#Mesmerised By the Waves|Fane and Melakeni

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave {{Because Tumblr}}

{this is a joint post written by Fane and Keni's mun. Finding Pe-Tyr, part I.}

She can almost feel his antipathy radiating off him like winter's chill. At the same time she understands that it is perhaps her own disquiet that provides what she sees as motivation for that sigh. The ghost of admonishment silent on his lips that does not come to fruition, and so just this once she affords him the courtesy of not lashing out. "I…I do not know where such places could be. What I fear is that the lower one goes into the city, the more terrible and varied the dangers. He could be hurt, or worse. But I need to find him before they mobilise Sentinels for a search. How do you propose getting those records without leaving one of our own?" He shifts, then rises to his feet and offers her an open hand. He is not particularly chivalrous, and he knows she is perfectly capable of getting up on her own, but neither is he discourteous. "I think it's a mistake to assume the worst has happened. We should remain calm," he advises. "You know Pe-Tyr better even than his own instructors. If he were in need of help, how likely is it he would really choose not to reach out to you for it?" He takes her question into thoughtful consideration for a long moment. "A favored instructor… perhaps even a knight? Someone who wouldn't fear for Pe-Tyr, but would understand the need for delicacy and discretion. Who do you trust that would first help us at this hour, and then allow us to proceed unobstructed?" The moment that her fingers ~ribbon thin~ slip into the waiting cusp of his own there is no way to hide the turmoil within her. It is a tempest of doubt and fear and palpable grief only barely postponed and just as quickly as she accepted his courtly manners does she rescind that touch. Withdraws the hand and its mate into the confines of the sleeves of her outer robe which she presses then before her. It is a symbolic bulwark that retreat. You do not know the lower levels like I do, she wants to say, but doesn't. "I am calm." And there are no such things as the dead that walk, too. It is all she can do not to pace their tiny confines. "I would sooner swallow glass than ask my Master." She calls up every Master she can think of in her mind. She would trust Anakin. She would trust Tzekal. And that….oh. "Thank you," she murmurs and turns sharply on her heel. Starts to make her way toward the door without so much as a by-your-leave. Fane knows Melakeni to be headstrong and willful, even proud, in a way that goes unrivaled by their fellow trainees in the Force. He knows that is as much a product of her upbringing as it is her confidence in her own acumen; she is not like most other Padawans who were brought to the Temple in infancy, and her emotional output was not modulated or sculpted by the practices and disciplines of the Jedi. Hers is a far more colorful history, of which she shares little, but he has heard enough bits and pieces to assemble the image he knows she prefers most here to have of her. She has reason to be headstrong and proud. If it were not so, she would not be permitted to get away with half the things she does. In that respect, she is not entirely unlike Skywalker. And that is a far safer comparison, in her auditory range, than any which would line her up with Master Windu -- notwithstanding their identical lightsaber hues and combat techniques. In fact… Fane would be more likely to draw parallels between Melakeni and the nameless 'dark woman' that seems to make appearances only and purely at her own discretion… oftentimes when she is least expected. So to detect the apprehension within Keni now is a thing most unusual, and gives Fane pause enough that she both mulls and appears to have her answer before he can even summon up the words to assuage her. And maybe that is for the best. Whenever Keni feels a thing, she feels it with all of her being, and he knows she has never been someone to dismiss a concern upon the bidding of another, no matter how serene and rational that person might be (even Masters Gallia, Unduli, and Yaddle combined might not be able to banish emotional upheaval from Keni).

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave Finding Pe-Tyr || Part 1 // Part 2

Jedi robes were tailored for just such circumstances, when they meant to avoid notice… and historically they've had a strange talent for working even on other occupants of the Temple. Simple garments, deployed for their usefulness in complex xenopsychology. Beneath the hem of the hood, his eyebrows rise at her, while his golden eyes shimmer with concern and compassion for her and her situation -- as well as a spark or two of mischief. "Quite simply put," he concludes quietly, "it is the right thing to do, and you know it, else you would not be doing it yourself." His gaze flickers to the hallway ahead of them. "So, shall we?"

"I would recommend scrubbing that look from your face ere we proceed. It is unbecoming of you." She doesn't need to have eyes in the back of her head to feel the weight of his gaze. And as much as she hates to admit it she hopes that he finds her knowledge to be unnerving as so many of their clan-mates and the younglings do. When she does catch his face Melakeni doesn't realise her own is so open and that all of her misgivings reside there like signal-beacons. For all that she might wish she could be as stone or durasteel, her truest weakness is demonstrably the fate of those she is closest to, particularly when they fall away from their path. How can the same not be so for Fane much as he would deny it? There is little mollification to be gained by his connection and for the briefest of moments her eyes narrow. Even with fractions of them eaten away by the shadow of her lashes there's something too accicular to the brilliant emerald hue, as if they absorb the dim light around them. "You assume much. I came to you because you are arguably one of the smartest people I know and I have seen you be kind and patient with Pe-Tyr when others are not so generous. In that you may take the reassurance of truth." She bites back the urge to snap her teeth around the very idea that there is veracity in just how slight a commodity they are for it is quickly becoming clear to her that only some Knights are thought so by the Masters. The tip of her tongue brushes along the points of her teeth but she manages to keep her sneer to herself. "I cannot help but feel in my gut that it will go far harder on him if we do not shepherd him back to his quarters. Moreso I want to know what drove him away in the first place." And there it is, the crux of the matter whispered in her soft tones. Her willingness to fight everyone's battles save her own. Eyes flicker hawk-like to watch his sabre meet its scabbard. A faint snap of tendon and muscle suggests she would not have been unarmed for long if the blade had come whirring to life. It is not that she considers Fane to be bloodthirsty. Somewhere during his concealment of self Fane loses her interest in watching him so closely. Neither does she answer him. For as slight as she might be, her shoulders straighten and her back stiffens. Detached but imperious she becomes, an aura that has always suited her if not their instructors. Pride is not a welcome trait amongst their kind yet it might be impossible to sheer it from her without cutting bloody swaths of her in the process. She steps to the door and waits for it to slide on its track to permit her into the hallway that leads to the common area. In stark contrast the impression of her voice wafts through the back of his thoughts as it has so often before. Do you wish to lead? I am curious of your ability to keep up.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave Finding Pe-Tyr || Part 1

His brows knit when she mutters her thanks and turns to leave. He calls his lightsaber from its charging station and to his open hand as he follows her to the door, releasing a soft sigh through his nose. She could be truly exasperating when she wanted to be. Were it not for Fane's discreet moment to analyse her in thought or form rather than speech her abrupt stop at the door would have led to an uncustomary and perhaps entirely too awkward a closeness. Spine uncomfortably stiff and an acute posture tries to give height and breadth to her where there is none. She does not exactly fear him. There is little he would do to compromise his sense of serenity which he holds to perhaps more closely than anything else. Throttling her where she stands would leave far too many questions that would have nothing to do with his inclination for murder. Nor is he likely to soil his long, graceful fingers. Not even if she pushed the exact right buttons. She has a good idea what those might be and she keeps them as close as her own secrets. What she doesn't understand is why he's bothering to follow her. She doesn't recall making the invitation. What Melakeni had needed was a clearer, more rational head. He had offered her the wisdom granted by the Force in the form of advice her own mind was too cloudy to seize upon. The exact reason she had come to him. As far as she is concerned, Fane is absolved from any further responsibility in the matter. Pe-Tyr is in danger of drawing punishment from the Masters though if she returns him quickly perhaps they will be lenient. She is willing to put herself at risk. She knows without really understanding why that she was part of the reason for his absence. But thus far, Fane shoulders no blame. Her hand appears from within its sleeve and she braces it against the wall. Effectively blocking the path unless he were to pick her up and move her. "I do not see why you need to give up on your meditations unless you really want to breath on the back of my neck," she murmurs coolly. She turns her head over her shoulder to meet his gaze. "Do you not fear getting caught in the halls with me? Or do you fear for him enough that it does not matter?" Fane barely has his cloak shrugged back onto his shoulders when Melakeni plants her arm in front of him without even so much as looking at him. He stops short and directs a vaguely irritated look at the back of her head for a moment while she murmurs her gentle challenge. When she meets his eyes, though, he sees in hers the myriad of emotions she cannot help but to experience: concern, curiosity, self-flagellation. The last, he finds intriguing. And it may be worth reporting to her; after all, as close as she was to whatever impetus was involved, it is entirely likely she is simply looking in the wrong places for answers… as those who are worried to the point of frantic are wont to do. He does not blame her. "Fear is not my primary motivation, but to claim it has no part to play would be untrue," he replies. "You came to me, I have to assume because you trusted I could help you and remain discreet. Clearly you care for the boy and it concerns you what becomes of him, particularly since you observe he is mistreated and rarely noticed. But he is one of us. If we are truly so rare and precious as we are taught, should it not be our obligation to find our lost and bear them safely home? If so, then I should be concerned, as well. As you yourself have already said, he could be in a place that is unwelcoming or even abusive. If I come with you, your efforts are doubled. I could not meditate knowing that there was action I chose not to take for the sake of my own convenience, and at the risk of someone else's safety." The knob at the base of his lightsaber clicks into place in its sconce on his belt, and he tugs his robe more closely about his form, then draws his hood up over his head. He crosses his arms into their opposing sleeves, hiding as much of his features as he can.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave {{Because there is no try with new tumblr}}

Like the flow of a sea not seen upon Coruscant for more centuries than the years accumulated between them, Melakeni feels a particular sense of yearning pouring back her way and filling the Force with soft shades of nostalgia mingled with wistfulness. It tastes as familiar to her as the memory of her father's thick, bitter, and dark caf. There is a part of her ~perhaps more than she would care to admit~ that the Order had never quite tamed; it is by dint of her own discipline and the framework of her own people that have given her the soft and gentle demeanour praised by a few of the Masters, but within there are so many questions she bites back, so many things deemed tradition that make no sense to her. The handful of other padawans and younglings she is close to also seem to have a small spark of internal rebellion or fear. Would Fane hate to find himself in that group? The feelings enveloping her from the Force suggest that there, too, is a small sliver of native rebellion in his soul. A longing with no name but just as sweeping as wind down from a glacier's cliff. The way he stands, Fane reminds her of the dark stone peaks of the Trilis mountain range, more affectionately or fearfully known as the Teeth. The sharp planes of his face unmoving, a venerable dignity wrapped around someone far too young but that doesn't evoke a sense of oddity. Shrouded in the only nature she thinks exists to such a degree on the planet surface further flushes out the imagery in the back of her mind, as does his height. The desire to admire, to reach out and touch his surface to assure herself that there is flesh beneath her hand, to envy the seeming stillness of him is one that is near impossible to ignore. The ripple she'd intentionally tried to send through him seems to falter the moment it leaves her lips. It slides off his veneer with no retort. No acidic comment or brutal rebuttal. If anything all she is greeted by is the rare chimera of a smile. His praise is unexpected and takes her so aback that she doesn't have the celerity to hide the surprise that colours her skin with pallid shades of the verdure around them or just how her vivid emerald eyes widen more so than they naturally are. His own golden gaze feels like suns. The Pantoran's skin wide and empty twilight skies. Usually only Anakin is able to get under her skin quite like this, though she'd sooner become waterlogged than to admit it. A moment later he scatters her own insecurity and delight with quietly spoken words that only deepen the first thoughts she had about his yearning. He all but tells her he knows nothing of his origin world which is a cruelty to him, if he truly were born elsewhere. Would that she could reach out and offer him some sense of comfort as she can so easily with Pe-Tyr when she includes him in gardening or other activities that can occupy his clever fingers and empty his always crowded mind, as she can with Anakin when he lays his burdens in her lap and lets out the stopper of the emotions he feels he must bury down and ask of her the questions that plague him even in his sleep. There never seems to be a kind of succour she can provide Fane despite her training in the healing arts and her own aptitude to soothe the spirit, as easy as gardening comes to her. "You have my thanks," she begins softly, "And those of our clan-brother, but we cannot take full credit. Many of the caretakers are a part of the Service Corps, unsung heroes, yes? If you wish to sink your fingers into soil and feel that life thrumming through your blood, you are more than welcome to come join me when your Master allows you." Her words falter as he meets his countenance.

Mercifully he reaches out to fill the potential gap of silence with a cathartic quiescence, replete in the spaces between and within them. Fane dances on the edge of her deepest secret, one generational and species-centric. It causes her throat to tighten and that sliver of vulnerability once again shines in her eyes as she maintains her gaze, chin lifted as Fane towers over her. A dearth of defiance, of caustic gallows humour. She answers him with an honest nod though in that small gesture is the wealth and breadth of exactly that; her understanding and comfort free of the dead world beyond the Temple gates.

She drops her eyes toward his hands; beautiful and elegant things that hold their own artistry. She has always enjoyed watching their fluid grace whether gesturing or working. She watches him summon the petal and curiously flicks a look around them. There are no overhanging branches over this part of the pool… And that faint green hue suffuses her face a moment later, her own small and delicately boned hand falling atop the petal, taking it from him as expediently as she can without being rude about it once she's fathomed its source.

She is grateful that the Living Force speaks for her when her own voice would come forth unsteadily, tight and clipped.

Here….here is life. I can feel is grow and thrive, nurtured with love that cannot be held else-wise by the hearts of the Order. It sings like a lullaby. It shouts like my father's thunderous voice. It sleeps in weariness in artificial cycles, changing them. It is more welcoming here than any of the classrooms and the stars we cannot see. There is no quadranium skin here. There is no choking atmo. It is an embrace and peace beyond thought, beyond feel. I…I do not know how best to explain it. But I welcome you to share it with…through…me.