I leaned back against the high-backed chair, one bare red hand on the desk in front of me. I couldn't help but let traces of a smile cross my lips as I stared down Darth Alyssum, the man who stood across from me trying to hide his fear. But I could smell it on him, and I liked it. I didn't even deign to stand up; he didn't deserve any respect from me. I just idly played with the datapad on my desk and watched him out of the corner of my eye.

I knew he was thinking about all the rumors about me. The Twi'lek on the Dark Council? Her master was deranged, and she's deranged too. Drunk all the time. Married to some pirate. She's insane. What I liked most about these rumors was that they were all more or less true. I hoped they were frightening the Darth, though I expected he already had some idea what this was about.

"Vriska Alyssum is dead," I said.

He said nothing, gave no hint of surprise or sadness. I continued.

"Your wife was killed in an explosion on Corellia. She gave her life in service of the Empire, and you should be honored by that. Though of course, she is a terrible loss to us all."

He stood there, still, his hard eyes looking at me. The rhythmic thunk - thunk of the datapad as I played with it was the only sound in the room.

I looked up at him. I knew why he couldn't look at me. It was because we remembered each other, from my old life. When I was a courtesan in Kaas City, he had come to me more than once and paid for my company. He delighted in using me and in making me feel worthless. I was a courtesan, trained to discard such debasements, but I swore I'd remember them.

"She's not dead."

I cocked my head to the side a little, amused. "Is that what you think?"

"You got her out of Imperial space. You stole her from me." Alyssum's gaze was steely and sure, but I knew he must realize how dangerous it was to challenge a member of the Dark Council.

"I stole her? Was she your property?"

"She was my wife. Is my wife, wherever she is."

"Hmm," I said, tapping my fingers on the stone desktop. "Somehow I'm quite sure you'll get over it."

My eyes met his. Was he remembering me in chains, forced to cater to his whims? I certainly was.

"Do you want to know why I did it?" I asked him.

He didn't answer. I slapped the datapad I'd been playing with down on the desk with a loud thwack. The words on it were bold and clear: Application for Installment of Castellan Restraints - Alyssum, Vriska.

"You recognize this, don't you? You submitted it to the Council shortly before your wife joined Intelligence. Unfortunately, I was unable to stop them from approving it. They would have given you total control over your wife; she would have killed herself if you told her to. They were installed as you requested, but I made sure you never got a chance to go near her when she had them." Now I was smiling triumphantly at him, his image wavering before my eyes. I wanted to laugh at him, he was so pitiful at having lost his little toy.

"I engineered everything that happened to Vriska," I said, my voice ringing with unbridled joy. I was probably drunker than I should be at this point of the day, but what did it matter? This was a moment to remember. "I put that woman through hell and I drug her back out. You could never imagine what she's been through. But it's worth it, it's all worth it, because you, Alyssum -" And I pointed one long red finger at him and laughed, "- will never see her or touch her again!"

He disguised it well, but I could feel his anger. I loved it. It was the perfect revenge for a man who used women, to be cut down like this by two of them.

"Vriska is gone. You will never find her and you will never, ever come close to her again. There's no more Vriska Alyssum. Just some woman, somewhere, finally free of your tyranny." I leaned back in my chair again, my hands folded under my chin like I was anticipating something wonderful. "I suggest you go back to your manor and cease attempting to use the Dark Council for your personal machinations."

He turned to leave, unashamed - just angry. I needed to drive in the final nail. "Alyssum, one more thing."

He looked back at me.

"Your apprentice, the tall blonde girl. What's her name again?"

He forced out her name through gritted teeth. "My niece Latula, my lord."

"Mm. Latula," I said. "She's next."

He looked at me for a long moment, as though considering what to do or say. "I have people watching her. Make one move to harm her and you'll be dead before you know it. Do you understand?"

He bent his head, and I could see how he had to force himself to do it. I took such pleasure in it. I watched him leave, and as he shut the door I thought I would never stop smiling.

I'm not saying my big brother is better than me at everything, because he isn't. He's terrible with women and with letting go of things. And with anger management. And he keeps loaning me credits. I'll pay him back someday, but everybody agrees he's still an idiot to do it.

I know, he's the shining commander of Havoc Squad. He's good at it, too. All do-goodery. I know he's taller, tougher, better-looking, at least prior to the incident involving a fit of angst and an Imperial explosives shipment. Maybe people trust him more. Maybe he's the one who earns respect. Maybe he can do the tough-guy hard decisions.

But I can at least rest knowing that I'm better at bumper ball.

The arcade downtown, and later the resistance base outside town too, had a rotating inventory of bumper ball machines. We would spend our whole allowances side by side, slamming buttons, then switching off. Vierce would always methodically study each one, playing over and over to map the tricks and rewards. Then I would step in and whip him. Hey, even before I got the cybernetics in, machines loved me.

Fast forward. Vierce called me out of the blue a little ways after he joined Havoc Squad. And the first words out of his mouth were "Seven hundred and sixteen million on Mynock Patrol."

"Like hell," I said. Mynock Patrol was just about the hardest machine we ever had. It was dark, disorienting, with this voiceover in which comic-book caped crusader Mynock kept calling creepy cryptic crap. Vierce was terrible at it.

"I saved the high score," he said, waving a datacard.

"You sliced it."

"No, sir. You're the slicer. I earned this one."

"Where did you find another arcade with Mynock Patrol?"

"Little place by the Senate Building here on Coruscant."

"I'm going. And I'm blowing your initials off that high-score list."

He laughed a bit, then looked off holo. "Blast. I have to run, Kirsk." Then, with one of his ultra-rare wide smiles, heavy on the smugness this time, "Just remember who beat you."

The second he vanished I went for the bridge and changed course: to Coruscant.

Because if Vierce held the high score at bumper ball, my entire childhood was a lie.

"Remember Denova Prime?" asked Nic.

"No," said Kelissa.

"Neither do I. Must've been great. – I do like that you're entirely guilt-less here."

"The word is shameless. I like that about you, too."

"How's about we go for some adventure tonight?"

"Is it adventure if we're too messed up to remember it later?"

"…hrm. Maybe less sauce this time?"

"Ha! We'll see, babe. Either we remember the good times or we can assume afterwards that good times were had."

"Hm," said Wynston, scanning the big screen in the Aegis control room. "We've got some subtle political manipulation to do on Jestik VIII. We've been there before, remember?"

"Quite clearly," said Quinn. "It's where I was captured and slated for ritual sacrifice by the Emperor's cultists."

"That's the one. It's a pity they failed. Remember Ruth barreling into the middle of the whole congregation to drag you out?"

"Yes. It was a touching gesture, but given the odds, I must say it was the most foolish thing she ever did."

"It really was." Wynston touched his chin thoughtfully. "Except for when she started live-lightsaber lessons with Rylon right after he turned six. I think that may have been dumber."

"She what?"

Wynston's eyes widened. "…Did they not mention that? Forget I said anything."

Rylon, who had been reading nearby, cleared his throat. "It was great, Dad. To this day, going through basic forms brings me right back to her."

"She handed you a live lightsaber when you were six? She was courting dismemberment!"

"It wouldn't be the first time," said Wynston. "She did actively taunt that Killik queen into cutting her liver in half."

"She did," Quinn conceded, and smiled thoughtfully. "Any time I think I'm going into poor odds, I need only remember how fearless she was."

"And she did love the challenge of the good fight," said Wynston. "Any time I think I'm going into an especially ill-advised plan I think, I bet she would've loved this."

"She didn't love ill-advised plans."

"She listened to you, didn't she?"

"The Killik was your idea, agent."

Rylon, apprehensively eyeing Quinn's scowl, spoke up. "Bad plans or not, Mom could handle it."

Quinn nodded curtly. "She could. Nevertheless, handing six-year-old you a live lightsaber was idiotic."

Rylon smiled. "It was Mom."

"Ruthie?"

"Hm?"

"I've...never really asked. Do you remember much about your mother?"

Ruth looked up from the couch. "Some. Flashes." She thought about it. "I remember one day in particular, the sky was brighter than usual, the rain was lighter than usual. We were out on the veranda. She was in the hover chair just holding me, and rocking, and singing. It was perfect." A slow smile lit up her face. "And then you came out with cookies. Which made it an even more perfect day."

"We had a lot of those when the three of us were together."

Ruth got up and went to hug her father. "I wish we'd had more."

"Me too."

She held him for a little while. Then she smiled impishly. "All this affection. We're very bad Sith, aren't we."

"Who loved and were loved by a very bad assassin, by that measure." He squeezed her tighter. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Things I really wanted to get out of the way:

- He's had a love life, dammit.

Things I knew:

- I've had the image of his mother telling him he doesn't have to die for some time. I knew he was a young adult in that moment. I didn't know what event would've prompted him into an action reckless enough for her to say that.

- I knew, and I've always known, that I had to explain his scarring.

- I knew that he has dated women, and that most of them were blonde, and that all of them were, to his mind, transcendently beautiful. Well, he wouldn't use the word "transcendently" because that's not in his regular vocabulary. But the idea was there.

Things that came out as I was writing:

- His mother's thoughts. I think the influences that brought her to Vierce's bedside just then to say just that fit, so I'm keeping them.

- Kirsk had to be out of the way to maximize his mother's distress for this occasion. He's a flake, so, haring off without a word at 17? Easy, done.

- Illyris as a motivator and focus for these assorted ideas.

Fire, pain, anger not her own, darkness, then nothing, then light, cold, dull aches, and weightlessness. Hurt bad, naked in a kolto tank. Remi’s fuzzy mind provided the answer.

They were still on Corellia, she remembered bits and pieces of the fight. Black Hole sector, radiation that weakened their armor, a giant droid spotted them at exactly the wrong time. Scourge was down, she charged it and lured it away. A metal limb pierced her armor just as she lanced its central processor with her saber. The last thing she remembered was catching fire when the droid overloaded and electrocuted her.

She opened her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the liquid. Red eyes stared back at her. Scourge is alive, good. Her hand drifted to her hip, Not entirely naked, good. She closed her eyes and slipped into dreams.

“Everything slow, push firmly but gently, patience will bring you what force will not.” Master Xin coaxed Remi out of bed. She had learned focus through training, and restraint through experience, but patience, patience was proving elusive. She swung her legs off the bed and attempted to stand, just as he knew she would, and just as the doctors warned, she fell immediately. He caught her and held her up.

“Ow.” She said through clenched teeth. He sensed more frustration than pain.

“Was that slow?” he admonished gently. “For you perhaps, let’s try slow for other people first.” He held her up as regrown muscles flexed and cramped. Kolto did wonders, but muscle memory was stored in the nerves and new nerves must be retrained.

“They won’t do what I say.” She looked down at her feet. They curled limply beneath her not bearing her weight at all.

“Here, sit.” He helped her back to the bed. He picked up her foot and pinched her big toe. “You cannot just expect your legs to just do what you tell them right now, they are your legs but they are new, strangers to you. You must learn them, make friends with them, and then you can trust them to carry you anywhere. Now, everything slow, wiggle your big toe.”

Remi drifted back to consciousness, she wiggled her big toe smiling a little behind her mask. Her fingers flexed experimentally, she rolled her shoulders and felt a twinge on her left side, she made note of it. On she went, testing herself with small movements making note of the places she still hurt. Satisfied that she would be fine, she let herself drift and dreamed of a little girl whose master taught her how to walk again.

“The left and the right, they do not work together well.” Master Xin observed her limp. “They have not known each other long, one wants big steps, the other little steps, but they both suffer for not working together. You must guide, exact steps, tell each exactly what you want, they will do this for you, soon working together for your benefit will be second nature, all will be harmony.”

She woke up in a narrow cot at the medical center clean and dressed in her own robes. An attendant brought her water and some ration bars. She forced herself to eat and drink to replenish the weight she lost from healing. She moved slowly testing out her new parts and exited the medical center. The tent was kept dim but outside it was daylight, bright and sunny. As she headed to the rail station, Kira darted to her right and a shadow fell in on her left.

“How do you feel?” Kira asked anxiously.

“Like I was skewered, electrocuted, and set on fire. It’s ok though, no one liked my old skin anyway.” Remi grinned at the near identical scowls on her companion’s faces. “Were you two waiting outside the tent all this time?”

“No,” Kira answered quickly, “We took shifts.” Remi raised an eyebrow finding it odd that Kira would take the same shift as Scourge, she was probably keeping an eye on him as well.

“I see,” acknowledging statements said and unsaid. They continued to the spaceport in silence. She sent her full report to the Council after they left orbit and received new orders immediately, a diplomatic mission in the Sullust system. If everything went according to plan, the mission should be safe and she would not have any reason to fight, but she had little faith in things going according to plan.

She stretched out in the cargo bay and went through some basic exercises, her left side was weak and stiff, the practice droid scored on her at half the usual setting. She turned at a noise behind her.

“You are weak.” Lord Scourge said from the doorway.

Kira glared at him but agreed. “You need time to recover, we should tell the Council you can’t go.”

Remi studied them both, “True,” she grinned crookedly, “all of it, but someone has to go. The mission is important and needs a Jedi. You should go.” She said looking Kira in the eyes.

“Me.” She squeaked she had done a few missions on her own but none of the diplomatic kind.

“Yes, you’re ready, you’re able and I’m not. We’ll go to Coruscant and get you a transport to Sullust, you can take Rusk and Doc. I’ll inform the Council.”

“What about him?”

“You want to take Scourge?”

“No! I can’t leave you alone with him. Not while you’re vulnerable.” She did not seem to care that he was standing there listening.

She thought about laughing but decided against it. She put her hand on her former Padawan’s shoulder. “I can’t do it, you said so yourself, I need your help, and his. You go, show the bureaucrats the Jedi back the Senate.”

“And him?” She jerked her head at the Sith lord.

“He’s going to get me back into fighting shape.” Kira expressed her displeasure but agreed. She gave Scourge what she probably thought was a menacing look. Remi chose not to disillusion her friend.

A few days later, she waved goodbye to most of her crew and retracted the boarding ramp. She trained alone on the way to Kira’s pickup, now she was ready for some sparring practice. Lord Scourge had anticipated her readiness and waited for her in the cargo bay. She selected a training saber wielding it in her left hand and brought it up to guard position. He stood with his arms crossed glaring at her.

“You have been injured before?”

“I almost lost both my legs to frostbite once.” She grinned at her dreams from the kolto tank.

“How?”

“I fell into an icy river rescuing an Akk-pup.”

“You were a fool.”

“I was nine.”

“You are still a fool.”

“It was a very cute Akk-pup,” her eyes danced as he scowled.

“You may think your task is finished but it may not be. Until we can be certain, you cannot take unnecessary risks.”

She shrugged. “I’d take that risk for anyone, especially a friend.”

“I am not your friend. You should not have sacrificed yourself for me.”

“So I should sacrifice my principles instead?” She tilted her head, “I don’t like you that much.” He frowned but said nothing. She took guard position again, “Half speed please.”

A week later, Kira watched the Jedi and the Sith spar. There had been an assassination attempt at the conference that she thwarted easily, but she was glad Remi had not tried to take the mission herself. She worried that Lord Scourge would turn on her friend, and while she was glad he had not, she still felt Remi put too much trust in him. For now at least, that faith had paid off, her former master regained what she lost and displayed none of the weakness she showed a mere week before. Remi ended the bout with a killing strike that she halted inches from the Sith’s neck. She backed away accepting his surrender and turned to Kira.

“I read your reports,” she smiled, “You did wonderfully, the Council is impressed.”

“Great, now they’re going to send me to more boring meetings.” She eyed her friend, “You look like you're back to your old self, I guess he’s still good for something.” Remi only beamed in response. She rolled her eyes, “I still say you shouldn’t trust him. I’ll tell the Council we’re ready for our next mission.” She exchanged a slightly less hostile look with Lord Scourge and headed to the bridge to make her final report to the Council.

Scourge spoke up behind her, “Your former Padawan is right, you should not have trusted me while you were weak. One day that trust will get you killed.”

Remi sighed and turned on her heel to face him. “Fine, but tell me this. How exactly did I get to a medical center?” He scowled and said nothing, stepping forward to take her practice blade and put it away.

She grinned at his back and left him alone. Everything slow, push firmly but gently, patience will bring you what force will not.

Master Xin survived the sacking of Coruscant because I liked him too much.

Also, Kill Bill reference

"I could still help," I insisted.

I was nine years old, seated at table with Mama and Kirsk and Dakkan Isling and his son Rizz.

Mama shushed me. "Asking again won't change it, chief. Mister Isling's word goes in this."

"When you're older, Vierce." Mister Isling had a kindly look to him and a twinkle in his eye. I pretty much hated him at that moment. "Though if all goes well there won't be an occupation for you to fight when you're older."

"Sooner I can get in, more I can do to make that happen." After that I glared down at my vegetables and stabbed them a bit.

Everybody else chattered while we finished up dinner. Well, Rizz didn't, but Rizz never said much anyway.

The Islings got up to leave and Kirsk and I got up to help clear the table. Rizz caught my eye before he headed out and jerked his head to one side. I set aside the dishes and went to him.

"Meet me outside when you're done, huh?" he muttered.

It was the most words I'd ever heard out of him in one stretch. "Sure," I said, and got back to my chores.

The night wind gusted cool when I stepped out; we were coming on to autumn. The little garden out front was heavy with the last of the season's vegetables…the ones I hadn't sullenly chopped into little bits and swallowed at dinner, anyway. Rizz was lounging against the yard wall, almost invisible in the shadows cut from the streetlight beyond.

"What is it?" I asked.

Rizz mashed his smokestick out against the wall, then carelessly dropped the remains in the grass. "You want to help the resistance? There's jobs a quiet kid can do. I can show you around some."

"But your dad just said…"

Rizz shrugged. "You want in or not? There's little things. Scouting mostly. Play it right, some of us cover for you, guys up top won't catch you to stop you."

"I want to fight."

Rizz smiled thinly. I was still small then; he was fifteen, taller than most, long-faced, dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-mooded half the time. He dwarfed me both in body and in presence. "First things first. Can't give you a blaster for keeps but I can teach you to shoot." He cracked his knuckles. "Hand-to-hand stuff, too. It'll come in useful when you're bigger."

"And you'd sneak around our parents to show me all that?"

"Sooner you can get in, more you can help. Had worlds of trouble getting my own foot in the door. I won't make everybody else in this town wait." He pushed off from the wall. "Down past the streamerball fields. After school."

Then he walked off.

I felt around 'til I found the smokestick butt and buried it so Mama wouldn't find it. Then I went back inside feeling lighter than air. Rizz never did talk much, but it seemed that once he got started he opened whole worlds.

Over time I talked him into bringing in the rest of what became the Ridgeside core, our own tight-knit little group that all signed on at once the minute we were allowed to. Dep, Vrenda, Lydian, Eddy, Totten, Rizz, and me – Kirsk played coy around the edges, Flash moved into town later – but Rizz was the oldest, the smartest, the center that kept us all where we needed to be. I'll admit I felt a little off getting admitted to Havoc Squad while he and most of the rest were playing Sergeant Ordinary elsewhere; but when he caught up with me later, and met my eye, and nodded approval, I knew I'd made it.

Dear teenagers: WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF YOU. Ah, well. A few of these have immediate ideas attached to them for when they're older. Non-tragic ideas, even.

Sorry, Elara, it seems I'm too busy to pay attention to you. Or to Vierce's actual job. Or to Jorgan's personal quest, which I still haven't mentioned…blargh. If I could put together a satisfactory account of Vierce's Ord Mantell I would just start spilling a dedicated game-chronology-plus-flashbacks thread.

The lone Sith gracefully sheathed her disengaged sabers and surveyed the damage she caused. Uniformed bodies littered the ground, most of them still smoking from saber burns. The Republic patrol was exterminated. She considered it rather a pity. If the fools hadn't attacked her, they would still be breathing. If the last soldier, just a boy really, had thrown his gun to the floor and asked for mercy, she would have let him go on his merry way with some kolto for his burns. Alas, once his fellows were dead, the boy charged her wildly. It was her life or his, so she killed him. But wasn't that always the case?

Lucerna Nocturne leaned her back against the rough bark of a Tarisian tree as she regained her breath. That was the way of the Sith, wasn't it? Kill or be killed. It was the lesson drilled into her from her mother's teachings. It was the lesson she learned for herself when a crazed escaped slave at the Academy ran in the middle of her combat lesson and started wildly shooting a blaster at her. The overseer could have easily dispatched the slave, but instead he insisted Lucerna prove herself worthy right there, or die. The eleven year old Acolyte ran the slave through with her training saber because she thought there was no other alternative. Now she knew she had another choice.

She could let herself die.

It was a decision to survive that Lucerna made almost every day. It was a decision to kill that plagued her every night. Was her life really worth killing so many? Would the galaxy be better off if she had let the soldier boy kill her?If she had let the slave kill her? If she had let so many in between the two kills end her life and save their own?

It was a question that wouldn't be answered right then as footsteps interrupted her thoughts. A large Nexu, drawn by the sounds of battle, strode into the clearing. Lucerna held her breath tightly. She wasn't afraid of the beast, but she didn't want another life on her hands today. Her efforts were in vain as the Nexu turned and looked right at her. It showed no signs of attacking as it walked up to her, staring at her with intelligent eyes. Lucerna instinctively extended her hand, letting the beast smell it. It got a good whiff of her glove stained with sweat and blood before it turned away and walked to the bodies. Lucerna let herself exhale. Nexu were usually arrogant creatures who had no qualms about killing prey. It took her a moment before realizing why this one didn't attack her.

"We're the same, aren't we?" Lucerna asked, knowing the answer. The predator faced the same decision she made every day. Lucerna knew Nexu stomachs were incapable of digesting plant matter. They had to eat meat, eat the dead, or starve. At the sound of her voice, the Nexu turned back to the Sith.

"Please.. how do you live with being a killer? How can you sleep at night? We're the same, please teach me."

Lucerna internally chided herself for asking such a silly question to a Nexu. However, the beast continued to look at her with understanding eyes. It let out a guttural friendly-sounding noise that Lucerna could never hope to translate. They stood for a while, staring at each other, before the Nexu tore its gaze away and walked back to the freshly-killed soldier boy. As its teeth started to tear off and devour chunks of lightsaber-cooked flesh, Lucerna supposed she had gotten as much of an answer as she was going to ever receive.

"Thank you, teacher." She whispered under her breath before turning around and slinking back into the forest.

He always looked up to his father. The man was the paragon of protocol, perfection and principle. He was an ideal officer and, if need be, an assassin for the further betterment of the Empire. Malavai wanted to be just like his father: dignified, respected, a perfectionist, and, most importantly, loyal to the ever-expanding Empire. It would be years before he reached as high as his father had, but those years would be short and used to hone his craft. He had decided early on to mimic his father as his mother had all, but abandoned him when he was confirmed to be Force-blind.

When he finally left the Estate for early training at the Academy at the age of fifteen he called his father every day to report in and to complain about this teacher or that teacher, this exercise or that exercise, and the complete lack of decorum some of the females in the academy had. Honestly, they were downright provocative, propositioning him as if she were some sort of prostitute and he some form of needy teen, desperate for a little unwinding. He didn’t need any, thank you very much, he wasn’t training to be an Imperial Agent, he had no use for seduction and stop bothering me you trollop!

“Ah,” his father’s holo image chuckled, “the Quinn Curse.”

Malavai crossed his arms and scowled. “What do you mean ‘Quinn Curse’?”

“Ah, well, we have an air of noble tragedy that follows us around. Apparently, women are attracted to that sort of thing. It’s been like this for generations, ever since the Quinn name stopped producing Force sensitive heirs.”

“Then why is Quinn Force sensitive if the Quinn line stopped producing such gifted offspring?” He wasn’t bitter. No, not at all. There was no bitterness in his voice.

“You sound bitter son,” his father remarked.

Damn it.

“It’s alright, I understand,” his father said gently.

“Just tell me how to stop exuding this annoying aura,” Malavai said stiffly.

“Maybe if you stopped pouting,” his father teased.

“I do not pout!” Malavai huffed. “If anything, I brood.”

His father chuckled. Malavai sighed and ran a hand down his unchiseled and unscruffed face. “Honestly, I have no interest in women beyond professionalism.”

His father arched a brow. “Are you trying to tell me something, son?”

Malavai blinked and stared at his father blankly. “I’m focusing on my studies at the moment; I don’t need some harlot hanging on me at all times of the day.”

“Ah,” his father chuckled.

“What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing,” his father said lightly.

Malavai narrowed his eyes. “Anyway,” he said firmly. “I called to let you know I will be home in two weeks’ time. Please, for the love of the Emperor, get your amorous activities out of the way before I return. I’d rather not put a bolt in my skull in an effort to forget the horrors I’ve witnessed.”

His father chuckled again.

“And, for future reference, my preference is for women, not men.”

His father laughed outright.

“I will leave you to your studies, Malavai. Remember what I taught you: respect the instructor…”

“’Even if he’s a blind idiot who should be slapped on the back of the head’,” Malavai recited. “I remember.”

“Good boy. I’ll see you in two weeks. Feel free to call before then.”

“Good day, father.”

All credit for the "air of noble tragedy" belongs to bright_ephemera and her wonderful fic Don't Call Them Ruth-Less

“Soresu is boring.” Remi frowned from behind her guard position. “When do I get to learn Ataru or Shien form?”

“When you learn restraint.” Master Xin could not smile but he tried to put it in his voice. Remi was the only one who ever noticed the difference.

“But how can you win if you only defend?” she parried Master Xin’s basic attacks. He could see her suppressing the desire to change stance.

“Win?” He repeated curiously, “What does winning mean to you?” He pressed forward forcing her to defend a flurry of blows. He found it easiest to converse with her while fighting, otherwise she would not sit still to listen.

“Killing Sith like the ones that attacked us.” She answered guilelessly, he felt no anger from her, she simply repeated what she heard the republic soldiers saying around their training grounds. He shook his head.

“You would kill all the Sith?”

“The ones that attack us.”

“But what if you were on a mission, and you were the one attacking, would you kill everyone?”

She faltered, “Yes? If they…” she considered the idea while trying to defend his next onslaught. “I don’t know, aren’t all Sith bad?”

“No, they are not. We do not even know that most of them are bad. We are at odds with them certainly, and when they attack us, we must protect the innocents we are sworn to defend. No matter what the circumstances, our goal is never to kill.”

“Never?” She was surprised enough to leave her side vulnerable. His practice sword snaked through her guard and tapped her lightly. She frowned with concentration and corrected her stance.

“Never, and if you are forced to kill, you should not feel it is a victory, every death affects the Force, every death is a terrible loss.” He told her the story of past heroes like Revan, who fought with a will not his own, had he been killed in his madness the Republic would have lost one of its greatest champions.

“How do I avoid killing someone who’s trying to kill me?” She asked finally. He had been hoping for just that question.

“Soresu allows you to control the fight. You can tire out your opponent, you can try to reason with them, you can wait for them to make a mistake and disarm them, or you can outlast them until reinforcements arrive and hope they surrender. Soresu gives you options. That is why you learn it now.” He struck to kill intentionally leaving his side open to see if she would take it and end the match.

She grunted as she blocked and turned letting him slide past, but did not take the opening.

“You could have ended the match. Why didn’t you?”

She scowled at him but he could tell her heart was not in it. “I’m going to fight you until you admit that Soresu is boring.”

“A word with you Lord Scourge,” Master Shan called as the man called Aiden Lanic was escorted by Havoc squad to the briefing room. The Sith joined her on the balcony of the senate building overlooking Coruscant. He seemed amused at the recent turn of events. “I am concerned about Malix,” she said quietly, “I wanted to give him a chance to prove himself, but it seems that he is more unstable than I realized. Can he complete this mission?”

“You are asking me?” He asked with what sounded like true surprise. “Why not ask the other Jedi?” Referring to Kira, he saw Master Satele’s expression change ever so slightly to one of disappointment. “So you are not blind,” He bowed acknowledgement, “promising.”

She regained her composure. She did not trust this man who knew too much, whose eyes saw too much, and whose motives were unknown now that the threat he stood against was vanquished. She searched his alien face, he was strong, but he was used to bending to power, she, the Jedi, could use him on this mission. There were questions she must have answered first. “Are you responsible for Malix’s fall?”

“No,” he replied, and she felt the truth of his statement, “I sensed the darkness in his heart the first time I encountered him. Surely you noticed he was not like his fellows?” Her silence was as good as acknowledgement, “I also sensed his strength perhaps that is why you were willing to overlook his darkness.” He suggested staring into her eyes intently.

“I hoped he would overcome it in time.” She answered stiffly.

“How would he do that? What guidance have you given him to your light-sided path? Platitudes do not help a man who must choose between life and death, the weight of death is a burden if it cannot be enjoyed.” He smiled darkly. “He sought comfort in his allies, found pleasure in something other than duty, discovered love, and began to wonder why the Jedi ever warned against it.”

“Love alone is not the problem.” Master Shan replied calmly though inwardly she berated herself. “Strong bonds, pursuit of selfish interests, there are good reasons the Jedi deny these things.”

He scoffed dismissing her standard Jedi response. “The Jedi do not teach what a man should do, only what he should not. If you do not fill the void in a man’s heart, he will fill it with what is close at hand. It is no wonder so many Jedi fall to darkness, it is only chance that more do not.”

Satele frowned his words were persuasive, dangerous. She had been a fool to leave someone as unstable as Malix alone with Lord Scourge, but the Sith was right, Malix needed more than they had provided, they punished him when they should have shown compassion. “After this mission, we will give him time to rest. I will have the healers speak to him.”

“After this mission, the next emergency, a small favor for your Senate, a tiny uprising,” he waved his hand, “it matters little to me, though I find your priorities curious.”

She chafed at the insinuation, but there was little she could do, the current mission could not wait. Neither could any of the others, a voice in her head nagged at her. “Thank you for your time Lord Scourge,” her tone was slightly more stiff than usual as she dismissed him. “I will take your words under advisement.” She turned to the balcony looking out toward the ruins of the Jedi Temple.

Not even a whisper of sound gave away his approach, Scourge spoke softly into her ear. “There is a saying recently among those who study history, and as one who has lived it I agree. Strong Sith are trained by the Overseers but the strongest Sith are trained by the Jedi.”

She turned to face him, she wanted to argue, but she stopped as the truth of his words sunk in. She had studied history of both her family and the Jedi, this Sith who stood too close to her, who looked at her and through her knew it too. His eyes dared her to argue and the amused turn of his lips taunted her, but when she said nothing he inclined his head and walked away. His words and his presence lingered in her mind for quite some time after. She turned back to the balcony, feeling that she should have learned something, only she was not quite certain what.

I was semi-dared to ship them. That's as close as I can get without writing way more. <_< >_>

nope.

"Recite the Jedi code," Lord Vizloch smiled at him, her face was cruel and her eyes were filled with amusement. Broan nodded and looked into his lap. "Don't mumble, Naught, I hate mumbling."

He began anew, but did not apologise.

"There is no emotion, there is peace;

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge;

There is no passion, there is serenity;

There is no death, there is only the Force."

Lord Vizloch was chuckling by the time he finished.

"Very good, Naught," Her voice danced when she spoke; his recitation had genuinely amused her. "Now, what do you know of the Sith code?"

"The Force shall free me." Broan looked into her eyes, holding her gaze. An openly defiant apprentice did not live long under the tutelage of most Sith Lords, but Lord Vizloch considered herself an appropriate juxtaposition of tradition and new thinking. She leant forward on her chair; looking down on the young man knelt on the floor.

"Yes, the Force is the ultimate tool of freedom, but it is useless without proper knowledge and the ability to use it." She moved to stand and found her way blocked by an unmoved student.

"Why do they Sith teach? You are secretive, arrogant, self-centred... why do something as altruistic as teach?"

"You think this is altruism? We want to be immortal, we want to be remembered and feared. What better way than to have doting vessels of our knowledge pouring forth across the galaxy?"

"But your students, your apprentices, when they have the knowledge you've given them... they kill you." Broan frowned, trying to understand why a Sith Lord would be willing to create the very thing that would ultimately destroy them.

"Any apprentice that kills their master because they think they've learnt everything, haven't."

"You keep secrets from your students in an effort to prolong your life."

"Of course! That is what we are: underhanded, callous."

Protective. The word leapt unbidden to Broan's mind and he bit his tongue. Lord Vizloch noticed his hesitation and inclined her head, curious as to what was now running through his head.

"I understand now, my Lord." Broan stood, feeling the muscles in his back twitch. The memories of bowing to former Jedi masters had stayed in his body, long after he had forced it from his mind.

"Excellent," Lord Vizloch ushered him toward the door with a wave of her hand and a slight nudging of force power. "Now let's pop along to the library, you have a lot of reading to do."

Everyone knows that Imperial Intelligence agents are taught all manner of persuasion: violence, blackmail, confidence games, seduction. I often wondered as a physically active young man wandering the streets of Dromund Kaas exactly how you would standardize teaching seduction.

I was looking for a way to expand my skillset, I could talk my way into most places, I could seduce a number of women, I could fight an average person, but I had a feeling that once I faced someone with more experience and wit than the average rube I would look like the kid I really was. The only place that trained force-blinds in the Empire was the Academy, but attending took money or signing your life away, and I couldn’t afford either of those things.

I did manage to sneak into their training facilities as a cadet more than a few times. I did it so often a few people began to think I was a trainee. I suspected at least one of the instructors knew I didn’t belong, but for whatever reason, he didn’t kill or arrest me. Finally, one day he approached me.

“Been watching you,” he said. He was a giant man with an accent that marked him a class below the other instructors.

I remained silent preparing to run, I had seen his classes, fighting would have been pointless.

He laughed when he noticed my flight muscles twitch. “You remind me of my little brother. He just shipped out to his first assignment. He’s a beanpole too, reckon he’ll fill out some eventually.” He laughed again slapping me on the back. I forced myself not to stagger. “Look kid, I know you don’t belong here, but you got talent just getting in, and durasteel ones for even trying. We need that 'round here, more than them data pushers upstairs. So here’s my offer, you’ll be my assistant, an’ you can have access to any class you want to take.”

It was more than fair it was generous. There was no reason for anyone to be generous in the Empire, not to strangers.

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

“You’ll be my assistant.” He said darkly and his entire demeanor changed, suddenly it wasn’t an offer it was a pact.

“Sound like a deal.”

“Good,” his lighter disposition returned, he held out his massive hand, “The names Pierce, not regular military so I don’t got a rank.”

“I don’t have a name.” I said, it wasn’t quite true, I actually had several names but none of them were real. He glared at me a moment wondering if I was being cheeky. Then his face split in a huge grin and he laughed genuinely, I realized his previous laughs had been fake.

“You’re going to fit right in. Alright, I’ll tell everyone you’re one of my brothers.”

Pierce taught all forms of close quarters fighting. I assisted him by being an example of how to hit someone and how to counter being hit. I had been right about one thing, once I faced an opponent who knew what he was doing; I looked and felt like a kid. But I was happy, I was stronger and learning quickly, I was going through half the kolto I was when I started, and some of the other classes I took were starting to sink in. I think Pierce also saw I had potential outside of being a living training dummy.

“How old are you kid?” Pierce asked when I had been there about six months.

“Seventeen.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve been with a woman before?” The conversation was taking an odd turn, but it wasn’t exactly a subject I was shy about.

“Do you really want to know?”

Now he looked at me appraisingly. “This’ll be good.”

“Do you know of a man who went by Watcher Sixteen?”

He managed to keep his expression neutral. “Died last year.”

“My first was his widow, she paid me ten thousand credits.”

He choked helplessly on his laughter, I pounded his back until he could speak. His face was red and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

“Ah, kid. I wish I could adopt you.” He said wiping his eyes. “Come on, someone else needs an assistant.”

The classroom had a typical auditorium layout. Seats lined rows going up a steep slope so that everyone could see the instructor and the holoprojector in the front of the class. Only this class contained no projector, instead it boasted a large bed. The class was empty except for a woman, she was in her late forties, fit and stern in appearance, she wore her military uniform with precision and an air of authority. She analyzed me critically.

“Pierce,” she said looking at the instructor, “He’s too easy.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me that way, child.” She said testily, “I don’t mean you would sleep with anyone, though I’m betting that you would. This class is meant to instruct seduction. The purpose is for our agents to be able to pretend to love anyone. But you,” she scoffed, “Even our men could love someone who looks like you, too easy.”

“Use him for the beginner class, you keep complaining the girls are too shy.” Pierce suggested. Something about his expression made me wonder why he was volunteering me to do this.

“Who’s the usual assistant for this class?” I asked, the rigid woman eyed Pierce and winked at me. I tried not to laugh at my ‘brother.’

“I’m an instructor,” he grumbled, “Can’t keep getting pulled out of my work to have some soon-to-be Ensign pawing at me.”

“Fine,” she said, “You, pretty, you’ll show up every other day I’ll share you with your brother. You will work with men and women though mostly women, the boys will just have to watch.”

Just then a class arrived, many of the students eyed me appraisingly, the young women especially. The men observed me with variety of expressions from cold disgust to mild interest to something bordering on hunger. They hurried to their seats as the instruction bell chimed.

I looked out at a sea of faces all uniformly serious now that class was in session. As one, they pulled out their datapads to take notes. “Be warned,” the instructor said to her newest assistant in a low voice, “This is not meant to be pleasant for you, it rarely will be.”

“She’s right about that.” Pierce muttered.

"...Strong Sith are trained by the Overseers but the strongest Sith are trained by the Jedi.”

The abandoned factory was eerie. Corellia was rebuilding, but many companies had relocated or been decimated. Hollow shells with the moving parts removed. The spark-less frames of droids left in various stages of construction. Esma and Scourge moved quickly through the quiet towards the main R&D lab. Schematics for a prototype needed by the Republic were behind the fortified blast doors. Esma examined the defenses and then reached into her bag to pull out a couple bricks of plastique and detonation materials.

Scourge raised an eyebrow, "A rather crude choice."

"They get the job done," Esma said, shooting a grin back at him, "That's what Vik always said."

"Tanno Vik. Demolitions expert on Havoc Squad," Scourge said as he pulled some debris into a makeshift blastshield.

Esma checked all her wiring again and then headed for cover. "I learned all kinds of stuff from Havoc Squad," she said, peering up over the barrier before hitting the button on the detonator.

The explosion punched against them. Scourge stood and surveyed the wreckage. He glanced over at his lover. "Such as?"

Esma picked her way through the debris, booted up one of the computers, and ran some searches of the mainframe while Scourge examined the prototypes on the shelves closely. "Like slicing," she said, grinning at the console, "Sometimes I think Yuun helped as much with my early Force training as the trips to see masters. He taught me to trust my instincts, to clear my mind and feel for paths. And that..." She quickly downloaded the data onto a pad. "...has been very useful!" She hummed a little, completely enjoying the day.

"I have what I came for," she said, waving the datapad, "you almost done?"

"Almost," he said, focusing on what he was looking for, "go on ahead."

Esma was walking out of the factory towards their speeder when her holotransmitter chimed. Esma hit the button and her cheery smile froze a tiny bit. "Uh, hello, Bengel. How are you?"

"Esma!" Bengel Morr smiled widely as he avidly looked at her. He was a little more intense than Esma was comfortable with, even over holo. "I heard you were on Corellia. I'm on planet. Meeting with these Green Jedi. Between you and me, they are left too much freedom," he said indulgently, "We should meet. Catch up, talk about old times on Tython."

"Uh, that sounds...great," Esma said, "but I'm afraid I'm needed on Ilum as soon as I finish up here. Duty calls!" She smiled tightly, her voice full of too much cheeriness.

"They are working you too hard, my dear Esma," he said, concern on his face, "you need to relax a bit, spend some time with an old friend."

"Wish I could," she said with as much regret as she could manage in her tone, "but I don't think my schedule will be letting up anytime soon."

"I understand," he said seriously, "your dedication is a credit to our Order. Not like these Green Jedi. Can you believe they actually have families?"

Esma clamped her mouth shut before she said something she'd regret. "Woops! Have to go. Nice talking to you!" She quickly ended the call and then shuddered. "Creeper."

"Is that not the insect from the holorecordings on your ship?" Scourge asked, leaving the dark cave of the factory with a small box in his hand.

Esma grimaced at him, "Don't kill him, ok?"

"I would be doing the Jedi a favor," he said in disgust.

"I need you to be diplomatic here," she said as she got into the speeder.

"And what do you know of diplomacy?" Scourge asked, amused.

"I'll have you know that my Dad is actually very good at diplomacy," she said, starting up the speeder, "he was an excellent teacher."

He raised an eyebrow. "I have met your father. The man's idea of diplomacy is cursing someone out instead of smacking them upside the head."

She grinned, "Like I said, he was an excellent teacher."

Jorgan has a +crit in Diplomacy. First time I noticed that I blinked a little and wondered if they'd actually ever listened to his conversations. Closest he gets is biting his tongue half off.

"My lord, I have finished my optimization of the secondary thrusters, and – what are you doing?"

Nalenne relaxed out of the insane back-arch she had been in and lowered her leg to the ground. "Practicing," she said.

"Practicing…" His eyes trailed to the Scarlet Nexu comic lying open on a nearby crate. "Poses, my lord?"

"Not poses. Combat moves." Nalenne raised her arms and one knee and tried again.

"My lord, there is no effective attack you can possibly make from that position."

"Not true. Just in the next frame she – look." Nalenne pointed.

Quinn dutifully looked. "She would have to have the muscular power output of a small hyperdrive to do that much damage with that move from that starting point."

"I could just Force attack from this once I was finished crushing everyone's will with my aesthetic awesomeness. Scarlet Nexu isn't just about the mechanics, you know."

"That much is abundantly clear."

"The Nexu is fantastic and I'm going to incorporate some of her style into my fighting no matter what it takes."

"Her 'style'?" Quinn said disdainfully. "Please. For one thing, you're wearing too much." An instant later he turned dead pale. "Permission to retract that statement, my lord."

"Denied, captain." She grinned a predatory grin, sensuously peeled off her outermost robe, then turned back to the comic book to flip the page. "Then this one. It looks like it could lead into a fantastic spin, but I don't bend that way."

Quinn checked the image. "You could. I just don't see why you would want to."

"No, I can't. Look." Nalenne braced herself against the nearest wall and twisted and arched simultaneously in a serious effort to kick something a hundred and thirty five degrees from facing while keeping her breasts displayed to maximum advantage. "Even if I could sustain the leg raise at this angle…"

"Which you can't, barring some kind of cybernetic augmentation."

"I can't free up my other hand for the triumphant obscene gesture. I'll fall over."

"Nonsense. That's the least unreasonable part of the entire setup; if you stop leaning on the wall the muscles of your lower back should–"

Nalenne demonstrated attempting the hand gesture and falling over.

"My lord!"

She picked herself up. "I'm fine. I'm just saying, that won't work."

"I should think your core muscles would be in prime condition."

"Well what the hell am I supposed to be looking for?" Before he could start explaining, she got halfway back into position. She brought her free hand around to point at her lower back. "Something. Here. It doesn't work."

"That, the muscle right where you're pointing. If it won't sustain the full arch there are targeted exer–"

"Quinn there are a zillion muscles around there and none of them are happy."

"There's a reason for that," he muttered.

"Get over here. Show me what I'm supposed to work on. If I can't manage this I'll never be able to get the victory dance at the end of the issue."

Quinn stopped midstep. "I…I feel that I am duty bound to not assist you with that, my lord."

"Would you rather I test your idea that I couldn't hurt you from this starting position?"

"No!" He reached her and touched a couple of fingertips to her back. "Lower your leg a little. Then lift again. Can you feel that? That should be fully supporting you while you're engaging in the rest of this nonsense. Frankly, I'm somewhat surprised it lacks the strength now."

"Well, you're just all over the criticism today, aren't you? I'm just making an effort to be even more brilliant than I already am and you're doing nothing but complaining about my taste in awesomeness and–" she started returning to more or less a normal standing position facing him – "and any other straight man in the galaxy would be at least slightly turned on by now."

He looked at her impassively.

"Just a little?" she tried.

"I am obligated to deny that, my lord."

"It's the breasts, isn't it. I can't even come close to Nexu's brea–"

"My lord, I can assure you you compare favorably to that…that trollop, and furthermore if you did seek surgical augmentation to that degree I guarantee the resulting back problems would be crippling. I must advise against it."

"Ooh, there was a compliment in there. The galaxy's smallest compliment, seeing as you loudly assert all the time that the Scarlet Nexu is repulsive, but it was a little bit of compliment."

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. "Will it be sufficient to keep you from making a catastrophic surgical decision?"

"No, it's only good for a short distraction. You'll have to come up with something more. I suggest doing the smart thing and going along with what I want."

"While from an immediate safety perspective that seems wise, a broader analysis indicates that 'smart' and 'encouraging you' rarely if ever coincide, my lord. If you want another distraction, perhaps I could return to pointing out that you are in no way obligated to emulate the Scarlet Nexu, of all poor role models?"

"But I love her! She's sassy and gorgeous and has no regard for the laws of physics and she always gets the guy. Guys. Plus she can kill anyone in sight, conquer any planet she sets her sights on, and she does it all while looking like that."

Quinn followed to what she was pointing out. "I'm afraid that position is impossible no matter what muscles you choose to develop, my lord."

"I knew you'd say that." Nalenne scowled. "Honestly, after I kill the artist who keeps claiming that kind of maneuver can be done, I'm going to post a Holonet list of his offenses to warn all the other comic book artists."

"If you intend to list the details, I can identify three other anatomical impossibilities on that page alone."

She examined the intricate mostly-nude mud-wrestling melee that filled most of the page. "And that's really the first thing that comes to mind when you look at this."

"It's rather obvious."

"I would think the curves involved would be a little more attention-grabbing, but no. This is you. 'Wrong,' 'impossible,' 'incorrect' – how is it you are so incredibly good at finding all possible ways of saying no?"

"We all have our talents, my lord."

She glared at Quinn for a little while. Quinn stoicked.

Nalenne huffed. "If you're quite finished trying to ruin my hero, captain, you can return to optimizing whatever you were doing, and I'll get back to the less doomed of my two current projects."