Bonds Forgotten

Posted on Sun Dec 2nd, 2012 @ 6:50pm by Thane & Morgo Le'Shaad

2,115 words; about a 11 minute read

Chapter: Chapter II: Era's Dawn
Location: Galaxies Opera House, Coruscant
Timeline: 2100 Hours (Local Time), Day Six

OLD

Morgo sat, careful not to crease the fine fabric of her sari, and left a seat in between herself and the Jedi. Given that he was still alone after half the arias had been sung, the man clearly valued his space and solitude, "The famed Jade roses are grown solely on Coruscant, are they not?" she asked smoothly.

"Aye they are, my lady." the bartender answered easily, "Would you care for the Jade Rose wine?"

The woman blinked, "The Jade Rose hip tea, if you please." And as it was placed before her, Morgo turned her head lightly to the side, eyeing the man from the corner of her eye. Up close, a scar was visible running across his right eye, but it was light enough that it did not mar his face. Turning towards him completely, she studied him over the curling steam of her tea.

"Are you lost, Mr. Jedi?"

NEW

At first, Thane felt the temptation to give an annoyed snide response to the question, but instead managed to stifle it to a heavy sigh, placing his wine flute down onto the bar and turned to face the newcomer. As he formulated an alternative and less aggressive quip, he was instead caught short by the visage of a striking young woman, clearly of high birth and roughly the same age as himself.

She was beautifully dressed in extravagant garments, her skin and hair were well cared for, but none of this made her particularly stand out against the many rich figures currently at the opera or their escorts, but the extreme intelligence behind her cold but discerning eyes certainly did betray an in-depth intelligence, which was almost unheard of with most people about him, yet that still was not the most intriguing thing about this glamorous woman. It the complete void in the Force that she represented; this was the black hole that had been bothering him for the performance thus far, that had perhaps been giving him the concern over being watched.

With narrowed eyes, their own colour not a far cry from this woman's, Thane examined the other Human quickly, both enticed and wary of her simultaneously, both of which were peculiar for him to experience, given his general disdain or apathy for most. He grasped the wine again, brought the glass to his lips, had a sip, and then brought it down to chest level.

"The correct terminology is Master Jedi," he corrected in a dour, almost challenging, voice, willing her to respond.

"I have no proof that you are master of anything." Morgo replied, casually impolite because she felt she could be excused from manners, given the man's tone...and because he was a Jedi. Inside she uncharacteristically felt an itch for a fight. Then, Morgo felt terrible about it, damn her upbringing, and backpedaled, Jedi or no. “My apologies, Master Jedi." she sipped at her tea, "There’s no reason not to be civil."

Thane looked her up and down once again before looking away for a second as he drank some more of the spiced ruby wine. "Then you'd be playing the same damned game the rest of these pompous fools are playing," he then said, settling his eyes back on her. "Truthfully say what you mean, not what you think others would prefer to hear. I spend enough time playing those sorts of games with the Council and whatever fool's errand they send me on."

He spotted the oversized Rodian he had past on his way into the opera house entering the bar, his green skin stretched over far too much body, his beady black eyes looking flatter than he should. His trio of female escorts looked positively exhausted and so were not being as charming as the Rodian evidently wished, and he was admonishing them quite severely, as if that would impress the well-dressed and regal Quarren he had sidled over to. Thane merely shook his head in response.

Morgo hid her surprise. She’d expected contempt from a Jedi, but not so readily and certainly not directed towards the Council. A radical, this one.

Morgo’s laugh was short, “If you wanted a place where people would be straightforward and honest with you, Jedi, I’m afraid you chose the wrong venue. The opera is all about deception, about playing a part.” She said, running a fingernail around the rim of her teacup, “And for us ‘pompous fools’, it seems opera is our natural habitat.”

Morgo watched the Jedi’s as his eyes wandered, disdain practically dripping from him as he watched a particularly obese Rodian. It was a wonderful thing to behold.

“But apparently not you.” She observed dryly, “So I’ll ask you again, Master Jedi—are you lost?” Morgo asked, not unkindly. It was not patronizing, at least not intentionally. Morgo was genuinely curious about what a Jedi was doing here at the Galaxies Opera House. After all, it was not every day that a Reborn Jedi willingly even acknowledged one of the greatest triumphs of the Sith (of all time), let alone paid to see it re-enacted in the opera of Jedi Lost. If the public were any stupider, the Reborn Jedi Order would probably burn Republic history books—and get away with it.

Thane looked up, as if considering that. "A beautiful woman for company, fine wine and a classy show." He looked back to Morgo with his typical ironic expression. "No, I think I know exactly where I am.As annoying as these people are," he went on, gesturing about to the other patrons, "they are nevertheless a damn sight more... polite than the typical urchins out on the streets."

The Jedi took another sip of his wine, his eyes showing a heavy amount of disdain, tempered only be well-practised restraint, which showed to someone with the intelligence of his new-found drinking partner, although her presence had seemed to cheer him up slightly. "I would much rather be here, drinking in both some high-quality wine and urbane culture than the stinks and stupidity of the rest of the galaxy, although there's certainly something to be said about some cantinas. At least these people pretending to be something dress appropriately and can manage to speak normally, if only they weren't so misguidedly arrogant. Wealth and intelligence seem to be a rare mix these days, which is a true pity. And the poor think they are then entitled to wealth themselves because they believe themselves better people for having nothing, rather than earning something. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't hate poor people - far from it. In fact, many are very capable, and as a Jedi," he clearly strained the word, "for whatever that now means, I am taught to take their side. Make no mistake: many are intelligent and very capable, but then the incompetents at the top of the ladder stop them from ascending - there is fault on both parts."

Without a doubt, he was finding it slightly refreshing (as well as slightly incensing - he could easily form another rant from the points he had already made) to be able to speak his mind to another with intelligence, and who was also capable of politeness and - apparently - witty remarks. More importantly, she did not seem fazed by his less than politically-correct tirade, which had come easily after the recent few days; his dealings with the Council and the dealings with Darth Bane's holocron had leant itself to his views becoming more polarised, growing firmer in his feelings. The Jedi were proving themselves to be everything Thane now feared them to be. Nevertheless, he was still bothered (or was it enticed?) by this woman's apparent absence in the Force. No non-Force sensitive sentient species (save for the Yuuzhan Vong) were so, and it meant he could get no reading from her, bar what he garnered from her actions and reactions.

Oh, and the fact he knew exactly who she was. "And what brings you here, Duchess Le'Shaad?" Thane asked casually, his dark eyebrow cocking as he brought the wine to his lips once again.

Morgo’s pupils contracted to mere pinpoints, the only outward sign of she even heard the man. The Jedi knew her name.
Had she been a lesser woman, the sheer emotion she felt in that moment would’ve certainly made it to her face. As it turned out, however, years spent in the royal court had trained that out of her, and her face was as expressive as stone.

The short laugh she gave was mirthless, “If you know that much, Jedi…” Morgo’s eyes went cold, voice low, “…Then you also know that I no longer hold that title.”

She straightened, eyes never leaving the younger man, “And if you must know, I’m here for the company, of course. You just don’t get the same brand of frustrated, passionate, Jedi ranting on any other planet, that you do on Coruscant.” And leaning her chin on her palm, she raised her eyebrows, “I was rather wondering, though, whether you were going to get to the part of you rant about fire and music, where the fools of the galaxy burn, and from their ashes rises a new empire —” Morgo stopped abruptly and inhaled.

“But I don’t think we’re quite there yet with you, Jedi.” Morgo said silkily, smiling like a knife, “ So when you start sounding like a real Sith holocron, be a dear and call me. I’ll be waiting—in a cell, in whatever prison of your choosing—to hear the end of that speech.”

Morgo‘s face fell normal again, and she sipped her fragrant tea. When she set it down, however, she found the younger man’s eyes again.

“I mean, you will be arresting me tonight…won’t you?”

Because that was the question, wasn’t it—whether or not the Jedi would arrest her? He’d proven himself to be a Jedi (most definitely) apart. And this was a most curious man.

Earlier he had derided her for playing the same, meandering game of pretenses and pretty smiles as the rest of the ‘pompous fools’ in attendance at the Opera House. Yet now he was saying that he took a measure of…comfort in it. That while he wished no one would play the game on him, he liked to bask in the pleasant things (like manners) that came with all the blatant faking . He wanted to be the exception, did he?

The man disliked the flagrant arrogance of the elite and yet he so utterly, wonderfully wore his brand of arrogance like a second skin. What more, the Jedi male held both the poor and the rich in contempt, disliked how the poor felt entitled and yet also disliked that the rich so often beat down any who dared to climb to their level—beat down those same poor, entitled wretches trying to legitimize their entitlement.

As bizarre a specimen as he was… would he arrest her?

Thane watched her for a few more moments before giving his answer, supposedly having already decided it anyway. "Your crime pales in comparison to the heinous and thoughtless acts of most people," he decided, the small part of him that was slightly reluctant being overlooked. "I'm sure you had a good reason for what you did, and you kept it controlled and minimalist; you didn't involve the innocent in your qualms, nor did you cause wanton chaos." He flashed a grin to her. "But don't let the Council hear me say that."

It was as he raised the wine flute to his pale lips to finish the beverage that he felt a clear disturbance in the Force, his years of training instinctively alerting him to a sudden threat and shift in the balance of the surroundings about him, but not necessarily directed at him. Automatically, his eyes set upon Morgo, but Morgo herself was already looking towards the side of the room.

A soft murmuring could be heard from the crowd of patrons as they turned and craned their necks, looking to the distance, trying to catch a glimpse of something. Morgo was instantly suspicious, even more so when a familiar head of blonde hair emerged from the sidelines of people, walking towards her, hand buried on one pocket.

“Merik?” she turned in her seat facing him, visibly wary, “What’s going on?”

TBC

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