"Maybe you should give me a few pointers... I'll try not to lose my rag this time."
"I think the first one is, don't lose your rag." he said dryly, "Come back when you can do that."
"I think there may be stones and glass houses involved in that comment somewhere." She countered easily.
"See?" he replied, though she could still hear the humour in his voice, "You've not even activated your saber yet."
Mara shrugged, accepting defeat, so was surprised when he offered, "Perhaps another time."
He backed away but she spoke out again, unwilling somehow to let the conversation end when he seemed in such an easy, charming mood, instead glancing down at the lightsaber in his hand, "May I see it?"
It was probably an unbelievable breach in etiquette, but she was genuinely curious. He'd worn and used the saber for three years now, and she'd never really seen it close up. He looked up, amused, his fingers tightening just slightly on the hilt of his sabre.
"May I see yours?" he held out his open hand pointedly, striking, mismatched eyes full of humour.
Smiling, Mara placed her lightsaber solidly in his left hand, rattling against the hard shell of the polymer brace which encapsulated it, though she didn't let go. At the same time, she took hold of the hilt of his saber.
He closed his hand and for a moment held onto both of them, as did she, each of them pulling just slightly.
"I see our whole relationship to date condensed into this moment," he observed, genuine humour in his voice.
No ploy, no suspicion, just honest, straightforward amusement . She couldn't remember when she had ever caught him in such a good mood. Such an... appealing mood. Maybe it was the high of returning to his precious saber practice; the feeling that he was actually doing something- on his way to recovery. Whatever.
Now, she could only smile, something which seemed to come very easily to both of them this morning, "Very funny. Let go."
He did so, as did she, and Mara found herself holding the hilt of his saber, studying it closely. A lightsaber was an intensely personal object, and even though the shell of this saber had been gifted to him, Skywalker would have doubtless created and engineered the blade within- the heart of the saber.
Long ago, a lightsaber was believed to represent the soul of the Jedi who used it - it was said that another Jedi could get a ghostly sense of its wielder simply by touching it. Though Mara didn't for a second believe the romanticised fairy-tale, she could well believe that another Force-sensitive could get some kind of reading from an object individually created and so intensely and personally used by another Jedi, part of their sense perhaps imbuing the saber from long use and familiarity.
It was much heavier than hers, slightly larger, the dense, ebony-black surface of the precious-metal perennium shell which Palpatine had gifted him painstakingly tooled with a fine crosshatch and embellished with graceful organic curves of platinum, the whole saber interspersed with finely tooled bands of platinum and gold. The upper half of the shell had at some point been cut back on a long curve to expose the eight disc-shaped cycling field generators beneath, each one banded in a thin platinum strip. That, she was sure, had not been part of the original shell Palpatine had given him, the exposure of its internal workings a reminder of its purpose, leaving the distinct impression that it had been intentionally defaced to reduce a near-priceless object to a more utilitarian status.
The blade shroud was a classic staged taper and flare design, the surround of the blade modulation circuitry and the taper itself dark copper, the shroud platinum, as was the heel. Despite its obvious value, the myriad of fine scratches and nicks from years of use took away any pretension it may otherwise have had, the etched finish worn mirror-smooth in places, the tactile nature of such heavy wear appealing.
A work of art, but understated and unassuming, belying its deadly nature. It felt... dangerous, its unfamiliar weight making it unstable, difficult to hold easily. A little unpredictable, a little unnerving.
Unrestrained power beneath a civilised shell.
"May I?" Without waiting for permission, Mara held the hilt away to the side and activated it.
It burst into life with an unexpected kick of power and she had to tense the muscles in her arm against its pull. She sensed rather than saw the slight change in Skywalker's stance, though he neither lifted nor activated her own lightsaber, which he still held.
Nor did he seem to feel the need to move away.
All blades had a slight pull, a 'cant', caused by the resonant vibration unique to that crystal, which gave the blade its weight- its 'heft'. Some were smooth and light, which made them easy to handle and fast through the air. But with no heft to the blade, all momentum must come from the wielder, making the more complex moves easy to achieve, but robbing them of any power.
'Heavy' blades had a low resonance and a more marked cant, requiring far more of the wielder in order to control them. They enforced a different fighting style, since constant movement was required in order to control the gyroscopic cant. But the trade-off against these difficult, heavy blades was that their momentum gave them power through the most complex moves, making them far more deadly- if one could land a precise blow.
All blades were in essence a trade-off between the ease and speed of a slight cant and the difficult to control, deadly power of a hefty blade. Her master's blade, like Mara's, was light and fast, enhancing speed and requiring less of the wielder in terms of commitment to training, applied expertise and dexterity. Vader's blade was very much like his son's, leading Mara to wonder momentarily at the spectacle which the duel that she knew had taken place between the two would have presented.
The pitch on this blade was very low, almost like a pulse, and she felt her own heartbeat quicken in empathetic response. The kinetic cant pulled against her, so marked that she had to fight just to hold it still, as if it were alive in her hand. Yet when she moved it in a slow figure-of-eight it almost took the movement from her, pulling her on it in its eagerness to move.
It was a unique, kinetic blade, tuned far more towards offensive than defensive moves- defence required speed of reaction; attack required power. This blade was designed to take the initiative, to press the attack home.
A Sith blade.
She hefted the intense ruby blade in sweeping movements, keeping the tip low. Though she stared at it, she was aware now that her complete attention was centred on Luke - and his on her.
Aware of his gaze she glanced up at him, those strangely mismatched eyes held steady on her. Now, looking up into his scarred face, Mara was intimately aware that somehow, this had moved to a different level. The atmosphere buzzed between them, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
She looked again to the blade which fought against her hold, fascinating in its contradictions, both resisting and desiring interaction.
"It's a curious blade. It feels... dangerous."
"All blades are dangerous."
She turned to look again into those steady blue eyes "This more than most."
"Then perhaps you should stop."
"I should. But I find I don't want to." She said this as casually as she could, again moving the blade in a figure-of-eight, watching it closely, the low thrum intense in the echoing emptiness of the cavernous room. "It draws me in."
He smiled just slightly, the scar at his eye twisting, though his quiet, wary voice held neither amusement nor warning as he spoke, his eyes on the slow-moving blade. "Think carefully - don't begin something believing you can control it... these moves have a habit of gaining their own momentum."
Mara knew exactly what he was saying, but in that moment she remained completely lost in those mismatched eyes. "Do you think I should stop?"
He hesitated, and that was all the answer she needed. They held each-other's gaze for far too long, neither willing to break the moment. Then, still keeping his eyes on her, he reached out to slip his hand over hers on the hilt, deactivating the saber.