Even these days, that was news, and yet the name had been lost on him.  In truth, he struggled at first to assign it pronunciation, much less significance.

But seeing his face...that had surely done the trick, once he'd done a quick database search.  It wasn't so much that final, desperate flight through Fort Bennick that the visage recalled, for as best he could remember, Diarmuid had mostly been content as just another face in the pack.  But that had been the SECOND time that day he'd crossed paths with the Firrereo, and he had yet to forget the face of one he'd dueled for real.  He took pains to assure that much, meditating after the fact at great length not because the bloodshed had shaken him, but because it hadn't.  It was a reality he'd instinctively grasped and accepted long before he'd even been knighted: He was, down to his DNA, a warrior, and if need be, warriors killed.  But that did not mean he, or any other warrior held life cheap.  Somewhere beneath all the rage and corruption which had come to define the enemies he'd laid to waste yet lurked a man or woman, a light of inestimable worth that he was forced to snuff out.  Perhaps he couldn't save the person, but he could at least remember them in some small way.  The day he lost sight of that, the day he allowed him to think of it all as just one more "day at the office" was the day he could no longer be sure he belonged out there.

Which made it oddly pleasant in a way to see the fallen Knight again.  Thankful that the Sith bombardment of their own compromised position had forced them to break off their engagement at the command post.  Here was an enemy he could do more than simply remember in passing; as it happened, the SIS even had a small dossier on him.  Whether that meant the man could actually be helped remained to be seen, but so long as he was here, it meant they could try.  And thus, there was hope.  Even so, he'd elected to leave his weapons outside.

"We shared the same road for a time, after all, and it's been neither short, nor gentle.  Do you really want to make it harder still?"

[Meira]

Again, Diarmuid moved away from her an paced. It seemed she couldn't say a word to him without causing this reaction. Then again, it could just be his normal state. She did not know him She was predisposed to stillness, however, and many Jedi were the same. To see such movement was strange for her. But there was agitation in him, confusion. She could sense it.

"A back seat?" She echoed, incredulous. How could he brush away such profoundly soul-changing concepts? She shook her head, at a loss. To think he could throw himself away for... what? Some one night stand? Before she could gather the words to speak, he continued.

"So, they tortured you, brainwashed you, and broke you so completely that the fear of them kept you from exercising your own free will? How, exactly is that freedom? Where is the love in that?" She felt some sympathy for the man, which was more than what she had when she entered the containment ward. But the hypocrisy of the sith doctrine was crystal clear to her through Diarmuid's account of his fall. What still amazed her -and truth be told, frightened her- was how thoroughly it dug its hooks into its victims. Diarmuid, and she had to assume all of those who were taken by the siren song of the dark side, was so deeply affected, he could not see the lie it had made of his existence.

Diarmuid suddenly stood, and the fear he spoke of swelled up around him, so suddenly and violently that it caused Meira to take in a breath and lean back as if to avoid it. Eddies of anger twisted through that currant of fear, causing the man to shake. His words and his eyes were hard as he spat his threat. But he did not move to act on what he said. Meira did not move either. She sat, straight backed, but relaxed, with her hands folded lightly in her lap. It would do her no good to react to him, not here. She had the upper hand. He might still have his natural strength, but the Force was her ally and Diarmuid could not touch her.

What she had not noticed, for being so focused on the prisoner, was that a familiar presence was growing closer. Not until Shatani had stepped into the containment ward and spoken did she realize that he was there. The surprise was small, and fleeting, followed quickly by contentment that Shatani had chosen to come as well. He had been an invaluable source of support to her in the time following the horrors of Taris. What's more, she knew that these two had their own history, and she had wondered if Shatani would like the opportunity to address it, in whatever way might suit him.

But at this moment, Meira worried that Shatani's words might only serve to agitate Diarmuid further. The prisoner's most recent comments more than hinted at the possibility that his mental state was not as sound as it might have appeared to be. She stood from the bench, slowly, and picked up the used bandages she had removed. She then called on the force to fortify her voice with a sense of calm.

"You are safe here, Diarmuid." she said. While she intended to settle his nerves, she did not neglect to instill authority in her words as well. "We seek only to understand."

[Ash]

"Our choices are our own? Maybe on a small scale, but you should know just as well as I that choices are often made without our consent."

He was, of course, speaking of the war, and all background nonsense that was always going on, determining the fate of everyone. He looked towards the newly entered man, Diarmuid's own orange eyes narrowing at the Jedi's entrance and words. He walked a small ways away from Meira, heading towards the the clear wall, where Shatani was standing, and the other continued to speak.

"We may have walked the same road, but it sure doesn't look like it, and it only gets harder..."

He looked hard at the white haired man, at least until Meira perked back up, speaking a few words. He felt some sort of calming aura fall over. He knew what was going on here, and looked towards the woman. He took a few steps closer to her, but made no aggressive movements.

"Safe? I don't think anyplace is safe. Not from the Sith. Not from their agents. What more is there to understand?"

(((Sorry its been so long... and its short.. Im kinda really out of practice.)))

[DreadPirateMike]

( No worries. Can't promise a total lack of rust myself. )

Ah, there it was. The great, contradictory riddle that was the Sith. The Dark Side was supposed to have broken his chains, freed him to determine his own fate. And yet, as a part of this galaxy, he could never REALLY be in control until he personally directed its course, had the power to approve or forbid anything that might have some major ramifications for his life. So drunk on the fantasy of their own exaggerated importance, and yet forever yearning for an agency just out of reach.

But he hadn't joined Meira here to start a philosophical debate. Logic was seldom the road that a Jedi followed into darkness, and he'd never heard of it serving as the road back. And so, Jaidan held his peace on that, and waited for a more profitable moment to interject. It didn't prove much of a demand on his patience, for as he'd hoped, his reference to their common struggle on Taris did elicit some response.

He'd weathered his trials gracefully, had he? He allowed himself a slight smile at that. He supposed he HAD come away from Taris more intact than he had any right to. He liked to think it was so that he could better help those who'd left more of themselves behind there.

Perhaps that's why he was here now, in this room.

"It gets harder? Well...it might. But that part IS within your control. You see, for you, the war is over. No Sith throat cutter is getting inside these walls, and you'll find no ill treatment within. Our goal, if you'll allow it, is to guide you back to some peace. So yes, you might know conflict here. Toil, pain, and anguish too. But you'll have to provide it yourself."

He paused then, a moment, and shot Meira a look of silent apology. He knew full well that his next words would likely hold particular resonance for her as well.

"You know, however I might look, I've not forgotten a moment of Fort Bennick, nor the weariness I sensed in you then. I didn't make much of it at the time; we were all tired, and worse. Body and spirit.  Yet now, here we stand, and I still sense that same weariness about you. So, I'll tell you what I'd like to understand. It seems to me that we're really talking to two men, and I'd like to know, who's the stronger? The one who's grown addicted to the violence, or the one who's sick of it, and may be willing to look for another way?"