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Thread: A Lesson in Denial

  1. #21
    Lúka might have taken the reminder of other failures to heart, if Anastasia hadn't gone and recovered by describing them as rarely. He might have enjoyed how close she moved to him, if he hadn't been able to faintly perceive the detachment with which she was acting. All it would have taken was a few simple movements, a reach for his wine glass to 'accidentally' find his arms around her - but no. That was not what they had agreed; and that was not what she wanted.

    "Like this?" he tried again, with marginally more success, but the tools still felt clumsy in his hands. His frustration bubbled below the surface, prickling under his skin; and then it subsided, suddenly, a single touch of a hand dispelling it like the magicks of some old fantasy novel.

    He felt his hand being guided, and followed along with it, extending towards the container of food, snaring - with some difficulty, but successfully - his first conquest of Neimoidian cuisine. However, a problem presented, the Doctor positioned in the food's path between the container and himself, and he didn't have the heart to force her to move. Carefully, he lifted the nerf free, and presented it to Anastasia instead.

  2. #22
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    A brief moment of hesitation was all that exited between her and taking the offered food. The chewing allowed her more than enough time to actually realize and fully consider that this was nice? Yes. That's exactly what it was. Nice. It was the sort of thing individuals who found themselves actually in the throes of their supposed cover would do. But did she want this? Was this routine marginally domestic act something that she was even capable of? Was all this just an act, an extension of the show created? And if it was, why was it that she felt that she actually liked this? Even down to the closeness she had inadvertently created between them once more.

    The worst was knowing the bittersweet feeling that wedged itself firmly in her chest wasn't something she could hide. Not now, not with her veins free of any experimental numbing agent. It shouldn't even have concerned her as to how the Knight would react to such a thing. Understanding? Sympathy? Repulsion? No, not the last one. Lúka had already seen through her, to catch glimpses of the emptiness within where a normal person would have have a thriving entanglement of emotion and life; of potential, of possibilities for more. He hadn't turned away then, she doubted he would now. It was a kindness she suspected he didn't often show, and Ana felt nothing but privilege at getting to see this side of him and yet...

    "Much better," The bit of nerf was consumed, her reason to stay in silent contemplation went with it. "See, knew you'd get it. Won't be surprised if you'll have it fully mastered by the end of the evening."

  3. #23
    Mastered. It was an interesting choice of word. A completely innocent one he supposed, one used often enough in common parlance that he doubted Anastasia meant anything by it aside from face value. For Lúka, it meant an assortment of other things. There were Jedi Masters. His master. Master Yoda. Master Aamoran. If someone was feeling somewhat formal, there was Master Jibral; or Master Lúka if there was a droid involved. Master Marksman. Master-at-Arms. Always two there are: a Master, and an Apprentice. Now, apparently, Anastasia had raised him to the dizzying heights of Master of Chopsticks. He wondered what kind of Council needed to ratify that kind of an appointment; and whether or not it came with some sort of special badge.

    "I'll be sure to put that on my résumé," he replied, snaring another hunk of nerf and, with an awkward twist of his arm, managed to guide it to his mouth.

    He reached for another, eyeing what to his strategic mind seemed like an opportune piece, balanced atop the others, backed into a corner, easy to snare. His chopsticks moved into position to flank it, but in doing so he was forced to move, shift slightly, lean a little closer to the counter top. That brought him not quite into contact with Anastasia, but close enough that the barest movement on either part caused them to brush against each other. He faltered, caught between wanting to continue his attempt, to abort, and to stay exactly as he was. He tried a breath to calm himself, instead breathing in the aroma of Ana's hair, which only deepened his contemplation.

    Retreat. It was the only option. Agonisingly, his hand withdrew, and he took half a step backwards, feeling as if the contents of his chest remained where it was and was wrenched from him as he moved.

    "Much as I'm enjoying the obstacle course," he offered, trying to maintain the playful tone between them, but perhaps not quite achieving it with all the same gusto as before, "Are we supposed to duel with these little sticks to see which of us gets to eat? And is this an eat one dish at a time sort of arrangement, or do we need to open up some of these other packages and have ourselves a buffet?"

  4. #24
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    Lúka pulled away, and just like that the barrier that should have been was reinstated. The correct righted and she felt that crack that had formed within her shift so that it closed tightly once more. It was proper, it was more befitting their roles and yet...

    Anastasia let a heavy breath, not quite a sigh as she allowed the smile to persist on her lips, it wouldn't do to interrupt it, after all.

    "Thankfully no duel is necessary, I'm not really ready to see just how badly beaten I'd be in the battle of tiny sticks." She hadn't entirely left behind the far too-familiar tone, but the flirtation felt fake in comparison to how it had been only moments prior.

    She moved away from where they had been standing, picking up one of containers in her free hand as she turned towards the small table just to the side of the kitchen.

    "And I generally don't like to make rules about how to eat. Try what you wish, each what you like." She gestured to the small table, more suited to a cafe really than a room.

    Anastasia slid into the farther away of the two empty seats and raised her hand that was still holding the chopsticks. "But really, I wouldn't linger too long. Food is getting cold, after all."

  5. #25
    I wouldn't linger too long.

    He wondered if that sentiment referred only to their meal, or if it applied to the evening that surrounded it as well. Something had changed in her, and he was not sure how he had provoked it, although he was certain he had. All the desire in the universe would not be enough to undo whatever slight or misdeed or misspoken word he was responsible for, though it would surely dominate his thoughts until the morning as he attempted to decipher what.

    Perhaps he could ask. Perhaps he should. Perhaps he could manipulate their situation, use their cover as an excuse, answers demanded in the interests of the mission. Lúka knew that in any other situation, that was exactly what he would do: tactfully, of course, and tactically. Yet with Ana, he could not bring himself to. He could not bring himself to analyse her, and affect her the way he did with others, the way he did with his students. With the Cadets, his manipulations forced them to confront themselves in new ways, urged them to face new challenges and perceive the world from new directions. It was manipulative, but benevolent, and Lúka had never doubted the validity of doing so: it was who he was, and how he operated. But Anastasia? Perhaps he felt she had been manipulated enough: by Inquisitors, by Khalid, by the other men in her life. Perhaps he felt that their shared ire at Khalid and his machinations was a fragile bond that united them, too critical to their success to risk. Perhaps it was some strange newfound sense of morality, some perception that Anastasia was not here by choice the way that the Cadets - in principle - were. Perhaps it simply felt as if it was not his place; outside his jurisdiction, so to speak. Whatever the why, he could not bring himself to it: and so his sin remained a secret, Ana's grievances left unknown.

    Still, Anastasia continued their conversation. Perhaps with more effort, with more friendliness and openness, he could repair whatever damage he had caused; or at least distract from it. That had been the lesson from their time at Khalid's facility, yes? That Anastasia had welcomed his honesty, had responded favourably to his efforts to treat her as more than a colleague. Lúka had to admit, the concept of a friend was something foreign to him: with the exception of the Maelibus, his only acquaintances had been fellow Jedi, fellow Inquisitors, and fellow Knights; and even then, had they really been anything more to him than fellow fugitives in their flight from the Empire? Anastasia was none of those. They had met through the Inquisitorious, yes, and existed in each other's circles now thanks to the Imperial Knights; but while they were colleagues, yes, they were not counterparts, not trapped within the same hierarchy, not limited by the same perceptions and jurisdictions. Lúka understood friendship only from the perspective of the bonds it formed between others, but this dynamic, a peer but from outside one's peer group, seemed of a sort that many of those he had observed found favourable.

    What to say, then? Following Anastasia's lead, Lúka settled himself down onto a seat as well, curiously opening the other containers to see how much variation there was between the cuisine. The first surprised him: unlike the obvious meaty appearance of the first nerf dish, this one boasted a bright ochre colour, and a viscous sauce within which, a few cursory pokes with the chopsticks revealed, lurked some sort of avian white meat.

    "Don't get me started on rules for eating," he offered: the start of an anecdote, an invitation for Anastasia's curiosity and interest. "I once had the misfortune of being a minor guest at a diplomatic banquet. I forget the planet," he lied, "But the food was distributed in several portions, evenly spread around the table on a series of serving plates. Every time a gong was struck, you shifted one seat to your right and served the person opposite from the dish that was now in front of you; and on and on, until you found yourself in front of the same food you began with, albeit the instance of it a few seats further right. Only then were you allowed to eat, and only for that course: by the time the next rolled around, there was a new set of plates, and the process repeated all over again. The idea was for everyone to eventually be introduced to everyone else, and to make the symbolic gesture of offering food, but -"

    Careful not to dislodge any of the sauce, Lúka manoeuvred the poultry out of the plasticard container, and dropped it into his mouth. Surprisingly sweet, and perhaps a little bit fruity, or was that something nut based? Maybe a hint of cream? It was hard to tell.

    "- by the time you actually got around to eating anything, it was too cold, and you were too eager to actually taste what you'd spent all that time smelling that no one really got around to talking to anyone."

  6. #26
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    "Sounds like some form of torture rather than a social gathering," Anatasia finally let herself comment after sampling the avian dish closest to the Knight. "Then again, I suppose the line that separates the two can be rather thin at times."

    She tried not to let her own memories drift towards - not similar - but the best approximation that Doctor Xivelle had. Of fundraising galas for the handful of hospitals on Coruscant that she had interned at, of equally demanding ones that the Fobosi District Medcenter had run. In comparison to the story that Lord Jibral had shared, her own experiences seemed so... paltry.

    "I envy you, you know?" A pause was taken, just long enough to finish the last of the emerald wine in her glass and ponder which of the dishes she would try next.

    "I know you don't look fondly on all of your past, but you got to experience more of the galaxy than many. I think I can count the number of times I have been off of Coruscant on one hand." A shoulder was shrugged, a finger run against the rim of the empty glass. "I think travel and experience is invaluable."

    Her eyes that had been lingering on the meal before them looked upward towards Lúka. "Maybe I need to start making excuses to tag along on your little excursions."
    Last edited by Anastasia Xivelle; Jul 6th, 2018 at 05:04:27 PM.

  7. #27
    Perhaps the statement had been offered somewhat in jest. None the less, Lúka gave it the consideration it was due. Thus far, Lúka had relied mostly on Cadets Redsun and Par'Vizal for assistance in his endeavours, trusting them out of necessity because he alone was not sufficient to succeed. That was not inadequacy in his part: it was pragmatism, as opposed to the ego that those in his position usually succumbed to. With Orenth and Shen returned to his custody however - two experimental clones whom he had raised and trained during his days at the Black Archives - his need to rely on the complicated process of justifying a field trip had lessened; and on the one hand, finding an excuse to commandeer the Citadel's medical consultant was a step backwards. On the other hand, Orenth and Shen required attention, and monitoring, and Lúka lacked the specific expertise for that, making Doctor Xivelle's presence decidedly beneficial; to say nothing or her company, or the value of an extra set of hands and eyes, and an additional shrewd mind.

    "It gets pretty dangerous," Lúka offered, not as a counterpoint, but as food for thought. The pause in his words gave him the opportunity to attempt the contents of another container. Some sort of round, white disk of plant material, amid stubby white shoots, and rectangular strips of fibrous yellow. Having only ordered the one vegetable-heavy dish, Lúka was at least able to make an educated guess at what each of the items was. The disk was retrieved and popped into his mouth first; surprisingly crisp and refreshing, he noted with a hint of surprise.

    "I wouldn't want to take you into the field without knowing that you can handle yourself. That said -"

    Lúka opted for the rectangles, next. If he understood correctly, the foodstuff was shaved from the stem of a Neimoidian tree that had been exported throughout the Purse Worlds, boiled and flavoured as a source of important fibres and starches in the cuisine. There was an odd squishy crunch to it, not an abundance of flavour, but an interesting texture - something that seemed to be the primary point of interest with this particular dish.

    Taking a sip of his drink to wash down the fibre strands, he flashed Anastasia a smile.

    "- I might be able to arrange a few training sessions with one of the most capable and impressive instructors that the Citadel has to offer. If you'd be interested in that sort of thing, of course."

  8. #28
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    She knew it was a trap he had created for her, and it was one she found herself entirely amused by, but no that would have been having the Knight exactly what he wanted. But who to choose to portray her sidestep from it? The Selonian? The Twi'Lek? No, there was only one choice, and while Ana didn't agree with what she was about deliver and her loyalties had been solidified far before either of the two of them had even stepped foot inside the Citadel as it was now called - She couldn't help but tease.

    "Oh? Really?" The grin formed and Ana had a moment of reconsidering the little quip she was going to deliver, how it might effect Lúka... but well, the idea was fully too far formed. "You can introduce me to Knight Cain?"

    It might have been a good jest had she immediately not pointed at him threateningly as possible with the chopsticks. "I mean, clearly you mean the most capable and impressive aside from you? Surely you don't intend to teach me yourself? Isn't that some sort of... conflict of interest? You might go too easy on me?"

  9. #29
    Whether by intent or by accident, Doctor Xivelle struck a nerve. Baastian Cain. He was a capable Knight, there was no denying that, but he was also a publicity stunt, and that was something that irked Lúka for reasons that were complicated to unpack. To say that Lúka preferred actions over words was untrue: the right words, in the right ears, could start or end a war, and Lúka relished in the use of language to provoke, compel, and encourage his students to betterment. What Cain engaged in was different. Presentations. Propaganda. An affront to the concept of show, don't tell, and a potentially disingenuous one at that. Cain was there to put a familiar and friendly face on the Imperial Knights, because someone, somewhere, decided that was necessary. Yet, with the same breath, the likes of Vissica and Sturkov thrived upon fear and intimidation, the very antithesis of what Cain's interviews and pronouncements aspired to. It was as if the Knights were confused about their very identity, and that was something Lúka had no desire to engage in. His path was not one of attention, neither positive or negative: his was a path of results, achieved with as much subtlety as was possible.

    Anastasia was not the first to compare and contrast Cain with Jibral, of course. It was a topic of minor conversation among the Cadets. Who would win, if one were to pit the celebrity combat instructor against the man who taught them defense against the Force arts? There were differing opinions, interesting rationalisations; on some level, Lúka was pleased by the analysis that it provoked. On other levels, he found the mere notion of the contest absurd.

    Of course he would win. Why was it even a question?

    Speak of a conflict of interest gave him pause. Why? Because they had been intimate, in a single isolated incident? Or did Ana perceive something else between them, some complication that changed her subjective viewpoint? Or was this simply a dismissal, her faith in Cain over him genuine, an utterance of her personal preference between the two of them? Perhaps the idea of Lúka was merely a consolation. Perhaps she wished that what had transpired had done so with a different Knight -

    "I had -" He stumbled over his words, a slight downturn tugging at the corners of his expression. "If you would prefer to be instructed by others, I can arrange that, of course. Only, I had thought you might perhaps prefer to learn from someone familiar, someone who -" Another falter. Another stumble. His throat unexpectedly dry. "- who understands and appreciates that which makes you unique. I can assure you, I am -"

    A good teacher. As good as him. Good enough. Please.

    "- not known for going easy on any of my students, as I'm sure Jeryd and Jensen's medical files can attest."

  10. #30
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    "Lúka, do you honestly think I would choose someone else?"

    It was as much accusation as curiosity. A challenge of thought, as if to get a better glimpse of exactly what he had meant by implying anything other than a fact that was frankly solid in her mind. Was there other data that she had not considered? Was there something that she had touched on? His stumbled over words made it seem as if he was unsure by what he said, even if his logic was sound and yet...

    Ana sighed just before she lifted the glass to her lips, only to lament its emptiness. She had certainly imbibed enough as it was, and yet she wanted more, if nothing else to make simple conversation easier. To maybe help her speak truths which would avoid these damned pitfalls.

    Abandoning the empty glass, Ana reached out and placed a hand atop Lúka's free hand. As she made contact her eyes locked with his, her gaze intent but still softening, the slightest of smiles trying to tug at the corner of her lips as she attempted to mend the mind, the worry, something that she felt she was far less capable of. Physical injuries were so much easier.

    "You have been the only one I can trust since I was..." Her voice wavered, unsaid treasonous things lingering somewhere in her mind. "Made part of the Inquisitorius."

    Ana's hand continued contact with his, a softness within her touch that didn't seek to pin down or force the pressure; rather serve as a gentle reminder that she had made the effort in the first place.

    "And while I know our mutual benefactor is perhaps to blame for my reassignment here, I..."

    Her voice faltered and Ana let another breath of air leave her lungs heavily to compensate for the silence.

    "I don't have any of that sort of training. I'm a... scientist, Lúka. Someone who belongs in a lab, not in the field. But if anyone was to take on the challenge, if I knew anyone could prepare me adequately? It would be you."

  11. #31
    His eyes fell to her hand atop his, and he fought the urge to move so that he grasped her fingers gently. His eyes didn't rise to hers; instead they contemplated the food, the empty glass, anything else.

    "That is why I wish to be the one who trains you. I am -"

    What was he, precisely? Certainly he was, in Ana's words, someone who could train her adequately. He was the most familiar with her capabilities, with her mindset, with her ways of learning and of understanding. Any skilled instructor could impart knowledge, but Lúka specialised in tailoring the delivery to each student, finding the means that guided them to not just retain the information, but to truly comprehend it, to weave it into their understanding, to reinterpret and reapply. It was one thing to memorise an equation; it was another thing entirely to understand how that equation was derived, to know how it could be adapted and repurposed for other purposes, and to reveal deeper understanding.

    But it was more than that, wasn't it? She described him as the only one she could trust. That brought with it an obligation. She would not merely be accepting his tutelage, she would be trusting him to prepare her. Placing her life in his hands. She thought that their familiarity might make him go easy on her; but on the contrary, it would make him more harsh, more exacting, more scrupulous in ensuring that he was not placing her in undue harm before she was prepared. Another instructor would view success as imparting their skills unto her. For Lúka, the only measure of success would be ensuring Anastasia could prevent herself from coming to harm.

    His eyes flicked up, finding hers. The impulse to stay his hand was resisted, the slightest shift, the slightest pressure of his thumb, returning the touch of her hand.

    "- invested in your safety."

  12. #32
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    Her eyes glanced down to their hands, of the measured amount of reciprocation that Lúka allowed. She couldn't help but wonder how much of this, aside from just a casual dinner, was new for him. Her studies of the Jedi, and a perspective that Lúka himself had offered, let her know how they weren't mere soldiers but people capable of great compassion. But it was in the overall sense, attachments weren't looked upon favorably and while she imagined there was a certain amount that happened regardless between teachers and students, she wondered if the Jedi would go so far as call one another friends. It seemed worse among the Inquisitors, and even now the Knights conducted themselves as if there was a demanded required amount of separation.

    Even to try and ascribe the word to Lúka in her own case felt dubious, as if Anastasia unfamiliar with the sentiment herself. Sure, there had been people throughout her life that she had considered of in such ways, but the truth was plain - Not a one of them did she still have contact with, whether by natural drifting apart or the sting of them turning their backs on her when she probably needed them all the most. The relationships hadn't ended quite as swiftly as her one with Parrus had, but they ended all the same.

    Now here, with the hand of fate or its devious representatives seen fit to place her and Lúka within range of one another's orbits once more... Yes. He was a friend. Perhaps her only one, truly; even if neither of them would openly label things such as that.

    "Then that's settled," she mused, as if it had all been so easy and simple. "I'm not sure if I should look forward to it or not given what all you're going to have to put me through, but I always did like a challenge."

  13. #33
    "I'd like to think you'd look forward to spending time with me regardless."

    The words tumbled out of him as a reflex, an impulsive reaction to conversational stimulus uttered so immediately that his mind had no opportunity to consider the context or phrasing. It took about half a second for the realisation to punch him in his gut, the sudden understanding of just how true those words were. Call it friendship, call it familiarity, call it the inflexibility of a mind more uncomfortable with change than he might like to admit; the end result was the same. Their conspiracy, and its cover, required the two of them to spend a not inconsiderable amount of time together. If he was to train her, and if she were to accompany him offworld as a result, that would increase that time spent in each other's company; and some part of him wanted her to want that, not just for the quantifiable gains, but purely on its own merits. He chose to brand it as loneliness: his one peer, his one friend, wanting to spend time with him. It felt like a weakness, something the Inquisitorious might have frowned upon; and yet for others, for mere mortals, normal people, actional functional human beings, it was an infinitely relatable desire.

    Perhaps that was the power that Anastasia had over him, then: the ability to make him wish to be normal.

    Yet, as much as he wanted her to respond, and respond in the affirmative in particular, he could not bring himself to chance it. This was the true reason why people like him chose to isolate themselves: not the weakness that attachment brought, but the distraction that came from disappointment, should it come to lose. The Jedi were not forbidden attachments because attachment itself was a vice: they were forbidden because an attachment gave a person something to lose, and that in turn gave them something to fear. It was the same mindset that drove agents and operatives to shut themselves off from the world; that inspired Knights, and Inquisitors, and soldiers alike to fixate on the mission above all other considerations, no sentiment allowed to compromise their efficacy.

    Instead, Lúka drove the conversation forward, grasping for an easy topic from his thoughts as his implements raided the next food container.

    "So how are the Twins doing?"

    It was a benign question, a reference to Orenth and Shen: subjects and experiments of the Black Archives that Lúka had once been responsible for, and now found himself responsible for again. When Lúka had been reassigned, sent to join the Imperial Knights, they had remained in the custody of his past associates. Lúka had found them, mistreated and in dire peril, and had refused to return them. They would be safer in his care, of that he was certain; and with Ana's assistance, arrangements had been made to accommodate them in the facility that Khalid had recently guided them to.

    To call them "twins", of course, was a gross misrepresentation. There was no genetic parallel, no shared womb; they didn't even share the same day of birth. Yet, to see them together? To understand that Orenth and Shen were not individuals, but a them? There was no other word to describe them, and so much as it rankled with Lúka's desire for accuracy and correctness, he conceded to the term that the Doctor had coined. Besides, he supposed, given the circumstances? He was hardly in a position to quibble and protest over biological terminology, if his favourite medical professional was content with it.

    "Are they settling in okay?"

  14. #34
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    She had wanted to respond, if nothing else in jest of Lúka's choice of words, something equally teasing and reassuring. But then he had cut off her line of thinking, taking her mind down an entirely different avenue, back to the cool transparent walls and nondescript lighting where their charges were currently housed.

    It wasn't the first time that Anastasia had been exposed to the supposedly soulless clones, but this was different than when they had been residents of the Black Archives. She had never taken the Twins for granted, nor their counterpart; but now? Now it felt as if it was something more that Lord Jibral was entrusting her with the care of, and while Anastasia couldn't precisely pinpoint what it was, she took it as serious and with as much sincerity as possible. The two were no longer just test subjects, that much was clear.

    "They're adapting to their new surroundings quite quickly," she reported. "Though, I suppose they're used to being under constant observation so the lack of privacy hardly bothers them..."

    Her chopsticks nudged at a piece of nerf as she pondered the two, how close they seemed, how attached they'd become. Not that Anastasia was concerned of anything untoward happening between the clones, especially with how their rooms were divided, but still, none of the other subjects had become so dependent upon one another.

    "I do catch them sitting on the floor quite often though, often putting their hands on opposite sides of the wall adjoining their cells. I'm starting to wonder just how much communication they share that goes unspoken."

  15. #35
    It was something that Lúka had observed many times, during training and in the field with the Twins, but had never felt the need to report or document. He wasn't quite sure why: the link between the two of them was extensive, and that should have been a point of fascination and study to be catalogued by the Archives. Yet, Lúka had omitted his knowledge from the records, not as an active deception, but a passive choice. Part of him wondered if the incidental secrecy was selfish, part of a subconscious desire to remain the most knowledgeable about the Twins, lest they be removed from his care: though if true, it was a strategy that had ultimately failed in the short term, leading to a traumatic experience for which he blamed only himself. Another part wondered if there was some other sentiment at play, some misplaced desire to respect their privacy, to allow there to be something between them that was not a matter of public record.

    If such sentimentality existed, it would have explained the tug of conflict that twisted in his chest as Anastasia described the silent interactions between the two of them. At the Archives, Orenth and Shen had lived within the transparent confines of separate containment cells, allowed to see each other at all times, but prevented from physical contact without direct supervision. It was a pragmatic choice, not an intentionally cruel one, despite how it might have seemed to outsiders: a lesson learned from painful past experience with earlier iterations of their particular clone program. In the Archives, it had simply been the way of things, and Lúka had never thought to question it, because it had never been his place to do so. When the Twins had been relocated to the as yet unnamed facility that Khalid had guided them to, it had been only logical to create similar accommodations for them. In fact, placing them in adjoining spaces rather than opposite sides of one of the walk-spaces had been a kindness. Yet, to hear it described, it felt crueller than Lúka would have imagined it being.

    "They definitely have some sort of mental link."

    The confirmation of Doctor Xivelle's speculation was offered willingly, but another voyage of his chopsticks allowed him a moment of pause, within which his mind began to consider the wisdom in sharing such details with her. He trusted Anastasia, and had no reason to question that stance; and yet, she was a scientist. To her, Orenth and Shen were subjects for study, objects of curiosity, things to be contemplated and tested upon. To Lúka, they were something different. He understood what they were: pale imitations of stolen genomes, blessed only with echoes of consciousness and personality. Like the Clone Troopers, they were manufactured, created through science for a singular purpose. Yet, the Clone Wars had taught him that such assumptions and opinions became harder to maintain the more time you spent in the presence of said clones. They were imitations, copies of copies, and yet despite their origin, they were surprisingly convincing facsimiles of life. Over time, they developed variation, quirks, individuality. They were like droids left too long without having their programming reset: the ghost of personality, the illusion of a soul. In the time that he had spent with the Twins, he had watched them form the same. He had felt them form a bond with him - their "Keeper", as they called him - and had developed a certain kinship with them in reply. Perhaps, as a result of the role they cast him in, he felt an obligation to protect them, to care for his charges, and safeguard them from malicious intent. It was why he had stolen them away, a direct challenge to his former benefactors. Perhaps that gave him licence to keep them in his own way, rather than following the methods laid down for them by people he was no longer beholden to.

    That notion gave him pause, and left him reluctant to expose the extent of their connected nature to Doctor Xivelle: not out of distrust of her, but out of loyalty to them.

    "It reminds me of the kind of empathic bond that some Force Users are able to establish with animals. It allows them to share their intentions, emotions, and instincts, which is why they work so effectively in tandem, but it's nothing especially remarkable. An interesting quirk, not a groundbreaking discovery."

    More of the Neimoidian stir-fried vegetables were sampled, leading to another momentary pause.

    "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. We've deprived them of much of the social interaction and stimulation that helps natural-born infants to develop language, so they've fallen back on a more instinctive way to communicate. Maybe its time we started being a little more humane in the way they're nurtured and cared for. Maybe it's past time."

  16. #36
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    An interesting quirk, not a groundbreaking discovery - The words stuck with her, churning within. Nothing especially remarkable and yet Anastasia had thought it to be of significance. It only proved she still had so much to learn about her supposed area of expertise. It was discouraging, but also... Not. She knew perfectly well there was a difference between choosing to study something and having it be part of your every day life from the time you were a child. There was only ever going to be so much she could learn about Force adepts and their capabilities and yet...

    She knew it wasn't intentional, that the Knight was only conversing, simply pointing out statements that he knew as simple fact that she took as something remarkable. But then, wasn't that the way with everything he was capable of? It was something she could never understand but Lord Jibral knew on a level she could only begin to assume was instinctual. While she could have taken that as a negative, there was something else to focus on... He was a friend, an asset. She couldn't understand, but maybe, just maybe he would allow her to question, to explore, to learn. A first hand account, from a trusted source that also - perhaps - trusted her? That was... invaluable.

    "I'm sure we can find some sort of concessions to make, maybe move them into a shared room," She answered, a brief moment to address his comments before her mind fully turned towards other matters.

    Anastasia glanced once more at her empty wine glass before she cast a look over her shoulder, contemplating a refill to bolster her courage at what she was about to imply. But no, that would be far too obvious in what she was thinking.

    "These empathic links..."

    The chopsticks she had been holding were allowed to leave her hold as she rested them against the lid of the container.

    "Are they strictly between Force users and animals or other Force users? Or could one form with..." She struggled to think of a term that wasn't insulting. "A less gifted individual?"

  17. #37
    Lúka followed her gaze to the wine bottle, any intention to retrieve it abandoned as she focused herself on her question. Her tone suggested there was more to it than the surface meaning of the words, and so Lúka allowed his brow to furrow, giving it the consideration it was due as he reached out across the apartment, the Force lifting the bottle gently towards his waiting hands.

    "That is a complicated question," he started, pulling the stopper free from the bottle, and refilling Anastasia's glass before topping up his own, "And I think it is built upon an easy misconception of how the Force works."

    He set the bottle aside, abandoning his chopsticks as well in subconscious mirror of Anastasia, before leaning back in his seat. He chose his words carefully, auditioning each attempt at explanation in his mind before daring to even consider speaking it. This was Anastasia's life - or at least, the work to which she had dedicated herself to, at the unfortunate eventual expense of romance, and friends, and family. This was important to her, and so his response could not be taken lightly, lest the information he provide somehow corrupt or sabotage her understanding. There were aspects of her research that part of him found unsettling, particularly in the wrong hands: but he knew Anastasia, and knew that she was not those hands, her intentions born out of pure curiosity and devotion to science. Understanding was a fundamental part of every belief system Lúka had ever considered himself part of, and while a Jedi or Inquisitor might meditate upon the Force, that was an opportunity denied to people like Anastasia - and yet, as beings of the universe, as aspects of the Force themselves, it was unfair to deny them the understanding that came from knowing the Force the way that Lúka did. This research was her meditation upon the Force, and Lúka was honoured - and terrified - by the prospect of contributing towards it. He owed it to her to do so in the best way that he could.

    "When speaking about a connection to the Force, we tend to distinguish between those who have, and those who have not. It is not that simple, however. All beings are part of Force, from the smallest insect to the tallest tree, and everything in between. All life feeds from, and feeds into the Force, affecting it merely by existing. Consider gravity, and the way it can distort the fabric of spacetime. We do not think about the gravity of a grain of sand, because it is too slight and subtle, and yet it undeniably is there, leaving the faintest imprint of a gravity well. It is the same with the Force. You may think yourself unable to affect it, or to be affected by it, and yet you are, to imperceptible degrees. When your smile lights up a room, it is not merely psychology, or poetry: your emotions radiate from you into the Force, something that a Sensitive can easily perceive; but those ripples are felt by others as well, on some subconscious level, and are taken into themselves."

    He reached for his wine, the smallest sip taken to wet his throat.

    "In truth, the binary absolutes we accept as part of the nature of the Force are in fact thresholds. Force Sensitives do not possess a sensitivity that others lack, they simply possess enough of a sensitivity to consciously interpret the effect of the Force upon them, and to actively affect it in return. The more powerful an individual is in the Force, the more 'gravity' they possess, and thus the deeper their gravity well - the deeper their impact on, and presence in, the Force."

    Lúka drew a breath, wondering if perhaps he was straying too far from the specifics of the Doctor's question. A little too much of his Master's influence in his willingness to stray into exposition, no doubt. Yet it felt important; felt like an essential part of answering her question in a way that was more than merely an approximation.

    "There are many things that someone sensitive enough can perceive through the Force, and emotions are perhaps the simplest and most readily available. Emotions are a fundamental aspect of life, and the empathic bond that Force Wielders can establish uses those emotions as a language to communicate, even with creatures that do not possess the requisite faculties for language. A thranta cannot speak, nor understand instructions, but it understands fear, and comfort, and satisfaction. The more sophisticated the being, the more complex that empathic language can become, and a more practised and more sensitive practitioner can augment it with images, and impulses, and impressions. At the highest levels, with a truly complex mind, the Force can convey entire thoughts, and sophisticated messages. Like the Force itself, it is again all a matter of thresholds."

    His brow furrowed again, trying to unpack the motivation behind Anastasia's question. It could have been curiosity, but he suspected that there was more. Was it concern, perhaps? Worry that he might be able to impress upon her through such a link thoughts and desires that were not her own? Or was it envy, and wonderment, wishing to know what it might feel like to experience that for herself?

    "In the instance of a Jedi and an animal -" He cringed slightly, realising how comfortable it still felt to consider himself adequately described by that word. "- there is an imbalance, one Sensitive impressing their emotions upon a less sensitive creature, and perceiving the creature's emotions in response. Such things are always possible: that is the essence of the Jedi mind trick, for example, though that exploits a lesser mind and weaker will in order to succeed; something your keen mind and wit are no doubt much too advanced for, should you ever wish to resist it. It is the same process by which Inquisitors and Knights are able to forcibly strip thoughts and memories from the minds of others during interrogations: all relying on the existence of that imbalance. In terms of gravity, I suppose it is like orbit: a lesser gravitational object becoming bound to an object of greater influence. With equal minds, though?"

    He let out a small sigh, born out of his own envy, perhaps. Though he had downplayed it, the bond between Orenth and Shen was almost beautiful, in a way, and it reminded him of his own lonely isolation to realise that there was no one with whom he could share that kind of constant contact.

    "Orenth and Shen are like binary stars. Equal gravity, holding them symmetrical orbit of each other. Both project their emotions into each other, and both perceive their counterpoint in each other. For someone less sensitive to the Force -"

    Lúka trailed off, overcome with a sudden sadness. He tried to bury it, though knowing it was there twisted his own words in his ears.

    "Were there such a bond between us, for example, it would be one-sided. I would be able to perceive your emotions and impulses through the Force, but you would not be able to perceive mine: not unless I forcably projected them into your mind, which -"

    A flicker of horror sparked into his mind, suddenly wondering if - in light of past encounters - this was the hidden purpose of the question she had asked.

    "- I would never do. Not without your consent, and not without your mind being open to it. Such things are dangerous, and I would not -"

    His words fumbled.

    "I would not wish to influence you. Your mind is too important. As is your trust."

  18. #38
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    He held her attention fully captive as the once-Jedi explained the intricacies that she had taken for granted, an oversight characterized by false information and secreted away truths. It dawned on her then, the amount of luck, or Will, or serendipity it took for the two of them to cross paths, one that had survived and overcome an extinction and burying of his kind, and her - wanting nothing more than to uncover those truths houses within his mind that some believed were better off lost.

    True, she could have gotten the information from another Force adept, but not so willingly, not so freely expressed. There were no hesitations to Lúka's answers, nothing that hinted he was holding back information... even with how he had ended his miniature lecture. He knew then, of the trust she placed within him, of how it had altered in the time they had known one another. It brought a genuine smile back to her lips.

    "I know you wouldn't. It's never been a concern, to be honest. I've never even thought you would even entertain the idea..." Her voice trailed off as she brought the refilled glass of wine to her lips.

    The way he'd brought the bottle over was a reminder of all he was capable of, and while it was in some view, overly showy, Anastasia had come to realize that such acts were as natural to the Knight as if he had simply plucked the object with his hand. Still, it was a comfort to know that those abilities would never be turned on her, not in any negative way, at least.

    "One of these days, if you are willing... Perhaps..." It felt foolish to ask such a thing, to elaborate on something he had said.

    "Well, perhaps we could test those dangers? For curiosity sake, an experiment, if you will. I know you said that it is not something done upon those with a strong constitution but, after all, if one of your-" Anastasia didn't want to say peers, the other Knights were nothing of the sort in her own comparisons. At least, not in how she directly related to them.

    "-Fellows should decide to make an attempt? I'd like to know what it feels like. How to recognize if one of the Cadets for instance is trying to push a boundary they shouldn't be.'

    There was no lie in the statement, but some part of her knew it wasn't all that simple, either. There had been a twinge of - not entirely sadness but something - that came from hearing such a thing could only ever be one-sided against her.

  19. #39
    The request hit him with conflict and complexity. An initial, violent refusal sparked in him, an urgent and immediate desire to insist that he could not, and would not afflict such an intrusion on her, no matter the circumstances. But the request was well framed, and the underlying point well-made. There were many Knights in the Citadel, each with their own morals, agendas, and objectives. Few of them would have intentions towards the Doctor as benevolent as Lúka's were; and that was even before considering the secrets that she currently guarded on his behalf. To safeguard that knowledge, to protect her in some way from a stray thought that might snare the interest and intrigue of another, or at the very least to prepare her for what she might suffer if she continued down this path with him? There was wisdom in that.

    Ordinarily, the logic of it would have been enough for Lúka. Training her and preparing her in such a way was the course of action most beneficial to the mission, most beneficial to him; and most beneficial to her, in the long run. That should have been enough. Yet, it clashed and conflicted with some core drive within him, some desire to shield her from the prospect of undue suffering beyond what she had already experienced. He only knew fragments, only understood the barest fraction of what life and the Empire had taken from her, in order to entrap her in service to first the Inquisitors and now the Knights; and even then, he knew that he could not truly understand what she had gone through, unable to relate to the kind of personal relationships and experiences that had been robbed from her. The prospect of invading her mind, while it might reveal answers to the understanding he lacked, it also represented a violation, a line that the thought of crossing sickened him to his core.

    "I would be lying if I said I wasn't conflicted."

    He wasn't looking at her, instead focusing on one of the part-empty food containers, his fingers idly fidgeting with one of the open flaps.

    "I respect your curiosity, and I cannot argue with your logic. It is something I would prefer not be inflicted upon you at all, but if it must then I would rather be there to help soften the blow than be a powerless observer, or hear of it in hindsight. But at the same time? It will be unpleasant. It may be painful, and may awaken memories you would prefer not to revisit. It could undo much of the effort and progress you have made in moving on from your past, and -"

    There was the crux of it, the unspoken barrier that his mind was struggling to traverse. His eyes found hers for a moment, just enough to convey a fleeting flash of sincere concern.

    "There is a chance that you will not look at me the same way again."

  20. #40
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    Her expression had softened as Lúka spoke, a tug of her own concern showing at her brow. It wasn't out of fear for her own mind, of what was within it, but of the apprehension that seemed to colour his explanation. Unpleasant, painful... For her, apparently. But it left her wondering how much of that would be inflicted on her Knight as well. Enough, apparently, to allow him to freely voice his concerns.

    The wine glass she had been once more idling sipping on was set down and her hand reached out to gently rest atop Lúka's, to bring a halt to his own fidgets.

    Anastasia forced a smile, soft in it's sincerity, not merely preened to show when attempting to comfort.

    "I know my own mind, Lúka. I know what waits for me there, and you're right. There are things I don't wish to experience again, to ruminate on. But to think their hauntings would cause me to change my view of you? Impossible."

    Her head shook in the slightest as her gaze continued to focus upon his.

    "If I even thought there was the slightest danger of that, I wouldn't have brought it up. I wouldn't have asked," Ana threaded her fingers through his and offered a reassuring squeeze. "And no, before you even think it... Yes, I am aware there are others in this facility that wouldn't be cruel about such things, but I wouldn't even consider it. If my life is to be laid bare, best it is done before you."

    A sighed breath left her as Ana lifted her hand away from Lúka's, but only enough to softly run her fingertips along where her palm had rested against him. She hoped the feeling was as reassuring for him as it was her.

    "You've already seen me in far more vulnerable a state than anyone else here. That hasn't made me want to end our association, I don't think it would be all that different?"

    It was her tone that kept her from making light of what she was saying, the way her words threatened to tiptoe towards a line that Anastasia herself and firmly drawn.

    "It you think it's too risky, I will trust that judgement and never speak of this again."

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