RPlog:Eva Sargent

Enterprise Tower - Main Lobby

No expense has been spared on the vast FLS corporate office lobby. There are wide open spaces with massive holovids hanging from the ceiling that show exotic places throughout the Galaxy. Plush couches are placed strategically about the room. Embedded in the flat, black floor of the lobby is the large corporate _emblem_ of FLS. Several computer terminals, including one to the left of the entrance, show the latest galaxy wide stock exchange prices. To the right of the entrance are several terminals showing a listing of FLS passenger flights throughout the galaxy. Hanging just above the entrance to the turbolift is a large flag depicting the Caspian Vector Apex logo. Beings come and go in this place quite a lot. There's even a _directory_ located near the turbolift.

The Players:

Pallando A human looking figure is before you. He seems in his early twenties of average build and roughly 1.9 meters tall. His sar spots, the mark of a Sarian near human, march upon his olive skin from his scalp, down his temples, under his chin and beyond. Upon his throat is the tattoo of a golden point of light with halo around it as if it is a golden shinning star His conservatively cut light brown hair sets off his hazel eyes that sparkle when not intently focused on some task. He is wearing a form-fitting white T-shirt covered by a thin teal button-up, translucent over shirt, though it is not buttoned and a pair of tan khaki shorts.

Jessalyn The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'. She is relatively tall for a human woman, with long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills. She is wearing a loose, cream-colored tunic made out of some light material, scooping low beneath her startlingly white throat and showing off a thin silver chain set with a rough-hewn but shiny blue-green stone that rests just below her collarbone. The tunic is belted at her narrow waist and the full sleeves end just above her pale slender wrists. She wears a pair of tight, dark brown pants tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs.

Orson Too short, not handsome, and a little too old. What's lacking in looks has to be made up for with something strong on the inside: determination and persistence, a certain grit evident in the look sent by his slate gray eyes. Lines around this human male's mouth and eyes tell of hard days and decisions in his past, each one a new crease in an otherwise young man's face. He is smaller framed, though quite stout with a barrel chest and strong shoulders. Still, he's not overly muscled, simply in good physical shape. Dark hair is kept in a simple style but is more often than not in a disheveled state. A few lonely gray hairs touch his temples. He might be around forty standard years old. He has a larger nose, on a round-shaped, bold face that is quick with a grin but usually caught up in a shade of thoughtful. He is wearing neutral gray trousers, made of a thick fabric, only remarkable in that they represent hylomorphic "pants". A simple but heavy jacket, made of similar but darker cloth, hangs on his shoulders. Where it parts in front, a form-fitting white shirt with straight stripes shows itself. Dark boots round out the wardrobe. Despite its simplicity and economy, every garment is clean and well-kept. Even if unassuming, details are important to this man.

Sargent This person's human frame is skinny and compact. The body has a vertical extent of no more than 1.5 meters and can't weigh more than 90 pounds. At first glance, the pubescent build might suggest a boy in his mid teens. But beneath strong, almost stern, eyebrows are expressive deep brown eyes that betray this person as a female in her very early 20's. The eyes redeem a not immediately attractive face with ears that stick out conspicuously. An orderly constellation of thin black barrettes holds the waves of her growing out brown hair. The hair has gold highlights wherever it can catch the light. Over a simple high-neck dark brown blouse, she wears a classy, efficient light brown suit that might have been custom tailored for the petite woman, but now fits a little loosely on her frame. The suit jacket has no lapels, producing a sleek line from her shoulders to the front crease in her pants. Her black shoes are made of a suede-like material and have short heels that make her stand a little taller than her diminutive stature.

Ernie was pretty sure it was a topic that had not come up and at this point was not sure how to do it so was happy to slip it in to the converstaion not wanting to keep such a thing from Sargent if they were all to be spending time together. "Yeah and either it will be a blessing for them or it will not."

Sargent stands with Pallando a few paces away from the turbolift. Datapads in hand, it has all the appearance of a conversation between two professional people in the hallway. "I hope there is no pressure or high expectations. We're just introducing them. There is nothing beyond that that we can really do, anyway. It's not our business."

Pallando nods in total abject agreement, "Defeintly I mean if it seems like we are meddling or pushing even if udner other circumstances it woudl have become something it surely wont. Just 4 friends getting together to relax and socialize." He looks at the pads, "Well anyway we are back. I've left her a note to call me when she wakes up. I know she is too timid to get to Crag's end on her own. This week is looking busy too hopefuly she wont need entertained all the time."

Two figures enter the corporate lobby of FLS, one with distinctive, flaming red hair and a lanky, feminine build, about the same height as the broader, older man who walks alongside her. Jessalyn Valios pauses by the information terminal, eyes drifting over the display screens and the employees carrying out their daily duties. She gives the man beside her a curious look, letting him do the guiding since he knows who it is they're looking for. "She's expecting us, right?" the Jedi asks her apprentice.

"Sort of," Orson Tighe murmurs, just giving the directory a check glance. He's been here before, and assumes he remembers the level her office was on. "I guess she's here." With more uncertainty in his voice than Jessalyn might like, Orson continues in along the hallway, adjusting his understated clothing. That he should have dressed up a bit is the unspoken thought on his mind. "This way, I think," he says quietly, pointing them deeper into the complex.

This is starting to feel like plotting a hyperspace jump while blindfolded. Does Sargent really know what she's getting into here? The way they're talking about what /not/ to do makes this all seem so bloddy complicated. She glances at her dtapads also, trying to think of what to say next. "I'll see if I can come up with anything, if she gets bored." It's only the responsibility of a hostess, right?

Pallando leans forward again ot kiss her forehead, "Thanks and I'll try to get out form udner as much stuff as I can. MAybe if we all ran off to Mon Cal or checked out the Nar Shaddaa track my CSA list of things to do might just get lost in trnasit." He chuckles. "I'll see you tonight, you can come to dinner at the mansion right?" He takes a few steps as if in process of leaving.

As they draw closer to the turbolift, Jessalyn gives her companion a gentle nudge with her elbow, her eyes then drifting meaningfully toward the man and woman standing not far off. Something familiar tickles at the back of her mind, having to do with what Orson had already told her, and she frowns softly. The question she wants to ask him goes unspoken, verbally at least.

You sent through the Force to Orson... Jessalyn seems suddenly uneasy. "That's her, isn't it?"

Orson's shoes click quietly along as he moves across the flat black floor. Standing at the apex of the large FLS emblem in the floor, Orson is nudged and finds his attention directed to Sargent and Pallando. "Yes," he replies quietly to Jessalyn. With a deep breath, he dives forward and puts on a more pleasant face. "Ms. Sargent?" he calls out happily, waving a hand and still a moderate distance away. Click click goes the floor as he approaches.

Sargent smirks. At Ernie's chuckle? At the second kiss to her forehead in less than 10 minutes? /Pleeease/ get lost in the transit, she thinks quietly. The less the CSA is occupying his brain cycles, the better. "Yes. I will be there. See you tonight," she confirms to his departing form. Her posture is impeccable, the thoughs already returning to her tasks for this afternoon. Watcdhing Pallando leave, her eyes sweep the lobby just as Orson asks her name. Her stomach tightens against the possibility of a change in plans. Her showtime smile goes on. "Mr. Tighe. Welcome back to Caspar."

Pallando gives a final nod to Sargent as he turns in continuation of his exit that takes him past the pair that call the COO's name. He gives them a quick summary glance categorizing them in his mind immdeiatly as some FLS onging passenger matter and nothing that is of his concern. He passes by and out.

Orson's gaze meets Pallando's squarely as he passes, his own mind practically whirling. That Pallando ignored his presence could mean a variety of things, since he had met him twice before. All in all, it gives Orson the feeling that some secret business has just been conducted. These sorts of things are useful to remember, at the very least, whether Pallando's presence here was clandestine or not. "Thank you," Orson replies, clicking to a stop near Sargent. His showtime voice is slightly less polished than Sargent's, and remarkably less sincere than the last time he used it on her, here in this building. "I'm happy to have run into you." Orson gives Jessalyn an askance look, and continues. "I thought, if you had a moment or two, you would see me and we could discuss some business. I've brought an associate with me." After considering the word a moment, Orson decides: "She's a ... specialist. Jessalyn Valios. Eva Sargent."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Jessalyn says warmly. "From what Orson has told me, I think we'll be able to help you." Whatever it is she's going to help her with remains unspoken. The redhead extends her hand, offering Sargent a pleasant smile as she's introduced. "If this is a bad time, we can come back...."

Sargent watches her schedule get shoved out the nearest airlock with Orson's coice of words. Business, eh? That could mean almost anything, from subtle plottings for Allied Trans to begin cutting into FLS' market, to deals of a more unusual and desperate nature. But she is certain of one thing: that whatever this man was plotting inside that skull of his would not go away if she ignored it. She glances politely at Jessalyn. This woman's specialty is unknown to Sargent, but she can easily imagine there is a lot more than what lies on the surface of Jessalyn's demeanor. Some unknowns become more known with the mention of help. Her gaze flits between them both. "I see," she replies seriously. "Would my office suffice?"

Orson leans forward, as if to encourage the group forward. "I think that would be perfect," the mechanic says, waving her on. He falls quiet, allowing Sargent to lead them through the complex. Hands clasped behind his back, Orson appears relaxed and thoughtful. While not brooding, he is pensive, and attempts to avoid turning his new abilities toward Sargent's tangled mass of mind. "I saw Toryn," he says quietly. "He seems to be doing very well these days."

On cue, Jessalyn follows behind Orson and Sargent as they lead the way back to the other woman's office. She, too, tries to restrain her curiosity about Sargent's dilemma, and instead focuses on letting the Force fill her, aware of how difficult this particular task might be, and privately dreading it. She simply offers an agreeable nod of her head, choosing to wait until they are safely behind closed doors to begin any explanations of who exactly she really is.

*****

Enterprise Tower - Executive Suites

A small but adequately furnished waiting area. There is a desk situated in the middle of the room where a young and beautiful female Sarian sits answering the Holonet and other such duties. On the back wall a large flag hangs from the ceiling. It's black with a red hexagon in the center of it. In a slanted font the letters FLS are emblazoned in yellow across the hexagon. Plush couches and chairs line the walls and stop just before the immaculate doors blocking entrance into the CEO's and COO's offices. There are four large guards standing to either side of each chief officer's door. They stand motionless and unmoving, unless someone attempts to enter without permission.

"That's nice," Sargent covers with a smile while her memory flits back to that first awkward day she met Orson. She opens the leads them into the lift and selects the proper floor. "Someone is taking care of him, I assume?" She knows that making assumptions is not the right thing to do in every situation, but if she's going to do something stupid, she might as well make 100% effort. She stays careful to give both of them their personal space. "We're here," she announces when the lift comes to a stop. Leading the way past the receptionist, she does a quick aside. "Please hold all my calls for the next few hours."

"I think he's taking care of himself, mostly," Orson replies quietly, moving through the tower without too much enthusiasm. "But he's earning his keep on Pride-1 well enough. Helping on a crew and that sort of thing." With a vague wave of his hand, Orson explains 'that sort of thing' to mean that he's not really sure what the horansi is doing to earn his keep. He moves to the side and perches on a chair at the appropriate moment, scanning the room. "This is nice," he smalltalks in an almost inaudible voice. "How are things going for you?"

Entering the office, Jessalyn does a quick scan of the pleasant room before finding another empty chair and sinking into it, sitting perched on the edge with a very straight spine as she folds her hands on her knee. Not knowing how to broach the subject of their appearance here, she draws a slow breath and glances at Orson, letting him ease them into the conversation. "It's been a long time since I've visited Caspar. Last time I was here it was unbearably cold and icy," she says with a quiet chuckle, giving her full attention back to Eva Sargent.

Sargent moves to behind her desk. Better to keep this professional. Investigating what she's getting into before she leaps. "It's summer now." She mentally kicks herself, remembering the rest of her manners. "It's nice to meet you," She adds to Jessalyn. Oy. She's getting rusty. There is a little pause while she takes her own seat behind her desk. Her hands are folded on the desktop, and her whole body continues the businesslike theme. To Orson, she replies, "I've been busy." What would expect her to say, that she just got promoted closer to the top of this organization, in a better position for him to try to some weasling on behalf of Allied Trans?

Soon, it will be clear to Sargent that Allied Trans has nothing to do with this. Her own mental health and strangeness is the topic today, and the more significant interest to the broad-shouldered man. His own new abilities pale beside that of his associate, but there -is- the matter of the Force here. Stasus and the cube, as well as Orson's suspicion that Sargent is either a dangerous person or an unfortunate victim. Allied Trans, ha! That he thinks this way suddenly unsettles Orson -- he's just realized that he's set all this up, brought Jessalyn all this way, on the basis of some moral principle.

"Busy is good," Orson replies mindlessly. "I've been fairly busy myself. Ms. Sargent, in our last meeting, you asked me to help you find Cort Stasus." The first indication that the woman was a little strange, he recalls. "I haven't actively pursued that, to be honest. Because I want to explore an alternate course of action with you." He leans forward and clasps his hands together, unblinking gray eyes staring hard at her face.

The woman doesn't seem to have any real idea why they are there, and Jessalyn steels herself, letting her connection to the Force coalesce around Orson and Sargent both in a calming technique she learned long ago. Her voice has a similar soothing quality, lilting and modulated, when she finally speaks. "Orson and I aren't here on business," she says. "We're here to help you. We believe you've been affected by your contact with the Sithlord. I'm a Jedi, you see, and I can try to undo what was done to you."

Sargent keeps telling herself over and over that she can handle this, that she can take care of herself. Orson seems to be the one doing initiating conversation here, so she keeps her gaze directed at him. With the mention of Cort Stasus, he's got her attention. She makes her eyebrows twitch with curiosity. It's a fight to keep a frown of disappointment coming onto her face. Her gaze is still fixed on Orson, brown eyes like glistening crystals. Courteously, she swings that gaze to pay attention to the speaking Jessalyn. Her breath stops as key words stand out. Help. Sith. Done. Breathe... She has to remember to breathe while figuring this all out. Her eyes lose some of their edge, fully realizing how vulnerabvle she can become as more people are brought into this. Her slightly downcast eyes brush Orson. "I see..." She echoes. "And then to Jessalyn again, "What do you think was done to me?" she asks as if she is getting an academic opinion.

Orson brings his clasped hands up beneath his chin, resting his head on them. From the edge of one of the black-canvas covered chairs, he sways lightly. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure she was a victim, in the beginning. She didn't really fit the profile of a Sith lord, but there was this behavior and the strange feeling she gave him ... it was clear now something had happened to her though, and he blinks a few times, repeatedly, looking gently with those other eyes. "There are things they can do," the mechanic drones quietly, distantly feeling himself losing his balance on that black canvas-covered chair. "To make you forget things, or believe things that didn't happen, or see things in a different way. Jessalyn can help," he says. "...give you clarity."

"I can't really know for certain without looking into you," Jessalyn says, compassion in her voice as she leans forward and places one hand on the desk across from which Sargent sits. "It won't be easy. You would have to relive the experience, and let me try to remove the suggestions he may have planted in your mind. But, when it's over, you'll be yourself again. Those demons will be gone." She swallows, suddenly uncertain of her ability to achieve the intended results, especially when Cort Stasus' seems to be this enigmatic, powerful figure who draws people to him like lambs to the slaughter. "You're friends with Luke Skywalker, isn't that right? He trained me to be a Jedi. I hope you can trust me like you would trust him."

Listening to Orson isn't helping Sargent feel any more optomistic about this whole thing. She is perfectly capable of fiddling with her perception of reality on her own, thankyouverymuch, she thinks wryly. Her eyes wander back over to Jessalyn, carrying just a pinch of tired hope that in the redhead's expression, she'll find assurance that things aren't as dubious as Orson would make them out to be. For a minute, she almost finds it, until... demons. She swallows, and the strain in her esophagus spreads into her eyes. What makes this woman think she's an expert on demons? "I wouldn't say friends," she begins carefully, dubiously. "We may have almost been called colleagues once, but that's as much contact as I had with him. I'll need to think about this."

Orson sends through the Force... "Should she be encouraged further?" The emphasis on that particular thought -- encouraged -- would make it clear that he's planning to go to whatever lengths are necessary. "She needs help."

You sent through the Force to Orson... Conflicted, Jessalyn finally gives a mental sigh. "We should try to persuade her... but in the end, it's her choice, Orson. We cannot force her."

The folds of skin tighten around Orson's eyes, the gray there turning flinty. "Think about it?" he asks directly, voice still quiet. He nods at something. "The deaths that happened, that you don't really recall? Searching for the cube, and Cort Stasus? You've been bound, Ms. Sargent," Orson declares, standing and taking two steps over to her desk, putting his hands on the edge of the fancy wood. He leans over to her, words building in his chest. Just a whisper, as if he's sharing a secret encouragement with the woman: "Be free." There's a deep sincerity in his voice, and despite his lack of eloquence, he projects a certain amount of confidence and gentle authority.

Orson sends through the Force... Orson seems uncomfortable with the fine lines which surround the pair of well-meaning Force users. "Very well..."

At first Jessalyn is dismayed by her apprentice's words, and she stands hastily, clenching her hands at her sides. But his honesty finally stops her, and she gives him a fond, curious look. "Orson is right. It's not fair for you to be forced to live under the Sith's spell. Take all the time you need to think about it. We want to help you." Her smile appears, genuine and concerned, and she reaches for Orson's arm. "Come, we shouldn't outstay our welcome."

No matter how composed and detached Sargent practices at being, she can't help it. There are flashes of alarm clearly leaking out from her eyes when Orson advances. Her equilibrium is too tenuous for her to completely hold onto it. She cringes in her chair, backing away from the edge of the desk for a moment. But finding grit, she steels herself before her hands leave the desktop. Apparently deciding Orson's challenge doesn't merit a response, she turns her head toward Jessalyn. "I'll be in touch. You know where to find me," she says flatly.

Orson quirks his mouth into a simple frown and turns. With a soft sigh, he pulls free of Jessalyn's arm. Racing his thick index finger along the length of her desk's edge, he wanders out, touching the door controls without a word. He didn't expect a resounding success, but the tension between Sargent's last two statements paints a fairly hopeless picture for him. With a look to either side, he steps out of the office, stuffing hands in his jacket pockets.

Hiding her sense of hurt, Jessalyn watches Orson move towards the door, and starts to follow him. She pauses as she passes Sargent's desk, chewing on her bottom lip for a split second before finding the words she's been afraid to speak. "I know what it's like," she confides in an almost whisper, meeting Sargent's brown eyes with her own green gaze. "I was caught inside a Sith mind trap. It stole two years of my life away. I don't want that to happen to anyone else." She adjusts her shoulders, pride straightening her spine as she turns and follows her student out into the hallway.

Two years? That fact, if it's true, makes Sargent's little episode seem like nothing. She files it away but doesn't change her mind, remaining stiff as a stone while watching these people leave her office. The way they draw it out is almost unbearable. That arrogant man, so full of his own ego and agendas... At least he's gone now. Whew. Eva exhales, letting her posture deflate a couple of inches toward her desk. Whew. She could really use a drink. Mind racing, replaying the whole conversation, she crosses the room to pour herself a glass of water. Yes. Water. The really hard stuff.

Orson turns and levels a finger at Jessalyn, clearly frustrated, and only a few steps down the hall. "Why?" he asks, like he's simply continuing a conversation that took place in the office, though that is not the case in any traditional sense. Orson cuts a hard glance to one of the guards who is within earshot, but doesn't seem to care. "Even a normal person would be able to tell. It doesn't seem wrong to fix it, if the end result is helping her? Does it?"

"Orson," Jessalyn says on a long sigh as she follows Orson down the corridor. "Because, it wouldn't be right. Search your feelings. Would you feel right forcing your way into her mind against her very will? This is what it means to be a Jedi, Orson. You're going to have to learn that just because you have this power doesn't mean you should always use it. Even if the ends seem to justify the means." She stops, holding her hands out from her sides helplessly, more than just teacherly concern showing in the ache of her eyes. "I know it's not easy."

Downing her water in huge gulps, Sargent is close enough to the door to hear snatched of muffled words coming through it. One thing that cuts through clearly is the man's, Orson's, frustration. It ties her stomach in knots. The barest molecules of sweat feel like pinpricks, the yway they pop through her skin. And all over. Her suit feels really hot and confining. Jessalyn's voice is just a soft muffle, no discernible words at all, as Sargent massages the back of her neck with her other hand. Curiosity overcomes her, and she quietly opens the door to the corridor, debating hwether to say something.

Orson seems conflicted whether to shake his nod or nod his agreement, and he gives Jessalyn a frustrated grunt. "But it's not -her- will we're going against," he points out. "It's Stasus', or that thing's." He fingers the turbolift controls with a merciless jab. "No, it's not easy. It's just very paralyzing." An angrier Orson in younger days might accuse her of sounding a little like Luke, but the stakes aren't -that- high. Soon, he'll relax, examine this from a different perspective, and consider a new strategy. With a shake of his head, Orson throws Jessalyn a weary smile. The turbolift doors ding, and slide open.

Some of the venom of his voice finds its target, and Jessalyn bites back her own angry retort. Yes, balancing this teaching relationship is going to be very interesting indeed, she tells herself bitterly, wondering perhaps too late what she has gotten herself into. "Look... if her life were in danger, it would be different. I need time to observe what's going on here. I'm not even sure what Stasus did to her." She frowns, folding her arms, and glowering at the turbolift doors as they slide open, her emotions firmly sealed off from even Orson.

Sargent doesn't know exactly what he had wanted to do, or what had been suggested betweek Orson and Jessalyn. But that doesn't prevent her from having a sense of the terrible risk involved. As the little mouse listens in on the tail end of their conversation undetected, she thinks hard. What happens to all the fighting and struggle she's been through in the past several months if she lets them talk her into this? There's something else she's suddenly aware of. Any intelligent people in that lobby would immediately be able to conclude who they were talking about. And she realizes she's standigng in the middle of the hallway with the glass of water still in her hand. How embarrassing. Damage control instincts kick in. Water still in hand, she crossed the lobby briskly after them. "Are you in system for long? How does tomorrow sound?" she asks brightly, as if she is a thousand years removed from the person they were talking about." And in this place, scheduling appointments is perfectly normal. Nothing strange is going on here at all.

Orson has already entered the turbolift, hand hovering at the door controls and face hard. He didn't mean to take things over the top and actually argue with Jessalyn, but he did, and now he's wondering what the next step would be here. "Look, I ..." he starts. Sargent's timing is nearly perfect, and he looks up to stare at her dumbly. "Well, yes, tomorrow," he sputters quietly. "Tomorrow is good." The turbolift doors shudder and start to move.

Orson sends through the Force... Orson uncoils slightly. "I didn't mean it like that," he says simply, but doesn't clarify. "I -do- trust you ..." His thought is cut off as he tries to speak the words, and then the words are cut off by Sargent.

You sent through the Force to Orson... Jessalyn is obviously stung, and does her best not to let those emotions interfere with her explanation, even as she tries to hide them. "The trust of a Jedi must be earned, Orson," is all she has time to convey before Sargent's interruption.

The red-haired Jedi places her hand on the turbolift door to keep it from closing, casting Orson a small, confused look where he stands already on board. Then she smiles at Sargent, trying to hide her shock at the woman's sudden change of heart. "Tomorrow," she repeats, boarding the lift after him and pushing the control panel herself. "You won't regret it, Ms. Sargent," Jessalyn says as the doors finally shut, taking the two Jedi out of view.

*** Once they are outside the building, Jessalyn pauses to glance up at the sky, fighting back a knot that is growing in her throat. The sun is bright and warm, set in a perfect blue sky marked by idly drifting, lazy white clouds. It's the kind of day that will attract many locals and tourists to the craggy beaches of Plaxton City, and even from here she can make out the sound of the ocean tides surging against the resilient shore, smell the salty sea air. She tries to find a measure of peace in experiencing those things, dampening down her irritation before she even attempts to communicate with Orson.

Turning at last to face him, she inhales a sharp, deep breath and reaches for his hand. "You know, you're right," she hears herself saying as if from a great distance. "There's good reason to consider helping her without her consent. Since her mind is being influenced by Stasus, it's a fine line to figure out. You're right to think things through, and look at it from every perspective." With the end of that sentence she lowers her eyes. "I'm afraid of being your teacher now," she confesses in a whisper.

Orson holds up the palm of his hand, showing it to her. It's a stop sign, and a motion that indicates no further explanation is necessary. However, he doesn't interrupt, instead listening carefully and closing the distance to her on the sidewalk. Silently, he takes one of her hands and places it palm up in his, trapping it there. "Working hands," he says quietly, though it wouldn't be clear which set he's talking about. Both of them have seen their fair share, and more, of hard work. "Mine," Orson clarifies. "Turning a hydrospanner, running fusion cutters. That's what they're good at."

Turning the pair of hands over, he looks to the back of his hand. "Galactic politics. The Force. The nuances of whose mind to invade and when... I'm not used to dealing with that." The broad-shouldered man's heart beats rapidly, shallow. "So I ask questions, but know that I trust you. I'll do what you say." There's a bit of pleading in his voice on that last bit, and he turns his eyes to hers. "It's just I want to do what's right. It's all there, in dark and light, but there are little things too. I don't know ... it just frustrated me."

Her green eyes fix on the pair of hands as he turns them over in his rough palm, her own heart starting to pound with his words. Her throat works as she struggles to control her emotions, her free hand resting on his shoulder as her worried green eyes meet his gaze. "You're so much wiser than I am in many ways. You've had more life experience than I have. You're more than just a mechanic... and I'm more than a flight tech. Most of all... you have a good heart that has nothing to do with having the Force. I trust you, Orson. I know that you'll learn to let the Force guide you. I'm always questioning myself, you know. I don't have all the answers. You know that better than anyone." Her voice calms as she talks, a bittersweet tone underlying the last words.

Orson continues to turn her hands over, finally leaving her slender hand in his and cupping his other atop hers. It's a little cage around Jessalyn. No, it's a little house, the man a willing shelter for the tender heart of his Jedi companion. "No one has all the answers, you know I don't expect that of you. That's not fair for anyone." Orson, still holding her hand in mid-air, looks up at the FLS tower, squinting. "I believe in you. You should believe in you too. I mean this." It seems for a moment that Orson is going to get tongue-tied, but he escapes without a scratch. "It's just so wrong. Her mind. I want to fix it, like a ship." He grins a little at that, and slips an arm to her waist.

With a little chuckle, Jessalyn realizes that the position they're in is almost as if they are dancing, and she leans against him to complete the embrace, touching her forehead to Orson's. "I know. You want to help. And that's a good instinct," she says softly. "Give her time to come to us on our own. Perhaps she's really changed her mind. It's always better that way. Patience is the first virtue of a Jedi," she ends with an oft-quoted dictum. The hand in his turns, lacing her fingers through Orson's as she sways lightly from side to side, her body brushing his as she lifts her eyes to him again.

Orson breathes in slowly as she nears, some Fresh Air creeping down into the lowest parts of his lungs and filling him with a pleasant burning sensation. Staring at the part of her fiery hair, he speaks. "I'll do better," he promises, having to lift his chin to get that view of the top of her head. Suddenly, he's gone from that place on the sidewalk, drifting with Jessalyn in a massive dark space. Her essence is intertwined with his, and his with hers, their recent bonding and training doing unique and permanent things to their very souls. Orson gives a start, blinking his eyes. "It's okay," he assures her, after a moment, kneading the small of her back.

All at once she's sure that he's right, and none of it matters at all as she smiles into Orson's eyes, revelling in the intense closeness between them, and listening to the rhythm of his heart. Through the Force all is understood and forgiven in such a complete way that her spirit feels continually renewed whenever she touches him. Not caring at all that they're standing in front of a busy street and the entrance to the corporate headquarters of FLS, Jessalyn nudges her nose against the strong line of his jaw, letting him feel the core of her contentment. "Orson, we must be careful. I don't want to lose this," she sighs softly.

"I know," he whispers, eyes opening to flick through the contents of the street. "We will be. I will be." Petty miscommunications and squabbles are absent in this relationship, a deeper truth and way of knowing one another available to the unlikely pair. Even more serious things are quickly settled, so far, true feelings and true empathy becoming part of their normal and daily routine of sharing. After a moment, he pushes away, holding Jessalyn by the shoulders. "Oh I forgot," the man says with animation. "Your board came today. Want to try it out?"

Jess arches her brows, an impish smile curving her mouth. "If you're still sure I won't drown. Or get eaten by a rock shark," she says wryly. Any misgivings are dismissed with a nod of her head, and an excited tremor that goes through her. She's actually been looking forward to this. "I need to go get ready. Meet me at the beach in half an hour?"

Orson claps his hands together once, pressing his palms together. "Great!" he exclaims, feeling the excitement along with her. A good surf made everything better. It was a nice perspective, sweeping down across curls of waves. He lifts his face, feeling the hardly moving air and the direction. "I think we'll have some waves," Orson says mysteriously. "I'll get the boards and see you there."