driftfleet | mingle on the pathstone

The newest member of this motley crew is none other than this cowboy-esque fellow who is lacking in his cowboy accouterments. The ship was nothing remarkable to him given his own long history of being in one spaceship to another, but he was taking a particular interest in the murals. Rather than go meet everyone just yet, he spent his time touring the hallway as he surveyed the various pictures. So much of it was very foreign to the world he knew, while others reminded him of places he had been before. All in all, it was... really exactly what he would expect if Sabine was allowed full access to the Ghost for her own artistic endeavors.

[Jove's been pretty subdued since Cullen left, but it's something she does her best to push down as low as she can, bury it under the long practiced Inquisitor mask and to focus on her duties to her ship and her friends. Most days she manages well, but there are some nights she can't sleep alone.

Tonight is one of those nights, and she's in the kitchen waiting for water to boil for tea when usually that's something she'd do herself, with magic. Her head's just not very in the game at the moment, so when she overfills her cup and manages to burn her hand with tea, it doesn't go over well.

With a hiss she pulls her hand back, shakes it while muttering darkly in elvish, and then sighs heavily in resignation as she blows on the reddening skin.]

Fen'Harel's ass, could one thing go right this month?

[when he's not sleeping off several days at a time, he's up and about with one night rolling right into the next without rest. he's been keeping to himself lately as well--for everyone's sake--but it's only a matter of time before one sleepless path finally crosses another. the lengthened corridors of the Pathstone still aren't quite long enough to let the pair of captains stay segregated from one another forever.

so, she can't even burn herself in peace.

he pauses in the doorway when he spots her busying around, and leans there comfortably as he watches the whole little accident play out.]

...That, lehess, is what they call 'tempting Fate.'

Cole tends to stand out. He's scarecrow thin and pale, almost washed out pale with pale blond hair and pale blue eyes and pale, almost translucent skin.

And, to Vima, anyway, he glows. He's full to burst with Light, a mortal skin wrapped around compassion and empathy.

He comes up on nearly silent feet. He has black stained hands, like he's been painting, but he's very clearly not the artist of the beautiful murals.

"Solas loved to paint. It was how he told stories without people interrupting him."

It's been months since the Pathstone got a new member who wasn't a transfer, someone already in the Fleet and just moving ships, so it's very likely Kanan's arrival will spark some interest, assuming some of the more laid back members of the crew actually make an effort.

It's always hit or miss with them, to be honest.

Jove, though, has made the effort to seek out their new member. If there's going to be a welcome wagon either her or Elize would be the best and most friendly bet, so here she is, smiling softly when she realizes their new resident is taking an interest in the murals left behind by Solas.

He'll find himself pretty much instantly liked if he appreciates those murals.

"I think this ship is the only one with personalized paintings," she says as she joins him, hands behind her back as she looks over the paintings. "Unless the others have been trying to match us recently, that is."

[one of the captains of this lovely ship notices the ping of a new living presence immediately, but he is in no hurry to go an meet the new recruit. he has a lunch and chapter in his book to finish first.

it's only when he's good and ready that he finally decides to take a stroll through the halls to track the newbie down.

and when he does finally round a corner to find the man inspecting one of the paintings, he stops where he's at--arms lazily folded--to watch.]

[She jumps when he speaks, and then immediately regrets it because it's been months since she made that mistake and she doubts very highly he won't love it.

But she also has little room to care about it for long, so the most he gets once she turns to face him is a mild, resigned look.]

In the grand scheme of things, I doubt cursing a burned hand will bring us much bad luck.

Luck has nothing to do with it.

[because, no matter what is going on with the rest of the world, he will never pass up the opportunity to point out the difference between luck and Fate. and with how things have been going lately, he has been even more acutely aware of the line between the two.

...and yes, the startled jump does bring a small smile to his face. oh, he can always count on her to improve his mood, one way or another.]

Though, I do suppose that your sudden clumsiness has very little to do with anything metaphysical anyway.

[For months now, Jove has gone out of her way to let Tek see exactly how he gets under her skin, to feel exactly how the things he does and says effect her. It's been a form of penance to be an open book for him to read, after the horrible way she hurt him. After taking his life. She's considered it a right of his to have that access to her.

The way her faces closes off at what she perceives as him trying to prod at her is entirely unlike the Jove he's gotten to know, but exactly the kind of woman she was in Thedas with a nation resting their needs on her back. She even turns away from him, lifting her hand over the burned one and calling up a light coat of ice to soothe the wound.]

If you're here to insult me, lethallin, [for once the term of endearment is sharp, not entirely pleasant.] I really have no desire to continue this conversation.

[She's too tired for this.]

Not anymore than usual.

[he says it light and casual, as if he couldn't care about a thing. because he needs to be abrasive before he can be anything else. he must tip the scales in one direction before he can let them settle in the other.]

I didn't mean anything by it.

[She knows what he's doing, of course. It's impossible to miss after spending nearly every day for, at this point, nearly a year with him and if she's entirely honest with herself she's too lonely in this moment to hold a grudge.

When she turns back around, it's with two cups of tea in her hands. She brings them to the table and sits, placing one in front of the chair beside hers. A clear invitation for him to join her.]

Try again in the morning, I might be more open to it then.

[he is hit, very suddenly, with a pang of realization that he's glad that she placed the mug at the seat beside hers, and not across from it. he realizes that he's relieved he doesn't have to face her and put up all the extra energy it takes to appear perfectly normal under scrutiny. because, he is here to investigate her wounds, and not the other way around.

he also doesn't show his gratitude--other than in the way he remains politely silent and obliging to her invitation, until he's at the table and drawing out the chair to sit down.]

Why? ...Do you think you'll actually get some sleep tonight?

[it's clear by his tone that he's sure she won't.]

[That works both ways, though. With him beside her she gets the comfort of someone she likes close to her, but she doesn't have to worry as much about keeping her own walls up when he can only see one side of her face.

There's something amusing about the question, though, and she's thankful for the bit of levity he's made possible.]

Do you intend to keep me up all night?

[that's what he's here for-- when he's not being a jerk instead. and, ha... he hadn't actually expected her to take the bait towards humor, so he pauses in getting settled in his seat to smirk wide in her direction.]

...Well, I am feeling particularly restless tonight.

[It's easier to shift to using humor to strengthen the appearance that she's fine, that that clumsy slip was nothing more than a momentary lapse. It shouldn't be that way, it should be easier to let herself feel her sadness than to bottle it up and keep it locked away, but she's the Inquisitor. Pretending she's fine when she's not had always been a daily occurrence.

With Cullen gone, there's no one left to be entirely honest with.

Catching sight of that grin, though, makes the game even more easy to slip into. It's too familiar, makes it too easy to reach out and slip her hand into his hair and rub at the base of skull lightly, the same kind of massage she gave him when he'd been plagued with those headaches.]

You've been having trouble sleeping again, then?

[She almost says, too? Almost.]

Kanan may have been trying to keep a low profile as a Jedi, but there was no way he was missing that. He'd felt a lot of things in his time, but nothing quite compared to this. It wasn't quite the Force itself, but he could not help but feel like this is what the Force would feel like if it had physical form. He's not exactly sure what he's gotten himself into now.

Not that this boy looked like anything special with just his regular senses. Strange.

"He did a good job." The art was at the very least serene and tasteful. Sabine's art was more like graffiti. "What happened to him?"

Although still in the process of spectating at the art, he did turn his attention away from it long enough to acknowledge the woman as she arrived to greet him. His own interest in the art was fleeting at best. It was certainly a curiosity, but he had never developed any deeper appreciation for art. One only had to look at his sense of fashion to see that much.

"Only if you mean in this fleet," he answered wryly. "One of my crew back on my own ship would have every bulkhead and corridor covered in art if we allowed her."

[It's just as well that others take their time to meet Kanan. The ship is new to him, but not so unique enough as to truly keep his interest. So when he realizes he has someone watching him, he's hardly invested enough to be distracted.]

You must be another member of the welcome wagon.

"He went back to Thedas. But it wasn't my fault he left, he promised me." Cole came forward, his thin, holed shoes making no noise. He moved like a trained dancer (or assassin) in a brand new body that wasn't quite their own.

"He can't go home, like me, but he went back to Thedas. You remind me of Vima, you reach out past your body, flying, floating, falling. You're a Jedi. I'm Cole who was Compassion."

Kanan froze in place. In truth, he had been trying to hold back on his Jedi training. The trick to Force concealment was to simply not interact with those finer senses, but he'd let it slip in this boy's presence. But even then, he hadn't expected to be outed so quickly. This was attention he didn't want - especially when there were so many from the days of the Old Republic still around.

But he wasn't about to lie, either.

"Hello... Cole. Those are some keen senses you have there."

"I know what hurts, aches, rubs little knots in people. I won't tell anyone if you want it to be a secret. I'm very good at secrets." He didn't look at Kanan, instead he spoke to the wall as he plucked at his fingers and his fingerless gloves.

"The Light sings. But Order 66 knots inside you, makes the notes grind and pull against each other."

[--oh, well, that is no fair.

while he usually works to ply that sort of attention from her, he isn't actually expecting it this time. it's a little more disarming than usual when he's not looking for it.

after taking a moment to get over the initial surprise, he can't help but sink into it even more gratefully than he normally would. because he is carrying around a lot of quiet tension, and this cuts right to it.

he grumbles under his breath and shuts his eyes, leaning against her hand like a needy cat.]

...I wouldn't call it trouble. My patterns are just a little... off.

There were things in his past that were long buried and so long suppressed that he only ever thought about them when he wanted to pluck them out and examine those choices he had made long ago. But not even the most talented of Jedi were able to pluck those kind of secrets from another person's head when they were so deeply locked away. If this was what compassion felt like, then it had never stung so hard as just now.

You must Run.

He'd never really stopped.

"That was a long time ago. I'm not that person anymore."

That's me.

[and the dragon isn't in a terrible hurry to get closer or deepen the introduction very far just yet, continuing to casually hang back while getting a handle on what he can pick up of the stranger's aura and demeanor from here. and, while he's at it, he even tries to keep his own energies--which tend to bleed and gleam for anyone sensitive to such things--closer to himself than he would typically bother with. call him paranoid.]

And, I suppose that means you aren't here for only a brief visit?

Cole reached to very lightly touch Kanan's wrist. "Today, you aren't the person you were yesterday. That doesn't make the you of yesterday any less real or valid."

What Cole could do was not very controlled, was very focused and specialised but tore straight into the heart of any hurt.

"It will get better. I don't know if you live to see it, but I know it will get better for others after you."

mingle on the pathstone

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