Post by Bobbi on Nov 12, 2018 12:46:55 GMT -5
Four hours after their trip to Olanji, the Tekal brothers were back in Solomon’s house on Hapes. The kitchen was warm and smelt like fragrant herbs and spices. A loaf of Solomon’s spice bread had just been brought out from its baking time and was sitting on a pristine dark marble-looking countertop with two pieces cut off from the end.
Darien was already sitting at the table, a cup of steamy caff sitting in front of him. Around them, the large food preparation room was spotless, and glowing with the soft levels of recessed lighting that Solomon had gotten installed. Darien was watching his brother come toward the table with the two plates and reached out to shift Sol’s cup of caff out of the way.
The plates were sat down and Solomon slipped into a seat with Darien still watching him.
“Good job today, Sol. You did great, but when are you going to tell me what’s wrong with your right hand? I caught you shaking it out several times while we were in the arcade, and just now you looked like you might drop that bread. What’s going on?”
Solomon didn’t look into his brother’s concerned expression. He reached for his spice bread and broke a piece off carefully, like he was thinking about which way he wanted the fiber of the bread to crumble. “Do you remember how mom died?” He asked, gently laying the bigger portion of the slice back onto the plate, “How hard it was on us to watch her decay before our eyes? How difficult it was to watch dad do the same?”
The bread ignored, his caff forgotten for the moment, Darien was watching Sol far more closely now, “Sol, are you telling me that you’re dying?”
“No. I mean, we’re all dying, but I’m going no quicker than you are. I’m just having ….complications.” He popped the bit of bread he’d ripped off into his mouth.
“Complications? Like?”
Darien’s prompt got Solomon to look the taller Tekal’s way. Within his mouth the bite of bread seemed to just melt, the mixture of spices and the taste of the bread itself kept him quiet for a few moments. There was comfort in what he was eating.
“Complications like -- I can’t feel my hand most of the time. My fingers have all gone numb, as has my palm,” he stretched his arm out toward his brother, palm up and at full length while using his left hand to indicate exactly where it started, and where it ended further up his arm, just beneath the elbow, “I was being treated for it, here, on Hapes. I talked to Eve about it, too. She ran some tests and gave me some meds to help rebuild the muscles in my shoulder which were suffering due to whatever it is -- the tests came back inconclusive. They have no idea why its happening.”
Watching, Darien almost reached out to take his brother’s hand. The temptation was there, but bit back on in favor of letting his twin do some talking, “When did the numbness start?”
“After my fight with Vikas -- toward the end of the war. My fingers would go numb every now and then. It's gotten worse since. The sensations ...grown.” He reached for his caff, if only to give himself something to do, something that would cover the worry written over his face. He took a light sip before continuing, “Eve and Ava think there might be some sort of connection to damage done through The Force. Do you know what that makes me think?”
When Darien shook his head, Sol sighed and continued, “That I’m either going to decay like mom did, or Vikas was right. I’m never going to be rid of her. She will always shadow over this family.”
“Sol, Vikas is dead. You returned her to The Force, yourself. And mom -- what happened to mom --”
“I know she’s gone, Darien,” He snapped, “I know they are both gone. I know they are both with The Force -- and that is exactly why I am hoping that this,” his right hand was lifted from the table for punctuation, “Is not Force related. I don’t need her haunting my family in death the way she did in life.” He sighed again and took another swallow of caff. “I’m sorry, Dar. I didn’t mean to snap,” he said to his brother’s sudden silence. He was still being watched.
“No, I get it,” Darien moved, shifting to slide first the plate of bread away from his brother, and then the cup of caff that Sol had placed back down on the table, “You’re frustrated.”
Sol nodded, “I want answers. I want feeling back. I want to know that the last cut I made with that lightsaber meant something. And so far, all I have is medication to take and no answers and this sinking feeling that we just aren’t going to get through this.”
From across the table, Solomon watched Darien place his right hand on the table’s surface, palm upward, “Let me see what I can do to help with that. Let me see your hand.”
Darien was already sitting at the table, a cup of steamy caff sitting in front of him. Around them, the large food preparation room was spotless, and glowing with the soft levels of recessed lighting that Solomon had gotten installed. Darien was watching his brother come toward the table with the two plates and reached out to shift Sol’s cup of caff out of the way.
The plates were sat down and Solomon slipped into a seat with Darien still watching him.
“Good job today, Sol. You did great, but when are you going to tell me what’s wrong with your right hand? I caught you shaking it out several times while we were in the arcade, and just now you looked like you might drop that bread. What’s going on?”
Solomon didn’t look into his brother’s concerned expression. He reached for his spice bread and broke a piece off carefully, like he was thinking about which way he wanted the fiber of the bread to crumble. “Do you remember how mom died?” He asked, gently laying the bigger portion of the slice back onto the plate, “How hard it was on us to watch her decay before our eyes? How difficult it was to watch dad do the same?”
The bread ignored, his caff forgotten for the moment, Darien was watching Sol far more closely now, “Sol, are you telling me that you’re dying?”
“No. I mean, we’re all dying, but I’m going no quicker than you are. I’m just having ….complications.” He popped the bit of bread he’d ripped off into his mouth.
“Complications? Like?”
Darien’s prompt got Solomon to look the taller Tekal’s way. Within his mouth the bite of bread seemed to just melt, the mixture of spices and the taste of the bread itself kept him quiet for a few moments. There was comfort in what he was eating.
“Complications like -- I can’t feel my hand most of the time. My fingers have all gone numb, as has my palm,” he stretched his arm out toward his brother, palm up and at full length while using his left hand to indicate exactly where it started, and where it ended further up his arm, just beneath the elbow, “I was being treated for it, here, on Hapes. I talked to Eve about it, too. She ran some tests and gave me some meds to help rebuild the muscles in my shoulder which were suffering due to whatever it is -- the tests came back inconclusive. They have no idea why its happening.”
Watching, Darien almost reached out to take his brother’s hand. The temptation was there, but bit back on in favor of letting his twin do some talking, “When did the numbness start?”
“After my fight with Vikas -- toward the end of the war. My fingers would go numb every now and then. It's gotten worse since. The sensations ...grown.” He reached for his caff, if only to give himself something to do, something that would cover the worry written over his face. He took a light sip before continuing, “Eve and Ava think there might be some sort of connection to damage done through The Force. Do you know what that makes me think?”
When Darien shook his head, Sol sighed and continued, “That I’m either going to decay like mom did, or Vikas was right. I’m never going to be rid of her. She will always shadow over this family.”
“Sol, Vikas is dead. You returned her to The Force, yourself. And mom -- what happened to mom --”
“I know she’s gone, Darien,” He snapped, “I know they are both gone. I know they are both with The Force -- and that is exactly why I am hoping that this,” his right hand was lifted from the table for punctuation, “Is not Force related. I don’t need her haunting my family in death the way she did in life.” He sighed again and took another swallow of caff. “I’m sorry, Dar. I didn’t mean to snap,” he said to his brother’s sudden silence. He was still being watched.
“No, I get it,” Darien moved, shifting to slide first the plate of bread away from his brother, and then the cup of caff that Sol had placed back down on the table, “You’re frustrated.”
Sol nodded, “I want answers. I want feeling back. I want to know that the last cut I made with that lightsaber meant something. And so far, all I have is medication to take and no answers and this sinking feeling that we just aren’t going to get through this.”
From across the table, Solomon watched Darien place his right hand on the table’s surface, palm upward, “Let me see what I can do to help with that. Let me see your hand.”
