[Jessica is on her bed, penned in by various notes and scribblings on looseleaf.]

OK, trying to figure this stuff out again... If anyone's got experience in the... [she waves her arms] stupid magic bullshit... well, um, I'd really appreciate your feedback here.

Anyway, I was thinking about the, um... whole dream thing a while back. And how it was happening at the same time as those crappy flowers... I know coincidence is not necessarily causality, but it seems like an interesting link to follow, with the dream thing and the thing with the cracks and the fact that the things made you fall asleep.

Kind of a shame they all got exterminated. I mean, we might've found something out if we had a sample or something.

*A calm stoic face appears on the feed. She has a pretty face and her hair is cut just short enough so it can be tucked behind her ears. Her eyes are empty but alert. Surprisingly, a harsh and brash voice comes out of her thin lips once she decides to start talking.*

What the hell is all this anyway? I've never seen a boundary set up quite like this one... Well, whatever, that's not my speciality anyway. There's nothing I can do about it. Let me guess, I'm stuck here, right? No way out? This is like some cheap dime novel. I'm going to be so fucking bored that I can barely stand it. I doubt I'm gonna be lucky enough a second time around to find a job as good as my last... this is just a pain in my ass.

Hey, if you're listening, you might as well help me out. What the hell do I eat around here? I guess I'm not gonna be lucky enough to find a convenience store around, right?

[ Those who have been in the Gardens for some time may recognize the woman who appears on the Vine, dark hair pulled back in a loose plait, still wearing the white shift of a new arrival, though she has her clothing — not her Jedi robes, but something less obvious — and her lightsaber tucked under one arm. The more perceptive might notice she looks older, however — not quite physically, but as if time and experience have etched maturity into her eyes and the set of her mouth.

She pulls back her hand from the mirror, having just activated it, and after a moment she lets out an almost disbelieving little laugh. ]

This place... You know, I could have sworn this was all some kind of dream. It's been so long— [ A slight, almost wondering shake of her head. ] Years. It must have been years. Longer than it's been since the last time I saw the Republic.

[ It's actually only been about eight months, but time in the Gardens passes at a different rate, and in any case she doesn't seem to linger with the topic, smiling with good humor. ]

So what have I missed? Who's still here? Let me guess, the Queen still hasn't figured out how to run this place without breaking it.

[ Cheerfully sarcastic on that last. ]

[Zinc does not realize that the vine has chosen to record her at the moment. She has not noticed the curl of it amongst the foliage of a rather large dragon. Tropius does not belong to her, of course, she's Kuja's beast, but Zinc is very much coming to like the pokemon. It's obvious from the way she smiles at its appearance outside her gate, shuffling along. The dragon lowers its long neck into the courtyard of the zombie's enclosure.

And Zinc comes to take its head into her cold hands with a peaceful smile, pressing a kiss on its leafy head.]

Hello. [She's whispering to the creature, with more comfort and ease than she generally speaks to any of the humanoids here. It isn't surprising, Zinc knows she is an animal, at the heart of it; that it is animals with which she holds affinity.] Kuja didn't come with you? That's all right.

She wouldn't care much. But I'll tell you. [She strokes the dragon slowly.] I turn twenty-seven today.

[Even alone, confessing herself to a creature that cannot speak, her expression is cloudy, her voice tinged with sadness. The dragon makes a noise at her, nuzzling into her hands.]

Not that it matters. Corpses don't have birthdays. [She kisses Tropius's head again.] But it's nice to see you today anyway. [Her voice is very quiet as she closes her eyes, almost inaudible,] It's still lonely, without him.