Vette finished up with the gang and headed out for her own flat.

Something tugged at her attention from within the crowd. Ananz was leaning over the railing some ways down the street, surveying the plaza below. The big holostatue in the center was flickering between a cartoonishly blinged-out pod racer and a bright green error message.

"Hey," said Vette as she got close. "Get lost on the way home?"

He turned and smiled. "Nah. Just wasn't tired."

"You did run out kind of early."

"I didn't want to get in the way. Dinner was great, I'd just rather not wear out my welcome."

"Are you not jumping right back to work?"

He made a face. "I can spare the night. I set things up to go that long without disintegrating."

She leaned on the railing beside him and nodded toward the holostatue. "You should've seen it last week. Seven whole days of a Nautolan pinup girl about ten meters tall."

"The things you miss when you travel for work," he said with faux wistfulness. He smiled and faced her. "I meant to ask. You never got any trouble about…my last visit. Did you?"

"Nah. Whatever mysterious deaths I may or may not have been involved in, nobody's tried to call me on it."

"Good."

"Would you really have cared?" From a guy who switched between sweetheart and wild-eyed murder machine, it was hard to guess.

"Yes. That one was my responsibility. The last thing I want is to get you, any of you, in trouble." He spent a moment just looking at the railing near her hand. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" It took her a second to realize that he was probably talking about her personally witnessing his little six-fatality temper tantrum. "Yeah, I'm fine. That was actually one of the least bloody hanging-out-with-Sith days I've ever had."

"That's not really the standard I want to be shooting for."

She shrugged. "Comes with the territory."

"Territory you moved out of." He shifted uneasily, then shook his head. "You seem pretty comfortable here now."

"Yeah. It lacks a certain cruiser-wreck flair, but I like it."

"How long have you been enjoying the quiet life?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "About a year," she said, and didn't mention her employment before then.

"Not bad." He looked around. "I kind of like this area. It's fake, I think that's legally required on Nar Shaddaa, but it's a less obnoxious fake than the upper districts have. Less in your face."

"Except for the holostatues," Vette said helpfully. "They're still in your face."

"Except for the holostatues."

"This neighborhood isn't bad," she added. "I've stayed in a lot worse. We all have roofs over our heads, and there's plenty to do around here. Plasmajack practically installed himself by the prime HoloNet feed at his place; he's decided slicing from home is way better than traveling."

"You travel?"

"Yeah, when we find someplace worth looking into. The kinds of guys who just confiscate Twi'lek goods for their collections don't usually volunteer to fly here to sell it back. Creative extraction is sometimes required."

"That has got to be the most malicious smile I've ever seen out of you." He looked almost delighted.

"Oh, you haven't known me very long."

He laughed with her, then took a look around and perked up even further. “Hey, want to make the holostatue something interesting again?"

"What?"

"Clear the error message there. Give it something new to show."

"You want to…vandalize the promenade." Vette’s lekku quivered disbelief."

"Is that a yes-disbelieving-statement, or a no-disbelieving-statement?"

"It's a 'what kind of Sith would spend his time messing with holostatues?' statement."

"Even Sith get bored."

"So torture somebody. That's the usual answer."

"This'll be more fun. Come on, think about your favorite piece of furniture. Or shoe. Or, I don’t know, carnivorous plant. We could put up a big sarlacc."

"Sarlaccs aren’t plants, silly."

Ananz frowned. "They’re not?"

"No, they’re huge animals. They just dig in in the sand with their mouths up and wait for food to get close. No leaves, no plant stuff."

"They dig. As in moving."

"Yup."

"I’m going to have nightmares now. So, want to go display one?"

It was quick work once they pried open the cover to the maintenance console at the holo's base. The poor cover got forced off by somebody or other every week anyway. Vette watched Ananz poke at the controls for about five seconds before she decided he didn't know what he was doing. She elbowed him out of the way, pulled up a Holonet picture of a migrating sarlacc and uploaded it to the big projector. The thing flared into bright red-orange life, seemingly ready to eat the entire upper mezzanine.

She put her fists on her hips and surveyed their handiwork. “Very nice.”

“Nightmarish as promised.”

“For a Sith you’re pretty sissy.”

“Sissy? Have you ever seen one of those things in the wild?”

“Yeah, I have. No big deal.” She grinned at him, a little maliciously. “You know, this evening’s going pretty well.”

Ananz perked up. "Yeah?"

"Well, this–" she gestured at the huge pulsing sarlacc holo – "plus you haven’t started begging me to shut up yet."

"I don't want you to shut up. I like you talking."

Vette, upon a rapid review, could not recall an instance of anybody saying that, ever. "We'll see how long that lasts."

"Well," he said. They admired the huge holographic sarlacc for a little while. "Not that I'm trying to get rid of you, but it is getting late."

"Yeah," said Vette. "Definitely."

They stood there for a few seconds.

"Want to find someplace to sit?" said Ananz.

"Yeah, sure."

They headed for the nearest bench. He sat beside her, hooking one elbow over the back of the bench. "Listen," he said. "You've had the chance to think about it, and I know the gang doesn't seem to mind me but I want…I trust your word about whether I’m welcome. I can cut myself out of the artifact loop and still keep my people helping you. If it makes you unhappy to have me around, I'll go…do more Sith things. Maybe I could use the extra few hours every few weeks for practice."

She half smiled. "If you don't come see us, how are you going to get your normal-person time?"

"You mean it?"

"Yeah. I'm hoping to avoid the killing sprees, but…you can hang out with us." She cocked her head. "Y'know, compared to most Sith you're really not one for confidence."

"I just…really, really don't want to throw my weight around. I'm still not used to having weight to throw around."

"You don't look too bad to me." Her grin faded. "Just one thing, though."

"What?"

"Show me your eyes."

He frowned, opened his mouth, shut it again. After a moment's effort, or perhaps just very strained hesitation, the sage green of his eyes muddied and gave way to a dull orange, the beginnings of Dark Side corruption.

He met her eyes for only a second before dropping his gaze. "I'm still not used to seeing this in the mirror," he muttered.

"But it can come in handy. The Sith look."

"That wasn't the idea. You know there's not a day in my life for as long as I can remember that I was both normal and free? Granted, 'normal' may be overrated, there's a lot I can do as Sith. But I kind of like being able to blend."

"The Sith thing protects you, Ananz. Just looking the part opens doors."

"It closes doors, too."

"Well, yeah," she said lightly, "but only to the places that are really questionable to hang out in."

"You chose to." 'Choice' was an interesting word, one that didn't begin to cover how complicated that had been. Ananz seemed to sense his mistake. "I'm sorry. I don't really know anything about the situation–"

"That's right. You don't."

"–but you did walk away from power, didn't you? To be here instead, living like...like just a person."

"Power I didn't have a problem with, it was more about what the power was doing." She shifted uncomfortably. "I wasn't the one who could crush everyone in my path. I think that's a big factor in how much you enjoy it." She tilted her head. "But you? You are Sith. Even if you didn't ever plan on it. Whatever you do, you should own it."

"Own it. Right." He regarded her for almost a worryingly long time. "Can I ask you something?"

She was comfortable enough. "Yeah, sure."

"You're so…normal. I mean, you've got nerves of durasteel from living with the Sith and the war, but you're not…you haven't turned out like other people do. You can deal with it but you're not of it." He bit his lip. "There are days I can hardly remember anything but Force mysteries and kill orders. How do you do it?"

"I just remind myself that the crazy stuff is crazy. It's kind of surprising how easy that is to forget."

"I see. That's why you left the Wrath, isn't it?"

She frowned. "Not going into that," she said. "Don't get me wrong, you're nice. But you can use anything I say about him."

Ananz raised his brows. "He inspires loyalty. I've heard that. I just didn't know how much of it was the very well-publicized fate of the last person who tried to betray him."

"Not going into it," she repeated. "Moving on."

They did move on. He asked questions about her and she found herself answering, even laughing sometimes. It was a yawn wrecking her ability to finish a sentence that finally got her to say "What time is it, anyway?"

"Um." Ananz checked his chrono and stifled a laugh. "Quarter of six."

"Six?"

"AM," he said helpfully.

"Wow. Huh. Well, I meant to get sleep and stuff, but I guess this works, too."

He stood up. "I can't stay much longer. But I'll walk you home if you're willing to believe I can do it nonviolently."

"This is a test, then," she said sternly, standing up beside him. "I'm pretty sure most of the jerks are asleep anyway, we should be safe."

They chattered about nothing in particular on the way. Finally they reached the door to her complex. He stopped facing her.

"I hope I didn't wreck your Dark Councilor schedule," she said.

"No. I don't have to be anywhere for another half hour, I'll have time to sleep."

"Jeez. Sorry."

"Don't be. If I'm going to lose sleep I'd just as soon it be with a charming young woman who isn't trying to kill me." He froze a second after that and looked thoughtful, not to say alarmed.

"Oh, I got out of the assassination business ages ago," she chirped. "Besides, you're the big terrifying Sith Lord. I'm not the menace here."

"Never underestimate one mere Twi'lek." He grinned. "Still. I'm willing to risk it. Good night, Vette. Morning. Day."

"Good whatever time period you see fit to apply it to," she said cheerfully.

"Yeah. This…was nice," he added.

"Yeah." She found herself smiling. "It was."

"Stay safe. I'll be back again soon."

Ananz trotted from the hangar door to his ship and made for the bridge. Andronikos was already there; he caught Ananz's expression, stopped short, and grinned. "Ananz, I didn't think you swung that way."

The Twi'lek's smile was sheepish. "Neither did I."

"Might explain a few things." Andronikos never seemed to hold any previous false starts against him; in point of fact he had been incredibly patient, given what a confused wreck Ananz had been to start with, and had stayed on good terms after. "Have you ever actually been with a woman?"

"Whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've only just hit 'exchanging arguably meaningful looks' territory."

"So, no."

Ananz had flushed a slightly darker shade of green. "No."

"Oh, stars, kid," Andronikos chuckled. "You're in trouble."

Gareb awoke with a sleepy groan and rolled over. He slammed his hand down to shut off the chrono and slammed his head down into his pillow, wishing he could stay here for a few more minutes. There was a knock on the door. Gareb reached out with the Force tentatively–it was Nadia. They'd decided to hold off their wedding plans–and a more intimate relationship–until they were reasonably sure the war was nearing an end.

With a sigh, Gareb used the Force to awaken his body and ease the sleepiness from his mind. He exhaled and stood, stretching. He reached down and picked up his brown robe, pulled it on, and walked into the refresher. He placed his palms on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. His cheeks were starting to show signs of stubble, making an ugly look with his neat goatee and moustache.

Reaching out with the Force, he pulled a razor to himself and began methodically laser-trimming the stubble. When he was done he shut off the razor, returned it to its holder, and inspected himself in the mirror. Once again, his moustache was small and neat, and his goatee trimmed to elegant perfection.

He smiled to himself. He may have been a Jedi, but some traits never went away. The grooming of the royal palace of Phaeda was one of them. He'd been trimming his facial hair the same way since he was a seventeen-year-old son of a noble, brother of the king. Gareb's cousin Jasin–the prince–had lost the mannerisms of the palace. Gareb wondered if it was because Jasin's brother Methic had retained those traits when he went over to the Sith.

Satisfied, Gareb took off his robe, pulled on his brown shirt and pants, put the robe back on over them, and smiled contentedly as he went down to Tython to face another day as a Jedi.

Yes, I know the Sith Warriors say they're from a great Sith bloodline, but that doesn't fit with Jasin being his brother. Instead, Methic is from a royal bloodline and was adopted by a Sith after they invaded his planet, a Sith who also happened to be prominent. That way he can fit my head-canon and game canon.

“Hi! My name is Devin James Riggs, and I’m five years old. My parents are Miriah and Corso Riggs. They used to smuggle stuff, way before I was born, but then they worked for the Republic. Now they work with my aunts and uncles. My dad also has the ranch. And his computers. And his weapons. He has some really cool blasters and rifles, some that he’s had since he was a boy. He restores them and stuff. He even let me shoot Torchy, his favorite blaster, but don’t tell Mom. Dad says she would not be happy about that, and he always wants her to be happy.

“Mom is freaking out about this trip to Tython, but I’m excited. They’ve known I was force sensitive for a while now, and Aunt Mags and Nana have worked with me on controlling it, but this is my first trip to the Jedi temple. I mean, Mom smiles and tells me this is just a visit, a ‘fact finding opportunity’, but she still cries whenever we talk about it. I feel how worried she is, and I have to concentrate to not let it make me feel sad too. She says her brain is excited for me, but that her heart always worries. Dad says just let her feel what she needs to feel, and he’ll help her figure it out. I guess that means he’ll kiss her. Ugh! All the kissing! They’re always touching each other if they’re close enough, and Dad says one day I’ll understand the kissing. Last night I hugged Mom really hard, and I guess I can see how it makes her feel better.

“I’ve never been to Tython before, at least that I can remember. My mom grew up there, so did my aunts. Nana was a teacher at the temple there, so it’ll be fun to see it all. Last week, Dad let me sit in front of him and drive the speeder…uh, don’t tell Mom that either….and told me that Tython was really a beautiful place, a lot like the ranch with lots of trees, but no ronto. I don’t know yet if I’ll train there, but I want to see it. My cousin Ian will be there, too. Guess I’ll know more after tomorrow!”

Miriah handed the data pad back to Corso, and collapsed, sobbing, on his chest. “Shh, darlin’, he’s gonna be fine,” he said in a soft voice. He knew, sitting on the bridge of the freighter, that she was close to turning the ship around and going home. “You gotta admit, he’s got a good perspective on things, and he’s looking forward to these two weeks.”

“He’s just growing up too fast, Cor. I’m not ready for this. He’s been the majority of my life for the last five years and I’m not ready to let go of that.”

“He’s not going anywhere, sweetheart. He’s just getting a new experience. It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see.” He hugged her close, and had to grin when she weakly slapped his shoulder.

“You let him shoot Torchy? Why?” she said, her voice hoarse with the tears she’d shed.

“I wanted him to feel the difference in using a blaster compared to a light saber,” he said, the thought perfectly logical in his mind. “He’s like you, Mir. Needs to know all the options before making a decision. He’ll make the one that’s right for him. You’ve given him the freedom to do that. You’ll be okay, and I’ll always be right here with you.” He kissed her head then, and smiled. Yeah, he always wanted Miriah to be happy. Dev got that just perfect, he thought. They sat there, holding each other, until they reached the orbit of Tython.

"What is the meaning of this? I demand entrance." The Darth hissed careful to keep his voice down. The pair of guards that barred the way to the Council chambers looked over the datapad with practiced stoicism.

"Apologies, my lord." The red-garbed guardsman said tapping his com device. He turned away but only as a token gesture, careful to keep the Sith within his peripheral vision. His partner stood guard over both the entrance and him. He reached the Imperial Datacenter and a bored sounding clerk answered, "Yes, this is Captain Erlance of the Imperial Guard. I have a Darth Mordant here Master of the Sphere of Military Strategy. He's not on my roster." He waited while the clerk consulted his database. "Yes I'll hold."

The Darth's face grew redder as the sound of the Imperial March leaked out of the guardsman's earpiece.

"Yes," Captain Erlance touched his ear when the music stopped. He looked down at his datapad to find an updated roster. "Replacement for Darth Decimus, I see. Yes I have it, along with three new names. Try to keep us up to date." He paused and glanced up at the expression of the newest member of the Dark Council. "At least daily."

He ended the call and opened the doors to allow Darth Mordant through. The Darth gathered his tattered dignity and proceeded to the council chambers to take his seat.

"Problems, Mordant?" Darth Marr asked.

There was no movement to the man, not even an edge to his voice but Mordant was certain the Sith was laughing at him. As much as he was tempted to snap at one of the senior members of the Council, he remembered the Captain's words and was determined not to fall prey to the ever changing roster. "Not at all, Marr. Let’s just get to business."

I don't know if I will ever do anything more with Darth Sarcasm but considering his spectacular start, he'll probably be something of a punching bag.

As the hovercar taxi sailed off into the distance, I began to loosen my collar and I trudged towards the lift. Being on medical leave should have meant I was essentially on vacation, but once again Garza had been one step ahead of us. No, General, of course I'm up for a goodwill tour around the Rim. No problem at all, General, I'm here for the Republic. No, General, I'm not furiously planning some sort of revenge for this. Neither Elara or I had been at all happy, and the twins had been particularly upset since I'd just gotten back from yet another pointless meet and greet on Alderaan.

A few years ago, maybe I'd have enjoyed an all-expenses paid tour to planets I'd only dreamed of visiting as a kid. Now? I just wanted to see my family every chance I got. Nobody'd ever have to remind me that every moment with them was precious.

Still, I was finally home, if a little later than I was supposed to be. I stepped towards the door, getting my ID card out of my pocket and preparing myself for a stealthy trip through the apartment. Last thing I needed was to wake up the kids. I made my way quietly through the entry and into the living room, and was halfway across it when my right foot hit something metal and hard, sending a sharp, painful, tremor up my already weak leg. I reached down, fumbling a bit in the dark, and picked the object up.

In my hands was what seemed to be a miniature version of Forex. I squeezed it slightly as I moved it closer, and it responded with a, "For the Republic!" in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Forex himself. Shaking my head slightly, I carefully put it down in a safer location, and headed for the bedroom. It seemed Elara was still up, judging by the light emanating from the small space under the door. I smiled stupidly to myself and pushed the door open, to find her carefully studying a datapad while sitting in bed. softly humming along to a song in her head.

I cleared my throat, but even as she looked up and a broad smile crossed her face, the buzzer alongside the bed went off. If it's not one thing, it's another. "I'll go check on what's up with the kids sweetheart, you just get ready for the full return of the conquering hero," I told her, then winked at her, pretending not to see her roll her eyes. It took all the effort in the world to exit the bedroom, even knowing one of our kids needed us. Ayrs Martell, cosmic plaything. I sighed softly, then continued on my way.

I marched back across the living room, moving as quickly as my leg allowed, when my left foot ran into something hard and metallic. I could only groan as I heard the toy cheerfully chirp "Death to the Empire!" as I turned the corner and entered the twins' room. I glanced over at Dio first, and saw him still snugly in bed, probably dreaming of flying one of his model ships for real. I quietly walked over, dismayed to see a large poster of Forex up on the wall, and ruffled his hair a bit. So it's Ally that's buzzing.

Our daughter was sitting up in her bed, clutching a stuffed animal to her chest; to my untrained eye, the toy looked suspiciously like a plush Forex. When she saw me, she leaped up into my arms and hugged me tightly while loudly exclaiming, "Daddy, you're home!" I glanced over nervously at Dio, but I could see he was still safely asleep, his blankets moving slightly up and down with his breaths.

"Hey Allycat, why are you still up? You're not giving your mother a hard time are you?"

I was rewarded with a firmly set jaw and arms firmly crossed across her chest. "You promised you'd read "Baby Bantha in the Desert to me. You promised."

Indeed I had, something like three weeks before; I was mildly frightened by the fact my young daughter seemed to have a better memory than I did, "I know, sweetheart, but it's late and daddy really wants to see mommy right now." I winced slightly at that line.

Ally wasn't impressed in the slightest. "No! You promised, mommy says promises are important"

And so began the first twenty minute recitation of the two minute children's epic "Baby Bantha in the Desert", a riveting tale of adventure, deserts and banthas. Ally helpfully pointed out where sound effects would be useful and was more than willing to make it clear that I should start all over when I used the wrong inflection in my voice or "didn't tell it like mommy does", but when I'd finally gotten to the end, she went back to bed easily enough. I leaned over her bed and kissed her softly on the forehead.

They were both growing so fast, I already felt like I'd missed too much. Mom had always been around for us, especially after Pop...was gone. I didn't want my kids to have to be without their father either, and if it meant upsetting Garza a bit by not participating in these political games, maybe next time I should risk it. Hell, apparently if I wasn't willing to take that risk I'd come home to find Forex in my place or something.

With that in minds, I gave Ally's plush Forex a side-eyed glance and aimed my way back to the bedroom, striding forward with a purpose before I tripped over something and fell flat on my face. "Havoc Squad!" The damned thing called out as I picked myself up off the carpet and limped on.

When I re-entered the room, I found Elara waiting for me. Her reaction was instant, leaping into my arms and embracing me tightly. I hated spending time away from her, any time at all, and nothing felt anywhere near as good as moments like this. "I missed you so much," I whispered into her ear as I felt her pressed up against me. Her pregnancy was a lot more noticeable now, I made a mental note to stock up on rumcake..

She stepped back and smiled brightly at me; I always felt like a twelve year old talking to his first crush whenever she did that. "I missed you terribly".

As she leaned back in towards me and nuzzled my neck, I noticed she was wearing a t-shirt with a Havoc Squad logo, Forex prominently featured in front of myself, Elara, Aric, Yuun and...Tanno. I pulled her in back towards me. "What's with all the Havoc stuff around the place, especially the Forex toys?"

She laughed lightly at that. "Apparently Forex approached General Garza with some strategic advice for combatting the Empire in 'alternative ways." I looked at her quizzically, so she continued, absentmindedly pushing a stray hair off her forehead and back into place. "Yes, Forex convinced the general that we needed to outmaneuver the Imperials economically and move into merchandising."

"Merchandising?" I asked, hoping I didn't look or sound as stupid as I felt.

"Forex the stuffed animal, Forex the patriotic mechanobot, Forex the sports mascot, Havoc Squad the apparel line. Merchandising," she explained helpfully, drawing a quick breath before continuing, "But since the children are safely in bed and you and I are here..." - her voice trailed off for a moment, then returned with a decidedly seductive tone to it - "perhaps we can discuss non-mission critical items later."

"What do you...oh."

“What do you see when you look at me?”

“What?” It was clear from the older woman’s tone of voice that she’d heard very well what was asked, but was merely surprised at the question...and a little unsure what to answer.

“When you look at me...what is it that you see?”

“A bada** agent with a big gun.” Refuge within humor. Classic Kaliyo.

Nyr scowled at that. She wondered what scowling really looked like, and how different it looked on the Rattataki than on herself. “I’m serious, Kaliyo. I want to know what I look like.”

“Take a look in the mirror.”

“That would be pointless, since all I perceive is a flat surface. I don’t see reflections.”

The agent could ‘see’ Kaliyo squirm a bit, her aura growing a bit less radiant and a little more ‘smoky’ with thought, as if really considering the question for the first time. “You’re really stuck on this, aren’t you, kid?”

“I am. I hear descriptions given all the time, and most of them are meaningless to me. And I suddenly realized that if I met myself on the street, I couldn’t distinguish me from a perfect stranger.” She fiddled idly with the rim of her glass, noting the minute imperfections...she wondered if Kaliyo could see those. “Most species can simply look in a mirror, as you said, but there’s really no way to reflect what I see.”

She looked back at her colleague and friend. “I can see through solid objects, which for some reason makes most people nervous, and can tell a lot about honesty, general intention, life intensity...but there’s a lot I can’t see: color, light, shadows...” She looked up toward what she knew were mirrors on the ceiling of the bar they were in. “Reflections... I know this is a dimly lit place, simply because dives like this on Nar Saddaa generally are. And I know there’s a haze of smoke in the air from all the spice-heads, and of course I can smell that and perceive that it’s there. But I don’t see it ‘wafting’ across the room, as I’ve heard it described.”

“What brought this on, Agent? Was it that dishy number back on Ord Mantell that looked like he’d been stabbed and begged off as soon are you turned around and he got a good look at your eyemask?”

“Partially. But it’s the little things, too. Those blue earrings you brought back from the market on Korriban... I can’t tell them from the white ones or the gold ones, except the gold ones are denser because they’re metal. They’re the same size, same mounting, perfect spheres...I don’t even know what color clothes you’re wearing right now. I wouldn’t know what color I was wearing if I hadn’t read the labels and memorized it for each piece long ago.”

“This is really eating at you, isn’t it?”

“It is. I shouldn’t admit this...but it should eat at you a little, too. I can’t read any of the display screens on the ship. I cheat and have 2VR8 enter and check the coordinates for hyperspace and read me all the maintenance and fuel reports.”

“WHAT?!”

“It’s true. I can perceive objects in space directly through the walls of the ship as if they didn’t exist, so don’t worry...I’m not going to hit anything or crash us in normal space. But visual readouts...they’re beyond me. Why do you think I changed most of the combat telltales to audio tones?”

“I was wondering.” The Rattataki finished her drink in one gulp and held up the glass for another, her distress at this revelation obvious in the bright streak of urgency that galloped across her Force signature. She calmed a bit and looked around the bar. “So, how you can tell when someone’s interested or not? You seem to have an awfully keen sense for that.”

“Well, most people know that Miraluka don’t have eyes, and they just think ‘oh, they see with the Force’ and leave it at that, thinking it’s just like regular eyesight. But it’s far more complicated than that. I can see Force auras on people...I can see a lot of their surface emotions. I’d have to guess it’s a far better indicator than judging the look on someone’s face, because I’ve never done that. But most people seem taken aback at how well I can read them.”

“Okay, do me.”

Nyrriana shot her a dirty look. At least she hoped it was a dirty look. “You make it sound like a parlor trick.”

“Come on, I wanna see this in action.”

“I’m not a circus attraction--”

“Well, if you can’t, then...”

“You’re wondering if what I’ve told you is true or just the beginning of a weird joke, you’re also trying to figure out how to take advantage of it, specifically wondering if I can help you get more men into bed, you're frightened senseless that a blind woman has been flying you around without readouts, paranoid that I might know some of your past secrets, ...and there are a few dark places that I'm sure I don't want to know about because they’re none of my business and everybody has some...although not usually that dark.”

Kaliyo just stopped and stared dumbly. At least, that’s how Cipher Nine, the renowned and infamous Miraluka sniper and agent of Imperial Intelligence, interpreted the silence, the complete freeze and bright, 'jangly' look of her aura, the other woman’s face being pointed toward her... “Oh, come on...half of that is just because I know you so well.” She cast her perceptions around the room, searching for another example to lighten things up when she realized that she’d let her guard down enough to miss a lot of attention their way.

“Damn. I’m a bleeding idiot. Kaliyo! Snap out of it. At my 12, 3, and 7...a team here for us.”

“What? Seven...behind you? You didn’t even turn around, how could you--?”

“Not now. I’ll explain later, because he’s the most dangerous, and I’m going to headshot him while you throw the table at Mister Three and drop Mister Twelve with a couple shots to the chest.”

“Right. Alley oop!” The table went flying and a split-second later, three shots rang out and the bar started to clear. This was much more fun than serious talk.

Kinka wandered around Kaas City in a daze, still not quite believing he was really gone. She had set out in search of a place to read her father’s letter in relative solitude, but Dromund Kaas had no quiet, poignant overlooks, and it was beginning to rain; the Nexus Room cantina would have to suffice. At least it was dry. Kinka slid into a private booth in the back and stared at the letter for a few minutes. She wasn’t quite ready to read the last words her father would ever have for her. After that, he’s gone, she thought.

But once her hands ceased their trembling, she carefully opened the letter. She smiled at the formality of it. “From the Desk of General Malavai Quinn.” Letterhead perfectly typed, paper immaculately crisp. So very dad, Kinka thought. She took note of the date, just shy of six months ago, and set her eyes on the fancy script.

Kinka,

I wanted to have this conversation with you face to face some day, but I don’t know when we will meet again. Your work takes you across the galaxy, and I am not getting any younger. At the end of my life I realize that there are things I need to make right, though the task appears all but impossible.

I am a man with many regrets. I will not burden you with the full list; this one admission will be enough. What you’re about to read will not be easy for you, as I know you have held me in high regard over the years. And while I have cherished your affection, I know that it is undeserved. You were never supposed to know what I’m going to tell you, Kinka. I promised your mother long ago, though it was for my benefit just as much as hers that I agreed to keep silent. But now, to my shame, I betray your mother’s trust one last time.

When I met your mother years ago on Balmorra, she was the most vivacious, challenging woman I’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. I was simultaneously terrified and in awe of her. She paid me more attention than I’d ever had from a woman, and certainly more than I deserved. I was equally smitten but too single-minded to return her affections. I waited a very long time to act, and by then things had been set in motion that I could not change.

Your mother only became the cold, distant woman you know because of me. I destroyed everything that was wonderful about her. Being Sith, she excelled in cruelty, and it was exquisitely exciting to watch her work. The exception was with the five of us closest to her, the members of her crew. To us she was kind, dedicated, soft even. And I exploited that weakness for my own gain.

Early in her career she was betrayed by her master, and I helped facilitate his treachery. Worst of all, I carried out my attempt on her life while — unbeknownst to me at the time — she was pregnant with you and your sister. It is a shame I carry to my grave, and one that I was unfortunately never able to atone for. We continued our marriage for the sake of you and Vekkz but also to save face. She wanted no one to know that she’d been weak enough to be betrayed, and by me of all people.

The incident changed your mother wholly. When you were born, I thought she might come back to us, remember what it was like to love something so completely. Instead, she gradually began to change, the cruelty from her professional life seeping into her personal one. One by one, the crew left her, unable to deal with her increasing instability and surly outbursts. As you and Vekkz grew, she still was unable to remember who she was.

I destroyed her capacity for love and trust out of misplaced loyalty to a man who would have cut me down without breaking a sweat the minute I ceased to be useful. I implore you not to make that mistake in your own life. As I told you the day you left for Hutta, the mission is not always paramount. Now you know why I say this.

My advice will probably mean very little to you now, and that’s as I have expected. But I wanted you to know why your mother could not show you the love you deserved. It’s not her fault or yours, it’s mine. I tell you these things now so that you might hurt a little less at my passing, and so you can understand how your mother became the woman she is now.

Think well of her, Kinka.

Love always,

Dad

Kinka cradled her head in her trembling hands and sobbed alone in the back of the cantina. All around her, dozens of revelers went on with their lives, paying no attention to the woman falling apart over a single piece of paper.

"It's good, honest!" Jaci smiled and shrugged. She had had her fair share of run-ins with street food, but this was a genuine won't-get-you-killed stall, and the food actually had taste to it beyond burnt grease. "You need to eat it with your fingers."

The Imperial looked down at her - her shoulder came up to his elbow, after all - and grimaced slightly (but then all Imperials grimaced slightly when they looked at her.) He might have been out of uniform, but the man still had the straight-backed, oppress everything look about him.

"What, exactly, is this, again?" He might have spoken with a hushed voice, but his accent was still clear. A few passersby glanced over. Jaci made sure to fiddle with her gun and the gawkers quickly moved on.

"You said you wanted traditional food and this -" she waved at the bag in the man's hand, which was slowly turning see-through, despite the paper being nearly as thick as her jacket. "- is as traditional as it gets."

He frowned at her and then at the bag.

"I specifically stated traditional Mirial- are those fingers?" He put the bag back on the counter in disgust. It squelched and slumped into a warm, greasy heap.

"What's wrong, Thorpey, too good for fingers?" Jaci picked up one of the questionable lumps and popped it into her mouth. It tasted as good as she remembered. "You look a little green," She chuckled and wiped the sauce from her chin. "Relax, they're not real fingers, just made to look like 'em. Finger food, you know?"

Rochester rubbed his brow and sighed.

"Where I come from, 'finger food' does not mean 'food made from fingers'," Jaci laughed, the poor Imperial was starting to seem just a little stressed. "It means 'food eaten with fingers."

"Yeah, same here. Eat." She shoved one of the pieces of meat at Rochester's face. It squashed up against his lips, before falling into his lap. He simply glared at her.

"Mirialan food, now."

Jaci threw her hands up in defeat.

"Alright, alright, I'll see what I can do," She grabbed the grease bag and started to walk off. "Don't see why you're so interested in alien food anyway. Aren't they all beneath you Imp types?"

She heard a grunt of displeasure as Rochester caught up. They were pushing through the crowd and he was staying very close. Well, he had a right to be nervous.

"Not all of them, not all the time," Jaci rolled her eye and continued eating. Typical response. "He's different."

"Oh, is he smarter than your average slave? Does he cower at the right time and call you 'master'?" She elbowed aside a Houk three times her size, ignoring his vehement swearing. Rochester did not seem too happy either.

"How dare you suggest something like that?! That's so far from the truth, that... that-"

"That what, you're going to tell me how much an alien lover you really are? How absolutely terrible slavery is and how you wouldn't dream of ever being a slaver yourself? Oh! How about that you've never benefitted from slavery and you've had to work for everything you have?" She scooped a few more pieces of meat into her mouth and swallowed them hastily. "You'll understand if I don't believe you."

"I don't have to explain myself to you." His words were crisp and deliberately toneless. Jaci had hit a nerve.

"Nah, you don't," She threw one of the pieces of meat in the air, aiming to catch it in her mouth. The crowd jostled her and it fell to the floor, quickly disappearing underfoot. "You pay me and I take the credits."

Jaci reached behind and grabbed Rochester's hand. It was easier just to pull him through the crowd now. They dodged and weaved, eventually taking a side street away from the bulk of people. Little shops with darkened windows lined each side, some with boxes stacked outside, showing off a vast array fruit, vegetables and meat. Jaci tossed aside the empty wrapper.

"It's down here somewhere," She waved at the various shop fronts. "Probably."

Rochester nodded and walked past her, glancing at the shops on either side of the street. Not seeing what he thought he wanted, he moved on. About mid-way down, a rather resplendent looking shop, decorated with geometric designs, caught his eye. He pointed at it and looked inquisitively at Jaci. She, rather helpfully, shrugged.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Inside the air smelt of sweet spices and fresh, crisp herbs. Little hydroponics filled the store, growing all manner of leaf and flowering plants. A wizened Mirialan woman stood behind the counter. She eyed Rochester suspiciously and kept her hands from view.

"Something I can help you with, metal-boy?" She spoke with deliberate care and Rochester knew she was only trying to hide her disgust as it might lose her a sale. Her tattooed brow creased even more into a frown as Rochester produced a small dataslide.

"I have a list," He prodded it a few times, speaking over the small beeps. "I need ten moon spices. I have the recipe here, if that helps..."

"That," The shop keep snatched at the dataslide with surprising fury. "Is for men to make for their brides, it is not for funerals."

Jaci raised an eyebrow. This was certainly not what she had expected. An Imperial officer, of the great and feared anti-alien Empire, being shoved around and berated by an old woman? Rochester's shoulders were raised and his stiff posture changed - still stiff, but defensively so.

"It is for a wedding." He stressed the words, coming across more and more like a petulant teenager.

"Not yours, surely." The woman turned her back on him, moving toward a collection of little cupboards and drawers.

"I..." Rochester sighed and set his jaw. "My master is a very busy man. He requested that I acquire the spices on his behalf. They are for his wife-to-be..." Something in his voice became a little strained. Jaci noticed it, but the old woman did not. "They are getting married soon. It's a very traditional ceremony, all things considered."

The old woman beamed at this, her entire demeanour changing in an instant. She hummed a little ditty and started to weigh and bag the spices. Rochester's dataslide was returned to him - the woman had done so many weddings, she said, that everything was committed to memory. She asked about the dress and robes that would be worn, what time of day the wedding would be, what time of year (because they do not always happen in spring, with so many no longer on Mirial) and Rochester responded as best he could. Teena forgave his lack of knowledge of Mirialan culture, but only with backhanded compliments about his 'being human' or 'not being all there, anyway'.

"What about the tea, hmm? There must be tea at the ceremony," She moved to one of the hydroponics, where a small flowering herb was growing. "This is thymus sambac, but its common name is 'Pink Blessing'. It is perfect for the dessert ceremony and your master's guests will love it - a delicate, scented taste and smooth texture, with a full body and high notes of floral sweetness. All of my daughters and my foremothers drunk it with their Ten Moon croquembroche and it is said that the petals will bring a lasting happiness to all who drink of them."

Rochester nodded, his grave look being completely ignored now by Teena as she prepared the herb for transport.

"Do you..." Rochester rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Do you have any recommendations on how best to prepare the tea, ma'am?"

Teena dithered on about how long to steep the flowers, how the stamen could affect the flavour and make it bitter if left too long, how to arrange extra petals in the cup for the bride. On and on: the tiniest details to turn a simple cup of tea into a great work of art. Jaci sighed and sniffed at the different herbs. They all just smelt like plants to her.

At last, Rochester was given a small tower of boxes and a long list of things to do with each. He bowed to Teena, who tutted disapprovingly.

"Well, I do hope your Master and his Wife have a lovely day," Teena said as she took Rochester's credits, careful not to touch him. "And do be sure to remind that having, hrm... people like yourself present on such an occasion can bring the most dreadful bad luck."

Rochester's mood blackened and he looked about ready to snap. Instead, he stormed from the shop with Jaci in tow, leaving behind a very bewildered Teena and nearly knocking over another man on his way out.

The trip back to the spaceport went smoothly enough, though Jaci did take the precaution not to question Rochester on anything. He certainly did not seem in a very forthcoming mood. He shoved some credits into her hand as they boarded her ship, Chryslinne, and disappeared into the guest quarters. There were some muffled shouts and the sound of something being broken. Jaci pocketed the credits and hoped it was nothing serious. Even if it was, it wasn't her job to care, she was just taking the money to fly the guy around.

To a neutral planet, to find some stupid spice and stuff for some guy's wedding. So, Jaci thought, the Officer's in love with some Sith - not slave - who's getting married to some random woman. Tough.

She angled Chryslinne towards the stars and leant back in her chair. Maybe when he calmed down, she would give him some advice about unrequited love. Or maybe not.

Thymus sambac is a horrible Latin mash-up of Thyme and Jasmine. I've not read anything about Mirialan food, so I thought of guessed they would have spiced foods, but not hot-spicy, more like flavourful spicy that has different levels of taste, if that makes any sense. And not curries either. In my mind traditional Kaasian food is jungle curries - slightly moist, almost Thai-esque curries done with a lot of fruit and vegetables and not a lot of meat, because the meat creatures are freaking scary on Dromund Kaas.

And, of course, croquembrouche, because nothing says "fancy alien food" like French pastry.

...unless I get lazy and/or forget, both of which are likely.

Nyr and 'liyo, sitting in a tree...K-I-S-S-...

I mean seriously...let's face it...is there another companion in the game that just SCREAMS "bi" more than Kaliyo?

0 ATC - 11 years before the confirmation of the Wrath

My dearest Dolarra,

At last, a quiet moment. It is raining hard and I'm thinking of you.

You'd be glad to know that Ruth is thriving. She's still bright, inquisitive, irrepressibly happy. Like you, she prefers exercise and action over book studies. She does her lightsaber forms with more enthusiasm than finesse, but she is advancing rapidly all the same.

When I see her practice I can't help but think of the future. I never took back any ambition of being the Sith to change the Sith after I gave it up as a teenager. I am an ordinary man from an ordinary line. Ruth is in another class entirely.

She is strong, 'Lara. She must get that from you. She will be a Force wielder such as Korriban only sees once in a lifetime. I'll have to prepare her to handle it. Would I like to see her use her talents to spearhead reform as soon as she's able? Honestly, someday, yes, I would. But that isn't my decision to make. I can only encourage her in her training, and try to teach her to live well and act with love alongside the caution she'll need. Where her career will take her, and how she will navigate the paths of power that the mere possession of power will force her onto, is something I cannot yet predict. Perhaps I should have worked harder, learned more, scouted the way, before we brought her into the world. Or perhaps I would feel unprepared no matter what.

I am ordinary, thirty-five, walking a knife's edge of my own, and now I find myself facing a power that promises to surpass anything I've ever met. Our little girl. What guidance can I possibly give that would keep her world safe? I can love her, and I can teach her the warnings. Will it be enough?

You never doubted either of us for a moment, dearest. I know you would be proud of our daughter. And, it may sound foolish after these years, but I try to conduct myself in a way that would make you proud of me as a father. Neither Ruth nor I would be here without you.

Ever yours,

Colran

Dolarra was not a Force user; saying Ruth got her power from her mother's side is a figurative statement/compliment.

Colran died on the night before the transponder station incident - in RMC canon, Colran hunted Draahg 2.0 down immediately after 2.0 came online, but was unable to defeat him. Thus Ruth's fall began the day (within 24 hours) her father died.

Night fell on the clearing, and Jasin stepped in through the cave. He smiled to himself, memory taking him back to his days as the Padawan of Orgus Din, when he'd been sent here to battle Flesh Raiders and found one who could use the Force. He'd killed it, and four others. It was also the first time he'd seen Kira outside the Jedi Council chambers. Her blue ceremonial robes, the one she'd complained about so vehemently later, had made her all the more beautiful then, clinging to her through the sweat of combat that also matted her red-brown hair to her forehead.

Now, that was a distant memory. Taking another step forward, Jasin lowered his hood down, letting the cool wind blow over his face and through his long hair. A gentle smile crossed Jasin's face. He clenched his fists quietly and took another step.

Clad in dark-gray and bronze robes and armor, Jasin looked nothing so much as the hero Revan he intentionally represented. He pulled his lightsaber from his belt, extending his arm to full length out in front of him, holding the hilt straight in the air. And he ignited the blade.

Blue-cyan white poured across the field, bathing Jasin in its light. He lowered his arm to his side, keeping the blade ignited. He stepped forward up to the monument when he'd fought the Flesh Raider. He knelt, turned his lightsaber blade diagonally, and closed his eyes.

"Thank you, Orgus," he whispered.

A quiet voice startled him. "You come here to honor your fallen."

Not allowing surprise–or any other emotion–to show, Jasin slowly stood, letting his robes fall into place. He didn't turn until he had deactivated his lightsaber, clipped it to his belt, and pulled the hood back over his head. Then he faced the speaker.

"Scourge," he said. "Yes. I do."

"You surprise me," Scourge said.

"Why?"

"Because," Scourge said. "Your code teaches detachment, the allowance of a fallen loved one to pass on."

"I allow Orgus to pass," Jasin replied. "I only thank him for his help."

"From beyond the grave."

"Believe it or not," Jasin whispered, "Jedi can retain their physical form after death."

Scourge raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then why can the Sith not?"

"Because only through the use of the light side may a Jedi retain their consciousness in this world after death."

Scourge scoffed. "Oh?"

Jasin nodded, then, not allowing for argument, he left the clearing. Scourge took a moment more before leaving. Then, when he was sure Jasin had disappeared from sight–and hearing–he glared up at the stars.

"Well, then," he muttered, "may the dark side take the Emperor."

Darth Nox–Tran'thar–stared in the mirror, at his pallid white face and red-orange eyes, the lekku running down his back discolored with veins nearly pulsing out of them, and shuddered slightly. Far gone was the handsome young tattooed Twi'lek he'd been as an apprentice, the young, light blue-skinned and blue-eyed man who had drawn the desirous gazes of many females of all species, even the haughty Sith Purebloods. Now he was a sick waste at all of twenty-nine.

But there were ways of fixing that.

Reaching out with the Force, he used a bit of Sith power that Zash had indirectly taught him after her "death," and masked his hideous appearance. His skin was no longer pasty white; it once again resumed its light blue luster; slowly, his eyes turned from red to orange to yellow to vivid blue. His teeth, nearly rotted, became pure white, and his lekku firm and unmarred.

Turning, he walked out of his room. Ashara was in her private quarters, and Nox smiled as he saw that she had just finished a shower. Clad only in her underclothes, she stood in the center of the floor, practicing her lightsaber skills, skin gloriously beaded with water left over from the shower, her scantily clad body moving in the lithe manner of her species. He grinned lasciviously and watched her wondrous form move, licking his lips.

"Bravo," he whispered.

She yipped out a little cry and leapt back, reaching desperately for the bathrobe hanging beside her bed. He grinned and used the Force to yank it across the room into his grip. Then he threw it out into the hallway. The blue stripes on her montrals flushed darker, a sign of embarrassment.

"Stand straight," he ordered.

She did so. He grinned and circled around her, admiring the form he'd never seen out of robes or combat armor. Yes, she was a delightful specimen. Reaching down, he caressed her bare side.

"Beautiful," he said dreamily.

"M-my lord," she breathed in a high-pitched voice. "I...this is not right. Please...allow me to dress myself."

"Oh, not at all," he said.

He pulled her to him, kissed her hard on the lips. She hesitated, then kissed him back fully, pressing her almost-naked body against his robed chest. After a moment he gently pushed her away.

"My lord..." she said.

"It is all right," he said. "I can wait."

The he turned and left her room. As he glanced in the mirror, he realized his mask had slipped. He had rarely felt such desire, even seeing females in far smaller outfits dancing in cantinas, females of his own species, he had never felt such a way. Shaking his head, he wondered if he did, in fact, love her.

Yes, Darth Nox is a repulsive man. Not everyone can have redemptive qualities, though he is the only one of my PCs that I (intentionally) did not give (m)any.

Quinn had the morning routine down: two-minute shower, towel off, shave in another minute, blast his hair with thirty seconds' heat drying, comb, dress, out.

Nalenne waited outside the refresher, arms folded across her chest. Her head was bald, her brows hairless, her face smooth but for its bone ridges.

"You take forever primping in there," she informed him.

I ran into Jorgan in the hallway to the refresher. After we backed away to our respective walls he shot me a funny look.

"What?" I said.

The Cathar snorted. "Just noticing. When's the last time you shaved, Major?"

A couple of days, probably; things had been hectic. I ran a hand along my jaw; yeah, definitely past due. Still. "You're one to talk."

Elara sat at the vanity in our quarters, coiling the gold waves of her hair into the bun she always kept it in. The finishing was done with a lot of pins and some kind of gooey stuff. I watched her and her reflection and admired the locks that managed to escape her hands to fall free for a moment here and there.

She caught my eye in the mirror. "Vierce? There's something on your mind."

"I was just thinking about undoing all your hard work."

"We have a day to get through first, sir," she said primly.

"Sure. I just like to have something to look forward to."

She paused her work for a second and smiled. "I suppose that makes two of us."

The Cathar was thankful that, at last, he had the crew showers to himself. Concentrate, he told himself. This is important. He turned the sonic waves on, wishing once again for a nice, hot water shower, and closed his eyes. I have to remember to do everything right, he thought. Get every detail perfect. He stood there, and the thought of what he was about to do made his stomach drop to his toes. No! he thought, this is going to go exactly to plan! He’d spent days, if he were honest with himself he’d say weeks, planning this.

He finished his shower, slung a towel over his hips, and went to the mirror above the small sinks. Letting the water heat, he examined his face, the scars telling a story of his life. He carefully washed his face, the hot water soothing and calming him. When he was done, he used his finely tuned clippers to trim the fur on his ears and around his face. Hmm, when did that gray get there, he mused, wondering now how much was on his body. No time to worry about that now, anyway. Concentrate. He brushed his teeth, smoothed the fur on his head, and scooted across the hall to dress.

Once he’d put on the carefully selected, neatly pressed clothing he’d prepared days before, he turned to examine himself in the mirror of his locker. Not too bad, he thought, and sat to lace up his boots. Concentrate. She’ll be dressed casually enough, he told himself, this should be fine. Almost time, he noticed, and once again his stomach dropped.

Aric Jorgan stood, patted the inside pocket of the loose, casual jacket he wore for the small box that held the ring, and started across the crew lounge toward Maura, and into his future.

Sometimes, I like to relish the knowledge that I am the most powerful being in the universe.

There is no force in the galaxy that can stop me. I am as powerful as gravity. Attempting to resist me would be like fighting against that ultimate force of nature. And I am glorious in my power. All those who look upon me tremble—some in fear, others with desire, for I am as lovely as I am strong.

I have my charms, or so I have been told. I’ve seen many who have imitated me, attempted to cultivate my grace and power for their own. They will never be like me, however. They will never reach this ultimate state of perfect supremacy.

One tries to stand against me. He is a fool, and should know better. But he persists, stubborn, despite years of experience telling him that he has no chance whatsoever. I wonder if the day will ever come when he submits. A day when he will finally surrender, and acknowledge that I cannot be held back.

I am the cowlick of Malavai Quinn. Look upon me, ye mighty, and despair.