Thank you both!
Judging by my last few brainstorming sessions, Nalenne will keep me busy for a while.
Part 4: In which Nalenne improves herself and Broonmark helps
A Talz’s insane killing spree
Caused his clan to eject him. So he
Dealt some payback extreme,
Then continued his dream
With a Sith who endorsed him, guilt-free.
Nalenne took her time massaging the anti-aging cream into her subtle Sith face ridges that evening. The glare of the vanity lights on her mirrored face was almost reassuring: here were her fine red-skinned features, corrupt yellow eyes, and of course ridges that were not going to start sagging before she turned forty, oh no. Everything was going to be just fine.
But as she often did when she was feeling troubled, she found herself heading to the cargo hold.
Broonmark was there as usual, using a special setup of motorized fine-tuning instruments to convert the motions of his huge hands to the fine work of reducing plant samples to useful compounds. He looked up when she entered. His upper left eye quivered in that way that meant he was pleased to see her.
She puffed her cheeks a couple of times and carefully gave herself the small Force-choke variants that would prep her vocal cords for inhuman sounds. "Brrr bloop bip?" It was supposed to be "More killing?" The idea was to ask about more Talz lessons, but every time she asked for a translation for 'Talz lessons' she was given 'killing."
Broonmark nodded. "Blip." He moved silently across the cargo bay to settle on the big couch in the corner - Nalenne liked to have couches available everywhere on the ship - then patted the cushion to get her to sit. She snuggled up close to his furry, somewhat acrid-smelling arm. He pulled the datapad he had personally modified for translation out, tried briefly to tap things with his enormous clawed fingers, then gave up and raised the datapad to his proboscis. The edges of it started a genuinely creepy wiggling motion that sufficed to navigate the datapad to the right subject.
Broonmark then handed the pad to Nalenne. "Today," she read, "Review 'murder,' learn 'massacre' and 'mayhem.' Murder. I've got this. Brrrrrp'kop?"
The datapad had realtime translation capability, but it didn't even deign to translate that. Broonmark spoke in Talz while she read the translation of his words: "That was 'clan breakfast dance.' Try again."
As the lesson progressed, they got to talking about life. They always did. A mishmash of burbling, speech, and datapad reading kept the conversation going.
"I just don't know how I'm going to get rid of him. You know? Dead people should stay dead."
The translator balanced on Broonmark’s leg glowed while he blipped. "Agreed. Maybe Sith clan kill traitor again?"
"If I could, I would."
“Is bad to leave enemy stuck. We will find killing. Until then we will kill other things.”
She patted his arm. "You always know just what to say."
A reassuring, nonverbal series of clicks. Then: “Now, try to say ‘mayhem’ again. Sith clan cannot distract us.”