December, 26 ATC

15 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

Dromund Kaas

For the first time in fifteen years, Ruth woke up beside someone.

It was exactly the someone she wanted, and the someone she couldn't trust. She had meant to dismiss Quinn after…after what? After letting down her guard more than she should have, barely enough to get the contact she'd been craving ever since she saw him again.

Four months since she had first seen him after a decade and a half's separation. Not enough time for her feelings to change. The whole range of them.

She shouldn't have let him stay the night. No matter how much he insisted. She wanted him here, the way things had been once, but the way things had been once was broken beyond repair and it was his doing, and just wanting him didn't change that.

She held very still. He had always been quick to wake the moment she stirred; now she determinedly held herself in place, fighting to keep her breathing steady as the tears came.

It didn't work. He opened his eyes moments later. For half a second he looked as peaceful, as quietly happy as she had ever seen him; then he turned to her and it all crashed into sharp alarm. "Ruth? My lord?"

She quickly twisted to press her face into the mattress. "Go. Now."

"Stop asking me to do that."

A sob ripped free. Fool. She was being an absolute fool, and he was still here to see it.

"Ruth, what's wrong?" He wrapped one arm around her, and it was at once the most secure and the most illusory safety she had ever felt.

She gritted her teeth. "You'll despise me if you stay. So just go." He was supposed to obey her. Those rare times she had to give outright orders, she wanted him to obey her. Like he had back when she thought things were right.

But he didn't go. Instead he stroked her back and she could feel him looking down at her. "I've never seen you cry," he said, very quietly. "You came close once, but never this."

"You must hate me for it. You respect strength." And offered no quarter for weakness. He never had.

"I respect you. Tell me what's wrong."

"You." She felt him tense up at that. Reluctantly she turned up just enough to look at his chest. Not enough to risk meeting his eyes. "You make me weak. Like no one else ever could. I hate being afraid of you. That isn't what you want from me and it isn't what I want either." Weakness was death. It always had been.

"Look at me," he said. She didn't. "Please, Ruth." Reluctantly she looked up at him.

And he looked down at her, and slid his other arm to support her head, and held her for a time. "There is nothing I can say, is there," he said quietly.

"Nothing at all," she said. She couldn't will the tears to stop.

"I don't want to leave you."

It felt like a physical blow. "I don't believe you," she choked, and rolled to hide her face again. She came up against his chest, warm, still faintly smelling of sweat in a good way. It hurt. It hurt because it had been good before, too.

He tensed up at her words. After the space of six or seven years he said "Perhaps I should go, then."

Instinctively she threw an arm around him and pulled tight before he could move. She held on and waited until she could manage a steady breath before loosening her grip. He was right. They both knew it. They were so close, too much and not enough, but he was right. Her heart ached. "So," she said. "Is this all we get?"

"Must it be?" He turned her face up toward his and wiped a tear away with his thumb. His expression was intent, a little confused, a little pained. "Before," he said tentatively, "I would have known what you wanted me to do. You always wore your thoughts on your face." He traced her cheek, her jaw, with his fingertips. "I cannot tell now."

"No. I learned to hide." His handiwork, in a way.

And he knew it. "You no longer have to, Ruth. Not with me." Rather than giving her time for an answer he kissed her, firmly, steadily, until she moved to come closer to facing him and settle more securely in his arms. Bad idea or not, it felt good, in more than just the physical sense. "I don't want to leave you," he repeated. "And if it distresses you to be seen like this, know that I very, very much regret being the cause of it."

Part of her still wanted to argue, but she didn't. Instead she rested her head in the pillow beside his and wiped her cheek. "Would you be able to stay here today?"

"I had not planned on it. It can be arranged."

"Arrange it." She gathered enough strength to make it an order.

He smiled a little to hear it. "Yes, my lord." Then he went back to kissing her, wandering at times from her lips to her cheek and nose and back, seemingly determined to build all the reassurance she needed one patient moment at a time.

Which, while incredibly sweet, confused her in one respect. "You're not arranging things?" she murmured.

"This first," he said, soft and certain. "For as long as possible."

"Something before work?" She raised herself on her elbow, leaning away from him with a critical look. "Who are you and what have you done with Malavai Quinn?"

He looked thoughtfully up at her. "Improved him somewhat, I hope."

Ruth hoped, too. That was why she let him stay.

Ah, right, that continuity in which Quinn actually got a chance to get to know Ruth as a human being again. Instead of just another piece on the same dejarik board they met on seventeen years previously, as happened in an AU.

So have some angst! Then commence a year or more of extremely troubled, probably-a-bad-idea, and irresistible association. Followed by surprise external plot (timeline 3 of RMC).

- frame: Sevasht and Vette partially under the covers. One of Vette's lekku is under Sevasht's neck, the other draped across his chest, trapping one arm. Sevasht looks mildly distressed at this state of affairs. -

- frame -

Sevasht: Vette? How do you even sleep with these?

Vette: *yawn* Really well when somebody isn't rolling on them all night. Ow.

Sevasht: Sorry. We'd better figure that out sooner rather than later.

Vette: Me and two sore lekku agree.

- frame: Vette sits up. -

Vette: So what's the, uh, game, say next?

Sevasht: Well, now that we're married we can have maybe one more conversation and then you'll never speak to me again.

Vette: …That's a terrible game, Sev.

Sevasht: There's sort of a way around it.

Vette: Oh? And that would b–

- frame: Sevasht claps his hand over Vette's mouth. -

Sevasht: If I never let the conversation come to a satisfactory conclusion we can keep interacting.

- frame: Sevasht lowers his hand. -

Vette: Oh, if it's just about talking nonstop you picked the right girl.

Sevasht: I know. It's one of the most annoying…um, endearing…things about you. Yes. Endearing.

Vette: Real smooth, Wiggi–

- frame: Sevasht claps his hand over Vette's mouth. -

Sevasht: Nothing that might reasonably end the conversation. Including huffy exit lines.

- frame: Sevasht lowers his hand. -

Vette: Okay you're just making this up so you can–

- frame: Sevasht claps his hand over Vette's mouth again. Vette looks outraged. Sevasht grins. -

Sevasht: You'll never know, now will you, Mrs. Warwiggins?

- frame: Vette sulkily pries Sevasht's hand off her face. -

Vette: Your secret game has crummy rules.

She paced lazily around the room. Her status had its perks: her brand new quarters were spacious and offered a nice view of the lush jungles of Dromund Kaas. At regular intervals, there were pedestals displaying some of the items she found during her ascent to power and she was somewhat surprised to notice that it all looked too familiar, just like when she had first entered Zash’s quarters.

No. This had to be changed. She did not wish to be compared to her former master nor did she want to end up like her. That is why she also wore white robes with intricate embroidery, an unusual choice for a Sith but then, she had always considered herself different from the rest. The others where always running around in different shades of red, purple or black. Everything in the Empire seemed to be defined by those three colours and she was becoming bored with them.

It was like a statement: we are the Sith and we wear black and red because we are the dark side and we’re supposed to be scary….uuuuuuhhh, are you scared yet??

She chuckled.

“Something funny?” answered a male voice. Xania turned around slowly as she focused on the dark skinned man leaning against the frame of the double doors leading to the room.

“It is not polite to enter without knocking first”

“I’ll remember that next time”. Andronikos walked over to her and he almost placed his hands around her shoulders but then remembered that she was in her Sith mode and decided against it.

She looked at him with a curious expression “Something on your mind?”

“Actually, quite a few things…” he replied, flashing a smile

She raised an eyebrow “I don’t need to be a force user to know what’s on your mind…”

“I’m less obvious than you think, oh sweet darkness of my heart”

Xania blinked a couple of times “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Yes, of course. You’re a Sith. All Sith are into that darkness stuff”

“If you think that I’m like the other Sith, you are sadly mistaken” she replied, changing her expression drastically.

“Relax, it was meant as a joke. Why are you always so serious once you come out of your room?”

Not again. Leave me alone Andronikos.

He knew that he had struck a chord and a sensitive one at that as she slipped away from him. She was like one of those plants that have flowers that recoil at the slightest touch, stinging with thorns whoever gets too close.

He sighed “Are you going to shut me out again?”

Why do you have to be so stubborn?

She did not answer, hoping that he would just simply become bored and leave. It would not have been the first time she simply ignored his questions but he had been stubborn and kept coming back.

“Fine, I can live with that.” He paused “But I wonder how long your cocoon will last.”

“Damn it!” she snapped at him. “What is it that you want?”

He took her hand. She tried to shake him off, once, but he held on “You. Just you” he said and his words were once again followed by silence “None of that Sith non-sense, none of the darth, none of the dark council member. Just you” He knew that there was more to her than the implacable Sith lord that the world needed to see but he also knew that it was just an image and he did not care about that other Xania. After all, such image was just a pretender.

He let go of her hand and slowly started to back away, towards the double doors “And if you think that loving someone is a weakness, so be it…I’m a weak man. And you know why” He turned around, now walking towards the exit “If you ever choose to give weakness a try, you know where to find me”

She watched him as he departed, in silence.

….but I do love you…

Scourge parked his speeder just outside the passage, unwrapping his head and neck now that the high cliffs protected him from the merciless heat. He grimaced as the final layer of cloth clung to his face. The ointment that protected exposed skin from the twin suns was thick and sticky. Neither the Empire nor Republic had found a way to synthesize a sunscreen strong enough and both sides were forced to use the native's recipe: a mixture of indigenous plant and animal fats that could only be used fresh and required hourly renewal. To Scourge it was simply more evidence of Tatooine's barbarism.

From what he had seen the citizens of the planet consisted of criminals enjoying Republic incompetence, incompetent Imperials sent to the planet as punishment, and natives who were one and all insane. He wondered if it was the heat or the lack of available water that unbalanced the majority of the sentients he had encountered so far. He would never have guessed that a locus of the Force would be here among the shifting sands.

The woman who began the rumors of this place had served a Darth in some capacity or other. That same Darth had been killed by his former apprentice in typical Sith fashion and the woman still grieved for his loss. She had given him directions speaking in an odd cadence with flares for the dramatic that he found tiresome, but at least her directions were good.

Scourge entered the Oasis cautiously. Sunlight glared off the shallow waters, forcing him to squint then finally look away. A haze formed above the water’s surface taking the shape of a man, a Sith. None of this surprised him as the woman had described what might happen in this place. But the thing before him was nothing like the Sith Scourge expected to see. The image shared his eyes and his features, but where he stood proud and strong, it was hunched and twisted, its every breath a labored sob. He stared at the reflection of himself with disgust.

"Is it you that I would fight?" He asked scornfully, "This will be no contest." He made to draw his lightsaber but the image only laughed.

"Fool." It rasped, "You have not come here to fight me. We fought centuries ago, in your mind, in your heart." It paused to cough, spraying chunks of black bile at Scourge's feet that disappeared before they could land. "And you lost."

"Lost." Scourge repeated narrowing his eyes.

The image wheezed either laughing or choking, "Look at you. Numb. Cold." It gave him a sickly smile, "Dead. You are an empty husk going through the motions of a mortal life. Abomination."

"I did what was necessary." His lip curled with contempt, "It was better than the alternative."

It nodded, “Yet here you are, here to reclaim that which you believe was taken from you.” It extended a hand to him.

He stepped back avoiding its touch. “And become like you? I think not.”

"Are you certain?" It asked and held its bare hand to the light, "The suns are harsh here, the light of them burns. Strange how something so distant can cause so much pain." It plunged its hand into the waters of the shallow pond. "Relief from pain, that pleasure alone is enough to make a man delirious." It clenched its fist and stared up at him fiercely, "To hunger then to eat, to hate then to kill, to lust then to sate. I can do these things. Can you? What is the point of your immortality now?" It demanded before dissolving in a fit of coughs.

Scourge did not answer, he did not need to.

It looked up at him again. "You lost once, but that was long ago, are you certain the outcome would be the same?" It extended a hand to him again, "Fight."

Scourge had survived too long to be goaded, even by himself. But the image was not wrong, a Sith who could not feel was an abomination, a man who could not feel was not truly alive, and he was not the same person that faced his curse centuries ago. He stepped forward and took its hand. Its eyes blazed triumphantly and it locked him in a grip he could not break.

Then the pain began.

He fell to his knees as the world spun around him and only the image's grasp kept him from tumbling into the water. Light and shadow danced madly at the edge of his vision, the sun sent spears of fire to lance through his eyes. He convulsed and demons made of smoke slipped past his lips.

"Ah yes, the madness begins." The image's voice was steadier than before. "Hallucinations can be very distracting. If you were planning something I suggest you attempt it, it does not get easier from here."

Scourge nodded mutely and attempted a simple healing trance, the first he learned as a young Sith.

"That will be helpful," the image mocked still grasping his hand. "Now if you can sit like that for eternity you will be fine."

"I am not finished." He answered through gritted teeth.

"Anger. Good. Fight."

Scourge fought, using every shielding and healing ritual he had learned or witnessed in his lifetime and still it was not enough. Desperately he called on the Force, opening himself to it hoping for power or an answer. It gave him a picture instead. Remi.

It was not a vision, but a memory. He remembered now, how his purpose had kept him sane during those first days of torment. Finding the one who could defeat the Emperor was his task and for that he must live. He allowed her image to flood his mind, the pain receded.

"Ahh yes, her." The image said as his eyes cleared. "She gave you hope, purpose, and later even friendship. She offered you more, but you threw her away." The image watched him return to numbness as he had centuries ago.

"I could not allow her to give up the Force." He growled, "And I could not give her hope where none existed, I felt nothing for her."

"So noble." The image sneered releasing his hand. “Whom do you believe you are fooling? I am you. I remember your fevered dreams of those lips upon your flesh, your name in her every breath, your legs entwined. Fantasies concocted to help you through the pain; did you forget that as well?”

Scourge paused as the image flooded his mind with details of his torture. “Perhaps.” He answered reluctantly.

“You feared the pain her love would cost you; you feared showing her your weakness. You cast her aside to preserve your way of un-life.” Its eyes met his and he was certain it hated him for what he had done. “Did it work?”

“No.” Scourge answered remembering the ache that settled in his chest when he and the Jedi parted ways. The first sign that he could be made to feel something, his response to the pain in her eyes.

“Now you seek to undo what was wrought, when the answer sat before you all along.”

He climbed to his feet slowly, no longer feeling the heat of the suns or the pain of his curse. "And it appears I have lost again."

The image regarded him calmly. It stood before him, no longer twisted with pain. "That depends on whether you believe the battle is ended, but you can learn nothing further here. I do hope you have learned something."

Scourge hesitated a moment then nodded. "I know the key."

"Yes." It sounded satisfied.

Scourge shook his head, "I will find another way."

The image barked another mocking laugh, "As you say." It whispered and disappeared.

Scourge scowled at the place it had stood. Less than an hour had passed, though to him it felt like days. He turned back the way he had come renewing his wrappings to prepare for his journey through the sands. Inevitably his thoughts turned to Remi, wondering idly what foolish errand she was running for the Council. He paused and leaned against his speeder as the ache in his chest intensified briefly.

It was strange how something so distant could cause so much pain.

Notes on Scourge and Canon:

I thought about what it was that would give Scourge back his ability to feel.

The game implies that his ability to feel was taken by the Emperor in exchange for immortality. In the Revan novel, immortality actually gives Scourge nothing but pain (lungs on fire, gut wrenching pain, it's so severe that it takes months for him to be anything but a ball of misery). In the novel, the Emperor describes to Scourge the way his mind will slowly blocks off his ability to feel anything so that he can function as the Emperor's executioner. I posit that Scourge can learn to feel again but then the pain would return.

In my story he finds another coping mechanism that doesn't require him to be completely numb.

Notes on background for the Remi story:

A few years after the end of JK Chapter 3 Remi is at odds with the Council over a number of things. One of those things it that they no longer see a need to have Scourge around and they want to banish him from Republic space. Remi decides to leave due to her problems with the Council and due to her own fall to the dark side under the Emperor's influence the Council demands that she give up her use of the Force.

Scourge believes that Remi is only threatening to leave because she's in love with him and is afraid that if she gives up the use of the Force it will mean the end for everything if the Emperor turns out to still be alive. So of course he tries to convince her to stay by pushing her away in typical fashion. He then leaves and believes that Remi stays with the Order.

He doesn't know that Remi decided to leave anyway and becomes a bounty hunter. (Grey Years)

I think I've written and thought too much about them but I can't seem to stop

Wynston, Kaliyo decided, might actually be serious about things.

She'd been working with the little Chiss for a while. She'd gotten used to him. She could still cut and run anytime, and she knew both the escape routes and the most valuable stuff to break or take when she did it, but…she didn't really think about doing it much anymore.

And, basically, it might be time to get some things straight. He was always good about talking about stuff. He would talk like a jerk about it, but he'd listen. One of the reasons she suspected he was more serious than he let on.

So…yeah.

He was in his quarters slaving over some datapad. She threaded her way between a couple of piles of her own stuff that had ended up in here. "Hey. Wynston."

He set the datapad aside and gave her his usual knowing smirk. Usual between them, anyway. "Kaliyo?"

Better start talking. "Let me ask you something. You get around, you end up with lots of girls."

"Yes, that's not particularly a secret." She had his attention. Right. Good.

"I know it's just the job or a night off, whatever, but…that ever mean much to you?"

His casual smile didn't slip. "Not that I'm avoiding the question, but would you care to explain where this is coming from?"

No, idiot, don't get defensive. "I'm not trying to get you in trouble, I don't care about who you're with. I just…I'm like you, you know? We squeeze guys or girls for whatever they're worth, then toss 'em." She could bring this to a point. "Creeps me out a little to do things different. You know?" She held his gaze. Come on, just agree.

The smile faded into something very badly neutral. He stayed still for a few seconds, then raised one eyebrow a little. "Is that where this is going? We talk about our feelings together?"

Cool and cutting. He didn't seem pissed off but he sure as hell wasn't playing. Fine. "Hey." She blurted out the first dismissal that came to mind. "You want to keep it physical, great. I’m not the one who started clinging around." Like he would know what to do with a different setup anyway. The guy was a machine.

"Physical works very well for both of us." His voice was all cool business. "If you ever got the impression I'd be suited for or interested in anything more…well. Then it's for the best that we get this conversation out of the way."

"Yeah." Thanks, Agent Obvious. "Not a whole lot of conversation needed."

"Good. I'm occupied here, but if you're up for work or play later you know where to find me."

"I know where to find a lot of guys, agent," she spat.

He nodded what was probably supposed to be agreement. At least he wasn't stupid enough to smile. "None like me," he said.

"Yeah. That's a good thing." She backed out of the room, never turning her back on the snake 'til the door was shut.

She headed for her own quarters. Of course this wasn't anything different than anyone else they did. She could still take him for all he was worth and skip out, just like any of his other flings, only Kaliyo had the keys to more of his stuff. Not even a problem.

The karking rat didn't know how good he had it. What she should do was set the carpet on fire and walk. If he owned anything else she'd torch that, too, but thanks to his total lack of personality he didn't have anything to burn. What she wanted, he blocked, at least if what she wanted wasn't getting him laid. Story of her time here.

Still, the money was good. Really good. And maybe before the night was out she could look up something really delicious to pass on to her old anarchist friends. Maybe the security specs for some Imperial monument Wynston had admired on their way past somewhere. Or someplace a little more populated that he liked. A little terrorism was sounding really good right now. Someday she'd tell him all about the targets she'd been using his access permissions to case and hand on for destruction.

Wynston didn't think she could hurt him. Wynston was dead wrong. She knew the only two things he cared about: the Empire and his own delusions of nobleness. She could put a serious hole in both any time she wanted. The thought cheered her up a little.

*

Of all possible ways for Kaliyo Djannis to turn on him, Wynston did not expect an emotional approach. Kaliyo had lusts and rages, not feelings. That was one of the things that fascinated him about her.

He didn't know whether she had been angling toward the monogamy talk – probably not, she liked her diversions too much; although, she might have wanted to strike an agreement and then just cheat regularly on the side and congratulate herself for having so neatly double-crossed her little housebroken agent…it was likely either that, or the one about how meaningful repeated sex got. Repeating sex made you better at sex. Repeating it with one person had the particular benefit of making you much better at sex with that person. Nice, but the mythology surrounding the associated out-of-bed significance wasn't something that interested him. That was for people who fell in love, and neither he nor Kaliyo fell into that category.

But if it wasn't just a play to put a leash on him, if something in her chaotic mind really wanted to "do things different"…why? Was she still not satisfied? He made their existing arrangement as good as he knew how, and he was a very knowledgeable man. The whole setup was both enjoyable and stunningly effective. Work. Sex. The carefully balanced pastimes that might amuse her without destroying everything else in the vicinity. Drinks, dancing, playing lethal pranks on the worst of the predatory scum encountered on assignments – that last was scarcely an optimal use of his time or talents and often came out far messier than it needed to be, but it made her happy, which made it both fun and an important element of his personnel management plan. More sex. Gifts selected and presented to delight or annoy. Perfect back-to-back combat support. Managing her temper, making her laugh. Waiting for her to finish spinning her wild stories before making his playfully derisive commentary, because even when she was rattling off outright fabrications or (badly) explaining galactic history he already knew, she liked to talk and he liked to listen. Exploring grimy cantinas on days off and running sarcastic commentary, him and her against the world. What she wanted, he tried to provide, at least if what she wanted wasn't harming innocents.

At no point in that had he ever indicated in any way that he was interested in some traditional romantic relationship. Exclusivity was out of the question. And she knew full well what he thought of her ethics, her methods, all that substance that would theoretically go into a personal partnership and that was, to him, with her priorities, immeasurably distasteful. Even his sweet nothings were wrapped in ten layers of sarcasm most of the time. Hell, he'd been calling her a torque wrench (in Sullustan) as an endearment for months; her reaction when she found out had been priceless. That was not the style of a man who took her seriously.

Sure, the combination of actions might be mistaken for some kind of courtship. If she were younger, less jaded, he'd have been more careful about applying it for exactly that reason. But the whole reason he made such an effort to keep her occupied was that she was deeply cynical and also insanely unstable. She wouldn't interpret it as loving. If she were any more rational or trusting he wouldn't have been nearly so attentive.

Her instability was the reason that he didn't want to know what Kaliyo with strong attachments would be like.

So when she tried to talk, he gave her the same line he'd always given her. The hard edge of cynicism, unvarnished enjoyment of a few aspects and total refusal to bother with the rest. A reminder, perhaps harsh, but unmistakable. Perhaps very harsh. But she had caught him off guard and his first priority was to discourage her. He had every reason to want her close, but never intimate. She knew the terms and she'd liked them. Nothing else fit her.

Wynston took a controlled, stabilizing breath, sharp in, sharp out. It would have been prudent to let her keep talking. Just agree with whatever she said, give the illusion she wanted; even if it was commitment, minimize danger by keeping her happy. That was what one did if one wanted to reach so much as even odds on staying on Kaliyo's good side. But he liked their existing arrangement. More than he had ever expected to. Nobody played games quite like she did; the thought of turning it into a run-of-the-mill charade now was…repugnant.

That blustering response to what he'd said meant she was hurting. Lots of things hurt her like that, though. Failed scams, a missed or botched chance for revenge. She'd get over it. He hoped she'd get over it. Losing her would be…

…what he had been looking forward to all along? Because she was by nature one of the bad guys, and always would be?

No, she was better managed than that. And she wanted him too much to not get over it. And anyway, hurting her was only as bad as hurting any other aggressive sadist out there: ethically neutral at worst. He didn't enjoy it any more now than he ever did, but it was nothing to lose sleep over. Clearly.

He set aside his datapad. He wasn't getting anywhere here. He was in the mood for someone sweet, someone who could benefit from the kind-and-gentle style he'd fallen out of practice with since Kaliyo started occupying his nights; he was in the mood for it, but Kaliyo probably wouldn't take it well if he ran out for someone else just now. And he had hurt her enough for one night.

Set the whole problem aside and go talk to Vector, then. There were some work matters he could use a sounding board for. Further damage control could wait until morning.

Their conversation up to "I’m not the one who started clinging around" is taken nearly verbatim from the game.

Yep. Wynston's capacity for attachment, done the non-Lodestone way. This is back when his mental definition of love, or at least the definition he believes of the many he's heard, is "That thing that makes the mark act against its own best interests." Not what he aspires to experience. Canon, that never really changes outside the one-off embarrassing incident of realizing he cared about Kaliyo the day they parted ways (around the end of the class line). Hints of that are showing as early as here, but he's failing to pick up on them. Otherwise he can be really nice and enjoy doing so, but, um, not a whole lot of depth there.

Kaliyo's section contains "they" and "them" in reference to the two of them. Wynston's does not.

He does have more respect for people who align with his ideals on one axis or another. Kaliyo never did.

Kaliyo and Wynston do settle back in their regular dynamic after the above conversation. For a while.

The atmospheric shuttle bucked on its final approach to the spaceport. The pilot ordered all passengers to their seats, and even nascent Sith had to obey. Varrel looked up the aisle. A viewer at the head of the shuttle displayed the environment outside; they'd been told it was a mirror of the pilot's cockpit screen. Right now it showed nothing but roiling fog filled with purple veins.

With a shudder the craft broke through into clearer air beneath the cloud cover. Rain lashed the viewscreen. Daggers of lightning savaged the clouds’ soft underbelly . Far beneath, contorted trees bent under the wind and rain’s relentless assault.

Vashutarl gently touched his arm, "Anfather," she whispered, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Varrel turned to her and patted her hand, "Everything will be fine, Vashutarl," he reassured her, projecting a calm he did not feel. She settled back in her seat beside him but remained stiff.

His gaze crept back to the viewer and he tried to quiet his own growing sense of unease. Dromund Kaas resembled nothing so much as Esedrin, the Hell of Storms.

Varrel closed the message from Overseer Tremmel but did not delete it. Transferred to Korriban, it read. The rest was unimportant. Congratulatory. Varrel did not feel like celebrating. Unlike many Imperial worlds, Korriban was a name he knew, though not in the context of planets. In the mythology of his homeworld, Korryban was the Hell of Dust.

Vashutarl watched the approach to Coruscant at the shuttle’s big window with the rest of the tourists. She’d landed on Dromund Kaas in a fierce storm, one that made her think of Esedrin, the afterlife for people who caused trouble for no reason. She missed the entry to Nar Shaddaa, being in stasis at the time, and Tython’s undeveloped landscape reminded her achingly of home. If Tython was typical of Republic worlds, Coruscant as the capital ought to be lovely.

As the shuttle crossed the terminator to Coruscant’s day side, the firefly flicker of her lights resolved into a dense cityscape. Chains of brightly colored speeder beacons, lines of glowing beetles on the nightside, became long traffic queues wending their way among skyscrapers. Their varied shapes blended to sameness in the gleam of the sun on uniform smooth surfaces.

Vashutarl sighed in disappointment. If Dromund Kaas was the Hell of Storms, Coruscant was the Hell of the Termites.

The Hell of Storms just begged for a larger cosmology filled with multiple hells.

Rixik clawed his way awake and wished he hadn’t. Head pounding, stomach full of irritated snakes, the dim light filtering through his closed eyelids was too bright. Not to mention sore. In all kinds of places. Kaliyo was a decent enough roll, but he had to stop one-upping her in the recreational pharmaceuticals department.

He’d chatted her up on the scruffy transport from Hutta. One thing led to another. Quickly. Had to get creative when they both had other partners occupying their assigned rooms. Fortunately, transports have all kinds of unoccupied spaces. That was half the fun.

Of course she’d given him the bum rush now that they were nearly at Dromund Kaas, so another roll was unlikely. She knew who punched her meal ticket, and it sure as hell wasn’t him. Just as well. She was bad for his health in a variety of ways. Besides, mopey little Mako might figure out he'd been doing more than respecting her privacy, and that would be bad.

He sat up, groped for one of the electrolyte bottles on the nightstand and knocked a datapad clattering to the floor. He winced at the sound and cracked one eye open as the playback started automatically.

“Hey, I know you haven’t been feeling well so I made up some of Jory’s favorite remedy for spacer’s cramp. It’s on the nightstand. Sorry I’ve been such a grump. Back soon!” Mako’s voice. Way too perky.

Rixik found the one remaining electrolyte bottle and drained it. He’d rather have merr-ox, but if he was lucky there were antibiotics in here. He probably needed them after Kaliyo, even if he didn't for spacer’s cramp.

The first man she'd killed had been an accident.

It had been the night she'd escaped. Waited till Mother and her shiny new step-father were sound asleep, resting easy in the thought that their target hadn't realized what they'd tried. Her heart had been pounding so hard, desperation making her hands shake as she moved quietly through the dark of what used to be a happy home. Credits, armor, and an an old blaster. All she could afford to carry. Almost. The minature holostatue of her father sitting on the table next to the door had been shut off only days after he'd died. Ajacksa picked up the slim black base and slid it into her pocket before she keyed the door and left the bright shining deadly world at the top for a different kind of deadly in the dark part of Coruscant.

She'd never been on the surface - had lived here her whole life and never touched the planet's ground. Technically, she still hadn't - plascreet covered everything. The smells overwhelmed her as she ventured into shadowed streets: the cool smell of plascreet, the sweet-sharp stink of filth, the chemical miasma from the smog that dropped down from on high.

Looking back, she shouldn't have survived. She'd never ridden a taxi. Never seen violence or poverty up close, in your face, in all its gut-churning, stinking glory. Sheltered girls from the upper levels didn't take lessons in survival. Luckily, it was a skill that could be picked up through practice.

That first kill had been an accident - a rush from the shadows, a wild struggle that shook her muscles and had her gasping for air, the blaster lighting up the darkened street, too loud and too close, and then stillness and the awful smell of charred flesh. She looked back once as she ran. Half a face gone, a gaping hole where a person used to be. When she finally found a patch of shadows of her own, she threw up.

That was three weeks ago.

She looked down at the blaster in her hand.

Forever ago.

Since then she'd killed twelve more people - assassins sent from her step-father and thugs on the streets of Jiguuna. The number seemed ridiculous, unreal, obscene. They'd all come after her though; she hadn't gone searching them out. She took a deep breath in the shadows of the spaceport where her mark was prepping for takeoff and let it out in a shaky stream of air. She was going to have to kill this man. Jack's hand shook as she wiped away sweat that had beaded up on her brow. She had to kill him without getting killed herself.

She adjusted her grip on the blaster, testing the flexibility of her new gloves, and took one more steadying breath. She had a part to play, and she needed to survive the show. Keep moving, Jack, just keep moving.

He had been on his way up.

That only made the fall hurt worse.

Rizantos Terso surveyed the grisly scene that was his living structure. Blood, blaster scorch marks, signs of looting. Although it wasn’t the greatest apartment on level 1318, it had been his.

His and his fathers.

The latter lay dying on the floor, a scorched hole in his midsection erasing all questions anyone might have had about the cause of death.

“Rizz…Rizz you just couldn’t take it could you? You couldn’t live like a normal person.”

Rizantos felt his large eyes tear up as his father’s harsh words tore apart what was left of his soul.

“It…wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” Rizz replied quietly, realizing in the middle of his apology how little it meant.

The weathered human male looked up from his laying position on the dirty carpet, his dark complexion and silver eyes showing his emotions clearly.

Disappointment. Contempt. Acceptance.

Rizantos Terso could take it no longer. He turned quickly and left through the blackened door, it sliding behind him for the last time.

Rizz had been an orphan since the age of three, and had resided in a lower level Coruscant Orphan House until five years ago, near his 14th birthday. The old man had taken him in like a son and Rizantos had failed him.

Pedestrians ignored the beige-skinned young alien as he trudged slowly down the unmaintained sidewalks with no set destination. Rizantos looked up to see a Black Sun graffiti symbol etched onto a nearby wall.

It was them that did this. They had had a deal, and Rizz had broken it. He had paid the ultimate price.

When he initially agreed to work for the Black Sun, it had been for selfless reasons. The old man had worked two jobs and was getting older. Rizz had been content with maintaining a small vehicle garage that they often used that was near his apartment if it would give his surrogate dad some time to rest.

It was a simple enough task; he went to the garage every other day at the crack of dawn and made sure all the speeders were functional and ready to go at a moment’s notice. For weeks, Rizz picked up his paycheck from under the hood of one of the speeders, assumedly put there by his boss. He saw no one come or go.

Then he came. The damned cop.

Another simple day had started at the vehicle garage, just last night. Rizantos was checking the speeders carefully from top to bottom and noticed a strange apparatus attached to one of the landspeeders. The vehicle itself was odd, being a landspeeder with a pair of thrusters added to the bottom to enable travel at high altitudes. Rizz had approached the apparatus with caution. Not enough, it seemed. Upon his first touch, the device beeped one ominous deep tone and then went deathly silent.

“Hands up, nice and slow.” A sharp Coruscanti accented voice commanded from behind him.

Rizantos noted the thankfully unfamiliar feel of a metal blaster barrel pressing into his spine.

Trembling with fear, he complied with the unidentified man’s orders.

“Turn around slowly and step away from the device.” the man ordered.

Rizz complied once again and got to see his assailant face to face. A native male, as he had suspected. What the man was wearing was what got his nerves jumping.

A Coruscant security badge.

A Coruscant security jacket.

Uh oh on both counts.

“What can I do to help ya, officer?” Rizz started smoothly.

“You can tell me what this is.” The officer replied sternly, clearly not convinced by Rizz’s calm demeanor.

The officer raised his hand, which was currently holding a suspiciously familiar looking credit wallet stained with engine fluids.

“By the Warren Mother’s...”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sir.” Rizz quickly replied.

“I’m going to have to take you in for questioning.” The officer stated, growing more suspicious by the minute.

“Zeltron females.” Rizz stated in a clear voice, using one of his voice commands he had added to the garage's computer interface system.

The officer’s confused reply was cut off as the lights flickered out and then back on. Looking around angrily, the officer saw no sign of Rizantos Terso or the credit wallet that had just been in his hand.

And that was supposed to have been the end of it.

But it appeared someone had witnessed his momentary arrest. The vehicle garage had large windows, despite its paranoid affiliation. Perhaps he had been being watched the whole time and never known it. Rizz would never know the identity of the person who had reported his temporary seizure to the Black Sun. The person who had killed his uncle and lost him all his credits and reputation. The person who had ruined his life. But no, that wasn’t fair; Rizantos never should’ve taken the job in the first place.

First rule on the street was to stay away from the big gangs, and the Black Sun certainly qualified.

Someone bumped past him as he continued and a sinking feeling filled him. Feeling for his last credits on the planet in his pocket, despair filled him and he stumbled and fell. Scooting back into the wall, Rizz looked like the typical Coruscanti bum, dressed in ripped clothes and freshly broke. It wasn’t far from what he felt like, certainly.

Rizz closed his large eyes and fell into an uncomfortable slumber. The truth was that he had been up the last 48 hours fretting over the Black Sun’s response, and was exhausted. The Sullustan snored softly as pedestrians passed in disgust for hours. Some tried to pickpocket him, only to discover someone else had beaten him to it. Someone stole his boots and another, his belt. If Rizz had been awake he wouldn’t have cared. Asleep he couldn’t care.

When a sharp knife pressed itself into his soft neck, he did care.

Rizz awoke with a gasp that almost decapitated him. Breathing heavily, he looked into the cruel eyes of the Rattataki kneeling in front of him that was currently threatening his life.

“What do you want? I have nothing.” Rizz murmured softly.

“The Black Sun never leaves a loose end hanging.” The white skinned alien said simply, and began spinning around for a roundhouse kick.

Darkness engulfed Rizantos.

And then the sound of a ship engine taking off awakened him.

Rizantos Terso opened his large eyes hesitantly and regretted it. All around him sat prisoners of the Black Sun, be they opposing gang members or just unlucky saps like him. Judging from the interior of the ship and the sound of the engine, Rizz judged the craft to be a modified XS freighter. Modified to be a slave ship, evidently.

Rizz didn’t feel like probing like any of the tough characters around him for information.

Resigned to his fate, Rizantos Terso fell asleep again a broken Sullustan.

I never really got into the romance with Iresso. So, in my head my Jedi was always secretly pining for Tharan after their one night stand. This takes place after that night and after Holiday forces Tharan to stop seeing Ka'liesh.

"Ka'liesh, honey, wait up!" beckoned the hologram in her overly sweet tone. Ka'liesh was tempted to keep walking, but she remembered that with Theran's upgrades Holiday now pretty much had free roam of the ship. Something about her made Ka'liesh's head-tails twitch. The Jedi stopped and the hologram appeared before her, a vision in pink.

"What can I help you with Holiday?" inquired Ka'liesh feigning ignorance.

"It's just that I wanted to talk to you about Tharan..." Ka'liesh knew this conversation was inevitable, but she still was not entirely comfortable with it. She held a hand up to Holiday to stop her.

"Holiday, I understand completely. I was out of line and should have respected your relationship with Tharan. I apologize. What's done is done and I am content to leave it in the past." Ka'liesh turned to walk away, but Holiday materialized before her stopping her in her tracks.

"Oh Ka'liesh!" Holiday chuckled, "I don't blame you one bit! Theran's so handsome, charming and brilliant. How could anyone resist that?" Holiday stared off dreamily into the distance. "I know you couldn't help falling in love with him. It's not your fault."

"Jedi don't fall in love, Holiday. It was a one-time encounter. Rest assured, it won't happen again." Ka'liesh was becoming increasingly impatient with the overbearing hologram.

"Of course it won't! Tharan has learned his lesson, but that's beside the point." Holiday flipped her auburn hair back over her shoulder.

"Then what exactly is the point, Holiday?" Ka'liesh folded her arms across her chest and stared blankly at Holiday who seemed oblivious of the Jedi's growing irritation. The hologram smiled broadly at her.

"Come here, I have a surprise for you!" Holiday was nearly dancing with excitement as she skipped off toward the quarters she shared with Tharan. Ka'liesh sighed heavily as she followed her shimmering companion. Ka'liesh entered the room she notices a holorecorder set up in the middle of the room facing an empty chair positioned against the far wall. Holiday bounced over to the chair and motioned for Ka'liesh to sit. Ka'liesh complied begrudgingly.

"What's this all about Holiday?" questioned Ka'liesh as Holiday began fussing with her head-tails and draped them over her delicate shoulders. The hologram stood back from her and looked her over.

"Ugh, this lighting in here is making you look all washed out. You look too icy-blue. I was hoping for more of a sky-blue." Holiday flitted over to the lamp in the corner and dimmed the brightness. Ka'liesh examined her hands. She had never really considered exactly what shade of blue her skin was. Holiday turned to look her over once more. "Oh, that's much better!"

"Holiday, what's going on?" Ka'liesh's annoyance had now turned from annoyance to pure curiosity and if she was honest, a bit of amusement as well.

"Tharan and I were thinking and we decided that you need a man of your own." Holiday began to adjust Ka'liesh's robes, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Don't you have any pretty dresses? Something in purple or green maybe? These drab brown robes do nothing for your pretty green eyes, not to mention your figure."

"No Holiday, I don't own any dresses and I certainly don't need a man." Ka'liesh started to stand, but holiday pushed her back into the chair. Holiday sighed in exasperation.

"Of course you do. That's why I signed you up for this dating service on the Holonet."

"What? Holiday, no. I don't want to..."

"Ladies! What's all the commotion about in here?" Tharan stood in the doorway and leaned against the doorframe.

"Tharan, honey!" Holiday pranced over to him. "I signed Ka'liesh up for an online dating service and we were just about to make a video for her profile. Isn't that exciting?" Holiday clapped her hands eagerly.

"Oh Holiday darling, that is an excellent idea! You are just so thoughtful." He grabbed the hologram around the waist and cuddled her before kissing her tenderly on the lips. Ka'liesh winced at the sight with an unexpected twinge of jealousy. She closed her eyes and quickly quelled the emotion. When she opened them again, Tharan and Holiday were arranging a backdrop behind her. At that moment, Ka'liesh decided to play along with Holiday's plan. Perhaps a distraction wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Okay, what do I have to do?" Holiday bounded over to stand before Ka'liesh once again.

"It's easy, just look into the recorder, act natural and tell them about yourself." Holiday and Tharan stood behind the holorecorder and adjusted the settings for a moment.

"Okay, Jedi, whenever you're ready." Tharan nodded indicating that they were ready to start recording. Ka'liesh was unsure what to say. Modesty was one of the defining characteristics of a good Jedi and she was no exception. She was unaccustomed to having to talk about herself. "Start with your name." directed Tharan.

"My name is Ka'liesh." She started in her very even, diplomatic tone. "I am a Jedi and faithful servant of the Republic. My mission is to negotiate peace throughout the galaxy and put an end to the threat posed by the Empire and the Sith."

"Cut!" yelled Tharan, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Are you trying to get a date or send a threat to the Empire?"

"You told me to talk about myself and that is the core of who I am. I am a Jedi." She defended.

"Yes, but can't you add a little pizzazz to it?" suggested Tharan

.

"Yeah Ka'liesh, men don't want to hear about how many Imperials you've killed. They want to know what you really like to do." Holiday twirled her hair around her finger as she spoke. Ka'liesh looked at her vacantly. "Like, do you like to take moonlit walks on the beach or do you enjoy Huttball?"

"Such frivolities are a distraction from my training and frowned upon by the Jedi order. We do not engage in such activities." That wasn't exactly the truth, but Ka'liesh was growing weary of Tharan and Holiday's constant criticisms. Tharan and Holiday looked at each other contemplatively.

"I thought Twi'leks were supposed to be charming." shrugged Holiday. Ka'liesh couldn't help feeling irritated again."We could always just go with a few profile pictures and skip the video."

"Maybe you're right, Holiday." sighed Tharan turning back to Ka'liesh. "Can you at least tell us what kind of man you are looking for?"

"Don't say Tharan! He's mine remember!" giggled Holiday, grabbing a hold of Theran's hand. Ka'liesh felt that smoldering jealousy in the pit of her stomach again. This time it was a little harder to suppress the emotion. She had to do something to get her mind off Tharan and none of this was helping.

"Fine. Tell them that I want a man who is spiritual and connected to the force. Someone who sees the beauty in all living things and strives for peace. He should be tall and muscular," the words poured from her uncontrollably. "He should be disciplined and athletic." Then she paused and smiled wryly into the holorecorder. This really didn't seem like such a bad idea all of a sudden. "And I wish the company of another Twi'lek."

"Really?" Tharan grimaced. The realization that he met none of those criteria made him feel a little insecure.

"Ooh, he sounds dreamy! I hope you find someone just like that." smiled Holiday, cheerily. "Well, I think we have enough information for the profile and with some clever editing I think we can even make something out of your video. I'll get started right away!" With that, Holiday bounded out of the room to get to work leaving Ka'liesh and Tharan alone. Ka'liesh stood gracefully sweeping her long elegant lekku behind her shoulders. Insecurity still lingered in Theran's mind as he began to pack away the holorecorder. Ka'liesh strode toward the door and paused briefly in the doorway. She glanced over her shoulder at Tharan and they exchanged a somber gaze. Then she was gone. Without speaking a word, Ka'liesh knew she'd struck a blow against Tharan and Tharan wondered if letting her get away had been a mistake.

I dislike that Kaliyo is made to follow the SWTOR Relationship Track . I could see some version of her maybe coming this far, once, trying, briefly, but...no. And then, later on, marriage? As anything other than an insurance scam or something? Nuh-uh.

During my playthrough the feelings-or-whatever talk was good for a sinking feeling and, yeah, a sense of betrayal. I thought I'd figured her out. We had a good thing going, and I genuinely do love her crazy. So why is she trying to change what we both agreed to, why does she want to replace it with something she would probably be terrible at, and why is she making me feel like the bad guy for not wanting to mess with something we both enjoy?

I wonder if this is what the classic "boyfriend who refuses to pop the question" feels like when prodded. Most boyfriends aren't quite this level of cad, though. And most girlfriends aren't quite this level of "you would have to be suicidal to get any closer."

I haven’t done the Kaliyo romance arc, but I have to agree any form of monogamy seems very out of character. Wynston’s thoughts on the possibility (best case scenario: that she’d cheat on him and laugh) or yours (insurance scam) are far more likely than truly wanting a real relationship. Either that, or game mechanics assume the marriage is a kind of Bonnie-and-Clyde affair where both characters are crazy. That’s doubly a shame when the Agent is written as a master of deception. Your Kaliyo wants Wynston to agree with her the way he always does and seems confused when he doesn’t. Wynston, on the other hand, trying to figure out what she really wants. If this convo comes after the ‘let’s hunt down and kill my exes’ mission, anyone with half a brain would tell her her heck no.

This song is not of the nest but it has grown familiar to us in recent years.

The first to sing is steady and strong, her tone sets the pace for the rest to add their voices. Her steadiness belies the wild chorus she prefers. The others join her not long after.

He adds his voice to the first. He is always restrained but we know there is a side of him that yearns to be free. The song is always darker when he sings with it.

The youngest adds her support to the others steadily at first, then a burst of percussion, unexpected and effective. She holds back, but eventually she loses herself and she too is one with the song.

We are also percussion, a steady stream of precise strikes. We know our part but we do not wish to lose ourselves. We are waiting for her. That is when the song will truly begin.

She joins us. Her high sweet melody could carry the song alone but she weaves within the rhythm we have set and is content to stay within our measures.

We carry the song as one voice, playing against the dissonance that disrupted our previous harmony. We sing until their corrupted chords have ended and only our song remains. The first to begin are the last to finish and then the song abruptly ends.

We stand alone for a moment enjoying the silence.

“Vector?” Agent Vero asked gently. The Doctor and Kaliyo had chased down the last of Vector’s attackers. Temple was identifying the bodies to determine who sent them. They said nothing, but they left Vector to her care so that she could have a moment alone with him. Despite their differences her little team worked well together.

“Agent.” Vector answered with a small chagrined smile. Finally, he looked around as if seeing the carnage for the first time. “This was to be a mission of peace, we did not believe it was important enough for there to be danger. We are glad you ignored our protest and accompanied us.” He bowed to her, an apology and thanks in one gesture.

Agent Vero only smiled and hooked her arm around his. They joined the rest of the group arm in arm, their song a quiet harmony again, for now.