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Thread: A Lesson in Denial

  1. #41
    Lúka stared down at the way her fingers intertwined with his, the way their minds would if he did as she proposed. It was an apt metaphor. Done gently, such a melding of minds could be painless, pleasant even, a willing symmetry letting his mind touch hers without harm. But that wasn't what the Doctor had requested: not completely. A Knight like Vissica would not be gentle. Her mind would have claws, and if Ana made hers a closed fist, Vissica would break fingers in order to access the interlacement she sought. If Anastasia wished to be prepared, he would be forced to provide at least some fraction of that unpleasant experience.

    Anastasia's words carried weight, her assurances meaningful to him; and yet they came as the words of someone who didn't understand. It would not simply be remembered pain and sorrow, it would be relived. All the trust, all the willingness in the world, would not help them if Lúka stumbled across something too painful for Anastasia to bear. If she couldn't help herself, if she couldn't stop her minds urges to fight back? The harm, the damage, the broken trust -

    His other hand came to rest atop the two that Ana had interlaced. His words were gentle, carrying all the sincerity that a matter such as this deserved.

    "I will have to think about it?"

    It sounded like a feeble response, too formulaic a string of words to convey just how much weight fell behind those words. He met Ana's gaze, forcing as much honesty as he could muster, allowing his barriers to descend just long enough for her to truly see the extent of his conflict.

    "But please know, it is not the prospect of seeing you vulnerable that gives me pause: it is the prospect of being the one responsible for causing you harm. That is not something I ever wish to do, and I do not know if I would be able to forgive myself if I learned that I had."

  2. #42
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    A hint of a smile pulled at her, more out of his choice of wording while her hand rested between both of his. It wasn't a willing thing Anastasia wanted to admit to herself, one she had categorically denied and refused for days now. But there it was, the undertow of truth tugging at her. He already had hurt her.

    It was her own fault, the blame didn't reside with Lúka. A fractured soul had sought to find meaning in something that wasn't there no matter how much reason and rationale told her as much. Evidence blatantly disregarded by some stubborn, selfish, part of her. Maybe if this conversation had not happened until weeks from now it wouldn't have meant anything, it could have been overlooked. But the wound was too fresh, not yet adding to the tangle of scar tissue within herself. The vault Anastasia thought empty had been cracked open and the realization that there was more there than just dust was all her own doing. The Knight didn't deserve that sort of pressure put upon him, not then and not now.

    There would be nothing to forgive because he would never know. That was a vow she made even as she considered the best method to truly purge herself of the guilty and treasonous heart that had somehow managed to survive within her. Anastasia would find a way, she had to. No one else would.

    Perhaps the surgery would have to start with a lie, then. That too was not something Ana wanted to do to Lúka, and when it could be avoided she would make every effort to make up for this indiscretion.

    "You haven't, yet." The smile she had allowed show became just a little more forced, but she hoped it showed as sincere. She would give anything to fool him, then. To fool herself as well. "I will respect whatever you choose, but know that... If you do end up hurting me? I already know you will also be there to make every effort at helping me mend. I won't suffer on my own, Lúka. Not with you there."

  3. #43
    No, he thought to himself: she wouldn't suffer alone, for knowing that he had caused her to endure such a thing would surely cause him to suffer as well. Despite all the confusion, over how he felt towards her, and his foolish false projections of the same onto her, of that much he was absolutely certain. To see sadness in her eyes, and to know that he was the cause? He would rather die than learn the truth of how such a thing would make him feel.

    "Not on my watch," he assured, the tiniest iota of extra pressure placed around her hands. "You've hurt enough already. The next person responsible will have to answer to me."

    Talk of watches dragged Lúka's attention to his own. More time had passed than he realised - what was the idiom, about the pace of time while one was enjoying oneself? - but perhaps not enough for the date that this meaningless meal between friends and coconspirators was disguised as. That Knight Jibral had been seen entering Doctor Xivelle's quarters that evening would no doubt be the talk of the Citadel by morning, sparking rumours that they would, of course, play the part of fledgeling lovers reluctant to confirm; but those rumours would be far more problematic if Lúka departed her quarters at the wrong time. Too soon, and the evening was nothing, too easily debunked as a civil, platonic encounter by the outside observer. Too late, and the disparaging insinuations would of course land disproportionately on Doctor Xivelle's feminine shoulders, leaving Lúka portrayed in a far more positive light. He almost welcomed the possibility, for the potential it presented to take each and every Imperial in the Citadel to task for their unsavoury perspectives on gender; but no, he would shield her from that.

    His hands withdrew from hers, wrenched away quickly to avoid his reluctance taking hold. His eyes scanned over the partially demolished meal before them.

    "I don't want to overstay my welcome," he admitted, "But there's no point telling a lie if you aren't going to fully commit to it, so I probably shouldn't be seen leaving just yet. That said -"

    He winced, and patted his stomach for emphasis.

    "- if I sit here and keep eating, we're going to end up sparking rumours that one of us is pregnant, and I'm going to be the one who looks the part."

  4. #44
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    It shouldn't have made her laugh, but Anastasia found herself doing so all the same. She was immediately thankful that it didn't last long enough to be embarrassing; at least, no more so than the outburst was in the first place.

    "Well I am supposedly some sort of mad-scientist, so you never know."

    She slowly pushed back from the table, taking her ever emptying glass of wine with her.

    "I suppose you're right, though."

    A soft hum left her lips as she considered the options. Anastasia was more than certain her and the Knight could come up with things to converse about, she had so many questions, after all. It didn't feel right, though. As much as the pretense for the visit was false and neither of them ever really stopped being what they were to the Empire, there was sound reasoning in off-hours being used to recoup and relax. She'd perhaps badgered Lúka enough for the evening.

    "We could watch a film, perhaps?"

    It wasn't entirely a bad idea. There were plenty of references to various holonet films or series running about that seemed normal to most individuals; though sadly, were lost to the likes of Anastasia and Lúka. Their times within the Black Archives hardly lent itself to staying up to date on the latest releases. It was something they shared and Anastasia had experienced at least once as a cadet whose wrist she had been setting made some quip that was no doubt a quote from something famous from the holonet but she had been utterly lost to it.

    "Not that I know which to suggest. I'm sure we can something agreeable, though?"

  5. #45
    "I -"

    Lúka faltered, the confession coming a little to readily for his liking. For a brief, hesitant moment, he wondered if it was too much information, a revelation he should be ashamed of, or merely an understandable aspect of the kind of sheltered being that Anastasia no doubt assumed him to be. After all, she had witnessed how things were at the Maw - the isolation; the disconnection from the outside world - and while perhaps it hadn't dawned on her explicitly, life as a Jedi and then as a fugitive led to much the same experience.

    "I don't think I've ever seen a -" He halted himself, adopting her choice of term rather than any more semantically accurate alternatives that he might personally have been inclined to use. "- film."

    His brow furrowed.

    "Well, perhaps that isn't true. There are documentaries that I was required to watch over the course of the time with the Inquisition, propoganda pieces and the like. As far as holomovies for entertainment though? We -"

    He let out a small chuckle.

    "We didn't exactly have a cineplex here at the Jedi Temple growing up, and I spent much of my time on the run from the Empire aboad the Maelibus as the youngest on the crew by a decade at least. It was not exactly a time of cultural immersion for me. I wouldn't even know what sort of holomovie I would even like, let alone have enough of an opinion to help guide the selection of one."

    He contemplated that notion for a brief moment.

    "Perhaps we should start with one of your favourites?"

  6. #46
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    Her favorites? That was difficult to pinpoint. Anastasia doubted that now was the time for the various documentaries on the Clone Wars she found to be intriguing. Nor did she believe any of the aged, more philosophical dramas, such as Subject Abel were appropriate. That left a rather odd decision. It too was older, but made by someone decidedly Separatist. The film in question, lacked some of the artists' more political motivated pieces, but rather focused on a simple story told from multiple perspectives. The Starbird Gate was controversial, certainly, due to it's creator, but Anastasia had always found the influence it left to be... Well, simply captivating.

    Still, Anastasia had a hint of reluctance. What if Lúka didn't care for the film at all? What if something she found to be worth introspection and contemplation was responded with an indifferent or worse perspective?

    They had spoke of their trust, though, had they not? If he did not care for the holofilm, then no harm was done? But if he did...

    Anastasia rose from her chair and smiled warmly, trying her best to suppress the hint of anxiety and nervousness she felt.

    "I know just the thing."
    Last edited by Anastasia Xivelle; Jul 25th, 2018 at 06:25:00 PM.

  7. #47
    * * *

    The Starbird Gate had affected Lúka far more than he might have expected, based on the premise alone. A story that predated the Clone Wars, playing into the nostalgia and mysticism surrounding the Jedi Order, was not something that would ever have appealed to the Knight, for perhaps obvious reasons. At first, he had questioned Ana's decision to share this particular holomovie with him. But then the story had unfolded, and it became clear. It wove a narrative that was retold from different perspectives, each one flawed, and yet each one holding a kernel of truth. It exposed the Jedi for what they were, as well: flawed, corrupt, and just as fallible as any other sentient being. No doubt there were more famous Jedi who had served as a direct inspiration to the filmmakers - there was something decidedly Skywalker and Kenobi about the interplay between victim and antagonist, leaving Lúka to wonder just how aware the director, Arika Awasorük, was of more recent revelations about the son of Skywalker and the illicit romance with a Senator that bore him - but Lúka found himself projecting his own experiences into the narrative, casting himself as the Knight opposite his master Inyos Amoran as the General, their Captain Elira Asael forced by the General's insidious affections to be complicit in in their betrayal and tantamount murder of him.

    He had not expected the movie to affect him in such a way, and yet it had, the visuals and music and narrative all conspiring to strike at the very core of his being. Ana had glanced at him with concern at several moments, and Lúka had felt her nervous curiosity over his interest and enjoyment; Lúka had been too entranced, too absorbed in the story to even notice the way that his hand had crept across the sofa cushions to gently rest against hers.

    Then it had ended, and Lúka felt strange, as if the experience had been torn away from him too soon. It left him introspective, to an extent that perhaps the Doctor misinterpreted as disinterest or lack of enjoyment, no matter how much Lúka reassured her otherwise, no matter how much they had talked about their respective insights, and the layers that Lúka's perspective allowed him to peel back in ways that Anastasia had not previously considered. It had hung like a cloud over him, and them, as they had dealt with the remains of their meal, and made an effort to make the Doctor's accommodations more presentable once again. Now, Lúka found himself at the doorway, his mind still fixated on The Starbird Gate, finding himself standing on an important threshold of his own.

    "This was -"

    He struggled to know what to say, both his introspection and his unfamiliarity with such platonic interactions leaving him uninspired.

    "Thank you, Ana." He chose the address carefully, deliberately clipping her name into something informal and intimate. "For your hospitality, and for sharing something meaningful for me. Of all the hidden perks and privileges that I have uncovered over the course of our time working together, the opportunity to know you better continues to be the singular highlight. I am glad we are -"

    His hand poised over the door controls, ready to trigger his exit back out into the Citadel, and back out into their deception over the nature of the relationship that he and the Doctor shared.

    "- friends."

  8. #48
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    Friends.

    It was an accurate term, was it not? Closer than colleagues, more acquainted than associates; it was a line they had willingly stepped over together. Yet the word seemed to also create a chasm, the definition falling short and making a clear definition that Ana wasn't sure she liked.

    Still, it was a word that had seemed a deliberate choice on Lúka's part. A line he created, an unspoken request that made it very clear he had no wish to revisit what they had stumbled upon and indulged aboard the ship of his past. It wasn't even the physical, but that hint of emotional connection that they had shared...

    That clearly did not exist. Anastasia knew better, even from her own perspective. She was confused, attributing a lack of feeling that she was certain of for far too much in the absence. Lúka was her friend. Perhaps her first genuine one in far too long, it was no wonder that she was attempting to grant it more purchase than it truly had. Even if it did feel like more.

    But no, she couldn't allow that. Her respect for the Knight far outweighed her own foolish notions that were allowed to seep in when she was not on her guard.

    The soft smile that graced her wasn't entirely disingenuous.

    "As am I," she replied, leaving other things left unsaid in favor of a truth that could be allowed. "We should do this again sometime. You know, when we aren't attempting to fake a relationship for the sake of others."

  9. #49
    The words stabbed and twisted in his gut. Lúka wasn't sure what he expected, what he wanted, but it wasn't this. Not the implication that, once the lies and deceptions of their cover story was swept aside, all that would remain was friendship. Of course that was the case. Lúka couldn't understand why part of him would have expected or hoped for anything else. The Maelibus was once - well, three times, technically, though it was hardly an instance that required counting - and then never again. It was a moment, and one that had passed, a line drawn beneath it. No matter what else Lúka might have inferred or wished to see, both of them remained firmly behind that line, and not just because of duty or obligation: but because that was where they belonged.

    Still, if evenings like this one were what friendship led to? Perhaps being friends with Anastasia Xivelle was a fate he could live with.

    The doorway opened, and Lúka took a step backward, escaping from the private confines of Anastasia's apartment into the corridor beyond. Like a wave, like passing through the threshold of a containment barrier, Lúka felt the honesty of the evening wash away from him, the obligations of the part he played for public consumption settling back into place. From the peripherals of his perception, he could not detect the presence of anyone, but it didn't matter: it was commitment to the role, he told himself, dedication to their cover, that caused him to reach out, a hand wrapping suddenly around Ana's waist to draw her close to him. His other hand caught her cheek, tilting her jaw towards his lips as he kissed her, a long and deep farewell that carried with it far more genuine sentiment than he would have liked.

    It lasted seconds, but it could have lasted hours and still been over too soon. A small bittersweet smile flickered on Lúka's lips, but he buried it quickly.

    "Goodnight, Doctor."

  10. #50
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    It took far longer than Anastasia liked for her breath to catch up, for the never ending quiet contemplative thoughts that always persisted within her mind to return; for the words to finally form where they seemed stuck in her throat.

    "Goodnight, Lord Jibral."

    She allowed herself the restrained moments to watch him turn and walk away, but did not trust herself to fully wait until he was from her vision before Anastasia retreated fully within her quarters and allowed the door to shut. On the surface of everything, she had known what the kiss was, and there was something admirable in how Lúka had fully committed to the role with how it had been delivered. If it had just been a small peck, perhaps it would not have lingered with her, would not have caused her hand to raise and for her fingertips to brush against her lips as she allowed herself the guilty pleasure of reliving the moment.

    Ana felt herself turn, felt the weight of her back lean against the closed door that kept her from the rest of the Citadel before her body sagged against it. A sigh left her as she slightly shook her head, a myriad of self-chiding remarks flooding her head. This wouldn't do, she couldn't keep letting herself do this, to ascribe more to what her and the Knight were.

    Friends
    would have to settle, it wasn't such a terrible thing, was it? It was safer that way. It would let her recognize herself in a mirror once more, to remove those foolish half smiles she had caught herself wearing too often as of late. After all, the type of connection some clearly naive portion of her craved could never happen, nor should it. She had learned her lesson there, had she not? And every bit of injury she allowed herself at Lord Jibral's hand was an affront to the respect she held for him. Her research was why she was here, it was what was important. Everything else was just a distraction

    So a friend was what she could allow herself to have, if that meant more evenings such as this? If that meant more actions taken to uphold and provide an excuse for the two's leave of the Citadel at odd hours? It would be enough.

    At least, Ana hoped it would be. Otherwise things were going to become quite complicated.

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