04-16-2018, 02:52 PM
She seemed hesitant, perhaps not in tone so much as in body language. Her movements, even the way she studied the diagram, the way her head turned to the open space seemed to have a deliberateness about it.
For a moment, he couldn't understand why. But he listened to her words, tried to understand what she really was saying. Control. She's still learning control. He had to cast his mind back a few years just to remember what that felt like. Using the Force was as easy as breathing now- that is, if your lungs were trying to crush your heart with each contraction and it was only by force of will that you kept that from happening.
But he remembered. Reaching out to the Force and it laughing at you, so far away it might as well be the moon. Later, so close you could see it right in front of you, and yet no amount of stretching out could let you touch it. Seizing it and just being able to hold it, a tiny thread, so tenuous that any attempt to pull it to him snapped the connection. Feeling the Force overwhelm him, riding for dear life as it bucked and kicked and fought, barely holding on to control, the thought of forming actual threads to DO anything impossible. Forming threads, trying to actually do something and failing again and again.
It was a feat of mastery that had taken weeks or even months. He remembered in those days that he'd have to meditate and find innate calm before the Force allowed itself to be controlled by him. He had chafed under those bonds but had worked under them all the same.
Until that fateful day in the park, the crunch of ice melt under his feet, the heavy clouds still full of more snow a roof above, the sounds of children playing on the dilapidated park equipment, a single working swing, a battered and dinged up slide. Kids, stuck inside for months finally outside for just an afternoon, able to run off their energies while bundled up in scarves and jackets and hoodies and hats. Gloves occasionally, for some.
And Farian, standing there watching and Marcus remembering the foster home. And he refused to submit to the Force anymore. Never again. He would ask permission of no one, not even the Force to act. Pushing through the wall, grabbing the Force by the scruff and forcing it down, his foot on its neck until it submitted to his wrath.
It had been a good day, he recalled with a faint smile.
So long ago he never really thought of it. It was good to be reminded about where people were in their progress. His schools were going to have to take that into account. Come up with grading systems or levels, so that people could see the progress they made, could set goals.
For another time. He nodded at Natalie and let her work in silence, the effort clear on her face. He was surprised at her comment of how she might do things. What he had produced was the easiest way he knew. No wasted threads, no unnecessary string crossings. He'd done the math. The equations were in their simplest form. Was it because of her inexperience that she thought to do things in a more complicated way?
He held on to the Force and probed, watched. He didn't actually reach out to where she was staring. He didn't want to interfere and break anything. But he tried to sense....something. The only thing he felt was a tingle in the hairs of his arms. Nothing else. He didn't even know how far along she was.
He was about to speak when a flame flashed into being in fits and starts, its size changing my the moment. Come on. Stabilize, he thought, staying quiet. He didn't want to interrupt.
Suddenly the flame erupted. Or exploded rather. The flash of heat was strong and powerful and without thinking Marcus threw up a wall of air around the fire, while at the same time, drew the heat out and sent it to the fireplace stones in the room.
His eyes were wide and his face felt hot. With concern he said, "Are you hurt at all?"
She didn't appear to be. "Wow. Ok then. I didn't expect that with such a simple thread. I apologize."
He was curious as to what went wrong. But...his hands went up to his face. Thankfully his hair was cropped short. Still the smell of burnt hair was unmistakable. There were some singe marks on his suit. Maybe the tips of his hair in front. He wasn't sure if he had eyebrows anymore or eyelashes. The Ball was coming after all. Course, his dark skin made it less noticeable. But still.
He looked at her, studying her.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Apr 16 2018, 02:52 PM.
For a moment, he couldn't understand why. But he listened to her words, tried to understand what she really was saying. Control. She's still learning control. He had to cast his mind back a few years just to remember what that felt like. Using the Force was as easy as breathing now- that is, if your lungs were trying to crush your heart with each contraction and it was only by force of will that you kept that from happening.
But he remembered. Reaching out to the Force and it laughing at you, so far away it might as well be the moon. Later, so close you could see it right in front of you, and yet no amount of stretching out could let you touch it. Seizing it and just being able to hold it, a tiny thread, so tenuous that any attempt to pull it to him snapped the connection. Feeling the Force overwhelm him, riding for dear life as it bucked and kicked and fought, barely holding on to control, the thought of forming actual threads to DO anything impossible. Forming threads, trying to actually do something and failing again and again.
It was a feat of mastery that had taken weeks or even months. He remembered in those days that he'd have to meditate and find innate calm before the Force allowed itself to be controlled by him. He had chafed under those bonds but had worked under them all the same.
Until that fateful day in the park, the crunch of ice melt under his feet, the heavy clouds still full of more snow a roof above, the sounds of children playing on the dilapidated park equipment, a single working swing, a battered and dinged up slide. Kids, stuck inside for months finally outside for just an afternoon, able to run off their energies while bundled up in scarves and jackets and hoodies and hats. Gloves occasionally, for some.
And Farian, standing there watching and Marcus remembering the foster home. And he refused to submit to the Force anymore. Never again. He would ask permission of no one, not even the Force to act. Pushing through the wall, grabbing the Force by the scruff and forcing it down, his foot on its neck until it submitted to his wrath.
It had been a good day, he recalled with a faint smile.
So long ago he never really thought of it. It was good to be reminded about where people were in their progress. His schools were going to have to take that into account. Come up with grading systems or levels, so that people could see the progress they made, could set goals.
For another time. He nodded at Natalie and let her work in silence, the effort clear on her face. He was surprised at her comment of how she might do things. What he had produced was the easiest way he knew. No wasted threads, no unnecessary string crossings. He'd done the math. The equations were in their simplest form. Was it because of her inexperience that she thought to do things in a more complicated way?
He held on to the Force and probed, watched. He didn't actually reach out to where she was staring. He didn't want to interfere and break anything. But he tried to sense....something. The only thing he felt was a tingle in the hairs of his arms. Nothing else. He didn't even know how far along she was.
He was about to speak when a flame flashed into being in fits and starts, its size changing my the moment. Come on. Stabilize, he thought, staying quiet. He didn't want to interrupt.
Suddenly the flame erupted. Or exploded rather. The flash of heat was strong and powerful and without thinking Marcus threw up a wall of air around the fire, while at the same time, drew the heat out and sent it to the fireplace stones in the room.
His eyes were wide and his face felt hot. With concern he said, "Are you hurt at all?"
She didn't appear to be. "Wow. Ok then. I didn't expect that with such a simple thread. I apologize."
He was curious as to what went wrong. But...his hands went up to his face. Thankfully his hair was cropped short. Still the smell of burnt hair was unmistakable. There were some singe marks on his suit. Maybe the tips of his hair in front. He wasn't sure if he had eyebrows anymore or eyelashes. The Ball was coming after all. Course, his dark skin made it less noticeable. But still.
He looked at her, studying her.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Apr 16 2018, 02:52 PM.