Rahne Kryss

Rahne stretched languidly and slipped from the bed, glorious in her nudity and unscarred, a rarity among the Sith, especially those that had fallen from grace at Malachor.  She glanced back at the large bed, at the tangle of limbs that was Dustil Onasi and Arachnae.  As tempted as she was to rejoin them, she crossed the room, stepping over puddles of hastily discarded robes, and threw open the doors to her balcony.  Standing in the chill wind, she gazed out at the city of Hurom, the capital city of this Sith-controlled world.  Purple-red lightning split the gloomy sky and she opened herself up to the Force, basking in the darkness.

A long year had passed since the death of her former Master and Rahne’s pretty little mouth curled in distaste as she remembered that one; petty, cruel, and too focused on herself to be of any use to the Sith as a whole.  Things were different on Thule; the Sith Priests ruled everything.  Sith such as herself did as they bid, so long as they did not act against the interests of Thule and the Sith Empire.  No one had risen to the title of “Darth” since the fall of Malak, some years past; though Malak had proven unworthy of the title and had struck down Revan before the Sith Priests had revealed themselves to her.

The time has come.  Dxun showed me the Darkness is still within Revan, lurking just beneath the surface.  The time has come for her to remember who she really is.

She dressed in the Ottoman silk robes that Arachnae had acquired, the ivory robes that once belonged to Revan, but left it open.  She loved these robes but would not be so foolish as to send a message to Revan while wearing the woman’s clothes.  She bathed away the excesses of the night and pinned her hair up in artful disarray, using the silver pins given to her on her name-day by Dustil.  She slipped into a pair of dueling leathers (that once belonged to Bastila Shan) and put a black Sith robe over them.

Setting a holocron on the table, she began to record a message.  As she spoke, she felt the Force swirling around her, felt the will of the Dark Side pressing her onward.  As she neared the end of the message, she felt Dustil stirring, sensed him walking up behind her.

“Rahne…”

The holocron was still recording.  She looked over her shoulder at him, knowing his image had just been indelibly burned into the holocron’s memory.  He had grown leaner in the last year, so lean that every ridge of muscle on his magnificent torso was clearly outlined.  He wore loose black pants and nothing else.  He had grown pale this last year, drawn, slightly sallow; his eyes were flat but full of devotion, but he was still recognizable as Dustil Onasi, only child of Admiral Carth Onasi..

“A moment, my love…”

She turned to the holocron once more.

“I will be waiting for you, Revan.”

Then she turned it off.  As she rose to her feet, Dustil moved up behind her, his breath on her neck.

“You should kneel to no one,” he said.  “Especially not to Revan.”

She turned and placed her hands on his chest, pressing her nails against his muscles.  She raked them un-gently down his chest, grabbing the waist band of his pants.

“But Dustil…”  Her breath was warm against his face, his neck, her mouth hot against his chest and abdomen, moving lower still as she slowly knelt in front of him.  “You like me on my knees…”

Then, there were no more words between them…

Jedi Master Kavar

Four Jedi Masters watched the message play through for a third time.

“It would be foolish to send Revan to the Sith,” Master Vrook Lamar said testily.  “This is obviously a trap and she cannot be trusted with something of this magnitude.”

Master Kavar deactivated the holocron as it began its fourth repetition.  “I disagree.  I remember Rahne Kryss.  She was utterly devoted to Revan, before and after the Mandalorian War.  This is likely a genuine offer.”

“All the more reason not to send her,” Vrook insisted.  “Revan took the mantle of Lord of the Sith once already.  Her actions on Onderon and Dxun have not convinced me she is strong enough to withstand the temptations of the Dark Side nor that she is deserving of being elevated to Jedi Master.”

Master Lonna Vash, who lost a Padawan during the Onderon Incident, surprisingly spoke in defense of Minuet Avery Revan.  “The Council voted to bestow the rank of Jedi Master upon her,” she said.  “The seeds of discord were sown before she left for Onderon.  It is a testament to her ability that they did not fail.”

“It is a testament to her failures that none of the Padawans from Korriban returned with her,” Vrook growled.  “Mekel Jin and Lashowe Starshine are Onderonian gutter trash, Kel Algwinn joined the Mandalorians, and now we learn that Dustil Onasi has rejoined the Sith!  She should be stripped of her rank, not sent on an assignment as vital as this one!”

“Can we send anyone other than Revan,” Atris asked testily, her distaste for the other woman soaking through every word.  “Will Rahne Kryss take anyone else to this supposed Sith world?  Like it or not, Revan is our only option.”

“I have faith in Revan,” Kavar said.  “She has proven herself dedicated to atoning for the sins of her past.  She will not fall again.”

“It would be unwise to send her alone,” Master Vash said.

“Indeed.”  Kavar stroked his jaw.  “Knight Shan should accompany her, certainly.  Their bond will keep them strong.”

“Or it will drag Bastila down with Revan, should she turn,” Vrook grumbled.

Kavar ignored Vrook’s grumbling and focused on the matter at hand.  “We should send Jedi that have faced the Dark Side before and emerged stronger for the experience, Jedi that know the temptations and how to keep them from taking hold.  We’ll send Jolee Bindo and Yuthura Ban with them.  I doubt we will be able to keep Admiral Onasi from accompanying them, not once he learns his son is still alive.”

“And if this is a trap?”  Atris’ voice was cool.

Kavar was suddenly reminded of the last time he, Vash, and Atris had sat in a situation like this, when they exiled the only Jedi to return to them after Malachor V.  He heard Vrook speaking in agreement with Atris, heard Vash speaking in favor of Revan’s ability to smell out a trap and survive it.  He spoke with quiet authority, pitching his voice low so they had to be silent and strain to hear him.

“Jedi Knight Lydie Korr will accompany them as well.  She alone can bring Mekel Jin into this and he will know if Dustil is truly alive.  With his cooperation, they will sense a trap and any deceptions.”  He paused.  “Republic Intelligence needs to be informed.  When the location of this world is revealed to us, the Fleet needs to be ready to move.”  He spoke as President of the Council.  “Any additional personnel will be left to Master Revan’s discretion.”

He picked up the holocron.

“I will see that she gets this.”

He left the chamber, with Lonna Vash on his heels, leaving Atris and Vrook to confer quietly.

Talyn Snowe

Talyn Snowe shook out the brown and beige Jedi Robes and examined them, his expression clearly showing just how he felt about wearing them.  Beside him, Bastila nodded her approval.

“I haven’t worn Jedi Robes since the end of the Mandalorian War,” he finally said, “not since Malachor V.”

“You cannot deny who you are,” Bastila said.  “You are Jedi Knight Talyn Snowe.  Why you did not return immediately is beyond me.”

“You know why, Bas.”  His voice held a sarcastic, bitter edge.  “I heard what they did to Nico Kor-Vas when he returned to the Council; they exiled him from the Republic.”

“He destroyed Malachor V,” Bastila said testily.  “Of course they exiled him.  You didn’t do anything of that magnitude.”

“I disobeyed the Jedi Council, Bas.  You know they would have passed the same sentence on me.”

He set the robes down on the bed, smoothing them with his hand.  The fabric was durable, slightly rough.  He remembered his Master telling him the reason was to make a Jedi meditate all the time, to relieve the itching of the damnable robes.  That was before Revan fell, back before Vrook’s bitterness over Exar Kun’s war had consumed him.

“How long will you lie to yourself, Talyn?  You fought as fiercely, as nobly as any Jedi during the Sith War.  You deserve those robes.”

He did not argue.  Part of him agreed.  Part of him did not.  He had left the Jedi but still carried a lightsaber.  He denied himself the rank of Jedi Knight but still served the people as one.  The conflict threatened to engulf him but he buried it all beneath his smile, a knowing, secretive smile.

“What I deserve is not the issue here, Bas, and you know it.  You’re going with Revan.  I’m coming with you.  I don’t need to be a Jedi to do that.”  He met her eyes.  “If I’m not a Jedi, the Council can’t force me to stay behind.”

Bastila touched his face.  “You are a Jedi, Talyn Snowe and nothing you say will convince me otherwi-“

So, he said nothing and just kissed her, drew her towards the bed.  They could leave to meet Revan later… perhaps in the morning…

Jedi Master Atris

Jedi Master Atris stood at the wide viewport, staring out at the Coruscant skyline, her face impassive and cold.  She heard the door hiss open, felt the young Zabrak Knight’s presence in the doorway.  Atris knew that many in the Order did not fully appreciate the things she advocated and she wondered which camp young Lydie Korr belonged to.

“Come closer, Knight Korr.”

She waited until the young Zabrak stood beside her at the window before she spoke again.

“We’ve recently learned that the Sith threat you encountered on Onderon has resurfaced.  Master Minuet Avery Revan is being sent to investigate it.  You will accompany her.  We have reason to believe that Dustil Onasi is alive and has joined the Sith.  Find Mekel Jin and take him with you.  His bond with Onasi should prove useful.”

She turned to face Lydie.

“The council is putting a great deal of faith in you, Knight Korr.”  She smiled.  “I know you will not disappoint.”

She felt a group of Echani Handmaidens approaching, waiting outside the door.

“The Council will expect a full report when you return.  I’ll debrief you personally.”

Sith Knight Orion Sands

Orion Sands boldly approached the sentries; he knew they were there, he could sense them.  He felt their hostility, felt the tickle of the Force that told him they were getting ready to drop their stealth-camo and confront him.  He reached out with one hand and yanked the planet-killers from their hands and broke the repeating blasters, crushing them with the Force.

“I have come to speak to Mandalore,” he proclaimed.  “I claim the right of audience through a proof of strength!”

He dropped a Mandalorian helmet onto the ground, fresh blood staining the ground.  The sentries stood impassively for a long moment and then stood aside, allowing him access to the path that led to the main camp.  He remembered this place from his previous visit, when he had come to this dismal little camp with Rahne Kryss; they needed to ensure that Nydra Ordo had assumed complete control as Mandalore.  He showed neither hesitation nor fear as the new Mandalore stepped out of a large bunker and approached.

By the height and size, he figured this one for a male.

“Greetings, Mandalore,” Orion said boldly.

Mandalore’s voice was gruff and made hollow by the helm.  “What do you want?”

“I come with an offer of alliance from the Masters of the Sith.”

Mandalore seemed unmoved.  “And?”

“We offer you the chance to return your people to greatness, Mandalore.  A chance to strike back at the Jedi that defeated you.”  Orion smiled.  “A chance to kill Minuet Avery Revan and all who serve her.  You’ve defeated her once already, seized the mantle of Mandalore from her unworthy hands.  I am surprised that you let her live; I’ll never understand Mandalorian honor.”

“I’ll instruct you.  We will talk in private.”

Orion moved past him and towards the bunker.  The Force warned him and he tried to twist out of the way but he was not fast enough.  Mandalore’s fist crashed into his spine and he dropped, his legs going numb.  He called for the Force, brought the Dark Lightning to his fingertips but Mandalore’s boot crushed the hand, shattering the bones.  He screamed, right before a gauntleted fist shattered his teeth.  He was choking on his own blood.

“I serve Revan,” Mandalore growled, “and Mandalorian honor is beyond your understanding.”

The boot rose again and came crashing down with finality.  As his skull broke beneath it, darkness claimed him…

Jedi Knight Wan Li

Following a Wookie through the Shadowlands in search of a hermit Jedi had never once entered Wan Li’s mind as one of the many possible first tasks she’d be assigned after passing her Trials.  Many young Jedi dreamed of being hand-picked by Master Kavar for a mission (and many young Jedi girls had dreams of being hand-picked by Kavar for rather un-Jedi-ish activities) but she’d have preferred to be doing something a little more grand and less sweaty (or more sweaty but also decidedly more intimate).  Her Wookie guide let out a barking grunt and she saw a tiny little hovel beneath the shelter of a fallen tree.  She stepped past the Wookie.

“Master Bindo!”

The Wookie winced and raised its bowcaster, preparing to defend itself against any predators that might have been attracted by that foolish cry.  The door to the hovel opened and a rather old and disreputable looking man peered out at her.

“Hmmph… are you trying to attract the beasts, girl?”

She flushed hotly, her cheeks turning pink.  “I’ve been sent by the Jedi Council, Master Bindo.  They-“

“They can take their summons and –“

She spoke over him, just like Master Kavar had warned her she’d have to do.  “They’re sending Master Revan to-“

“Revan’s a big girl.  She can take care of her-“

“…investigate a recently discovered Sith world” She pushed on grimly.

“Didn’t you learn not to interrupt your elders when they’re-“

“…called Thule-“

“Now hold on a minute,” Jolee said firmly.  “Did you say ‘Thule’?”

She nodded primly.  “Yes, Master Bindo.  The Jedi Council sent me to-“

He closed the door in her face.  Her mouth dropped open and she stood there dumbly.  The Wookie snickered.  The door opened again and Jolee blew out the candle.  He was wearing a threadbare Jedi robe, mottled gray where it used to be black, and carried a rather tarnished lightsaber.  He walked past her and then stopped.

“Close your mouth.  You don’t want a shyrack to fly in and lay an egg, do you?”

She closed her mouth with a click of her teeth and followed the Wookie guide and the seemingly crazy hermit back to the basket lift.

Jedi Padawan Lyyf Kryss

Jedi Padawan Lyyf Kryss ran through the halls of the Jedi Temple, her robes flapping behind her.  She careened around a corner and narrowly avoided colliding with a pair of Jedi Masters and called her apologies as she zipped past them.  She slid to a stop outside of her Master’s door and paused to catch her breath before she knocked once.  She heard a smooth and sultry voice, with the hint of an exotic accent and a trace of a purr, through the inset speaker.

“Enter, Padawan.”

Lyyf entered the room and bowed to her Cathar master.  “Master Kavar has sent for you.”

Juhani rose from her meditation pad gracefully and Lyyf averted her eyes; the lean Cathar Jedi Knight was quite naked.  She waited while her master dressed in a Jedi robe and belted it.  She picked up her lightsaber and motioned for Lyyf to follow her to the Jedi Council chamber.  As they moved through the Temple, Lyyf fell behind when she stopped to watch older Padawans (nearly Knights) practice their dueling skills.

“Do not dawdle, Padawan,” Juhani said.

Lyyf hurried to catch up and fell into step behind the longer-legged Cathar.  When they reached the Council Chamber, Master Kavar ushered Juhani into the room but motioned for Lyyf to wait outside.  She composed herself on one of the benches near a window and waited, practicing her Jedi calm and patience.  Five minutes later, she was bored out of her mind and impatient for the meeting to end so she could find out what was so important.

The door opened suddenly and she bounced to her feet.  Juhani bowed to Master Kavar and then crossed the hall to stand before Lyyf.

“Padawan, I will be going on a very important assignment.  The Jedi Council feels that you have not advanced far enough in your training to accompany me.”

Lyyf opened her mouth to protest but Juhani silenced her with a finger against her lip.

“While I am away, Master Kavar has agreed to serve as your Master.  Mind him.  Make me proud.”

Lyyf watched as Jedi Knight Juhani walked away from her, never guessing that this might be the last time she saw her Master alive…

Mission Vao

In the years since the destruction of the Star Forge, Mission had certainly achieved things no one would have believed her capable of back when she was on Taris.  She’d gotten an education (thanks to Min’s money), she’d earned a commission in the Republic Fleet (thanks to Carth’s connections), and she’d made it into the Republic Intelligence Corp (thanks to her own natural instincts and her brother’s dubious training).

A message was waiting for when she arrived at her work station in the Intelligence Compound, flashing on her screen when she logged in.

To: Lt. Mission Vao
From: Admiral Cracken, Intel

Message Classified Top Secret

A party of Jedi led by Jedi Master Minuet Avery Revan is investigating a potential Sith threat to the Republic.  You are being attached to this venture, due to your familiarity and friendship with many of the individuals assigned to this mission.  Gather intelligence on the suspected Sith fleet capabilities and troop numbers (if they exist) and transmit them back to Fleet Intelligence.  Ascertain the threat level.  The Republic Fleet will be ready to deploy as soon as your message is decrypted.

Meet Master Revan on Landing Pad 14, North at the Jedi Temple.

End Message

Jedi Master Kavar

Kavar’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline and he regarded the ebony-skinned young Jedi that stood before him.

“How did you learn of this information?”

Jedi Knight Thalia May glanced down at her feet.  “I… I heard Masters Vrook and Atris discussing it and…”

Kavar could feel the holocron in his pocket, a heavy and sharply edged little pyramid of made of blood-red crystal.  Already, the message was proving to be divisive for the Jedi.  Taking his silence as permission to continue, Thalia met his eyes again.

“I’d like to go with Master Revan.  I know… knew Dustil Onasi and Mekel Jin.  I could help.”

Kavar considered her for a moment.  Of all the Padawans to come from Korriban, Thalia May was the only one that became a Jedi, the only one to even remain with the Order in any capacity.  She was their one success and he felt strangely protective of her for that reason.  He almost told her “no” when he caught himself.

There is no emotion.  Do not let your feelings blind you.

He looked at her again, using the Force.

“Very well, young Jedi.  You may accompany them.  Be ready.  When the call comes, you will present yourself to Master Revan at landing pad 14, North.”

He took his leave of Knight May and caught a public transportation shuttle to 500 Republica, the posh grouping of buildings that Master Revan and Admiral Onasi called home.  He felt the stares as he left the shuttle made his way across the Senate Square, 500 Republic was the home to powerful and influential individuals.  Security passed him through, as President of the Jedi Council, he often had to come to this place to speak privately to senators and, on occasion, the Chancellor.

A private lift took him to a penthouse near the top of one of the structures.  He could feel Revan and Carth inside, sharing a quiet, private moment.  He was loath to disturb them now, knowing that his news would bring them pain and fear in equal measure, especially Admiral Onasi.  He chimed the bell and bowed to Admiral Onasi when he opened the door.

“Admiral Onasi.”  He moved into the penthouse and bowed to Revan.  “Minuet, I have a message for you.”

He set the holocron on the table activated it.  A beautiful woman that was almost familiar to Min stood, dressed in Bastila’s dueling leathers beneath a black robe.

“Revan.”

She wore a serious expression.

“Once, long ago, I forswore the Jedi path and followed you to war.  After Malachor, I stayed with you and dedicated my life to the Sith.”

Her beautiful face soured.

“When Malak betrayed you,” she spoke his name like a curse, “I chose to leave his service.  In the years since, I have found a greater glory.  I found the True Sith Empire.”  She smiled.  “Or, they found me.  All we lack is a leader of vision… a leader like… you.”

Rahne bowed her head and slowly lowered herself to one knee.

“Master… return to us.  As I once followed you, follow me.  Let me guide you back to your true path, the path of greatness.  Come to Nar Shaddaa.  Come wearing black and carrying red.  Then, I will come to you.”

A young man entered the holograph, visible over the woman’s shoulder.  “Rahne…”

He had grown leaner in the last year, so lean that every ridge of muscle on his torso was clearly outlined and harshly defined.  He wore loose black pants and nothing else.  His skin was sallow, his eyes flat, but still recognizable: Dustil Onasi.

“A moment, my love…” The woman spoke over her shoulder then she looked at them once more.

“I will be waiting for you, Revan.”

Master Kavar turned off the holocron, averting his eyes to give Admiral Onasi some modicum of privacy while he dealt with what was just revealed.

“We received this message today,” he said.  “The council would like for you to investigate this, Min.  We’ve already formed a team to go with you.”

He sensed that it was time for him to leave so he bowed to them both, shell shocked as they were, and left, leaving the holocron behind.

Last edited by Jedi In Amber (2005-08-22 23:06:17)

Dustil Onasi

The sky is nice today. Clear and crisp. There are creatures flying through the air, but he doesn’t care about that – Lashowe will be coming by again later, that’s enough beast for him anyway. There’s a slight chill in the air it’s nice to feel that with all the humidity from the last few months.

Winters on Onderon are nice. Comfortable. Friendly. It will be nice to have winter here soon.

“Master Jedi,” the girl at the desk says quietly. She doesn’t look at him, but it’s not because she’s afraid. He doesn’t scare her – his presence doesn’t make her shake and quiver. “There’s- you could… a man came in yesterday, he’s very sick and we can’t seem to- would you, look at him?” She looks up at him; her eyes are shining with youthful hope.

He can think of the many ways he’d like to crush that. 

“Sure.” He says, of course – he wouldn’t crush it. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He likes the living, the comfort, and the pain.

The man is not old. He’s sickly, of course. He looks like he’s been under constant duress from – something. There are scars on his arms, deep gashes – some kind of animal attacked him. It wasn’t a boma that at least he knew. “Sorry.”

She sighs and holds her datapad closer. “Couldn’t you just-”

“Sorry,” he says that a lot these days. It’s becoming part of his tongue.

He shouldn’t be sorry. He should just kill her and run out. Kill her and disappear from all this. Go find some blinding light to hide in.

“I don’t understand why-”

“Sorry,” he says again. She just stares at him and walks off, more important things to do. They all stop asking him eventually. The others understand - she’s newer. She’ll give up soon.

Sooner if he killed her. Slowly.

He looks around the room. There’s a pale blonde woman sitting up on the bed. She looks tired, not dead like the last one.

She fell to the floor easily.

He readies his hands. “What did you come in for?”

“Are you a new doctor,” she smiles, “If so you’re a lot cuter than the last one.”

“No, I’m not exactly- what hurts?” She was pretty, her hair fell around her face heavier than Lashowe’s and her eyes were a deep green, almost gray, but she looks similar.

She sighs and rests her hands in front of her. She turns her face – there’s a long series of bruises down her neck. He can tell they were fists raining down on her. Lots of broken up women on Coruscant – was easy to call them now.

Not his thought – he’d never seen a battered woman like that. If he had – it would depend on when it was.

“Mhmm, hold still.”

“Don’t- don’t you want to know…” her mouth opened and closed. She pressed her hands down on her lap and let him come closer to her.

Not even the slightest flinch as his fingers came onto her neck. He let the healing flow through him – Lydie had taught him once. He was better now – being here and helping gave him lots of practice.

Practice to drive him crazy. Practice at tormenting him. Practice at making him remember names like Lydie and Lashowe.

The healing light and power could shift from him almost as easily as lightning once had. Softly his fingers trace the bruises on her neck. Slowly each one begins to break up and then disappear completely.

She looks up timidly and carefully rests a hand on her neck. “Thank you,” she mouth moves after that, but he can’t hear anything.

He doesn’t want to say anything. He needs to find a brunette. Something makes him pause. “You should lean back a bit – if he’s drunk he’ll think he hit you anyway.”

Her eyes fade and she grabs his arm. “No one understands.”

“Neither do I, really,” her fingers are soft around his arm.  It takes a moment but he gets her arm off his and walks away.

There are more to heal, more to help. Maybe there will be a Rodian – he hopes so, it took forever to find one before.

Maybe if he found a Hutt to kill he’d give this up. It was almost funny thinking about him healing a Hutt.

Funny hurt. This hurt.

He scratches his neck looking around. There was more to do – he felt relief. He spied a brunette and headed over. She was lying with her hair covering her face – she almost looked like-

She looks nothing like Rahne. Rahne would blind him – that’s not-

He carefully pulls the hair from her face and-

Dustil reached out for her, but all he found were sheets. Empty. Open. Alone. His breathing came out in ragged pants against his chest. He grasped vainly for some sort of substance, but all he could find was a cold spot from where she had been sleeping earlier.

His nightmares had driven her off. Why did he insist on driving off the light? Clutching onto the past when he slept. Living when he slept. Feeling.

It was dark in the room and he had to readjust his eyes. There was another presence in here. Familiar, but not her. There was no blinding and comforting light from this presence.

"Morning, sunshine. Another nightmare? What was it this time... let me guess love sonnets for the bartender," Gryffon's voice was like ice, it set a cold chilling anger through Dustil's blood. Anger was better than - better than an emotion he couldn't quite place anymore.

He could only remember a few of them - basic. Basic was easy. Anger was basic and worked if there was no light to bathe everything out. "Where's Rahne?"

"Out," Gryffon said sharply, not even attempting to hide his disdain for Dustil. "With my sister." Gryffon's sister was just a name. Female. Not Rahne.

His chest hurt. Something itched on the back of his neck. Living when he slept. It fracking hurt. He lifted himself out of the bed and stumbled into the refresher – he didn’t want Gryffon seeing him after his nightmares. The night terrors were intimate, quiet.

They were the terror of living. He closed the door behind him and let himself shake. Rahne wasn’t here – if she was here, he could block it out – he could keep it away.

Nothing was staying out now – it always slammed against him after he woke up. Simple acts. Eating. Drinking. Sleeping. They were more – different.

He slammed his fist into the wall and slumped forward over the sink. There was a drip – just slowly coming down. Focus on drip. Focus on anything but-

“Morning, Mekel!” the Twi’lek at the bar waved.

“It’s the afternoon Shar, maybe you should lay off the drinks-” He smiled even though his neck hurt from trying to convince that Gammeroan to let him heal a bruise – that was not a fun conversation.

The day bartender shook his head. “Shut up, Jin. That’s our best customer. Let her drink herself into a stupor for all I care.”

She giggled and her lekku waved. “Funny, Sam, funny. If I’m dead I can’t buy drinks, can I?”

Sam chuckled. “No, I guess not.”

“You two are sick,” he was smiling it was almost real. Moments like this it felt real – normal.

Dustil’s stomach lurched and he had to throw himself over the toilet before he – he hadn’t even eaten today. He barely held himself up with his arm and breathed slowly. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

He breathed out and it almost sounded like a choked sob, but it was nothing. Nothing he’d remember later – all of it would drown away. When Rahne came back.

Maybe if he focused on her – maybe if he just thought about the blinding light he could emulate it. He always tried when they were apart – it never worked. He was the darkness that no light but hers would touch.

Four quick breaths. Four quick breaths and then he’d wash his face and go back into the room. No more thinking. No more living.

He opened the door with a stoic face and straight posture. Gryffon was staring at him with a sneer. “What did you even chuck, you haven’t eaten in days – or so Arachnae tells me.”

Dustil raked his hands through his hair and gave a weak shrug. “I almost thought of a compliment for you, but I got so sick from the lie it came up.”

“You’re sweating.”

“Duly noted  - don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Gryffon pushed himself off the wall and took two steady steps towards him. “I’m not going to let you wait for Rahne. So get out.”

Dustil almost laughed. The fact that he didn’t was heartening. He was already forgetting what it was like to laugh – to feel. “I don’t think so.”

Gryffon came up to him, anger radiating off of him. His eyes were blazing. “Rahne’s mine,” he hissed.

The move was so fast; Gryffon didn’t have time to react. Dustil’s hands came from his sides to Gryffon’s shoulders and he slammed him into the wall with such speed that the darker man barely had time to wince.

Dustil held him up by his shoulders and tightening his grip. “The only person who owns Rahne is Rahne.”

Gryffon sneered at him, but something in Dustil’s eyes caused him to stay where he was without struggling. “If you want to be treated like her dog, fine. She’ll be bored with you soon enough.”

Dustil wrapped his hands around Gryffon’s neck, tightening his grip with the Force and his own hands. Light was streaming through the window now. In the shadow – with the light – Gryffon almost looked like – he almost looked like –

Dustil dropped the other man on the floor suddenly. Gryffon slid to the floor with a thud, glaring at him.

Dustil’s shoulders were shaking. He made his way over to the bed and pulled on a shirt and some boots. He left the other man lying on the floor and made his way outside.

It was cold outside, but there was something in the air that make it muggy as well. He was shaking all the same. He walked away. He left. There shouldn’t be any more problems.

The b- it was broken. It should have been broken. It was his last act as that boy he used to be, his saving grace. The Dustil he was now would never have done that. The Dustil he was now would have sliced that lightsaber through M- though his neck.

Dustil’s hands shook as he tried not to think about whether that was true or not.

He kept walking. When he found Rahne he wouldn’t have to think about that. He wouldn’t have to think about anything.

He wouldn’t be alive. Only when he slept.

Last edited by Arrow (2005-08-17 03:07:29)

Jedi Knight Thalia May

The conversation with Master Kavar replayed in Thalia’s head, and she felt her cheeks heat to near solar intensity.

“Grief, girl. Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered beneath her breath. “More of that stammering and he’ll be thinking you’re just another member of his swooning pubescent Padawan fangirls club.”

“Did you say something, Knight May?”

Oh, frack . . . “Just talking to myself, Master Lynn. My apologies for disturbing your concentration. I’m afraid I can’t stop right now. I have to be somewhere . . . else.”

Anywhere that doesn’t involve talking to you right now, she thought with a sour twist, quickening her stride before the Jedi Master could call her back.

I . . . I heard Masters Vrook and Atris discussing it and . . .

Perhaps that was the reason she’d been so uncomfortable talking to him. It hadn’t been a lie precisely, but on a more fundamental level it hadn’t been much of anything to do with the truth either.

Some parts of the Sith training stayed with you no matter what, no matter how much you tried to divorce yourself from the past. And in the Sith, you learned to listen. All the whispers and murmurs, and the textures of the night. If you didn’t, then there inevitably came a morning when you simply didn’t wake up at all.

So she had heard Master Vrook and Atris, but only because she had been deliberately listening through two separate walls via the Force.

Sometimes it still quietly amazed her how trusting people were. How little they guarded. And this was the first time that she’d deliberately set out to violate that trust. Just a little thing, in so many ways, but . . .

It always began with little things. Little compromises.

She shook her head, annoyed with herself. Started walking even more quickly. Her surroundings – tranquil hallways bright with filtered sunlight – didn’t register, and the world beyond the temple walls might not have existed at all.

Then, of course, there was the reason she’d known when and where to listen in the first place. It hadn’t been entirely down to all the wild rumours flying about.

The dreams . . .

Well, for once, they hadn’t involved the cacophonous thunder of beating shyrack wings, the snap of terentatek jaws in the darkness, and the baleful whispering of long dead Sith Lords in a language that only her soul remotely understood.

But they had still involved darkness, blood and death, her hands stained red. And they had still involved her waking up in the middle of the night in the kind of cold sweat that had once had her masters so worried about her.

They had involved other things too. And the more she had meditated on them, striving to pry apart their meaning, the more convinced she became that the death at their centre of what she saw was her own.

Death is a metaphor of transformation. Rebirth and new beginning.

So the textbooks said at least. And strangely, even the idea of literal death seemed less terrifying than it did seductive, drawing her in entirely the wrong direction, towards instead of away . . .

Damn, girl. Not again. There is serenity. Remember that? Remember being a Jedi Knight?

But as she forced those troubled thoughts back into their box, they were simply replaced by another set of different troubles and little guilts.

Dustil Onasi. Back among the Sith.

That one pained her as much as all of the others combined. It was difficult to say why, but she had always thought of him as slightly different to the rest of them.

Mekel Jin and Lashowe Starshine.

Oh, Lashowe.

If they’d all stayed on Korriban, one of her or Lashowe would be dead by now at the other’s hands. That was as certain as night following day. She suspected that would have been the one death she would never have felt any pause over, a murder committed eagerly in hate.

And that knowledge made the guilt burn all the more.

Breathe out. There is peace.

Poor big, dumb old Kel. Somehow now a Mandalorian.

She almost laughed at that one. If that was the will of the Force, then the Force had one bizarro sense of humour.

The urge to laugh died abruptly. She’d abandoned all of them – excised them from her life like a surgeon carefully removing cancerous tissue with a laser scalpel.

Everything that was Korriban had be neatly parcelled up and buried in her obsessive drive to move on and put past sins behind her; to devoting herself to becoming the perfect Jedi and thereby make atonement.

A Jedi has no attachments to their former life. How eagerly she embraced that one lesson in particular. It had seemed to offer hope.

But was cutting yourself off from past attachments truly meant to involve betraying everyone you used to know?

She’d never been quite able to put a voice to that question and ask Master Kavar or Vrook or Atris. Instead she’d kept on with her denial, immersing herself completely in every single lesson and task, hiding doubt beneath devotion and serenity. Everyone had been impressed.

And then her Knighthood trials. Culmination and vindication.

Except, somewhere in her heart, it hadn’t been.

That part of her knew the only reason she’d passed those trials, was because her Masters had tested her on entirely the wrong things. She half-suspected now that they’d had too much vested interest in her success, and so had subconsciously contrived in it.

But again she’d kept that little bit of knowledge to herself.

More denial. With so much of it already, it had scarcely seemed to matter. And she was a Jedi Knight. A Sith no longer. Why question too closely when she’d just achieved all she’d wanted?

Peace is a lie.

Yuthura’s voice from far in the past: poured silk, so compelling. It had always been easy to believe what that voice said, even if somewhere within you knew it was wrong.

But the peace Thalia had found was a lie.

She would be seeing her old Sith teacher again very soon of course, if all of what she’d overheard was correct. It was difficult to quite know what to say in those circumstances. Reminiscing about old times didn’t quite seem . . . appropriate.

And Min.

That was a fractionally more comforting thought. Master Revan now, of course. On top of everything else there was perhaps a chance to repay a small measure of debt here.

You may accompany them.  Be ready.

The answer she had wanted more than anything. The answer that she’d feared more than anything. A small part of her had even hoped that Master Kavar would have said no.

When it came down to it, this here was the real trial. The one they always should have set her. The one she had to pass if she was finally stop living a sham and be what she was pretending to be.

Finally she stopped walking, and blinked.

Wind blew against her face. It seemed to clear her head far better than any recourse to the Jedi Code had managed, and she gazed out at the vast world-spanning city. All the lights. All the lives. It helped to give a little perspective, she’d always found.

She was far too early of course, but she didn’t make any move to turn around and go back inside.

Instead, she let out a breath; spoke to no one in particular. “Well, I’m ready as I’ll ever be. What happens next?”

Carth

The impact slammed Carth hard onto the ground.

Breath knocked out of him, sweat running down his face and into his eyes, Carth rolled backwards and onto his feet, right side aching from the kick just inflicted on him.

Pain is irrelevant.

His opponent was younger, stronger and bigger, built like a cargo freighter, and he was charging straight at him, not about to give Carth a chance to recover.

Hunching over his right side, Carth swung his swords up in a weak deflecting blow that got swept aside with no effort, then he threw himself onto his back when his opponent swept his sword on the backstroke towards his torso. Now that the man was off balance, Carth lashed out and kicked him in the knee, using the force of it to push himself back up.

Then there was an explosion of pain in his leg and it collapsed underneath him.

!#$%$^% frelling fracking phoqing gimp leg!

Carth barely managed to roll away from the descending heel that stamped down next to his head. Muscles twinged and protested, but he forced himself to brace his bad leg on the floor, dropped his sword, and caught the man's boot. With a heave, Carth pulled the man's leg up, and he fell. Carth grabbed up his sword, rolled, and got back to his feet. He could feel the thigh muscles of his bad leg trembling, threatening to collapse again; Carth forced it steady.

Pain is irrelevant.

They circled, both of them limping. Carth panted, using his sleeve to wipe the sweat dripping off the chin of his protective mask, and his opponent chose that moment to attack, as Carth had hoped. Carth spun as the man went past, and hit him again in the knee, in the same place he'd kicked at before; his gimp leg almost betrayed him again, but Carth gritted his teeth and straightened it out.

Pain. Is. Irrelevant.

Yelling, Carth's opponent went down and rolled, but it was clear he couldn't rise and attack anymore.

Completely focused, Carth pressed his advantage, raising his sword to cut him down.

"Hold!"

Jolted out of his concentration, Carth rose from his combat crouch, wincing as he straightened up, then held out his hand to the Marine.

"You okay, Corporal Megos?"

The Marine nodded, taking Carth's hand. "I'll live, sir. Thanks for the workout." He bowed in the ceremonial salute ending the sparring, and Carth returned it, wincing again as he stretched various abused muscles.

"All right, all right, enough chatting," the Marine captain said, clapping his hands. "Hit the 'fresher, Corporal, and head to sickbay."

"Are you sure you told your troops that they're not supposed to go easy on me, Grenn?" Carth said as he took off the mask and grabbed the towel Grenn tossed to him, watching as the corporal limped off the mat.

"You're still getting your admiral butt kicked on a regular basis, aren't you?" Grenn remarked as he walked side by side with Carth, heading towards Carth's quarters. At least, Grenn walked; Carth limped heavily.

Even after all the physical therapy the Fleet medics had put him through, Carth still walked with a slight limp, courtesy of a dying Zabrak cyborg's death convulsions.

But pain meant you were still alive.

"Heh, yeah," Carth grunted. Grenn knew better than to offer him a supporting arm; Carth supposed that, in some ways, he was as stiff-necked as Canderous.

"Although I may have to have a word with Sergeant Soontis... I think she likes you."

Carth raised an eyebrow at Grenn. "She dislocated my elbow last week; that's a strange way of showing affection."

Smirking, Grenn replied, "She could have broken it. She must be sweet on you."

Carth's lips twitched. There was a time when he would've laughed out loud at Grenn's dig, but he hadn't laughed much, or even smiled, in the past year.

There was nothing to smile or laugh about now.

They walked through the quiet corridors of the Sojourn in companionable silence. Carth liked making the rounds at this hour; few sentients were around, so that he could hear the almost inaudible hum of the ship and its perfectly synced engines.

It was peaceful.

They reached Carth's quarters, and Carth nodded to the Marine sentries before going inside, propping his practice blades in wall brackets.

"Uh... isn't she the one you said ate durasteel nails for breakfast and crapped out quadranium for armor?" Carth tossed the towel and mask onto a chair and flopped into another one, suppressing a groan when he jostled his injuries; he knew there were going to be bruises. He waved a hand to Grenn to take a seat.

Not for the first time, Carth thought the Fleet really spoiled their admirals as he looked at the spacious (for a warship) quarters. A ship of the Sojourn's reputation meant some of the Fleet's most famous commanders had served there, and the place reflected it; there were hand-carved wood panels, a well-stocked bar, and numerous other furnishings and knick-knacks Carth found to be absolutely worthless on a cruiser.

The bar, however, was pretty useful.

"Yep." Grenn shook his head, refusing when Carth held a tumbler up.

Without really paying attention, Carth poured himself a generous measure of Corellian brandy.

"I take it you want to speak to me since you followed me here after the practice session, Grenn," Carth sighed after taking a sip of the smooth, amber liquid.

Grenn gave him a disapproving scowl. After so many years, Carth had gotten used to it, so he just returned a bland look. Grenn had been serving on the Sojourn before Carth assumed command, a testament to the Marine's abilities; only the best served on the main Fleet flagships.

"Just why are you so damned set on these practice sessions, anyway? You're not training for the Games, are you? So why do it? The men already think you're craz--eccentric for carrying blasters and a sword around all the damned time, even when we're not at battle stations. You're an admiral now, you're not supposed to get down into the dirt with us grunts."

Smirking, Carth replied, "Afraid of the competition?"

Giving Carth his best don't-change-the-subject scowl, Grenn said, "Look, how long have I known you, Carth? Fifteen years? Seventeen?"

"A long time."

Grenn eyed the tumbler in Carth's hand. "And in all that time, I've never seen you drink so much, and you were never so interested in the art of the sword that you'd practice for hours a day."

Carth shrugged. "A man's gotta have a hobby." He left it up to Grenn as to whether he referred to drinking or sparring. Pointedly, he took a swig of the brandy.

"And you never did tell me where you got those scars."

Scratching the longer one on his left cheek, Carth said, "Did you think I got these from falling down the stairs?"

"Actually, it was a toss-up between a bad shaving accident and running with scissors."

Looking at Grenn's determined expression, Carth sighed, realizing the man wasn't about to go away until he got answers. He pointed at the huge claw on his desk.

"Love taps, okay? From the owner of that foot over there." Carth downed the rest of the brandy, remembering the terrible pain, and afterwards, the even more terrible realization that he'd failed.

Again.

He refilled his tumbler with more brandy.

"I'm just trying to make sure I don't get my ass handed to me like that again, that's all," Carth said, hoping that would satisfy Grenn.

Grenn looked skeptical. "Carth, you're a fracking admiral now. What're the chances that you'll ever get into a melee battle again?"

"Yeah, but I was a commodore last year, and I never thought I'd be fighting a three-meter high cyborg, either. Besides, with all these diplomatic missions I have to go on, I'd get so fat on the champagne and rich foods, your Marines would have to roll me down the ramp."

"I thought you hated diplomatic missions."

Making a grimace, Carth shrugged. "I do, but I have no choice. I have to rub elbows with aristocrats and their rich cronies to keep the credits rolling in for the Telos Project. Things've been quiet since the Jedi Civil War, so we're not needed to do any fighting."

They were heading back to Coruscant because he had another damned party to attend. This one was pretty important; the Supreme Chancellor and most if not all of the Senators were going to be there, making it a perfect opportunity for Carth to hustle them for funding. At least he would be able to see Min for the next month or so. He was looking forward to that.

And there was very little to look forward to these days.

"Do you think we've finally kicked the Sith out of Republic space for good this time, if things are as quiet as you say?"

Carth snorted. "Sith are like rat-roaches. They always come back." He shook his head. "It's quiet all right. Too quiet."

"You know something this dumb Marine grunt doesn't?" Grenn sat up straight.

"It's just a feeling, Grenn. Just a feeling." Carth gave Grenn a considering look. "Speaking of the Telos Project... have you thought about my offer?"

"I have, but... I don't know, Carth. I'm just a soldier - I don't know anything about policing."

"I don't think it'd be hard, Grenn. I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on things for me there." Carth scowled into his brandy. "There's Czerka, and I'm sure the Exchange and the Hutts are sniffing around, looking for... opportunities. Damn vultures." He looked Grenn in the eye. "I know you can't be intimidated; as for the work, you'll have a regular staff to help you out."

"Hm."

Carth looked up at his friend. "I know a space station isn't the best place to settle a family down."

At least you still have a family. Grenn was an excellent Marine, but he should be with his family, not gallivanting all over space, but Carth left that unsaid.

"It'd be for a good cause." Grenn rubbed his chin and gave Carth a hard look. "Give it to me straight, Carth... do you really think they can rebuild Telos?"

Carth took a sip of his drink before he answered. "I don't know, Grenn. But it's worth a try. It may not happen in our lifetimes, but I hope that someday... someday Telos will be beautiful again. And I'm damned if we give the Sith the satisfaction of seeing us give up."

He'd hoped that Dustil would be there to see it, maybe even help. Now he wondered what he was doing it all for.

Without Dustil... it all seemed like pointless posturing.

Grenn's voice broke into his thoughts. "I'm calling it a night. See you tomorrow."

Carth made a vague, distracted wave of his hand as he stood and headed for his desk. He should take off his armor, but couldn't summon enough energy to do more than undo the fastener.

Just keep busy, Onasi. Just keep busy.

You kept busy, and you didn't stop, because that would give you time to think.

He shuffled the reports from Telos, the ones the Telosian Council always forwarded to him, because he'd been instrumental in founding the Telosian Restoration Project, in finding the funding for it, for...

Blah, blah, blah, as Jolee always said.

Carth wondered how much of them had been edited judiciously, to make sure he kept bringing the credits in. Not that he cared, really, as long as he saw discernible results. Not that there were much of those yet.

His eye fell on a holoprojector on his desk, and he reached out to touch it. A holo bloomed in the air.

Dustil...

It was the last holo Carth had ever taken of Dustil; it was of the two of them in front of Dustil's new air speeder.

It was only in the late hours of the night that he did this, even on a ship; it was neither dawn or dusk, day or night. It was only at this time of the day that he let himself remember why he was doing all of this: the stupid parties, the inevitable friction that came of a military authority trying to work with a civilian one, the ass-kissing for credits, the lifetime of work to rebuild Telos...

It was all for a son his head told him was dead.

His hand moved to a datapad. Dustil's poem. Father's always gone...

He had it memorized by now, and he could probably recite it backwards and forwards in his sleep.

Carth slammed his fist down onto the desk, making chips and pads jump. The pain hit back no less hard.

You know he's dead, a treacherous corner of his mind whispered to him.

"No, he's not dead... Not dead," Carth breathed to the empty room, clenching his hand into a tight fist, as if the increasing pain would drive the doubts away.

I refuse to believe he's dead.

Carth turned over the chips that contained the reports from the informants and spies that had worked for him for nearly a year. All of whom had nothing to show for the credits he spent like water. It was only possible because Min had given him a practically unlimited credit account. While it galled a small part of him to be asking her for credits, the rest of him was too pragmatic to turn the generous offer down. Spies did nothing for free.

Maybe they've got nothing to report because Dustil's dead...

He'd had high hopes in the beginning. Credits were a resource he'd never had six years ago, when he'd been trying to find Dustil on a war-torn Telos. With Min's help, he could afford to hire sentients anywhere, from bounty hunters to infomerchants, even ones in the employ of the Exchange or the Hutts.

None of whom had found a damned phoqing thing. That hope had cracked and crumbled, little by little, as daily reports came in with no word of Dustil.

Carth knew the others thought he was crazy for still believing his son was still alive, and Min was very worried for him.

They don't understand. They aren't parents.

He couldn't stop believing that Dustil was alive. To stop believing it meant he'd have to acknowledge he'd lost everything that mattered.

No, not everything. There's still Min. Still Min, he reminded himself, much like someone telling himself he still had his right arm after his left had been amputated.

Carth leaned his elbows on his desk and put his head in his hands.

Ch. 1 - 65, updated 08.06.2008, with illustrations

Faene Corr's Ghost

Corr narrowed her vision as one of the guards, still in uniform, walked into the bar. She gritted her teeth. "Never would they show this utter disrespect with me - Vaklu is an idiot!"

"Would you like to haunt him and give him advice for a coup then?" Uthar sounded bored.

Corr frowned and crossed her arms in front of her. "I just want to be able to smack them - just once."

"Were you stronger in the Force... I have heard of those dead that could make themselves appear and destroy their enemies," he eyed her carefully, she looked right through him to the other side of the bar so she could glare at the soldier. "You were extremely strong in the Force, but untrained - the only bit that you learned was about those beasts, it's a shame. If you had've learned more you might have been able to save yourself."

"Yes, I would have been a terrific Jedi," she snorted. "First thing I would have done was shove a lightsaber up Vak-"

"You wouldn't have been on Onderon if you were a Jedi, Faene Corr."

She shrugged. "Small details." She tapped her foot impatiently. "Is blonde girl done with the bartender yet?"

"I try not to think about it - besides you were the one that was encouraging her to seek out new partners."

Corr glared. "Once, once I said something and..." for a brief moment she couldn't block out the deep regret that she wasn't living anymore. The things that could have been - if she had only listened. "He needed it," she said softly.

"And she?"

"She," Corr started risking a glare at Uthar instead of the guardsman. "Was extremely lucky to be granted the opportunity." Corr smiled a little proudly. "She wasn't walking straight for two days."

"No. I need something bigger," Lashowe purred. "Intimidation is like, nine-tenths of any turf battle, you know? Do you have the same gage with a larger barrel?"

“Yes, yes flirt with the bloody weapons salesmen maybe you'll get a discount on shoddy merchandise. Pay attention to what he's showing you,” Corr muttered at the blonde.

The shopkeeper sputtered something, and the blonde turned around. Her hair was braided with bells. Her eyebrows arched and her mouth pursed in a perfect, surprised 'o'.

"He's showing me crap, Big Girl."

Corr frowned and crossed her arms under her chest. She knew the shopkeeper and also how to make him get out the good stuff, but her intimidation tactics didn't work when Lashowe did them. She had to think of something else.

"I knew I should have brought the drexl in,” Lashowe mumbled. "If they'd fit in the door, but you were like, oh no."

"Drawing attention to yourself is not a good idea when buying mass weapons." Corr snapped. She got an idea. "Ask him how his wife is doing." she said softly even though she knew no one else could hear her.

"How's your wife," Lashowe drawled in a slightly louder voice.

The shopkeeper stiffened immediately. "Wh- she's fine. Wh- Why do you ask?"

"And you like her that way?" purred Lashowe.

"Lashowe shut up and tell him to show you what's under the counter. Subtly, dammit. Tell him -" she sighed loudly. "Tell him the flowers in fall are springing and his wife loves the gray ones, he should get her some."

When she was alive she could just glare at him and get him to show her something. But her resources were now, somewhat limited.

"Flowers, spring, gray, show me what's under the counter, shop boy, or your wife will cry," Lashowe rolled her eyes.

Corr, not for the first time, wondered if she was sent to some kind of hell for her transgressions. "Lashowe. Remember the talk we had about talking like a normal person?"

“I'm not normal," Lashowe said.

"You're telling me," said the shopkeeper as he pulled out an impressive arsenal from under the counter.

"Mmmm, that's nice."

"The red ones, are good, order five of those - we'll get more later." Something prickled on the back of her neck. Reminding her once again that she didn't have any skin for that sensation to be real. It was all just a compulsory illusion after all.

"Five red ones," Lashowe sighed. "And ten of these cool rocket launcher things. "If that's okay with you, your highness?"
Corr groaned and racked her hands through her hair. "Lashowe! For crying out-" she stopped her tirade suddenly.

"What's the trigger like on the new Republic models?"

A gruff, exceedingly familiar voice drew her attention. Corr frowned. She'd seen him a few other times on Onderon, not as often as she would have liked - or wouldn't have liked, but something was off about him. He was moping. Corr glared at him. "Stupid fracking Mandalorian." He should have been over this by now, it had been a year - he was making her feel guilty. And dammit it all if she needed anything else to add onto this crazy situation she was in.

"Republics are way too quick on the draw," Lashowe said helpfully. "Hey you. Mandalorian. Been a while."

Corr smacked her forehead in frustration. If she didn't watch the blonde girl for one second everything went to … wherever she was now.

"How's Algwinn, anyways?"

Something shifted in his posture. He really did look like hell, though she was sure she was able to tell better from - knowing him so well. Or at all. Maybe she was just reaching. She eyed Lashowe for a moment, maybe if he talked to someone. She snorted loudly at the thought, drawing Lashowe's attention for a moment. She waved her back and frowned. Maybe if he got a few drinks in his system he'd talk.

Canderous turned slowly; his eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth. "Kelborne is fine."

"He came down to see Jin a few months ago, I heard. He's like spawning soon?" Lashowe put her arms behind her back and inhaled.

"We were going to work out a weapons for boma thing did he ever mention it to you?"

Canderous' eyes flicked below Lashowe's face and then up again. "Yes," he said finally. "His wife is having twins."

"Who would have thought?" Lashowe eyed the Mandalorian appraisingly. "You look like you need a drink, Ordo."

Corr's lips quirked. Times like this she remembered that Lashowe didn't completely infuriate her. "Good idea," she said softly again. She still didn't feel like staring at him, it was still impossible to get used to people not seeing her. She used to tower above everyone - not being noticed was not her thing.

The blonde frowned, thoughtfully. "You still hunting those Sith?"
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Are you?"

Corr arched an eyebrow at both of them.

"I have the scent." Lashowe's nostrils narrowed. “Sith on Onderon it's like fracking eels in a barrel. But that bitch. No, she hasn’t been here."

Canderous snorted. "Of course she hadn't been here. If she'd been here, she'd be dead."

"By my hand, not yours," murmured the blonde.

Canderous almost grinned. "We'll see about that, Blondie."

Corr rolled her eyes. "Yes constructive idea, focus on killing-" she bit her lip. She had her own visions of killing the dark woman with the red lightsaber, on cold nights where she couldn't feel any temperature.

"We can race to it," purred Lashowe Starshine. "You may have fracked her and stuff, and she loved you...--But she was my friend."

Corr stiffened, once again forgetting she wasn't really there. "I never said that," she muttered through gritted teeth.

Canderous face-hardened. "I will kill her. And this conversation is over." He turned and strode out of the shop.

"You didn't have to," Lashowe said out loud. "The boma could tell."

If she wasn't a pale blue, she was sure her face would have been red. "Frackin- shut up and catch up to him."

“And say what?"

"Ah frack, never mind. I get it. I fracked a few Mandies up on that moon." Lashowe took off after the hulking figure. She drew her saber as she ran. Drawing it through the air in a deliberate hiss.

Corr trudged after her, gliding through the street. "Lashowe, dammit."

"Ordo!" she yelled.

"What the frack are you doing," Corr hissed. The blonde had finally lost it.

"Look put your fracking lightsaber back on your hip. Look just, just-" she stared at his back as he was still walking away. "Fracking Mandalorian. Ask him if he's got the choobies to get a drink, or if he doesn't have the gut for it?" She huffed, "I could probably drink him under the table at this point."

"Hey, Ordo!" Lashowe yawned. "You have the choobies to drink with me? Or are you too l'charim?"

Canderous stopped and turned. One hand was still clenched into a fist. The other now rested on his repeater. "What do you want, Lashowe?"

"Did mourning make you stupid, she said she wanted a drink," Corr muttered irritably.

"Sith bitch dead. But at the moment a drink."

Her eyes looked at his and then skipped away again. "You still smoke those cigarras?"

His eyes narrowed, and he glared at her. "You don't need me to have a drink. If I remember correctly, you were pretty good at knocking yourself out on your own."

"Your point?" Lashowe raised an eyebrow.

"Ah a defensive mechanism, keep going you're cracking him," she murmured.

"My point is I want to be left alone."

"I'd crack him in half, if he had half the stamina you keep going on about," Lashowe Starshine said to the air.

"Tell him that sounds like a poor excuse for being afraid of a skinny blonde twit drinking him under the table."

"You afraid a little blonde babe can drink you under the table?" Lashowe rolled her eyes. “I am skinny,” she added.

Canderous growled, and the hand on his repeater twitched. "The day you outdrink me I'll wear your lipstick and call myself Starshine."

"Not really your shade, sort of like Revan wearing red underwear. But if that's a challenge...”

His lip twitched slightly. He looked up and squinted into the sun. Then he sighed and looked at Lashowe again. "One drink."

Lashowe rolled her eyes suddenly. "Okay then?" she asked thin air.

"One drink," she nodded at Canderous. "After that I'll put you to bed. With some maffa milk and cookies."

Canderous shook his head, almost hiding the grin on his face. "Girlie, don't think I won't put you over my knee." He looked at her again and raised an eyebrow. "Especially if you try to put me to bed."

“Don't think I'd mind," murmured Lashowe. "If that's the worst you could though,  I'd be sad....and possibly bored. Anyways, that drink."

"Happy now?" she added, apropos of nothing at all.

Corr frowned, "Yes, you're doing fine. Just don't frack it up."

Corr's face softened at the slight change in Canderous. Slight, but at least it was something. She had realized Lashowe was flirting too late, but maybe it would actually knock him out of it. Besides dead women don't get jealous. Corr gritted her teeth. Sure they got jealous, that's why it was so ridiculous that she was still here. She tapped her fingers against her neck. "I think you can take it from here." She hoped Lashowe could, maybe she'd actually get a smile out of the Mandalorian later. She shook her head and closed her eyes, maybe she'd go check on Talia - she certainly wasn't going to watch this. Because fracking dammit, dead women did get jealous, and besides Corr couldn't trust herself to not throw out pointers.

"Yes, but how did that help with your mission?"

She glared at Uthar. "What mission?"

"Why you are here? You have not completely become one with the Force as of yet, there is something unresolved for you to accomplish. The Force has you here for a reason."

Corr arched an eyebrow. She was really getting tired of his diatribe. "And what exactly are you here for, Uthar Wynn?"

Uthar sighed appropriately. "I am here, obviously, to guide Miss Starshine, she has a destiny ahead of her and I'm here until she fulfills it. I would have preferred a more ... advanced student, but beggars cannot be choosers as they say." He waved his finger. "My question, Faene Corr, remains – what are you here for?"

She frowned. "To prevent Vaklu from doing whatever he has planned. If Lashowe would listen to me when I'm speaking."

"That was your goal when you were alive - I do not believe it is your mission now."

She rolled her eyes. "Then what, pray tell, is my mission?"

"I do not know, but I have a feeling you'll find out soon enough."

Corr bristled. "We're dead, we don't have feelings."

"Is that why you still care about those that lost you? Because you don't feel?"

She ignored him. "Stop trying to tutor me, I'm the same age as - I was the same age as you when I was alive. And since we're both dead nothing is going to come out of you attempting to Jedi-fy me. Which, by the way, I don' t know how you can do since you were a Sith Master, not a Jedi one."

"I am only attempting to offer help," he eyed her carefully, "You were important and I believe you still are."

She brushed him off; hoping Lashowe would be done soon, maybe she could get her to go on a Drexl ride, live vicariously - literally. "Wait," she paused. "You said all I had learned were beast tricks, right?"

"Yes - it is a shame if you had more tutoring before your demise you may have been able to move chairs, or even pick up a weapon."

Corr smiled. She closed her eyes and tried to find a whisper on a scent of the wind. Blocking out the noise, the distraction, and the knowledge of anything but those days on the Onderonian Wilds.

She opened her eyes and smiled. A loud scream erupted from outside and a boma broke through the door ramming into the off duty guardsman who was wearing his uniform. He tried to dart out of the way, but the boma cracked it's skull against his ribs. A loud fit of swearing and some rumbling and he was standing on the bar trying to get away from it.

"That's not exactly what I meant," Uthar frowned. He looked a little jealous.

Corr shrugged. "Yeah, well- if I can't smack them, I can at least ask some friends to."

She watched proudly as the boma continued to try and assault the guardsman, who was too shell shocked to come down. The doors burst open again and a beastrider pushed forward- one of Osh's men. If he had still been the beastrider General and hadn't quit the moment she- her body had arrived back on Onderon.

"Stupid fool, could have done some good use and kept Talia safe," she rubbed her arms as if she could bring life back to them.

The beastrider calmed the boma and brought him outside. She nodded her thanks and the creature made a craaying noise.

Bells chimed behind her and she turned. Lashowe was smiled like a kitten that had just had some fresh cream. She looked sated.

"Are you quite finished preying on Mekel Jin's grief?" Uthar said languidly.

Lashowe shrugged one shoulder. "Shut up, Uthar."

Uthar began to ramble off on a new point about Jedi Diplomacy or something to that degree. Corr ignored him and watched as the beastrider walked out the door. A simple action that made her skin, if she still had living skin, crawl. She felt inanely jealous. Just what was the Force keeping her here for.

Why did she need to keep her consciousness to her sense of self. Dying was supposed to be a wondrous thing where you left all sense of awareness - this was just ultimate limbo.

She let out the allusion of a breath of air.  Whatever her purpose was, she was going to find it and finish it so she could move on to the next plane of existence.

Soon.

Rahne Kryss

Rahne slipped into a black bodysuit, pulling the material up her legs slowly, reveling in the feel of the slightly cool material against her flesh and enjoying the look of rapt attention on Dustil's face.  She slipped into a set of dueling armor, modeled after the armor that Bastila Shan favored with one difference, this suit was as black as the heart of Marka Ragnos himself.  She flexed her hands in the gloves and sat, letting Dustil slip the boots onto her feet.  She stood and stretched to settle the leathers on her form and then let Dustil garb her in the heavier armor plates, enameled a glossy black to match the dueling leathers, plates on her forearms and shins, on her thighs, and ornate but functional shoulder pieces.

"Dustil, my weapons."

It was a custom on Thule for Sith Lords to appear in public armored as if for war at all times, a tradition she acquiesed to despite being a Sith Knight and not a Lord, hoping that the appearance of being a Lord would keep her power base from being further eroded by the machinations of Sion and the Sith Priests.

If Sion or the Priests call me on this, it may backfire but I need the added prestige if I am going to enlist Kiani.

She held her arms out while he double-wrapped a supple belt around her waist, the second wrap loose to balance the weight of her Echani-made vibrosword across both her hips.  She attached her lightsaber to the belt, on the tightly wrapped loop to secure it.  She stood still while Dustil wrapped her in a black campaign cloak, clasping it with a Sith broach.

"I will return later."

Dustil followed her to the door.  "Let me come with you."

She did not look at him.  "No.  Stay here with Arachnae and Gryffon."

She stepped into the hall and let the door close behind her.  She strode through the halls of her fortress and entered a barracks, noting with some degree of satisfaction that the young women within all came to their feet and bowed to her the moment they recognized her.  A half-dozen Echani Handmaidens, each of them honoring the face of their parents, awaited her command, all of them raven-haired, blue eyes, and gorgeous in that angular Echani way.

"All of you, arm yourselves and bring your Stealth Field Generators.  I go to meet Lord Kiani and you will protect me should she prove treacherous."

She watched as they dressed and armed themselves, a wry smirk on her face.  Most of the Sith preferred Mandalorian mercenaries but she had always favored the Echani.  She appreciated elegance over power and skill over mass destruction.  She waited until they vanished from sight and then left the fortress, heading for neutral ground and to a meeting with a woman who could become a welcome ally of a deadly enemy...

Sith Lord Kiani

Lord Kiani crossed watched as Rahne Kryss approached, nodding her approval at the other woman's choice of garb.  The armor was suitable and appropriate to the position Rahne was trying to claim, much better than the robes she had worn when she first arrived.  However, Kiani doubted that Rahne had ever fought while so armored and resolved to give her some rather pointed lessons should this meeting end on a less than satisfactory note.

But if that schutta is here to proposition me, I'll crush her and give her to my Mandalorians as a chew toy.

She stood impassively as Rahne bowed to her.

"What do you want, Kryss?"

The other woman smiled.  "I want to enlist you to my cause, Lord Kiani."

At least she knows how to get straight to the point.

"I hear you are bringing Revan to Thule."

Rahne Kryss raised her chin.  "I am.  I felt the darkness within her on Dxun.  She has not been redeemed as the Jedi claim.  She is the only one worthy of ruling Thule, not Sion and not the priests."

Kiani quirked an eyebrow.  "What of my own ambitions?  Am I to meekly submit to you?  I am a Lord of the Sith."

Do you know anything of what I want or need?

Rahne Kryss smiled and lowered her chin a bit, suddenly submissive in her tone and attitude.  "I do know of your ambitions, Kiani.  I know you want Sion dead.  I know you want the Priests that abused you and surrendered you to Sion's clutches dead.  I know you want to make them pay for the indignities you suffered.  Join me.  Follow me.  Help me usher in a new Golden Age of the Sith, with Darth Revan as our Master, and I will give you everything you desire."

Kiani decided at that moment to let Rahne live.  "And what if desire more?"

Rahne did not stop smiling.  "I will fulfill any desire, any wish, no matter how great or small.  I swear it."

Kiani nodded but did not smile.  "I will consider your offer."

Of course, they both knew Kiani would accept but to do so quickly would reek of desperation.

Jedi Master Kavar

Kavar felt the nervousness and apprehension rolling off of the young woman and smiled to reassure her.

"You may go whenever you are ready, Mission Vao, so long as you are not late."

He put down the datapads he was scanning and motioned for her to sit.

"The fate of the Republic could be decided on this assignment," he said gravely.  "We've yet to recover from the Mandalorian War and the most recent Sith War.  Should another conflict begin, I do not know if the Republic will survive."

He stopped himself, not wanting to overwhelm her or instill doubt within her.

"Would you like for me to accompany you to the landing pad?"

Last edited by Jedi In Amber (2005-08-22 23:19:51)

Written with Jia, as Gryffon, bien sur :)Edit: a million puppies and chocolates sent to the goddess phoq, for the amazing iconage, Lash with bells in her hair.

Lashowe Starshine

Three Onderonian months ago, three weeks after Canderous Ordo’s drink...

Lashowe stretched the kinks out of her back one-by-one. It had been a long day. Running a gang was more work than she’d ever expected, but it did have...certain advantages, she considered, looking about their newly opulent lair. Amazing really, how well-compensated one could be for helping the glorious revolution.

Ulgor came over to her, bells jangling in his hair. "Is there anything else you need, Starshine?" he asked politely

"A massage would be sweet," Lashowe murmured, stripping off her sweat-coated robes. She lay down on the table, drinking in the quiet. For once, the dead people were being silent. Maybe they’d gone for a walk or something. They were sort of cute together, she thought.

And the thought made her giggle.

In the distance she heard a knock at the door and the gruff voice that answered it.  "What the frack do you want?"

"Be nice, Joos," Lashowe called out. Manners were important. Especially when you were sitting on a load of proscribed munitions, covered under eridu silk blankets and Iridonian rugs.

Joos was never that bright. Lashowe was surprised when the gang member spoke again, with much more decorum. "I will keep a polite tongue in my head. I will take you to Lashowe now."

The back of Lahsowe's neck prickled, but not unpleasantly. The Force sang lightly, with an almost familiar dark taint. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. She was surprised – but in some ways it seemed like fate. Whatever, surprises were good.

Dressed in black robes and looking as dark and as handsome as the last time she had  seen him, cute darkside boy stepped into her line of sight.  "I told you I'd return for you some   day."

"Get out," she told her masseuse. "Use the back door. I'll greet our guest alone."

The gang didn't question her anymore. They were cool like that.

Sithboy appraised her form. "You're just as wild and as untamed as ever.  I like that."

"You seem more brooding," she commented, laconic. It worked on him, actually. The brooding thing. Uncanny really, the way one dark-haired brooding boy could resemble anoth--

"I've had little to smile about."  He reached out and stroked her bare back, sending a shiver down her spine, like he was petting a wild cat.  "Want to change that for me?"

Lashowe rolled over lazily on her back, stretching her arms high above her head.  "I could help you change," she agreed.

Cute darkside boy was, after all, still cute. And the lifeforce that ran through all things had its redeeming qualities.

"How'd you find me?" she murmured.

She watched his eyes traverse her lean form, a smile quirking his chiseled lips, almost making a dimple on the side of his cheek. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were dangerous. Lashowe smiled back, watching his nostrils flare as if he was drinking in her scent.

"I used the Force, of course.  On this backwards mudball, you shine like a star."

"Of course I do. I am one. Mother always used to say so -- before she became a total bitch and shipped me of to Korriban. You seem sad," Lashowe continued. "I think you should know...this Sith thing...? It looks so good on you but -- there's no future in it."

He laughed, a soft chuckle that was both dry and sibilant.  "There's a future in  every path, my bright star.  And I think, this Sith thing would look good on you."  But he did not put action to those words, he seemed distracted suddenly, unfocused.  But, like a vagrant cloud passing before the sun, it passed and those dark eyes focused on her once more.  "Why a beastrider gang?  You're capable of so much more?"

Lashowe shrugged, a movement she'd practiced since she was thirteen years old.  She did it well, even lying down. Or especially.

"I like riding beasts. Why you and the Sith?"

His eyes were drawn down by her shrug and reluctantly returned to her face.  "The Sith feel like... well, I don't have to tell you about the lures of the Dark Side, do I?"  His voice was amused, his eyes were not.  "Though, I must admit a certain lack of enthusiasm at the moment."  His voice was low and he seemed surprised to have admitted that.

"There's more to fun than Force Choke. Although sure it has some practical applications. That can be fun." Lashowe frowned slightly at his seriousness. "You said we'd meet again and here you are. Aren't you going to kiss me, cute darkside guy?"

Cute darkside guy kissed her. His fingers exploring the body she so willingly displayed.  When he broke the kiss, the darkness still clung to him.  "Come with me."

"No," Lashowe murmured lazily back. "Kiss me again, cute dark --wait--" Idly she  twirled a hand through his hair, running it lightly with her fingertips down his neck. She giggled. "What's your name?"

His smile slipped a little but returned just as quickly.  "My name..."  He kissed her again, a slow kiss that promised much.  He let his mouth move from her lips to her ear, where he breathed his name like it was the most closely guarded secret in the galaxy.  "Gryffon..."

"Ah," Lashowe breathed. "Gryffon. It's nice to formally introduced. You can call me Starshine. All my friends do."

Gryffon caressed Lashowe's hip, sliding his hand up her side.  "Starshine."  He tasted the word, deciding he liked it.  "It suits you."

"That's why I picked it," Lashowe agreed. She let her voice melt into a husky purr, possibly influenced by the touch of his hands. "Turn back from the dark side, Gryffon. The Sith are totally lame -- eeek!" she gasped. "That tickles."

He kept exploring her with his hands, his smile darkly amused.  "I don't turn that easily."

"I was planning on making you work...harder," Lashowe said.

He let his lips brush hers again.  "What did you have in mind?"

"Life," Lashowe said against his mouth. And then she showed him.

XXX

The present day, Onderon, Iziz marketown

Gryffon moved through the crowds like a vibroblade through soft flesh. Lashowe scented him half a kilometer away, felt his presence approach through the Force, like a roiling thundercloud of power and darkness.

Today, he wore a Jedi robe as a disguise. It was a cute one. She was in disguise herself, a necessary precaution since that thing that had happened with the palace and Vaklu. Damn Corr anyways. It had been a good plan before the voice of a Force Ghost like a fracked up conscience frelled it up.

Gryffon smiled as he stepped into her line of sight.

"Good morning, Starshine."

"Hey Gryff," Lashowe waved her escort discreetly away. To a man (and beast) they obeyed.

"Do you like the robes?"  He held out his arms so she could properly inspect them. Even dressed as a Jedi, the darkness clung to him and that incongruity (coupled with a healthy fear of the Jedi) made many of the Onderanians shy away from them. That was just as well. Ever since that unfortunate Vaklu thing, Lashowe was at least nominally in hiding.

She let the hood slip slightly from her face so he could see her eyes. Then they narrowed. "Robe looks familiar." She paused a moment, watching his reaction. "Jin or Onasi's...Jin's I think, you guys really do look alike."

"Mekel Jin... could be."  The way he said the name hinted that he knew what went on  between Lash and Mekel and that he did not care.  "Have you spoken with Jin lately?"

"He asked me about you."

"Did he now? And what did he ask?"

Gryffon did not look surprised. That was interesting.

"He wanted to know what I saw in you, I think. Funny, he seemed rather interested. He seemed to know who you were...I thought you were just a cute lackey, Gryff. Are you someone important?"

Gryffon's smile was reminiscent of a firaxan shark. That was okay, it worked on him. His dimple flashed.  "I'm the right hand of  the Dark Lady."

"Ooo," Lashowe purred. "The Dark Lady." Whomever that was. Maybe that was the bitch that killed Corr. She'd considered that theory before. "And she lets you run off and frack strange blondes on Onderon whenever?" Her golden eyebrows raised. "Or is there some ulterior motive? You smell like ulterior motive today, Gryff." He did, it was like a miasma over his normally dark sweet scent.

Lashowe giggled. "I mean, along with the usual unending desire for my body...do you like berries? We were going to make punch."

"Do I seem like the kind who would have ulterior motives?"  His tone was darkly playful, his hands light as he scandalized the Onderonians bold enough to watch them,  bringing her closer to him, his hands moving from one inappropriate place to another.  "Can't it just be my unending desire for your body?"

"That goes without question," Lashowe purred. "But no, the smell is definitely ulterior. So. Spill..." She giggled. "I mean the motive, of course. Onderonian security are real prudes, trust me, there was this time when I--"

He silenced her with a kiss.

Sadly, as if aware of the stares, he broke it far too soon for her liking and then wrapped his arm around her waist, walking and bringing her along with him.  "I've come to tell you that things are going to be... interesting for a while.  I won't be able to return until matters are resolved."

"Oh. You're going to disappear from my life for a few months, then come back and we'll frack for days? Well that happens alot, Gryff. But you smell different this time. Not just the jealous brooding Sith thing. You smell...excited. And not about me. So...?"

"Next time I come back, Starshine, it'll be a whole new galaxy."  He pulled her into an alley and pressed her against the wall, covering her mouth with his.  The kiss was forceful but passionate at the same time, the promise of more radiating from him, the dark promises of an Angel escaped from Hell, if she remembered the holovids she’d watched as a child correctly.  He gripped her upper arms tight, his eyes alight.  "I can't bring you with me but if you want to follow, the Jedi are coming for Mekel Jin."

Lashowe giggled. "Why? Don’t they have sad bartenders on Coruscant too?"

"They want something from him.  That's the only reason the Jedi come for anyone. Go with them and they will bring you to me."

"Jin from Coruscant, right? We're talking the one I frack when you’re not around? Ex-padawan sad, oh the love of my life is dead, Mekel Jin? However-will-I-deal?"

"The love of his life?" Gryffon’s dark eyes looked a little too curious suddenly. Lashowe fingered the fabric of his robe, Jin’s robe and wondered if they were drawing too much attention.

"And why do you know about him anyways, Gryff?" Her hand moved up his neck and stroked his cheek. "Aside from the resemblance, I mean."

There was one. But Mekel didn’t have that dimple. She smoothed it thoughtfully, watching his expression.

"He's been asking questions and... someone's been thinking about him."  Something wicked awoke in his eyes.  "The love of Jin's life, she have a name?"

Lashowe giggled again. That was funny.

"If she had a name it might be mine. Naw...Jin can't get over Onasi. They were a black fracking hole of doom, we all knew that from the first on  Korriban. You wouldn't get him to admit that. But it's pretty obvious.  I guess it must really suck to have your force-bonded lover die. Let's not get that close, okay, Gryff? I mean I like you, but geez, ghosts are bad enough."

I don’t like him, Corr said in her mind. Not for the first time. She said some other things too, in the beastrider argot that Lashowe was still trying to get the hang of.

“So he’s not Mandalorian, okay? He’s not bad...” Lashowe snapped back. Master Uthar was mercifully silent. But disapproving. Wow, big surprise.

"Force-bonded ...Onasi..."  In the land of the living, Gryffon laughed.  "You mean... Dustil Onasi?"

"Dustil, yeah. We all went to school together. Tragic. Telosian. Dead. Dustil died on Dxun, you remember, where we met?"

"I understand now."  He seemed to be somewhere else for the moment.  "I remember.  And I remember Dustil Onasi.  So... him and Jin were lovers.  That's very interesting."

"Is it? I never thought so. Amusing, perhaps but..." Lashowe's hand dropped from his shoulder.

His interest was strange. There are things you don’t put together, suspicions sure. But you don’t wonder until it becomes completely fracking obvious. It was becoming like that. Lashowe’s patience began to fray. Her voice hardened.

"You know I lost a dear friend on Dxun too. To some Sith bitch. The boma told me...and you were there. If you know something Gryffon, I think you’d better spill." Her hand clenched in a fist and Gryff felt a tightness in an sensitive place that was not his neck. "Or cry."

She watched his eyes widen, then narrow, saw him exhale sharply. His face was close enough to kiss, but Lashowe did not. "So what's the deal, Gryffon, does you little Master want Jin? She need another brooding dark haired boy around to make a bookend set? What?"

The mirth and humor left Gryffon's face, leaving something cold and dangerous in its place.  He reached down and took her by the wrist, removing her hand from his choobies. 

"And we were having such a lovely time."  He stepped away from her, once more wrapped in that darkness that rarely left him.  "I know who killed your friend. And Jin is worthless to us, broken.  No, the Jedi want Jin because they finally figured out the—“

He grimaced. Lashowe relented and opened her hand slightly.

"Figured out what?" She tapped her foot.

He knows who killed me.

Inwardly, Lashowe promised Corr vengeance again. They'd get it. Gryffon was the key. They'd always kind of known that.

"The truth."

"What truth? Uthar says there is no truth. Except when he's really pissed at me, and then he says that I can't handle the truth. Asshole." Lashowe rolled her eyes.

"You ever wonder why Jin asks so many questions, Starshine?  Why he caters to every ex-Sith and ex-Jedi that wanders into the Drunk Side?"

"Guilty conscience," Lashowe kept her voice low and dangerous. "He's changed. Why don't you tell me, Gryff. Now. Or I'll have the drexl over there gut you."

"Threats, Starshine?  I thought we were closer than that. Why don't you ask me nicely?"

The drexl trumpeted her impatience. This was fast becoming a total drag.

Impatience leads to the dark side, Uthar said in her head. Ask him. Nicely.

"Why?" Lashowe asked, nicely. Uthar might be boring, but he was persistant. And sadly, often right.

You should try the grip again. Corr whispered. That works quicker.

"He enjoys it too much," Lashowe answered back. She tried, unsuccessfully not to laugh.

Gryffon's mouth moved to her ear.  "He's still alive."

“Who?" Lashowe frowned at him. "Jin? I know, I saw him last night. Told me to frack off. He was busy."

"Not Jin."

Lashowe sighed, exasperated. "Not Jin then --"

A thought occurred to her. "No way! Jin can't lie to save his ass."

"Maybe he's changed."

“And Mekk would know, he’d---“ Lashowe frowned. "Onasi, you mean, alive. So what's the deal? Your team torturing him?"

Gryffon laughed.  "Don't you get it, Starshine?  Dustil turned."

Lashowe rolled her eyes. "Have I mentioned I'm selling an atmospheric bridge between Dxun and Onderon? For cheap." She scoffed again. "Onasi. A Sith. A killer. Like you?"

"Worse.  They call him the Lady's Hound. Ask Jin if he's fracked any Sith in his dreams lately. Watch him choke."

"So Dustil turned because he likes your Dark Lady? Beause honestly...Dustil and the la--"

Gryffon looked past her, at the crowd on the street.  "No... he kills at her command, lives at her command, everything at her command.  If she told him to die, he'd fall over dead.  He gave his soul to her on Dxun."

Her blue eyes scanned his face. He was cute. He was Darkside. He was brooding, but he also wasn’t lying. Something occurred to Lashowe.

"All joking aside, why are you telling me this? You think I'm gonna want to go dark side to hang out with Telos? He barely gave me the time of day. Which was a shame, he was cute..."

His next words were ominous.

"The Jedi know that Dustil is alive.  Which means they're coming for Jin.  Tag along with the Jedi.  I'll be waiting for you." Gryffon kissed her again. Sharply. Lashowe leaned into it. With all of this Sith and Jedi banthacrap, not to mention the Vaklu thing, this could be their last opportunity.

The kiss was dark and sweet. Much like him.

"How do you know I won't go to Jin with this. He and I go way back..." Lashowe considered, her mouth hot against his lips. "Or is that what you want? If the Jedi come after Telos and he's with your master Gryff...you could get hurt..."

"Warn Jin?  After he didn't tell you that Onasi was alive?  That's not your style, Lash.  Besides, you should be worried about the Jedi.  They have no idea what they're stepping into."

"In my experience," Lashowe said seriously, "they never do. But they always win." She shook her head. "That's why there's no future in the Sith, hon." A faint line furrowed her brow. She rested it against his. "I'd be sad if they killed you like that Sith bitch killed my friend."

A part of her paused to see if he'd take that bait. As always, she was disappointed.

"My master invited the Jedi, Starshine.  They're coming on our terms."

She stepped back slightly, exasperated. Why was the Darkside always this dumb? Revan would kick their asses. You’d think they’d learn.

After Korriban, Lashowe had learned. After Dxun, she'd learned some more.

"Seriously, Gryffon, can't you find something else to do while they're...wherever? With your master rescuing Telos or whatever?" She smiled at him, seductive. "Stay here and let me teach you to ride the beasts."

"I can't stay here." His eyes dropped away for a second in a moment of astonishing honesty. Then they flashed, teasing, familiar.

"She'll know the moment I betray her.  But, before I  leave, why don't you show me how well you ride a Sith?"

"I learned from the best," Lashowe murmured. She let the hood fall back a little more from her face, motioning discreetly at her entourage. A nearby merchant saw them coming and opened his shop doors. Inside, upstairs in the storeroom there were soft pillows and carpets made by native weavers. They, like all things, served.

The next day, when she saw Jin, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Then again, that was nothing new.

Last edited by Kosiah (2005-08-25 08:55:54)

Revan by Pris. Kel and Nerien by Arrow. Yes, my first post is a three-way. Also, avatar by phoq and Canderous icon by xenzen. Thanks, guys! And thanks to JiA for resizing help! And thanks to my mom and dad... and, uh, Jesus...

Canderous

Canderous gestured to two warriors to come and deal with the Sith’s corpse. He went straight to the satellite bunker to contact Revan. He removed Mandalore’s helm and set it on the console. He wasn’t sure what time it was on her part of Coruscant, but she’d have to get over it if it was inconvenient. This was important. But he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the comm button, while he calculated the odds of a naked Carth answering. He finally sighed and pressed the button. He’d have to risk it.

He was thus immensely relieved when Min’s face appeared, though his relief faded when he saw the tension in her jaw and the circles under her eyes. 

“It’s about damn time, flyboy,” she said. “I was getting worried.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Misplaced your pilot, Revan?”

Her irritated expression dissolved into concern. “Canderous? What– Is everything all right?”

“I had a Sith visitor. He wanted me to kill you. Thought you’d like to know.” He snorted. “Were the Sith this sloppy and stupid when you were in charge?”

“I seriously hope not. Do you know who sent him?”

“He just said ‘the Masters of the Sith.’” Canderous shrugged. “I killed him before I could learn more. I’m a little jumpy around Force Lightning since our last mission.”

“Given what happened, that’s rather understandable.” She paused and bit her bottom lip for a second before continuing. “This Sith coming to you now... it can’t be a coincidence.”  Min gave him a terse breakdown of the holocron that the Jedi Council had received and the rough details of her upcoming trip to Onderon to talk to Mekel. “The Council wants me to go to Nar Shaddaa. I would tell them to go to hell, but... Dustil was on that holocron. He’s alive, and he’s a Sith now.”

Canderous let loose a long string of curses in Mandalorian. “What, again?” he barked.

Min grimaced and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I know. I want to strangle him, and quite frankly, I’m inclined to leave him exactly where he is. But I have to go; I... I can’t let Carth go alone. Anyway, I was going to comm you in the morning and ask if you wanted to come along. I know that you’re probably busy with Clan business, so I understand if you can’t.”

Canderous shook his head. Sometimes he suspected she understood Mandalorian loyalty as little as the Sith had. “You can’t go in there with just Onasi watching your back. I remember what he was like on Korriban.”

She looked distinctly relieved. “Thank you. I...” Blinking, she looked away as she trailed off. When she finally looked back at him again, she said, “Thanks, Canderous. We’ll pick you up on Onderon.”

He just nodded. For a moment, he thought she was going to say more, but then she just nodded back and ended the transmission.

He stared down at the blank screen. That stupid kid. He could only imagine what Onasi was going through. Actually, he didn’t have to imagine; he’d seen it firsthand on the trip to Korriban during the Star Forge mission. Canderous suddenly swore and banged the console with his fist.

Kelborne stepped in at that moment. Canderous looked down at his now-bleeding hand and swore again. Kelborne took in the dented console and Canderous’s bleeding hand.

“Uh… everything all right, Mandalore?”

“No,” he muttered darkly. “Your pal Onasi Junior is alive. And fracking everything up as usual.”

There were several long moments of silence. Kelborne eventually cleared his throat and choked out, “Dustil’s not dead?”

“No,” Canderous spat. “He’s not dead. Again.”

Kelborne blinked repeatedly. “Wh– how– uh...” He scratched his head. “That’s good.”

“Yeah. It’s fracking fantastic,” Canderous snarled. “We get to go to another Sith planet and drag him out kicking and screaming again.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure why Onasi bothers.”

“Wait... what?”

Canderous sighed at Kelborne’s completely blank expression. The kid had made a good account of himself in the camp, much better than Canderous had expected. He was stronger than he looked, kept the satellite comm running, and was a better-than-average scout. But, sometimes, he was still a little slow to catch on.

“Dustil. Thule. Sith. I’m going with Revan to fight them.”

Kelborne’s eyebrows moved closer to his eyes. “So... Dustil joined the Sith...? Again?”

Canderous jaw tightened. “Yes,” he grated through clenched teeth. Kelborne just continued to stare at him in shocked silence. Canderous sighed and shook his bloody fist. “Xarga will run the camp. Help him out. Keep doing supply runs to Onderon. If I’m not here for the birth, Xarga will claim the twins for Ordo.”

“Nerien’s going to have a fit,” Kelborne finally said after a long moment.

Canderous snorted. “Yeah? Well, tell her to pop those kids out already. She looks like a boma. And not a small one.”

Kelborne smiled nervously. “Only if I’m far enough away and she doesn’t have a repeater by her.”

“You’re a smart man, Kelborne.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Revan is coming to Onderon. I think the Jedi have a few questions for your pal Mekel. I’ll meet them there.”

“Morfracka,” Kelborne swore loudly in a language that wasn’t Mandalorian.

Canderous raised an eyebrow.

Kelborne’s jaw was clenched tightly. “Mekel knew then...?”

“The Jedi seem to think so. Are you really that shocked he lied?” Canderous growled.

“I’m surprised he lied about this, yes.” He frowned. “I guess I shouldn’t be... so you’re leaving right away?”

They both turned at the sound of Mandalorian swearing. Kelborne’s very pregnant wife, Nerien, waddled straight up to Canderous and thrust a finger in his face. [“You’re going to leave for those stupid Jedi again?”] she demanded in Mandalorian. [“Mandalore has more responsiblities than chasing some Jedi tail. There are plenty of Mandalorian women for you here.”]

Kelborne stepped over to her. “Nerien, I thought you were going to rest or something?” She glared at him and the now-stoic Mandalorian took a visible step backward.

Canderous gave Nerien an appraising look. [“I think you’re doing a fine job repopulating the Ordo Clan all by yourself.”]

She set a protective hand on her protuding stomach. [“Kelborne and I cannot repopulate the entire camp; we need Mandalorian blood besides. Especially from the female half.”]

Canderous scowled and shook his head. [“I don’t have time for your list of potential mates, Nerien.”]

She rested her other hand on her hip, pushing her stomach out more. Nerien let out a loud, frustrated sigh. [“Get yourself killed and I declare Vess to be Mandalore. He could do a better job listening to me at least.”]

Kelborne put a hand on her arm but quickly pulled it away when she glared at him again. “Uh, Nerien I think we should get you something to eat.”

[“I’ll listen to you when you stop trying to throw me in the path of every Mandalorian woman that I’m not directly related to,”] Canderous growled.

Nerien narrowed her eyes. [“It’s been a while, Ordo-kin. Maybe you’re one of those off sorts who doesn’t have any interest in breeding. Likes the battlemates instead.”] Kelborne coughed loudly.

Canderous glared back. [“Oh, I have interest. You want me to bring witnesses up to this moon, woman? Because I can. Very satisfied witnesses.”]

Nerien opened her mouth to respond, but Kelborne cut in. “You want to get ready, correct?” he said to Canderous. He turned to Nerien. [“You’re carrying two; eat for three. Come on.”] He grabbed her hand, and though she growled at him, she let him lead her away.

Canderous shook his head. There were some things about camp life that he definitely wouldn’t miss. He picked up Mandalore’s helm, settled it back over his head, and went out into the camp to find Xarga.

Last edited by Dinah (2005-08-23 01:23:38)

Rahne Kryss

Rahne looked out at the bustling yet desperate metropolis and breathed in the heavy, musky smell of Nar Shaddaa.  A sluggish breeze caressed her, bringing no relief from the heat.  She opened the neck of her robes a little further, displaying her cleavage for anyone who had the visual acuity to spot her this far up.  Behind her, she heard Dustil step onto the balcony.

"They're coming, Dustil.  Any day now, they'll be here."

She could not keep the edge of anticipation out of her voice.  There was a terse silence then she heard his voice.

"You don't need them."

The devotion in his voice made her shiver and she favored him with a smile over one shoulder before turning her eyes back to the sky.

"You're correct.  I don't need them.  I just need her.  They are disposable."

"You don't need her, either."

She leaned over the rail, letting the breeze catch her hair.  "She is the true Lord of the Sith, my love.  She is our glory.  She is the way."

There were cold fingers on her shoulder. "Is that why you wanted to see me?"

"I always want to see you," she said smoothly, knowing it would please him.  "But I do have a task for you."

He waited in silence to hear her instructions.

Just once, I want fire from you, Dustil Onasi, just once I want to see something burn inside of you.

"Sion has sent agents to interfere in my plans, a pair of Iridonian berserkers.  Find them.  Kill them.  Bring their 'sabers back to me."

He nodded sharply and turned around.  She did not watch him go, she never watched anyone leave.  She knew they'd come back; they could never stay away for long, especially Dustil.

No matter... Revan's passion is enough to burn the galaxy...

Dustil Onasi

There were muscles in an arm that twitched when holding a saber. There were muscles that broke apart when a lightsaber went through them. It was all rhetoric, when you thought about it. Although he never did. It was an interesting thought.

The Zabrak Berserkers had gone down easily enough. Sion wasn't even trying anymore.

Two Twi'leks were ahead of him in the crowded bar, the Ewok's Garter. He only noticed them, because they seemed to be making an issue of getting in his way. He wondered exactly how many he could take down with one swing of his arm.

He didn't care. Death was just another numbness. Kill a few or kill none, it was all the same and Rahne had told him to carry out his task. It had been the same when he was a Jedi at least - just simple slices, quick cuts, and maybe a little Force push. Now he had his full potential, now he could do whatever he wanted.

But he didn't want anything. Except to forget wanting things. She made that happen... forgetting. He didn't know why it was so hard on his own, but it didn't matter. He would do whatever he wanted; she was his beacon. His light.

His savior. From the pain.

She was smiling again. It was strange to associate smiling with... with his cue.

"No," she said, her voice still sounded harmonious in his ears. She still looked like the perfect example of good and light. It was her insides that had rotted black. "I'm not going to kill you - I said I wouldn't and I won't," she lifted her hand lazily and he stepped forward. "But I never said that he wouldn't."

He swept forward like a shyrack wyrm out of the darkness of a Dreshdae cave. This was the only time he felt close to alive, when he was hunting... it was a bitter kind of alive. A hollow one that made him believe death was imminent. Their faces barely had time to register his death strike before he descended upon them.

Blood. Fear. Pain. Terror. It was intoxicating and simplistic. It was getting back to natural instincts, thriving.

It was coming home.

He turned around, noting with distaste that some blood had gotten on his saber hilt. He flicked it off and turned to her. "Finished."

She smiled. "Maybe the next group won't be so stubborn."

He nodded casually and kept walking. The faint blue of his saber reflecting against his dark robes. The only light in the chasm.

He moved and the two Twi'leks moved with him. He took the bait. "What?"

The one with red lekku glanced at the one with peach lekku. "Sister, this is the one."

The peach lekku Twi'lek nodded. "Yes, sister you were right."

Dustil rolled his eyes. "What. Do. You. Want?" He didn't have time for this. Or more importantly he didn't want to have time for this.

The red lekku spoke again. "Just admiring your technique. The way you cut down Sladka and Shor was fantastic," she was letting each word come out softly and roll off her tongue.

It was an art; he might have been impressed. "What do you want, an autograph?"

Peach lekku shook her head. "We know what it's like to be a puppet on a string. Just saying hello to a fellow conspirer. One day when you break free from her - your dance will be beautiful."

"Almost as beautiful as the Twin Suns," the red lekku added.

"Fascinating," he mumbled, pulling out a cigarra from his pack. One of them wasn't bent. He shot forth a bit of lighting, the smallest amount and lit the end. He inhaled from it deeply and let the smoke out of his mouth. "Is that all?"

Peach lekku moved gracefully and shifted her posture closer to him. "Tell your master, we will work with you - but we don't work with hutts, even pretty ones."

He narrowed his vision. "I think you should choose your words a little more carefully."

Red lekku grabbed her - sister's - arm. "Come, he's not ready to be free yet. One day he will be."

He glared at them as they walked away and slid into a barstool. The barkeep put a drink in front of him and luckily people were staying away from him.

He hated when they tried to talk to him.

Dustil tapped his fingers on the edge of the glass. He looked around the bar, it was cheap and smokey not like-

There was a stain on the bar that wouldn't come off, he'd tried to get it of almost tried shocking it off once, but it had almost lit the bar on fire.

The bar maid had laughed and flashed him a smile. She had never smiled before. Maybe Onderon would be better - maybe he could be-

He slid the glass away from his so as not to crush it. A woman slipped into the seat next to him. "You never drink."

He didn't even look up.

"I've seen you in here before," she said pointedly, "But you never drink."

"Maybe, I'm not thirsty."

Her hand was on his knee now. He lifted his head to look down at her. She smiled and slid her hand up to his thigh. "I know what a short leash, Rahne keeps you on - you're so much better than that."

"Really...?" it was getting late. He didn't want to be here anyway it was too close to- maybe that's why he kept coming back. He needed to see Rahne; she was probably still busy. He had to make himself scarce for a few hours. It had only been one and he'd been on edge for fifteen minutes.

She lifted some brown hair out of her face. "Yes," she purred, "You should be the one in control - I can help with that, I've seen the way you work... you're magnificent. You should be leading not being lead. I'll follow you," she fluttered her eyelashes.

"Let's just get out of here, Mekk," he said, his voice still shaking, "I said I'd follow you. I’m a crap liar, remember?"

"I know some vision tricks - ancient Sith stuff, I could be whoever you wanted... I could be whoever you keep thinking about."

She reached up and rested her fingers against his cheek for a moment and he could see red curls and freckles, his hands clenched. Her skin darkened a little more than it was supposed to and her hair was getting less red, but - he stood slowly and reached out his shaking hands.

Dustil lugged the body to Rahne's door, without a word. She leaned against the doorpost with an arched eyebrow and motioned him inside.

He stared at the drink; it was still untouched. His cigarra had almost completely gone out. He put it in the drink and shoved it towards the barkeep. He placed a few credits on the counter and stood up.

Gryffon was still on a station on Yavin and Arachnae was doing other things. He was going to make the best of it - maybe try to convince Rahne that this mission was foolhardy.

She had him. She didn't need Revan. Besides - Revan wouldn't turn, not the real way. She was too attached to her life to give it up. And with her around, there would be less light... less light meant.

He wasn't afraid of dying. He was afraid of living.

He was afraid that he still remembered what it was like to be afraid, even if he couldn't grasp it.

Two days later...

Mekel Jin

“What’ll it be, gorgeous?” Mekel asked, on auto-pilot. Truth be told his attention was more focused on the group of Bith at the corner of the bar, the almost subsonic whine of their conversation looked like it could erupt into a full-out brawl without warning.

His hand slipped to his belt and the stun-stick he carried there now.

The hooded figure in front of him threw back her cloak, and raised a delicately embossed hand to her visor, pulling it down her nose. Round eyes stared back into his. Impossibly long lashes. Eyes blue and flat and cold and serene. They were the same eyes, but no longer innocent. Her hair was longer, and curled around her horns in some kind of elaborate coiffure that made her look older than she was.

“Malreaux roses,” said Lydie Korr, raising an eyebrow as delicate as a butterfly’s wing.

Mekel heard himself chuckle. “You used to like Tarisian ale, as I recall.” He felt his face split into a polished smile, his own eyebrows raise as if this was all a joke, a private one that they shared. As if some part of him locked in reserve wasn’t slowly gibbering away, wailing like a frightened child in Beggar’s Alley alone...lost...

And then he was slamming the bottle down on the bar more heavily than he needed to.

“Sam—“ Mekel’s voice was hoarse. Damnit.

The owner looked over, lekku twitching a rude inquiry. Mekel answered it in kind, grinding his fist against his palm. “Sam...cover me...I have to – talk to an old friend.”

“Right.” The Twi’lek said. He gave the Zabrak a once over, leering a little. “You the one that broke Jin’s co-pilots with a hydrospanner? He talks about it sometimes when he gets drunk enough, but never any details...Jin can’t tell a story to save his ass.”

She gave him a cool nod of acknowledgment. “I don’t think so.”

Mekel kept walking, slipping out of the bar towards the back offices, jerking his head at Lydie to follow him.

Her steps were measured, even, calm. Perfect like a strand of pearls.

“How’d you find me,” Mekel said, voice flat. Not even a question. Don’t even be that curious. Just make conversation until she goes away again. Then drink something and pass out. Then don’t dream. No matter what you do, don’t dream. Don’t dream about death and –

“The Council knew where you were. Intelligence, I suppose.”

“Of course they did.” They just didn’t care enough to do—anything. For any of us.

Out loud he said, “Thought it might be Lash who told. We still hang, from time to time, you know how it is--”

She didn’t answer. He pushed open the door to the back office, took the seat behind the desk,  motioned for her to take the other.

“—or Kel...he comes down sometimes, off that moon. Supplies for the clan, Nerien’s expecting -- another month, they think. Twins. Algwinn’s going to be a fath—“ Mekel’s voice faltered.

“Your son died, Commodore. He died saving me. He died...”

Watch those brown eyes shatter again, see the grief break the man’s face into pieces. Stand above the bed in the medbay again, and say it again. You’ve said it a hundred times already, you repeat yourself like a scratched holodisc. There’s something gone inside of you. It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie because it’s your truth – even if it’s not the entire truth it’s enough it’s enough and they all believe you –

The man’s hand goes to his arm again. The throat struggles for words, chokes on them. Grief so black and raw you could die from it. Soon enough there will be anger and  accusations... soon enough he'll rise out of that hospital bed and try to kill you yet again...but right now there’s only that grief, that loss for you both like a hole in the gut. That's why you had to tell him. That's why. The man is the only one who will understand and  right now, you’re almost –

“Father,” Mekel said, chuckling lightly. “Algwinn! The galaxy’s a funny place you know...things...things never turn out like you’d expect.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, using the other hand to sift through a stack of receipts he’d already categorized and sorted -- deliberately disorganizing them so that he could reorder them later. Clearing his mind of everything but where things go and in what place. He’d have plenty of time tonight, because tonight, there’d be no sleeping. Not the way things were now – not the way his head was now with something screaming inside. Being vulnerable was the worst, because that’s when he came. It was like a door that let him in.

“So,” Mekel said, cheerily. “How’ve you been, Lydie? You look great!”

Her eyes blinked. They were blue. Still so blue, but colder now. Lydie Korr put a holochip on the desk console, activating it with one tapered index finger.

Mekel watched the transmission with his best pazaak face. The room was familiar of course. And the woman. He could almost smell the scent of her skin again. Warm. Feel the silk sheets, the whisper of the perfumed air fresher, lose himself in one of the good dreams instead of the bad. There’d be another naked woman, just off to the right of the image. Probably asleep, still...she always sleeps after Rahne—

The thing he’d never seen was the man’s face.

You don’t see your face in dreams. You see your arm, sometimes, look down at your torso, you – don’t see the face.

In really dark moments of the soul Mekel considered that once again, Telos was the one getting all the fun.

The Force prickled around him like a living thing, like Lydie was trapping him in a net of it, waiting to see if he squirmed.

There was a long pause. Too long, really. Mekel had to concentrate too hard to show no reaction. You don’t see the face in dreams. Not seeing the face is better. Not seeing those eyes. Dead as winter leaves, the hollowed cheeks. The absolute lack of expression. Dead. Dead. Dead.

“Remarkable likeness,” Mekel said finally, voice cool. “It’s a trap. I assume Minuet Avery Revan doesn’t need me to tell her that. So. Why are you here, Lydie Korr?”

“It’s a trap,” Lydie agreed. There was a small smile on her face now, as if he’d somehow disclosed something, given up the game, thrown in his hand without ever levying the odds.

“Could be surgery,” Mekel hedged. “Or something they grew in a vat...they had the body, we never got the body –“

In the body you don’t have to see the face, you don’t want to see that face.

He’d crumpled the stack of receipts in his hand like tissue, without even realizing it.

“I asked around,” she said, voice cool. “A lot of ex-Sith come to this bar. They say that the night bartender gives them discounts. They say he’s always there to listen to a problem, make the band play a song. Heal injuries they cannot. And never asks questions they don’t want to answer.”

His eyes skittered away. “I wouldn’t believe everything they say in the Iziz gutters, Lydie Korr. They say Queen Talia’s part beastrider, and that someday her cousin Vaklu will take his rightful place on the throne. They say the Republic bleeds this world dry. They say the rivers of Dxun run with serraberry wine.”

“I don’t remember any wine,” she replied, shrugging. “Talia is part beastrider, although I supposed you missed learning that, what with the Sith Lord and the fires and everything.”

”Yeah” Mekel snapped. “I was occupied.”

“I guess with the seducing Padawans, injury wars, and quests to rescue ex-girlfriends, learning about Onderonian politics later skipped your mind too,” said Lydie Korr.

“You’ve changed.”

“I grew up.”

Mekel took a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry....and...thanks.” I did like you Lydie Korr. That was the problem. That was the fracking problem.

“They also say the night bartender pays for information. About a Sith named Rahne...and her – entourage. One of them carries a blue saber, extra for news about that one, back out in the home territories, past the Hydian Way. They say the night bartender pays well.”

Mekel closed his eyes.  There was a sliding sound across the table. When he opened his eyes again, the holochip was right in front of him. But Lydie Korr hadn’t moved.

Their eyes locked.

“There’s your information. The question I have, Mekel Jin, is what are you going to do with it?”

His lips quirked. “Don’t you want me to pay you?”

Those eyebrows fluttered, slightly. Mekel had a sudden memory of smoothing her frowns. With his fingers. With his lips, pushing her doubts away...lying...lying my fracking ass off...

“Yes. I want the truth. Favor for a favor – wasn’t that Lashowe’s line? Is Dustil Onasi dead, Mekel Jin?”

“In every way that matters.” Mekel’s vision blurred and he saw it again: the charred dead, falling to his saber, felt the lightning surge through his bones.

I broke you, Telos.

“And how do you know that?”

“I-I can tell. From the reports,” Mekel hedged.

Her mouth curled. “That’s a lie. The first one I’ve caught. You know...there’s another rumor about you, Mekel Jin. You take theramine. Huge doses. Dangerous doses. It’s an interesting trank to pick, not one of the recreationals.”

“I like to be different.”

“Blocks the subconscious. Disrupts alpha-wave patterns. Stops dreaming.”

Mekel said nothing.

It phoqing doesn’t work very well.

"You can see him through the Force bond, can't you...Mekk?"

The way she said, ‘Mekk’ made his gut sink. Lydie Korr had never called him that. Lash and Kel did, of course, but...

“No,” Mekel Jin lied hopelessly. She blinked once. He hadn't fooled her. Not for a second.

“We need your help. There’s more than just Dustil involved here. Not that I’d expect you to care...about that.”

“We...” Mekel was ripping the receipts into little tiny pieces now. Count the pieces. Say the code backwards in ancient Sith. Rip your emotions out by the eyeballs. Gut them. It was probably bad, that he was destroying the receipts. Exchange accountants could be unforgiving. Sam could get in trouble for this. With an effort he stopped.

“We need...of course. You’re not here alone.”

Mekel didn't want to know who else was waiting. Maybe outside the bar. Maybe back on their ship. He didn't want to know. Not the Commodore, please...no – Admiral, he's an Admiral now...not him. Fracking hell.

Lydie didn’t answer. Her hands were folded neatly on the desk. He stared at the patterns etched on her skin, Zabrak markings, and tried not to remember the way they curled up her arms, the way the skin there seemed more sensitive --

“You don’t need me. I’d only make things worse, I -- lied to you all, and I got away with it. I lied to you, Lydie Korr." Shatter. Fall to pieces. “I saved myself that day. That’s what I did. Telos wanted me to save him. I walked away. I-I was angry. I was scared. Being close to him was like – no barriers, no skin, nothing and I—couldn’t stand it.”

He took a deep breath and met her eyes, feeling his mouth twist into a smirk. “Any fracking port in a storm and your eyes were so kind and you were so...safe and I – chose -- you were like a mirror — a good one that only showed me what I wanted to see – h-he was —“

My soul. My best friend. My sacrifice.

“Knight,” she said quietly. “Knight Korr, now.”

Mekel snorted. “Did they promote you for defeating HER?” Even now, his voice couldn’t help that slight reverence, that hesitation. He watched her notice, with a slight tightening of the mouth, just a fraction.

And suddenly Mekel realized this couldn’t be very easy on her either.

“No, I earned that later,” she said softly.

It felt like more than a year between them. It felt like forty. Like a hundred.

**
Written with Rose's assistance as the fantabulous Lydie Korr...part 2 of Casablanca will be done from her pov. Next...Soon. Hold off postage for max drama. Prob in an hour or so?

Last edited by Kosiah (2005-08-24 21:55:40)

Juhani

Juhani stood in her quarters, a meager bag packed with the things she would need, two extra robes and some medpacks.  If she needed anything else, the Force would find a way to provide for her.  She needed nothing more.

Rahne Kryss is still alive.

She knew the woman by reputation alone, a very old reputation.  The Masters spoke of Rahne only in context to her Padawan, Lyyf Kryss, Rahne's younger sister.  They spoke of Rahne as a passable Jedi with formidable powers but a fatal flaw that led to her downfall.

It is better that Lyyf not know.  She still clings to the memory of her sister as a Jedi.

Staring at the message sent by Rahne, Juhani had felt a ghost of a memory tickle her mind, a feeling that she had seen the other woman before.  It gnawed at her mind, like trying to remember a song, only you don't quite remember the words or how the melody goes.

The slavers fell away from her as the Jedi approached, blazing bars of light held in their fists, so lovely, so beautiful.  They broke her chains and she looked into the face of an Angel, dark and lovely.

Juhani frowned, wondering why that memory jumped into her mind.  Suddenly, she heard the first note of that elusive song.

Standing beside Revan, lovely but in a different way, was another Jedi, a woman with long brown hair and warm eyes.  She never learned her name...

"It cannot be," she breathed.  "Rahne Kryss... she was on Taris with Revan.  How could I have been so blind?"

She reached for the Force, wrapping herself in it and trying to sublimate the anger that rose within her.  She breathed in and out slowly, trying to find a calm peace.  The situation took on a strangely beautiful synnetry.  Rahne Kryss was on Taris, helping free the slaves, helping to free Juhani.  Rahne fell.  And, after being redeemed by Revan, she had taken Rahne's sister as her Padawan Learner.

I owe this woman nothing.  But, for the sake of the sister, I will try to bring you back alive.

She left her chambers and went to say goodbye to her Padawan... and to make her a silent promise...

Last edited by Jedi In Amber (2005-08-24 23:50:46)