RPlog:The First Vision

Remote Landing Pad - Yavin IV

This is a large, grey platform with black burn marks that could only be made from ship's engines. At the far north of the platform, there is an entry ramp leading to a set of blast doors which have long since corroded and are blocked by a cave-in of the mountain into which they lead. Surrounding the landing pad is a ten foot high, hi-voltage fence. All around you are the forests of the planet, and you barely are able to catch glimpses of ancient stone structures hidden deep within the foliage of the lush jungles.

Though it has been some time since the New Republic's Support Corps was stationed on Yavin IV, Jessalyn remembers her time spent there with fondness, and spent the afternoon visiting the old base where now only a skeleton crew keeps things operational. The Republic's resources have been siphoned off to more demanding and urgent projects, most of the skilled technicians now commissioned on board the battleships that even now were planning their attack on Lord Valak's Death Star. She had worked beside many of them, trained others, and ultimately left the life in the military behind. It had never really suited her; if circumstances had been otherwise, and in another lifetime, Jessa was sure she would have spent it working as a mechanic with a secure business, mothering a passle of kids with some unknown man who could never really understand her. And now, though she had doubted the role of Jedi Knight could ever rest comfortably on her shoulders, it has turned out to be the case after all.

Her trip to the SuppOps base had been done in private, since she had slipped out before Orson or anyone else on the Uwannabuyim was aware of her disappearance, and she now as she returns to the landing pad where the ship is docked, bearing an armful of the roses she herself had grown along the base's courtyard, she glances toward the sun just now rising over the misty haze covering the rainforest. It was the coolest part of the day, she muses, and everyone else was missing it.

There is, among other things, plenty of room on the landing pad. So Orson has made himself at home on one end, creating a space that has crates and electric fences for walls. In the center of his makeshift workspace is some mechanical project or another, draped with cloth. Something explosive, most likely.

But he's not there. Despite that he was obviously inspired on his project, having worked completely through the night outside on it, he's nowhere around. Instead, he's up on the steps of a tiered buttress to one of the small temple structures near the landing pad. He's been sunning, reclined up there in a comfortable position with a datapad held limp in his hand. He paces himself through a careful set of exercises, stretching and focusing himself after a time of writing and reflecting. It's been good to take a breath on Yavin, despite the climate.

Chuckling to herself, Jessalyn turns a dubious eye toward the covered section of machinery shielded by an electric fence, wondering what project Orson is working on now. The thought of him, perhaps, makes her realize his presence is nearby, and she turns her head, spying him up on the temple steps, and a wide grin spreads across her face. "Good morning!" she calls out before finding an empty container near the ship which she uses as a temporary vase for her cargo of roses. Her long-legged stride carries her to the base of the steps, and she climbs them slowly, watching Orson, and swiping the tendrils of hair back from her face when they fall from the pins which hold them aloft. "What are you working on over there?"

"Nothing," Orson replies evenly, voice sliding down the last few steps left of her ascent. Shaking himself awake and away from his little trance, the mechanic smiles toothily at the redhead, really meaning it was none of her business, but in a good-naturedly way. He's almost teasing, and it wouldn't take the Force to realize this; it's written on his face. "What have you been up to?" He stands and sweeps the backs of his trousers off, his hands trading the datapad as they find themselves needed to reach certain spots. "More flowers!"

"I had to bring some back with me, after my cuttings from Myrkr disappeared," Jessalyn says with a playful pout, her mind buzzing with possibilities. He must be working on something that he was quite satisfied with -- and wanted to surprise her. Appreciating the sentiment, she decides right then not to go snooping, as tempted as she is to use the Force to take a peek beneath the covering. "I was just wandering around the old SuppOps base where I used to work. Pretty quiet there now. I used to train all the NR techs from here," she explains, reaching the step that Orson has chosen and beaming him a smile. "Back when I was Colonel Valios. I told you about that."

Orson gives a very sloppy salute, tapping his head with a finger and then pointing lazily at the sky. "Yes Colonel," he says with the same amount of effort. "You did tell me." With another playful grin, he slides his datapad away. It is best to move on and not discuss the flower cutting disappearance again. There were little secrets in every relationship. In this one, the secret was Simon's severed hand, stored in stasis aboard the Uwannabuyim in a device used to keep Jessalyn's cut flowers fresh. Her ability to read minds complicates things further, but Orson doesn't skip a beat. The secret is leaving his own mind, and putting it to the side -- simply being content for a while -- makes him forget about it himself. "Have you seen Mira? Or Drew?" Sounds like he's gearing up for a 'it's time to go' comment.

Since Jessalyn has already determined the issue of where her flowers disappeared to is off-topic, it's really a mutual understanding between them that she won't pry any further than the little teasing jab. So her smile doesn't falter at all, ignorantly oblivious -- though Orson would probably be surprised at her reaction if he was ever honest with her about it. "I haven't," she admits. "Not since last night, anyway. Just about everyone was still asleep when I left the ship this morning. Except you, of course," she adds with a slightly furrowed brow. One of her compulsions as a Jedi Teacher is to instill a sense of care for one's own personage into her student. And Orson's adamant desire to go without sleep is one she doesn't quite approve of, certain that it depletes his body of much-needed energy and comfort. A little worried sympathy wells up, and she touches his shoulder in a fretful, fond way. "Where are we going next, Orson?" she asks, voice much softer now.

Wandering out from the forest comes a figure covered almost entirely in brown. It is Mira, but the brown is not from her cloak she is wearing. She had spent much of her time here on Yavin working on restoring herself to the pre-swoop race comfortable dustiness. However, to look at her, one might think she had overdone it just a tad. Instead of a thin layer of dusty dirt like she had had before, the girl's face and hands are caked in mud. It looks like her attempts to "commune with nature" were a little over zealous. As she steps onto the concrete of the landing pad, she takes a moment to attempt to shake some of the mud and crud off her hands and wipe her face off with the muddy cloak, which really did little other than smear the mud around.

"I've got a meeting, about some cargo," Orson replies, growing serious at Jessalyn's touch. Another nameless person, about another meaningless cargo job, in some nameless dirty dive. From their vantagepoint on top of the small temple buttress, Orson can see most of the landing pad. It is a very still place, only one ship having arrived since they had come a few days ago: the New Republic Passenger Shuttle, exactly thirty minutes after Orson had pushed the 'Shuttle Call' button out of a sense of wonderment. Oken DeImm, the shuttle pilot, was an amiable person and now a new friend, and a small disaster had been scarcely averted.

"Oh, there's Mira," he grunts, eyes falling on her. He lifts an arm, waving, and then starts down. "C'mon."

"Ah," Jessa murmurs, brow wrinkling again. It seems important to be hauling cargo now, for some reason she can't quite put her finger on. Her own sleep has been restless lately, some sense of urgency starting to invade her unconscious emotions. But it seems to have no focused source, and most of the time she forgets about it entirely. "Where exactly this time?"

But Jessa's thoughts are cut off as Mira appears, and Orson starts down the steps after her. Something akin to a maternal instinct instantly shifts towards Mira as Jessalyn stares in the girl's direction, mouth agape. This was truly amazing, even for the unkempt girl. Simon had taken Mira into his care, but he apparently had done little in trying to bring the girl into some sense of herself and... reality. And now that Simon is gone -- well, Jessa feels some responsibility for the girl's well-being. So it's hard to ignore the state she is in, and she stammers for words, shaking her head. "Orson, she has so much potential. Do you think she would let us... help her?" She keeps her voice pitched low so that the girl won't overhear as they draw closer.

There is some shuffling as the door to the Uwanna opens and Drew spills out. Sorta. She seems to have missed a step at some point and stumbles a little down the loading ramp. The limp is still there, to a small degree, but she doesn't look all that bad at all. She blinks a little and looks around herself. Where are the Jedi?

Mira concludes the complicated ritual of dusting herself off. Or, more appropriately, mudding herself off. She has managed to slough a good deal of the mud off her clothes, leaving a brown spot behind on the landing pad where she was standing. Having finished that task, her gaze turns towards the Uwannabuyim, as if looking for someone. She notes Drew coming down the landing pad before she turns to look at the steps of the temple, finding Orson and Jessalyn coming down towards her, as if she knew they would be there. Under the mud on her face, a somewhat unsettled expression seems to have settled and, quirking her mouth to one side, she begins to walk towards a point somewhere between Orson and Jessalyn coming down the stairs and Drew by the ship.

"And Drew too," Orson considers, accidentally waving his hand at precisely the same moment as Drew thinks her question. It's not as if there hasn't been one strange coincidence after another during the past few months, so this strange coincidence of timing would seem an appropriate way to start off this day. "I don't know," Orson asides to Jessalyn as the group of four begins to be drawn into a plug of people. He sees helping Mira as something akin to tackling her, holding her down, and having Jessalyn mercilessly spray her off with some outdoor irrigation equipment. "You can, perhaps." Orson doubts his own ability to connect well with the strange young woman, though she was animated and conversational enough when they discussed her and Simon on Caspar... it's too late for additional musings as they are all far too close together. "Hello all," the mechanic greets, scuffing his boots against the landing pad as he comes to a stop.

Letting the subject drop as they draw near the others, Jessalyn slips quietly over to the ramp, plucking out two of the newly-picked roses from their container beneath the shadow of the ship, and then graciously presents one to each of the other women. "Good morning, you two. Aren't these pretty?" she says with a wide grin. "I planted them myself a long time ago."

Drew pulls away some stray hair from her face to reveal two very sleepy eyes. Mmmmm..../sleep/. She calls back to Orson as she steps over to them, both gruff and goodnatured at the same time, "G'morning, cap'n 'n crew." She beams Jessalyn a contented, bright, morning grin when she hands her the rose. "It's lovely."

"Hi," is all Mira says in response as she accepts the flower from Jessalyn, distracted with the task of trying to rub her still sleepy eyes with her muddy hand. When she had gone to bed the night before in a lovely pile of dirt, she hadn't expected it to RAIN on her. Rain. In a rain forest. How unresonable. Upon waking up she found herself more muddy than pleasantly dusty and while this wasn't an entirely awful thing, she was rather cold and wet. That, combined with the curious dreams she had had, left Mira feeling rather unrested. Somehow, Mira remembers to grip the stem of the rose, taking care to not stick herself on the thorns. While she liked the flower, somewhere in the back of her mind she couldn't stop thinking that Jessalyn was going to try and make her smell like flowers again, like before they went to Nar Shaddaa. It made her wary.

"Everyone's had a nice visit," Orson says carefully, declaring and asking (but not really) in the same voice. "But I've got some business to take care of soon, in a few days, with a trip to Corellia and then a space transfer. It'll be boring, so get your fill of fresh air." Like a father trying to excite his kids for something unpleasant, Orson lowers himself and offers in a conspiratorial tone. "After that, we can go to someplace you all would like? More time on Corellia? Shopping on Bespin?" For a few moments Jessalyn grins at the others, especially when Orson begins his appeasement. "We need to go surfing on Corellia, at least," she chimes in, tapping at her lip as if deep in thought on the question, eyes lifting up towards the sky...

The sun is a white blur now over the treeline, brightening the sky into a blinding aura that seems to take her breath away. Unbidden, the Force swirls up in her mind, and something unseen makes her totter on her feet. With a gasp, she reaches out for something to catch herself, blinking rapidly. Whatever it was had flickered in her consciousness and then departed so quickly that barely any time seems to pass, and yet she can recall every vivid detail, as if the vision were stamped indelibly in her mind. She blinks, again, wondering if she was the only one touched, looking between the others and fighting off some embarrassment.

Drew shifts a bit - gingerly - on her bad leg. (No worries! It is not so bad anymore!) Stretching her arms over her head a bit she grins at Orson. "The beach," she says hopefully. Her arms lower again and she raises the rose to her nose, sniffing. The sniffing turns into a surprised, soft snort when Jessalyn grips her arm, the closest thing to her. She reaches out her other arm to grab hold of the Jedi, eyebrows shooting up. She has no way to sense the Force, so she has no idea what has brought this on. "Jessa, you alright?"

Mira begins picking the thorns carefully of the rose, trying not to impale herself on one as Orson speaks. The slight look of discomfort shifts to a grimace as he announces their boring trip aboard the Uwannabuyim. She hated ship rides. She was even beginning to dislike Corellia. Every time they went there something horribly disruptive happened, be it the departure of Simon, or the waking of Jessalyn, or the...departure of Simon again. But at the sudden flash of the Force around Jessalyn, the girl forgets her problems with her home planet and blinks, suddenly feeling that she hadn't been the only one with unsettling dreams bothering her. "You too?" Mira blurts out before she even realizes she is asking it.

"The beach it is," Orson decides quickly, needing very little encouragement in this area. The only thing left to decide would be where exactly. Corellia was crowded, and the waves were average. Calamari was off limits since he was, hmm, wanted by the Empire. That left... Jessalyn. He cups a hand around the woman's back, though Drew's is already there. Some sort of convulsion or mental spasm perhaps, but Mira's comment brings everything into focus. "A vision?" Orson asks, gray eyes intense as he looks over Jessalyn's shoulder at the dirty girl. "Jessalyn?" He steps carefully around in front of her, searching the woman's face. "What was it?" Touching her fingertips to her temple, Jessa nods her head slowly, looking at each of them in turn as her little episode seems to have drawn some attention. "Yes," she answers simply, her green eyes clouded with confusion. "It's the same one that's been waking me up, I think." She pats at Drew's arm before releasing it, fixing her gaze next on Mira. "You've seen it, too?" She fights off a shiver that races down her spine, wondering now if Orson has been affected, and meeting his worried look at last. "The Force... it was in space... there was a golden ship," she tries to explain, aware Drew must think she is completely out of her mind.

Drew gave up wondering whether or not they were out of their minds quite a while ago. Nevermind that. She steps away from the assembled Jedi, tucking her hands in her pockets. She listens, quietly, but doesn't say a word. Hmm....hrm...Is that an odd bug on her shoe?

"This morning," Orson explains quietly, turning from Jessalyn to Mira, and then to Drew. He's speaking to Drew now, or at least in her direction, contemplating something about the blonde woman but not addressing her. "On the steps to the temple, while I was resting. I thought I was imagining something." Orson has received the mixed blessing of rather frequent visions, but in almost every instance has not recognized or been able to understand what he's seen. This seems different somehow, at least in that the others have seen it too. Not to mention that he dreams of ships fairly regularly. It's hard not to, as often as his hands are in them. Shocked, Jessalyn strengthens the mental bond with Orson, the realization that they have all been experiencing the same thing settling into her brain. "You saw the star system?" she asks him specifically, squinting. "It seems almost familiar to me. It's an old ship, I can almost see it if I think about it. Old Republic-era, I'm sure...." Her fingers rake distractedly through her hair, and she shakes her head. "It's like I'm -supposed- to find it. What could it mean?"

"I didn't get that exact impression," Orson considers from beneath a suddenly heavy brow. "But I was drawn to it, like there was something important. I was going to try and paint it later. I thought it was just... I don't know. Maybe I am supposed to find it." He looks down, at Drew's shoe again, replaying the small bits of what he saw with this new assumption. "Maybe you're right." What an odd mind Orson must have for this to hardly register as supernatural to him. Of course, it's not a extremely typical vision, and certainly possesses more clarity than most of his lesser visions -- daydreams -- but it's nothing to mention right off, either. But with all three of them seeing it, yes, it means something.