Myriana could not remember the last time she'd come to the archives and WANTED to avoid Master Tiberius. But today had been unique in more than one way and she desperately was hoping she could put some time into researching the history and creation of lightsabers. It had been a relief, she would admit, to learn that their trials would not consist of combat related duties, but Myri would also admit to no small level of sadness and anger that she and Kyt would not be allowed to create or even HAVE their own lightsabers.

It took the joy right out of the possibility of surviving the trials and being able to call herself a Jedi Knight. Really it did. Looking down at the list in her hands, she snuck through the shelves, trying to monitor Force signatures without driving herself mad. The texts she required were in a somewhat... unauthorized location, but Myri had been using the archives with Master Tiberius for nearly nine years. She knew the majority of the access code and would never, under normal circumstances, have dared to use them. But she really did feel that he would understand, if he knew.

Besides... He was not exactly an avid rule follower himself. Her fingers tapped across the pad as she input the necessary code and she looked anxiously to make sure no one was around. When the doors slid open without any trouble she sighed in relief and darted through them, leaning against the wall just to the side and taking a moment to calm herself. She wasn't doing anything terribly wrong, she really wasn't. If the information were absolutely classified she would not know the password. She hadn't been given ALL the access to EVERY part of the archives after all.

There was no one in this section and her feet rushed at nearly a run for the shelves she knew she needed. This was, really, one of her favorite sections. She loved it when Master Tiberius chose to work in here rather than in the darker, lower sections of the archives. There was a set of windows that looked out over Coruscant and she felt she could see forever into the galaxy when she sat there. Slim fingers picked along the labeled datapads as she sought the ones necessary. Pulling them into her arms, she checked once again that no one appeared to be in the room.

"Okay... now to learn..."

Her footsteps were calmer and nearly inaudible as she slipped to the windows. Moments later her head was buried in a datapad, absorbing all the information she could about lightsabers, their creation, and how to use them.

Tiberius remembered his Trials as if they’d happened yesterday – some memories were branded into your very soul, and for him the Trials had been one of the most defining moments in his development as a Jedi. It had been more than the simple ascension to knighthood: getting a title and cutting off your padawan braid meant little if you were not fit to bear the added responsibility. The Consular - though back then he had been anything but – had earned his Trials of Skill and Courage on the battlefield while serving along with his Master and it was agreed that his Trial of the Flesh was the most horrifying the Order had seen in a long time. It had been through the Trials of Spirit and Insight he had needed to prove himself, and the things he had learned about himself that day had become the very core of who he was. The Council had brought him to the place deep within the Temple’s innermost sanctum that had not seen the light of day in a hundred centuries and in a room of stone and darkness he had been made to face... himself.

The monster he’d had to confront wore his own face, though his eyes had turned gold as it always did when one drank too deep from the tainted streams of the Dark Side. The most frightening part, however, was that while the younger Tiberius had been painfully aware he was nothing more than a cripple stripped of all the skill he’d dedicated his life to achieving, his Sith-faced counterpart still walked. The Dark Side could give him back his leg, the Sith had murmured seductively inside his mind, and deep down wasn’t that what he desired more than anything in the world? He’d still been young, back then, and the ugliness of that truth had stirred the anger he’d been carrying with him since he’d been broken by Sith knives alone and faraway from the Temple. Tiberius had tried to tear through the other man with his lightsaber, but his every effort was mocked and repelled mercilessly by his dark reflection until he’d simply fallen to the ground, exhausted and weeping in frustration. The Sith had been so gentle, then, so comforting as he told him that the Dark Side could take away all his pain, make him whole again.

For a moment, Tiberius had almost given in but then he’d remembered a smile. The happy smile of the man who’d carved his body like a piece of meat for his own insane designs. He’d realized that he wasn’t willing to become that, not for anything - that was when he’d ripped out the throat of his counterpart and watched as the Sith’s corpse twitched briefly and died. Tiberius had gotten up and limped his way out of the room with his head held high, the weight of all his anger lifted from his shoulders. Sometimes, to be fixed, people need to be broken a second time.

Dismissing the old reminiscence, the crippled Consular hobbled towards the massive glass panes overseeing the Coruscant skyline, taking a moment to savour the sight. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of it, not even if he came up here every day for the rest of his life. With a tired sigh Tiberius abandoned the warm light of the noonday sun and made his way towards the nearest table, a large manuscript floating behind him in the air. The large leather-bound volume fell on the table with a creaking sound but as the Master was about to pull up a chair he noticed a familiar presence at the edge of his mental senses. Myriana? This part of the Archives is restricted, how did she even get in?Making his way behind her as quietly as a cripple with a cane walking on a stone floor could, Tiberius crept up behind the young woman and skimmed the datapad she was absorbed in reading.

“I have it on good authority there won’t be any swordsmanship involved in your Trials,” the Master said suddenly from behind her, his grey eyes inscrutable as he raised an eyebrow in a silent request for an explanation.

It was rare that Myri used the Force for personal reasons. She tended to be afraid of her abilities... something to do, she always figured that it was related to her powers always having a negative backlash. Stretch out with the Force, touch an object physically with her hand, and she ended up on the floor nearly unconscious with her head feeling as though it were about to split open. Or like the one time she'd actually run screaming from whatever item it had been and smacked into a wall, knocking herself unconscious. She could remember, even lacking the ability to physically scream, the echo of the scream she wanted to give rattling around in her brain.

But, once she'd started trying to take notes on one datapad while reading the other it became necessary to use the Force to hold up one while using the other. Her notes were in depth, though not word for word. She could see, somewhat, why the process had been eliminated from their regular schooling. With the padawans and younglings more often than not graduating in groups without any specialized attention, the rigors and stresses, the necessary one on one tutelage required for something as intricate and in depth as lightsaber construction was nearly impossible for students to achieve.

I have it on good authority there won’t be any swordsmanship involved in your Trials

The datapad in her hand dropped onto the seat and the one, only moments before happily floating next to her crashed to the ground, the screen cracking slightly. Myri herself jumped, her hands snapping up to stop her heart from pounded out of her chest in panic. It took a moment for the knowledge that she knew the voice, and knew it well to set it. In fact, it took Myri turning to look up and actually seeing Tiberius for that knowledge to sink in and though she knew she was in some bit of trouble, she took comfort in the fact that it was him and not someone else.

"Yes Master. I know but..." She looked away, lowering her eyes. She was horribly ashamed, not just that she'd been caught but that she'd betrayed a trust that she knew few, if any, had. Swallowing, she fought down a sudden rise of panic and raised her eyes to his again.

"I know I shouldn't have Master Tiberius, but I am very bothered that we won't be asked to make a lightsaber or even be receiving one like the other students in our class. It's as though we're less than Knights and... and..." She frowned a bit before looking away from him. "It bothers me a lot. Kyt and I have worked just as hard as everyone else. And I am thankful that we won't be expected to do trials involving combat, but I think... I think we deserve the rewards and recognition everyone else will receive as well..."

Standing, her head lowered and her voice quiet she finished, "I am tired of being locked away like some dirty little secret. We're not allowed to tell anyone what we do, we're kept away from people during training. And I thought maybe... maybe if I researched it, learned about it... That Kyt and I could make our own after the trials."

Sighing softly she raised her eyes to his again. "I am sorry, Master Tiberius, for breaking your trust and using your access codes to get into parts of the archives I know are forbidden."

The datapad clattered on the ground, the light noise seeming disproportionately loud in the complete silence of the Upper Archives. Tiberius pulled the device to his hand with a subtle twist of the Force, running a finger over the crack that had appeared from the impact. Scanning the information in more detail, the Consular noted that while some of the files the part-Theelin had pulled up were general information on lightsabers and their use, most were centered on the ways to build the weapon. The crippled Master grimaced – he really should have seen this coming, with the twin’s Trials coming up. He would have expected this kind of stunt more from the evil brat twin of the two, but he supposed even Myriana occasionally got fed up with the more blatant pieces of injustice dished out by the High Council.

"Yes Master. I know but..."

“Do you?” the Consular murmured as he loomed over the young woman, his tone not harsh but certainly nearing stern.

Normally he would encourage any hints of rebellious spirit from the closest thing he had to a child, but the present timing on her part was truly awful. Phobian was lurking around in the shadows just waiting for an excuse like this to kick Tiberius out of the proceedings entirely. It was already bad enough that he’d have to be stuck chasing some cold Sith trail in the Core while the Trials took place, but if the Shi’ido and his Echani master were given reason to dismiss his recommendations because of “emotional attachments” the whole thing was going to turn into a nightmare. And this particular nightmare I won’t be able to shield you from, child, he grieved silently.

"I know I shouldn't have Master Tiberius, but I am very bothered that we won't be asked to make a lightsaber or even be receiving one like the other students in our class. It's as though we're less than Knights and... and..."

The disheartening truth was that the Grandmaster did see them as less than Knights – the man did not think of them as anything more than tools to be used for his designs. Most likely he would pull strings so that the knighted twins would never leave the Temple except on Council-sanctioned trips to gather intelligence from Sith corpses on the battlefield. Ah, but in that particular games you are not the only one playing, Echani. I’ll get them out of this prison of yours, one way or another. Any Master had the right to bring Knights to accompany him on a mission, and if mine just so happens to last until the end of the war... Even the battlefield is better than what you have in mind for them. It has to be, the Force forgive me.

“It bothers me a lot. Kyt and I have worked just as hard as everyone else. And I am thankful that we won't be expected to do trials involving combat, but I think... I think we deserve the rewards and recognition everyone else will receive as well..."

On one hand, depriving the Knights of the symbol of their rank was a slap in the face of everything the Oannes twins had suffered since they’d arrive to the Temple. On another hand, handing one of the most lethal melee weapons in the galaxy to two young women who’d had little to no training in their use was just asking for trouble. The true crime here was that the Echani’s dogs had been so focused on breaking the minds of two of the Order’s brightest children they hadn’t even bothered to teach them how to defend themselves. In this day an age, that was as good as a death sentence. It was still time for that error to be remedied, however.

“I am tired of being locked away like some dirty little secret. We're not allowed to tell anyone what we do, we're kept away from people during training. And I thought maybe... maybe if I researched it, learned about it... That Kyt and I could make our own after the Trials."

Myriana stood with her head lowered, her eyes on the ground as she spoke like a child expecting a beating– and don’t I know where she got that idea? There are some of her trainers that could do with tragic battlefield accidents. The sight of her that way was so utterly... subservient, that he could only feel disgust well up inside himself at the fact that this was what the Order made of its wards now. The sight was heartbreaking, but Tiberius refused to look away – he owed her more than that, they all did.

“After the Trials, I will teach you how to build one myself,” he promised softly. “I suppose that means I shall also have to teach you how to use it, though it’s been a while since I’ve swung an actual sword on the battlefield.”

"I am sorry, Master Tiberius, for breaking your trust and using your access codes to get into parts of the Archives I know are forbidden."

“It’s not that you used my codes that upsets me, Myriana – to be honest I find the whole thing mildly amusing, if only because the Loremasters will get a headache trying to figure out how I entered the Upper Archives twice without leaving,” he chuckled, “But now is not the time for an escapade like this. If you and that mule-headed sister of yours don’t toe the line until you get the Trials under your belt, things could go... badly. There are elements in the Council that do not like to have their views of reality corrected, and they would not hesitate take out their frustrations on you two.”

This was as close as he could get to saying “stay the Void away from the Shi’ido psychopath and don’t give him an excuse to break you” without dipping into outright treason. Speaking ill of a Councilman these days was the kind of thing that got you in a cell for “suspected Sith sympathies”.

“I take it your sister feels the same?”

Her head was still lowered as he spoke, though the change in tone from stern to concernedly amused was visibly relieving. Her shoulders and spine relaxed and slowly she raised her head. She wanted to fling herself at him and hug him to pieces, but Myriana had always kept that particular urge tamped down on. She wouldn't want to get Master Tiberius in trouble and had always assumed that such an action of familiarity would simply bring everyone swooping down on them and get her separated from everyone forever.

And the last thing Myri wanted to be was locked away from Kyt and Master Tiberius.

"I understand Master Tiberius..." She nodded, a small smile on her lips. He was as good as his word. She knew when all this panic and trouble with the trials was over that he would teach her if she still wanted to learn. She also understood and would heed his warning. Myri had never been one to seek out attention for herself. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage negative attention from Phobian Kein or Arkus Mexx... they terrified her.

His question about Kyt drew her attention back outward from her musings, and she shook her head a little, clearing her thoughts.

"Kyt?" What had he said? That she felt the same way? Myri assumed so certainly. She doubted that she was the only one bothered by the injustice of it all, but it wasn't something she had discussed with her twin. It was kind of a surprise. She'd wanted to give Kyt and that Knight Kata'll some more alone time without her hanging around like some sort of whimpering shadow. Kyt liked to be around him, he made her happy, and so Myri was content to let them have space and time.

"I... I think she does... I... We... haven't discussed it... It just bothers me so much that I assume it does her as well..."

Not much in the way of an explanation, and she fumbled for a way to distract from her twin.

"Master Tiberius... is the reason everyone's lightsaber seems to be blue or green upon graduation is that they don't make them on their own, they're provided by the council and so in order to save cost, time, and effort the council simply imports them from Ilum?"

She would not be having a commonly colored lightsaber if she could at all help it. She would go for something silver... or purple...

"I... I think she does... I... We... haven't discussed it... It just bothers me so much that I assume it does her as well..."

Tiberius frowned. Kytana was the evil twin of the pair and that she hadn’t tried or, as far as he knew, even said anything on this particular slight of the Council was... unusual, to the say the least. Clearly something was afoot. Kytana Oannes, the Force help you if I find out you’ve been running around with a lethal weapon you have no training in handling- I’ll have you cleaning the ‘freshers until the next time the Sith rise! The crippled Master like the other Oannes twin, he really did – she just made him want to throttle her every five minutes. She reminded him uncomfortably of what he’d been like when he was a padawan, back when he still had both legs and the attitude to go with it. Myriana he wanted to protect because she was broken bird whose wings he had seen get clipped, there was nothing complicated about it and the simplicity of the emotion made it stronger. Kytana, on the other hand, was a distorted mirror of what he had once been, and he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with that these days. Being a grumpy old bastard was always a good fallback, though, and it usually served to cover his inner turmoil well enough that neither of the twins had ever noticed anything.

"Master Tiberius... is the reason everyone's lightsaber seems to be blue or green upon graduation is that they don't make them on their own, they're provided by the Council and so in order to save cost, time, and effort the Council simply imports them from Ilum?"

“Now you’re starting to sound like the Council’s official propaganda pamphlet, padawan,” Tiberius replied dryly. “But yes, that’s the gist of it – since we don’t teach students individually anymore the Grandmaster decreed that the lightsabers would be provided by the Order instead of built manually.”

Gesturing for the young woman to take back her seat, the aristocrat pulled up a chair for himself and set down his cane on the table carefully, eyeing the polished wood more thoughtfully than he usually would. All this talk of lightsabers reminded him of when he’d decided he would go without the weapon, all those years ago. When empowered, the walking stick could match any blade in existence but without the Force it was simply a wooden staff like any other. The Consular preferred to be careful with it, as he didn’t have the time to go back to Serenno and coax another tree into surrendering a branch on the family estate if this one broke.

“You must realize exactly what you are making, though, Myriana. I would not insult you by reminding you that it isn’t a toy but I don’t think you entirely grasp what a lightsaber means to a Jedi. It’s more than a tool, more than a weapon – what you will craft when you make your lightsaber will be as much a part of you as any arm or leg. Pour your soul and your dedication in it and it will serve you like none other, but if your mind is flawed when you attempt to craft it your creation will be as well. The difficulty and intensity of the process is one of the reasons the Grandmaster has abolished it, even if it one of our most ancient traditions,” the Master said with a faint note of disapprobation in his voice.

Tiberius was far from a traditionalist on his best days but this practice had been one he’d always judged fitting and necessary. A Jedi was more than just a warrior and as thus a lightsaber should be more than just a weapon. Mass-produced weapons for his mass-produced soldiers, that is what the Echani wants – what use has he for diplomats and peacekeepers? His grey eyes turning grave as he caught Myriana’s he tried to impress the seriousness of what he was saying to her – this wasn’t simply a lecture to indulge his intellectual side, it was one of the most crucial tenets of the Jedi Order.

“You must realize, padawan, that if you wield a lightsaber you are making the statement that you are willing to fight and die for what the Order stands for. Do not make that choice lightly,” he told her gently.

Myri smiled slightly as he compared her to council propaganda; but she had heard so much of it growing up that figuring out the reasoning the Council had behind a decision was far from difficult. What Myri had in intelligence, however, she lacked in people skills. She could express the Council's reasonings but had little comprehension of the reasons behind it. All she knew was that it bothered her when decisions that felt wrong were made... and she suffered the consequences of their lack of alignment with the Force every time she was in a room with one.

Drawn back to him as he sat across from her, Myri folded herself onto the window seat and rested her hands in her lap.

Pour your soul and your dedication in it and it will serve you like none other, but if your mind is flawed when you attempt to craft it your creation will be as well.

All of his words made sense to her and were understandable, but it was those that stuck out and struck her like a slap across the face. She knew better than anyone, even Kyt, how flawed her mind was. She could see it when she listened to her own Force signature. She could actually see it... which rather terrified her. It was like a dark colored curtain with even darker, endless looking and ragged holes torn through it. The thought caused her to pale. She didn't look inward often for this very reason. The thought of those deep, raggedly torn holes terrified her... if she lost herself in one she didn't think anything could bring her back. She'd be alone and lost in the deep recesses of her own mind, terrified and unsaveable.

Perhaps... perhaps it was best if she didn't pursue this any further. Maybe... it was possible that the Grandmaster knew what he was doing in forbidden the Telemetrists to do a task that required such deep introspection. But... that didn't explain why he wouldn't even hand them the same mass produced lightsabers that the others would be getting. Giving her head a tiny shake, Myri argued with herself. No, it wasn't out of any measure of care or worry that Arkus Mexx was keeping them from getting their lightsabers. It was, she was certain, simply that he didn't care if they made it to Knight or not. Which led to another terrifying worry about the trials.

Only when Master Tiberius addressed her as Padawan did she fully redirect her attention back towards him.

if you wield a lightsaber you are making the statement that you are willing to fight and die for what the Order stands for. Do not make that choice lightly

She froze completely, even her breath stilling momentarily as she processed this. Would she be willing to always stand by the Order and its members. To fight for the institution that had torn through her mind like a finger through bread? If she lost everything, Kyt or Master Tiberius, and were left alone because of the foolish and hateful and discordant decisions of the council would she still want to remain.

"Would you stay Master Tiberius... No matter what?"

"Would you stay Master Tiberius... No matter what?"

The right question to ask, the wrong one in others – the strange blending of naiveté and insight was something he’d come to expect from Myriana Oannes. No one could go through what the part-Theelin had without coming unscathed, but sometimes the scars taught their own lessons. The younger woman had, from the very first time Tiberius had met her, demonstrated a frightening ability to see through other people’s facades and ferret out the personalities hiding underneath. You wonder why the Echani doesn’t want you to have a blade, child? To someone like him, you’re far too dangerous already. Still, the question she should have asked was – could he even stop be anything but a Jedi anymore? The crippled Master stroked his rough beard thoughtfully as he peered into Myriana’s eyes.

What did it mean to be a Jedi? When he’d been a child, he would have answered “to serve” – his father had taught him that the Counts of Serenno were in service of their people, and being a Jedi was no different. As a teenager, he would have answered “to protect” – he had thought himself a warrior back then, schooled in the arts of war and a soldier for the Republic. As a man, he did not wonder – he was, it was as exasperatingly simple as that. If Tiberius was stripped of the Force, stripped of all his knowledge and all his abilities, he would still be a Jedi It was dyed deep into his bones, now - he could put it aside as easily as he could stop breathing.

“I will never leave the Order, Myriana,” he told her softly, his tone sad. “The Jedi are my family, my home and my life: I will not abandon them, not even if staying kills me. Someone needs to stand in the Council’s way, to force them to face what they have become and what they are twisting us into. It seems the Force has chosen me for this role, and no matter how much I dislike my duty I will not shirk away it.”

The Master’s grey eyes suddenly looked away, choosing to hide the old turmoil in them from his far too perceptive student. There was a moment of silence, but it was not the pleasant, weightless silence there sometimes was between the two. No, this one was of a different sort – Tiberius seemed on the edge of saying something, but the words simply would not come out. The tension was thick, if not menacing, and when the dark-haired Consular finally spoke it was in a rough voice.

“I will not let them force you to stay if you want leave,” he told her while still looking away, the sensation of treason settling unpleasantly in his guts. “And neither should you force yourself to stay for my sake – it will be enough to know you are safe, far away from all... this.”

He was not lying, either – if that was what it took to make her whole again, he was willing to set aside every principle he’d fought for since he could walk. The realization that he was willing to sacrifice this much of himself for a single person was humbling and terrifying both to the cripple. The Code was not entirely wrong when it forbade attachments, was it? But it is too late, far too late for these types of regrets. I picked my side when you told us all to choose between saving the Republic and allowing a child to suffer, Arkus. There is nothing, worth that, nothing. If our salvation comes at that price, then I claim my place with the damned and consider myself fortunate for it.

His words made sense to her, even in the anguished and tortured places of her mind. All she and Kyt had known was this place and these people. They were more than companions and friends, people like Master Tiberius were family. She could not imagine, and had never imagined leaving. But there again, if all those she considered to be family were gone and she were left with the ones she feard; the Grandmaster... or Phobian Kein...

If everything else was gone would she stay? Though it would pain her greatly to lose Kyt or Master Tiberius, as long as one remained she could, and would, stay with the other. They were both her family. Her sister and the man who had taken her and sheltered her as the Council allowed her brain to be splintered apart.

“I will not let them force you to stay if you want leave... And neither should you force yourself to stay for my sake – it will be enough to know you are safe, far away from all... this.”

She lifted widened eyes to his. Leave now? She had no reason to even consider it. The thought had been furthest from her mind with her question. The three of them were here, they were relatively safe from harm. It was unlikely that Tiberius would enter battle, he himself kept claiming the mission he was being sent on was nothing but a distraction so he was out of the way for their trials. Kyt had no more reason to leave than Myri did, and with both of them with her she would never even consider trying to leave... or want to.

Sighing, she slipped to the floor and settled by his feet, leaning to rest her head against his knee.

"Master Tiberius... I have no reason to want to leave. And you wouldn't be forcing me to remain here. As long as you or Kyt stays I have no reason to want to leave. And I am supposed to be needed for my... abilities...What sort of Jedi would I be if I abandoned everyone in favor of things I don't even know or understand..."

She nodded against his leg as she rethought her statement. "As long as I'm not alone I have no reason to leave. I don't think I could stay if I were alone but hopefully it will be a long time before I have to face that particular possibility."

She took a deep breath, sighing softly. They were her family. If she had them she had everything.

Perhaps he’d misunderstood the intention behind her question – she seemed surprised when he talked of leaving the Order, though he could not be sure whether it was surprise at him bringing up the subject or at the fact he’d thought she might want to. The part-Theelin sighed softly and slipped to the ground, curling up around his knew like some playful kitten. The first time she’d done that, when she’d been seven and Tiberius had just been knighted, he’d almost jumped out of his skin. He was the Cripple Count, the Terror of the Archives: shy little children did not randomly come up to him when he studied and hug his legs before drifting away to sleep. He’d later learned that the... music of his presence in the Force, as she perceived it, had drawn her like a moth to the flame and lulled her to sleep after a particularly harsh afternoon’s training. He’d been more bemused than irritated and when she’d just mumbled sleepily when the poked her experimentally with his cane he’d been too entertained to be insulted.

It had been the beginning of a strange bond between the two – no matter how gruff and dismissive he acted, he did not have it in him to hurt the small muppet whose mind was already being picked at under the Echani’s orders and who kept tugging at his robes with those big trusting eyes. Sighing, the bearded Master gently caressed the younger woman’s head, the gesture as paternal as he could allow himself to be with his daughter in all but blood. There were some parts of the Code that even he was not willing to break: he was already too attached by any rational standards, and even if he did not believe for a second that his affection for Myriana could lead him to the Dark Side that would not stop creatures like Phobian from making a circus out of it in front of the High Council. He’d already had insinuation from the Shi’ido that he was allowing his emotions to interfere with his teaching duties, something like this would be all the proof the Councilman required before forbidding him contact with both twins.

“You’re getting too old for this, Myriana,” Tiberius grumbled gently before tapping her gently on the top of the head to signify she should get up again.

"Master Tiberius... I have no reason to want to leave. And you wouldn't be forcing me to remain here. As long as you or Kyt stays I have no reason to want to leave. And I am supposed to be needed for my... abilities. What sort of Jedi would I be if I abandoned everyone in favor of things I don't even know or understand..."

There was much the Master could have replied to that. He could have said that the Jedi might have given her much but that they had taken more, stripping her things that every child should take for granted. He could have said while her abilities were a gift of the Force, they in no way bound her in service to the Order – there were many ways to live in harmony with the Force, ad the path of the Jedi had become one of the harsher ones. He could have said that learning the things one did not know or understand was how one became whole, how men and women learned their place in the machinery of fate and made their peace with it. It was not his place to question her decision, however, and so he stilled his tongue.

“Should you ever change your mind,” he told her steadily, “Do not be afraid to tell me – circumstances can change everything, if my years have taught me anything it is that.”

"As long as I'm not alone I have no reason to leave. I don't think I could stay if I was alone but hopefully it will be a long time before I have to face that particular possibility."

“Oh, I’ll be limping around for quite some time still, I think,” the Consular laughed softly. “And your sister, Void take her unruly soul, will be giving me grey hair until I return to the Force at the very least– she’s too much of a force of nature for anything else to be true.”

Myri sighed and snuggled into his leg slightly. She and Kyt had often been accused of being acting far less mature than their age and to be honest, she often felt far younger... stunted at twelve when they had truly pressed them into the Telemetry program... stuck at the age she'd first become too afraid to hide in her own head... the curtain that she saw in her minds eye torn with those terrifyingly deep holes...

You’re getting too old for this, Myriana

A small gasp left her as she sharply took in air and escaped the mess that was her mind. Climbing to her feet with a nod, she blinked her eyes a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness of the room. Treks into her mind always made things brighter; she had no way of knowing that the panic she experienced caused her eyes to dilate or that it was the reason her heart felt like it was racing. But she did know as they drew closer and closer to their trials the sense of foreboding... the terror of falling into one of the merciless and black holes in her mind, grew and grew with a vengeance. They had a day, less as the minutes ticked by and she had not slept since Master Kein had passed the news that their trials were so soon.

Should you ever change your mind Do not be afraid to tell me – circumstances can change everything, if my years have taught me anything it is that

She nodded, but she also knew with complete certainty that as long as he or Kyt were present in the Temple she would remain. If Kyt ever left Myri was certain she would always know where the other twin was and if she was safe. As long as Kyt was safe and happy Myri would have no reason to leave Master Tiberius. His comment about Kyt made her smile.

"Master Tiberius, I think you like Kyt a lot more than you would ever let on."

His name had echoed in her head, a sympathetic vibration in tune with a thought of Kyt's and it distracted her. Kyt was very nearby, practically outside the door it seemed... and she was confused... which was ... odd... off-putting. And seemed to be with someone, but Myri couldn't sense the other person at all...

Turning towards the door, she moved towards it.

"Kyt's coming... she has someone with her..."

It wouldn't do for Kyt to come towards this section of the Archives... not that Myri worried about Kyt giving her away, but if someone saw Kyt coming towards them and the Myri appearing... It would just be better if she headed them off.

"Coming Master Tiberius? I think she's looking for you..."

Her steps out the door were quick and silent, meant to avoid detection, and she slipped along the shelves quickly. Kyt's voice was just beginning to come in the door and her commentary on Master Tiberius made Myri smile. They liked each other and it was relieving. Myri wanted Kyt to like everyone she liked and wanted Master Tiberius to like Kyt too.

"Kyt!"

She stepped out into the rotunda of the Archives and called to her twin. A pretty red-haired woman also turned and Myri stared at her a moment before remembering her manners and looking away. There was nothing where the woman stood... just ... just a... a hole! Myri shuddered suddenly... holes were never a good thing.

It was quiet as Kyt lead Remmi into the archives. At some point in their conversation, the Jedi had started to shoot her more subtle version of the same look she had been getting since entering the temple. It was really, really tempting to ask if anything was wrong, but the younger woman was trying so hard to not make the looks noticeable that it seemed cruel to break her delusion.

The pair had barely entered the archives when a voice was calling out for for Kyt. Turning towards the voice, Remmi found a blue-haired version of her escort moving towards them with Master Valencian in tow. Blue haired Kyt continued the Jedi tradition of staring at the outsider, but added a shudder for dramatic effect. That was just. . .too much. There was absolutely nothing shudder-worthy about her!

"Is that some sort of Jedi greeting? The staring and general odd looks?" Remmi asked Valencan. Her tone was light, but there was a hint of exasperation. The last time she'd gotten so many odd looks was her first day of school back on Chandrila. There had been a reason for that though, she'd been the most obvious adoption on the planet. Pale skin and red hair had stood out a bit.

Remembering that there were still mannerly things to be said, the guard turned back to Kyt. "Thanks for showing me how to get here. It would have taken me forever to figure it out on my own.

Walking into the Archives with Remmi in tow, Kyt struggled to keep her expression neutral but she couldn't help herself. Why couldn't she sense Remmi in the Force? What the hell was that weird shimmer that stood around her? Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard Myri calling her name aloud. Glancing upwards, Kyt saw Myri standing in the rotunda and she headed towards her. Myri's face wore a more obvious expression of what Kyt was feeling. So it wasn't just her.

"Is that some sort of Jedi greeting? The staring and general odd looks?"

Frakk... Kyt had thought she'd been so subtle too, it just gave her yet another thing to work on. She had to shake her head slightly and send a mental nudge to Myri to tell her not to be rude. Kyt felt absolutely terrible for being so obvious with her curious and confused glances. "I'm sorry Remmi, I hope I didn't offend you. It's just that you've confused me slightly, it's nothing bad." Kyt bobbed her head down a little and flinched as she apologised.

"Thanks for showing me how to get here. It would have taken me forever to figure it out on my own."

She looked up suddenly and smiled at Remmi. "It was my pleasure, I wouldn't want anyone who does not know the temple to get lost in it." She held her right hand out to Remmi so as to shake her hand. "It has been very nice meeting you." Kyt assumed she would just head off now that her work was done and didn't want to leave on a bad note with Remmi. Never good to leave a person with a bad impression.

"Master Tiberius, I think you like Kyt a lot more than you would ever let on."

“That’s like saying I like the pox more than I let on,” the Consular grumbled, though he avoided looking at the younger woman as he did so.

Kytanna Oannes was too close to what he’d been like as a padawan for comfort – insolent, mule-headed and convinced she knew how to run things better than anyone in charge. Where Kytanna had derived her opinion out of surviving the most brutal training regimen the Jedi had developed in centuries, however, he’d simply been taught that his blood set him apart from the masses since he could walk. Her faith in her own abilities was perhaps better deserved than his had been at her age, but it would get her killed just as well: Tiberius was aware of exactly how lucky he’d been to get away from the Sith torture chambers with just a crippled leg. Kytanna would be lucky to last a day, with the sheer sensitivity of her mind – and that was if the Grandmaster didn’t decide to shut her up in a more definitive manner before then. Neither of the twins was aware of how many sacrifices he’d made to keep them from the execution block over the years, and to be honest that was the way he liked it: no child should feel indebted just because people were willing to fight for their right to exist. Void knew that Kytanna acting like a respectful padawan would probably send him into heart failure anyways.

"Kyt's coming. She has someone with her... Coming Master Tiberius? I think she's looking for you..."

Reaching for his cane with a sigh, the crippled Master hoisted himself up. He wasn’t all that eager to see what the other Oannes had gotten herself into this time, to be honest, but he didn’t have the heart to put a stop to Myrianna’s enthusiasm after having seen her act like a kicked puppy for the last few minutes. As the part-Theelin hurried towards her evil half, Tiberius took his time to make it through the handful of stairs. Painfully aware he looked like some kind of demented crab with a beard as he descended one step at the time, the black-haired Consular ignored his surroundings as he usually did when in this position. By the time he looked back up, the twins were standing next to a silhouette he easily recognized even at that distance. I was wondering when you’d show up, Red.

"Is that some sort of Jedi greeting? The staring and general odd looks?"

“You haven’t been accused of treason yet, they’re being shy,” the cripple quipped as he hobbled to join them.

"I'm sorry Remmi, I hope I didn't offend you. It's just that you've confused me slightly, it's nothing bad."

“What Kytanna is trying to explain with that heartfelt verbal bumbling,” Tiberius added with a wryly amused look at the pink-haired menace, “is that you’re a flatscan as far as mind-reading goes – you’re a hole in the Force, so to speak. It’s rather disturbing for people used to feel each other through the minds more than anything else.”

''Thanks for showing me how to get here. It would have taken me forever to figure it out on my own."

"It was my pleasure, I wouldn't want anyone who does not know the temple to get lost in it"

“If only I could get you to be that polite all the time,” the Consular mourned aloud as he watched Kytanna offer her hand to Amidda’s bodyguard.

“It has been very nice meeting you."

“Bah, no need to run away so quickly, brat,” Tiberius interrupted with a half-grin. “I’m going to spar with Red here and from what I understand both you and your sister have been looking to pick up some swordsmanship. Tag along, you might just learn something – if you don’t have any objections, Pask?” he finished, his voice questioning.

A hole in the Force... at least Master Tiberius had taken it upon himself to explain it to the other woman... Whose name was evidently Remmi and known by both her twin and Master Tiberius. Her eyes had dropped the moment Kyt had made it clear that Myri was staring. She wasn't normally rude but it was truly upsetting to see someone standing in the middle of a giant void. The idea of a void sparing with Master Tib was... shocking but she supposed he knew what he was doing. He was ten years her senior and had been outside the temple... Maybe there was nothing wrong with the woman and Myri just wasn't concentrating enough. But... this woman didn't even register a sound for Myri to pick up and it bothered her a lot.

I’m going to spar with Red here and from what I understand both you and your sister have been looking to pick up some swordsmanship. Tag along, you might just learn something

Myri started a bit but didn't look up. Being around the woman was really incredibly bothersome and she didn't really want to tag along, but she was nothing if not obedient and clenched and unclenched her hands a few times to work the tension out of her shoulders. Placing a pleasant and neutral on her face, she looked up and waited for the others to lead the way.

"I chalked the lack of accusations up to the Senator's absence." Remmi said cheerfully. Treason was probably not something she should be joking about openly, especially not in the Jedi temple, but Valencian had started it.

The older Jedi seemed to know the twins, but she had yet to catch Blue Haired Kyt's (BHK) actual name. BHK probably didn't know who the stange red headed woman was either, so they were even until someone started making introductions. She should get on that. "Hi, I'm Remmi Pask!

The guard listened carefully as Kyt and Valencian tried to explain the motivation behind the weird looks. She knew very little about the force, just that it was mystical, potentially dangerous, and that she was pretty happy to not be force sensitive. "Okay, hole in the force, but 'it's nothing bad.' I'm not force sensitive so that's normal right? To not be there?"

"Oh, a demonstration! Awesome." Remmi perked up (more so than she had been) when Valencian brought up sparring. Of course he would bring it up, it was why she had decided to visit the temple, but the mention of it made her happy about it all over again. Usually she practiced with other guards, sometimes it was fellow members of the Amidda security team and other time it would be the guards of senators friendly to Zephyr. Only a few of them gave Remmi much of a fight. At first it had been because they wanted to go easy on the delicate looking female, but now it was more due to her general freaky fighting ability.

“What Kytanna is trying to explain with that heartfelt verbal bumbling, is that you’re a flatscan as far as mind-reading goes – you’re a hole in the Force, so to speak. It’s rather disturbing for people used to feel each other through the minds more than anything else.”

Kyt made a face at Master Valencian and rolled her eyes while she spoke. "If I was bumbling, then you were doing backflips as you made your way towards us." She tilted her head to the right and stuck her tongue out at Master Valencian before turning to Remmi to explain herself.

“If only I could get you to be that polite all the time."

"Maybe if you were polite to me Master Val..." Kyt left her sentence unfinished as she watched Myri standing silently. She moved across to stand beside her and grabbed her sister's clenching hands and gave them a squeeze. Letting Myri's right hand free and keeping hold of her left hand, Kyt stood facing Remmi and Master Val. She hated to see her sister so silent all of the time, she wanted her to know that she didn't need to be and that Kyt would always be there for her. As Remmi introduced herself to Myri, Kyt spoke for her twin. "This is my twin sister, Myriana but she prefers Myri. Don't you sis?" Kyt gave Myri a slight elbow in the side to gently bring her to her senses again. She stood watching Master Val explain the "hole" effect that Remmi was giving off.

"Okay, hole in the force, but 'it's nothing bad.' I'm not force sensitive so that's normal right? To not be there?"

Kyt thought it best to leave all the explanations to Master Val since he seemed to love the sound of his own voice like the crazy old coot that he is. Kyt simply smiled to Remmi so as to show the young bodyguard that Kyt bore no ill feelings towards her even though she was completely unique in the fact that she basically seemed to not exist.

“Bah, no need to run away so quickly, brat, I’m going to spar with Red here and from what I understand both you and your sister have been looking to pick up some swordsmanship. Tag along, you might just learn something – if you don’t have any objections, Pask?”

Scoffing at his words, Kyt let Myri's hand go and walked towards Master Val and Remmi and then straight past them, heading for the door. Her head held high, her stride confident. "What is it you always say Master Val? No use lying to a mind reader? You seem to be severely lacking today Master Val. Severly. Lacking." Kyt emphasised the last two words and winked at him as she forced her recent memories down so that he'd have a hard time finding them without her knowing that he was looking. She wasn't perfect at it yet but she had to practice so she could get perfect! If she didn't, that ancient and cantankerous man would never let her hear the end of the lectures that would ultimately follow his discoveries. And when he did find out, she'd hide his canes. All of them. In Phobian and Arkus's underwear drawers. See how he likes them apples, serve him right for boring her to death. "Well come on then. I know you struggle and everything Master Val. You know, with the walking and what not, but we'll try to walk backwards so that you can keep up, okay?" She laughed wickedly and ran for the door before Master Val could whip her legs with his cane for her cheek.

"Maybe if you were polite to me Master Val..."

“And suddenly why the Council calls me a ‘bad influence on the youth of today’ is made all too clear,” Tiberius replied, grinning back at the violently colourful brat that was giving him lip.

From the corner of his eye, the black-haired Master saw Kytanna reach for her sister’s hands and he ruthlessly squashed the urge to frown – it would not do to show too much emotional attachment in front of their visitor, no matter how lovely she was. He’d attributed the quiet on the younger twin’s part to, well, crippling shyness, but a closer look at the situation inferred different factors into the equation. Remara Pask was a gaping hole in the Force to regular sensitivities, which meant that to Myriana she must be completely silent. The Consular would most likely have enjoyed the reprieve in her place, but the younger woman was used to hearing feedback from every living being without interruption: to suddenly get nothing from a stranger would have been much like suddenly going blind, he supposed. And to someone as skittish in front of company as the part-Theelin was, that was just the final ingredient to the time-honoured recipe of “be-silent-and-obey-so-they-don’t-hurt”. Yet another lesson the Order has carved into your skin, child – another sin we must pay for, in due time.

The old anger that had been simmering deep in his bones since he’d first found out about the Telemetry Program suddenly flashed, but Tiberius kept the emotion well under his mental shielding. There was no need to scare Myriana over this, or even worse encourage Kytanna to do something reckless – the oldest twin wasn’t worth nearly as much as she thought to the Grandmaster, and one of these days he feared she was going to be taught that lesson the hard way. As someone who’d spent the last decade testing exactly how far the Echani could be pushed, the crippled Master was well aware that every bit of insolence on her part was bringing her closer to the end of the rope. Yet what could he do - tell her to stop? Tiberius wasn’t that much of a hypocrite, nor could he pretend that the twins did not have good reasons to resent the Jedi. It was undeniably the Order that was in the wrong here, yet the cold hard truth was that with that with the might he had behind him, Arkus Mexx could do away with right as much as he liked. Principle and practicality – without the first we are morally bankrupt tyrants, without the second we are idealistic corpses. A fine line, and one we navigate... poorly.

"This is my twin sister, Myriana but she prefers Myri. Don't you sis?"

The constantly irritated frown on the cripple’s face softened as he looked at Myriana, hobbling a bit closer to the quiet young woman and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder in an unusually paternal gesture. Feeling the disquiet emanating from her presence, the Consular reached for her mind with his – it was a practiced, well-worn act on his part: he’d been doing this for years, though not as frequently now that she’d gotten older. As a child the bond had allowed her to focus on his “music” at the exclusion of other background noise, something she’d desperately needed, and he curious little mind in the back of his head had been a pleasant distraction from the unpleasantness of learning to live with a missing leg. The cripple and the broken child, he smiled sardonically, damaged goods for all to see. Sending a wave of affection and calm to soothe her mind, the Master squeezed her shoulder a last time and left the bond open. She could break it whenever she felt comfortable enough to go without it: after all, Tiberius was rather familiar with crutches and understood the cruelty of having them taken back abruptly more than most.

"Okay, hole in the force, but 'it's nothing bad.' I'm not force sensitive so that's normal right? To not be there?"

“Everyone is in the Force,” the black-haired Master corrected easily, “simply in different degrees – it’s a part of every living being. The difference between a Jedi and a civilian is that Jedi can perceive others through that... network, so to speak. You’re a pure flatscan to people trying to read you through the Force, which means that through a genetic quirk you’ve been gifted with the ability of having your connection to the “network” undetectable and therefore unusable to people who can sense it.”

The Consular grimaced.

“I could bore you with the academic details, but long story short you’re a ghost to our crazy mind-powers radar,” he concluded casually.

"Oh, a demonstration! Awesome."

“Don’t get so excited, Red: you’ll be my punching bag for it,” Tiberius grinned at the redhead’s enthusiasm.

"Well come on then. I know you struggle and everything Master Val. You know, with the walking and what not, but we'll try to walk backwards so that you can keep up, okay?"

“Bah,” he scoffed, “even with my leg I’ll end up there before you do – you’d have to focus on remembering the way for more than a minute, and your brain’s far too sugar-addled for that to be possible anymore.”

Somewhat amused at the older twin’s cheerful antics, the crippled Consular shrugged his shoulders at Pask, as if to say “what can you do?” It was the privilege and duty of every generation to think of their successors as unwashed hooligans with awful taste in music, but as a rabble-rouser himself he’d always been a bit partial to kids with an attitude. Not that it stopped him from griping at the twins constantly and terrorizing the padawans, of course: it was the little things that made life worth living. Pushing himself forward with his cane, Tiberius followed the pink-coloured herald of chaos out of the Archives and took a left as the came to an intersection, casually plotting the path that got them through the least set of stairs possible. Luckily enough, the training facilities were in a more recent part of the Temple, and thus came with a nearby hololift, thank the Force. He was mostly Zen-like about the hobbling these days, but going through a set of stairs in front of a pretty girl was never good for the ego.

“C’mon, Red – Stars know what she’ll cook up if she’s let loose in the Temple,” Tiberius called out at Remara before sparing a look and gesture of the head at Myriana that told her to follow.

Panicked, frightened, bordering hysterical... Myriana felt like an animal cornered by its most frightening predator. All she could do was stare at the emptiness where Miss Pask stood. It was like her worst nightmare had come to life and was standing right before her. Complete and total emptiness. A gaping hole that seemed to suck all other life into it never to return. And the more she stared into the emptiness, the more hysterical she became. As the seconds passed it was getting harder and harder to continue breathing. Part of her wanted to scream, another part wanted to cry but all of her wanted to be out of the room and away from the horror she was being subjected to.

Kyt provided the first and desperately needed anchor into reality. Just like in her nightmares, Myri had felt herself being pulled into the emptiness with nothing there to stop her. But Kyt's hands touched hers and the distraction caused her attention to shift to her sister. Nod... She should nod. Myri's head dipped in a robotic fashion and all too soon Kyt had left her... and her attention was drawn back to the emptiness. This time she was certain she would scream... She felt it building in her throat and then...

Another hand touched her shoulder and suddenly music filled her head. Her body relaxed, the panic completely overwhelmed by Master Tiberius' presence. He always knew, nearly as well as Kyt, when she needed the distraction. But lately she and Kyt had been... distracted and distanced. Though still close it was as though they were beginning to go their separate ways. They had secrets... Myri could sense that Kyt was not always completely forthcoming and she knew that there were things she kept from Kyt. The nightmares for one. Master Tiberius never asked, and never questioned. He simply offered her his help and she was thankful for it.

His hand moved off her shoulder with a squeeze, but the connection was still there and as the small group moved away she dropped her head and took in a few gulping breaths of air, forcing the panic back and into a place deep in the darkness of her mind. It would not do for anyone to know that she could be so easily driven to such a panicked state. It could be fatal if such information fell into the wrong hands... Hands like the twisted and gnarled pair belonging to Phobian Kein. A chill shot down her spine and she shivered and looked up in time to see her twin and the man she considered her father tell her in their own ways to follow. Her feet moved almost on their own. It would not do for anyone to see her in such a state again. Remara Pask was to be avoided at all costs after today. At least until she someday had enough control over her own mind to keep from falling into such states again.

"Bad influence? That sounds like fun." Although Remmi didn't have an overabundance of contact with a Jedi who lurked within the halls of the Senate, it was immediately obvious that the the twins were more personable. They showed actual emotion for one thing, and responded to conversation with something more than a somber death glare.

Valencian's explanation of how everyone, regardless of force sensitivity, should still be 'in the Force' was unexpected. The guard always just assumed it was something that was there or it wasn't. But, if it was something that every living thing was supposed to posses, then why did she not seem to have it? Was it, as the Jedi Master had suggested, some genetic quirk, or had the experiments messed her up that much?

The red head felt painful twinges in her chest -- a sure sign that she was heading toward a panic attack. Discussion or prolonged dwelling on her general weirdness was acting as a trigger. It would probably be best to move onto a new topic. From the looks of things twin two, Myri, wasn't any more comfortable with the not-there-ness than Remmi herself. "I'm sure its nothing serious! No one's even noticed it until now right? I can't be missing much."

When Valencian stated that she would be the punching bag it forced a real laugh out of Remmi, and the feelings of anxiety vanished. "Oh really now?" She asked teasingly, "Are you expecting me to stand still?"

"Bad influence? That sounds like fun."

“Don’t get too worked up, Pask,” the black-haired Master grinned easily, “You’re considered dark and edgy around here if you take two kinds of spiceswith your morning gruel.”

There was something about Remara Pask that made her easy to speak to – Tiberius wasn’t a trusting person by nature, and that tendency had only been strengthened by the ability to actually know what people thought. There had been a time, after he’d lost his leg, where he’d disobeyed the edicts to stay out of other Jedi’s minds and listened to everything and everyone he could hear. It had been a hard wake up call to realize that members of the Order were just as petty and selfish as anyone else when the mood took them, that even for all the enlightenment boasted by the Jedi in the end they were all so very human. He’d put the Masters on a pedestal for so long that he’d started to blind himself to their faults.

It had been the first step in becoming the man he was today to face the reality that they were just as flawed as anyone else... and that not all of them were good people to start with. Still, a lone voice of opposition was exactly that: alone. Trust did not come easy after all these years of standing by himself against the crowd, yet there was something about Pask that made her seem... trustworthy. You’re a dangerous woman, Red. Stars know I probably shouldn’t like that about you as much as I do.

"I'm sure its nothing serious! No one's even noticed it until now right? I can't be missing much."

The crippled quirked an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re not missing anything, Red. No doubt you’ve heard it all before but it’s not you, it’s me,” Tiberius replied flirtatiously.

"Oh really now? Are you expecting me to stand still?"

“Careful now, Miss Pask – I was the finest blade in the Order, before my little trip to the dungeons,” the Consular grinned back. “Besides, I’m sure you hit like a girl.”

Punctuating his taunt with a display of maturity worthy of a senior Master and member of the High Council, Tiberius poked out his tongue at the redhead before calling the hololift with a tap of his cane on the monitor. The doors slid after a moment and with an insolently gallant gesture he invited the two girls and the woman to precede him inside.

By the Force... the last thing that Myriana wanted to do was step into an elevator... Really... being stuck in a small space with a giant gaping hole that seemed to suck in her very soul was the last thing the girl had any desire to force herself into doing. But Kyt would be there.... and so would Master Tiberius. She could do it. She could be brave, and strong, and step into the lift.

And so she did, huddling into a corner until Master Tiberius entered as well. Once he was in, she scooted as close to him as she could, cowering behind him and forcing herself not to look at Miss Pask. It was ridiculous the amount of terror she had, but she couldn't help it. Nothing terrified her more than the blank spots in her own mind. Now she was stuck cavorting around with a living, real life terror... A gaping hole in the fabric of her existence right there in real life. She shuddered.

And the awfulness of it was enhanced simply because she could tell that Master Tiberius liked Miss Pask and she felt that she would probably like her as well if the other woman were not so frightening.... so terrifying. The twenty year old blue-haired twin cowered like a child behind her favorite Master and hoped that the lift would simply stop soon and they could all get out and she could have space... and air... again.

An amused laugh escaped Remmi's lips. Yes, she had heard that line before. Usually it was a halfhearted attempt to disguise that the problem was her. Her relationship were predictable like that, wither the guy couldn't handle her job or the fact that she was a better fighter. Aww...usually I don't get that from guys until after I kick their asses.

Trip to the dungeon? Was that where Valencian had crippled his leg? It was a little strange that he could reference something like that so casually. Remmi couldn't even remember what had happened to her and she still didn't like to talk about it. Mainly because panic attacks were about as fun as getting repeatedly punched in the face. The flippancy must have been a coping mechanism: if he could joke about it then it wasn't so terrible? That sounded about as healthy as ignoring that you couldn't remember the first decade and a half of your life.

"Ha! You think I hit like a girl?!" The redhead asked in a scandalized tone. "You remember my job right? The one that involves making sure no one actually hits the target a certain senator keeps pinning to his back?"

Once the foursome entered the elevator, Myri's body language shifted from 'mildly freaking out' to 'OMFOMFOMF.' Either the younger woman was insane sorts of claustrophobic or she was still not liking Remmi's not-there-ness. Maybe both. Or a completely unexpected fourth option! Maybe freaking out was part of her daily routine! Probably not.

"Umm...Myri are you okay? You look like you expect someone to jump out an attack us? Wait...that's not going to happen is it?" Remmi turned to Valencian for confirmation. "That doesn't usually happen here?"

As far as trips down memory lane went, seeing Myrianna hide behind his robes as she had when she was still a child was one he could have done without. That a woman of twenty years – though Stars be his witness, is was hard to think of little Myri as a woman to him: she’d always be that seven-year old girl he remembered drowsing belly up under the windows of the Inner Archives, the lazy afternoon sun pouring down on her – that a woman of twenty years could still be made to hide behind him was a testament in horror to the meddling of the Jedi Order in the minds of the Oannes twins. Breathing out evenly, Tiberius mastered the old anger than flared up at the thought – there is no emotion, there is peace – and instead of gnawing on facts he could not change, set to mend the situation as much as he could. Anger and indignation at the order of things was not enough, one had to be willing to dedicate your life to changing it. That was why he’d lost all respect for those who’d deserted the Order: they’d quit. For all their self-righteousness, they’d been unwilling to devote their life to changing the system from the inside. It reeked of cowardice to him, and Tiberius Valencian had never been fond of cowards.

"Umm... Myri are you okay? You look like you expect someone to jump out an attack us? Wait...that's not going to happen is it? That doesn't usually happen here?"

The crippled Master grimaced, weighing his options. He could either give Pask the truth, which was a mostly personal matter but verged on one of the Jedi’s dirty secrets, or he could quip his way out of this and lie through his teeth to a woman who probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. She’s a politician, the ever-cynical voice in the back of his head opined, and we know what politicians do. The idea of Myrianna being dragged in front of the press or pushed and prodded in a lab made him want to break something – not because it would expose the sheer inhumanity of the training methods she’d been subjected to, but because they would make her a circus animal and that would be the end of the girl he knew: she would break, it was as simple as that. She’s a politician’s bodyguard, the voice that passed for his faith in people these days corrected as loud as it dared, and Amidda is not the Chancellor or Fallacis. Grey eyes flickered to the attractive redhead and took measure of her. It had nothing to do with Remara Pask’s appearance or how much he found her amusing – he was judging if she was to be trusted with one his daughters, who probably the most precious things in his life.

“Myrianna has been part of a special training program since childhood,” the black-haired Consular finally said. “It has increased her sensitivity to the Force exponentially, at the price of many sacrifices that should not be asked of a child – to her, standing next to you is the same as standing next to a naked singularity.”

Tiberius leaned on his cane and lowered himself on his knees, biting back the hiss that almost escaped his lips at the sharp flare of pain in his old wound.

“It seems I greatly underestimated the effect of your presence on her mind. Kytanna, close your mind,” he warned the other twin.

Putting his hands on either side of Myrianna’s head did not truly help him work the Force but the contact always seemed to calm her – and this would already be hard enough as was, the calmer she was the better. The knot of power deep inside of him uncoiled and flowed freely through his body, his presence suddenly seeming sharper and somehow more... real to the naked eye. Gently threading strands of the Force around the panic and horror that were rocking inside Myrianna’s mind, he weaved a net that held her in check without hurting her. Closing his eyes and turning his sight inwards, he touched the weave and sent a command through it, coaxing her mind to relaxation like a terrified little bird in a cage.

“Sleep, child,” he ordered gently, his voice soft but ringing with power in the small confines of the hololift.

Like a puppet whose strands had been cut, Myri dropped to the ground and the cripple only barely caught her, his face turning white as the pressure on his bad leg felt like a handful of burning knives. Penance, for not having foreseen – it would have not come to this had I not told her to come into the hololift to start with. A little pain will remind be not to be distracted the next time. His cane moved apparently on its own, leaving the wall of the ‘lift and coming just at the right height to push himself up while still carrying the part-Theelin in his arms. A twitch of his fingers and the control panel came to life, invisible fingers dancing on it as an override code reserved for Masters flashed in a second, redirecting the hololift to another level – the doors opened to a stark white corridor, men and women in white robes of all ages and species coming and going in an energetic sort of organized chaos. Hobbling with difficulty, the crippled Master went for the first door on the right, a large doorway of white stone older than most of the Temple. The infirmary was mostly empty, except for the Healers whose duty required them to be here and a handful of apprentices sporting the minor injuries that came from overly enthusiastic lighstaber practice. A young Echani in his early twenties, sporting the white hair typical of his people, bustled up to them.

“Master, what –”

“She went into a fit in the hololift, I put her to sleep,” the Consular cut him off.

“I’ll take care of her right away,” the Echani promised, sending for a floating stretcher with a peremptory gesture.

“Have Master Brae’tac look her over,” the Serennian told him.

“I assure you, I’m quite sufficient to –”

“What part of this sounded like me asking, Knight Gevrena?” Tiberius asked in a very, very calm voice, grey eyes gone hard as iron.

The man blanched and bowed hastily.

“Of course, Master Valencian, immediately.”

The man scurried off and the black-haired Master allowed another healer to draw Myrianna from his arms and lean her down gently on the stretcher. Tiberius gave Kytanna a look that said all that needed to be said and the younger woman nodded before following her sister deeper into infirmary. Passing a hand through his hair, the crippled Consular sighed.

“Stars, I need a drink,” he muttered.

Turning towards Remara he raised an eyebrow.

“Unless you want to visit our extensive healing facilities, I suggest we get back to the lift and get our ride to the training room,” he offered.

There were a few moments where the Valencian just looked at her, obviously trying to come to some sort of conclusion. When he finally explained what had happened to Myri any remaining humor in Remmi was replaced with a deep sense of dread and no small amount of sympathy. The Jedi done this sort of thing to a child? She knew that the order was ruthless, they took children from their homes. This. . .this was something else. Myri looked so broken in her panic. Sort of like Remmi had been after she'd been found on the ship.

"The effect of your presence on her mind." The phrase left Remmi feeling guilty. The young woman might have been made overly sensitive by the Jedi, but it was the guard's general freakery that set this panic off. The Jedi might have brushed off her lack of there-ness as somehow natural, but he didn't know about her past, or lack thereof.

Myri's panic just kept getting worse and the redhead didn't know what to do. Usually she was the one having the panic attacks, not the one responding to them. Thankfully, Valencian stepped in a did. . .something. Apparently the force could substitute for sleeping pills or something because the girl went out like a light. "Will she be okay?"

Remmi stayed outside the door to the medical ward when Valencian went inside to take care of Myri. She didn't want to distract anyone or get in the way. The general creepiness given off by any medical facility might also have been an factor keeping her away from the place, but she liked to not think about that.

"Pass on the healing facilities, thanks." The guard said a little too quickly, hopefully the man would pass it off as her general hyper talking speed and not an indication of her feelings towards places like that. "Are you sure you still want to spar? Becuase we can do this another tome if you want to stay with Myri and Kyt."

"Pass on the healing facilities, thanks."

Red’s reply was a little too quick to be passed off as entirely casual, even for a woman who had so far shown to have a habit of high-speed babbling – grey eyes flicked back to the redhead and easily picked up the discomfort in her stance. Tiberius had not given Remara Pask’s file in Jedi Intelligence – something he had more access to as the head of Eclipse than anyone besides the Grandmaster - more than a cursory glance, not because he dismissed her as a threat but rather because he believed he owed at least that much courtesy to someone he was going to end up working with. So she isn’t too fond of hospitals. Force knows I can relate to that, after spending so long in the place. All healers are power-mongering, tyrants by nature: that’s the damned truth, no matter how nice and angelic they try to look when they pull out the syringe. He could ask, he knew, and perhaps she was even off-balance enough that he would have even gotten an answer, but the crippled Master stilled his tongue. They were barely more than strangers, after all, and he had no right to ask anyone to bare their soul to him when he was carrying as many secrets around as he was.

"Are you sure you still want to spar? Because we can do this another tome if you want to stay with Myri and Kyt."

Since he’d stumbled on one of Pask’s weak point earlier entirely by accident, it seemed oddly fitting that she would do the same to him now. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force. Five simple sentences, a code older than most of civilized space that all Jedi ascribed to. A code that he’d long ago been forced to admit he did not have in him to respect. It would have been easy for the Consular to simply dismiss the concern as a result of him being born in another era, before the war turned truly ugly: the Order had been a different beast, back then, and Jedi were still taught to be more than soldiers sent to die for a cause they were too young to understand. The truth was, though, that Tiberius had never really been at peace.

Even when he’d still wielded a sword instead of a cane, there had been something restless deep inside of him him, a cracing for truth that couldn’t be sated by the answers he was being spoon-fed by the Masters – and that wasn’t even his greatest failing, if tradition was to be believed. Passion, passion was ever my undoing. He’d been so very proud of his skill with the blade once upon a time, so sure of his Force-given righteousness, convinced that in the end good always triumphed over evil and everyone came riding home under the sunset. He’d left the Sith torture chambers stripped of that particular illusion, only to stumble onto an even greater failing. Pride in one’s skill was frowned upon, but understood and excused by youth – developing attachments as strong as the ones he was now shackled with, that was an entirely different story. Especially for two children that had been tapped for the Telemetry program. Staying silent for a moment as he watched the Oannes twins disappear deeper in the Healing chambers, Tiberius finally sighed.

“Jedi aren’t allowed to have children,” he said finally, his tone carefully neutral. “And neither of them is my padawan –too much interest in their well-being would be... noticed.”

Something went iron hard in the cripple’s eyes for a moment before he forced himself to calm.

“Your senator isn’t the only one with enemies on this side of the frontline, and mine are a lot closer to home,” the Consular added quietly, before turning his back to the scene and starting to limp his way back to the hololift.

With a distracted tap of his fingers, he slid the durasteel doors once more before speaking up in an obvious subject change he hoped Remara would not call him out on.

“Did you ever end up taking those Teras Kasi lessons?”

“Jedi aren’t allowed to have children, and neither of them is my padawan –too much interest in their well-being would be... noticed.”

"Noticed is bad. Got it."The lack of family aspect of the Jedi order had always bothered Remmi. There was something profoundly wrong with not having those connections. She knew what it was like to not have a family, the period between waking up on the ship and being adopted by Roland Pask had been lonely beyond reason. The people that had looked after her were nice, but it was the nice nice. Generic nice. Nice wasn't family. It didn't have enough. . .stuff to it.

That attachment for the sake of attachment was also frowned upon was even more disturbing. It sucked to not have a family, but to not be able to forge the family like bonds that Remmi had come to depend on over the years was a whole new level of suck. If you didn't have a bunch of other people who really really cared about you, who loved you enough to stop you from doing really really stupid things no matter how much they seemed like a good idea, then how did you survive? 'Too much interest' kept people from going crazy. No wonder the order was veering onto the side of maniacal laughter.

“Your senator isn’t the only one with enemies on this side of the frontline, and mine are a lot closer to home,”

"I don't envy you. Remmi said softly, well aware that this was a sensitive matter that was better off not being overheard. "Living in a nest of vipers has to be a lot more stressful than living with someone that likes to occasionally kick them."

The guard wondered how many people Valencian was actually able to trust. It couldn't be many, not if the order was doing such a good job at looking like one big happy family to the rest of the Republic. Only without the the family, or the happy. Still, the metaphor still worked, probably. At least in the senate it was openly acknowledged that most Senators couldn't stand a sizable portion of their fellows. "I'm usually not one to actively seek more trouble, but if you ever need help I'm sure Senator Amidda wouldn't mind a few more people trying to kill him."

“Did you ever end up taking those Teras Kasi lessons?”

Remmi gave the Jedi a bright smile. "Oh yes, those were fun. Thanks."

Teras Kasi, also know as the art of not getting killed by a lightsaber, was beyond interesting. So far she'd only been able to fit a few lessons into her schedule, but there was already an improvement in her fighting style. Going hand-to-hand with one of the glow sticks was still very low on her 'to do' list, but at least now the encounter would be somewhat more survivable. Maybe better than survivable given the reaction that every force sensitive seemed to be having to her. How far did the not-force thing go anyway? They couldn't sense her, but what about the other not fun tricks? Like getting thrown across the room. Remmi would really like to be immune to that one, it didn't look fun.

"I don't envy you. Living in a nest of vipers has to be a lot more stressful than living with someone that likes to occasionally kick them."

Tiberius really, really would have liked to be able to get offended at someone calling the Order a big ol’ pile of snakes like Red just had. After spending a little under a month working with the High Council, the crippled Master found he was sadly unable to deny the assessment. Hell, Phobian even looks like one. Briefly entertaining the thought of locking up the esteemed Councilman Kein in an aquarium and feeding him live mice, the Consular struggled to keep his lips from quirking. It was refreshing to meet someone who had the guts to say what they thought instead of acting evasive and spitting back up the latest propaganda vid when pressed – much like her employer, Remara Pask seemed to have the spine most of the galaxy had tragically misplaced. The fact that she would say these things without a hint of hesitation when walking the halls of the Jedi Order’s seat of power made it all the more impressive: even the staunchest opponents to the Echani’s policies tended to be... subdued when they came to the Temple. The deep, ancient power that emanated from the stone tended to drive home the point that there were forces in existence that were beyond the understanding of mere men – and that the Jedi spent their whole life unravelling those mysteries.

“I do a fair amount of kicking myself, if I’m to be entirely honest,” Tiberius admitted easily. “There’s a reason Mexx put me under scrutiny in the first place.”

"I'm usually not one to actively seek more trouble, but if you ever need help I'm sure Senator Amidda wouldn't mind a few more people trying to kill him."

Grey eyes flickered to the redhead in surprise, trying to assess whether she was serious or not. To his surprise, it looked like she was. Not that he could be sure, of course: the dark-haired Consular was fairly adept at reading people, but Red had been raised by Lorrdians and when it came to the bubbly enigma he couldn’t rely on emotion-reading as he usually would. That she would make that kind of an offer to a man who was more or less a stranger... Once in a while, I guess you’re lucky enough stumble into one of the good ones, he reflected in wonder. Hadn’t thought there were any people like that left out there – those thrice-blessed fools who try to do the right thing. For the second time today, the Serennian felt something stirring in that part of his soul he’d given up as a barren desert – how long had it been since he’d liked someone, much less respected them? Moments like that fragile instant that was passing between himself and the redhead was the kind of thing a true friendship was forged from. Or more than friendship, a voice murmured slyly in the back of his head before he squashed the notion.

“I thank you for the offer, truly... but I took an oath, when I became a Knight. And I don’t break my word, even when the going gets tough. Especially when the going gets tough – it wouldn’t mean much otherwise, would it?” the grey-eyed Master genuinely smiled at the redhead, his mood suddenly light.

"Oh yes, those were fun. Thanks."

Tiberius inclined his head in acknowledgement as the hololift’s door opened to an older stone corridor – in contrast to the sterilized white of the Healing Wards they’d just left, in this one the stone was left unadorned and grey.

“It’s a hard discipline to learn, but I’ve seen the results at work and it was... impressive,” the Serennian aristocrat replied idly as he hobbled down the hallway.

Large bay windows allowed passer-bys to see into the training rooms that dotted the corridor left and right, some of them occupied by padawans or even Knights going through their afternoon workouts. A minute’s walk brought them to a room much longer than the one’s they’d seen so far – Tiberius punched in his access code and invited Remara to precede him into the room. The Long Hall was exactly the same way it had been when he’d been a padawan: a large rectangular room of bare rock but for a few well-used training droids, practice lightsabers lined up on supports against the walls and a few training mats here and there. Leaning his walking stick against the now-closed door, Tiberius limped to the center of the room and turned his eyes to his companion.

“So, what have you learned about lightsaber forms so far?” he asked as he studied her calmly.

“I do a fair amount of kicking myself, if I’m to be entirely honest,” Tiberius admitted easily. “There’s a reason Mexx put me under scrutiny in the first place.”

"Mexx, he's the bald one who is usually pulling the potted plant's strings right? Remmi asked. "I think I've seen him glaring at everyone during some of the senate sessions.

String pulling was the guard's slightly more polite way of describing the relationship between the Supreme Chancellor and the Grand Master. Usually she compared it to hand puppets. However, it was probably too early in her friendship with Valencian to start discussing powerful figures and anal penetration.

It was also too early to suggest not kicking dangerous things. Not to mention how hypocritical that would be of her. Even if her political involvement only went as far as not letting other people kill politicians, Remmi had never exactly gone out of her way to endear herself to anyone in the order. Besides, despite his injury Valencian could likely take care of himself, unlike someone else she knew.

“I thank you for the offer, truly... but I took an oath, when I became a Knight. And I don’t break my word, even when the going gets tough. Especially when the going gets tough – it wouldn’t mean much otherwise, would it?"

Remmi was silent for a few moments as she considered the Jedi's words. She was surprised at how dedicated he was to his order. Sure, she would die for anyone in the Amidda family, well probably not Eurus. Yes there was the difference. She was more conditional with her loyalty. For her, there had to be some sort of reciprocity. The Amidda's gave her family and shelter, so they received her protection. To give that same protection to something as abstract and rigid as an order, it just seemed crazy.

"Void...another idealist. That's just what I needed." She finally said in a half joking tone.

The hololift doors finally opened, revealing a floor that while still very temple-ish, was an improvement from the medical wing. How did anyone walk these halls regularly without going completely crazy? Everything was so barren and colorless. Remmi would be running amuck with a paint roller if she had to live here for more than a week. Maybe that was why most of the order was so grumpy, they didn't have enough bright yellow walls or tasteful throw pillows.

“It’s a hard discipline to learn, but I’ve seen the results at work and it was... impressive.”

"I was hard starting out but then...I don't know." She ran a hand through red hair, trying to find the right words. "Like riding a bike? Only you had no idea that you knew how to ride a bike? That doesn't make any sense. . ."

The instructor had declared Remmi to be a natural, but she wasn't so sure. Teras Kasi had come to her in the same way that learning how to use a blaster had come to her, or reading other people. Like knowing how to do it was like knowing how to walk, or read. Rusty with disuse, but still something that was already there. It was a really uncomfortable feeling, because that just wasn't something you should know. Just like you weren't supposed to be invisible to the force. Why couldn't she have normal problems? Like boys? She would kill to just have boy problems.

“So, what have you learned about lightsaber forms so far?”

"It's generally a bad idea to touch them, no matter how much they look like glow-candy." Remmi answered, trying to force away thoughts of not-normal-ness. Even if no one could read her thoughts, it wouldn't be good to let her body language hint that anything was wrong.