Burning Bridges

[DeathToll]

The dim-blue and gray shirt plopped onto the bed, wafting a cloud of dust into the air. Another article flew towards the bed, spreading dust and dirt across its untucked and opened covers. He picked up his belt and nearly threw that too, but hesitated. He held the belt closer to eye and found a long hair hanging from a pinch where a pocket overlay the belt itself. It was Ebberla's. Had to be. He just stared at it. A finger and thumb reached up slowly to take hold of it. They did, and he felt the tug of how tight it was secured there somehow. Before plucking it free, he couldn't take it anymore and threw it down to the seat he stood behind. The belt bounced off of the seat and onto the floor beneath the desk, and he realized he'd thrown it too hard. His hand clutched the back of the seat and he leaned into it, his shoulders rotating into the frustration that coiled in his aching neck.

"Where are you?"

Tristian-Ambrose asked himself, he asked that question that'd been on his mind since he got here. Where was Ebberla? Then he happened to notice the dirty clothes he'd tossed onto his bed. The place was an absolute mess, and it pained him to want for some kind of cleaning service. He wasn't one for cleaning up after himself, and the time spent away from the Temples had easily reminded him of his royal childhood. He'd recently come by an employee, a personal mechanic of sorts, and he'd always had his pilot. But this was all becoming tiresome, and in the absence of a familiar face he only saw that destruction he'd seen on Coruscant. Those clothes, he'd still kept them since returning to Coruscant, since coming to Tython in those clothes, and had yet to wash them or even put them some place that might give him some reprieve.

Tris was in a particular mood today, having skipped his morning workout yet another day in sequence, and he wanted to get the hell out of here. But even he realized you couldn't just go from Temple to Temple asking where Ebberla was. He could, and he would, but he knew how she was. Besides, he couldn't let anyone see him like this. The great Dario of the Baptiste line could not be so head over his heels that he forgot which way was up. So he grabbed an exact duplicate, though much much cleaner, of the belt he'd just thrown down and strapped it on. He'd received the shipment of his clothes, just yesturday, after arriving days ago. He was finally rid of those rediculously neutral colors and unfavoring lines lent to him, now, once again, accented properly and looking royally noble as he should.

He made for the door, rather aggressively, and flung himself out into the passing traffic in the halls. Head held high, he began his treck through the rabble and towards the training rooms; knocking nearly every shoulder he passed. The Jedi walked closely here. It seemed that the fact that no one knew who he was couldn't stop being reminded to him. Yet, with his head held high, he let little more than a pruned face of frustration surface with each hit; ignoring the looks of surprise and doubt. He just had to get to the training rooms and he'd be fine.

"Outoutout!"

Tris' voice trumpeted his arrival from the training room doorway, declaring the space as his alone. In the back of his mind, he was almost hoping that someone denied him what he wanted so that he could properly vent his momentary frustration. But he was not necessarily looking for a fight. Which was why he was telling everyone to get out now. Most obeyed as if an order from a Master, but some lingered hesitantly. After his entrance a week ago, being confronted by that Jedi in white and his Padawan and almost being arrested right in front of the Temple for a possible connection to the Coruscant bombing, he'd made quite the name for himself as a competent duelist. It just wasn't a name that people recognized. He'd, at first, seemed the better and in fact cleared his name with his harmless defense and Jedi-like approach to the situation; a fluke. He'd simply been overwhelmed and unable to choose how he responded at the time. The longer he stayed, the more he sullied the impression.

 

[Master Maverick]

Still, the memory of the sight of the Temple on Coruscant lingered in her mind. Like many others, it seemed, Ayva Starfall dived into training in order to forget about all the lives lost and to feel as though she was doing something. Otherwise she would have been training one of her Apprentices, but they had the day off as well, still dealing with the loss.

Though they would never feel how she felt.

She had grown particularly fond of the late Prime Envoy; but even so, she knew many within the Temple, and even more she had memories abound of that place that threatened to take her down a path that she would not soon escape. Thus, the training.

Alone in a corner of the room, she meditated at the time, feeling all those around her at the same time as accurately as she could. She was pleased that her skill in this was increasing, but it was not where it should be. At least she thought. Regardless, it was nice to feel at peace, but not allow the mind to wander to that memory and thus to many more. It kept her occupied.

She wore her typical dress, with the shorter sleeves that stopped at her wrist as would be expected. The skirt was draped around her, creating a circle of pure white with light blue triangles that started at her hips and widened to the seam. They were rather thin triangles, but they provided color and texture that the rather plain dress almost needed. Even so, the sash cinched her waist and held her 2 lightsabers, one longer than the other, the one on her left hip.

Sitting cross legged upon the ground, her palms on her knees, she worked to sense those around her. There were many emotions and it was difficult for even her to sift through; disgust, sadness, anger, hatred, disbelief, hopelessness among many others. Thus, the people coming and passing were unknown to her. She knew a number of people, but this day she was unable to pick out anyone. Even the individual seemingly tromping down the halls went unnoticed by the Kaminoan. Well, that was until he shouted inside the room for all to leave.

She did not move from her position, neither did she acknowledge him. However, her focus on him was complete; blocking out all others and feeling his emotions specifically. There was such a mix and flurry of them she couldn't quite figure out what he really felt. Even more, she most certainly couldn't find the reason for his distress. Soon some memories came forward and she realized who he was.

She opened her eyes after a moment of bringing herself out of the trance and stood without the aid of her hands. She rose to her full impressive height and seemingly spun, rather than turned to face him. Her dress flowed as though she moved through water and she glided and floated over the ground, not deigning to simply walk. Keeping an appropriate distance from one in such a mood, she bowed slightly to him, but said nothing yet. Simply, she looked at him for a moment with knowing and caring eyes.

Finally, "You are Tristian-Ambrose, are you not? You were in the battle for Saleucami. Let me say that I am joyed that you have returned safely." She wouldn't say anything else, but would neither make the move to leave the room. She was not about to be ordered around as such by anyone. Not that she was arrogant; simply she would be treated as she treats others. Even so, her voice was calm and cool, yet warming in its emotion. As well, she didn't simply speak, she sang, if only a little. It was subtle, but noticeable.

It was unusual that Ayva had not heard the recent gossip about the man when he arrived. Talk was still on the battle and of Coruscant, and even so she had not interacted with many as of yet, still trying to cope with the loss herself. Still, her face would show the question "what is wrong?"

 

[DeathToll]

He practically interrupted her, but not for forming actual words with which to to so. He stammered over his frustration and bewilderment that the tree trunk of a woman didn't leave, and, of all things, started a conversation with him; which was exactly the opposite of what he was demanding.

"Eh.. ach tehh... Do you always talk like that?!?"

After his failure to properly look at her face, and seemingly lack of returning bow, though his head was all kinds of twitching and nodding in his confusion, he crossed passed her and stormed to the other side of the room; pulling off his top robe and swinging it around to hit another Jedi's backside, who managed the courage to stay when Ayva did.

"Shoo!!"

Once that prattler was taken care of, Tris swirled around in the white undershirt with his own water ballet, almost mockingly, and draped the robe down along the edge of the floor. Spreading his arms in a presenting manner, his neck flexed forth and stuck out his bobbling head and spoke sarcastically.

"It is I... Tristian-Ambrose! The victor of the ash fields of Saleucami! Oh wait!! That's not right! That couldn't be correct, no! Not when all other Jedi failed miserably all around us and gave us no other choice but to turn over victory for defeat, GAINING A NICE SITH TATTOO ON HER..."

Starting as a jest, he'd let himself build up to a rant, pronoucing it as "tittoo" in his frustrated release; seeing that image of Ebberla pinned on the ground with that wretched bug on her face and foul Sith standing over her as he did nothing but watch from inside a jeep. What could he have done. He'd done everything everyone else had failed to do, and what does he find when he returns home? He finds the Coruscant Temple blown up in his face. And this one wants to have joyjoy feelings for his wonderful return does she? Well pateewy! Flim-flam! Bleh, blehbleh! And whatever other childish remark your tongue can twist!

 

[Master Maverick]

His conduct was... less than she expected. Almost let down, she still looked passed his facade and felt what could be felt through the force. His confidence, bordering on arrogance, was most certainly in the forefront. However, she could also feel the pain, anger and even fear that almost plagued him, but that he fought to reject or control.

She pitied him. Something she was sure he wouldn't appreciate, but that didn't matter.

"You conduct yourself as I would not expect. Is there something I can help you with, Sir Baptiste?" She spoke just as before, even though she was sure it would only shorten his patience even further. Even so, she would not change how she spoke just for him.

 

[DeathToll]

"OH...?!?"

Tris' thighs clapped together, just as he flamboyantly whined the exclamation, and he stiffened into a controlled freefall towards the floor, reaching to catch himself into a flurry of fast-paced pushups. Though he wasn't correctly executing the full extension of each repetition, nor breathing correctly, he continued to berate the nameless female, who's elegance and melodic tune was utterly wasted on one such as he.

"You expect..a greatful..survivor... a pleasant..and satisfied..traveler... a serene..and content..friend...?!?"

Tris stopped in the upright, held, push-up position and tilted his head in her direction; an eyebrow cocked, not only to allow that eye a better view of her but also to telegraph his presentation of a disdain for this moment.

"I'll tell you what you can help me with, Masterrrr..."

Tris leaned into one arm, in order to lift the other hand free to circle the impatient gesture for her to reveal her name; though one thing was telling, that he could feel her distinguished presence and almost measure it perfectly that he knew she was a Master. If by some curve-ball he was actually wrong, which didn't happen often, then he'd simply imply it as a mocking statement as if she were judging him. And as he rolled his head round and round, just as his free hand did, he'd only wait for so long for her to answer. Though, it would seem, when and if she did answer, that he didn't much care for names.

"Right. You can help me get some peace and quiet."

He replaced his hand down.

"Now, if you'd be so kind..?"

Tris situated his hands in lower and closer to prepare for diamond push-ups next. But just after one down-and-up, looking at the floor, he threw out one last comment almost under his breath.

"Thator gimmie a duel. But I doubt you've got a good duel in you..."

Tris half expected the comment not to stick. This one was too much the proper Jedi to let him do anything other than prove himself the fool. But he didn't care. He was an open book, though not necessarily intentional. His thoughts swirled around Ebberla, whom he didn't know had been promoted, which only returned his mind to the recent battle, which brought his mind back to Coruscant, which returned him back to here and the absence of Ebberla. Tris was a strange one. He was rude alright, but his arrogance drowned out any sign of possible anger; in fact, it was questionable if any anger existed in his current state at all.

 

[Master Maverick]

Her gaze was strong upon him even as he started right into his exercises. She wasn't about to be dissuaded from conversation so easily. Especially not from one who so desperately needed to talk even more than he obviously didn't want to. As well, his tone was starting to wear on her, but his reasons for such, which were more than likely completely different from the ones he would actually tell someone, allowed her to rationalize this and look passed it.

For the most part.

"My name is Ayva Starfall." She would tell him her name with rank or title, displaying the lack of importance she gave to such things, but would also signify to him that he was correct in assuming she was, indeed, a Master.

She listened to him ramble on, but commented on his request for 'help' when he finished.

"I sense the peace and quiet must come within yourself. If you would like, we could meditate and I might help you achieve this?" She knew her question wouldn't be well received, but she thought she'd try it anyway.

Even as she finished speaking, she realized that he had asked for a duel. This didn't surprise her either, but she was still a little disappointed at his yearning for violence.

"If a spar is what you desire, then I may be able to oblige you in this manner. However, I do not engage in needless violence. So, if there is no other reason than you wanting to fight, then I would decline.

"However, if a test is what you wish, then I would be more than happy to accept your request. If this is accurate, what would be the conditions of this engagement, then?"

Normally she would have flat out declined. However, she had not yet practiced with her saber today and this would be as good a method as any. Even more, she had a feeling that this would be the only way in which to converse with him, and even more than her aversion to such aggressive behavior was to help those around her.

 

[DeathToll]

"Tch..."

Tris' head dropped limp with a loss of breath at her intuitive concern, as his entire body sarcastically, and dramatically, collapsed; his knees bent in underneath him and the backs of his hands dragged up to regain composure. He lifted up to sit on his heels, somehow not having lost himself to a self-righteous fit. He propped his hand onto his hips, and turned his head towards her. Witholding his honest frustration from her, so spitefully keeping the conversation light and prickly despite both their awareness of Tris' lack of mental defenses, he squished his lips together and into his teeth before popping them out with e pocket of air and smiling. He lifted two fingers and a thumb, unclear if he intended to create the symbol of a gun or not, and touched his temple before blowing it out.

"Clearly, you haven't been within myself."

And there she went, on and on; but her willingness to obligue him was good enough. After all, it was what he really wanted all along. She had a reach, and she was definitely smooth. He popped up onto his feet, the switch in his eyes like night and day; he was in competition mode. After two steps, he turned to face her squarely, palms spread open as if ready to gauge the speed of his draw.

"A test it is, then. Anything goes..."

Tris had practically flatlined in comparison to his emotional rollacoaster; nothing like a spar to sharpen his scattered mind of cotton candy. Even now, loosing that playful bite; on to business and an exchange of skill. He ignited his lightsaber, right off his hip, into a swirl; lowering the beam to draw along the floor with a Makashi opening. He was no brawler, taking his finess -very- seriously; thus accidentally instilling a responsibility into every fluid motion, where but a moment ago his push-ups were sloppy and without standard. He was almost a completely different man in this mindset.

"..I'll control myself."

He tacked on the promise, taking into account how "anything goes" sounds coming from him. While all he meant by it was, use lightsabers and Force powers all, he figured she'd assume he was talking about severing limbs or drawing smiley faces into each others' cloths or something.

He would hold there. And if she brought up her lightsaber and ignited it, he'd begin to circle to his right, never loosing sight of her and not yet engaging her.

 

[Master Maverick]

"As you wish," She replied in regards to his conditions. While it seemed as though he would accept lopping off limbs or killing each other, his thoughts inside his emotions told her otherwise. They were rather difficult to read, but she found that he had not meant as such, and therefore consented to the duel.

The hours of meditation that Ayva had engaged in allowed her the clear state of mind to allow her immediate access to the ebbs and flows of the force around her. They were a bit more volatile that she was used to, but patterns would quickly be discerned, even as she moved to a favorable position, opposite the human male.

His aggression was clear, yet refined and almost held back, as she slowly, with deliberate ease, grasped the saber on her left hip with her right hand. This was the longer of the 2 hilts and was dubbed 'Star Rise'. There were a number of reasons to this, but it just seemed to fit her use of the blade.

Regardless, she brought it up on her right side and slowly, with the same ease, grasped the hilt with her left hand. It would seem she had a rather loose, almost delicate hold of the hilt, as though it would break. However, one would find difficulty in ripping it from her grasp either physically or with the force.

She stood there a moment, simply looking at him for a time, before finally igniting the brilliant viridian blade. Though, it seemed as though it was a silver one, with a hint of green. Either way, her stance was relaxed, too relaxed, as she waited for his opening strike. She noted his use of Makashi. Though it could have simply been that he enjoyed the flourish of the Form, that was rather unlikely for one such as him, it seemed.

Either way, she was ready for that form more than the others, but her defense would be ready for nearly anything.

 

[DeathToll]

Tap, tap! Tris swirled around the blue beam for two quick hits, shoulder to shoulder, then back around to whirl a defensive and obstructing circular motion before her. He'd planted a foot forward, though underneath his tight opening; now attemting at forward and back movements.

 

[Master Maverick]

2 quick strikes initiated the beginning of their duel. They were fairly simple, which would be expected since he knew little about her. However, with these movements, they would learn quite a bit about one another.

Tris had a finesse and flashy style to his movements, not dissimilar to herself. However, there was something about it that seemed like he was showing off. This, though, didn't surprise her much either. It looked nice, sure, but was there a purpose to it.

He was a staunch follower of Makashi, this much she could tell as she blocked each strike at her elevated shoulder level with a bit of ease and when he stepped back in such a position as to move forward and backward easily, but not so much side to side.

Regardless, the strikes were blocked by her simply moving her blade side to side, not really changing anything vertically, only horizontally. After the second strike, she used the inertia ((not sure if that's the right word... momentum?)) of the strike to move herself to her left ((I just picked a direction, hope you don't mind)), first stepping with her left foot, then her right so as to not cross her legs. Even so, she took a 2 foot stride.

The movement was quick enough, but certainly not fast, and she swung her blade down diagonally from her right. This was simply a counter to see how he would react, for right after she would take 2 steps back, moving about 3 more feet away from him with each step. At this point, they were more than 10 feet away from each other. He would realize she could move rather large distances with seemingly more ease than himself.

Regardless, she waited there for his next strike, staying on the defensive for now.

 

[DeathToll]

He simply flourished his blade inbetween their positions as she moved to his side and then away, the ease of his wrist giving proud display of his skill with the blade just as she displayed her ability to move great distances. His was a show of contorl over his personal space. While she could move away from him easily, he would make sure she understood the difficulty in moving closer to him.

Ending his round-about swordsmanship to point the blue blade straight out with a straight arm and the pinch of his wrist, agressively challenging in its nature, as he enjoyed, Tris tipped his confident head back with a corner smirk, dripping with arrogance. He'd viewed her movements insubstancial. Though they may have been a warning, or in her logic, the ease into a starting momentum to their duel, he only saw the opportunity to seem above it. He'd stood his ground and she'd backed away. That is how his mind worked.

Holding his lightsaber straight out, he began stepping towards her so nonchalantly; his head lowering the closer he came. If she just stood there until he reached her, he would not stop moving until his lightsaber was walked right into her.

 

[Master Maverick]

His control was more than familiar to the Kaminoan as she stepped away and searched her new opponent for thoughts and feelings through his body language, which told much. While she thought about his person, she was mindful of his actions first and foremost.

It was determined that he had plenty of skill with a blade. Therefore, playing with him was not needed. As well, she wasn't one for playing herself, so she was more than happy to move on from this phase of the duel.

When he stepped forward, and it was clear he wasn't going to flick his wrist at the moment, she took a step back once more. On the second step, she moved somewhat quickly to her left as she swung her blade in a circle, counter-clockwise to move his blade and moving straight into a slash starting from his chest to the right side of his stomach. It most certainly wasn't as fast as she could be, yet again, but she would show she understood well enough that he was proficient with his blade.

Using footwork reminiscent of Makashi, she moved around his right side, taking large (for a human's) steps that would seem effortless and she was still gliding over the floor. She would perform 2 more circular slashes in a ' /X' manner (when the 3 attacks were completed). The circles were tight and gained speed with each one. As well, they were rather accurate. However, they were rather weak. For her at least. He would, with his arrogance, be surprised no doubt. Though, perhaps not. However, the surprised practically everyone, so she was just used to it by now.

Even so, he would realize this and quickly adapt. Thus, it mattered little.

 

[DeathToll]

Tris was simply enjoying his prowess in confrontation, completely misinterpreting her display of ability through length and line as a lower tier of finess in the shadow of his form. Whatever she did, it seemed, his head coudn't get any bigger.

She stepped away, stepped away again, then sidestepped with a circling of her saber. Tris bent in his arm, lowering his blue beam to the side to follow and match her momentum with the swirls of their blades until they rotated together in connection. And when she slashed in at him, his lightsaber adjusted inwards with her slash; keeping the slash at bay with the slightest redirection across him. He could sense she was holding back, no, rather, not putting forth a matching effort as his; and even he was playing at her.

The lengthy woman of beauty had already shown her ability for taking strides, so just when he fluidly guided her slash slightly off course and across and passed his body - he speedily shot a right foot out to the side and caught her nearly chest to chest, interrupting her next attack. As he did this, cutting in, he also slashed up a diagonal stroke from her left hip to right shoulder; ending with his lightsaber pointing straight out and forward again, just as before.

Since he had guided her lightsaber past him, to the side, he had cut in to her open center and stepped so close that her long reach would actually be hindering rather than helpful. He didn't expect much to come of any of these beginning attempts, his or hers, but he did expect to catch her a bit off guard.

 

[Master Maverick]

Good. Now things were picking up and getting interesting.

Even as he stepped forward with his right, she stepped back even farther with her left. This was due, not only to his physical tells, but her precognition was rather practiced.

With her saber staying close to her body, and the time gained for the distance traveled by her, they were enough distance apart for her to flick her blade back in between them to bash at his saber as she kept moving around his left side.

Her combination may have been foiled, but it mattered little. She wasn't about to disengage just yet. With her second step, she had moved away from him a bit more in order to be in a more comfortable range for herself.

With her block, she attempted to force it out and away from his body. Then she struck again, hard and fast, at his torso, going from his left shoulder to right hip.

 

[DeathToll]

She flicked her blade at his, unaffecting to his stationary hand as his relaxed wrist let the batting stroke tilt away the tip of his saber while not actually gaining any space for herself. In fact, since she was left-handed, and since she had to flick her blade to her left in order to attempt at moving Tris' blade one way in order to attack the other, she had to cross a wider distance; while Tris' hand remained unmoving, as he simply pivoted to remain facing her, crossed his blade over his body to tap her's away from underneath her attack, slice in a cut through her robes at her waist, then swirl his lightsaber around clockwise to come back over hers should she remain close enough.

He went on the offensive, whether she backed off or not. With his lightsaber having swirled around, his hand holding the hilt straight out before his chest with the tip of the beam pointing at her face, he stepped in with distanced alternating tapping strikes at her shoulder, shoulder, hip, and face.

All the while, his left hand began filling with a charged energy.