| It Takes One to Know One By Jemmiah |
| ENTRY THIRTY-ONE: You are not going to believe who I have to stay with…. SAL-FINA. I can't believe Master Windu would be so cruel! Of all the people in the temple he picked Master Falmar! I don't know how he managed it. I don't think either of them like each other. More to the point I know that Sal-Fina doesn't like me. I don't know why, it's not like I've done anything to annoy her…I think. This is one of the worst days I've experienced since I arrived on Coruscant… "Master Windu…" Vernice hesitated, not entirely sure how best to approach him at that moment. "Mace…might I ask you something as a friend?" Mace had already known the question was coming. He'd known it the moment the news had been divulged, from the startled, perplexed expression as exhibited by Vernice to the outright shock worn by Jemmiah on hearing the news. For one of the few, rare moments in his life Mace wondered if indeed he'd mistaken the force's intention…if somehow he'd misread the situation in thinking that Master Falmar was the right choice. The way Jemmiah had looked at him - as if he'd floored her with an iron bar - would stay with him for many, many days. There was no escaping the fact that Qui-Gon would prove equally disgusted when he found out. They'd been stood outside Master Jinn's apartment for the last ten minutes, waiting for Jemmiah to gather up her possessions and any clothing she felt she was going to need over the next few days, preferring to stay outside and leave the girl to her thoughts without intruding any further. First Qui-Gon had left on the mission, taking his padawan with him. That would be considered unsettling enough in itself. And now Sal-Fina? Vernice couldn't fathom out what had made Mace take such a baffling step. From the few encounters they'd had it seemed as if Jemmiah and Sal-Fina had been destined not to get along. Knowing Sal-Fina as she did, Vernice was finding it mighty difficult not to sympathize with Jemmiah… "You want to know why Jemmiah was put into Sal-Fina's charge?" Mace turned around to face her, his voice one of low monotone. "Is that right?" "Mace…I know you would never do anything you personally felt was wrong." Vernice acknowledged, signaling her acceptance of the situation, although not her liking for it. "But the choice of Sal-Fina does on the surface seem a little odd. You know what she's like about Qui-Gon! I sometimes think that the only reason either of them have managed to make it to middle age is because they go out of their way to deliberately avoid each other! Perish the thought of either of them having to work together any length of time!" She took a deep, steadying breath. "But putting the child into her care is a risky thing." "She wouldn't harm her." Mace answered obstinately. "Sal-Fina's many things but she's not naturally violent." "No, she might chip a nail or smudge her lipgloss." Vernice answered dryly out the side of her mouth. "And she wouldn't want that, would she? I wasn't suggesting for a moment that Sal-Fina would raise a hand to anyone. Except Qui-Gon," she added, grinning a touch maliciously at the thought of the ongoing battle of wits between them, "and he's more than got her measure! What I was trying to say is that Sal-Fina's dislike of Qui-Gon could very well be projected onto Jemmiah, and that's hardly fair. I'm not sure that Jemmiah understands the long history of antagonism and…other things that Qui-Gon and Sal have between them." "Force, I hope not!" Mace's eyebrows seemed to rocket up to the top of his shiny head. "Precisely. How is she going to feel, knowing that Sal-Fina has all this inexplicable irritation aimed at her all day and every day? And how will Sal-Fina feel, having to keep an eye on someone who is now lawfully in Qui-Gon's care?" "They will just have to deal with it." Mace answered sagely. "I'm afraid that's all there is to it. For all her many documented failings, Sal-Fina is a jedi. If she's managed to cope without slitting Qui-Gon's throat all these years then I think she'll manage to cope with the child. Besides, Padawan Macieak will be there. She'll be reasonable company for Jemmiah if she needs someone to talk to." "Ambianca, if you'll forgive me for saying this about another Jedi's padawan learner," Vernice altered the weight from one foot to another, feeling rather awkward at criticizing someone behind their back, "Is rather easily led from what I can gather. Tanni tells me that she spends most of her time in the company of stronger personalities like Brinkly Hamin and Junine V'yatt. I'm not sure that being seen with a younger child in tow would do a lot for Ambianca's social standing, if you see what I mean." "I'm not sure that's relevant." Mace frowned. "Is it?" "Mace," Vernice all but wrung her hands, "children naturally favor some friends more than others. They form little circles…cliques if you like. I think that if you put Jemmiah in with Ambianca then the poor girl is going to get ignored." Mace rubbed wearily at his eyes. The decision had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and to a degree he was regretting having made it, but still - he had to trust the force. There was nothing else but to think on how strong that urge to bring Sal-Fina and Jemmiah together had been, to what end he couldn't say. But everything, however small, had a reason. He just hoped it was a good one, or else the grilling he would surely get as a result of his judgement would not justify his decision. "However did you get her to agree, anyway?" Vernice finally voiced the one, singlemost bothersome question yet to be answered. "I mean…Sal-Fina? She isn't the most maternal of people. Mothering someone else's child - especially the adopted child of someone whose name she basically can't stand to be mentioned in her presence - isn't a likely scenario." This time, she noticed perceptively, it was Mace who looked more than a little uncomfortable as he made an engrossed study of his short, cut-to-the-quick fingernails. "She didn't volunteer, did she?" Vernice stated finally. "No." He agreed, his eyes refusing to meet hers. "So, how…" "I suggested that she might want to do this thing by way of earning a little extra respect amongst those on the council. There are one or two people there who, to put it mildly, don't have a lot of time for Master Falmar, even when acknowledging the mitigating circumstances. She is headstrong, willful and possesses a tongue that could outstrip a vibro blade on occasions. But, flawed as she is they feel that she should be given another chance to alter her attitude where Qui-Gon is concerned. Perhaps time will eventually heal the battle scars between them?" He gave a doubtful shrug of his shoulders, his voice not exactly sounding as if it were brimming with confidence. "This, they felt, was the perfect opportunity for her to show willing to let bygones be bygones. And so, as I explained to her, this is a golden chance for her to start mending bridges that should long have been fixed." "You can't mend what's rotten!" Vernice replied stoutly in defiance. "There's so much rot there that you can't see the wood anymore! Your lucky if you've still got a bridge at all, in my opinion, let alone talk of mending it!" "Vernice, I appreciate what you are saying, but for reasons unknown," he paused, "the force told me that this was right. My head agrees with your sentiments…on the face of it there would hardly be a less sensible solution. And I genuinely do not want to see Jemmiah unhappy." He added softly, trying his best to convince his skeptical friend. "But if Sal-Fina makes a good job of caring for the girl, then it will lessen Qui-Gon's reasons to continue their silly, ongoing feud. And that has to be a good thing. This destructiveness has gone on long enough. If it takes Jemmiah to bring that harmony back then I for one won't be sorry to use her in this way." "Mace…" Vernice groaned, resting her head wearily against the doorframe. "Be very, very careful that you don't forget Jemmiah's feelings in all this, because if you are somehow wrong about the force willing this decision then she'd going to end up dreadfully hurt. You know there are all kind of rumors floating about as to why Jemmiah is living at the temple." She saw Mace's features crumple distastefully. "There are people who believe that Jemmiah must have something to do with Qui-Gon, seeing as how she stays with him. Sal-Fina must know about those rumors. It's not going to make her like the girl any more than she already does…" "Such rumors are total works of fiction." Mace replied heatedly. "And are not worthy of being repeated. They are beneath a Jedi's dignity. If I hear of anyone - including Sal-Fina - voicing these opinions then they will be brought before the council to answer for their poor conduct." He relaxed slightly, his lips pursing in the tiniest of smiles. "You see, being on the council sometimes does have its advantages." "I never doubted it." Vernice managed a rueful chuckle. Two large, mildly resentful eyes stared up at her from the doorway, not even so much as acknowledging Master Windu this time, fixing only on Vernice. "Ready." Jemmy muttered, a large rucksack draped over her shoulder stuffed with what appeared to be cuddly Nerf's and one-eyed Gundarks. It looked to all the world as if she'd decided to scoop up the whole apartment and try to shove it down into the bag! Was there any clothing in there at all, Mace wondered, or was it all comprised of personal belongings? "Er," Mace reluctantly found his voice, "no toys. Sal-Fina told me that she didn't want you covering her apartment with your stuff…which I guess is reasonable seeing as it is her place. I maybe should have mentioned that before." The master found himself feeling acutely embarrassed, eyes to the ground. Jemmiah transferred her attention instantly from Vernice to Mace, not so much as blinking for a single moment, and stared hard at him for the best part of ten seconds. "There goes the only decent conversation I was in any danger of having." Jemmy pulled out the ugly, one-eyed Gundark and marched back into her apartment, head held ridiculously high. "I'll guess that means I'll have to speak to padawan fluff-brain instead. Great…just great! I'd get more sense out of my plasti-duck! This is what I get for saying how terrible G'emela would be!" Mace watched her leave, and gave an inaudible gulp. "I think she took that quite well." He said. She should of course have been used to such dire situations but that did little to stir Jemmiah's forlorn spirits in any way at all. Comparing Sal-Fina to Nargotria was a waste of time: the two were incomparable, unless you counted the fact that, to all intents and purposes, she was imprisoned again. Not maltreated, or abused. Not threatened physically at all. Yet there was something about the way that Sal-Fina continually looked down her long, elegant nose at her that made Jemmiah feel as if she had been transported back a matter of months to a time where she had suffered the cruel jibes and taunts of worthlessness from equally disgusted captors. It was that look…that haughty, contemptuous gaze of superiority that made Jemmiah want to smack the woman in the mouth! What right did she have to gawk at her like she was something that crawled out from underneath a rock? And that was the bizarre and irritating truth: she did nothing but stare! She stared at her when she was in plain sight. She stared when she thought Jemmiah was not looking at her. Even when out of the room the Corellian felt certain Sal-Fina's eyes were lazering their way through the walls to reach her. It just made no sense! What had she ever done to her? Well, yes - there had been that occasion she'd referred to her as wrinkled, griping misery on stilts. Even so, any rational human being would have forgotten that, wouldn't they? The bottom line was that Sal-Fina, for reasons as yet not uncovered, detested Qui-Gon. As a result she was not prepared to give her houseguest any room to relax, leaving Jemmiah to feel as if one wrong step would have her thrown out on her ear. Not that it might be such a bad thing… Of course, the fact that she had been treating the unfortunate G'emela the same way that Sal-Fina was treating her was an irony not altogether lost on Jemmiah, who was the galaxy's biggest believer in people getting what they deserved, be it through fate - or the force. Maybe she was being made to stew for the way she'd poured scorn on Master Jinn's former padawan? Or had she simply run out of luck? Just when G'emela was beginning to sound like quite a smart, fun person to be with - look who the force saddled her with? Still, the situation did have its good points: it actually made her look forward to going back to school and the unwelcome presence of Sophie Digwurt! After Sal-Fina, nobody could seem bad in comparison! Jemmiah sat quietly, drawing in on herself as if to make her presence as unobtrusive as possible, making not a sound save for the near silent tapping of her fingers against her diary's keypad. What, she wondered, would Qui-Gon have done were he in her situation? As a jedi he was bound to try and find a sensible, non-confrontational solution - even if deep down he felt Sal-Fina deserved a good hide tanning! Surely even he wouldn't have put up with that fixed glaring all day and night without saying something? Maybe he'd have just got up and walked away to avoid any arguments? Or perhaps he would have simply ignored the problem, thereby leaving himself without cause for reproof? It wasn't something that Jemmiah was finding easy to deal with: ever since she'd been brought back to Coruscant there was always someone staring at her. Her non-jedi issue clothing marked her out from everybody else, as did the way she walked and talked. There was just something totally…untrained about her: clearly at first glance she was a person who had not been brought up in the temple. An alien in the truest sense of the word. Qui-Gon understood that and tried his best to make sure that the gawpers didn't overstep the mark, but what was he to do? Short of going round knocking on the doors of each and every one of the ten thousand plus jedi and giving an explanatory introduction there would always be someone who would not know about her…who would run into her by chance. And then the staring would commence with a vengeance! She looked up from her diary. Now they were both looking her way, except that fluff-brain Ambianca at least had the guilty grace to look away. No such joy where Sal-Fina was concerned! Slowly, Jemmiah felt the blood in her veins begin to boil, even although she could all but hear Qui-Gon urging her to do nothing rash that she would regret later on…nothing hate filled. I'm still here as a guest of the council, Jemmy reminded herself, grinding her teeth against the smoldering feeling of injustice burning deep within her. I may be Qui-Gon's ward but I could still stuff things up if I go over and smack her in the mouth for her rudeness! Then nobody will speak to me and I'll get sent away! She dug her finger nails, sharp as a Rantiil Tiger's claws, down through the layers of her skin in the hope that the pain might take her mind off the damage she desperately dreamed of inflicted upon Sal-Fina's thin face. Quit getting angry! She'll know you're worked up - and she'll be pleased! Don't give her the satisfaction of knowing she's got you mad! Jemmiah released a pent-up breath, and with it a certain amount of anger. Qui-Gon was right, what was the point? The last time she'd extracted revenge against someone who'd seriously annoyed her it had merely succeeded in fanning the flames of wrath. Sophie, once content to bully and insult with words was now well and truly after her blood! There was too much at stake to indulge in petty brawling, besides which Sal-Fina was a jedi. Did she really think that she'd be able to beat the woman? As for the air-headed padawan, at least she was no problem. Even with the age gap in Ambianca's favor Jemmiah knew she had her beaten for wits the moment she'd first met her some months ago. She too was mean and spiteful, but only infront of her friends. On her own she was of no threat whatsoever, a human being with little personality to her credit, who wanted only to emulate her Master. Poor, misguided creature. Maybe she'd spent too long amongst the hopeless, the outraged and the unfortunate who had little else but their dreams of revenge against their captors to keep them going, but Jemmiah still felt the urge to walk up to Sal-Fina and give her optical nerves a damn good poke with a sharp stick! Miserable old harpy! Imagine not liking Qui-Gon…how could any normal, sane being do such a thing? He was unlike any man she had ever known before: kind, gentle and compassionate. What HAD he done to earn such enmity? Whatever it was had to be Sal-Fina's fault because, well, Qui-Gon was about as near perfect as anyone could get. The only other person who matched him in her affections was Obi-Wan. No, there was something dreadfully wrong with Sal-Fina; it was the only logical explanation. Quite simply, she'd been placed in the care of a loony. It didn't take the 'Brain of Coruscant' to work that out! "You'll wear'em out." Jemmy piped up eventually, not looking up from where she sat - face intent upon re-reading the last entry in her diary. Sal-Fina's stare narrowed suspiciously at the sudden outburst. She'd been wondering if the girl would ever speak at all: not one word had been uttered since Master Windu had unceremoniously deposited her at her doorstep, and whilst Sal-Fina wasn't unhappy with that, the silence left her somewhat unnerved. Finally, now that she'd found her voice, the master found herself paying close attention to the way she talked, the way she gestured and her general deportment. What was it about this…this…scrawny urchin that had managed to capture the heart of a man like Qui-Gon Jinn? Certainly she'd seen nothing so far to merit such attention. The child's eyes were strange, simply too large and bright - like a distant binary sunset burning in the evening sky. There was not the slightest hint of sea-blue, nor was there anything of the strong framed, upright jedi master in her bearing. This Corellian waif was a lightweight; small and unsubstantial like a gossamer ghostling! Simply, and much to her relief, Sal-Fina came to the conclusion that the rumors regarding the child's possible parentage - which she had been prepared to credit until further investigation proved otherwise - were surely false. The question Sal-Fina found most problematic was why it should bother her whether there was any truth in it or not… Still, she'd keep an open mind on the subject until she found out for certain. "Wear what out?" Sal-Fina asked, putting down the glass of water she'd been sipping for the last hour or so, taking her time so that she might have a pretence to sit in the room and stare. "You're eyes." Jemmy shifted round, placing her diary on her open lap so that she could fix her own gaze directly on Sal-Fina. If she wanted a staring match, she'd picked a fight with the wrong girl! The amount of time she'd spent with Nadine, playing the self-same game…why, she was better at it than she was at Sabaac, and that was saying something! There! Sal-Fina had blinked, as good as admitting that victory indeed belonged to her opponent! "Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to stare?" Sal-Fina's voice, cool and clipped as it was, began to show signs of uncertainty. "Didn't they tell you?" Jemmiah replied a touch cheekily. "Pardon???" Jemmiah said nothing, and resorted to her other chief weapon in her defensive armory - her rather dangerous looking grin. Dangerous because, although the wearer was a mere child of ten - and one who looked many years below even that paltry age - the crooked smile looked as if it had been removed from the face of some big-time gangster and slapped over the mouth of an innocent. Why, Sal-Fina wondered, did she get the impression the girl was about to tear her throat out? The diabolical grin and those blazing eyes did nothing for the Jedi's confidence. Even the force was telling her to be alert… "You needn't flatter yourself to think I was staring at you." Sal-Fina nodded stiffly at the diary on Jemmiah's lap. "I was merely wondering what you were doing, that is all." "This?" Jemmy's grin grew even wider, more plastic than before. "It's my diary." She fingered it lovingly, almost clutching it to her body. "It helps me." "Helps you?" Blinked Sal-Fina. "I write in it every day. I do it to keep me sane. The head doctors told me I had to or else…" She shrugged carelessly, "I might go right round the twist. And that could be bad." "Bad?!?" Jemmiah nodded. "Maybe I might accidentally hurt someone." She saw Sal-Fina exchange worried glances with Ambianca and mentally punched the air. "Or smother someone with a pillow at night. Maybe I might even set fire to something…I like playing with lighters, don't you?" Jemmiah felt her face aching through having to keep up her rigid grinning. "But never mind about that. I'm sure we're going to get along just fine, huh?" Jemmy winked at Sal-Fina, who now looked more than a little convinced that her lodger was seriously disturbed in the head. "Oh…Snordle says it's time for a nap. You don't mind, do you? It's been a big day and I'd like to settle in…" "Spare room on your right." Sal-Fina pointed, only too pleased to get the frightening child out of her sight. "Take as long as you want." "Snordle says thank you." Jemmy switched off her diary and slipped it into her pocket, fishing around in her rucksack for her plasti duck. "Oh, and don't worry about what I was saying about smothering people in their beds. I've only done it the once." And with that Jemmiah turned, threw her rucksack roughly across her back, and retreated to the safety of the spare room, still wearing her alarming, serial-killer smile. Sal-Fina walked over to Ambianca and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "We've let a maniac into our home." She said through gritted teeth. "If I'd known she had behavioral problems I wouldn't have agreed to this crazy scheme of Master Windu's! Still," Sal-Fina grunted, "at least now we know why Qui-Gon took her in." "Why?" Swallowed the nervous Ambianca. "Because," Replied Sal-Fina, "he's the only one insane enough to do it!" |
 |
|