Risha and Akaavi walked nonchalantly into the small cantina. No one outside this establishment, who didn’t belong here, would even know where the door was. This was where they all met, week after week, when their bosses sent them on “crew skill missions”. The two women took their orders to the droid at the counter, then saw a few others they knew at a large table in the corner and they joined them.

“Ladies, what’s shakin’?” Tharan asked them as they took a seat. “What are your assignments this fine day?”

“I’m supposed to be looking for gemstones, “ Risha told him. “As if. I’d break nails for sure if I really did that. Miriah never has her nails done anyway so she has no idea. Besides, the farm boy is always with her, so she sends us off to get stuff.”

“I am gathering cortosis substrate and that is what you will tell anyone who asks, correct?” Akaavi gave a hard look to the scientist. She could never figure out the relationship he had with his hologram.

“Ah, I see, and of course, Akaavi,” Tharan answered them. “Holiday and I are, as we speak, negotiating a gift of microorganisms from a distant planet, can’t even remember the name.” He sipped his drink, pulling a deck of cards out.

“Oh no, not playing with you today. Any profit from today is going toward new shoes.” Risha’s drink was delivered and she proper her feet up on the chair beside her. “Oh look, she sent Bowdaar out too this time. Hey , Bow!” Risha stood to get the wookie’s attention. He saw her and waved, bringing his own drink over to sit with the group.

They chatted amiably for about an hour, when the droid behind the counter called out a number. “Oh, that’s me,” Risha jumped up to retrieve a sack of gemstones. “Nice, got several nice ones AND made a little extra. Shoes, here I come! ‘Kaavi, I’ll meet you here in about thirty minutes, yours should be ready then. The Mandalorian nodded at her, absorbed in the holonet talk show she’d turned on while she waited.

Bow and Tharan had a wicked game of sabacc going, and Tharan was actually trying to lose. He knew how angry Bow got when he lost, and didn’t want to have to fight the big furry guy. The droid who’d brought over Risha’s sack of gemstones returned with a signed treaty for Tharan and Akaavi’s cortosis substrate.

“Thanks, man. See you again in a week.” Tharan tipped the droid an extra few credits and turned to the table.

“Come, Holiday, let us go back to being useless on the ship, at least we drink free there.” He waved goodbye to Bow, since he didn’t speak wookie, and left with his paper in his hands, whistling a happy tune.

Risha returned, gathered Akaavi, and Bow had his power crystals in hand, so all three left together. When they came up the ramp of the ship, they could tell they wouldn’t get to hand off their mission rewards, since the bridge door was locked and the sound of giggles was escaping through it. They rushed to the crew quaraters, putting a little dirt here and there, Risha hiding her new shoes. When they heard the bridge lock release, they all stood there, sacks in hand, ready to add to the supplies already in the hold.

When Miriah had praised their hauls, they all gathered in the lounge. “Man, I hate mission day,” Risha flopped on the couch.

“I like it, it’s nice to get off the ship for a change,” Akaavi said, “Especially when it makes the Captain so happy.”

“I don’t think that’s why she’s happy, ‘Kaavi. Seriously.”

“Well, at least she’s not in a relationship with a hologram.” At that, they shrugged and started a new game of space chess.

“I personally think my name isn’t that rare,” Kira says with a nonchalant shrug. She was sitting back leisurely on Leya’s bed, her legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankles. She had taken off her boots upon entering her former Master’s personal quarters, leaving them at the foot of the bed.

Leya had only smiled impishly at her sudden, impulsive arrival from her position on her meditation area on the other side of the room.

Kira glances at Leya, and though the Miraluka has no eyes to help convey her emotions, the slight quirk of her lips and her raised eyebrows more than do the trick.

“Really?” Leya replies, folding her hands into her lap, and sitting a bit straighter on her mat. Having been in meditation before her friend came to join her, she is wearing a simple beige tunic top and brown pants; her feet are bare and her long mahogany hair- which she usually keeps pinned up to keep out of her face when out in public –flows freely around her face and down past her shoulders in deep waves.

Kira can only think, with some affection, that the usually proper- even if a bit more relaxed and friendlier than most –Jedi Knight looks downright adorable.

It is rare for her or any of the other crew members to see the Miraluka in any setting other than a public one or discussing Serious Business when aboard the Defender. Seeing her now, seemingly unguarded and comfortable in this level of familiarity is… nice.

“I have to admit that you are the only Kira I know,” Leya says after a moment, drawing Kira out of her silent musings. “And I have met quite a lot of people- it isn’t as common as you might think.”

Kira shakes her head.

“Oh, I guarantee you,” she says with a smirk. “You head to any alley spot or rundown town in the Empire and every other person you run into would be ‘Kira’ or some other version thereof.”

The young Jedi Knight wrinkles her nose.

“I swear, it’s like the Sith have no originality and so as soon as they have a child they name her- or even him –Kira.” For a moment, Kira’s eyes darken before she takes a slight breath and forces a smile. “And I speak for my own parents when I say that, too.”

Kira doesn’t miss the way Leya’s lips press tightly close at those words, though nothing else about the Miraluka gives her away.

“Yes, well if there is one good thing I can say about your parents- it is that they obviously underestimated you when they left you on Korriban.” Leya says, and Kira feels a spark of warmth at the undercurrent of firm steel lacing her usually cordial tones. “They may have given you an ordinary name but you are certainly not any definition of ‘ordinary’ that I can think of.”

Feeling her cheeks heat up slightly at the praise, Kira squirms a little. The blatant honesty and simplicity in which Leya is speaking is making her slightly embarrassed.

“How so?” Kira chuckles, not entirely sure if she wants to break the heartfelt solemnity of the moment or not. She isn’t used to receiving such compliments (sans one sleazy Doctor of course), and it’s humbling- even if a bit unsettling –to hear someone she respects give her one.

“If I had to give the name ‘Kira’ a meaning,” Leya muses aloud, lifting her left hand to stoke her chin in a thoughtful manner. “I would make it mean, ‘unquenchable spirit’, or ‘fierce and determined’. Because they most definitely describe you, I think.”

Kira has to actual swallow twice in order to remove the sudden block in her throat. For a moment she blinks rapidly, fearing her eyes might tear up.

C’mon, Carson. Don’t start the waterworks now, Kira thinks, lowering her eyes to her lap while she tries to get over her sudden moment of girliness.

“I hardly think it could mean that,” Kira says softly. A moment later a weak smile finds her lips. “How about, maybe, it could mean ‘stubborn and thickheaded’?” She finds it within herself to joke, her eyes still focused on her lap.

Her averted eyes are the reason why she is suddenly taken by surprise when the bed suddenly dips from added weight.

Looking up and turning her head to the right, Kira has just enough time to scoot over as Leya slips down onto the bed, next to her. The Miraluka rests her head back on the head board and stretches her long legs out alongside Kira’s, crossing her legs at the ankles as well.

“I suppose that suits you as well,” Leya says, and the affection and obvious teasing in her tone only makes Kira smile in response. Leya is close enough that Kira can feel the slightly older woman’s body heat, and it is the ultimate comfort. Even though they had been merely Padawan and Master not so long ago, sitting here like this was…

It is almost like she’s enjoying a relaxing talk with a best friend or even a… sister.

Don’t get mushy, Kira thinks with a soft grin. Still, there is a definite warmth in her chest at the closeness she can feel and express in front of the woman who has come to mean so much to her without feeling shamed in doing so.

Leya leans over to bump her shoulder into Kira’s and an infectious smile twists her lips as Kira laughs and bumps her back.

“Hey! You aren’t supposed to agree with me!” She insists, just as a knock bangs on the door. It slides open right after the knock, just as Kira is saying, “Kira is a highly respectable name!”

Standing in the doorway is none other than Doc, having come to collect Kira for their usual evening game of cards.

His dark eyebrow lifts at seeing the two young women comfortably sharing the bed.

A grin forms on his lips, and both women internally groan good-naturedly.

“My, my. Don’t let me stop you,” Doc purrs, leaning against the threshold’s frame. “I enjoy a good bonding session between beautiful women as much as the next guy. Mind if I join?”

Kira snorts, thinking Leya will just politely send him away. Instead, she starts at Leya’s words.

“By all means, Doc.” An undercurrent of laughter is present in her voice, and Kira immediately knows her former Master is up to something. “The more, the merrier.”

Doc starts over, his obvious intent involving sitting next to Kira, if his smug smile is anything to go by.

But when Leya speaks up again, his steps come to a halt. Her voice is completely innocent with just the right amount of curiosity to make her sound heartfelt and genuine.

“We were just discussing the meaning of our names. And you can understand how curious I am about what your name means, I am sure. Could you tell us?”

Kira immediately wants to give Leya a medal for being completely amazing.

Why in the world is she a Jedi? Kira muses, glancing over at Leya’s neutral face. This woman should be an actress!

Doc’s eyes widen comically, and Kira almost swears that Doc’s forehead starts sweating immediately.

Kira turns to Leya in question, wanting to play her role as well.

“You know, now that you mention it…” Kira turns to face Doc instead. “What is your real name?”

Doc takes a stumbling step back, and Kira almost feels some sympathy for the man.

Almost.

“I… er…” He suddenly looks back the way he came in. “What? You need help, Teeseven?!” Doc calls, though both women know he’s only making an excuse to escape the gravity of his situation.

He looks apologetically at Kira and Leya.

“Sorry, ladies- duty calls,” he says.

Leya bows her head in a mock show of regret.

“Of course,” she says with a put-upon sigh. “When duty calls, who are we to ignore it?”

Doc nods nervously, before he bolts from the room.

After the door slides close behind him, there is a full minute of silence between Leya and Kira. Then Leya places her hand lightly on Kira’s arm just as Kira leans into Leya’s side.

The laughter explodes from both of them, and it is all they can do to grip each other to keep from falling off of the bed.

When Kira raises her hand, Leya doesn’t even have to look before she is lifting her free one and slapping it with a hardy smack.

“That was awesome,” Kira declares once their laughter subsides minutes later. She is still leaning into Leya, and the Miraluka’s hand is still warm and comforting on her arm.

Leya nods next to her.

“Yes. Yes it was,” she agrees wholeheartedly.

Quinn stirred before the timed lights of her cabin had reached “vaguely considering dawn” levels. He was halfway dressed before Ruth managed to assemble a full sentence. “You’re not really getting up at this hour.”

“I always get up at this hour, my lord. It’s an ideal time to handle correspondence and review the major holonet news.”

“Have I ever told you you’re insane?”

“I don’t believe you have, my lord.” Yep, full-on reproachful tone. Man couldn’t take a statement of fact.

“Ruth. Not ‘my lord,’ not here. We went over this last night.”

“Ruth,” he muttered. Reluctantly, but more or less tenderly.

“Come here.” She sat up to meet him with a slow soft kiss. He really was breathtaking, up close like this. Impossibly…impossibly something. Those eyes could pin her in place forever. “I’ll be along in a little while.”

“I’ll see you then, my – Ruth.” Hmm, pleasing combination, that. He pulled on his jacket and left. She went back to sleep, as any normal person would do at that hour.

Ruth dropped her idle slicing activity to take the holocall. The agent she had known as Darnek and Alexis appeared.

“Hi there,” she said, surprised. “Haven’t seen you since that little Killikfest on Alderaan. What’s up?”

"Just checking in. How are things, Ruth?"

"Downright triumphant, in point of fact. Not only did I get the target I've been seeking for the longest time, I got her to join me."

"Impressive."

"I haven't the faintest idea what to do with an apprentice, but at least she isn't opposing us now."

"I know you'll come up with something. In the mean time, I have a small report regarding the Dark Council that may be of interest to you. I'll send it along shortly."

"I appreciate it. How are you doing, Agent?"

“Wynston.”

“Your new name?”

“My real name, actually.” He paused, and when he spoke again his tone was softer. “I haven’t told anyone in over a year.”

“Wynston. I like it.”

“I’m glad. I can’t exactly go back and change the original. Well, I can, so far as anyone will ever find out, but that’s not the point.”

“I won’t tell anyone either way.”

“I know. That’s why our relationship works.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “I have a new assignment. Long-term, deep cover. This holocom code won't be available and I don't know when I'll be able to surface again."

"Really,” she said solemnly. “Be careful. I doubt I’ll have any influence wherever you’re going. I know you can fend for yourself, but...be careful."

"I will. Watch out wherever you go next. Without me you'll be flying blind."

"Don't I know it. I...thanks for checking in first. I look forward to seeing you when you return in triumph.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He smiled and bowed. "Wynston out."

There once was a soldier who heard

That “authority” wasn’t a word.

He would win, and repeat,

Each objective complete,

But still flipped all his bosses the bird.

“Pierce?”

“Yes, milord?”

“We’ve known each other for a while now. Been through a lot together, you know? You’ve always come through when I needed you.”

He didn’t look up from the blaster rifle he was fiddling with. “That’s so.”

Nalenne took a deep breath. “I’ve really…enjoyed…getting to know you so far. So I had…I had a question. It’s been on my mind for a while.”

He eyed her warily. “Say it or don’t, milord.”

“What’s your first name?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know!”

“Even your permanent record doesn’t say anything.”

“Had a friend clear that long ago. Earn his slicing creds before I set him up for promotion. Won’t tell you how to find him, though.”

“First name. I want to know.”

“It’s ‘Lieutenant,’ milord,” he said slyly. “At least until you figure out a way to double-promote me to ‘Major’ Pierce. – ‘Captain’ would still be prohibitively awkward in this crowd.”

“I could just assign you a name. Something awful, like ‘Archiban.’ And address you by it twenty times a day.”

“Do as you like. Won’t bother me.”

It really wouldn’t, too. That was the problem with Pierce. Nothing fazed him; if he didn’t feel like listening to her, she had no hold over him. “What difference does it make to you, lieutenant? Why so protective?”

“That’s my own dark secret.”

There were words normal people used to get results. “Tell me, um, please?”

“Nope. Milord.”

“I order you to tell me.”

“Nope. Milord.” Before she could think of an answer for that bald defiance, he chuckled and went on. “If you were searching my permanent record you’ll remember the noted history of insubordination.”

“I could kill your family one by one until you answer me.”

“You could,” he said, casual as ever. “Can’t say I fancy the idea, but you could certainly give it a shot.”

“So you’ll just leave me wondering forever?”

He turned the blaster rifle upright and checked the barrel’s alignment. “That’s about the shape of it, milord. A man’s got to have some secrets.” He laughed again.

Nalenne considered the offended flounce, but that never seemed appropriate around Pierce. So she opted for stalking toward the door.

“Hey. Milord.”

“Yes?”

Still grinning, Pierce set the blaster down and looked up at her. “Not sure I’ve ever thanked you for taking me on. The fights, the tech, the driving you to distraction…I’d never have had this much fun anywhere else.”

“You’re an evil man.”

“Which is just what you need around here.”

She couldn't argue with that. Historically, there was never any point whatsoever in arguing with Pierce.

Nalenne stood before the Dark Council, regal in her full battlegear, and fully stimmed up because these a**es insisted they couldn't fit a hearing into their schedule any time after six AM on weekdays.

Darth Marr spoke. "Darth Nalenne. The Emperor's Wrath. We recognize you and seek a status report on your campaign."

"So," she said, "with the guidance of the Emperor's Hand I have been systematically sweeping the Arthan Corridor. The survivors of the affected system tremble at my name. They are Imperial in all but paperwork now.”

Before anyone could answer, the door to the Council chamber banged open. Another Sith Pureblood woman appeared, bald like Nalenne, yellow-eyed like Nalenne, slightly more Dark Side-corrupted than Nalenne. Their features were nearly identical.

Darth Nox, also known as Niselle, waved a hand languidly as she processed to her seat. "Good morning, gentlemen, sorry I'm late. I clean forgot we scheduled an early hearing. - Oh, hello, Lenny."

There was a moment of silence.

"Lenny?" said Darth Marr.

“Weird vocal tic,” said Nalenne quickly. “What she meant was ‘O great and terrifying Wrath.’”

“I’ve been calling her Lenny since we were three years old,” said Niselle.

“Shut up!”

“That’s adorable,” said Darth Vowrawn.

“It really is rather precious,” said Darth Ravage.

“Nis, I will end you!” Nalenne drew her saber and faced her sister.

Darth Marr raised a hand. “Wrath. I know you’re new to this job. You should know we have a house rule, lay off killing your fellow Dark Council members in any week we've already lost two. It helps keep turnover down, you know?”

“I’m not a fellow Dark Council member. I don’t have to listen.”

“Our house, our rules. Maybe if you and your sister hadn’t blown out the quota earlier in the week, you would be free to exact revenge now.”

“It really is a pain to replace Council members at the current rate,” Vowrawn explained gently. “We would simply run out of Sith if we didn’t all agree to keep the body count down.”

“Spilling dirt like that? Nis needs to die,” said Nalenne.

“You won’t hear me arguing,” grumbled Ravage.

“Hush, you,” said Marr. “Continue with your report...Lenny.”

Nalenne’s eyes bulged. Her fists clenched.

“House rules, rookie,” said Marr, definitely not sounding like he was grinning behind his mask. “Let’s get back to business.”

I chose my daughter's name before she was born.

Jazhia. Bright, shining. A hopeful name. A name for a girl of talent and power. A name to carry on my legacy.

But now, two days after she'd been born, the name no longer seemed to fit.

I climbed out of my bed and stepped over to her cradle. She was sleeping peacefully, this tiny embodiment of my failure. Her skin was much darker than mine, the color of a pine tree in winter, and her eyes were grey like her father's - a man I barely knew and didn't care to see again. I'd gotten what I wanted from him.

Looking at my sleeping baby made me angry. I felt no connection to her, only a horrible, burning desire to change her. Everyone knew how strong my connection was, and I was only a seventeen-year-old padawan. And my child was Force-blind. What a waste, I thought.

The refrain of an old folk song kept creeping into my head: cama ayang shili inhani, ya nihali ten shili sedani. Red like blood in the snow, I shed my blood for nothing.

I was so overcome with anger and disappointment - in myself, in my daughter, in the Force, in everything. In that moment, I wanted to mark my child. I wanted to mark her so that the galaxy would know how the Force had failed me. To mark her as its cruel joke.

I picked up the datapad on which I'd filled out her birth information. It would be sent with her to the boarding school on Coruscant where she would live, with other unexceptional children. I felt a fire rising up again when I thought of it - my child, unexceptional - and had to grit my teeth not to scream.

I looked for a long moment at the space on the datapad marked "First Name", where I'd typed "Jazhia". The name I'd called her when she was growing inside me. The name I'd thought she would deserve. I swallowed hard and swiped my finger across it, deleting it. In its place, with five hard and angry strokes, I typed a new name. The Mirialan word for "red", the name of that song that kept playing in my head. A symbol of regret and disappointment. Five letters, a million connotations. There was no more Jazhia. There was just Ayang.

Let her wear my regret forever.

*coughnevergonnaforgivehercoughpoorhoneybeecoughwheeze*

sorry, something cought in my throat >.>

Cipher Thirteen slowly regained consciousness, becoming aware of a sharp pain in her head and a feeling of dullness in her muscles. A side effect of the sedative, no doubt.

She kept her eyes shut, pretending to be comatose while she assessed her situation. The last thing she remembered was going to the rendezvous point where she was supposed to meet with a contact, and instead being ambushed by mercenaries and overpowered.

It wasn’t a coincidence, she thought. They were ready for me.

She recalled being overpowered and sedated, then everything went dark.

I’ve been betrayed.

She was lying on a hard surface, probably a floor, as she could feel a wall at her back. Her hands were bound in front of her. She reached out with the Force, instinctively hiding her own presence within it. There were a large number of beings around her. She sensed fear and despair emanating from them like a thick fog.

Cipher Thirteen opened her eyes and carefully sat up. It was then that she noticed the weight on her neck. Reaching up, she felt a distinctive metallic object. A shock collar.

She looked around. She was sitting in a large room filled with ragged-looking beings of a variety of species, mostly aliens. All of them were bound and collared.

This is a slave warehouse, she realized. Those mercenary scum sold me to slavers. How the hell am I going to get out of this mess?

She looked down at her bound hands. The restraints were plasteel with a mechanical lock. She could probably break them open with the Force. The shock collar would be trickier, but she thought she could manage it.

Of course, then she would have to escape from a warehouse full of slaves that was no doubt heavily guarded.

Even if I could escape, she thought, Where would I go? The ambush at the rendezvous point was clearly a setup. I was never meant to survive this mission.

Cipher Thirteen drew her legs up to her chest and rested her head on her knees, hiding her face. There would be no escape this time.

I’m a Force-sensitive who can hide from the Sith. They made me into a weapon. Too dangerous, it seems. Damn Intelligence. Damn them all.

The name she gave the slavers was Kyalah Vern. A false name, of course. It went on the record of the transaction that deemed her property of a wealthy landowner seeking cheap labor for his fields. She took some small comfort in the lie. They couldn’t own her, not the real her. She would play the part until an opportunity came to choose a different role.

Time passed. She kept up the pretense with ease—she was a professional, after all. The slave Kyalah Vern worked in the fields of some breadbasket Outer Rim world, while Cipher Thirteen slowly faded away like mist under the hot sun. Subterfuge was an art, and she was a master.

Kyalah watched the settlement burn in the distance. Landing craft bearing the familiar Imperial crest roared overhead. All around her, the other slaves fled or froze in terror as the black-armored troops marched towards them.

Kyalah smiled, settled into a parade rest, and waited.

A Sith walked with the soldiers, his red armor standing out against their matte black. He looked at the slaves, and back at his men.

“Kill them all,” he ordered.

Instinctively, she looked around for something that could be used as a weapon. There was nothing, of course, nothing except for the simple farming tools that the slaves were allowed to use.

Kyalah frowned. She would be damned if she fought Imperial soldiers with such implements. It simply wouldn’t be dignified.

Three soldiers approached her, weapons at the ready. No doubt they were expecting an easy kill.

One of the soldiers was carrying a vibroblade. She leaped at him, taking advantage of his surprise to duck under his first hasty swing and grab him by the wrist. A sharp twist loosened his grip, and she caught his weapon as it tumbled from his hand. She stabbed him neatly through the torso, then stepped out of the way of the body as it toppled to the ground.

Kyalah smiled at the remaining two soldiers, then attacked.

A few moments later, she looked up from the last soldier’s corpse to see the Sith standing in front of her. With him was an officer carrying a device that she recognized as a universal override remote for shock collars like the one she wore.

The officer activated the device, and electricity pulsed outward from the collar. She cried out in pain, dropping the vibroblade and falling to her knees.

“So easily beaten,” the Sith mused. “A pity. She had potential.”

Kyalah looked up, feeling anger surge through her. Then the Force was there, dark and stormy, power seething around her and through her.

The electrical current flickered and ran over her skin like water. The pain stopped.

She lifted her hands, and the officer with the remote was engulfed in lightning.

The Sith watched him die, a calculating expression on his face. He beckoned to another officer, who approached warily.

“This one may be worthy,” the Sith said. “Have her sent to Korriban with the other Force-sensitives we discovered here.”

“Are you certain, Lord Savadar?” the officer inquired nervously. “She killed four of our men—“

“If those men were so weak that they fell to a slave, we are better off without them,” Lord Savadar answered silkily. “Now, obey my orders.”

Kyalah smiled.

Korriban. Kyalah had kept up the pretense, but it was starting to wear on her. To be Sith was her heritage, her birthright. Her mother had taught her to hide her power, but Kyalah no longer believed that she had done her a favor by keeping her from the Sith.

She stood before Lord Zash, the Dashade looming at her side. She was a Sith apprentice, now. Kyalah Vern was just a slave. Kyalah Vern did not deserve that honor.

Zash finished her instructions, and Kyalah left. She did not trust Zash. She did not trust anyone. That was the only way to survive. She knew how to operate in a world of shadows and secrets. She had trained for it almost her entire life. Perhaps her mother had known what she was doing after all.

And so she was a Sith, now. Another part in the masquerade, another pretense. Or was it? Perhaps this was who she was meant to be, all along.

On Dromund Kaas, Zash greeted her with customary cheeriness. “Kyalah, it’s good to see you’ve arrived.”

“Kyalah Vern was a slave,” she said quietly. “My name is Vesania Serence.” It was the truth, for once in her life.

Vesania wandered the galaxy, growing in power. No more aliases. No more lies. She was Sith, and all that she did, she would do for herself, under her own name.

Yet she could suppress a feeling of doubt. Ten years as a Cipher Agent made her wary of using her real name. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed. The endless stream of pseudonyms was a shield. Each new role she played was a comfortable decoy to withstand the full force of reality. Now, she had to fend for herself.

“In light of your reputation as a master of the dark side,” Darth Marr declared, “You are now Darth Nox.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, drinking it in. The name seemed to drift through the air and sink into her skin. Nox. It was a good name, a powerful name. A name of shadows.

She wrapped the shadows around herself, and let Vesania Serence hide again in the dark.

I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with this piece as the debut of my Inquisitor in this thread. While it's certainly informative about her background, it doesn't really convey her personality. At least, not in the way I want it to. It feels like she's angsting a bit too much for my liking, when Vesania is really much more of an affably evil honey badger type. Oh, well.

The cave was damp and warm and Andronikos did not like it. After spending some time on Tatooine, he had grown used to the blistering dry heat of that dustball of a planet, knowing how to preserve moisture, when to brave the vast dune seas or when to run inside and shut all doors and windows because of an incoming sand storm. He did not stay on that planet for long but, during his stay, he picked up a few pointers but none of those actually taught him how to deal with imperial officers. Not to mention that he had to deal with such individual, in a damp and warm cave which smelled like a bantha's wet backside.

"Can we go now?" he asked his companion "We got to find those crystals and I was planning on doing that before I get old"

"This is most fascinating" came the reply "This cave must be thousands of years old. And I think....oooohh" lieutenant Talos Drellik scampered off in one direction like a child who has just seen a giant candy.

The lieutenant was certainly knowledgeable in all things Sith and archaeological but Andronikos was starting to lose his patience

"Where is he off to now?" he muttered to himself. Then, with a louder voice "Lieutenant!! Don't go off on your own because I'm not going to be your rescue party!!"

Receiving no reply, he paused

"Lieutenant?"

Still nothing

He sighed, his shoulders drooping with the knowledge that he had to run after another man who, for the sake of knowledge, would run straight down the open mouth of a hungry rancor just to know what was inside.

Placing a hand on his blaster, he took a left turn where he had last seen Talos run to and listened. Taking no notice of the sound made by his boots while walking over hard rock, he peered into the darkness obscuring the end of the stone corridor and kept checking for sounds. Sometimes he wondered how the lieutenant had managed to live for so long considering how reckless he could be, running down dark corridors of an uncharted cave just because he thought he saw something interesting.

Andronikos stopped. Something moved to his left and, in the blink of an eye, he pulled out his blasters and aimed, his trigger fingers itching.

Talos found himself staring down two barrels. After a moment, the stillness of the cave was broken by the pirate's voice

"Son of a Hutt!"

"Now, now. Andronikos, there is no need for violence" came the lieutenant's reply, as unperturbed as ever "...unless, of course, you want to shoot the rock around the crystals I found but, in that case, may I suggest you point your blasters to the rock and not to my face?"

Andronikos holstered his weapons, barely containing his frustration. He wanted to do more than just shoot his face off but thought that it would be hard to explain once back on the ship, after all, sith lords are not easily fooled.

"Do you realise that I could have blown your head off, lieutenant?"

"Could you fetch me a crystal cutter from the bag, please?"

A look of stupefaction appeared on Andronikos' face. Not only he had almost blown the man's head off but, now, that same man was asking him to get a crystal cutter from a bag?

"Well? Come on, don't just stand there like a statue. Look alive. We don't have all day, you know."

Andronikos stomped his way back to where the toolbox had been left, not knowing if he had just dreamt it all. He even wondered if this was some sort of weird vivid hallucination caused by spice but he knew it could not have been so, he had never used spice. No, the only option left was the harsh reality of him being stuck with an officer from the Imperial Reclamation Service. In a warm and damp cave.

He found the cutter and made his way back to the lieutenant who was now trying to dig the crystal formation with his knife

"Here" he said while handing the tool over

"Ah, yes, thank you."

"Are you even sure those are the correct crystals?"

"Certain. This Upari formation is perfect. Notice the bluish colour and the precise shape of the crystals. Hexagonal to be exact" Talos continued, explaining in great detail the conditions needed for the crystals to form, the uses, the value...Andronikos was no longer listening, every so often providing a "Uh uh" or a "Oh". He tried to figure out how he would manage to survive should there be a cave in. He could not see himself remaining sane, living in a cave with Talos Drellik. But then, something caught his eye. A light? The flickering of a flame?

He smiled. He knew that such caves were often either the lair of beasts or the hideout of any possible sort of scum, having used them himself more than once during his pirate years. And since they had not yet been eaten by a predator, this could mean that he may see some action yet.

He silently moved towards the flickering light, leaving to the lieutenant the task to explain the formation of geological strata to the walls. He would talk for a while, if he knew the man.

Creeping closer, he crouched, his feline movements allowed him to inch closer and closer to the source of the disturbance. He was now far enough from Talos, his constant scientific banter now only a fading background noise.

"Won't you look at that..." he whispered, seeing two figures standing over some boxes. A predatory smile crept along his lips, his trained eyes quickly darted from side to side, scanning the area for possible ambush points, exits or potential opponents hiding.

All the meanwhile, Lieutenant Drellik had finished explaining the possible implications of volcanic activity on crystal purity and, pausing, he turned around. Blinking a couple of times, he turned from side to side

"Hello?"

He noticed his sudden solitude "well, this is unexpected." He had not seen Andronikos leave and, not knowing where he went, he picked up a bag of crystals and called out "Andronikos?" but the reverberation of his voice was the only reply he got. Shaking his head, he started to walk toward one intersection all the while thinking about the unreliability of former pirates and space scoundrels. He had to figure out something to tell Darth Xanara when he got back to the ship. After all, losing a person while gathering crystals does not happen everyday and she would require an explanation. No, not require, he thought, but demand.

Knowing better than to irritate a sith lord, he settled for the only possible solution: he had to find Andronikos, out of loyalty for his lord and out of duty. Finding a person would be no challenge at all for someone like him, someone trained to find lost artefacts and relics. So convinced and trapped in his own internal discussion, he literally stumbled in a large underground chamber.

He stopped.

Tilting his head upwards, he marvelled at the large stalactites hanging from the ceiling. He wanted to record this and reached for his datapad but, not finding it, he lowered his gaze, being slightly annoyed at the thought of it not being in the place where it should be. And again, he found himself staring down two barrels.

Sighing, he gently pushed the barrels away "Come on Andronikos, the joke is funny only once"

More concerned about the stalactites than the barrels, he did not notice the Rodian standing in front of him. What did catch his attention, however, was the blaster shot hitting the wall to the side. He quickly focused his gaze on his interlocutor, taking notice of two large black insect like eyes staring at him. His trained mind also told his other senses to notice a second similar being staring at him, roughly twenty feet away, pointing blasters at him.

"I see. You are not Andronikos." he commented "in that case, allow me to introduce him to you. You should know that he is a notorious pirate and he would not take kindly on those who seek to harm me. You may ask yourselves why an officer of the Imperial Reclamation Service would travel with a pirate. Allow me to explain. You see, I am an archaeologist, not a fighter and, although I may have some combat training, my specialty are archaeological and historical findings and that is why I travel with someone who is more versed in the art of war"

The two rodians, taken by surprise by the sudden river of words, looked at each other for a moment but quickly refocused on the lieutenant who now saw that his hope for escape had just become a remote idea, quickly disappearing as a puff of smoke.

"I see...well, you know..." he paused "...since my escort is nowhere to be seen, may I ask you if you are for hire?"

And then it all broke loose. Talos saw the second rodian drop to the floor, hit by a hail of blaster fire. The rodian in front of him quickly rolled behind cover while Andronikos ran for a large stalagmite.

"Talos, take cover!" shouted the pirate, all the while blaster bolts were flying from two sides of the cavern.

To the lieutenant it all seemed to happen in slow motion, the gunfire, the explosions. He noticed his right hand reaching for the blaster at his side, his legs suddenly moving to the rodian's hiding spot. Being focused on what he considered the main threat, the rodian smuggler did not see the man standing behind him, blaster in hand, squeezing the trigger.

Just as quickly as it had started, the fight was over.

Talos holstered his weapon and met Andronikos' surprised gaze. The former pirate did not just witness someone die in a gun fight, he had witnessed an execution. The rodian's body was slumped across one of the cases that he had used as cover, a hole in the back of his head. What surprised and creeped him out more than he would have liked to admit, was the ice-cold determination with which it was performed.

"I told you", interjected the lieutenant "I am not without combat training"

"Yes. I see that. Let's go"

***

Once back on the ship, Andronikos let Talos recount all that had happened and waited patiently for the lieutenant to leave the room. He then lifted his gaze and, for a few moments, Darth Xanara and the former pirate remained in silence.

"Something on your mind, Andronikos?" she asked, with her usual hypnotizing voice.

He took a breath as if wanting to say something but stopped. Instead, he just reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pouch. Opening it, he spilled its contents on the table in front of the sith. "A small gift"

"A gift?" she raised an eyebrow. Looking at the gems in front of her, she picked one up "Corusca gems. Quite the find. Do I want to know where you found these?"

"No. Trust me" He quickly stood and made his way out.

"You know that Talos is crazy, don't you?” he asked her without looking, stopping for a moment just outside the door

"And you are not?" came the amused reply

He smiled.

Darth Nox sat crossed legged in her meditation chamber. Dark energies coursed through her very being as she dug deep within herself for the anger and hatred required for such meditation. It was times like these when Nox purged herself of fear and doubt to allow her to commune with her “true” self as she referred to it. A person who was both Nox and Verana, title and identity. Nox thought it was humorous that when the meditation was over Verana was still dead, but she could still feel her inside of her awake and growing in power.

Then Nox cringed remembering that beautiful teenage girl on Korriban, Nionah. It had been so long since she had heard that name, and she wanted to keep it that way. It was the very pinnacle of her failure, a growing testament that Nox and Nionah were still one in the same. But, Verana was still alive, wasn’t she? Nox wanted to believe she was dead, but she knew deep down that Verana was alive keeping the ghosts of dead men company.

Darth Nox feared Verana who was silently waiting in dark, who was trying to escape. To kill Nox.

However, her true self was whispering, whispering that Verana was still useful and without her Nox would die as well.

Nox got up from her meditation and left the chamber. “I will find a way”, she said to herself,” And, no one will stop me.”

This one isn't the clear cut prompt like normal. Instead I was inspired to write about a couple different names and explain what they mean to Darth Nox (or Verana). Verana has this issue where she is a soft one minute and cruel the next. She almost has this personality change in some moments where she thinks she is Verana or Nox. I really didn't take alot of time to write this one because I have been a little busy and I wanted to get one out to you all before I leave for Soccer.

Hoth, the place where white is never out of season.

Xynri made sure the country boy was asleep and then sneaked off to the refresher. After fishing around in her bag and finding what she wanted; granted that these sort of clothes were meant to be worn without armor over them as they supposedly were some sort of armor themselves, but this sort of armor looked rather skimpy and Hoth was a frozen freezer.

By the time the gunslinger managed to get out of the refresher, Corso was awake with his mouth creased in worry that disappeared once he noticed her returning. "Refresher?" The captain nodded to him in confirmation of the note she'd left him.

"Let's get going." The captain kept walking and Corso following.

The blowing snow greeted them outside the base camp as they made their way to the taxi speeder and while the two traveled, they shared a conversation.

"So countryboy, did you know I spent much of my childhood in entertainment?"

"Huh? No.... wait, your childhood?!"

"Yes, mostly waiting tables, but I would watch the dancers and then practice when possible."

"Ah." Corso couldn't say too much at that point, he was just glad his body armor was warm as he felt the razor sharp cold through the seams of his armor.

"And I've wanted to try something here on Hoth for a while now."

"What's that?"

"Dancing in the snow."

"Ah." Corso's mind drifted even as the taxi brought them to their destination.

After a walk of a few minutes, slogging through the drifting snow and braving the blowing knives of the frozen wind, Xynri stopped and looked around. "Good enough."

Corso watched in morbid fascination as his CO shed her regular armor to reveal... He swallowed as her amber eyes watched him watching her. The gold hues of what little was part of her top matching the color of her eyes. The blend of the Zabrakian markings making it easier to tell her from the snow ridden world around them. The loincloth at her hips matching the strands of her red hair. He activated his armor-cam to record her motions for later review because he had a feeling she would appreciate that.

First thought Xynri had after about a minute of her dancing was `COLD! Why am I doing this? Brrr.' She hoped Riggs was recording this for later. She also hoped as she danced and pirouetted toward him that closeups would also be included; but first, she really needed to get back into her warm armor....

Hypothermia.

Corso frowned as he sat by the bed Xynri rested on. The medical droids had advised that she get plenty of rest and keep warm. A weak chuckle from the bed forced the farmboy from his thoughts and he looked to find Xynri smiling at him.

"I got hypothermia didn't I?" The Zabrakian laughed weakly at herself, "It was worth it; maybe it wasn't worth it to you and I don't mean to have put you through that worry, but I wanted to do it knowing full well that I could end up like this." Xynri looked back up toward the ceiling sighing, "Yes, it was a foolish thing to do, and I'm sorry Corso."

The apology cooled the Mantellian's anger and he simply nodded in response, not trusting himself for words.

"This was one guilty pleasure that I allowed myself to do knowing full well that my life was in the balance. Log end." Xynri sighed and sat back in her seat having finished her recollection of that eventful day.

Zethryncia growled in frustration as she scanned the area for the honorless cur of an assassin who seemed to enjoy attacking her when she was engaged with the White Maw people. She knew there were other Jedi in the area, yet refused to give herself away by shouting for help.

She watched closely as at least one Jedi Knight neared the entrance to the power station and smirked as the assassin that had been irritating her efforts decloaked near the knight and a fight started. Being cloaked as she was, the Mirialan moved quietly as the assassin realized she was outgunned and started trying to flee.

"I don't think so." Zethryncia growled catching the assassin attempting to run behind some crates in a sudden force pull which then allowed the Knight and the Shadow to mortally wound the Sith.

The other Jedi nodded their appreciation and moved off to the power station while Zethryncia frowned at the body for a few seconds before moving on into the power station itself.

The blue skinned Twi'lek remembered.

She remembered the day she lost her twin sister, Anysama, in a Mandolorian Raid.

She remembered growing up that point forward in one of the orphanages on Korriban reserved for raising children in the Sith ways. In all that time however, she had this feeling that somewhere, her sister still lived; and with her sister was the answer to why the sisters were named with Any.

There are times I want to write something and yet it doesn't want to come out right. I have a what's in a Name idea for my femme bh, but the wording for it escapes me.

Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could still hear the crackle of electricity emanating from my father's fingers. He'd shocked me many times over the years, but never as badly as he did that night.

I fell to my hands and knees on the polished stone floor, gasping. My father, Darth Helinus, stood over me and watched his only child struggle to breathe. I could barely hear, but his voice still sounded clear enough to me.

"You will marry Darth Alyssum," he said. "You will not defy me again. There will be no further discussion."

I tried to cry out, but my voice was gone. I had no strength left to speak, only to collapse on the floor. Servants stood against the walls, unmoving, but always watching. None of them would dare to help me. I let myself nurture the faintest hope that my intended husband was kinder than my father.

He wasn't. The day my name changed would be the day my life took a turn for the worse.

When I moved into his mansion he assigned me a contigent of maids, whom I quickly found out were really supposed to watch me and report anything I did that went against the Darth's wishes. I couldn't escape them; they trailed me everywhere. Every infraction was reported back to my husband, who would shock me just like my father. The difference was that now, instead of nursing my wounds alone in my room when it was all over, I had to go to bed with my attacker. I didn't dare cry. Sometimes, he'd ask me, "Don't you love me, Vriska?" and I'd have to force myself to say that I did. The only thing keeping me alive was that I was determined to escape, one way or another.

When I had been married for four years, I accompanied my husband to a party. I had learned how to smile and nod and be the perfect Imperial lady in public, but I knew a wild fear was hiding behind my mask. If anyone had ever seen it, they'd never acknowledged it. Inside, I was crying out, help me! I began to fear that no one had the power to cross him and set me free.

That night, though, something so strange happened that I could hardly believe it was real. There was a whisper flowing through the room that a Dark Council member was there. Some of the more daring guests made veiled implications that this new member was an alien and therefore a sign of lax standards. I expected that no matter what species, this person would be sallow-skinned and ugly, wearing corruption proudly like so many others. And then there was a break in the crowd and I saw her.

My first surprise was that she was a woman, my second was that she was a Twi'lek with brilliant red skin. She was tall and slender and moved like a dancer - seductively, but distant. When I caught her eye, she fixed her gaze on me and started my way. I tried to melt back into the crowd, but she put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't run away," she said, her voice quiet and smooth. "I want to talk to you."

I turned to face her, my heart pounding. I knew I should say something, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Why are you so frightened?" she asked me, still keeping her voice low. "Tell me your name."

"V-Vriska," I croaked.

"Ah, Lady Alyssum, isn't that right? The Darth's wife?"

I nodded slowly. I hated being called by his name. It was like a bruise that wouldn't fade.

"I'm Darth Imperius - but please call me Meenah," said the Twi'lek woman. She offered me a smile, and I could see the hidden meaning behind it. She was saying something else to me: I help women like you. Sith were adept liars, I knew, but there was something comforting about this woman. Maybe because I knew her species had meant she'd experienced abuse, too.

She leaned close to me and took my hand. I felt her tease my palm open and deposit a datachip into my hand. She whispered into my ear, "This is my holofrequency. I want you to call me if you need help." And then, as suddenly as she'd appeared, she was gone. I watched her glide off into the crowd, ignoring the stares.

I called her the next day, when my husband left the house. As soon as Meenah's image appeared, she ordered my maids to leave. There was something authoritative and commanding in her voice; they obeyed immediately. For the first time in four years, I was alone.

"You want to get out, right?" Meenah asked me.

I nodded. Was it possible?

"I can't grant you a divorce - not yet, not without putting you at risk. But I can at least get you somewhere else." She gave me an appraising look. "But what I'm proposing is not easy. You'll be taking some very big risks, and entering into a dangerous life. You might even be killed. But you'll be away from him."

I nodded again. I didn't care what the risks were, or how awful my new life was. I just wanted to get away from Darth Alyssum.

"I'm prepared to draft you into Imperial Intelligence," Meenah said. "It's not an easy life, but it's one where your movements will be secret from your husband. Serve well, and you can petition the Dark Council for a divorce."

Alyssum would kill me if I ever asked for a divorce - but this was a first step. Once I was hidden from him, I could disappear. It was good enough for me. "I'll do it."

"You don't want to think about it first?"

I shook my head. "No. I want to do it."

She nodded, seeming to understand. I wondered what her story was. She certainly wasn't like most Sith. "You'll have to give up a lot, you know. Even your name."

My name. Alyssum. That name had marked the beginning of a nightmare for me. It was a constant stain and a burden. Even though I knew Meenah wasn't promising me real freedom - just the first step toward it - I felt freer than I ever had before. I must have smiled, because Meenah smiled at me, indulgently, like a proud mother.

"Stay safe for the next few weeks," she said. "If things go bad, contact me again." She cut the transmission, and I stared at empty space for a long time.

No name. It was like wiping the slate clean. Starting over. Even though I knew that wasn't really the case, it felt good. Eventually, I decided, I'd find a way to disappear altogether. I'd find freedom or die trying. But at least if I died, I wouldn't die as Vriska Alyssum.

Just Vriska.

In reality I totally stole Vriska's first name from here: http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=004095 and her last name from a list of plant genera. Credit where credit is due!