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Moose

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  1. Moose

    Space

    "That's a slick way of completely dodging the question, kudos to you. I'll remember that. Anyways." The geared-up man turned on a heel and marched deeper into his cargo bay, tossing a wave to the emplacement containing his primary interior-security system. The quad laser didn't wave back or say anything, of course, despite having had mechanical arms and a digital readout grafted onto it at some point. "Don't mind the mess, but do mind your feet. Rather you not end up tripping over something expensive and getting the both of us in trouble." He added as he made his way over to a stable-enough looking nacelle, looking to be ripped right off the side of some luxury yacht. "Alright. So, the Council sent you all the way out here for lil' ol' me huh? Why? Why now, of all times? What has changed in the time that I have been away?" Jackson crossed his legs and reclined against the bulkhead his nacelle was resting against, looking for all intents and purposes like he was just as much part of the chaotic scenery as anything else was. The amalgam of parts and additions slapped onto his old jumpsuit made him look right at home amongst the sheer amount of junk, scrap, and other trash stacked high in the Plunder's cargo container.
  2. Moose

    Space

    "You hope I intend to speak with you, wow, now that's one I haven't heard before. Mmno, no, see, you're the one who bothered wandering all the way out here. If anyone should have any intents on speaking with anyone, it should be you. So what is it? Why have you bothered digging me up, and, if you would be so kind, how exactly did you actually manage it? I've been very careful to keep a real low profile, y'see." Jackson, from the way he greeted Kadi almost right at the end of the pressurized tube and with his own saber in hand, was clearly not so trusting as she. He was always a somewhat paranoid human being, but that particular set of traits had only grown stronger in his time alone out in deep space. Medium freighters and transports often made for appetizing targets, and he'd had to fend off more than his fair share of boarders and slavers before. Even a few with their own smattering of force sensitives. "I mean I have a few guesses of my own obviously, given that you really are who you say you are, but I'd rather hear it from you first." The acrid scent of ionized gases and space clung to the man like an old friend. Even if he hadn't just stepped back aboard from the void, it was entirely likely that he carried it on his shoulders wherever he went. At least, if the state of his jumpsuit and still-equipped exo-gear were any indicator.
  3. Moose

    Space

    Silence was the only answer this time around, for a while at least. One by one Jackson's ship, the Transient Plunder, activated its systems and gradually came to life. A somewhat surreal sight perhaps, considering that the old Wayfarer class looked like it belonged in the graveyard just as much as most of the other wreckage and debris. Like a corpse being brought back to life, reanimated. The radar-like sweeping of the former apprentice's senses ceased and pulled back in on itself rather abruptly as his ship's engines roared to life. Pinpricks of light popped into view as the hidden thrusters installed in the Plunder's hull flared. The maneuvering thrusters were quick to begin their guidance, swiftly and deftly pulling their ship free of the debris field and guiding it along to an open patch of space not too far away. "You should tell your pilot to back it up out of there. We can figure something out in open space, but I am not getting on board with... whatever that thing is. I have an umbellical I can toss your way if it comes down to it."
  4. Moose

    Space

    The spotlamps blazing through the darkness was a change, and not a particularly welcome one at that. He had come here because it was empty, and the only sounds aside from his were the anguished cries of the long dead battering against his psyche. Occasionally some other scrapped would try their hand working the same field as him, but without a specialized rig there was little hope for other solos. That someone was here, now, staring at and hailing him, was... concerning. He had little to offer anyone outside of the deliveries he ran on occasion, and nothing of his was particularly valuable outside of a similarly equipped scrapper or down-on-their-luck pirate, so the list of people who would want to find him was slim. A list that, upon reading the transmission transcript, Jackson was quickly able to narrow it down to an exact set of people. He wasn't quite sure how but the Order had managed to finally dig him up, like a worm squirming in a freshly upturned mound of dirt. Naturally his first instinct was to chuck his scavenged fuel cells at the other ship and make a run for it. A response that was quickly sized around the neck and throttled like a game-fowl in the hours before a great feast, of course. He could only presume that this Kadi, should she really be with the Order, was here to bring him back. Presumably to answer for his dereliction and any number of his other crimes, of which there was, admittedly, a fairly sized list. Still. Perhaps this was for the best. Jackson drug his scavenged prizes to his cargo bay before sealing the ship behind him, and opening a secure communications channel to the other craft. "You're a long way from home, Kadi Silan." Came the eventual reply, alongside a sweeping wave as the scrapper expanded his senses and began dispersing his awareness back throughout his ship and its surroundings. "Not particularly willing to abandon my ship out here in the graveyard, but there is ample room in the Plunder for a quick meeting."
  5. Moose

    Space

    Jackson laid quietly in the void of space, eyes closed, limbs limp, and surrounded on all sides by wreckage and debris. He immersed himself in the destruction, letting the chaos wash over and around him like water over a stone. Normally one might find meditation in the center of a graveyard to be somewhat disconcerting, but such exercises had tempered him over the past few years. The dead silence of deep space let you hide from nothing, most of all from yourself. He could hear everything right down to the beating of his own heart, feel his synapses firing and his muscles twitching as he fought against the weight of his sins. Then, with a great heave and a quiet sigh, the metaphysical weight lifted and Jackson opened his eyes. The derelict apprentice had been working on ripping apart a cruiser for the better part of three days now, and he had finally managed to expose enough of its guts that he could pull out what he wanted. A handful of fuel cells and a hyperdrive weren't exactly lucrative in such a place but they would get him to his next destination and secure enough credits for a resupply, which was all he really needed. After that it would be back to the debris fields, to continue his introspection and training. Even after all these years, all this time trying to work through it, he could hardly stomach the thought of going back. The shame of it all, the guilt of leaving at such an important turning point, had only grown in his time away. Perhaps some day he would find it in himself to return, but for the time being Jackson resigned himself to his usual habits: settling in and searching for the next viable target he could pull apart for scrap.
  6. Having taken a few-year-long journey to develop his skills and see the galaxy, Jackson finally returns to the fold a changed man. For better or worse remains to be seen, but a few things can be immediately presumed when analyzing him in comparison to his old self. His confidence has risen, first and foremost. Where he once stood nervously, anxious and unsure, he now rests poised and ready for what may come; relaxed, yet primed. Jackson's body has filled out under his clothing in a testament to a hard-lived life out in the rim, and a litany of new scars and faded wounds tell stories and tales of battle and hard-won victory. Even his saber has changed, given that he had one prior to his walkabout. A simple hilt with a wreath of stun-baton contacts around the emitter has undergone a dramatic transformation into an elegantly rugged pole, perhaps two feet long, with a simple set of controls and two emitters. A modified double-blade, from the looks of it, and oddly-placed features that whisper of field-modifications and hastily-made corrections. His form with it has advanced by leaps and bounds as well, apparently by mixing different forms of Form Six together with Tràkata and whatever else happens to be most convenient at any given moment. Not standard or conventional, but highly aggressive and geared towards ending fights quickly. More significantly, however, was the man himself. His uncertainty and inexperience had all but left, replaced by some amount of wisdom and hardened by a wealth of new experiences, both good and bad. No longer the trusting boy who crawled his way out of the Coruscant undercity, but.. something else. Not quite predatory exactly, or at least not traditionally, but similar enough to pass for it at first glance. His insatiable lust for knowledge and improvement being some of the few things that remain unchanged. At some point he has also procured his own ship. It is a Wayfarer-class medium transport with a surprisingly cherry setup, though he has installed an additional pair of security measures inside of the cargo module. Namely, a quad laser cannon and tractor beam mounted behind some clearly repurposed barricades. Likely rigged together and slapped in place by Jackson himself. >Sheet & Stat updates Age: 26 Weight: Approximately 200 pounds Trained by: Partially Skye Organa Known Skills: Moderate-Advanced slicing, a variety of engineering fields primarily related to scrapping and ship systems, Decent-enough Mostly-self-taught Form 5/Shien, Force Grip, Force Barrier. Ship Registration Name: Transient Plunder Class: Medium Transport/Medium Freighter Model: Wayfarer Manufacturer: Kuat Systems Engineering Length: 82 Meters Armaments: 2 quad laser cannons, 1 laser cannon Armor: Hardened medium-class armor Anti-Personnel Defenses: 1 quad laser cannon, 1 particularly angry Jedi Appearance: Sorta like it just got pulled out of a junkyard. It would fit right at home amongst the debris-fields of any given space battle. Modifications: 1 extra semi-concealed quad-laser cannon (normally the Wayfarer only comes with one, rather than two,) Hardened armor plates (primarily to make it look more like junk, and to give it some extra room for error when navigating treacherous space,) and a full suite of concealed maneuvering thrusters. Additionally, the Plunder has an internally mounted tractor beam in the cargo pod, for pulling scrap aboard.
  7. Moose

    Corellia

    Jackson rubbed his hands over his face and licked his lips in thought. "Water, please." He whispered, only then realizing just how dry his mouth had become. His legs carried him listlessly to the nearest seat shortly after, only stumbling over himself a few times on the way. "I will... say, here." The Padawan mumbled, more to himself than anything else. It was still difficult to parse through the information being passed along through his senses; the background numbness blurring sights and sounds, and muddling his hearing. It would pass, surely. Instead of dwelling on it any longer, Bloome resolved to do something more productive with his time. His eyes closed and his attention turned inwards, only to be greeted by an only vaguely familiar place. The threaded core that he once recognized as his internal plane, of sorts, was gone. In its place hovered a disconnected mass of energy; a dense construct of defensive layers and jagged edges, blasted and fragmented apart before being slapped crudely back together in some poor facsimile of what used to be. What was worse, he could hardly access it at all. Some small manipulation was all that he was able to manage before either the ache became too intense, or the entire thing shrunk back in on itself far tighter than it had been when he had first tried meditating. That was going to be a problem. But, he would be able to manage with it, right? It would heal. And if it didn't, then... he would have to figure something out. For now, though, he'd follow Skye's instructions. If she believed that they should bide their time and rest, then he wouldn't argue with it.
  8. Moose

    Corellia

    Jackson followed his mentor in a daze, stumbling over his own footsteps before starting to pinch and pull at his skin in confusion. He could hardly feel his own skin. He could hardly feel anything, in fact: from his own pinches, to the clothing on his body; even the wind brushing through his hair felt... unusually cold. Detached. That spark of life just wasn't there anymore. "Hwhath... hmmh, what do we do now?" He asked quietly. It was difficult to speak, at first. Jackson felt like his tongue had swollen up, almost; not badly, or even detrimentally, but noticeably. It was enough to slur his first few words before he realized what was happening. An slight frown creased his lips as Bloome tried shaking off his sluggish daze, only to find that his efforts were futile. He would have to check in with the medbay later to see if he had hit his head harder than he thought. It wouldn't do to hinder his efforts at meditation or the forms for any longer than was absolutely necessary. He still needed to fine-tune his force control before... before what? He couldn't remember anymore. There was definitely a reason he was in a hurry before; but what was it? Some sort of feeling, he remembered; a sort of pressure that had built up in the back of his head. Perhaps, whatever it was that was causing it, had already passed? That was possible. Probably even, considering that... wait, Coruscant? Jackson's eyes blinked slowly as he tuned back into the world around him, and he focused his tattered attention on the holofeed. Someone had... stolen the moon? And then they used it to scrape a chunk off of Coruscant. He had lived there, under those top layers of the ecumenopolis. That had been his home, and in some ways he still saw it as where he really belonged: crawling through the undercity and scrounging for scraps of... well, of scrap. It was strange, then, that he just couldn't bring himself to feel much about it. It could have just been the shock setting in, but he had been in shock before. He knew what that felt like; what it did to his body. This was just... nothing. A numbness unlike any sort of breakdown he had ever personally experienced. Jackson had seen others go through something similar in the past; usually following intense emotional or mental trauma. It was a common enough sight down below. But he hadn't gone through anything like that himself, and certainly not recently. He and Skye had just spent the day touring around and doing some meditation so far. Even thinking back to when he had noticed he was numb, Jackson couldn't think of anything. He had tried meditating for a little bit, as he was instructed, but before he could really do anything they were already on their way back to the estate. It was strange, to say the least. It felt like he was missing something. "Hey," he started slowly, brows furrowed in thought. "Well... no. No, nevermind." Jackson shook his head. He was simply being paranoid. He was probably just numb because the sudden exposure to all the local flora had his body in a weird state. It fit the timeline almost exactly, so that must have been it.
  9. Moose

    Corellia

    When Jackson spread his metaphysical feelers, really opened himself to try to connect with the universe around him, it was bliss. It was... not easy, exactly, but natural in a sense. It felt like the more he opened his senses the more he was pulled into everything, and he felt himself rocking to the rhythm of the life surrounding himself. At the height of his expansion he even felt something like a strong breeze, or... no, no it was more like a gust, perhaps. Or even a shockwave. Not even another moment had passed before the rug was pulled out from under his feet, then, sending him tumbling down deep into the abyssal blackness he stood above. All at once his physical and force senses were buffeted by horrors that previously lied unknown to the Padawan. The air in his lungs, clean and healthy, turned into a vile and heavy mass that he couldn't help but choke on. The pleasant breeze turned savage in an instant and stabbed into his every nerve, doubling him over and sending him to the ground. Even the food he had consumed earlier that day had rotted inside of him, bloating and squirming inside of his body until it had freed itself onto the grass between his hands. It was only then that he noticed he could no longer see, and that the only sounds he could hear were horrifying grinding, screeching, and gurgling noises that submerged him in a frigid slime. When he finally came to, Jackson found himself gasping for air and shivering on the ground. Slowly everything started to come back, only muted and colorless. A vibrant and thriving world having turned into a barren landscape of ash, for all he could tell any more.
  10. Moose

    Corellia

    Jackson nodded and followed along as Skye toured him around the complex, mostly still speechless from the amount of green and plantlife displayed on their way into the hangar from orbit. Plus there was even more in the underground area than there was on the ship, from his assigned room to the gym, and even a much larger hydroponics area. It was something he would have expected to find a moderately sized gang operating out of back on Coruscant, and he would be staying there for... for however long it took. The boy realized shortly after unpacking his meager belongings that he had never actually asked what they would be doing after they had made landfall, or how long they would be staying. They did still have to deal with whoever Faust was, he supposed, though whether he would be able or even asked to help still remained to be seen. It would be a shame to not use the new toys he had been working on over the past few days. With that in mind the young Padawan wandered his way through the complex until he managed to find his way to the nearest exit, where he floated towards the lake in a daze. It had all been so beautiful and overwhelming when he was just watching in the ship, but now that he was there in person, on the ground, it was just... so much more. And the air; it was so clean and fresh, pleasant to the senses event. It almost made him a little lightheaded with how much easier he could breath there than on Coruscant, or even on a ship, regardless of how well the air filters were running. Everything was so different that he almost missed it when he passed by his tutor. "I'm here." He slowly announced, after backtracking a few steps and giving an awkward bow.
  11. Moose

    Space

    Jackson groaned quietly and blinked his eyes in a daze, slowing coming to his senses over the course of a few confused moments. "What..." He started, the expression on his face morphing from confusion to mild shock, to embarrassment, to intrigue, and then back to confusion all over again. "I... I wanted to pull myself to you? And, and now we are here. Because I pulled you, instead." The boy's confusion persisted throughout his stunted sentences, even making itself evident as he looked to where they were both positioned not too long ago. As he extracted himself and somewhat unsteadily got to his feet Bloome looked down to his hands, then his feet, even going so far as to close his eyes to check on his core. It was a few moments further before he even had the presence of mind to fumble with the activation switch of his loaner training saber, something which triggered a sudden thought. Carefully he set the device down by his feet, and held his hand over it while his eyes closed. It took him a few moments to reach out for the saber with his core, to extend his metaphysical feelers and wrap them around the device. Then, he pulled upwards to try to fling the device into his hand. It didn't quite work out as planned. The small device was much too small for the amount of force he put into flinging it, resulting in a fleshy clap and a pained "Yeowch!" from the Padawan himself. His fingers trembled as he clutched the injured hand to his chest and turned towards Skye, an almost comical watery-eyed look of betrayal plastered over his face. "H-how do I.. how do I?" Jackson asked her with a trembling voice, no longer determined to stumble through it on his own.
  12. Moose

    Space

    Jackson stumbled backwards and yelped as Skye's saber smacked against him numerous times. He quickly patted himself down to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and grumbled quietly to himself. 'Don't think about it, sure. Just like the credit chit, of course.' He sighed as he stood back in his position, and prepared himself. He pictured the environment displayed in his goggles, and visualized his move. He would lunge forward with a wide feint to the left, before pulling it in and using an obstacle as a foothold to dive in from the right, with a stab. Presuming, of course, that his feint worked, that he wasn't smacked again, and that he didn't propel himself over Skye and hit his head on the ceiling. Or crash into her before he could bring the saber in line. Plan made, the Padawan took a slow breath inwards and lunged. Only instead of propelling himself, like he had planned, his first instinct on reaching his foothold was to reach out and grab hold of the nearest object, in this case his teacher, Skye, and use that to pull himself into motion. This of course didn't really propel himself forward, instead grabbing and pulling at his instructor.
  13. Moose

    Space

    Jackson eyed the helmet he was given for a few moments, before taking a breath and slipping it over the top of his head with one hand. Once it was on he tested the weight of his still-not-heavy-enough training saber, and flicked it on. He was getting more familiar with the basic form one stance and movements now, after having practiced them nearly religiously in the aftermath following Onderon. It felt less unnatural to him now, and just a hair less awkward than it was when he started out. He still hadn't really put it into practice in a practical situation or sparring however, so this was a good opportunity to absolutely fail at it and muck everything up. The movements he had been instructed in and practiced were all wild and made to be unpredictable, one of the more notable aspects of Shii-Cho, which meshed well with how he handled his stun baton and also did not mesh well. His first sweep, an undercut bearing down on the base of Skye's saber, was lacking in leverage and power compared to a shorter heavier instrument. The lack of any disabling measure on contact was also less than ideal, as typically on hit he could expect a brief moment to draw back and make a follow-up attack. It meant that he could use the recoil of his first attack to build momentum for the second, and then the third, and so on and so forth without needing to worry about retaliation. It was a nasty way to beat someone down, but when someone pulled you into an alley or behind some sort of visual cover and tried to stab you then being fair was the last thing on your mind. Just using vertical and horizontal and vertical sweeps was strange, and going out of your way to disarm a dangerous opponent instead of outright disabling or ending them seemed like a recipe for disaster, using an ancient code as an excuse to keep your conscious clean at the cost of potentially lethal backlash. Still, that was what he was learning. When he was able to hold his own he could branch out and try other options, but for now this would have to do.
  14. Moose

    Space

    After a few dozen attempts the best that Jackson could really do was bounce the credit chit into the air a few times in a row, or weakly push it around on the floor. If he tried to be gentle with the thing it just shivered and moved a tiny bit, but the moment he tried to up the ante to any tangible degree the thing shot up into the air like he had smacked it from below. It was like he was using an analog switch that only had two settings, idle power and then full throttle. He would have to either learn how to use his two default settings as they were, or change them to better suit his needs in both the present and the future. He would have to work on that later, when he had some free time. For now though, he had hit his head against the chit long enough. Trying to adjust a non-adjustable output was exacerbating his headache, and if he was going to hurt he'd rather be hurting from a good workout or sparring session than from attempting to sort out the nature of an intangible and scientifically only vaguely explainable phenomenon that might as well just be brushed off with a short 'It's space magic. Deal with it.' So he opened his eyes and scratched at the back of his head, yawning quietly before getting to his feet. "I'll try to work on that later. Think I've gotta do some weird stuff with my head."
  15. Moose

    Space

    Jackson followed along after the galley was cleared, and took the offered training saber in his hands. He lifted and tested the weight, comparing it to his stun baton while he spoke with Skye. "I think I'm doing okay with the exercises, visualizing everything is helping me understand a lot better than I used to. Even with the uh, the lightsaber stuff. I've mostly been using my baton to practice the forms though, so I'll probably be a little bit off because of the weight differences." He took a seat near his master then, and sceptically looked at the chit for a few moments. Even after watching Skye lift it he had no real idea on how to do the same thing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then drifted into his mindscape. It was different now that he had more experience with entering and visualizing the metaphysical space. The big ball of wires still sat in the center of his outline, only now he could also see a vague outline where Skye was. Everything else was just an aftertaste of static, an essence of metalic chaff and flare. At least he knew roughly where the chit was, so he could try to feel it out manually. Not long after he slipped out of his trance abruptly, recoiling as he felt a physical smack to his forehead. He fumbled as he opened his eyes and got his bearings, and rubbed the square mark on his head as he looked around. Skye was still in her spot, but the credit chit had disappeared. His head swiveled around for a moment before he found the thing in his lap, where it had fallen after apparently smacking him in the face. He grumbled as he picked the thing up and tossed it back to its original spot, before trying again. He knew where it was and had a vague sense of what vector and how much force to apply now, he could probably do it. Without hitting himself in the forehead. Probably.
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