RPlog:A Meeting with Fate

Spaceport - Bonadan SouthEast III The cavernous port complex is a maze of corridors, wide passages, shops, stores and every manner of street businessbeing you can imagine, all competeing for the Bonadan travellers' attention. The roar of ship engines causes the thick glass ceilings of some parts to quiver, though most of the beings here pay the sounds no mind, as often as they occur. The advertisements posted here are orderly announcements, and unoffensive, decorating moving kiosk droids and walls. The Espo presence is, as usual, unignorable.

Jessalyn: The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, the expression in her leaf green eyes is one of surprising coherence and calm. Her flaming dark red hair has been cut short so that it frames her face in a haphazard, but somehow appealing, fashion. Her skin is fair, though not as fragile as most redheads', and the sun has given a slightly reddened sheen to her wide cheekbones.

A heavy, black robe is draped over her shoulders, and at times she has the hood pulled up to cover her hair and keep her features somewhat from view. Beneath the robe she is wearing a black variant of the standard Jedi regimentals: a loose, roughly woven black tunic over a similar shirt and pants. The shirt, however, does not have a high, constricting collar, and instead the neckline is scooped low so that a silver necklace and blue-green pendant are more clearly visible against her white throat. Her lightsaber is clipped to the belt at her waist, and her black leather boots are shined to perfection.

Clarise: Lengthy raven hair has been braided into a single plait and wrapped into a bun behind this young human woman's head. Cerulean eyes look out from a fair face. She wears little to no makeup, but with her complexion, it doesn't matter because she holds the natural tones of color in all the right places without it. A black leather catsuit fits this woman's slender and lithe body like a glove. No sleeves restrict her toned arms- the neck of the suit stretches all the way up to the inverted apex of her clavicles, where a single spaghetti strap encircles her neck to hold the top in place. The back of the suit cuts across in a straight line below her shoulder blades, and from there down, she's completely encased in leather, all the way to the thick soled boots on her feet that raise her height to 5'11". A thin utility belt encircles her waist, devoid of any weapons. She carries a matching black leather backpack on her back, on top of the flowing dark cloak she keeps around herself for protetion, fashion, and warmth.

From one of the many trading freighter starcraft landed in the Bonadan port emerges the figure of Clarise, cloak wrapped around her and held there with one hand as the wind rustles roughly through the starport. Her other hand holds the strap of the backpack that's over her right shoulder. The left shoulder strap hasn't been used and dangles around in the breeze.

Altair leans dejectedly against the wall, eyeing the people in the spaceport suspiciously. She looks slightly frustrated and tired, her clothes slightly rumpled, as if they have been slept in.

Partially hidden in deep shadows, a protocol droid stands motionless except for its head, which turns to follow movement, and scans the main thoroughfares from time to time as if watching for something.

Next to Altair stands a figure garbed all in black. Though still wearing her heavy cloak, she has the hood pushed back from her face to reveal disheveled red hair and a fair-complected face. In her hands is a datapad that she scours with careful attention, her brows drawn together in concentration. Her manner is relaxed, however, as she leans back against the wall, balancing herself on a one-footed stance.

The wind picks up as Clarise continues her way across the starport, and it seems to strain her a little to walk against it at times. Her left hand continues to clutch her cloak to keep it closed and the right one keeps tight grip on the backpack. She slows as she nears the ship with people outside of it, and after getting a good look at each within her field of vision, begins to walk that way.

Altair cranes her neck slightly as the ship Clarise stepped otu of slides closed, trying to get a peek inside before ti is too late. She sighs heavily as the woman passes by and glances at Jessalyn, giving her a look saying, "This si useless."

There come quick bootfalls from somewhere on the landing pad, and soon a figure emerges from the crowd, heading against the wind and towards the group by one ratty looking frieghter emblazoned as the Last Chance..Blaze. She seems slightly more alive than she has been the past few days, and that effect is more than just the wind whipping around her short hair. Approaching the two women, Blaze calls out..."Hey! You know there's a whole section of ship berths that we haven't checked yet?" Perhaps she even sounds optimistic, if that's possible on a place like this. She stops a few steps from the two, pushing her hand through her hair, waiting a response from either.

Jessalyn glances over at Altair beside her and smiles slightly, pressing a button on the datapad that makes its glowing green screen go dark. "Patience, we'll find it," she promises the younger girl. Almost on cue, she hears Blaze's voice as she approaches, and she smiles more widely. "See, I told you."

Clarise's wandering walk against the wind and towards the Last Chance brings her up to where Jessalyn (and others nearby) are standing, and she asks that particular redheaded woman, "Excuse me, but do you have the time?"

Altair glances at Blaze, her eyes growing wide with hope. "Really? Where?" she asks, already walking towards the other pilot, a renewed bounce in her step. She stops halfway between Jessalyn and her CO and glances back, wondering what the Jedi is discussing with the other woman.

"Yeah, really..over thata way.." Blaze lifts one of her gloved hands, pointing off to a distance filled with only more and more frieghter ships, almost seeming a sea of them. "A whole 'nother lot.." The pilot's enthusiasm is contagious to the wearied woman, as she almost seems to jump to emphasise her point. "Waaa-ay over there. I was just wandering around..and I think I saw a red ship..Don's shuttle is crimson.." Blaze trails off as she notices the Jedi getting drawn aside, so she falls silent until the other bit of business is done.

Distracted by the question directed at her from seemingly out of nowhere, Jessalyn turns and glances at the stranger. "The time?" She lifts her datapad and punches a button in the lower left corner. "Eighteen hundred hours. I'd say an hour before sunset." Smiling agreeably, she turns to give her attention back to Blaze and her report of good news.

Clarise doesn't let the question end the conversation, and doesn't turn to leave with words of thanks like one might expect. Instead, she watches the woman for a moment and says, "I'm sorry to keep bothering you, but.. have we met before? You seem very familiar."

Jessalyn turns to find herself looking up into the eyes of this dark-haired woman who recognizes her. She runs her fingers back through her own thick, short hair, and squints as she turns to stand at a better angle, where the stranger is no longer backlit from the setting sun. "No, I... I don't recall, I'm afraid," she replies.

Clarise releases the strap of her backpack and puts both hands before her at her waist, together, giving the redhead a curious look, then nods with satisfaction and a bit of a smile, "Oh, I remember. I believe I told your fortune once some time ago, in a system far away from this desolate place."

"My fortune?" Jessa squints even more, trying to remember. It comes slowly, but as the memory clarifies, the tug she feels on her heart is almost visible in her eyes. She nods her head slowly and sets the datapad nearby, giving her full attention to this woman. "I remember that. How can you possibly remember me?" As she folds her arms over her chest, her expression grows calm and serious.

Clarise's head tilts to the side and a sickly sweet smile envelops her lips, "If memory serves, you were dining with a hero of the New Republic before I was honored enough to read your fortune." She glances down in an embarassed way, "It's hard to forget a thing like that."

That painful tug appears to grow worse. Jessa closes her eyes for a full five seconds before she recovers her composure and smiles back, giving a brief nod. "I suppose that would make it noteworthy," she muses as she turns toward the Last Chance. "It's nice to see you again, I hope your travels go well."

"I had to say I was surprised," Clarise begins quickly as she notices Jessalyn's starting to walk away, "Not to see you by his side when I had the honor of his presence again recently. But I suppose that is the way of life for a Jedi Hero like that, always travelling."

The red-haired student of said Hero stops in her tracks, hesitates, then glances back over her shoulder at the strange woman. For an instant something even more deeply painful flashes in her eyes as they take in Clarise's appearance with much more precision. "You saw him?" she says, impressed at the steadiness of her own voice.

Clarise's head nods once or twice with a sweet smile, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort or distraught emotions the whole conversation may be having on the redhead. "Oh, yes, and he let me finish his card reading this time. Such a nice fellow. Was so pleased with his reading that he gave me a token of his appreciation. I've cherished it ever since." Clarise projects with assurance that she believes every word of what she's saying. "It's not often something like that happens to me."

Why would Jessa have a reason to even question? She chews on her lower lip, excitement and curiosity beginning to weigh out disbelief. "When was this? What did he give you?" she asks, taking an uninhibited step forward.

"Three weeks ago?" Clarise conjures up in an unsure manner, as if the time passed really has slipped her mind, "Perhaps a month? Oh, and for the trinket, it wasn't much.. a pin of the New Republic that had come loose from his flight suit during his journey that I fear he never managed to reattach again. I have it with me, if you'd like to see it." She pats at her cloak's pockets and then declares, "Oh, no, that's right, it's with my things back at the place where I'm staying."

That thought brings light to Jessalyn's eyes: a way to verify that this woman is being truthful. "Would you mind if I saw it?" she asks eagerly, her attention fully diverted now. "Did you get to speak to him? Did he tell you where he was going?"

Clarise's head nods aggreably, and turns to face the looming Industrial District. "I'd love to show it to you, I just hope you don't mind.." the woman admits with a bit of embarassment, "The place I'm staying at isn't exactly a palace. It's over this way." She doesn't answer the other questions posed for now, perhaps naively oblivious to their importance to Jessalyn.

It takes a good deal of effort for Jessalyn to hang onto the shreds of her patience. She grits her teeth, sucking in a breath to steady herself as she swivels to face the direction that the other woman is facing. "How far is it?"

"Not far," Clarise begins as she starts to walk in the direction she's looking, "It's the place where my brother works. I've been staying with him. Come, I'll show you."

The Jedi falls in step beside the dark-haired woman, following her into the Industrial District without any hesitation.

Clarise's pace is a little brisk and the conversation is sparse at best, but with the wind and the thick dust that gets swept into the air as the Industrial district nears, it's not surprising or odd. In fact, it would be difficult to do much else. Finally, Clarise comes up to a particular factory and approaches it rather than all the rest, "This one's my brother's, come on inside." She pushes the door open and steps in, holding it with an extended arm for the Jedi to follow.

******* Mechanized Factory (Outside) One of many factories in the Industrial District. Smokestacks billow dark smoke into the atmosphere, signaling the factory is active, but the lack of sentient forms passing in or out would indicate it's a droid-employed operation.

Mechanized Factory (Inside) The factory is immense, with not a sentient being as far as the eye can see. Production lines for various pieces of mining equipment stretch out along the length of the expansive facility on at least four stories from the ground up. Each line is dotted by robotic workers; droids of every make and shape put effort into turning out their product. Blue and orange sparks fly from welding sections, and heavy pounds of hammering come from sections above where gears are flattened. Other sections radiate intense heat or cold where warming or cooling parts for desired effects takes place, and the sound of running water can be heard from the hydroelectric power plant in the center of the building. Catwalks cut across the room on all four levels and above, giving (now non-existant) sentient watchmen a place to spectate or repair broken machinery.

*******

Luckily Jessalyn's robes protect her from some of the dust whipping through the air. Her nose prickles at the scent that seems to linger about every Industrial District on every planet in the galaxy; fumes, toxins, fuels that pollute the air and make it feel gritty to the skin. She wipes at her face with her sleeve as if that would help alleviate the sensation, but finally resigns herself to the environment and follows Clarise's quick pace. She follows the woman to the entrance and steps within, squinting as her eyes adjust to the comparative dimness. "This isn't where you're staying, I hope."

"Not on the workroom floor," Clarise quickly asserts as the Jedi woman enters and the door is allowed to shut, "There are offices over on the far end. My brother's the general manager, and they wouldn't hire anyone to help him, so he made one a place where he can sleep. That's where I've been staying." She raises her hand to point across the musty room towards some point on the far wall, up three quarters of the way as she moves towards one of the staircases and begins to climb it. "This is the quickest way," she explains, motioning to the stairs and the catwalk, "Without running into the sparks or the welding area. That gets pretty hot."

To her credit, Jessa does pause and study the place down to the last detail. She follows each stretch of catwalk, every huge piece of machinery within the vast room, her brows furrowing with concentration. "Thanks," she replies simply, climbing the stairs after her tour guide.

The stairs, all four flights of them, go straight up before reaching the tallest of the catwalks. The path stretches forward straight across the building to a center point, where it opens to a large, circular disc. The flooring there is transparisteel, allowing workers to stand on top and look down upon the work going on below. Consoles border the railing on the perimiter. As Clarise crosses, then nears the far side of the central workstation, she loses her footing and falls down on one knee, her booksack falling around her shoulder to land in front of her. "Be careful, it's slippery," she remarks as she moves to retrieve her backpack in the process of standing up. She doesn't appear to have been hurt in the fall.

The stairs pose no problem for the young Jedi woman. She follows carefully, to be sure, but her footing is certain. "I will," she murmurs, faint excitement starting to stir inside her again as she recalls the purpose of her visit here. A lump rises in her throat, and she swallows it hard.

As Clarise moves to stand, her hand snakes into her backpack and wraps around a familiar object. With the rise in her body comes a turn to face the redheaded Jedi woman, a turn that's surprisingly fast for this otherwise peaceable fortune teller, and the sound of a snap and a hiss accompanied by the glow of blue light would be an indication to even a non-jedi why. Clarise swings the lightsaber at Jessalyn with a broad stroke, hoping the element of surprise will aide her but knowing as with any Jedi, her opponent's reflexes would negate that almost out of hand.

Instincts and training take completely over, and before Jessalyn has even consciously registered what has happened, her own blade is ignited and lifted in a perfect parry of the other woman's initial blow. As the obvious sinks in, her eyes go wide as she looks back at Clarise through the eerie glow of their clashed swords. She reaches out with well-trained senses, seeking knowledge of the woman's nature and purpose.

There's a coldness surrounding Clarise's persona now that was masked earlier under chipper naivety. Her irises sink to a dark steel, even with the brillianttly colored light refracting off the electrically charged blades no less than a foot before them. With a sneer and a growl, she leans against the blades to test the strength of her opponent, then twists to kick sideways towards the Jedi's gut, hoping the move will untangle the two and provide another oppertunity to strike soon after.

The sensation emanating from Clarise now is very familiar to Jessalyn. It's one that she has never forgotten since the first time she felt it. She meets the other's gaze defiantly as they lock swords, but as Clarise growls and twists aside in a powerful kick, Jessa swivels in the opposite direction and beats a hasty retreat along the catwalk, keeping her lightsaber before her in a defensive posture. "Who are you?" she asks, genuinely puzzled.

Clarise recovers from the kick with an exasperated grunt and wastes no time in persuing the woman, shedding her cloak in the process by removing a sleeve, flipping the saber to the other hand, and shedding the other, allowing the cloth to fall discarded to the side in a heap by some consoles on the disc's perimiter. "You'll find out eventually," she goads in a menacing tone as she approaches on a vector that sets her up for another swing, the stretch of focused blue light coming in at an angle with Clarise's shoulder in the motion.

The young Jedi seems frustrated that matters have turned this way. She responds with automatic movements, however, and lifts her blade in a parry of the other woman's attack. "What do you want from me?" She tries asking a different question two seconds before her brows furrow deeply and realization dawns on her. "You don't know where Luke is, do you?" she accuses, anger rising in her voice.

The laughter that bubbles up from deep within Clarise and escapes her throat as the electric static of the blades meeting one another sizzles, and continues to roll along with dark, sinister overtones as the raven haired woman steps back to take a backhanded, lower, downwardly angled swing at Jessalyn's right leg. The mischevious, evil sounds erupting from her lungs are the only response the redheaded Jedi gets.

The sound of Clarise's laughter has an effect on Jessalyn's reactions. A chill creeps along her spine, and she meets her gaze heavily through their shimmering blades. As Clarise steps back, Jessa instinctively leaps up and back, away from the stroke which finds only the hem of her black cloak, singing the cloth. The smell of burned fabric mixes with the fumes in the musty room as Jessa assumes the defensive posture once more.

The catwalk's narrowness provides a stalemate, and Clarise knows it. So long as Jessalyn has the ability to move backwards- or towards the exit- it would make things difficult. The raven haired woman steps back, then adds another, then with a short running leap she flips up with a twist over Jessalyn's head to plant her on the other side in a crouch. Facing the redhead from the moment of impact with the metal flooring, the lightsaber that had been held out safely to the side during the aerial maneuver comes swinging forth again, trying to both catch the Jedi off guard and herd her deeper into the factory's bowels.

With a grunt, Jessa retreats in the way her opponent had intended, backing away from the new onslaught. Her saber flashes each time she meets Clarise's forward strokes, humming as if it were a living thing somehow connected to her own being. Apparently she realizes now that questioning is futile, and her mind instead turns towards a means of escape. She steals a glance away, resisting a long-dead childhood fear of heights, seeking out the nearest exit. Her boots skid on the slippery surface of the catwalk and she finds herself suddenly on one knee, her lightsaber held aloft to defend herself with a single hand.

With a loudly charged crash, Clarise's saber comes down to impact Jessalyn's, the blades of sapphire and aquamarine crackling ferociously as the raven haired woman pushes forward against the crossed blades with a great deal of physical pressure, trying to intimidate the redhead with her aggressiveness and trying to test the limits of her opponent's capabilities. She starts to lean back off the blades but instead of making another swing with the glowing sword, she kicks at the knee the Jedi is supporting herself with from the side. The effort being put into the entire battle can be read across Clarise's face through gritted teeth and an icy look of determination. The anger is just as easily felt as the effort is seen, dripping off the woman's aura like venom from the fangs of a wild animal.

Once again Jessa's bafflement is outweighed by the need for concentration. A flicker of doubt clouds her mind -- is she well-trained enough to survive this? Is she a Jedi Knight yet? -- and, expecting another saber-swipe, she is thrown off when instead Clarise throws out her leg. As the kick catches her behind the knee, Jessalyn gives a yelp of surprise as she finds herself off her feet and flying fast toward the next level of the catwalk system. Her lightsaber falls away from her hand as she tucks her knees and rolls, landing with perfect precision on the catwalk below.

With Jessalyn on the catwalk below and to her left, Clarise retracts her saber, turns, and puts a foot up on the rail to what was previously her right in order to springboard herself in the air out away from the fourth floor catwalk. The same flip and twist maneuver, aided this time by gravity, brings her down to the third level catwalk in a defensive crouch some twelve feet away from the redheaded student of Skywalker. The lightsaber's dark blue blade snakes out again with a crackling hum as Clarise slowly stands, stalking her prey with a gaze of dark steel lit only by the light from her blade before her and the fires of the dark side within.

Skywalker's student watches her opponent land a short distance away, and lifts up her hand. Within seconds her laser sword has flown freely back into her hand, and she grips it with ferocious intent this time. Though still in a defensive posture, she nevertheless leans vigorously forward as she awaits Clarise's approach, not retreating deeper and lower into the dank layers of the factory.

And approach she does. Clarise runs forward and swings down hard, trying to use her momentum and her anger to her advantage with the crashing attack. Between the fight and the warm bursts of air floating up from some of the melting bins below, a light sheen of perspiration dots her hardened brow, adding an additional element to her fiercely determined visage.

The gusts of air are not only hot, they're moist, and Jessalyn feels the effect this combination has on her skin. Sweating beneath the heavy black cloak, she uses the scant seconds before Clarise reaches her to pull it free. It flutters like a ghost through the heavy, fogged air, only to be caught on the railing of the second level catwalk. Oblivious to its descent, Jessalyn meets Clarise's initial offensives with quick, powerful parries of her own, the sweeping arcs of light and flashes of contact all the brighter in the dimly lit, empty chamber.

Clarise continues the onslaught of offensive strikes- high and low, direct and backhanded- with a driving intent, trying to use anger interwoven with physical prowess to push Jessalyn back along the length of the catwalk as the blows are delivered. With each meeting of swords comes an energetic crackle and a bright burst of light, not unlike the flashes of orange and showers of sparks that are occurring down a level and to either side on the production line below.

Moving more freely now without her cloak, Jessalyn deftly meets each strike, matching the anger in Clarise's aura with the pure essence of the Force in her own. Fear and anger are only threats at this moment. Jessalyn's eyes narrow with her concentration, with the deepening connection with the Force that throbs through her very being. She almost smiles as she realizes her own precision in skill, confidence and pride surging in her to add only more strength. She buffets the anger that combats at her senses the same way Clarise's sword batters at her own, at one with her own movements and their instinctive link to the Force.

The more the raven haired woman's attacking blows are met with successful parries by her opponent, the more enraged she grows and the more fierce the strikes against Jessalyn become. Clarise begins to vocalize her bashing assaults with martial arts emphasis on each strike, swiveling and bending at the hip at one point to kick up towards Jessalyn's head.

Through lowered lids Jessalyn peers back at her attacker, barely seeing her with her usual vision. The Force provides her with an image seconds ahead of real time, enabling her to anticipate each move and meet it with an almost unnatural agility. Her arms fly at an impressive speed, blurred in the air as they parry and ward off her attacker with swift strokes of her lightsaber. The more Clarise gives into her anger, the more Jessalyn's resolve firms and she meets her thrust for thrust, almost content, perfectly in tune with the life Force.

It doesn't take long for Clarise to realize the lightsaber isn't going to be the way to win this fight. For someone as highly trained in other specialties as the raven haired woman is, there are always other tricks up the sleeve. After a final slam against a parrying saber that crackles with more energy than any of the others due to the sheer driving power behind the assault and the pureness of the response, Clarise pushes back against the blades and uses the leverage to hop back just out of striking range before her free hand rises up with a flat palm facing Jessalyn. Channeling all of her anger and pent up energy, she sends a powerful shove through the force directed at the redheaded student of Skywalker.

Throwing up a hand is the only way Jessalyn knows to respond to this new kind of attack with such short notice, and it isn't enough. The impact makes her head jerk backward as if she'd been kicked, and sends her flying a good five feet backward. She tumbles, her lightsaber twirling free into the void this time, and comes to the end of the catwalk. Her momentum sends her over the edge, and she latches on furiously to the brink with her hands, dangling wildly above a complex bulk of machinery designed for cooling waste material. Heat and moisture pour from below, making the floor difficult to see, but flashes of sparks illuminate the mist on occasion. Jessalyn looks upward, blood pouring from her nose, but not about to give up her hold.

The blue blade of Valak's lightsaber retracts into the silver hilt in Clarise's right hand, and as the raven haired woman begins to walk with an arrogant saunter down the length of the catwalk to where Jessalyn is clinging, she hooks the weapon back at her waist, clearing feeling she won't be needing it to finish this off. With heavy steps against the metal catwalk floor, Clarise reaches where Jessalyn hangs and paces once past, turns, and paces past again while staring down at the Jedi, a menacing sneer on her lips. Finally, she reaches forward to place her right foot on top of Jessalyn's left hand, pressing against it with the weight of her body, an unnatural glint in her steely eyes, and a twisted curl to her lips.

For just an instant, panic flickers in Jessalyn's eyes when she first feels Clarise's foot press against her knuckles. She grits her teeth against the pain, feeling tears spring to her eyes. But that instant is quickly gone, and her calm, methodical manner returns. She glances quickly at her surroundings, stretching out with the Force to sense things that may not be completely visible from her vantage point. A second or two later, a large, mechanized cutting tool comes flying through the air, aimed directly at the Jedi's opponent with its jagged, rusty blade.

The tingling of hairs on the back of her neck breaks Clarise's arrogant focus on the being down below and snaps her senses into overdrive just in time for her to realize something's coming and drop down flat against the catwalk to avoid being plowed into by the dangerous flying piece of welding equipment. The dangling Jedi redhead is all but forgotten in the split second that avoiding being skewered becomes the main focus of Clarise's existance.

The moment Clarise begins to drop flat, Jessalyn summons the living energy around her and projects herself vertically into the air, somersaulting with athletic precision before alighting directly on Clarise's back. In one motion she kneels, digging her knee into the black-haired woman's spine, and wraps her elbow tight around her throat, applying threatening pressure. "Don't make me break your neck," she pleads, sounding sincere.

Clarise had half a chance to get a hand on the lightsaber at her waist before Jessalyn comes crashing down on her back, but it does her little good while pinned beneath her opponent. The sharp knee to the back and the lock around her neck is not a comfortable position, especially not in the quick succession they're applied under, and with instincts of survival kicking in, Clarise thumbs the lightsaber on with the hilt pointed down into the catwalk surface and drags it from one end of the walk to the other with a swift stroke. The second the saber meets the other end, the sturdy surface both women took for granted bends like hot taffy under their weight and disappears out from under them. Valak's lightsaber retracts into the hilt as Clarise goes tumbling through the air, disengaging from Jessalyn's hold in enough time to land with a thwump on her back on some surface still up two stories in the air. It doesn't escape her that the surface is _moving_ as she looks up and notices the ceiling parading past slowly, and she struggles to regain the breath she lost in the fall and clammer up into a crouch to survey the new terrain- the production line.

As Clarise tumbles downward with the pull of gravity, Jessalyn instead dives forward, using the Force to add height and distance to the jump, and appearing to fly almost horizontal through the air. She impacts powerfully with the clanging iron of a staircase, and nearly twirls around it in her effort to keep hold. The effort pays off. A short distance away, sitting on a plank of the catwalk, she spots her lightsaber and calls it with a thought into her palm. The next thing she spots is Clarise some thirty meters away on a lower level, moving on a conveyor built through the misty, hot room.

In the last fourty eight hours, Clarise had been attacked with knives, shot, bitten at, knocked around, berated and slandered, and some freak had nearly vomited on her. Now this little brat of Skywalker's going to play hero and be difficult. With a grimaced expression wraught by the aching protest of her sore muscles and joints, Clarise stands with extinguished lightsaber in hand and hops off of the production line to a sidewalk path connected to it, meant for maintenance but useful now for other purposes. Blazing eyes of steel scout for the redheaded Jedi, and spotting her a level up, she dips her hand into her utility belt pouch to produce several spiked metal objects- a half dozen in total. Reaching back, she throws them forward with a projected force, aiding them through the Force to gain speed and stay true to their trajectory in a spread pattern at Jessalyn.

The small spheres look menacing enough with their jagged edges as they come streaking dead on toward Jessalyn. She frowns, gesturing with one hand palm out as she deflects them with an invisible barrier. The result is not what she expected. Small explosions rock the air and ignite an orange-red fireball that feeds on the noxious fumes in the atmosphere. Three of the spheres bullet forward and slam into the staircase Jessa clings to one-handed. Her heart pounding as her senses and her adrenaline level respond to the attack. In an instant she pulls up her knees, extinguishes her saber, and rolls forward into the air, spinning rapidly downward to land on the conveyor belt thirty meters away from the Dark Side's servant.

Clarise has the luxury of being on the sideward edge of the production platform, which means her footing is stable, while Jessalyn is being carried towards her slowly by the mechanics of the conveyor belt. With a dramatic flair, her left hand points to a few loose droid components scattered along the tract and then to Jessalyn, each in turn jolting alive and flying through the air in the direction of Skywalker's student. All the while, Clarise watches with a stern gaze of concentration and anger, a cold sheen over her features that even the moist warmth of the room can't seem to melt.

The blue-green blade of Jessalyn's lightsaber flares to life to defend her from the flying droid parts. They spark and fly away from her into the fog, the room filling with the sound of her sword slashing the air and clashing with metal parts. Her breath comes more heavily now, sweat and blood trickling down her face, her hair damp and lank against her head and neck. She takes advantage of the forward movement of the conveyor belt and races in the same direction at lightning speed, bringing her weight and her purity of conviction to bear in the blow intended for her attacker.

Valak's lightsaber beams forth into existance once again as Jessalyn begins her sprint in her direction, and Clarise tries to impede her progress by bringing the blade down sharply on the conveyor belt itself. The oscilating thrum of the lightsaber crackles as it tears through a good chunk of the conveyor's surface sheet, and even rips down into a few of the turning wheels beneath. A horrible groaning noise begins to escape from the mechanisms working the belt as parts begin to clog gears and the conveyor sheet becomes entangled around inner mechanisms, wrenching the entire platform with an unsettling instability.

The belt that Jessalyn stands upon begins to buckle, and so do her knees. She leans forward, arms thrown out to balance herself. She breathes a sigh of relief as she keeps from lurching off the platform into hell-know-what below, but then catches herself and frantically searches for Clarise with her eyes to make certain no new tricks have been inserted into play. In that moment, screeching metallic sound whines through the air as gears grind together beneath Jessalyn's feet, exposing the powerful rollers beneath the belt. Her foot drops perhaps six inches below the surface to be caught in the mechanism, and her body pinwheels forward through the air, her saber-hand catching against the railing and knocking her weapon loose yet again. Her body jerks as her caught foot keeps inertia from pulling her downard. She swings, inverted, freely in the air, too dazed to react.

This would be a perfect time for Clarise to strike, except for one little detail: the wrenching gears have knocked loose several of the droids working on the production line, and one of them has smacked clean into the support beam for the sidewalk she's currently standing on. Given little other option, she has to abandon her post, an inhuman leap grants her a gymnastic avenue towards the parallel second level catwalk that has yet to be marred by combat. Landing with a sound thwump of heavy boots against a solid metal foundation, she paces back and forth along the length, staring vengefully at the redheaded jedi that's strung up like a dead carcass in a meat locker, waiting with impatience for her to be wrenched to pieces by the machinery or fall to her death.

Dangling freely by one foot, Jessa takes a moment to gather her senses back together. She twists herself upward, trying to grab her snagged foot and pull it loose. The machinery occasionally wrenches, gears grinding together as the engine continues to churn the process forward. She grunts with the effort, straining to free herself and ignoring the impatient pacing of the treacherous woman above her.

Impatience is only a virtue if you've been raised under the tutiledge of the most powerful Dark Jedi the galaxy has ever seen, and impatience is a quality Clarise holds an abundance of at the moment. As she grows sick of waiting for nature to take it's course, she takes focus and points to one of the large worker droids on the sidelines and then to Jessalyn's current location, continuing to pace with eyes locked on her target as the heavy mechanical being goes flying through the air.

Jessalyn's reflexes are slowed from pain and exhaustion. Even as she waves her hand in a deft gesture, she knows her power isn't enough. The deflection does little more than slightly slow down the power droid's ascent toward her, and Jessa tucks herself into a ball, trying to shield herself from the impact that ultimately frees her from her trap, wrenching her leg to the breaking point in the process, and sends her falling deep into the fog that obscures the floor of the chamber.

The sound of metal impacting metal with force brings a twisted smirk of enjoyment to Clarise's lips, and her pace breaks free of the small length of the catwalk she'd practically walked a rut in to take her down to a spot that provides her easy access to an open portion of the factory floor that's both visible and clear of worker droids and debris. Swinging herself over the railing, she sails easily down to the floor and lands with a crouch that she's slow to stand from due to impending exhaustion, but rise she does, crossing the length of the factory with a watchful eye and accompanying sweep of senses both out looking for Skywalker's redheaded student.

She is so relieved to be free of the trap above, Jessalyn barely cares about her broken leg. For the moment she's pinned beneath the hunk of machinery that landed on top of her after their freefall, and though she would easily be able to free herself, she senses the advantage of being quiet and hidden in the position she's in, so she merely waits, prepared to act as soon as the moment should arrive.

With the haze of heat, smoke from welding and the steam from cooling parts, the atmosphere in the factory makes it difficult to see much of anything. Clarise shields her face with a raised left arm to protect her from a shower of warm sparks that erupts from a normal everyday production event occurring nearby and stretches out with her sixth sense to try and get a pinpoint on the redheaded Jedi. Her silent stalk winds her around and through several dead zones where only mechanics exist, though something tweaks at her senses over to her left, and that way she does eventually turn with a quietly creeping gait.

Skywalker's student is prepared for the move. She waits, silent, aware of the slow but eager approach of her foe. When she is close enough, Jessalyn shoves the heavy droid off herself and toward Clarise, using the Force to add to the strength of the toss. She leaps upward, landing carefully on the good one and keeping the broken one tucked beneath her.

Clarise's senses don't project very far when she's exhausted, and don't define things very well when she's both exhausted and focusing on one particular thing above all else. That, coupled with the misty haze of the factory floor, isn't condusive to good health when the droid comes flying through the air at her. She senses something on the move in her direction, but doesn't move fast enough for the enormous hung of metal that comes whizzing through the air and while she misses the brunt of its torso from impacting her body, the extended arm catches her with a blow that knocks the wind out of her and sends her backwards. Luckily, she falls away from the droid and isn't subject to it falling on her like it did her opponent, and instead only goes sprawling out on the ground in a tumble. When she stops rolling, she finds herself laying face down in a heap on the permacrete floor working hard just to suck in a breath, but once the effects of having the wind knocked out of her begin to fade, the anger in her starts to boil her blood, and one arm, then another raise her upper body up off the ground, followed by two knees coming up to put her in a crouch, and finally she stands fully erect with a strong posture and a taste for revenge she seems intent on quenching. She stands there for a moment, a sihlouette within a cloud against a dark background, drawing up all her strength and summoning all of her inner fury to guide her through these last few steps of the endless dance.

Weaponless and injured, Jessalyn can do little more than stand her ground at this point. Her eyes are calm in her face streaked with sweat, grease, and blood, and she meets Clarise's gaze defiantly. It's a similar expression worn by other Jedi Knights whose dying thoughts were, 'Striking me down only makes me more powerful.' She stands alert and ready, her hands defensively held before her as she balances on one foot.

With a fierce snarl and a determined sneer, Clarise decides her next move and acts on it with a certainty. Her left hand reaches out, her fist closes, and with her mind wrapped around Jessalyn's good ankle, she yanks hard towards herself while stalking with heavy footsteps in the woman's direction.

The world seems to turn upside down as Jessalyn falls flat on her back with a painful thud, her leg having been invisibly kicked from beneath her. She gasps, the wind knocked out of her, and tries to still her spinning vision. Her mind is still sharp, though, and within it she fights back painful images and memories, the dreams yet unfulfilled, aware of the woman's approach which will surely mean her end.

The steps Clarise takes are painstakingly slow, and heavy enough to where they can be heard even above the din of the factory as she gets near. Two steps out from the broken form of the woman on the ground, the raven haired woman sneers down with irritation and disgust before delivering a sharp kick to the broken leg.

Jessalyn digs her fingers into the ground, moaning with pain and doubling over into the fetal position. She gasps, clutching at her broken leg and finally averting her eyes so that she no longer meets Clarise's cold, sneering gaze.

The ice frosting the tone that ensues makes the voids of space seem warm by comparion, and the sneer that plays over Clarise's expression never changes as she hisses out a poisonous, "I trust you'll be better behaved for Lord Valak, he's far less forgiving than I am." With that, she grips with an invisible hand around Jessalyn's throat and squeezes as she lifts the woman's upper body up a few inches from the concrete using it as an anchor, all before pushing her back to the ground hard.

To her credit, Jessalyn never lets her fear show, even when Clarise lifts her by the throat so that they are face to face once more. She tries to pry loose the invisible fingers from her throat, but before she has any success, her head is slammed into the hard permacrete floor with an unnerving crack. Her eyes roll back, close, and her slender, black-garbed body goes limp.

It takes a few minutes for Clarise to stop staring down cruelly at the limp body at her feet. When she does, her eyes avert skyward towards the circular disc four stories up, and closing her eyes with an outstretched hand, she commands her cloak to her. The fluttering piece of cloth travels through the air and comes to rest in Clarise's fist. It's taken, inspected, shaken out, and donned. The raven haired woman's eyes go skyward once more and locate the second cloak hanging off a catwalk's edge; another yank in the Force summons that one as well. Clarise kneels and wraps the broken body of Skywalker's student in the Jedi garb.