It had been a night much like this when she come through his door, save for the storm; young then, but not quite as young as the girl in the picture. Even then she had been beautiful and yet, though sagged with weariness and creased with sadness he had known her immediately for his daughter. Still, he had sought confirmation, almost as a hedge to keep out the truth.

He had been terrified then, afraid and ashamed. Fearful because he knew he had to take her, to try his best to be a father to her though he knew nothing of being a role model. Shameful because he thought of how she would effect his image; an illegitimate daughter appearing on the eve of an important promotion.

But that was nine years ago.

He looked towards the door expectantly; it had been an awkward start but after the first few weeks she had come through that door nearly every day - smile fixed on her lips whether she felt it or not – and threw her arms around him, sometimes he even got a quick kiss on the cheek. Nearly every day for six years. It had been three since those doors had admitted her and yet he still expected it every day.

Where, or when, things had gone wrong he did not know; it was enough to know that distance had begun separating them soon after her graduation. He had tried to continue to show her support, love, and care where she needed it (and perhaps a good deal where she didn’t) yet she continued to throw walls up around herself barring him from getting any closer and indeed pushing him further away. He had his own barriers though, if he was honest.

He could have tried harder probably, but then again, from those who had children he had learned that they needed space too. He remembered Eli telling him that a parent spent all that time teaching them how to walk just so they could walk out of your life. Of course, Jory had missed that part of her life too, learning to walk, talk, and play. He rubbed his temples trying to ward of the promise of a headache.

He had seen her across the walkways from time to time - she looked quite different all grown up – be he was sure she hadn’t seen him. He never yelled out for her, mostly out of fear that she’d ignore him (though he had no reason to think she would).

Last year he had decided that he could rekindle their relationship if he only had a catalyst; he had decided to launch an investigation into the murder of Helen, Aricia’s mother. He did not know why he’d had that thought, though (he thought) it really didn’t matter since his people had made no headway in the case; he had not tried to let her know either.
He sighed again and scrubbed is forehead; rain lashed at the windows darkening the sky outside. Clumsily he reached for a small flimplast card bearing the title ‘Pieces of Flair’; the name Aricia Carson. The address for the small gallery was printed plainly on the back although he did not need to look at it to remember. He had memorized it two months ago but he’d not stopped staring at it every night.

After a few minutes he sighed again, placed the card carefully by the picture and rose from the desk. He spared only a brief glance at the rain soaked window before turning off the light and exiting the building.

She looked down at her arms for a moment, the long sleeved black shirt covering the years of self inflicted abuse upon them. Her hand would move over her forearm, rubbing it slightly, the bandages were starting to irriate her. She would scoot off of the stool and moved behind the small counter as she pushed up her sleeves and ripped the white bandage that was spotted with now brown dried blood. She would slowly start to replace it as she listened to the quiet sound of the rain, dripping outside of the gallery.

Several times Jory had been holed up in his office for more than two hours past quitting time only to find, on arrival to the private landing, the drive studiously waiting, and miraculously awake. Today the driver was waiting by the building exit, umbrella in hand, to escort Jory to the car.

He stared at the man blankly for a moment; the driver took the queue as he had several times lately. “Is everything alright Sir,” He asked in his accented, posh, modulated voice. Carson hated that voice; it made him want to lash out at the driver but he resisted.

“Nothing,” Jory said shortly. He remained standing though the driver had begun showing signs of fidgiting; and who could blame him, rain water had begun splashing off the landing and soaking the hems of his trousers; still Jory did not move.

There was a whole host of things wrong. The Senate was in complete disarray and Jory was wondering if it was even worth it to try anymore. Aricia had been gone for over three years, they rarely saw each other now and never in the last year. His love life (which had evolved from a steady stream of playthings into a search for a more discreet and meaningful relationship since Aricia had come to live with him) was a wreck with his last date being canceled abruptly and without explanation…by the woman. And it was raining.

Of course, none of this was any business of the driver and Jory was suddenly irritable that he’d even had the audacity to ask. That feeling was swiftly followed the concern that this man was some sort of rouge agent trying to infiltrate the Senate; that idiot Gavrisom may be well convinced that the Remnant was in full peace mode but he, Jory was certainly not. Perhaps he was on hire by Aricia and she was looking for him, or maybe he was one of Taynor’s men. Jory was suddenly burning to get away from him.

“I won’t need your services tonight, you may go.” Jory said as politely as he could muster.

The driver glanced back at the rain then back into Carson’s face with disbelief on his face. “Sir?” He said incredulously.

“You heard me,” Jory barked, then, without a second glance he stomped past the man into the rain.

Carson walked, head down against the torrent, turning hither and thither as though lost. His nose was wrinkled against the stench of industry and the putrid smell of millions of craft speeding overhead; the rain brought the smell with it. He was heedless of the water soaking the fine, expensive fibers of his suit; he could always buy another.

How long he had wandered he could not tell, but the natural light from the sun had been replaced by the ever-present glow of the city lights when he looked up. The rain was still falling, though less now, and he was soaked to the bone, and cold. He stopped walking and looked around trying to get an idea of where he was when he took note of an address displayed above the door of a business boasting the ‘best Corellian victuals this side of Coronet City’.

He stood, staring at the spot for a long time, the rain stinging his eyes, trickling into his slightly open mouth. He knew that address, or at least the area around it. Although he had never once stepped foot on this walkway he knew exactly where he was; he had seen the address so many times that he could remember it in his sleep.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly he turned, putting his back towards the restaurant, and there, directly in front of him, across the street was a small building called ‘Pieces of Flair’. The place was nondescript from the rest save for the front. A cobbled waistcoat was topped by solid transparisteel so that onlookers from the street could see a variety of art scattered about the floor in a haphazard manner; several people were doing just that, blocking Carson’s view of the inside.

He waited till traffic (the few small, single passenger land vehicles that still rode the streets) to subside before stepping across the way for a better look. He was cautious, keeping his distance from the building and ducking behind others as they looked. He wiped the water out of his eyes and peered around till his heart cave a small leap of joy.

There she was, looking far too grown-up, but as beautiful as ever (she reminded him more than ever of Helen). A tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye, indistinguishable from the rain, and seeped onto his collar. His mind was in conflict; clearly she had no desire to see him though he’d never understood what he did wrong.

His eyes continued to scan the paintings around the gallery, they were familiar although he had never seen a single one; the style was something he had noticed when she was much younger; it was the style that had earned her the appointment at the Coruscant Academy of Art. Finally his eyes passed the art and landed on a man looking straight at him, or at least out the window, and Carson did not like the look in his eye.

Slowly, heartbroken, he turned, trying to be as casual as possible (if that were possible for a man in an expensive suit in the rain) and started back down the road, he noticed as he walked that the rain had picked up again, seemingly it mimicked his mood.

"Ah, it had been a long while since I've been on Coruscant. A lot of memories here." Ben spoke to his brother, Dustin. The smuggler had requested a landing clearance for his crew. After a few moments of background check, the Cjaalysce'l was cleared to go. "It was a girl, huh? If I recalled a story you had told me about your stay on Coruscant, it was a girl that made it worthwhile for you." Dustin chuckled. Ben would simply shrug, "It was in the past. I do not know if she would still be here. Even so, I don't think she wants to see me." The freighter had landed on one of the hangar bays after moments of flying through the atmosphere.

"You and the droids stay here. I know how it works around here, so let me handle it." Ben would grab the D18 pistol he have had since he left Coruscant, and put it on a left holster within his belt. Then he had left the ship, heading into the city.

As the door to the gallery shuddered once more, ARicia's deep blue eyes were drawn to the two beinging standing there as she gives them both a small smile, "Hello" she greets them as she does with anyone who ventured inside. Aricia would look to him blinking and he states he was going to take that painting and proceeded to take it off of the wall. She would just raise a brow watching him come over to the counter and would almost laugh, but that would be rude and then her eyes would see the check book...excellent, rent would be paid again. Aricia would nod her head "Of course, I will have it wrapped and brought to you when the rain has stopped" she would pull out a small sales slip and fills it out, as she looks to the check...that was far more than the painting was worth at the moment, but she would take it and not argue, as her eyes looked over the memo section, on the yellow sales slip she would hand to him, she would scribble in her curvy girly hand writing, "straight back." Aricia would flash Farland a darling smile, "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Then her attention turned to the Trandoshans, as she slipped around the counter to go and speak with them, to help them pick out a piece of art, "Sorry about that, what can I help you two with? Are we looking for anything, I honestly think maybe a darker piece would suit you two better." She would motion to a set of paintings near the front windows.

His mind went back to the day that he had told Aricia that she was to go to the Coruscant Academy of Art; it was the happiest he had ever seen her. There had been pure joy in the place of what had always befre been a mock smile and an empty laugh. From that point on they had begun to connect, not at once, but gradually until they had been the picture of Father and Daughter.

But that was all, just a picture, an imitation, a copy. They had never succedded in becoming wholly family. Jory had thought that if there was a woman in her life that Aricia would open up better, but that had turned to disaster as well; one woman wanted to be her best friend with no discipline what-so-ever, another had been so severe with her that Carson had literally removed her by force.

Ki’eale had shown some promise…until her husband returned. He laughed a short, gruff, sound void of humor and shook his head. It had been another endless stream of women, each taking a small piece of him with them. He realized with a start that he had been on the loosing side of the game he’d played with countless women before Aricia arrived, and suddenly he was very remorseful of all the pain he had caused others, and very angry at the pain he had been caused.

He was angry too, at the hurt that he had caused Aricia and suddenly he understood where he had gone wrong. “I’ve been such a fool,” he breathed. “First I spent all my time on my career, then I thought to make it up to her by finding a replacement for me…all she ever wanted was time.”

He turned back the little shop and tried to glimpse through the window but the crowd was too thick, apparently this was something of point of interest for evening walkers. He was at a crossroads, here, now, in the rain. Go to her, or turn. Fear, anger, and embarrassment all came crashing down on him at once. He started to turn back to the street but a commotion at the far side of the crowd caught his eye.

It was odd; the crowd was simply parting to allow two figures a wide berth. The figures were taller than most of the crowd and Carson could see reptilian heads bobbing without graces as they made their way steadily towards Aricia’s shop. When they turned into the door the crowd shifted so that Jory was able to see the tails, and weapons slung over low shoulders. His heart leapt and a sour taste filled his mouth. What kind of trouble was Aricia in that Trandoshins were looking for her?

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, his old war reflexes snapped back into place and he was halfway to the door, slipping past people barely disturbing them, groping for his weapon before he realized that he was unarmed. He was trying to form a plan in his mind when he noticed the first man belting out the back.

As Aricia stood up, her eyes caught the profile of a familar face as she just stands there frozen, her grip on the ring and letter once more loosened as it fall to the ground the ring landing with a small clink and the piece of paper gracefully floated down to rest next to its sparkly friend. It was her father, what was he doing there? Her heart stopped, it fell into the pit of her stomach, as she tried to take in a deep breath of air, oh by the gods, she couldn't breath, her face went pale as she looked to him.