Glasya Ren (glasya_ren) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-05-01 13:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | !locale: space, glasya ren, issan ren |
he saw the darkness in her beauty
Who: Glasya Labolas & Issan Vox.
What: Backdated like woah; Issan receives her first dark Force lesson and comes to realize the truth behind what Glasya is offering. Following this narrative.
When: Before the two were inducted into the Knights of Ren.
Where: The Wraith.
Rating: PG-13 for descriptions of wounds, blood and some really fucked up discussion.
Issan pushed the pain she could still feel from the cuts to her arms to the back of her mind, slamming a fist on the closed cockpit door before it could slide to safety out of her path. She walked into the cockpit, not waiting for the man at the helm to turn about before she started lobbing accusations at him; she could feel the Force prickle across her skin, amplified by her anger, fright and confusion.
"If this is what you've brought me here to learn, turn this pula mea ship around and take me home!" Her words ripped through the air with more confidence than she felt; she realized a beat later that she was shaking, muscles in her back and legs spasming unconsciously. She held up her bloody arms, the angry red cuts clear in the light from the viewscreen. "These Sith teachings...what good are they? What am I supposed to learn...from this?!"
In the black mirror of the cockpit's windows, Glasya sharply arched a brow. His gaze moved over her reflection, coldly assessing. The bloodstains on her arms were a dark web slowly elongating; small droplets dripped down, splashing onto the metal beneath their feet.
"So you actually managed it," he said. "Well done."
He tapped out a series of coordinates onto the console before him. Then, and only then, he turned in his seat to face her. He wore no smile, but there was a glint akin to one in his eyes. "How did you do it?"
Issan's anger grew at the dismissal of her question; she gritted her teeth, her biting words cutting through the air. She emphasized the cuts on her arms, then let them fall to her sides.
"What does it look like? I strangled her. What good is this to any sort of training?"
"Look at you, Issan." Glasya tipped his head toward the glass. Her reflection shone clear against the void beyond them, bone-pale and blood-baptised, framed by silver stars. "Such perfect fury. Directionless -- or very nearly -- but usable."
He rose from his seat. He moved closer to her, careful to leave her reflection unbroken behind him. "The Jedi believed these passions had to be completely contained or eradicated. The Sith believed they were the first steps to true power." Glasya wrapped a hand around the deepest of the cuts on her arm. He squeezed, tight, until blood welled anew between his fingers. She cried out, jerking her arm back from his grasp; the movement only served to make her injury worse. "What do you believe? What would you like to do with this, right now, in this very moment?"
The pain lashed the rage in her mind, and one thought appeared: hurt.
Gritting her teeth in a snarl, she looked back at Glasya, directing the dark emotion at him. She imagined flesh rending from bone, muscles torn in twain. And, like a crimson flower blossoming on his face, Glasya's right cheek opened up to reveal the same red that was coloring her vision. Blood welled at the surface, pooling until the artificial gravity pulled it down his pale skin in drippy streaks.
He smiled. Deep red traced the shallow lines in his face, tracing a path that curved with his lips. "Very good," he said. His hand fell to his side. Her blood still stained his fingers; he made a fist, letting that slick heat pool in his palm. "Again."
The goading made her all too willing to follow the command, and she drew another line, this time closer to his throat; a seam along his clavicle opened up, a red stain moving along his shirt and pushing outward. She could barely think for the anger clouding her sight, the pain in her arm and the hatred she felt toward this man in this moment. The thought 'why' suddenly popped into her mind; why was she so angry toward this man? He'd made a comment, and she'd acted through it. He hadn't manipulated her into killing Sidara, as much as she'd like to claim. But the event had created such emotion in her, such power.
Issan's eyes went wide, and she felt frozen in place. That one simple act -- and now, looking back, it was so very simple -- had awakened not only power, but an ability in her. The hand she'd attempted to wrench away from Glasya now reached out tentatively to touch her own handiwork. Her fingers floated just before his chest, feeling the heat from his form. There was nothing illusionary about the wound she'd inflicted on him; she would have been able to tell. No, this was real, and it was...amazing.
"How did I do that?" Her voice had moved from angered to puzzlement, her eyes flicking between the two wounds.
Pride and pleasure shone bright in his eyes. "The Sith called upon their students to sacrifice something dear to them," he said. "The Jedi sacrifice everything, though not through death. But death, I've found, is the strongest push toward greater understanding. When you take a life, particularly one for which you felt something powerful, it changes something in you. It unlocks a door most are too afraid to open."
He stepped forward. Her hand went flat against his chest, her palm and fingers fitted to the spreading bloodstain she had made. "You did this by giving up foolish limitations. And you can do so, so much more, Issan. This is only the beginning."
Issan shuddered as she felt the wetness staining his garment, but did not pull away; instead her eyes went to his, any concern or worry falling to the wayside. If this small act allowed her such potential, what boundaries were there? Her jaw worked for a moment.
"What more must I do?"
"Continue with your studies," he said. "Find the path that works for you and pursue it mercilessly. Never stagnate. Never grow complacent." He covered her hand with his, holding it against him. "I'll guide you every step of the way. So long as you remember this and do not shirk from what must be done, you will only grow stronger. We both will grow stronger."
Issan found herself nodding before she realized she'd come to an unconscious agreement. Her mind struggled for words, her memory finding a phrase she'd read in those ancient texts that had first outlined the path Glasya intended for her to take.
"Yes," she replied, her voice firm with conviction. "Master."