Kamino.
It meant nothing. It was dead to him. Waking from yet another twisted meeting with his subconscious, Tel was in no state of mind to have the capability of even remembering why he was here. Movement was nothing, of course, and his body slid from the bed. His bare chest glistened with the sweat of his dreams, slippery under the bright lights. He hated the light. He hated these creatures. Hatred in the morning, his lover to lie beside in the ruffled bed he'd just left behind. Only it wasn't morning”¦no, he could never tell the time here in this place.
He dressed, he thought, he spit the vile taste of sleep from his mouth. For a week he had found himself trapped here, without the means to resupply the small craft he'd landed, without the means to acquire the means to do so, and without the patience to wait for the means to acquire the means. Thus, his hatred grew, his anger stirred, and the while room he'd been given as a courtesy had been blackened, in a figurative sense, by his presence. The Kaminoans were gracious enough, courteous enough, kind enough.
But Tel'asari only required a ship. A ship to get him off of this planet, a ship to transport him to a place where he could find what he sought; one ship, just one. If they gave him that without their ridiculous antics, he'd have left this world and been that much closer to finding his answers. His attempts to reason with their methods, to understand them, were countered by their lack of presence. They told him to stay in this room, and they did not appear before him. How does one bounce a ball off of a wall that isn't there?
The room was hot; its heat inspired by the fire within his body as it writhed and twisted. He could feel the heat as keenly as he felt his own heartbeat. Pound, pound, pound. The rhythmic intricacy sought to drive him back into sleep, back in the heat, back into the nightmares”¦
It was the sudden chill that brought him fully into consciousness. Days alone had left him without company save for his demons, and they were creatures born of his core, of his fire. The cold bit at them and they fled before it as children. He felt the chill, but it was still distant. Something”¦told him”¦nursed the thought within him, cultivated the feeling; something was different about this cold. With difference came the unexpected, and with the unexpected came danger. Tel left the room, his dark clothing a meaningless blot under the heavy rainfall of this world that was dead to him. This was different; he left his sword in the room.