Tarahmes' blade seemed to find new speeds and capabilities every time the young Sith wielded the deadly laser weapon. He now was engaged in heavy battle with the droids his father had used his powerful influence to commandeer. And thus his mastery of the third, most defensive, form of light saber combat began. He seemed to be doing well, but his focus was more than lacking, in Jomo Idrissa's eye. That is, the eye he was using to watch his son's workout through; more specifically his mind's eye. In his meditation chamber, he had set 7 droids loose on his son unexpectedly and left. He had had him meditating on sole use of the Soresu form, which was the best choice when fending off blaster fire. However, the hyperactive child had digressed to the more acrobatic fourth form, which had ended up becoming his preferred style. His sneer grows imperceptibly as he flips over the head of a nearby droid and decapitates it with a well-timed slice. He lands in a roll and thrusts himself back into the air, dragging his blade through a second droid with a laugh. As the two clatter to the ground, destroyed beyond repair, Tarahmes lands back on his feet and raises the blade in an aggressive back stance. The remaining droids all continue their stream of fire at the boy, who wastes no time in redirecting their fire rampantly. He seems to grow bored quickly however, and angles all the shots back at the droids quickly, taking them all out nearly at the same time. The display of skill and power from the pre-pubescent prodigy was astonishing, but it infuriated Darth Sidriss that his son refused to conform to the training he had designed for him.
"Fine," Darth Sidriss stood to his full, impressive height. "I will test his true limits."
"Come on…" Tarahmes complained. "Is that it?"
"Oh no my son," Darth Sidriss intones from the shadows of the dimly lit chamber. "You're barely warmed up."
"More droids?" his voice sounds half expecting and half disappointed.
"Hardly," He draws his red blade and flips onto Tarahmes' level.
His smirk of confidence fades into a wide grin as he realizes the implications, "I get to fight you?"
"Indeed."
"YES!"
The excited response to the revelation made Darth Sidriss smile in the corner of his mind. He truly will become a powerful apprentice; his eagerness will give way to success. The black blade of Tarahmes Idrissa, which still managed to give off the normal glow of a light saber, had a special, even if weird, property to the light. It seemed to reveal the residue of any substance that had stained whatever material was caught in the black light of the blade. Tarahmes raised the blade, assuming the back stance he'd shown to the droids, and Darth Sidriss stood in a relaxed stance. Much like a storm trooper does when told to stand "at ease". Tarahmes stared his father in his eyes, mechanical, organic, and psychic, waiting for him to attack. Deciding to take his sons bait, Jomo attacked, twisting into a rapid spin at his son's torso. He spun the blade in a half-circle pattern and the opening attack was redirected. Darth Sidriss continued to press his superior attack on his son's defenses. Then he finally got the feeling he was being ripped off. The boy was more than capable of handling simple directions, but he'd switched to his favorite form as if to appear digress, so that he'd come in and fight him directly. He quickly realized that he was pressing his attack into a Soresu defense, and a very well practiced one at that.
"You've been training, my son." Darth Sidriss intoned in a deep voice.
"I was under the impression you were watching my training," comes the evasive response.
Darth Sidriss' smirk is lost as his blade whips in front of his face, and lances out in a piercing motion at his sons throat. Tarahmes knew he had difficulty blocking stabbing attacks such as this one, so instead he improvised. He spun towards the outside of his father's arm, slapping the blade towards the middle of the Sith's body and aimed a backwards slice at his father's hip. Jomo flipped into the air, stunning his son at the quick reflex, and landed, his blade poised right next to his son's throat. Tarahmes gasped but was unable to react accordingly.
"You attacked too soon." Darth Sidriss lowered his light saber.
"I was hoping that strike would make it so you couldn't bring the blade back quick enough." Tarahmes' face fell in disappointment that his plan didn't work.
"Did you see my blade come back?" Darth Sidriss asked, retracting his blade.
"I didn't see much after you flipped."
"Because you lost track of me. My next move was easy to anticipate." The older Idrissa scolded.
Tarahmes straightened up, having knelt for the reverse attack. "But you moved so fast."
"The Force flows through me without boundaries. You must allow the Force to fuel your movements."
The red blade snaps back out and Tarahmes readies himself again, this time choosing a more aggressive back stance, with his black blade pointed out in front his body, as if to impale his father should he get too close. This time, the younger of the battling Idrissa's takes the initiative, reverting to his favored form, and leaps into the battle. This time Darth Sidriss finds himself using the defenses he was trying to instill in his son, as he fends off the initial overhead strike. The agile boy used the clashing blades as a platform to launch himself into the air, flipping over his father and striking at his side. The red blade intercepts the attack without the slightest hint of his father turning to track his movements. Tarahmes stops, astonished, before his throat suddenly seems to close and he can't breathe. Dropping his self-constructed black saber, Tarahmes collapses to his knees and clutches at his throat trying to draw in some semblance of oxygen.
"What happened!" The power chokes off the reply to the Sith's sudden roars. Tarahmes, caught off-guard, can't even manage a gasp under his father's sudden rage.
Aya weaved through the bolts of fire with such small changes in direction; the other new recruits simply appeared to be poor marksmen. Indeed, they were all men, and all of them seemed to be grinding their teeth as Aya's squadron was winning another battle. She hadn't even bothered with return fire, rather allowing herself to play as a superior distraction.
"Red 2, I said break OFF!" The red squad leader yelled at his subordinate angrily. "I need backup, I have 3 bogey's on my tail!"
"Just 15 more seconds Red 1, I can get her!" The co-captain of the red squad angrily yelled back.
"Negative, pull-back! You're too close!" Red 1 returned over the headset.
The last two fighter's left from the red squad was the best of friends. They always hung out, and seemed to back each other up no matter the circumstances. But they hadn't met the daughter of arguably the most powerful being alive, and there wasn't a single recruit in the PYP that could have prepared adequately for the encounter. After her taunts had been followed up with undeniable mastery of her TIE fighter, it seemed to be the red squad's sole goal to destroy her. This had left her own squadron the option to tag-team and eliminate any opponent they wished, leaving only the 2 top ranked fighter pilot's from the currently dubbed 'Red Squadron' and only their leader had kept his focus. But alone, he was no match for 5 of his peer's. Aya shifted her fighter to the right then a smirk appeared on her face.
"Red 2, FALL BACK!"
As soon as the very last syllable of this desperate cry rang out, Aya's nimble fighter jerked upwards as a missile, that had been flying right towards her, whipped right under her at it's real target. A target that had been gritting his teeth and chasing after her for the past 3 minutes. A target that was now destroyed. Aya pulled hard to the right and spoke into her headset.
"Let me finish Red 1."
"Affirmative Blue 5."
Rolling her eyes at the fact that her designation, Blue 5, was below Blue 4, Blue 3, Blue 2, and her squad leader Blue 1, when it was fairly obvious who had the better skill. But then again, skill isn't strategy or tactics, or even experience. Ah who cares, where's Red 1 hiding?
Aya circled her previous position twice and finally broke off heading in the exact opposite direction she had been heading in previously. As soon as she passed a stray asteroid her radar bleeped a loud warning of a bogey on six and she grinned in satisfaction.
"Blue 5, you have one on your tail." Blue 3 radioed her.
"Thank you," she chuckled at his late timing. "Stand down, I can handle it."
"We'll see about that Blue 5," Red 1 broke in confidently.
I disagree; you'll NEVER see this coming.
"Fine." She gripped the throttle on her right, which had been resting at its midway point for the entire exercise.
Her turbo's fired and she whipped away from Red 1 who was more than cautious about his pursuit, rather choosing to wait for her. He didn't have to wait long; it was mere moments when he saw her flying right at him, on a collision course.
"Her missile is armed!" Red 2 warned.
"I know! I should think I'm a bit smarter than you." Red 1 growled, still upset about his partner's demise.
"I don't even need the missile." She taunted, grating on his pride some more. "Watch, I'll eject it without firing."
The missile fell out of its launch tube and floated in space, dead. Then her turbo's fired again as she flew straight towards Red 1's TIE fighter with even greater speed than she had mustered to pull away from him.
"You ever played chicken, chicken?" Aya's feminine smirk was obvious over the radio.
"I'm undefeated as a matter-of-fact." He smirked right back as his own turbo's matched the propulsion of Aya's.
"I doubt that," Aya jerked her TIE fighter to the left and Red 1 whipped right past Blue 5, leaving him to fly headlong into the armed space trash of Aya's leftover missile. The explosion consumed Red 1's screen as he threw his arms up to cover his eyes and the words "Eliminated" spread across his screen. "Cause chicken champions are usually dead."
Tarahmes was lying on his younger sister's bed, twirling the handle of his self-designed light saber consumed in his thoughts, knowing that this was a perfect time to meditate. But he didn't feel like it, because every time he meditated he wanted to conquer something, and he'd just conquered himself. His father had tested him, doing his seemingly best to impress him, and then punishing him for being amazed. But with his father's capabilities it was as if only Lord Sidious himself could keep a straight face when watching his father work. In fact he had even thrown a quick bolt of Force lightning at him while he was in mid-flip. That hadn't been the shocking, no pun intended, part of the interaction, so much as he'd blocked it right before landing. All it took was a slight pause to admire his own reflexes and precognition before a Force-push slammed him into the nearest wall. There was a light tapping at the door, and Tarahmes extended his palm towards it causing the door to spring open.
"Your repair job is admirable," were her first words.
"Since when do you talk like that?" he questioned suspiciously. "They teach you that at PYP?"
"No, it's a message from Father." She said. "I thought it was perfect the first time."
"I had accidentally damaged the motor's that moved the door." He grumbled about having to redo his quick fix of the obstacle. "We don't need anything that weak on the ship anyways, the way I see it."
"You'll be glad you did it later," Aya quoted their father again hopping onto the bed next to him. "Father means well, he's just harsh."
"Being the second most feared name in the galaxy does that to you." Tarahmes pointed out. "But he wasn't always like this, he used to be very kind."
"Well I don't really remember that far back, my last memory of him was the day he came back from the accident," Aya's voice seems to grow quiet. "Why did he change?"
"I don't know, I think he felt…betrayed." Tarahmes paused trying to gather his few memories accurately. "After his crash he was upset that the Jedi Council had held a funeral for him rather than send out a search party. He saw it as their way of calling him weak, even if unintentional."
"So when Emperor Palpatine rescued him," Aya began.
"Father joined the more loyal Sith." Tarahmes finished.
"You wanna grab some food?" Aya asked, suddenly changing the subject. "I'm starving."
Realizing his own famished state Tarahmes smiled, nodding, and leapt to his feet. He headed back into his own room through the closet and placed his light saber and cloak on the bed then hurried back into Aya's room. Opening the door through a bit of Force-manipulation the two trudged off towards the turbo-lift. As the doors snapped open the young pair noticed two storm troopers already on the elevator. As they stepped on the lift Tarahmes realized, from the waves of recognition he could sense from the troopers, that these two were the first guards he'd met when his father had taken him to start his training. With a slight inward smirk from Tarahmes, the lift took off towards its destination.
In the mess hall Tarahmes scans the room momentarily then he perks up happily as he senses Troopers 8893 and 5627 sitting next to each other amongst a couple of other storm troopers at the table. Aya notices where Tarahmes' eyes were fixed and waves at them excitedly. 8893 notices and waves back at them while 5627 signals them to come over. Aya and Tarahmes hurry across the mess hall, balancing their large gathering of food delicately on their trays and plop down on the end of the table across from each other.
"Nice to see you two again," 8893 greets them. "How's life down at the PYP?"
"Funny," Aya immediately pipes up. "Why does everyone get so mad when they can't beat me alone?"
"Pride," Tarahmes interjects between bites.
"I'm proud I'm doing a good job, what's that have to do with anything?" Aya asks him.
"He's right Aya," 5627 begins. "These boys have been raised believing that males are naturally stronger than females."
"Which is true as a general guideline." 8893 adds.
"But their false belief is that strength is superiority. So when they see you, a weak little girl," 5627 explains.
"I am not weak!" Aya responds indignantly.
"And I will be the first to agree, but I'm telling you what they see." 5627 counters gently.
"Aya, see you've gotten used to being around me and father who don't judge anyone by looking at them," Tarahmes tells her. "Most the people on this ship haven't been raised that way."
"Oh," she says understandingly.
"So when they can't defeat someone they've been raised thinking they are better than, their pride is hurt." 8893 finishes up. "And their only recourse is anger."
"And more pointless attempts," Tarahmes adds.
"Hmm, so being angry makes you keep trying the same stupid stuff." Aya deduces.
"No, blind anger does," Tarahmes corrects. "Look at Lord Sidriss who seems to thrive off of his anger."
"You know you're right," 8893 says thoughtfully. "I never noticed that but he does seem more satisfied after he vents his anger."
"Probably cause he's insane," Tarahmes laughs.
"I heard that," his father's joking voice forces it's way into his mind.
"I doubt anyone's told him that and lived to brag about it," 5627 laughs.
"Or ever will," Aya assures him, with a touch less humor in her voice than the other three.
"I'll drink to that," 5627 chuckles one last time.
