Need

lady-llewellyn:

Ellyn tugged at the sides of that green leopard print dress, heels clicking as she headed to his apartment. Obi-Wan Kenobi, someone who took her affections as a game or a laugh. He never seemed to look at her like she wanted him to and now—after the seduction of his dark side had failed, she had to re-evaluate her plans. Though, those were interrupted often enough. Being shipped with him for kisses was maddening. He played them off so well, it didn’t matter how hot they were or how badly she wanted more than that, he just left her to her own devices.

But, no. Not this time. She’d earned a Magic Anon sometime in the recent hours and it cursed her hard. Not that she hadn’t minded getting conditional control until she had sex. It had been weeks since she had sex with someone other than herself. However…The stipulations were a bitch and a half. Get laid in 24 hours or die. What the Hell was up with that? Way to ruin a good climax. And though she knew she could have anyone, she wanted to plunk herself into Obi-Wan’s apartment and ask him to help her. 

Because, why not? It was a good excuse and she could tell he hadn’t had sex in months. Both of them needed this for one way or another. If it led to more interactions, so be it. If it went South and he feigned form her touch again…Well, she’d resort to using her own magic and herblore. If she could open the door now and get a grip on his desire for her; maybe, just maybe she’d be able to fan those smoldering embers into a full fledged flame. After all, she’d seen him blaze brightly in anger, dancing and just once before between her thighs. 

Her heels slowed some as she neared his door, taking a moment to adjust her dress again, fingers sliding over her sides before she fiddled with her hair, pulling her magic tight to conceal that twisted streak in her blood and to shield her mind. Carefully, she projected anxiousness and nervousness, but no tears. That would ruin her makeup. Ellyn lifted her hand and delicately knocked on his door, taking a small step back and biting her bottom lip. She kept her eyes wide and tried to appeal to that white knight syndrome of his, dressed for going out and having a good time, but, obviously not. A little confusion for him so he’d talk and she’d have to spill—a motivator.

Obi-Wan sensed Ellyn before he opened the door and saw her. She often came to him when she was in distress. His presence calmed her somehow, as though their opposing natures— her tempestuous passion versus his measured serenity— served to complement each other rather than conflict. 

She was dressed up tonight, as she often was when he saw her. She was wearing a form-fitting green dress that would have caught most men staring, but he only spared it a glance before diverting his eyes in the interest of courtesy. She seemed anxious over something— a hint of worry was splayed across her face as she chewed her lip. He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, gently prompting her forward into his apartment, and only spoke after the door was closed. 

“What’s happened?” he asked, concern evident on his features. He kept one hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing comfortingly over the skin.

Freedom and Chains

asajjventress:

knightobiwan:

He raised an eyebrow at the play, but showed no signs of concern. It was bold, but he could turn it around. If he wanted to.

He slipped off his boots and set them aside, then, in retaliation for her slow teasing, unbelted his tunic and slipped it off of his shoulders, baring his torso. When he leaned down to tap at his controls, he did so smugly.

His krayt dragon and rancor moved simultaneously, the first killing the thranta and moving toward one of the holes in his defenses, and the other closing the second gap and advancing toward her side of the board. He didn’t remain in place to watch it play out, however. As the krayt dragon stalked toward the thranta, he slipped behind her and fingered the zipper of her dress, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Allow me to help you with that.”

The mirror between his krayt’s advances and his own was not lost on her. Indeed, it made her smile. The Sith stared, unabashed, at his nude chest, taking in all the details, the sprinkling of hair- the cross over his heart, her gift to him. One he returned. As he took up position behind her, in what could be a threatening position (and that was part of the allure, the danger) and she felt the heat of him through her dress. He was a work of art in every sense and she wanted to test his control until it broke. 

His breath ghosted over her ear, and every nerve in her body came alive at once. She shivered reflexively. Ventress didn’t turn to face him- rather, she craned her head back and reached up, daring to run her fingernails down his cheek in a caress. 

The sexual tension in that room was thick enough to make the entire Temple horny.

“Permission granted,” she said, her voice several octaves lower, husky, her eyes shining. 

His fingers pinched the zipper and he pulled it slowly along, his lips pressing against her skin as the dress loosened from her body. He touched a light kiss onto the corner of her jawline, then moved lower, pinching the skin between his teeth and flicking his tongue against the sting. His hands ghosted up over her shoulders and slipped the dress free, while his mouth moved lower, teasing the skin of her neck, and then her shoulder.

“I think it’s apparent who’s won this game,” he murmured smugly, running his fingertips along the geography of her back, and then forward, toward her chest.

knightobiwan started following you

darkhairfairskin:

knightobiwan:

He stared at her for a long moment, no less than heartbroken— but on her behalf. He was shocked that she could sit there and profess such empty philosophies, half-baked theories that she no doubt thought would keep her safe.

Very slowly, he shook his head, and he leaned forward and spoke with a strange new fervor.

“You’re wrong. Freedom, hope, and love— they are things more real, more substantial than the table between us.” His keen blue eyes searched hers for some hint of comprehension as he spoke. “Freedom, the agency of every creature to choose a life for themselves, to pursue the course which they feel to be right. Hope, the knowledge that no darkness is ever as whole as it seems, and that there is always a light just around the corner. And love— that universal, binding force which ties all creatures together. Lust, you say? No. I have felt many forms of love, and the ones of which I speak are very different from the commodity you barter here.”

He noticed that his muscles had grown tense and his hands had tightened into fists, so he took a quiet breath and relaxed himself. He was surprised, really, that she had frustrated him with her complacency, and he couldn’t help but wonder what that meant. 

“I know my words are unlikely to make a difference,” he said slowly. “But I am not the type to walk away from a just cause. I will help you, Jah’Sa, somehow— even if you don’t know it.” He leaned his body over the table and drew her hand to his lips for a gentle, kind kiss, a peculiar sort of promise in his eyes. 

Her eyebrows slanted, as she now adapted the sympathetic expression, admiring his efforts, which in her eyes were just as futile as her own to try and explain her views to him. He spoke with such strength, such vigor and determination, that part of her very much wanted to absorb what he was saying, and believe it, but she was not the sort who could believe in something which she could not see. Could not hold in her hands and know was real. She knew a life of corruption, of loose morality and trading one’s soul away for the gold in a man’s pocket. Trading bodies for information used to extort money, or treasures, or guns. Assassins, Mercernaries, Courtesans. Thieves, Politicians, General scum. The company she kept was nothing which would inspire her to believe. ”Then I fear we have reached an impasse, Mister Kenobi.”

“I’m sure you have seen these beautiful things which you ensure me are out there, however you will not dissuade my perception, and nor will I be able to convince you my vision is the universe’s truth, lying in the equivalent shadow of such radiant ideals.” A pause, before an acknowledging continuance. “I’m sure to some extent, even, that I am wrong.” Her words were kind, trying not to further upset him, and taking note of his discomforted stature. She’d frustrated him— not an entirely new notion— but certainly not what she had intended in any case. His next words were what caused another surprise, and the gesture which followed after.

She said nothing for a moment, silencing the first words which threatened to break, and settling for a gentle smile. “If you insist, Obi-Wan. I will eagerly await seeing you again.”

Don’t make promises you cannot keep.

He felt something, a vague something that he couldn’t quite understand. As though he had found a crack in her facade or struck upon some weakness. But as soon as it had appeared the crack was gone— she had recovered, and her lovely, small smile was back in place. A false smile filled with all the sadness in the world. He felt something sink within him, and his shoulders fell disparagingly. 

She was dismissing him now. Not only did it appear he had failed, but she was growing tired of his company. Understandable, he supposed; perhaps he had been preaching a bit too energetically for her worn spirit. With a slight hesitation, he stood and bowed to her, then moved toward the door.

“I will see you again, Jah’Sa,” he promised, turning to look at her one last time before disembarking. 

Ghosts and Demons

asajjventress:

knightobiwan:

He helped her stand. He could feel that she didn’t want him there— he picked up on her pulsating resentment in the Force. But now wasn’t the time for petty differences. He was here to make sure she was alright; as far as she was concerned, it was no more and no less than just that.

He led her into the main room of the apartment, stepping back if she didn’t need his help, and left the lights low. In her condition, any excess of light would just make things worse. Ensuring she was laying back down and comfortable, he moved to the small Conservator in the room, sparsely stocked with some fruits, vegetables, and juice, and poured some of the juice into a cup with her. He delivered it with a straw, urging her to drink.

“Go on,” he encouraged. “Your body needs the sugar. Water will just make it worse.”

Rather than leave her alone after that, he sat down beside the couch and watched her.

He didn’t respond- except by helping her stand, hand under her elbow. 

Asajj didn’t know if she was too messed up to bother, or if she just didn’t care, or if she was legitimately deriving comfort from his presence. Whatever the reason, she allowed herself to be led back to the main room, strangely complacent. The inordinately fluffy white blanket she did not remember having was there. 

Kenobi went to do something in the kitchenette. Asajj took the moment to try and square herself, take an inventory of her self-inflicted injuries. She felt like shit. In the gloom of her room -thankfully he had enough sense to keep the fucking lights off- the red where she bled on herself stood out sharply, obscene and beautiful against her alabaster skin.

She took one deep breath, shaky still, then another. 

“…Fuck,” she muttered into the silence, her throat still raw. I need something for- for my arms. I’m dripping.

Forcing herself to stand was hard, but she did it. It was five steps to a drawer, where she pulled out a roll of bandages, the kind she usually used. It didn’t occur to her to wait for him or to ask his help- even if she could have made herself, which was up for debate, she had done this so many times alone it was automatic. 

She had just sat back down when he returned to her.

Juice. 

Like a child.

Asajj just gave a little, a shockingly tired, so, so very tired little sigh and took the cup without objection. He was right, and she was tired, and there was no fucking point in bitching about it. She downed it in one go, swishing it around a little to get the taste of bile out of her throat. As raw as it was, the juice burned when it went down, but she welcomed the pain.

It let her know she wasn’t dreaming anymore.

“Didn’t mean to disturb your beauty sleep, Kenobi,” she managed. “Force knows you need it.”

The insult was a wet noodle compared to her usual barbs. 

She bandaged her own wounds. He would have done it for her, but perhaps that was more nursing than she could bear. So he said nothing, and ignored the bandages as he sat back down.

At her remark, he shrugged innocently. He didn’t seem bothered by any of this— as though what should have been a burden was no more of an inconvenience than routine. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. It was a lie, and more than likely, they both knew it. “And then I remembered that I owed you a blanket.”

He didn’t look at her. He wasn’t sure whether she wanted the burden of his gaze right now, so instead he looked at his hands. After a moment, he glanced toward her emptied cup and nodded at it. “Do you want some more? You’re probably dehydrated.”

Freedom and Chains

asajjventress:

knightobiwan:

He made no move to defend the hole, seemingly unconcerned. Instead, the Kintan strider scurried forward and caught the Trandoshan in its pincers, wrestling it to a gruesome death. This was a surprisingly violent Dejarik board— more in line with the classical models. Newer versions had been toned down, much to the dismay of many avid Dejarik players.

Phe leaned back and eyed Ventress, silently waiting for her to uphold her obligation.

Ventress merely smiled wider. She stood and removed her earrings. It was a deliberate tease after his last remark, and the diabolical twinkle in her ice eyes was matched only by the mischief in her grin.

Then she sat and put her trap into play. 

The Kintan strider had moved out of position, just like she hoped it would. Her thranta’s special ability came into play here now: it flew over, literally, the other pieces on the board, swooping down from above to pick up the piece and rip out it’s throat. Then, it moved agian -this time close to the ground, actually navigating the board- into the opening she created  and proceeded to maul his rancor. 

This left his defenses with two gaping holes in the sides, prime meat for a pincer movement if he didn’t do something clever next turn. 

He raised an eyebrow at the play, but showed no signs of concern. It was bold, but he could turn it around. If he wanted to.

He slipped off his boots and set them aside, then, in retaliation for her slow teasing, unbelted his tunic and slipped it off of his shoulders, baring his torso. When he leaned down to tap at his controls, he did so smugly.

His krayt dragon and rancor moved simultaneously, the first killing the thranta and moving toward one of the holes in his defenses, and the other closing the second gap and advancing toward her side of the board. He didn’t remain in place to watch it play out, however. As the krayt dragon stalked toward the thranta, he slipped behind her and fingered the zipper of her dress, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Allow me to help you with that.”

satinekryze:

knightobiwan:

His smile dimmed at the remark. Did she truly think that he would break his promise to her? But then, how many times when they were together had he promised her things he could never give? Everlasting love, a peaceful home, a family? 

Considering that, it was no wonder she thought he wouldn’t come back.

He slid his fingers through her hair and leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he reveled in her closeness. “I’m sorry, Satine,” he murmured. “You deserve better than what I’ve given you.”

“It isn’t a matter of deserving,” she whispered, her hand smoothing at his beard gently.  ”It’s a matter of the lives we’ve been given.  You’ve given me more than was ever expected of you and you’ve brought me so much joy.  There is nothing to be ashamed of.  You have kept your promise to return.  You’re too hard on yourself, Obi.”

The informal use of his name was reserved for only times when she was especially pleased with him. 

He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose, then trailed his nose lightly along her cheek before burying his face in her light, silky hair. “I would stay forever if I could.”

With a sigh, he rolled onto his back and folded his hands on his belly, staring up at the ceiling in melancholy. “Would that I could live two different lives. The choice between one or the other is one I’ll never be able to make with my whole heart.”

Ghosts and Demons

asajjventress:

knightobiwan:

The healer, Deera, moved to follow her into the bathroom with the intention of applying her talents, but Obi-Wan stopped her with a gesture of his hand. He shook his head and indicated for her to go, wordlessly telling her that he would take care of it. She only hesitated for a moment before deciding he was perfectly capable. Besides, she didn’t like trying to interact directly with the Sith; Kenobi seemed to be the only person who could get a less than malicious response out of her.

As Deera departed Obi-Wan followed Asajj and laid a cool hand along the back of her bald pate, where her scalp met her hot neck. The pungent odor of vomit filled the small space, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He had endured much worse.

He said nothing, because conversation wasn’t what she wanted right now. He wasn’t even sure his presence was comforting. But it was the best he could offer. 

He studied the smears of blood across the wall, glancing down toward her injured hands. He would have to see that it was taken care of.

A hand on the back of her neck- even through her spasms, she felt it, like a sudden dousing of cool water over her fevered skin. It wasn’t holding in any way. It just sat there, offering comfort should she choose to take it, a reassuring weight. Callused but gentle and strong as she remembered, from when they danced on Ando Prime (a happier time, and fuck, when did that memory become happy?) she in her backless costume of the moon and night sky, he in his garments of the sun.

Asajj wanted to jerk away from it, but the heaves kept her busy, and so his hand stayed throughout her spell, until finally she calmed. Traitor that her body was, it ached and shook with the effort, throat burning, eyes watering, hands and forearms bloodied. She hadn’t had the dreams this bad in… in ages. She got nightmares, yes, but rarely this kind, this bad. This was beyond a nightmare. This was… more somehow.

Since joining Sidious, she had managed to bury them. It seemed they were back.

Fuck.

Her wits were already returning to her. How and why were apparent now: obviously, they were monitoring her, as would any sane person with a thimblful of brains, and why… well, he was Kenobi. He liked to stick his nose into her business for whatever reason.

He was Kenobi. It was reason enough.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to stand. Asajj was still shaking.

“…How long?” she rasped, and winced at the sound of her own voice. How long had he been standing there, watching her?

He helped her stand. He could feel that she didn’t want him there— he picked up on her pulsating resentment in the Force. But now wasn’t the time for petty differences. He was here to make sure she was alright; as far as she was concerned, it was no more and no less than just that.

He led her into the main room of the apartment, stepping back if she didn’t need his help, and left the lights low. In her condition, any excess of light would just make things worse. Ensuring she was laying back down and comfortable, he moved to the small Conservator in the room, sparsely stocked with some fruits, vegetables, and juice, and poured some of the juice into a cup with her. He delivered it with a straw, urging her to drink.

“Go on,” he encouraged. “Your body needs the sugar. Water will just make it worse.”

Rather than leave her alone after that, he sat down beside the couch and watched her.

Freedom and Chains

asajjventress:

knightobiwan:

He eyed her shoes on the floor as she sat back down. “A disappointingly docile choice,” he remarked in mild disapproval. He was somewhat less patient in this state than as a Jedi.

Rather than send his rancor in retreat from the Trandoshan, which would have been the obvious move and would have risked a feint resulting in the loss of one of his other pieces, he sent his Kintan strider to defend it. She could still move against either the rancor or the Kintan strider, but she would be sacrificing her Trandoshan. The tactic left a small hole in his defenses on one side of the board, but it would take maneuvering for her pieces to reach it— unless she sent one of the more powerful, faster ones.

“Tsk tsk, my dear. Patience,” she teased, eyes dancing. “Good things come to those who wait- though I naturally prefer to act, and leave waiting for the losers.”

He moved, and her mind ticked away. There was a moment of stillness in her, like a hunter just before the pounce, and then, surprisingly, she left her Trandoshan unmoved to die and instead her giant thranta, with it’s massive hooked beak, flew to the hole… but did not exploit it, instead staying two squares away.

He made no move to defend the hole, seemingly unconcerned. Instead, the Kintan strider scurried forward and caught the Trandoshan in its pincers, wrestling it to a gruesome death. This was a surprisingly violent Dejarik board— more in line with the classical models. Newer versions had been toned down, much to the dismay of many avid Dejarik players.

Phe leaned back and eyed Ventress, silently waiting for her to uphold her obligation.

rc5108-8843:

knightobiwan:

He was reluctant to believe that the gears of war could not be stopped— naive though a perspective though it may have seemed to a jaded outsider, the Jedi were men of faith. They did not believe in impossibility; only in challenges that needed time, patience, and a little help from the Force. But it was the remark about keeping the Jedi close that caught his attention and gave him pause.

“That seems a little harsh, don’t you think?” he asked, furrowing his brow. He leaned against the frame of the window, studying Corr’s face as he tried to read where this was coming from. “Jedi are raised from childhood to be morally upstanding and trustworthy, but they are by no means infallible. They are still people, and as capable of deception and betrayal as anyone. As, in turn, my friends outside of the Order are perfectly deserving of my trust if they demonstrate a predisposition for good.”

His gaze grew distant as Corr described the Jedi he had personally worked with in the past. The first two names were only vaguely familiar to him— the third not at all. Alrigan Zey was a Knight just a bit older than himself; a large, well-built but extremely careful man who had always appeared to have a deep conscience. Obi-Wan was surprised to hear that he was cold toward the clones. And Bardan Jusik— he was just a youngling, ten years old. Obi-Wan had met him when he’d gone looking for a Padawan. That fact only served to reinforce how very out of place all of this was in the natural progression of things.

“You say that I’m different because of the way I treat you and respect your human rights. You don’t think these other Jedi feel the same as I do?”

“Harsh is a very relative word, sir. I’ve been there. I know what I’m talking about.” Corr grimaces, as if remembering something horrid. “Just trust me, Obi-Wan. The jedi are the only ones you can trust. Really trust. I don’t blame General Zey for being distant. I really don’t. So many clones filter in and out of the Fearless, it’s hard to garner any acquaintances. ” He pauses thoughtfully, “Though, I’m sure the fact that we all look exactly alike, would make it harder for normal people to discern who’s who.” He chuckles lightly, “I never really thought about that one.”

He looks Kenobi in the eye; “If they do feel that way, sir, they sure have a funny way of showing it. As in, they don’t. I guess I can’t speak for the majority of the Jedi, but the ones I’ve dealt with seem to be distancing themselves from us clones, as if we’re a plague to be avoided. Or something unclean that they don’t want to associate with. I hate it, frankly.” He loosed a heavy sigh - this conversation burdened him greatly. Though it was serving a second purpose: it was stirring the brooding notion he had to escape.

Ah— so it was the clones he was really talking about. That seemed strange to him. If they were bred to be soldiers, then wasn’t it only logical that they would raise them to be fiercely loyal to their commanding officers? There was something else brewing here. Something ominous that Corr didn’t necessarily want to tell him about, and he probably didn’t want to hear it. But it boded ill.

“I doubt that it’s personal,” he answered to Corr’s last remarks, folding his arms and looking out at nothing in particular. “It is not in the nature of Jedi to hold personal bias against anyone— even clones. If you want my opinion, I believe they’re hiding from the moral ambiguity of the situation. They know just as well as you and I do that the mere existence of the Grand Army is wrong, but for what may be the first time in their lives, they don’t have the power to fix the problem. So they distance themselves from it because it hurts them to witness it on a personal level.”

He turned his gaze on Corr, studying the clone’s worry-worn face for a long moment. “I don’t think they ever considered it from your point of view. A short-sighted mistake on their part, but no less understandable.”

knightobiwan started following you

darkhairfairskin:

knightobiwan:

His brow knitted deeper and deeper together as she spoke, the faint signs of disapproval and pity carving themselves in the lines of his face. It was perfectly logical, an understandable hypothesis as could be expected from someone in her position. But it was also exactly what they wanted her to think. It was a response programmed into her from childhood— the unwillingness to hope or dream, the mechanical assumption that she wasn’t made for it.

“Are those your words, or your Master’s?” he asked, his gaze resolute as he stared at her. “It’s an easy defense to make, because it means that nothing changes. You remain blissfully ignorant, content with a miserable lot because you’re blinded to anything else. But you can’t stay blinded forever, Jah’Sa. You can’t, and no one else can, either. Whether it be now or later, one day you will wake up. You will experience a small taste of the life that waits for you beyond these walls— a life of freedom, hope, and love— and you will lament that you waited so long to take those first steps toward a new life.”

Very tentatively, he reached toward her hand, to take it into his grip. At the slightest sign of distress or discomfort, he would pull away and he wouldn’t try again. He just wanted to show her that he was there to support her, in a way that she may not even understand.

“I cannot free you,” he stated, and his expression was apologetic. “I cannot afford drawing attention to myself right now. But if there is anything I can do for you, Jah’Sa— anything I can do to ease your burden, to grant you some small bit of happiness— I will do whatever is in my power.”

His concern, his pity, it was a foreign thing in it’s nature. The only other person who had shown worry for her, and urged her towards escaping this life, had been the bartender Sol’Qiv, and he had been justly punished for suggesting such a thing with his immediate removal from Jaspi’s employment. It wrought a bitter irritation from her, smile fading entirely to a straight-lipped, almost void expression, glancing between her hands, and his features, uncomfortably. Because there was also a semblance of guilt, alongside it all.

“Regardless of whether they were mine, or the words I have had detailed into my thoughts over time, I should not have said them to you, for I fear I’ve ruined the state of our professional relationship.” She noted bluntly, playing with a few of the golden rings on her slender fingers, “I am not blind. I am not blissful, I am not proud or content. But I am trying my very hardest to be so. To accept what hand I have been dealt in this place, so I do not while away my waking hours in agony, like some forsaken damsel in old children’s stories. I have been outside of here, accompanying my Master to other worlds, and I have seen these things which you speak of. Freedom, which pits people against each other in a mad struggle to become the better amongst free men. Hope, which brings about pain beyond the original suffering because what they so long for is never achieved. And love— Love is just a game. A word to rephrase lust, or, it details a passionate caring. Whether I am cared for, or not, I am tended to.” His hand on hers did not make her tense. In fact, the small shred of physical contact was something of a relief. A more familiar notion amidst the otherwise flustering, and confusing topic they lingered on.

But his words made her laugh, in an almost angry manner, shaking her head. “I never asked to be free. I won’t, because you have to see the whole picture.” The woman moved her free hand to push some of the fabric away from her hip, revealing one of the brands, and swallowing thickly, staring at it herself. “There are great measures which stand to keep me here, and fighting them would entail more grief than the end result is worth.” Her hand left the threads, moving to hold his between both of her palms then, looking at him with her dark golden eyes and allowing a grimace. “Do not become too engaged with me. In order for you to do what I want, you cannot care. I require only one thing from you, Master Kenobi. And that is your cooperation. Utilize the knowledge I can give, the small resource that I am, and make life safer for those who can live it. That will bring me the closest thing to happiness as I am willing to accept.”

He stared at her for a long moment, no less than heartbroken— but on her behalf. He was shocked that she could sit there and profess such empty philosophies, half-baked theories that she no doubt thought would keep her safe.

Very slowly, he shook his head, and he leaned forward and spoke with a strange new fervor.

“You’re wrong. Freedom, hope, and love— they are things more real, more substantial than the table between us.” His keen blue eyes searched hers for some hint of comprehension as he spoke. “Freedom, the agency of every creature to choose a life for themselves, to pursue the course which they feel to be right. Hope, the knowledge that no darkness is ever as whole as it seems, and that there is always a light just around the corner. And love— that universal, binding force which ties all creatures together. Lust, you say? No. I have felt many forms of love, and the ones of which I speak are very different from the commodity you barter here.”

He noticed that his muscles had grown tense and his hands had tightened into fists, so he took a quiet breath and relaxed himself. He was surprised, really, that she had frustrated him with her complacency, and he couldn’t help but wonder what that meant. 

“I know my words are unlikely to make a difference,” he said slowly. “But I am not the type to walk away from a just cause. I will help you, Jah’Sa, somehow— even if you don’t know it.” He leaned his body over the table and drew her hand to his lips for a gentle, kind kiss, a peculiar sort of promise in his eyes.