The Spider and the Storm

"So I've learned." He gave her a nod. It was more than just placating. He found he enjoyed learning of her ways, as foreign as politics were to him.

Thalassa gave him a nod in return. "Now, I will say that my legitimate business is much older. But the industry didn't grow until the Treacle grew as well. They feed off one another, you see--relationships and profits are both tied up in the businesses. It's hard to separate them, sometimes."

He listened as they walked, also beginning to study the history of the building around him. It was thankfully quiet here. Again he was reminded of the contrast between Phelarion and Eriadu. They were similar in many ways, but there was a darkness in one that was not present in the other. Few if any were the whispers of the restless dead here.

The corridors were lavish almost to the point of offense. Artwork from all over the galaxy lined the walls, stood on pedestals, hung from above like chandeliers. Portraits of men and women bearing a vague resemblance to Thalassa looked down on them from on high, draped in finery and surrounded by their own wealth. Even the carpets were expensive, woven with intricate patterns and sensuous colors. The stone walls, when they weren't covered in art, were etched with overlapping circles that looped in on one another in complicated swirls and knots. Every inch of this compound spoke of affluence.

Many people had walked this hall over hundreds of years. Men and women of all races and allegiances. Children, mothers, fathers, killers, traitors, lovers. Mottis and Tarkins, Regarsuses, Stygoses. The presence of Wilhuff Tarkin was faint but noticeable, as was the presence of his father. These were old memories, over thirty years old.

Garoche, too, was mixed up in these hallways, stronger than his father and grandfather.

Sirejj raised an eyebrow as he caught a glimpse of Garoche. He'd not seen him for some time. His force signature brought back a strange sense of familiarity, but also unease. Let him remain at peace. His story was done.

He absorbed every titbit of information he could. Those who had come before Thalassa were all a part of her. When her thoughts went out to them, he could see them more clearly.

Two figures were at the forefront of Thalassa's thoughts as she spoke of the house's history: a pair of women, one younger than the other.

The elder was as tall as Thalassa, about six feet, with loose-flowing white hair arranged down her back. She had dark brown eyes and a cool expression on her face; the wrinkles around her mouth indicated that she was not prone to smiling. She inhabited Thalassa's thoughts as both a myth and a thing of flesh and blood, monumental in her mind.

The younger was in her prime, with dark brown hair braided and stacked atop her head. She had Thalassa's square features and an air of both dignity and good humor. Thalassa's thoughts colored this woman's aura with both warmth and awe alongside a grimmer feeling--obligation? Fear?

Garoche was visible to Sirejj as a seven year old boy in this hallway--as Sirejj directed his thoughts toward him the pitter patter of feet could be heard again, and the dark-haired child came racing past him and Thalassa. He was giggling breathlessly as he fled someone, looking back over his shoulder at his pursuer every so often. Not long after he passed, Zee followed. She was younger and clearly moving with more ease than she was now, chuckling as she ran after the boy with exaggerated slowness.

Matriarchs. Sirejj was unsure of the timeline, but they were of some close relation to Thalassa. Similar to her in many ways, yet, she was set aside from them as if she did not yet consider herself one of them.

Seeing the child happy was an odd thing to him. He frowned instead of smiling. It stirred an odd emotion in his hearts. There was warmth to his laughter and to Zee's distinctive grin. A kindness once existed here, a thing that he had not uncovered in his many years of roaming, and the many years before. It was not a thing he was accustomed to seeing.

Zee caught him at the end of the hallway and scooped him into her arms. Garoche gave a delighted shriek, struggling as she tickled his stomach.
"No no no!" He pushed at her, shaking with laughter. "Aunt Zee I can't breathe!"
"You've succumbed to the tickle monster, then!" Zee roared, and he wriggled out of her arms to wrap himself around her legs. She came crashing to the ground and they both dissolved into giggles.

"Where have you gone?" Thalassa asked. She'd been watching him closely and noticed his distraction. "You're miles away, Sirejj."

Sirejj blinked. He hadn't realised how far out of reality he'd slipped. "Listening, My Lady. These halls are old. They have much to say." A prepackaged cryptic response, but better than trying to explain himself.

"And what is it that they tell you?" There was no concern in her tone, not really--some caution and curiosity.

Zee and Garoche lay on the floor for a moment more, catching their breath, and then the Nautolan hoisted the little boy up onto her shoulders and walked through the door at the end of the hall with him resting his chin on her head.

"Memories, mostly." He still appeared distant. "Nothing of use to us." Anymore.

Thalassa's mind shifted of its own accord at the mentions of the memories, pain bleeding in from the core before she quashed it down. Another Garoche appeared, this one about sixteen or seventeen years old and already with a weariness in his eyes. He walked alongside them, back straight and his head down as he watched his feet; he glanced at where Thalassa was occasionally, but did not speak.

"I see," she said, and opened the door. "Memories that don't belong to you. Can you control their manifestations?"

"I...could," he allowed, hoping she would not request he go dredging up the past again. Digging up graves was in general frowned upon. He'd gotten away with it once, and not unscathed. "But there is little to see here. Vague pieces only. Distractions."

"I think the past should remain in the past," she said after a moment. "Regardless of its import. This is not your home or your family, Sirejj, grateful though I am to have you here. Refrain from poking around in Motti history in the future, if you would be so kind. Do as you please on Eriadu, but not on Phelarion."

"I can assure you I have no desire to intentionally disturb what has been laid to rest." He said that with sincerity. That business had gotten him in trouble a year ago. He shut the distractions out of his mind, slightly annoyed he'd allowed them to capture his attention in the first place.