It happened again. One day, Katara had her head filled with the thoughts of a person, someone she cared deeply about, someone that meant a lot to her-and the next they were gone, and Katara was left with an empty feeling. Unlike the last time, though, Katara didn't just feel like they were parts of her memory: this felt like a big chunk, like something had been ripped out of her mind. Now she stared at her hand a moment, then at her chest. She felt like she didn't know what to do with herself, as if this missing memory was something that hadn't just affected her time on the ship but her purpose, a part of her.

She started to run, but she didn't really have a destination in mind. She had had to keep running toward a place where she could get rid of this feeling, but she didn't know how to do it. None of her training or assurances or good feelings were with her right now. She felt as if she were bordering on hysteria and heartache at the same, and finally, she stopped, her muscles locking and threw up. She retched, bringing herself back, and felt horrible, but at least now she had a destination. She ran toward the medbay, her hair messy and her body trembling.

She didn't know who was here, but she opened her mouth to speak involuntary.

"I think I need to-I don't feel very-"

And then her eyes started to fill with tears and she coughed and coughed, crying still. She needed to lie down or something, she wasn't sure what, but she was in pain and felt sick and couldn't explain why.

Thin Ridulian microfilm crackled under her fingers. The light from the shifting, slurry haze of celestial bodies through the great window shone through the letters on the page. It was the thinnest paper that could still be hand turned and preserved the sensuality of reading.

Something drew her to Leto 2's words. Parts had been played, the conciliatory figure had appeared, and the vote was soon to be called. Her setting of the whole debate in motion now crippled Sheeana's ability to persuade during the vote itself. I am Other now more than I ever have been before. She observed.

And this was a potent wisdom for this situation. Leto 2 had built a sprawling edifice of an empire, held it together with religious fanaticism, organizational genius and prescience, all to teach humans a lesson about trusting leaders. He gave them the kind of peace and safety they'd expected from a leader, all they could stand of it and more and more...

Her mind relaxed into the words as her body relaxed into the fleshy, bloblike 'chair'.

( The Stolen Journals revealed a complex figure, a man who comitted monstrous acts that his people would not be exterminated, who hated tyrants so much that he became the worst that ever existed, who was an idealist lover of humanity in the guise of a misanthropic monster... )

Barbaric arts of my time reveal me as outsider. Favorite poetry: epics. Popular dramatic ideal: heroism. Dances: wildly abandoned. Stimulants to make people sense what I took from them. What did I take? The right to choose a role in history.
-Leto II (The Tyrant): Vether Bebe Translation


Recreating one's homeworld on the ship wasn't the most creative move she could make, Sheeana knew. And she did her level best to avoid using the sensoriums wherever possible. She would not become dependent on their artificial comfort like so many others did.

But there were certain things unavailable in the city for her and music was one of them. So she found herself in the plaza at Arrakeen. The sun beat down on the cracked and ancient concrete, on Fremen travelling into the city to sell their goods, on pilgrims, on priests in their white robes. The heat was oppressive to most but to her it was life, and each ray that soaked in through her skin made her blood pulse closer to her skin.

She stood in the exact center. Old music, also native Rakian, came through from phantom instruments and she kicked her heels up. She went whirling, abandoning herself to the frenzy of movement, spinning until she was half blur, one leg held out to balance her like a figure skater. Arms flung out and aided her momentum, dark hair whipping about. She used this momentum to launch herself into higher and higher spinning leaps, sometimes coming down on a foot and sometimes on a hand. Everything melted away in the flux.

If left alone this way she could easily keep going until she collapsed. Luckily she'd left the door unlocked. She didn't much care either way if she were watched.

For the first time in a long time, Billy Cranston could make an honest self-assessment with a positive outlook. Encouragement from the crew, a return to his routine duties, and that last eradication of guilt with Adam, Jamie, and Renne had done much to heal the pain and paranoia from before.

Of course, part of this healing process included the difficult requirement of actually spending quiet time with himself---and that meant applying the meditation techniques that Jason, Trini, and Adam had taught him so long ago. His preference was a natural setting, and the only place to simulate that would be the Sensoriums. So off he went, so focused on the task ahead that he forgot to install a lock or 'do not disturb' sign.

( Someone forgets the Sensoriums are public again. Water still wet. )

There was a time to be with the crew. There was a time to be with her Sisters and her ship mother. There was a time to explore and make new friends. Now, because of the efforts of her friends, there was time to spend with Aang too. Every once in awhile, however, there were times where Katara went off by herself to figure things out.

Ironically, it was BECAUSE of her time with Aang, especially recently, that Katara had to have time alone right now. The thing was, to be honest, she hated having to be the responsible one, the one that pulled back now. That had been HER call, and it was a call that made it seem liker Katara was the one with experience or at least the one who would admonish Aang in this new territory of a relationship called "going too far." It wasn't that far a stretch, really: from the crew's interactions, it was clear that issue surfaced every once and awhile, and it wasn't unusual to here from women how men were all after one thing. In fact, she'd heard that echoed in her own world from grown up conversations where no one thought she was listening too: she didn't completely disagree on it with some men. Certainly some could be driven by their impulses, something she knew Sheeana might see as a weakness unless properly contained.

But amidst all these conversations, LOVE never was a part of it, at least, not when it came to the kind of sex that wasn't about flirting and double talk. For love, she'd always view Will and Matt as one example, then Fate and Nanoha as another. Katara had to ask Nanoha at first about having fate as a girlfriend since Nanoha was a new friend, but once she saw them together there was no mistaking it: they loved each other very much, you could see it all around them. With Will she;d known her longer and Will gushed about her boyfriend, but once she met Matt she knew exactly what Will saw in him. He was a man that gave himself to be kind, who cared about his friends and would be there to help you. By that alone, she could see the love that he had for Will, the person he cared for most of all.

But what she hadn't expected was that love and sex could be NOT mutually exclusive: one could bring the other up and come so suddenly and passionately that you weren't prepared to turn away in the first place. She'd had a lot of time to pine away for Aang, to hope that he would see her as he had then, with all the time that had passed. Even though she knew she wanted to be with him, there was the possibility that, older, he was perfectly able to seek any other girl on the ship.

But god, that had been stupid, so stupid. Had she forgotten that look he gave when he saw her, the ways his eyes would slowly meet hers and she knew he couldn't hide his feelings from her because it was Aang, and it was typical that the airbending monk who had turned away from learning the Avatar state to find her would ever want that. Her fears revealed themselves in the Spice dream and died there: she realized Aang was a part of her world, and she couldn't be without him: he had become her heart, her bond.

And with that love came a whole new sort of feeling, feelings she was the GIRL and had to ignore because the girl did not let this happen. The stupid ship had to remind them that they were still subject to someone else's whims, and she pulled herself back even though everything in her was screaming NO I WANT HIM ITS NOT FAIR!!!!

But she had waited months, and when they went there, it would be special, it would be right. It would be something only they shared and a thing that just they understood. Katara hated being the one that enforced that because he was Aang, and she loved him so deeply she wasn't even ashamed that they'd gotten that far. No one had ever made her feel this complete, this happy, warm feeling that made her love everything and everyone and made her forget that she had to look at everything harshly. She wasn't naive, not by a long shot, but for a very long time, she'd had to be wary about everything: the Bene Gesserit, the people she met, the things Sokka said. She had to worry about losing her culture and being tricked and trusting the wrong person and people getting hurt, all the while that aching cutting into her because he was missing.

And he was here, and now her world had changed and she could...smile and be happy.

The Sensorium became the Cave of Two Lovers, the place she had first kissed Aang. She knew Toph would have liked this place as you needed badger moles to get out of it otherwise. She was here, and yet she wasn't. She should train soon and she knew that, but right now she just wanted to get lost in her thoughts.

Aang, she thought, its hard for me too.

People say that war is hell. This looked it.

Buildings and cars and bodies are scattered like broken toys as far as the eye can see, stretching out toward a dirty horizon. Even the clouds seems streaked with mud and blood, and they're taking it out on everyone below with a constant stream of cold, soaking rain.

The sounds of fighting seem to come from all directions, but at this moment, there's no one else in sight.

A breather. The calm before the storm.

[[OOC: This is for everyone who was involved with "The Lurking Fear". Questions go to Milo or Kaylin.]]

Nightmare becomes reality....

[roster: leader - Roxie, Indiana Jones, Jason Todd, Lafiel, Sheeana, Shadow the Hedgehog]

Jacen Solo was seated in the mess hall, yes, but did he have some sort of sustenance in front of him to go along with the place he was seated in? No. He was just sitting at a table, staring blankly to the surface with his hands clasped in his lap and eyes faintly glazed over. No matter where he had been since he arrived here, this was usually how he looked. Completely and utterly lost in thought.

Why had he been brought here? And why had he been brought so soon after he fought for the right to finally relax? It was only days after the war with the Yuuzhan Vong ended. Days.

He had been thinking of traveling around the galaxy, maybe making a stop by Hapes to visit an old friend, maybe stopping by Yavin 4 for a quick round of meditation techniques in the now-ruined Jedi Temple, but no. Not anymore. Now Jacen was left to ponder once more. He was here now. He had met new people (which was usually a plus to him) and he had seen his Aunt and Uncle (he still wondered why they were here too -- and why there had been vague sparks of discomfort when he spoke to them) and he had heard other members of his family were here. Why hadn't he found them?

Jacen didn't want to admit that he probably hadn't found them yet because he was too busy sitting around moping brooding.

His stomach growled at him quite loudly but he was too busy listening to the never-ending chatter of his own thoughts. Just like usual.

Arrakis teaches the attitude of the knife — chopping off what's incomplete and saying: "Now it's complete because it's ended here."
o from Collected Sayings of Muad'Dib by the Princess Irulan

Sheeana had penetrated deeper into the city than ever before. Non Euclidean office buildings and apires that followed arcane rules of alien architecture enclosed her on all sides.

She buzzed in the heightened awareness Spice gave her. It guided her towards something that she knew somehow would have to be there. The Je'dai have their temple. Therefore... But what shrine would a Bene Gesserit have to worship?

She found the answer wedged between a bureacratic ziggurat and a hyperbank. Looming from the crush of hypercivilised buildings, as rough and out of place as a hobo at a cocktail party was a great crag of hard limestone. A scramble up the escarpment and she was at a circular ring carved into the rock, ten feet high by six wide. The shredded, crumbling remains of an ancient rubber moistureseal ringed it.

Sietch Tabr! The ancient Fremen dwelling, carved direct into the desert rock, so much grander than the grubby villages of her time. Once, hundreds, maybe thousands of her people had lived within its warrens.

A crush of memories intruded on her awareness, Fremen of so many generations entering and leaving that place. From its founding, the gate being carved...Its days as a proud sietch in the time of Muad'dib...Being used as a glorified tourist attraction by order of The Tyrant...To the days of the Famine Times and the scattering when it had become closed off, a legendary place full of the Tyrant's Spice hoard...And then her own memories, age twelve, with the mysterious Reverend Mother Darwi Odrade and a Tleilaxu master shorter than her.

All these things superimposed themselves within her, like transparent holofilm piled on top of each other.

In that time, she took a sharp breath.

The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience.
-attributed to Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam

They were, she realized, starting to work as a team. Tess and Katara's movements weren't just becoming more coordinated as individuals but as a pair they supported each other, distracted her on one side so the other could slip behind. This was something she realized as she sent one stumbling across the purple grass with a foot trip. The other moved to support her, instead of being simply an obstacle to be crashed into. Bonds. Solidarity. Esprit du Corps. Whatever you called it, whatever you thought of the Sisterhood's scheming and manipulations, they had it in spades.



Sheeana followed, blurring into a jumping kick...And had to scramble to keep her own balance as a presence intruded on her awareness. She looked chagrined as she signaled a halt to their sparring. That could have been an awkward pratfall.



"Duncan." She turned towards the watching figure, barely keeping the exclamation point out of her voice. The boy seemed to clutch at knowledge the way a starveling went after a ripe peach.

Sitting on a bench under the shade of a large tree within a garden of the Vatican City, Ghanima Atreides was slowly reading the large book that sat on her lap. She had found an old Roman Catholic Latin Bible in one of the rooms of the 'Casina' of Pius IV that she, along with Alia and Duncan - or Hayt - had claimed as their own.

She had needed time to herself, time away from worrying about her aunt, and how her aunt was taking the news of how Hayt had no recollection of his marriage to Alia. It was sad, though she was sure that time would only lead the two on the path they both belonged on - such was the way of life.

She had chosen a small garden as her refuge, and had found she enjoyed the silence that surrounded it. It seemed as though the Vatican City was not a place that many ventured to, and for that Ghani was indeed pleased.

While many from her world had forgotten the old Earth languages, Ghani had always enjoyed speaking, and using them as a way to communicate with her twin brother, Leto. It had been their secrect way of communicating when they didn't wish others to know what was being said. It was one of the gifts that having so many Other Memories had given them. And it was a gift that provided useful now as she read over the Latin words.

"*... melior est enim sapientia cunctis pretiosissimis et omne desiderabile ei non potest conparari. Ego sapientia habito in consilio et eruditis intersum cogitationibus." Ghani read aloud and couldn't help but agree with the small two verses.


*Proverbs 8:11 and 8:12
11 "For wisdom is better than jewels ; And all desirable things cannot compare with her."
12 "I, wisdom, dwell with prudence, And I find knowledge and discretion."

Katara was by herself. Despite all the things she was doing to make sure she would be in a better state, something seemed to weigh heavy on her just now, and she breathed hard now. She wasn't sure what to call that feeling: it was like there were memories that she made, and they were gone now. It made her think of Aang first, who's memories still needed to be regained. She thought of Nanoha and Fate, and how the fight must be hurting them both. She thought of Toph, and Zuko and Mai and Sokka, and how she wanted to make sure they weren't hurt. The feeling of being unable to help her friends and her family on this ship surfaced every now and again, and at these times Katara retreated to the WITCH bus, and went straight for the water room.

This time, she headed for Kiyoshi island minus the Unagi, via Sensorium. She preferred the company of the giant Koi fish usually, but this time it was very quiet, and Katara was sitting by herself, looking out into the ocean. So much was happening at once, and it would be necessary to have a clear mind for the things that were going to happen next. That meant dwelling on the things that weighed heaviest on her, so the Nightmare King couldn't use it against her.

Much of what we call art caters to an inner desire for comfort. Yet the most memorable artists created works which disturbed the psyche of the viewer. That is why the most important elements in any society are the artistic and the criminal, because they alone by questioning the society's values can force it to change.
-archives of the Missionaria Protectiva, unknown author*

Something had welled up in Sheeana in the past few weeks. It was an accumulation brought about by too much time spent around people whose secrets etched lines on sleepless faces. The mood had grown tense and the ship was starting to feel closed in. She knew she would have to express what she felt on this sooner or later. It was either art or snarky commentary that was sure to earn her enemies.

Thus she was down in the city with lasgun and crysknife, carving wood. It was far cruder than the shaper gloves she was used to, and she had not the time to create the traditional Fremen wind sculpture but she would have to make do. The beam sliced the heavy Elaccan fogwood with an impunity not known to any earlier carving instruments. The crysknife took care of any spurs. The sandworm's tooth knife was a finer carver than any before her had been blessed with. The cloying smell of burnt fogwood filled the chamber.



Gradually a figure took place. Born under eye and hand, emerging fully from her roiling brain like Athena, was a humanoid figure. Atop a deep bed of blue sand, he struggled on his stomach in an arch-backed pose. He was half sunk into this psuedo-ocean.

And emerging from the sand all around him were arms, frozen perpetually in the act of reaching for him. They emerged from the sand, their fingers open, questing.

It was an ambiguous sculpture. Was the man drowning or swimming? Was he sinking or emerging? Were the arms reaching for him to pull him under or to support him? To rescue him? The answer would depend on the viewer, and they would surely project their own psychic situation onto it.

It was a distressing piece, not comforting, but she hoped one that would provoke something within the watcher, stir parts of themselves they had not known to activate.

A quick wash of paint (grey for the man, vivid red for the arms), and it was done. She let out a sigh, contented as she felt herself relax from the trance of creation. Time gradually began to reenter its normal phase and she lost her tunnel vision. That was when she realized she wasn't alone.




*[OOC: quote is actually by Samuel R Delany]

Arha was not at the pink bus, she was not in the X-Wing simulation, either, nor was she helping Roxie with something, or with Obi-Wan, training.  Instead, she was standing in the middle of a clearing in a place that looked very much like Felucia from Obi-Wan's Universe.  The air was drier, but the plants glowed in the darkness, casting light around the clearing she'd created.  Arha stretched out and murmured for music.

Any music.

Her eyebrows arched slightly when the beat rang out and the lush music spilled around her.  A delighted laugh bubbled free.  This she could dance to, mostly definitely.  In fact...she lowered the gravity just a touch and restarted the song before beginning to dance.  It was so easy to surrender to the music and let it sweep her tension away.  After the dreams, the horrible, horrible dreams, she needed this far more than she had realized.  Leaps were fun, spins were elegant, interpretation was challenging, and Arha loved it all so much that she completely lost track of time.

The same song had been on repeat far longer than she cared to admit.

 

Since the announcement, Matt had done his best to clean up everything and prepare a pile of food. There were small sandwiches, various snack foods, chips and several bottles of soda. It was simple snack fair, but it was enough to give people reassurance that there was normal food within the lunacy.

Rein puttered around, the little girl heaving up seats and moving them to accomodate the meeting place in the dining hall, pushing together chairs and tables with surprising strength. The pair worked busily and soon were prepared for whatever would come.

"Seems like we're all ready," said Matt, wiping his forehead. "Made all sorts of snack foods, and I've got the slow roast in the pressure cooker for those who want something hearty."

Walking to the door and wiping his hands on a rag, he opened the door to the bus to welcome anyone who was coming in.

Some cheer was definitely needed on this ship. Whatever chance meeting had brought Kaylee and Claudia together in mechanical mischief had also set their minds to turning over what they could possibly do to get some smiles back on the faces of those onboard.

A costume party.

Claudia had come up with the idea, really. She knew a bit more about it than Kaylee did, but she explained it all in such a way that Kaylee really couldn’t resist wanting to throw one. It’d be a good chance for everyone to let loose and have a good time in the midst of the nightmare madness. Who could resist that?

The sensorium had been melded to an image from Kaylee’s mind, though. A grand ballroom, with marble floors and painted ceiling. A large buffet table stood against one of the walls, covered mostly in fruit, but in some other hors d’oeuvres as well.

[[ OoC: Party style!! Costumes aren't a requirement, but they are fun. If you've got questions about anything, ask Cheryle or Holly. :D ]]

In the contrived visions of the computer Alia summoned the images of her own. It only seemed like the right place. Here on the sands of Arakkis, she could confront the bane of her existence here on the ship.
Once this girl had shared almost kind words with her, but now, now Alia's fury raged inside, fueled by the rabble of voices within.

Damn the extra spice Sheeana was making, damn the sister hood, damn her family name. It didn't matter, not now, in that moment, it all fell away in the face of her anger and discontent.

Alia sat cross legged on a ledge, over looking the rolling dunes. Behind her, beyond the sheer stone walls she knew lay the images of seitch tabar. But they where only echos of her memories, they weren't real. The run on her skin, the sand gritty and find beneath her thighs, the wind the blew little rivers of sand to and fro... it was all an illusion. A glorious back drop to the firey words that gathered in her mouth.

There was much to say.

Being from (Ar)Rakis, Sheeana's first thoughts on the dark dreams that had been afflicting her fellow crewmates had more to do with hurricanes and sandstorms than clouds. The metaphor was the same though.

That was her thought as she sat in the lotus position in front of Arha's door (she would not leave her if she had another such dream, but would not tempt herself into sleep by joining her either). Sandstorms. She missed them so, the beating, suffocating, gritty howl of them. Real weather, to rasp at the skin, to shape both person and landscape. Sand or rock crunching underfoot, screaming winds, danger that could be understood and grasped by human hands. I am a desert creature. I need the environment I was born for.

She longed for them as for the touch of a lover.

The scent of fresh water caught her by surprise, invading her nose as she inadvertently sucked a lungful of water in, choked, and hacked as she flailed.  So much water.  Water and fear.  Because something was wrong (her head hurt, it hurt, it hurt).  There was water, she knew that in the same way that she knew she had to try and stay above the waterline.

She wanted Obi-Wan.

Arha spat out water and tried to move, but she was wet and heavy and she knew it was a losing battle.  The water was cold.  Colder than she could keep up with.  The dread set in a moment later as she found herself underwater, staring down into the depths, her hair a cloud of muted red.

There was someone down there.

Someone staring up at her.

Arha woke with a sharp gasp, her fingers on her lightsaber as the hood of her cloak slipped backward and fell around her shoulders.  For a long moment, she stared across the observation deck uneasily, shoving the bright burst of panic down as far as she could.  There was something terribly urgent about it, something wrong.  Something.

Something frighteningly real.

Arha blinked again and shuddered.  Too much water.