Force of Wills: The Ties that Bind
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09.10.2012 , 10:57 AM |
Fury class starship
“Get her back!” Lord Kaervrek bellowed over the holo, “She hold the secrets, get her back!” The call clicked to an end. Rateah rubbed the bridge of her nose, the Watchers had managed to reconstruct the wiped information from the late Agent Temple’s console, but the intel was now weeks old. Her patience was running thin, and Teah desperately wanted to maim something.
Marek’s trail at least was still warm, through bribery and lightning they had managed to get the freighters ID number Oriah had boarded, and they were currently tracking it. It being a known smugglers ship, the ID would only be good for so long before it was switched to something else, time was short. She wandered into the med bay, where Marek was staring at Malavai Quinn’s body.
“Tell me again why we brought this corpse with us?” Marek had been taken by a moment of sentimentality at the sight of his dead father.
“He’s my father.” Marek answered.
“I thought you hated him, shoot him out the airlock and be done with it.” His melancholy mood was grating.
“No, he’s going back to Drummond Kaas, to the Quinn family plot.” He almost affectionately flattened his father’s hair.
“We’re not going to Drummond Kaas, we are following your sister until I get more Intel on Shiloh Chint’aro’s location. So either dispose of this refuse, or I will.” Rateah scolded him like a little boy, he was nearly twenty two years old, the heir to a powerful Sith, and he was acting like a child.
His hand struck her face sending her reeling, she tasted blood in her mouth, and finally she sensed anger and rage from her companion instead of morose melancholy. She smiled wickedly at him, blood staining her normally white teeth.
“He was taken from me, from my mother, he died without our leave, you said yourself he was killed out of mercy, MERCY! He was mine to kill! He was my mother’s to torture…He was my father!” Marek screamed at the fool alien at his feet, who only started laughing at him. His emotions were a mess, he felt, anger and regret. His father would always be there and now he wasn’t, he felt something in his world shift at the thought of Malavai Quinn being dead, and it upset him. He didn’t know how to explain it to her, especially when he himself didn’t know what he was feeling. He did want her to stop talking.
“You’re angry because he died before you got a chance to kill him? Marek, do you hear yourself? It’s absured.” Marek hit her again, and then lifted her by the neck, she continued to laugh in his face, infuriating him.
Suddenly he remembered all the coy flirts, condescending jabs, he squeezed harder until the laughter stopped. She made him feel weak, stupid, and young. He was tired of longing for her, he was tired of being toyed with, of being teased by her, he was her better, and she would obey him. He held her against the wall, her milk white skin slowly going red, he could see the blood vessels in her pale grey eyes start to break, staining them. She didn’t struggle against him, he could break her neck or choke the life from her, but she still didn’t fear him. Her bulging eye continued to challenge, daring him to kill her, knowing he wouldn’t, and he hated that she was right, about everything. He released her, and she at least had the decency to crumple on the floor coughing, and gasping for breath. He looked back at his father’s body, felt a pang of guilt, or love, or something.
“I’ll dispose of the body.” He looked down at the object of his obsession, and offered her a hand. She batted it away, and he had to suppress the urge to hurt her again. He wanted her, he wanted to possess her, but he wanted her to want him to. “I’m sorry Rateah, I didn’t mean to…”
“Yes you did, don’t lie.” Her normally musical voice made hoarse and rough. She looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot, her pale face bruised. Marek wanted to take it back, undo the hurt, make her beautiful again, if only she would obey him, love him.
“You’re grandfather freed me, I am not his, nor am I yours.” She coughed out, sensing his thoughts.
“Why? Why did you go back to him?” It had been a question Marek had asked himself for years after she returned from Korriban, a Sith.
Rateah wiped her nose, still sitting on the floor. Marek sat down in front of her, Quinns body presided.
“Do you recall the displays of early ancient Sith weaponry at the Acadamy, the steel swords?” She asked, her throat still burning with pain. Marek nodded.
“The ancient smiths, would heat and fold the metal until they took on the shape of the weapon. Later they used what was called a whet stone to sharpen them, to keep them from becoming dull. Lord Kaervrek, shaped me, in some cases heated and burned me quite literally, until I took on the shape of the weapon he wanted me to become. When he freed me he sharpened me. When I returned from the Acadamy, I wished to be sharp again, his power is intoxicating, he gave me purpose, and” Rateah gave Marek a significant look, “He never treated me as a slave again. He was my whet stone, how could I not return to him?”
“Even now?” Marek inquired, curious.
“No, his age is diminishing him, he is not the man or Sith he once was. You have the power and cunning to take his place, if you would look past your own nose to claim it. You are not a sycophant, you are an Eldrazzi, stop resting on your laurels expecting his power and kingdom to be laid at your feet. Build your own power structures, lay your own plans, show your ambition and your strength, earn the respect and fear of your betters and the Council, then claim your birthright.” Teah fell into a coughing fit. Marek quickly grabbed some kolto and a glass of water, tentatively offering both to Teah. She took them gratefully.
Marek considered her words, “You really think that?” he thought to himself, he could become her whet stone, as she called it.
“Yes I do.” She got up to her feet. Marek mirrored her, then very gently started reaching for her face with his hand, she could taste his desire it was so strong. She grabbed him by the wrist, electrifying her hand. He tried to withdraw, and winced from the shockwaves she gave him. “Do not touch me, you haven’t earned the right.” She intensified the pain for a brief flash, and then released him.
“When you’ve disposed of the body come to the bridge, we have work to do.” She ordered him. Rateah felt his eyes on her as she left, felt the frustration, the obsession, he was getting dangerous. She felt her skin crawl.
Force of Wills
Force of Wills: The Ties that Bind