Vette watched Mellekor stalking beside Jaesa as they patrolled the halls of House Rist. Jaesa's great idea for training in their spare time was going to purge some of Alderaan's noble houses. Kind of a twisted way to get back at your high school class, as far as Vette was concerned, but it sure was making Jaesa happy.

There was a little house politics going on here and a lot of just cutting people down for being born with the wrong name. Mellekor was supposed to know better. He used to. But now all of a sudden enemy houses had to be purged entirely rather than letting survivors live and nurse their hatred and turn into big bad revenge machines or something. The big guy had reasons for everything. At least it wasn't "because I'm Sith, that's why" this time, but a different reason wasn't necessarily a better one.

As for Jaesa's help...the human was insane. And he was lapping it up. Sure, he yelled at her a lot, but Vette got the distinct feeling that he was getting off on that, too. Big Sith Guy had grown up and gotten his own Little Sith Apprentice. No matter how much he complained about her "lack of discipline," Vette could tell he loved having someone to boss around.

They were terrible for each other. And, more to the point, terrible for a lot of bystanders.

Mellekor and Jaesa reached the last untouched room of House Rist; Vette followed close behind. But she lowered her blasters when she saw a trembling noblewoman trying to shield two children.

The Sith didn't hesitate. Nope, not for a second. Vette looked away; the hissing of lightsabers narrated the scene for her.

Vette stepped out of the doorway to let the two triumphant Sith move out. Mellekor didn't look at her as he passed. Jaesa threw her a manic grin, then trotted to keep up with her master.

Vette decided it was time for a new job.

She followed the two back to House Thul and their parked ship. Once inside, Jaesa disappeared into her quarters. Mellekor headed toward the cargo bay.

Vette followed him into the hallway. "Hey. My lord." He turned around and fixed her with that double punch of a gaze. She wasn't ever going to let it cow her. "That offer to let me walk still open?" she asked.

The big Zabrak looked shocked. "What?" he said quietly. After the months Vette had spent watching him trample everything in his path the sight and sound of him at a loss was...kind of disturbing.

But, she had an agenda to get through here. And he had promised that if she wanted to leave, she could. "The reign of terror has been fun, don't get me wrong, but, I'm thinking of trying a career that isn't all about the murder sprees. You know, if you can spare me."

"Of course I can spare you." There was his trademark proud indignation. "I gave you my word, if you wish to go free you may." He ground his teeth for a couple of seconds. "I...wish you would reconsider leaving," he said, obviously straining to maintain some command through his hesitance.

"I've considered," she said. Plenty of times. It was great to be freed from slavery and nice to have a guarantee of safety, but at the cost of watching him do his career-Sith thing? No. She just hoped he wasn't going to take this the wrong way.

"Very well," he said, returning to his usual composure. "Tell me where you wish to go, and I'll take you there."

"Nar Shaddaa should do nicely. I'll even skip the meet and greet with the slaver gangs this time."

"Slavers never caught you on Nar Shaddaa," he said. "As I recall, what you need to worry about is Ryloth and Korriban."

She blinked. She hadn't expected him to gather that information, much less remember it, from their rare and brief personal talks. "Yeah, well, I think I'll avoid the Nar Shaddaa ones anyway."

"Prudent." The miniscule disturbance at one corner of his mouth that passed for a smile when she was teasing him moved once. Then he swept by her, all synthsilk and darkness, to go to the bridge.

Vette returned to her quarters and packed up. Clothes – she'd managed to buy a lot of clothes on the stipend he paid her – trinkets from a dozen worlds, a few very high quality blasters she had put to good use. And to questionable use, in Mellekor's service. Well, that was the point of leaving. Some jewelry, a bunch of little luxuries. The evil life really did pay well. Just not enough. She finished packing and settled down to wait.

When she felt the ship shifting back out of hyperspace she grabbed her bag and went to the holo room. It took a while for Mellekor to maneuver into orbit, get landing clearance, and touch down at the spaceport, but eventually he emerged from the bridge and gestured for her to follow him out to the hangar floor.

He looked down at her with red eyes darkened almost to black in the shadow of the ship. It took him a moment to speak. "If you should require sanctuary in the future, I will not turn you away," he said at last.

"Huh." That was so…him. Him and his bizarro scary idea of friendliness. While he loomed over her she put her hands on her hips, reminding herself for the hundred thousandth and maybe last time that just because he was three times her size didn't mean his presence had to scare her. "Sentiment, Sith-style. You know, you have the tiniest, best-hidden soft side of anybody I've ever met." Strange but true. She waved, turned, and started walking. "Have fun conquering the galaxy."

And she was off for less blood-soaked things. Unless her old gang had had a major change in career direction...nah, not likely. They still couldn't compete with a Sith. That was just one of the many things she had missed about them.

The day was productive. In the house politics of Alderaan Jaesa's bloodlust and her hatred could be both satisfied and, he hoped, refined. Meanwhile the planet would stabilize once enough of the nobles realized that continued defiance meant total destruction.

He returned to the ship with Vette and Jaesa and started toward the cargo bay to pick something up. He sensed someone following him.

"Hey," Vette said from behind him. "My lord." He turned around to face the little Twi'lek. "That offer to let me walk still open?" she said.

"What?" As soon as the word was out of his mouth Mellekor regretted it. Betraying that kind of surprise - and the fact that he had no idea what to do about it - was foolish.

"The reign of terror has been fun, don't get me wrong, but, I'm thinking of trying a career that isn't all about the murder sprees. You know, if you can spare me."

"Of course I can spare you. I gave you my word, if you wish to go free you may." The prospect was oddly discomforting. "I...wish you would reconsider leaving."

"I've considered," she said tensely. She maintained a little of her impudent air, but something in the way she was eyeing him said she was considering him as a threat. To her. As if anything short of a direct physical attack would drive him to harm her.

"Very well," he said slowly. "Tell me where you wish to go, and I'll take you there."

"Nar Shaddaa should do nicely. I'll even skip the meet and greet with the slaver gangs this time."

A characteristic jest, but 'this time' rang false. "Slavers never caught you on Nar Shaddaa," he pointed out. "As I recall, what you need to worry is about Ryloth and Korriban."

"Yeah, well." She shrugged. "I think I'll avoid the Nar Shaddaa ones anyway."

Cheeky to the last. "Prudent," he said. He hoped she wouldn't be caught a third time. It didn't seem likely, not after the strength he had watched her develop. He couldn't protect her if she left, but he could hope she had learned well in her time with him.

But that was Vette's affair now, not his. He moved on to the bridge and set course for Nar Shaddaa. He set up a credit transfer to take effect in a day: the sum of her stipend for the next several months. Enough for her to establish herself. Once that was done he closed his eyes to meditate in place; he needed clarity, the raw red simplicity of aligning himself with the Dark Side and taking the Dark Side for himself. For once the Force offered him no direction. It didn't have to, he reminded himself; he had a promise to keep, that was all.

When the navicomputer beeped he roused himself and guided the ship out of hyperspace and into orbit around Nar Shaddaa. The banal ritual of seeking and obtaining landing clearance, taking the ship into the tremendous ball of energy that was this dense population center, it soothed him. He would not stay here long, but the ordinary motions were good.

He landed the ship, then proceeded to the holo room where Vette was waiting with an overstuffed bag slung over each shoulder. He wondered whether the voluminous luggage outweighed her; knowing her taste in baubles – mostly metal or stone, mostly valuable – it well might.

He beckoned to her and strode out, down the ship's ramp to the hangar. When he stopped she came up beside him and looked up, waiting.

If she insisted on leaving, there was little left for him to give. "If you should require sanctuary in the future, I will not turn you away," he told her, and meant it.

"Huh." She put her hands on her hips and met his eyes as fearlessly now as she had the day he had walked into her prison. "Sentiment, Sith-style. You know, you have the tiniest, best-hidden soft side of anybody I've ever met." Before he could object to that ridiculous statement she half turned away, waving as she did so. "Have fun conquering the galaxy."

He held still and watched her go. That she had been a useful slave was only a small surprise; that she had been a loyal ally was a very great one. That she should choose to leave after all...well, she was not of the Sith. She didn't have the stomach for this path. That she should go without efforts at revenge or punishment...that was just her. Canny to the end: choose the objective, take advantage of standing debts and promises, pull it off cleanly without making the fight bigger than it had to be. She was more than she gave herself credit for.

Jaesa slunk off the ship to stand beside him. Mellekor was pleased to note that she had covered up some; her robes had a flamboyance he found jarring but she wasn't putting herself on display to the degree she had tried when she first came on board.

"You got rid of your toy, master?" she said in a faux-innocent voice.

"Do not speak ill of her. There walks an example of strength of will that you should aspire to." He tore his eyes away from the distant doorway and faced Jaesa instead. "Come. We should continue your practice with Makashi form." He wanted a duel he could win. The desire irritated him all the more because he shouldn't be feeling like he had just lost one.

...Yeah. Sith Warrior twelve-step program may be called for. Is there a support group for this? Some kind of "have ideas about other things" program, perhaps?

I do not know when in the class line this scene occurs. Sometime during Act 2, or perhaps during the interlude before or after; that's all I know for sure.

Vette's place in Mellekor's life is difficult. I find myself sympathizing with Striges' amazing Varrel Umrahiel when he talks about Vette being a conscience...one that gets ignored. She brings out...perhaps not the best in Mellekor, but definitely something he doesn't see elsewhere in his world. Too bad he offers nothing of comparable value to her.

Actually Varrel is a big chunk of the reason I don't explore Mellekor much. I feel that there's just enough overlap for Mellekor to seem derivative while lacking a ton of the awesome interesting things. But I did want to deal with the part of my headcanon where Vette leaves the ship.

The loss of Quinn was galling, to say the least. Once Mellekor had dealt with him and put the matter aside he found he had only one thought on his mind. And it wasn't the battle on Corellia, not yet.

He retired to his quarters to open a secure holo line.

Relief washed over him when Vette appeared looking healthy and whole. The Twi'lek's holo image stared at him for a few seconds. "Huh," she said mildly. "Long time no see."

"Vette. I hope you're well."

"Uh, yeah. Nice of you to ask."

"I called because I have reason to believe you are in danger."

"Most people who know you are," she said. "So, anything in particular?"

"Darth Baras and I have finally parted ways. I have no doubt he will send someone to harm you."

"Darth Tubby?" He reminded himself to keep a straight face; only she could be so flippant. "He probably doesn't even remember me. I'm not too worried."

"I can come to Nar Shaddaa or wherever you are to take you on board for a while," he said. "I offer you my protection. I must ask that you come with me, if only for a few days, until this is resolved."

"Well, no offense, but I've kinda got a life here, and you've got a war on and all, and soooo, I would cancel all my appointments here…why?"

Was she being willfully blind? "Because if I do not come for you, he will."

He couldn't tell what Vette was thinking, but she hesitated a good while before speaking. When she did, she was conspicuously casual about it. "He knows I'm not working for you anymore. And you and I haven't exactly been best friends for quite a while. And by now he's got to know that seeing random people die doesn't bother you."

That only served to remind him that he had not missed the jabs at his supposed lack of morals. But that wasn't the point just now. "It does not matter what value you have or don't have to me; it only matters what value he thinks you have." Baras would remember that Mellekor had treated her well. The appearance was everything. The appearance could be fatal. "Vette, you are the only gift he granted me that he has not yet reclaimed. We can leave aside the absurdity of that ownership; his strike against you is inevitable. I will not allow it to succeed."

"It's sweet that you care," she said in the flat tone that he knew sometimes meant she wished she weren't serious. Sometimes it just meant she was making something up because she didn't know what to say. "And really, Baras checking in with everybody you've ever known might explain some…stuff. I've had a couple of really interesting…" She trailed off, looked at the floor. He couldn't control a stab of pain at seeing Vette, of all people, truly worried. "Yeah," she said. "Maybe we should do lunch or something. Preferably someplace that isn't Dromund Kaas."

"Name the time and place. I will be there."

"I haven't moved all that far since you dropped me off. I'll send you coords. Holo me when you hit the ground on Nar Shaddaa; until then I'm just gonna find someplace sneaky to be."

"Don't take any unnecessary risks. I'll be there as soon as I can. After that, it shouldn't be long at all before Baras is dealt with and you'll be safe on your own."

"Ha." She looked away. "'Safe' is kind of a relative term. Still, thanks. I'll see you in a little while."

The Zabrak stalked to the bridge. Time to leave the Corellia system. He punched in coordinates and started preparing for the jump.

Shortly after they streaked into hyperspace, Jaesa arrived on the bridge at a fast walk. "Master?" she called. "We turned around. Where are we going?"

"Nar Shaddaa," Mellekor said shortly.

"But the Emperor's Hand…"

"Can wait. I'm dealing with Baras's agents elsewhere."

"What's on Nar…" She trailed off, studying him. She already knew the relevant facts, and she was getting better at reading him, a bond he had to allow if he was to effectively tutor her. "The Twi'lek? What does she have to do with anything?"

"She's in harm's way. I intend to bring her where she can be of use to us."

"You're worried about her."

"She is ill equipped to face Baras's agents on her own. But you remember how useful she was to us. It is to both parties' advantage to join forces."

"There are many places to find useful resources much closer than Nar Shaddaa, master. We're going because you're worried about her."

She made it sound like an accusation. He didn't bother responding.

"You've said yourself that protecting the weak is a waste of one's own strength," she reminded him.

"I know that," he said testily. "I'm not doing this to protect something weak." She kept watching him. So he explained another reason. "Loyalty once earned is not to be discarded lightly." He still sensed something even less pleasant than usual in her, something that reeked of jealousy. "If one does throw it away, do not expect mercy. I believe that has been demonstrated. I'm warning you now, Vette will be safe here."

"I know that, master," she growled. "I suppose there's an opening for an intact crew member anyway." Then she giggled. The tension of her eased into her regular malice. Good. He had learned to control her much faster than she was learning to control herself; it would suffice. And she was herself making progress.

She was making progress, but this errand was his alone. He checked the ship's performance monitors and pressed it to slightly greater speed.

Regardless of whether this turns romantic/sexual, I'm really looking forward to Mellekor and Vette having the inevitable Darth Malgus/Eleena Daru conversation. Because, um, everybody's going to know he'll go to some lengths to defend her, and, um, he's a brutally practical Dark Side Sith, and he has already expressed admiration for Darth Malgus in the past, and…well, awkward.

Nar Shaddaa

Art is born of deep passions, love is chief of these.

If she closed her eyes she could still hear his voice. It had been a little more than two years since Voss, and less than a year since she left the Order. She shook her head to focus on the present.

Remi leaned back on one of the benches that lined the Promenade and waited for her contact. Both Imperial and Republic citizens wandered the Promenade's many shops and stands. Her faceless helmet hid her eyes as she scrutinized every Sith and Jedi who wandered past. Keeping an eye out for trouble, she told herself. She was unwilling to admit that she was hoping to see someone familiar. Hoping to see him.

A child, a small Twi'lek ran past with an armful of supplies. She tripped sprawling untidily in front of the lone bounty hunter. She gathered what she had dropped and moved on, but she missed a small cube that had tumbled under one of the nearby tables. Remi retrieved the blinking cube and looked around for the child. She was gone. She scanned it first for explosives then for identification. The cube sprang to life.

Ardun Kothe's image appeared in a pre-recorded message. "Nikto sector this time," the image said, "Usual place, use your password." The image winked out. Remi pocketed the cube and left the Promenade glad to be leaving the ghosts of her past behind.

Back Room - Alien Arms Bazaar

"One day you'll have to explain to me why my password is a string of Huttese profanity." Remi sat down at the table across from Ardun Kothe. She had just dressed down the shopkeeper Nurkolas in front of his customers. He was very good at pretending to be sorry and ushering her to a private showing of weapons.

"Appearances." The SIS section chief laughed. "Besides, are those words you would ever use by accident?" She snorted in response and crossed her arms. "I'll get right to business, we have a target, high priority."

"We?" Remi repeated doubtfully.

"Let me introduce you to someone, but I believe you've already met. She doesn't know anything about you outside your reputation." He gave her a meaningful look. "Grey, this is Ghost."

A woman with pale blue eyes and light brown hair walked in. The last time Remi had seen her she was fawning over her lover, Vector, whom Remi had saved from a gang of killik hunters.

"Hunter Grey," she said softly, "Always a pleasure."

"Huh." Remi replied switching to monosyllabic answers, her default when she dealt with strangers.

Ghost placed a holo-device in front of her and switched it on. The figure of a small vaguely familiar Twi'lek woman appeared in the base. "This woman's name is Kolovish and we need to eliminate her. I voiced my doubts that anyone could get near enough but Ardun seems to think you're capable. Kolovish is the former leader of Kalikori village on Tython." The former Imperial Cipher paused waiting for a reaction from the bounty hunter.

"Hmm," was her only response.

"Ardun mentioned you were a bounty hunter with scruples. A rare thing in this time." She produced a data chip and tossed it on the table. "This is the evidence I have that explains why we want her. I'll leave the negotiation of your fee to Ardun." The woman left the way she came, the hunter and the SIS agent sat in silence contemplating the image of the seemingly harmless old woman.

"I know what you're thinking. If you look at the information on that chip you'll understand. This has to be done, Grey, and it's better for everyone if it's done quietly."

"In the dark, in the back, without a trial?" She said harshly, "Is that how you're doing things these days?"

"If I wanted her dead I'd just send one of my guys. I want her alive, but there's no way we could take her from Tython without a huge public mess and this can't get out."

"Of all the places in the galaxy, Ardun. The Jedi and the Kalikori work together, don't you think they'll start asking questions when someone just up and disappears?"

"You're the only one who can pull this off. You know the lay of place. Look over the data. You'll see the need, you'll understand."

Remi sighed and picked up the datachip. She stood and grabbed a prototype sniper rifle off the counter. She slung it over her shoulder and saw Kothe's mouth drop open in protest.

"Appearances," she said darkly as she walked out of the private room. "Transfer my usual fee."

Grey Mantis (Remi's Ship)

Remi reviewed the data chip and cross-referenced the files with other sources. Records of Jedi, their species, ages, training, and weaknesses were sent from Tython to some unknown location. The data collected for years gave someone extremely good intel on the kind of forces the Jedi could raise and how quickly. Remi stared open mouthed at the information about the Jedi Council, their members, and their decisions, information not even she had been privy to. She saw detailed information about herself, her crew, Lord Scourge, and everything they had ever done. The worst part was at the end, two hundred padawan killed in the past decade, all deemed accidents, all linked to the woman who had once called herself matriarch. Remi shut off her datapad and plotted a course to Tython. Kolovish had been right about one thing, her future had been difficult.

Tython

Kolovish surveyed the path to her tower. No one could approach her from a distance, she was safe from the primitive Flesh raiders and while she was vulnerable to a long ranged weapon, the Jedi would not think to use them and no one, not even her own people, suspected that she was a threat.

She heard a whisper of sound and felt a sharp pain in her arm, but when she looked, she saw nothing. An insect, she thought, not noticing the tiny dart that had fallen to the floor.

"Kolovish led our people here and while our first years were hard, we made friends, and grew in number, and found a way of life that we all loved." The matriarch looked around at the assembled clan and Jedi who had gathered to pay their respects. "I will miss her council, her wisdom, and her certainty of purpose."

The others assembled left tokens of remembrance on the box that held their former leader. A few Jedi stepped forward to share stories of lighting the beacons along the path to her tower. To everyone's surprise Kolovish had made arrangements for her final ceremony to be performed on Ryloth in case of her death. Out of respect, the Jedi arranged a transport to carry her offworld.

The captain of the transport ship a small woman who seemed to speak mostly in Huttese curses waited for a few Jedi and Twi'lek men to load the woman's casket onto the shuttle. A Mirialan Padawan stopped to admire her pilot's uniform.

"Bsha! Boska!" She snapped at him and they shuffled quickly up the ramp.

They watched the shuttle take off quickly and soon the orbital station reported that the transport ship had jumped to hyperspace.

Grey Mantis

Remi quickly erased her tracks in the Jedi Temple's databanks. She silently apologized to T7 for hijacking his subroutines to change Kolovish's will. She prepped the adrenal stim and hurried to the woman's casket. It had been less than forty-eight hours but she did not want to take any chances. The stims worked quickly and soon the elderly Twi'lek was waking up.

"Where am I?" She demanded imperiously when she found her hands and feet shackled. "What's going on?"

"Hello, Kolovish." She said from behind her faceless helmet to the woman who had been responsible for the death of countless Jedi and Padawan. "My employer would like to ask you a few questions." The woman had just enough time to register fear before she was darted again, this time a simple sedative.

Remi checked her restraints and plotted a course for Nar Shaddaa. She hoped she would never have to see Tython again.

There were three more (large!) piles of droid parts waiting in her work room when she rose at dawn. She hadn't yet made it through all six of the piles that had appeared yesterday. And the day before that. Kel'ani Sol sighed dramatically and nudged a dented power converter with her foot.

“Those Padawans really need to stop kicking the crap out of my droids,” she muttered.

Really. Disarming a droid that was programed to admit defeat at the appropriate time was one thing. Kel'ani could forgive the practice blade scorch marks. But was it necessary to hack an arm off? Or hew a leg away just because? Mostly it was the advanced Padawans learning the Marks of Contact like Cho sun or Cho mok that sent her droids back to her in pieces. But still. Master Liam Dentiri encouraged all Padawans to abuse the droids. Kel'ani would just rebuild them anyway.

She had been like them once. She had been told she'd been born on a poor planet torn by civil war. A visiting Jedi Master had come across her just days old and taken her from her birth parents because she had been Force sensitive. She was raised in the Temple on Corusant, studied and trained with the younglings. She had worked hard during her years as an Initiate. Harder than most because her link to the Force was tenuous and weak. She had held on to wild hopes that she would make Padawan one day, but logic convinced her that she should probably pick up another hobby to feed herself.

When she wasn't training, she was in the Temple's massive library. She eventually settled on slicing and technology, finding those topics raptly held her interest. She taught herself from the Temple's archives, even going so far as taking apart Master Syo's lightsaber once when his head was turned. She'd put it back together, mostly, and after that day, Master Syo looked at her differently.

She had been nine when the Sith attacked Coruscant and annihilated the Temple. Even on that day she hadn't really relied on her Force affinity to locate and escape with 18 younglings and an injured teacher. She had sliced protocol droids and serving units, overriding their core programing and turning them into protectors and distractions. Malfunctioning doors opened for her, then closed and locked again to keep tormentors off their tails. They escaped mostly unscathed and she had been praised for her ingenuity.

But that didn't mean she had been able to pass her Initiate trials. Master Syo had placed a comforting hand on her shoulder after her failure and told her warmly that the Force had other plans for her. So now, she still lived within the Temple, now on the ancient Jedi homeworld of Tython, but her contributions ranged mostly to fixing Master Liam's droids and maintaining what library had been salvaged from Coruscant.

This couldn't be all the Force had planned for her, could it?

It had been ten months since the Emperor's Wrath got official approval to Wrathificate. Vette was glad he had survived the process, but she hadn't stuck around to watch him and his crazed apprentice enjoy the power.

Instead she hopped off the galactic stage and got back to the gang on Nar Shaddaa. And this evening was a good evening; antiquities smuggler Ananz was in town with a fresh haul of Twi'leki artifacts ready for repatriation to their home planet.

Vette was crammed into a little booth between sweet-perfumed red Taunt and leatheris-jacketed green Ananz; Vette herself had her lekku pulled forward over her shoulders to keep them from jostling those of the other two in the close quarters. Buff blue Flash capped the wraparound bench on one end, pudgy yellow Plasmajack on the other.

"So. Cron Drift, yeah?" Plasmajack was saying. He was turning over a shallow stone bowl with Ryl carvings on it.

"That's the place," said Ananz. "Took us forever to find the traces of sentient caches, but we got it."

Taunt set down her fork. "There was a huge battle there just last week, wasn't there?"

Ananz grinned. "Easy to thread one ship in when there's an armada swarming around. The Sith gave me exactly the opening I needed."

Well, thought Vette, Sith were pretty good at wreaking havoc that others could take advantage of. "Wasn't the Wrath stomping around out there?" she said. Everyone else in the gang exchanged looks; they teased Vette endlessly about the Wrath when no one else is around, but hey, she was still entitled to wonder about an old terrifying evil friend.

"Maybe? The fight was big enough, he might have stopped by." The green Twi'lek wrinkled his nose. "Though, I did meet some surviving civilians when things quieted down, so my guess is no."

"He's been known to leave survivors," said Vette. "I was just curious. It pays to know where the killing machines are, especially when you've got extraction work to do. At least you got the goods."

"I don't know how you get your crew to put up with this," Taunt said warmly.

"Mostly I pay 'em," said Ananz. "I let the pirate sell anything he finds that isn't of interest to us, and that keeps him happy enough to fly the ship anywhere we might find more loot." He grinned, sage-green eyes sparkling. "We can't all be in it for love."

The conversation and the meal went on for a while before Ananz pushed his plate away and checked his chrono. "All right," he said, "this has been a lot of fun, but I'd better go."

"You're already way past your previous visit record," said Flash. "You should try it more often."

"Definitely," added Taunt.

"We'll need to see if you can back up your boasts about pazaak," said Plasmajack with a sly grin.

Ananz nodded. "Count on it. Now, there was a place on the promenade I was supposed to look up before I left town, uh, Ryclan's?"

"Oh, yeah," said Vette, "I know it. It's walking distance from here."

People were already scooting to let Ananz out. Vette extracted herself from the booth and he followed close behind her. He caught her eyes. "Point me which way?" he said with a warm little smile.

From behind him Taunt was quivering sudden encouragement with her lekku. Vette ignored her. "I can show you. It's kind of a twisty route anyway." And that was Taunt issuing rapid silent instructions to the other two to stay out of the way. She always had been good with the assists.

The district's promenade had nothing on the glitzy one of Mezenti's district, but it was, in its dirty noisy way, the local shopping and entertainment sector. Ananz comfortably matched her pace, looking around with a cheerfulness that suggested he was used to less than glamorous conditions.

"Hey," she said suddenly, "you want to see the slice of the day?"

"I don't know," he said, looking abruptly suspicious. "Do I?"

"We don't have a beautiful Hutt statue like the Grand Promenade, but the lower square here has a holostatue. I think it was a big tree or something once. Its entire purpose now is to get sliced every day or two by somebody with a great idea for display. Come on." She led him crosswise through the crowd toward the edge of the mezzanine overlooking the lower square. He kept close behind her, only moving to her side when they reached the railing.

"Wow," said Vette.

"That is the largest monkey-lizard I have ever seen," said Ananz, and laughed out loud. "Somebody put loving detail into that."

"I think I like the Hutt better."

Ananz narrowed his eyes. "I think that that is modeled specifically after a monkey-lizard in heat."

Vette blinked. "And you know this…how?"

"They tend to swell–" he started gesturing, then cut off and laughed. He was beginning to blush a darker green. "I spent some time running barge maintenance for a Hutt. He kept almost a dozen of the things, we got to see a lot more of them than I really care to talk about. And that, madam, is a Kowakian monkey-lizard in heat."

She laughed with him. "Well, I learned something new and terrible today," she said. Time to pick up a subject change; he seemed happy to be here, but there were many topics safer than the current one. "So by the way, it was nice of you to actually step off the ship with this delivery. We've been doing business almost as long as I've been here, everybody here was starting to think you didn't like us that much."

"Yeah, well, the pirate gets jealous. You know how it is." He grinned and leaned his forearms on the railing. "I'm busy most days. I thought I'd try rearranging the troublemaking schedule, see if I could stay eight hours on the same planet for once." He looked out across the promenade and his grin widened. "I figured this might be a good planet to start with. Holostatues notwithstanding."

"Moon. You're starting with a moon." Vette caught the twitch of his mouth and smiled. "You didn't research your plan very well."

"If that's my hint to go…"

"Wow, if you're that much of a lightweight, maybe you'd better."

"Not likely, Vette."

A clamor caught her attention. There was a sense that told her when raised voices in a crowd were raised voices set to make trouble. She had only managed to half turn when a man in a Republic uniform darted up and slapped her bottom. "Tag!" he yelled, to the loud amusement of five other soldiers who had slowed to watch.

Ugh. Old, stupid, drunk-human game.

A second soldier was calling out. "Get the other, dumb*ss. Get the other. Taggin' two Twi'leks!"

The one who had slapped Vette moved. Ananz neatly intercepted his grabbing arm, knocking it aside while he shifted into a combat stance that, while nothing like the scrapping of Nar Shaddaa's usual gladiators, seemed nevertheless familiar.

"Hey," yelled one of the soldier's friends. The squad was fanning out now and people were starting to back away. "Let's not get unfriendly, Twi." The others snickered.

"You'll leave her alone," snarled Ananz, loud enough for all of them to hear.

"Ananz, it's fine." Vette was armed, but she wasn't armed for a shootout with five soldiers. "Guys, I hate to break up the party, but I'm already late for getting my lekku buffed, and…"

"Oh, I'd buff her lekku for free," snorted one.

"Why are we letting her talk back?" said another.

"Look," said a third, "if you're not gonna tag the other, I will. Can't let a perfectly good Twi go to waste."

Vette was edging toward the nearest side street. She was a little alarmed to find that Ananz wasn't edging with her. The man appeared to have no street sense at all. Worse yet, he was getting actively upset.

"Move along," Ananz said in a cold voice she'd never heard from him before.

The soldiers were starting to close in. "Ananz," she hissed. "Slightly outnumbered here."

"Humans don't push us around," he said fiercely.

Stars, no wonder the man didn't spend time on Nar Shaddaa. "They can when there's half a dozen of 'em with blasters. Let's just get out of here."

"Guys. Just saying. Tagging." One of the soldiers, weaving slightly as he walked, started in toward Ananz. He sped up as he went; he was grinning stupidly.

Rather than just backing away Ananz met his charge, grabbed one of his arms, wrenched it to force him slightly downward, and twisted him around to hold him in a headlock. "Get going, Vette," he said, his every word sharp. "I'll be along shortly."

She ran around the corner of the nearest building, readied a blaster, and edged back around to watch. Drunks in packs weren't the safest of animals. Ananz was finally backing up, keeping the struggling soldier between himself and the rest of the squad. Two of the humans had their blasters out. Suddenly the soldier kicked back hard into Ananz's knee; the green Twi'lek yelped and staggered, and as the soldier twisted around to throw him to one side, far enough for his friends to get a clear shot.

Vette opened fire on one of the soldiers. Both of them fired on Ananz.

Time slowed. As Vette's bolt streaked toward its target, two blaster bolts moved toward convergence on Ananz's chest. He raised a hand, palm outward, and the blaster bolts just…bounced away.

Vette's bolt hit. Three fresh ones had been fired at her ally.

He Force batted every moving bolt into the ground and raised a hand. His eyes flared from the light green Vette knew to the orange of a dying flame.

In unison the five soldiers dropped their weapons. Then, with a hand flourish from Ananz, they suddenly jerked upward, struggling with something at their throats.

Vette lowered her blaster and stared. Ananz closed his fist and twisted. There was a too-loud coordinated burst of snapping noises and the five dropped.

He turned to the soldier who had fallen at his feet. Leaning down he grabbed the man's collar and leaned down to snarl in his face. "Apologize, you scum."

"S-s-sor-I'm sorry, s-sir!" whimpered the fallen man.

Lightning rippled and crackled from Ananz's shoulders all the way down his arms to where his hands met the soldier. In one painfully brilliant flare and a loud staccato strike, it was over.

Ananz pushed the soldier aside and let him drop, then raised his eyes to meet Vette's. Some of the anger in his expression cleared; the urgency did not. Neither did the orange glow. He took a few quick steps toward her. "We need to get out of here," he said. "You have my word, I won't hurt you."

Her instincts screamed at her to run away, sidestep, vanish into the crowd or roll into an alley and start losing herself amidst trash or crates or anything at all, just so long as she was clear of the Sith. Her instincts screamed, but her experience told her to keep calm. People didn't survive just running away from powers like that.

"I know where to go," she told him, and ran.

She took him to a big warehouse some distance away; it was busy some days of the week, but not today in this time slot. They would have the office to themselves while she figured out what was what.

He was definitely limping as he followed her into the warehouse's side room. She scanned the street and then closed the door. He sagged against the opposite wall and grimaced, breathing hard. "I can explain that," he said.

"I think you'd better, Mister Sith."

He winced. "Who's saying Sith?"

She crossed her arms. Some tiny oft-ignored part of her brain yelled at her not to treat this one lightly. She ignored it. "Jedi don't usually use neck-snapping as a combat opener."

"All right, fair point. – Sith or not, I'd better get something on this. That bastard kicked hard." He limped across the wide space to reach a supply cabinet; he searched through it until he found a first-aid kit, then settled on the nearest chair to hike up his pant leg and start dealing with a bruised and slightly cut knee. "I really didn't mean for this to happen."

She stayed standing in place. "Looked pretty intentional to me," she said, more brightly than she felt.

His lekku were shivering Twi'leki apology. "I meant it shouldn't have come to that. I'm sorry. I lost my temper when those…thugs got started. And look, I wasn't intentionally keeping things from you and the gang. This is just…something I can do. I didn't want it getting in the way."

"Just something you can do? I've met Darths who couldn't pull that off." The thought process that had run alongside her all the way here started to unfurl. "In fact there's a pretty short list of green Twi'leks with enough Force power to murder an entire squad of soldiers in the time it takes me to say 'Wow that looked painful,' and now that I'm thinking about it, if we redo your clothes and keep the orange eyes I think I've seen pictures of you before in my 'public figures to avoid' reading. So maybe you want to explain to me how either Darth Imperius or his twin brother thought he could get away with slumming it here?"

He didn't even bother denying it. Instead he sighed and shrugged. "Context is everything. Nobody expects what they don't see the obvious signs of." He held still for a second, and the dull orange of his eyes swirled and faded into the light green she was accustomed to. "I can cover up the touch of the Dark Side if I concentrate. For that matter I know tricks to vanish entirely in a pinch. It helps me switch pretty easily." He finished his bandaging and stood up to face her, arms spread wide: a dark green Twi'lek, twenty-something, maybe half a hand taller than average, scruffy-looking in his engine-oil-smudged pants and well-worn jacket. "As for the rest, do I look like a member of the Dark Council to you?"

"No. You look like a liar."

"Lying is a thing criminals do, and we are all of us career criminals. Mine just has a political office attached." He tried a small smile; she didn't relent. His smile faded. "Would you believe me if I told you that what your friends do, the Twi'leki history, that it truly matters to me?"

"You could probably pick a more straightforward support job than 'pretend I don't have any money or power or any of the influence that could actually make a difference, then lie about who I am.'"

"Yes," he admitted. "I could. I do direct resources through more traditional channels. I've got the top archaeologist in the Imperial Reclamation Service working for us, and that's not the half of it. I just also…I like the view from the ground."

"Yeah. Lucky you, Twi'leks are great at providing views for any Sith who isn't too good to admit that preference." A Twi'lek in power tended to be more about the 'power' and less about the 'Twi'lek'. "Are we done here?"

"No. I'm not. Hear me out, please. I spent most of my childhood on Nar Shaddaa. As a slave, I was a cleaning boy at the Godo Vine and later at the Star Cluster. And, for a while, a Hutt's pleasure barge, like I said. It wasn't until late in my teens, when an Imperial officer took a shine to me and bought me, that I came to Imperial space, and then some time after that when…when I was found. Once I was free, and not only free but powerful, rich…I wanted to come back. I wanted to do something for my people." He shook his head, holding her stare as if hoping to break through. "Isn't that what you and the others are in it for? For what Twi'lek history they can recover, and for each other?"

"Sure. It's just that unlike you, we don't have the option of going home to our palace after."

"You do."

She looked quizzically at him.

"Through my other job I know you worked for the Wrath." He didn't sound accusing; he was just earnestly listing facts. "You could have all the luxuries of the galaxy. Stars know his apprentice takes gaudy advantage of it, I've no doubt he would pay you well."

"Even if that were true, I would have to pick. This or him. Whereas you, apparently, can just hop on your ship anytime and switch worlds." Which meant he didn't have to take this one seriously. It was a game for him.

"You say that like it's easy, preserving them both."

"Yeah. I'm kind of amazed at how many Sith think that's what they're doing." She crossed her arms. "So you knew who I am, then. I was part of your calculations?"

"It's not the reason I contacted your crew. But yes, you had been pointed out by some of my less ethical advisors as a…"

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'target'." Exactly like Mellekor had tried to avoid with his decisions immediately before her departure. Whoops.

"That isn't the point," said Ananz. "I don't want a fight with him or you. Have I ever once asked why you're always wondering which battles the Wrath was in? Have I ever asked you about him? Have I ever threatened you? I stop by now and then, I help the gang, I thought I'd hang around for one evening. I didn't want any of this to be about politics."

"Yeah, well, once a Darth's involved, it is about politics." Boy, had she ever had long talks on that subject. "So maybe you should keep it away from my friends."

"Would you rather I'd left you back there?"

"I could've handled it without blasters coming out." She had enjoyed the not-fighting-to-the-death-all-the-time aspect of not living with Sith.

"Only by running away, Vette." Some fresh pain gathered on his face. "You shouldn't have to do that. None of us should have to do that, and someday none of us will."

"Wow, that is inspiring. I am inspired. Six dead guys back there are probably very inspired, too."

"You toured with the Emperor's Wrath, you've seen death. How does cleaning up trash like we saw back there bother you?"

Vette wouldn't say it had been fun, but at least Mellekor didn't lose his temper and he didn't walk onto the scene under false pretenses. "You don't know much at all about the Emperor's Wrath. Now is there anything else you're after here, my lord? Because I've got places to be."

He went pale. "Please don't call me 'my lord.'"

"It's what you are, isn't it?"

Ananz didn't say anything. He just slumped a little, and the green of his eyes muddied as if the pleasingly colored covers were wearing thin. He looked…completely miserable, actually, which was a dramatic switch from the cheerful guy who had been a lot of help to her gang over the past months.

She sighed. "For what it's worth," she admitted, "you've been pretty well behaved on the short visits before."

"Yes. I try." His lekku quivered another apology.

She returned a lekku shake that said 'You've got a ways to go.' "We'll talk," she said out loud. "Okay? I just have to think about it."

"Sure. And if you're not going back to talk to your friends tonight…well, you're telling them sooner or later, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I never could resist the 'by the way, this guy might bring the wrath of random ultrapowerful Sith down on you' kind of gossip."

"If you're not talking to them tonight I will, then. They deserve to know. After that I'm flying out. I didn't go out with you guys today to make trouble."

"Right. Sure."

"Okay." He put his fists on his hips and studied the ground in a decidedly non-Darth-like manner. "Then I…this is going to sound stupid, but if we're done here I can walk you home."

"I'll be fine. I'm a lot more in practice peacefully walking down these streets than you are." Still, he seemed to mean it. "Thanks, though."

With that, she went back out to the street and got going. She had a lot to think about. It had taken her a couple of years to disentangle herself from one weird Sith; she wasn't sure she was ready for another.

Even Republic soldiers can be drunk bigoted jerks.

Ah, Ananz. You're…new in town. You tie into some matters that Mellekor will be dealing with if I keep finding things to write about him, so I think that you and he aren't done yet. "Imperius" is, I believe, the title for a neutral/grey Inquisitor. Also I never write about Inquisitors in my Warrior!verses, or in fact my anything!verses, so it's about time. Also if in-game Inquisitors can find time to do random dailies and flashpoints, I'm sure they could make time to sneak away for a day here and there for personal projects.

Anansi was a trickster god to some Africans, including African-Caribbean slaves. Because "prince in disguise" is absolutely a non-overdone conceit. I know he's painfully obvious, but…ideas are happening. And until ideas come to fruition, well, appearances will…appear.

I find it amusing to think of a Dark Council adept having to use band-aids. His Force training is spotty (career slave, remember?) and healing isn't his forte. For that matter, physical resilience isn't something he has ever developed past a slave's coping development of ability to ignore trauma. Actually…how did this man survive the class line? He has RAW POWER and a very motivated, very shrewd advisor, I guess.

: Well, I should write something today.

: I reviewed twelve-step programs. They require promising to stay away from situations where you might relapse. Sorry, we're not leaving the fic forum.

: Okay, fine. We can stay here. We can still write something that isn't about Sith Warrio-

: GUYS GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF A SITH WARRIOR STORY

: ...No. You're going to stop thinking about your Warriors. All five of them plus AUs, you freak.

: Okay, sure. No Warrio-GUYS GUYS I JUST HAD A GREAT IDEA FOR PUTTING A NEW CHARACTER IN THE SITH WARRIOR'S GALAXY

: That still involves Warriors. Freak.

: ...And dropping another OC on your readers' heads without thought or planning is possibly the absolute least helpful thing you could do here.

: I could just write more Warrior material.

: ...Fine. Bring in the OC. I warn you now, I met him five seconds ago and I already think he's stupid.

: Wheeeeeeee!

Lyshara’s shrill cry rang throughout the room. “Nettie!”

There was no response.

The little girl frowned anxiously and called again, “Nettieeeee!”

Lyshara Vrine paces back and forth in front of her Fury’s boarding ramp. “Damn it, Lynet, where are you?” she mutters.

She finds herself lifting one hand to her mouth to bite her nails; her armored glove stops her. She checks her chrono. Still a minute to go until the appointed time. Lynet is always punctual, she’ll be there.

“She’ll be here,” she tells herself. “She’ll be here…”

A few moments later, her older sister walked quickly into the room. “What is it, Shara?” she asked in a too-patient voice.

“Help me, Nettie,” Lyshara implored her. “Please, help.”

She breathes a sigh of relief as Lynet strides across the hangar. The tall woman stops in front of the boarding ramp, crossing her arms over her chest. She makes a nondescript figure in her well-worn leather jacket. The high quality of the blaster rifle slung across her back suggests that her ordinariness is a deception.

“Lynet, thank the stars,” Lyshara says.

Lynet nods cordially. “You're lucky I was on Corellia for other business. What’s the situation here?”

“I need your help.”

“Come on,” Lyshara urged, grabbing Lynet by the hand and towing her into the playroom.

Lyshara ushers her sister into her ship, heading for the cargo hold.

“Nice ship,” Lynet remarks, eyeing her surroundings with an appraising eye.

“Thanks,” Lyshara responds automatically. She turns the corner into the cargo hold. “Here.”

“Here,” she said, tugging Lynet along. She reached down and picked up one of her dolls, holding it out to her sister.

Lynet examined the doll. Several of its limbs had been dislocated, and hung at odd angles. “You broke it.”

“I’m sorry,” Lyshara gulped, tears pooling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what happened. I just got so angry all of a sudden…”

Lynet steps slowly over the threshold of the cargo hold, her eyes widening. “Stars, Lyshara,” she says softly, eyeing the still body in the middle of the room. “What’d this one to do you?”

“It’s—it’s a long story,” Lyshara says unsteadily. She doesn’t want to look at the body, but she finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from what remains of Malavai Quinn.

His uniform is in shreds, the fabric rent by burns too precise to have come from a blaster. He is covered with ash and dried blood, the two substances intermingling until it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. The worst part is his face, however. His face, and the two blackened pits that stare emptily from where his eyes had once been.

Lynet clicks her tongue. “Tsk. You broke him.”

Lyshara stared up at her sister with huge eyes. “Please…can you fix it?”

Lynet examined the doll carefully for a few moments, then made a few careful adjustments that set the limbs back in place. She handed the toy back to Lyshara. “There. But be more careful next time. You won’t always have me around to fix things for you.”

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Lyshara whispers.

“Looks rather intentional to me,” Lynet says dryly. “The eyes were a nice touch.”

Lyshara flinches.

Lynet walks in a circle around the body. “Is he even still alive?”

“Yes,” Lyshara says quietly. “I can sense it.”

“Hmm.” Lynet walks around Quinn again in the opposite direction, then stops in front of her sister. “And I suppose you want me to fix him?”

Lyshara swallows hard. “Can you?”

Lynet looks from her sister to the battered officer and back again. “I can,” she says after a moment of contemplation. “In fact, I think I will. Could be fun.”

“Oh, thank you—“ Lyshara starts.

Lynet cuts her off. “I’m not doing this for you. He’s my project, now. I fix him, I keep him.”

Lyshara gulps. “I—“ She bites her lip. “F—fine. You can have him. He’s just a damn traitor, anyway.”

Lynet smiles predatorily. “Ah, but he’s my traitor now, Lyshara. And if he lives…I daresay I’ll find him quite useful.”

Lyshara happily hugged the doll. “Thank you so much, Nettie!”

Lynet smiled faintly. “It’s no trouble.” She sat down next to her little sister and picked up another doll. “Now. Let’s play.”

This is my explanation for the Quinn customization with the cybernetic optics.

"Marvelous! That was perfect!"

Ananz would probably never get used to Lord Zash's bubbly exclamations coming from Khem Val's hulking form. Nevertheless, he noted the feedback as he walked through the fine-control Force exercises. He had been working furiously since the day he walked into her office on Korriban to learn – to learn everything, history, politics, protocol, combat, Force theory, Force applications, so much more – and it was useful to have someone who, while she had her own agenda, was at least enthusiastic company in guiding him through the material that she considered indispensable. There was so much he would be able to do once he mastered this.

"Next, the glass," said Zash. "Remember, broaden your focus ever so slightly to hold it in parallel with the floor. You're lifting it with a flat sheet of Force energy, not just a grab."

The Twi'lek nodded acknowledgement and turned his attention to the filled tumbler on the desk across his office from where he stood. "Up," he said, only spilling a little bit when he overshot his desired altitude, "then in."

"Steady. That's it. And you're not jumping when I start talking, good. There are usually distractions when you're trying to get work done, so you'd better get used to it. – Wonderful!" He took hold of the tumbler, letting his Force concentration dissipate as his hand took hold.

He raised his glass to her, then took a sip of the rich burning liquid. He swallowed it down and offered her the rest of the glass. "Here. For the most unusual woman I've ever known." These days he could afford to feign friendliness with her when he felt like it.

Zash's red Dashade eyes rolled. "You're incorrigible," she said. "I'm not going to drink this. If I get even a little tipsy I think your monster's going to gain the upper hand."

That was the point. "Well, maybe he'd enjoy the rest of it."

"I'm truly surprised that you're as fond of him as you are. You always struck me as being quite civilized."

Ananz shrugged. "We humble servants have to stick together." He liked Khem Val's power and ferocity. The notion of a once-slave so hungry and vicious as to frighten Lords and Darths appealed to him. It took more than chains to keep some people down.

Lord Zash still wasn't taking the proffered tumbler, so Ananz drained it and sent it sailing back to settle gracefully on the desk. "Well then. What's next?"

"I thought we might call a break there and let you get back to your other studies. We've been at this for a while, you mustn't wear yourself out."

"Oh," he drawled, prompted by a mischievous impulse, "I could go for a while longer." He grinned and leaned in to lay a fingertip high on her broad lukewarm breastbone, trailing down a few inches. He tilted his head, suddenly curious. "Can you even feel this?" He wasn't sure of the extent of Zash's integration into her host body.

Zash swatted his hand aside. "Don't do that. I'm still your master, technically. You should show a little respect."

'Master' was a sensitive term, but it was a joke by now. All their interactions outside lessons were, which suited him very well. "You're only my master when I can hear you over Khem."

"Khem wouldn't put up with being harassed, either," she said shrilly, and folded her arms to protect her chest. "You weren't nearly this cheeky when I had my own body."

Yes, her body. The body of the last person to light up with some private glee while picking him out of a group of tools or toys. Dead now. "When you had your own body you could Force Shock me to death for misbehaving. Now–" he lifted a hand and, with a little burst of effort, flicked a spark across his fingertips – "things are different. But, for what it's worth…" He grinned, with teeth, and patted her beefy arm. "I think you are exactly as beautiful now as you were the day we met." The vain git.

Zash swatted his hand away again and somehow, with the features of a Dashade, managed to make an even more sour face. "Today's lesson is over," she fumed. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I'll put it to good use." He sobered. There was so much to do, so much to learn. He had to find out enough to win independence from this poisonous bond before she did, and that necessity was only barely in the top ten threats to his life these days. She knew full well she had to help him against all the other ones. And so they cooperated…more or less. "Thank you for the lesson," he added. "I'll be in my quarters studying if anyone needs me."

"Good," she said. "I'll let you know if my research turns up anything interesting."

"Marvelous," he said dryly. "That sounds perfect."

This is a far-flung data point compared to the single one we (I include myself in that) have on Ananz. Context is everything. In the matter of payback and role reversal, Ananz is...not a gracious man.

Zash is cordial to the Inquisitor, but right from the start she is cordial in a way that says "I think you're useful and you will provide a return on my investment." It can be easy to resent her. She's set up to be more sympathetic than Harkun…but that doesn't actually buy you much.

The 'poisonous bond' is technically Khem and Zash's problem, not Ananz's, but Ananz is squarely on Team Khem for the struggle.

To piss Lord Zash off? I'd do it.