Until next time, reader-peoples! <3

Well, thank you for a wonderful story! Tea is a deucedly tricky thing, either that or I've been brewing it wrong all these years. So I wouldn't worry about it.

...and heaven knows I've wanted to drop rocks on these NPCs often enough...

You know what? I give up.

Write what you write when you write. We'll be here, eagerly awaiting whatever you choose to regale us with next, and when the next arc is done, it's done, and we'll get to see it.

Write what you write when you write. We'll be here, eagerly awaiting whatever you choose to regale us with next, and when the next arc is done, it's done, and we'll get to see it.

What he said....Also I like my tea strong, so take all the time you need!

You know what? I give up.

 

Rocks fall.

 

Everyone dies.

 

...

 

No, not really. But I'm taking a break. Arc 2 needs time to brew. (Hey, a rhyme!) So I'll leave you with this nice little analogy that I use to think of writing:

 

Writing is like tea. You start out with an idea, and as you let it steep it becomes richer and fuller-bodied. When it's ready, you add cream and sugar for flavor, and put it in a fancy cup to make it look nice. That's how I think of writing. This latest story arc needs longer in the teapot, so I'm going to take a few days and let it brew.

 

I'm not going to stop writing, though. Writing is fun! If I go crazy enough I may end up posting an entirely new story, despite my repeated vows to myself that I will not have more than one project going at the same time. We'll see.

 

Until next time, reader-peoples! <3

Just make sure your tea dosn't get cold! Otherwise you'll find yourself dumping it down the drain. I can't wait to see what you have in store!

Thanks for all the encouragement!

I've decided that Chapter Twenty-five, the most recent chapter, is not up to my standards. I will therefore be deleting it. So just go ahead and pretend that you never read any of it.

After some intense steeping, the plot of the upcoming arc took a level in awesome. I rewrote my entire outline and am now much happier with how the finished product will likely turn out. Also, for those of you avoiding Agent spoilers, good news! The new version reduces the amount of Agent spoilers by a large amount! They're still there, but the content is now more accessible.

Yes, that was a fast break. I just couldn't stay away!

Edit: I realized that there's no reason for this to be a flashback or an interlude, so this is now Chapter Twenty-Five.

Twenty-Five - Face of the Voiceless

Dromund Kaas

13 ATC

“If you want my honest opinion…” Arden Zariel said slowly.

“I would prefer sincerity, yes,” A’tro said.

“You’re mad,” Zariel said flatly. “Absolutely mad, both of you.”

A’tro smiled faintly. “Somehow, I had a feeling that you would say that.”

“My lord—“ the older woman started.

“Please,” A’tro interrupted. “You’re my mother-in-law now. You should call me by my name.”

Zariel raised an eyebrow. “And that would be what, exactly?”

Sometimes I forget that everyone thinks of me as the Wrath, A’tro thought. “Darth A’tro,” she said. “Just ‘A’tro’ will do nicely, though.”

“If you insist…” Zariel said reluctantly.

“I do.”

Zariel closed her eyes for a long moment. “Fine. A’tro.” She shuddered. “Do not mistake my meaning, please. I’m flattered that someone of your status and lineage would take an interest in my son, I truly am.”

“’Take an interest’?” A’tro repeated amusedly. “I married him, didn’t I?”

“Perhaps I understated somewhat,” Zariel murmured dryly. “It’s been difficult to process.”

“I can imagine,” A’tro said gently. “Emperor only knows what my own mother would say if she knew I had married a human.”

“No doubt she would think that you are lowering yourself, a sentiment that I cannot help but share,” Zariel said matter-of-factly.

A’tro frowned. “With all due respect, I don’t believe that you’re giving your son enough credit. I certainly don’t consider him beneath me.”

Zariel started to answer, stopped, then sighed heavily. “You have a point,” she conceded after a moment. “Malavai is certainly…exceptional. All things considered, perhaps he is more worthy of you than I had initially believed. However, I’m still concerned that the two of you have not thought this through.”

A’tro chuckled. “The day that Malavai Quinn fails to think something through is the day that the galaxy stops turning.”

Zariel laughed softly in spite of herself.

“He knew what he was getting into when he proposed to me,” A’tro continued, “and I knew what it meant when I accepted.”

“Nevertheless,” Zariel said, “I fear that formalizing your relationship in this manner has put his life in danger—and yours, as well. I know how most Sith perceive attachment.”

“My fellow Sith can think what they like,” A’tro said coldly. “If they think that I’m incapable of protecting myself and those close to me, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”

“I only hope you’re not proven wrong,” Zariel said sadly. “I knew a Sith once…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Never mind. I suppose there’s little point in arguing about it, seeing as you’re already married.”

“Believe me, I understand your concerns,” A’tro said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I realize that my relationship with your son might make your service to me rather…awkward, and I’d like to know whether you wish to be reassigned elsewhere.”

Zariel hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “That will not be necessary. You are the Emperor’s chosen; I will follow you no matter what. If Malavai cares for you, then that gives me more incentive to insure that your enemies are eliminated. Besides,” she added with a small smile, “Janeth would kill me if I got us transferred. He does love being in the thick of things.”

A’tro returned the smile. “Then I will be pleased to continue having you under my command, Zariel.”

Zariel’s smile widened. “Since I am your mother-in-law, as you pointed out earlier, you really should call me Arden.”

A’tro inclined her head. “Very well, Arden. I must be going now; I’ll see you later.”

Zariel bowed. “I would appreciate it if you could come back tomorrow. I have something for you.”

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Zariel said, gesturing to the box.

A’tro eyed it skeptically for a long moment, then carefully opened the lid.

Inside lay a rounded metallic object that she immediately recognized as a Sith mask. It was completely featureless save for a row of stark black characters etched all the way across where the eyes would be.

A’tro ran a tentative finger over the symbols. “My ancient Sith is rusty, but I believe this says “power in silence”.”

Zariel nodded. “So it does. This is the mask of Darth Zariel.”

A’tro’s eyes widened. “This is an heirloom, a relic. Shouldn’t it go to one of Zariel’s direct descendents?”

“Darth Zariel left very clear instruction that only a Sith of the family may wear the mask,” Zariel said. “She did not, however, specify a blood relationship. You’ve married into the family; that makes you eligible.”

“Shouldn’t the direct line have priority, though?”

“It would, but there isn’t anyone,” Zariel said grimly. “The last Zariel Sith was my great-grandmother, Darth Saryn. My mother was an only child, and my one sibling died childless decades ago. I have only Malavai. This is the end of the legacy.”

A’tro bowed her head. “It’s a tragedy.”

“It is,” Zariel agreed.

“You mentioned that the last Zariel Sith was your great-grandmother. Was she the last person to wear the mask?”

“She was.”

“I see,” A’tro mused. She carefully picked up the mask. “I assume it’s not cursed, or anything nasty like that?”

Zariel shook her head. “The ancestry and Force-sensitivity requirement is a matter of tradition only. I could wear it, if I wanted to.”

“If you say so,” A’tro said dubiously. She took a deep breath and put the mask on.

There was a long moment of tense silence.

“All right, I suppose you know what you’re talking about,” A’tro said once it seemed that nothing was going to happen to her. She turned her head carefully from side to side. The mask was surprisingly comfortable, carefully crafted with openings that allowed her to see and breathe that were not visible from the outside. There also seemed to be some kind of filter that caught her voice and gave it a slight electronic reverb.

She made a circuit of the room while Zariel watched. Her peripheral vision was restricted slightly, but it was nothing that she couldn’t get used to. The Force would make up for the reduction of her field of vision.

“It’s certainly imposing,” Zariel remarked.

A’tro nodded slowly. “I like it.” She turned to Zariel and bowed. “It’s an honor to be the one to wear this.”

Zariel returned the gesture. “If it means that Darth Zariel is not forgotten, then the honor is mine.”

A note on the timeline: This takes place shortly after Chapter Twenty-Four. The year in said chapter was 12 ATC, while here it is 13 ATC. Since the year is based on the Treaty of Coruscant, I would assume that the anniversary of the Sacking/Treaty is for all intents and purposes New Years. In other words, Quinn totally proposed to his girlfriend at a wild New Years party. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

This chapter contains mild spoilers for the identities of Sith Inquisitor companions.

Edit: Since I made the previous entry Chapter Twenty-Five instead of an interlude, this is now Chapter Twenty-Six.

Twenty-Six – Distant Thunder

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

14 ATC

“How could this happen?” A’tro demanded. “Only a few days ago, the tide seemed to be turning in our favor.”

Darth Nox shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

“That whole system is Vowrawn’s responsibility,” A’tro said. “How could his forces suddenly be spread so thin? This makes no sense.”

Nox pursed her lips. “My sources indicate that key elements of Vowrawn’s power base have started to mysteriously ‘disappear’.”

“Oh, for—“ A’tro started exasperatedly. She stopped, took a deep breath, and started again in a slightly calmer voice. “Do people not realize that if we waste our resources fighting each other, we are going to lose the war?”

“Sith will be Sith,” Nox said with a shrug. “There’s little point in complaining about it.”

“Do you have any idea who could be behind this?” A’tro asked.

Nox shrugged again, more expansively. “Darth Vowrawn has been on the Dark Council for a very long time. No doubt his enemies number in the multitudes. Really, it could be anyone.”

“It had better not be you behind this, Nox,” A’tro said warningly.

Nox gave her a wounded look. “My dear Wrath, you know me! Since when have I ever put my own agenda before the well-being of the Empire?”

“I can think of a few times,” A’tro muttered.

“Besides,” Nox continued, ignoring her comment, “what could I possibly have to gain by undermining Vowrawn? No, if I were to plot against any of my fellow Council members—“

“—it would be Ravage,” A’tro finished.

Nox sighed. “Insufferable man. One of these days, I’m going to burn that smirk off his face.”

“I think he has a thing for you, Nox,” A’tro teased.

Nox frowned at her. “Ever since you started wearing that blasted mask, I can never tell if you’re being serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“I hope that this latest comment was an exception, because…” Nox shuddered. “Ick.”

“Oh, grow up,” A’tro said amusedly.

“There is a difference between ‘maturity’ and ‘standards’. I possess both,” Nox said regally.

“Really,” A’tro said in tones of extreme interest. “I suppose sheer sexual frustration would explain a great deal about your disposition…”

“There’s nothing wrong with my disposition,” Nox said frostily. “And I am a Dark Lord of the Sith. I can have any man I want, any time I want.”

“If they meet your standards, that is.”

“Shut up! I’m already sickeningly jealous of you as it is.”

“Of me? My goodness. Should I be flattered?”

Nox smiled evilly. “Whatever you like, my dear. Say, would you mind if I…borrowed…your Lieutenant Pierce for a time?”

A’tro waved a hand. “If you like.”

“What’s his first name, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” A’tro said. “Honestly, I’m not sure he has one. We’re leaving for Balmorra in a few weeks, but before then you’re welcome to…do whatever it is you want to do. I don’t want details!” she added hastily as Nox opened her mouth.

Nox chuckled. “Funny, and here I remember a time when you threatened me with bodily harm if I so much as looked at one of your crew the wrong way.”

“Pierce can handle himself. Quinn is mine, and don’t you forget it.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Nox sighed reluctantly.

“Seriously, is there some problem with your crew that makes you feel the need to go around seducing mine?”

“Xalek is an alien, Khem Val is…no, just no. Talos has remained oblivious despite my best efforts, and Andronikos continues to sulk even after two years.” Nox rolled her eyes. “That man is so touchy.”

A’tro snickered. “You mean the pirate? What did you say to him?”

“Things were going perfectly well,” Nox huffed. “I thought I’d made it quite clear that I wasn’t interested in a serious relationship, but then he went and got all clingy. He actually mentioned marriage, can you believe it?” She shook her head incredulously. “The nerve!”

“You laughed in his face, didn’t you?” A’tro guessed.

“Apparently, he took it personally.”

A’tro shook her head. “You really have no clue how feelings work, do you?”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that sort of thing,” Nox said. “I simply choose not care. It simplifies matters considerably.”

“I’m going to guess that the term ‘heartless b*tch’ has been directed your way a few times.”

“I take it as a compliment,” Nox said, standing straighter. “I am a Sith, after all.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you—“ A’tro shook her head. “Never mind. You’re hopeless.”

Nox shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” A’tro asked suspiciously.

Nox grinned at her. “The married woman cannot hope to empathize with the plight of the eternal bachelorette. No, don’t go for your lightsaber.”

A’tro kept her hands on the weapons anyway.

“What you choose to do with your personal life is hardly relevant to my affairs,” Nox said airily. “So you married far, far beneath your social status. I don’t give a damn. In fact, I think it’s kind of cute.”

“’Cute’,” A’tro repeated flatly. “I may kill you just for that.”

Nox chortled. “The Emperor’s Wrath and Malavai Quinn—the Empire’s most dignified couple. Face it my dear, you’re simply adorable. Oh, put that thing away! I’m only joking!”

A’tro reluctantly deactivated her lightsaber. “How did you know?”

“That’s my little secret,” Nox said mysteriously. “Really, A’tro, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone knows about Darth Marr’s mistress, and I hear that Vowrawn has a harem.”

“Speaking of Vowrawn,” A’tro cut in, “if you come up with any ideas as to who’s trying to undermine him—“

“I’ll let you know,” Nox assured her. She seemed to sense A’tro’s bad mood, and shifted the conversation towards a safer topic.

After Nox finally left A’tro’s chambers, the Wrath pulled her mask off with a sigh. The news about Vowrawn’s mysterious enemy was disturbing. In a time of war, the Dark Council members needed to be focused on fighting the Republic, not shielding themselves against attacks from within the Empire. But who could be behind this?

A’tro shook her head. She took out her comlink and entered Pierce’s frequency.

“Yes, milord?” he answered after a moment.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” A’tro said. “You ought to know, Darth Nox may be paying you a visit…”

Darth Nox has some kind of bizarre magical quality that causes every scene involving her to become funny.

It's my natural charm.

If that's what you want to call it...

I admit, I find it rather amusing that you set me up with Pierce.

Hey, the guy deserves to get with someone. And you know you like those bass-voiced guys.

Me and the vast majority of your readership, no doubt.

Nothing wrong with that.

<3 <3

A’tro snickered. “You mean the pirate? What did you say to him?”

 

“Things were going perfectly well,” Nox huffed. “I thought I’d made it quite clear that I wasn’t interested in a serious relationship, but then he went and got all clingy. He actually mentioned marriage, can you believe it?” She shook her head incredulously. “The nerve!”

 

“You laughed in his face, didn’t you?” A’tro guessed.

 

“Apparently, he took it personally.”

Ha! This!

I'll admit I tend towards Darth Nox here. It drives me nuts when some of these people get marriage-minded. Andronikos and Kaliyo stick out especially badly. Really, folks? Yes, I will laugh at you for that, especially after the tenor of our relationship to date.

And yes I did get confused the first time I turned an NPC down for marriage and he got upset. It was actually me acknowledging that I liked Quinn but he was way beneath marriage material for me...wow, that riled him up. Computer-boy got riled up. Oops.

I admit, I find it rather amusing that you set me up with Pierce.

 

Hey, the guy deserves to get with someone. And you know you like those bass-voiced guys.

Me and the vast majority of your readership, no doubt.

Nothing wrong with that.

Bass-voice fangirl signing in here.

And yes I did get confused the first time I turned an NPC down for marriage and he got upset. It was actually me acknowledging that I liked Quinn but he was way beneath marriage material for me...wow, that riled him up. Computer-boy got riled up. Oops.

I'm going to derail my own thread here to talk about Quinn, because why not:

I've spent far more time than I'd like to admit surfing through the options for Quinn's romance conversations, particularly #18... I find it quite interesting that if you reject him on the grounds that he's not good enough for you, two of his possible responses depending on the options you pick are some of the most emotional lines I've ever heard out of Quinn. I was quite startled. Said lines being:

On my second Fem!Warrior, out of curiosity, I turned Quinn down...and got the non romance legacy conversation. I guess he knows how to take a hint? Amusingly, you can still tell him that

Dialogue obtained from my transcripts of said scenes. Yes, I have transcripts. Most of them were done purely from memory. Obsessed fangirl, thy name is Vesaniae.

I'm going to derail my own thread here to talk about Quinn, because why not:

 

<snip>

 

 

 

WARRIOR: If you're through, you may go.

QUINN, bitterly: I'm definitely through. My lord.

I have never heard Quinn sound quite so scathing. I felt like a terrible person for picking that option even though I esc'd out immediately.

 

Alternatively:

WARRIOR: I didn't intend for you to get hurt.

QUINN, on the verge of choked up-edly: It just worked out that way, I guess. But I'll live.

VESANIAE: Wait, did Quinn just show actual sadness? Nooo, don't be sad! Time to go through the nice options and make you feel better!

 

Ooh, thanks for the quotes! The only conversation I have exhaustively researched to transcribe is the Incident.

I just told him marriage wasn't necessary and he did The Sadface. The animation has been in BioWare's book at least since Dragon Age: Origins, and I remembered it from accidentally hurting Alistair, and it just shot straight to "DAMAGE CONTROL UNDO OH GOD I'M SO SORRY PLEASE NEVER BE SAD AGAIN." It really is gut-punchingly shocking to see Quinn admit to being hurt.

Ooh, thanks for the quotes! The only conversation I have exhaustively researched to transcribe is the Incident.

If you or anyone else would like a transcript of Quinn conversation 8, 11, 16, 17, or 18, feel free to send me a PM and I would be more than happy to send you a copy. I also have #19, but only the non-romance version.

Twenty-Seven – A New Player

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

14 ATC

“Have you met Lord Necrosion?” Nox asked.

A’tro shook her head. “Who?”

“A newcomer to the Citadel. Apparently he’s the one responsible for single-handedly salvaging Vowrawn’s operations.”

“Interesting. A newcomer, you say?”

Nox nodded. “No one seems to know anything about him. He’s a wild card.”

A’tro frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Nox started to pace back and forth the way she did when presented with a particularly irksome problem. “He’s a mystery,” she said grimly. “I hate mysteries.”

“And he’s the one who came to Vowrawn’s rescue?”

“That’s what he claims. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“Not about that; I’ve spoken with Vowrawn, and he confirms that Necrosion is indeed responsible for saving his hide. But something about this seems off. A Lord who no one’s ever heard of appears out of nowhere and bails out a Dark Council member at the last possible moment? That’s one hell of a coincidence.”

“Do you think this was all a set-up by Vowrawn?” A’tro asked.

“It could be,” Nox said dubiously. “But I doubt it.”

“Tell me more about this Lord Necrosion,” A’tro said.

“He’s human, looks to be in his late twenties.” Nox gave her a sidelong glance. “He’s not bad-looking, either. Dark hair, blue eyes…”

“Hmph.”

“Judging by the accent,” Nox continued, “he’s definitely upper-class Imperial. If he saved Vowrawn’s operation by himself, he must be fairly powerful.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Of course not,” Nox scoffed. “I do not associate with random no-name Lords, even if they did help out a Dark Council member. I have standards, remember?”

“How could I forget?” A’tro muttered.

“Many of the younger Sith seem rather taken with him,” Nox mused. “He’s acquired a bit of a following.”

A’tro raised a brow-ridge. “And he’s been on Dromund Kaas for how long?”

“About a week.”

“So, his star is rising rather rapidly. I wonder what he’s planning?”

“What do all ambitious young Lords plan?” Nox said dryly. “To acquire more power, of course. No doubt he’s angling for Vowrawn to make him a Darth.”

“He did haul Vowrawn back from the very edge of the precipice,” A’tro said. “You think he’ll do it?”

“I wouldn’t put it past that old reptile,” Nox said darkly. “I’d bet money that Necrosion is the one who sabotaged Vowrawn in the first place. It’s what I would do.”

“That’s a rather wide leap of logic, Nox.”

“Paranoia, my dear. It pays off.”

“If you say so.”

“Anyway,” Nox said briskly, “I’ll be keeping an eye on this Lord Necrosion. I don’t trust his motives.”

A’tro nodded. “If there’s anything I can do to assist—“

“I’ll let you know,” Nox assured her.

Some time later, A’tro finally made her way back into the private section of her chambers. Her meeting with Nox had kept her busy later than usual; Quinn had apparently been occupying himself by watching the HoloNet. He nodded to her as she locked the door behind her and removed her mask.

She looked at the projector. “Have you been watching that with the sound off this whole time?”

Quinn nodded. “I’m not really watching it. It just helps me relax.”

A’tro settled herself next to where he sat at the edge of the seat, his back perfectly straight, feet flat on the floor. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” she said teasingly.

He eased his posture ever so slightly to put an arm around her as she nestled against him. “How did your meeting go?” he asked.

“Nox is being irritable and paranoid, as usual,” A’tro sighed. “That reminds me, though—have you ever heard of a Sith Lord named Necrosion?”

“Necrosion…” Quinn repeated slowly. She imagined that she could almost see the intricate workings of impossibly complex machinery turning behind his eyes as he processed the information. After a long moment, he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I have. Sorry.”

“He came blazing onto the scene a few weeks ago,” A’tro said. “Nox says he’s the one who salvaged that debacle in the Mid Rim.”

“The one with Darth Vowrawn’s forces? Interesting.”

“Do you think there’s a connection?” A’tro asked.

“Perhaps,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “That kind of coincidence seems rather unlikely.”

“That’s what Nox said.”

“Her reasoning is generally sound, despite her…eccentricities.”

A’tro laughed softly. “That’s one way to put it.”

There was a brief, companionable silence, then Quinn extricated himself, stood up, and left the room. A few moments later, he returned, carrying a small box, and resumed his position beside her on the sofa.

“It occurred to me,” he said, “that your birthday is in two weeks. It also occurred to me that by then, you’ll have left for Balmorra. So I thought that I would give this to you now.” He proffered the box. “Careful—it’s very fragile.”

A’tro took the box, gingerly balancing it on her lap, then lifted the lid.

“I don’t believe it,” she gasped, eyes widening.

Inside the box was a perfect, delicately beautiful miniature tree.

“I remembered that you liked them,” Quinn said. “I couldn’t obtain a Voss specimen, unfortunately, but—“

A’tro carefully set the tree on the floor, then flung her arms around him and kissed him enthusiastically, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

“It’s wonderful,” she said breathlessly when she drew back for air. “I can’t thank you enough, Malavai.”

He smiled at her. “It’s enough to know that I’ve made you happy.”

“Very happy,” she agreed, and kissed him again.

Blargh, everything with A'tro and Quinn feels so sickeningly saccharine now. I'm almost tempted to break them up.

Don't. You. Dare.

I was only kidding! Really!

I'm holding you to that.

Ze plot, she thickens.

Blargh, everything with A'tro and Quinn feels so sickeningly saccharine now. I'm almost tempted to break them up.

And that's the problem with Quinn! Sweetness and happiness feel fundamentally wrong for him. I could see a steady state of functional and efficacious, but I can't figure how anybody can stand to write sustained positive emotion. Or maybe it's just that I personally can't conceptualize the personality that could stand to be around him for more than a couple of months at a time...

...I mean, uh, I'm glad you're happy, Quinn! Good luck with that.

Black hair? Blue eyes? Oddly attractive?

Don't even.

His name is stupid, but that description is familiar...

You have orange eyes.

Not when I don't want to.

Since when.

Since just now.

Ooh, thanks for the quotes! The only conversation I have exhaustively researched to transcribe is the Incident.

GAH! Nooooooooo....like I train-wreck, I had to read it and go through all the unsatisfying endings.

Seriously, if they had to gimp the REAL solution a dark-side Sith Lord would seek (kill the bastard), WHY WHY WHY did they have to remove (or not consider) the "I will embarrass you and let the crew beat you to a bloody pulp" answer? WHY can you not simply make an "I will tell the crew and you will be a pariah" choice?!

:mad::mad: (Yes, I just relived the revelation of this travesty of expediency-based storytelling all over again.)

Blargh, everything with A'tro and Quinn feels so sickeningly saccharine now. I'm almost tempted to break them up.

Yeah, I don't think that's a problem I'll ever have. I can't stand making Quinn happy.

Oh? Do tell. Do you really hate me so much?

Yes. *double take* Wait, how did you get in here?

You left the door open.

(from the other side) Yeah, he does that.

*facepalm*

And that's the problem with Quinn! Sweetness and happiness feel fundamentally wrong for him. I could see a steady state of functional and efficacious, but I can't figure how anybody can stand to write sustained positive emotion.

I'm honestly not sure either... Oh well, some new conflict will arise before all the marital bliss becomes morbidly OOC.

Or maybe it's just that I personally can't conceptualize the personality that could stand to be around him for more than a couple of months at a time...

Hello.

You're just as bad as he is, little Miss For-the-Empire! The only difference is that you're actually capable of being nice, so the audience is predisposed to be more sympathetic towards you!

I fail to see your point. And Malavai and I have been (almost sort of kind of mostly) happily married for a little over a year now, so THERE!

Don't mind her, she's touchy about her obsession.

HEY! Hypocrite!

Black hair? Blue eyes? Oddly attractive?

Don't even.

His name is stupid, but that description is familiar...

You have orange eyes.

Not when I don't want to.

Since when.

Since just now.

Oh my Emperor, our text is the same color!

Coincidence, A'tro, coincidence. Doesn't mean he's your soul mate or anything like that.

Hey, I hadn't thought of that! And he is technically still Quinn, so... heythere

*headdesk* No fraternizing with other people's characters, dammit!

Yeah, I don't think that's a problem I'll ever have. I can't stand making Quinn happy.

Awww, poor Quinn. No one likes him.

I like him! And so do you, for that matter.

You're fictional, and I'm a deranged fangirl. Not helping our case here.

There is no case! Malavai is amazing and I refuse to hear a word against him!

*sigh* You do that, A'tro. You do that.

In other news, the next chapter is in progress! It will be going up later today because lolmorningclasses. The plot is rapidly condensing. In fact, I fear it might be almost too rapid. We'll see.

I can't wait to get to that part when--

No spoiling your own story.

Give them a hint! Hints are fun!

All right... Here, have a super special ultra cryptic one sentence preview:

“No,” Nox admitted after a moment’s hesitation. “I have not.”

That's from a climactic scene of Arc 3. Good luck guessing the context!

Oh my Emperor, our text is the same color!

Coincidence, A'tro, coincidence. Doesn't mean he's your soul mate or anything like that.

Hey, I hadn't thought of that! And he is technically still Quinn, so... heythere

*headdesk* No fraternizing with other people's characters, dammit!

Well, hello there.

Stop hitting on Sith Lords!

I hit on Lachris.

Then you killed her.

I won't kill this one.

NO! No crossing over into someone else's story!

I don't know if you've noticed, but I pretty much do what I want.

I will make your lightsaber pink.

That's fine. It'll be a rare crystal and I can sell it for a lot of cre-

Your Sith clothing, too. You'll attract all kinds of unwanted attention.

... I hate you.

Don't I know it.

The plot accelerates at lightning speed!

Twenty-Eight – Checkmate

Sith Academy, Korriban

14 ATC

A’tro reflected, not for the first time, that few things in the galaxy were more uncomfortable than the chairs in the Dark Council chamber. She resisted the urge to squirm uncomfortably as the other Council members filed in. It was the usual crowd: Darth Marr, Darth Ravage, Darth Mortis, Darth Nox, Darth Vowrawn…

A’tro’s eyes widened. Vowrawn had someone with him.

This must be mysterious Lord Necrosion, she thought, and was glad that the mask hid any reaction her face might have shown.

Nox’s description had been accurate: he looked fairly young, with dark hair and pale blue eyes. She had neglected to mention that Necrosion was not particularly tall, standing slightly shorter than Darth Vowrawn. He was dressed in traditional red and black armor, and a single lightsaber hung at his side. He looked around the Council chamber, his expression one of boredom.

“Who is this, Vowrawn?” Darth Marr demanded.

Vowrawn smiled widely. “I’m sure most of you have heard of this remarkable young man already. Lords of the Council, this is Lord Necrosion.”

A’tro looked across the room at Nox, who was regarding Necrosion with a raised eyebrow.

“So, this is the one who saved your sorry skin, Vowrawn,” Ravage remarked. “He doesn’t look like much.”

Necrosion bristled visibly at the comment.

Poor control, A’tro thought contemptuously.

“I assure you, his unexceptional appearance is deceptive,” Vowrawn said.

“That’s all very well and good,” Nox drawled, “but why did you bring him here?”

“Lords of the Dark Council,” Necrosion broke in. He had a slightly raspy tenor voice. “I know that this is somewhat unorthodox.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Nox said.

Necrosion frowned. “My lords, I wished to appear before the Council because I wanted you to see the truth for yourselves.”

“Is this really necessary?” Ravage sighed.

Marr’s mask turned ominously in Ravage’s direction. “You may speak, Lord Necrosion.”

Necrosion bowed gracefully. “I thank you, Lord Marr. My lords, I came here today with a message. Darth Vowrawn is weak. He is not worthy of his esteemed office.”

Vowrawn looked surprised, then affronted.

“That’s hardly your call,” Nox pointed out.

Ravage raised an eyebrow. “Why should we listen to a word you say?”

“Because I have proof!” Necrosion declared, his voice ringing throughout the chamber. “My lords, I confess—I orchestrated the attack on Vowrawn’s power base. I sabotaged his campaign. And as easily as I destroyed it, I restored it!”

So Nox was right, A’tro thought. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.

“An intriguing claim,” Darth Mortis said. “To what purpose, I wonder?”

Necrosion drew himself up. “I believe that Vowrawn is unworthy to be on the Dark Council. I wish to challenge him and prove my superiority.”

Vowrawn glared at him. “Arrogant boy! You wish to die, then.”

“Interesting,” Marr said. He paused deliberately, then said, “You may proceed.”

A’tro had never actually seen Darth Vowrawn fight. She leaned forward, intrigued, as he and Necrosion drew their lightsabers and circled one another.

“Try to get it over with quickly,” Ravage sighed. “We have more important business to attend to.”

The fight was not over quickly.

It dragged on and on and on. Neither Vowrawn nor Necrosion were exceptionally skilled fighters, and as time passed the battle became almost painful to watch. A’tro found herself wincing with every exchange. Ravage stopped paying attention entirely and started quietly arguing with Nox.

A’tro considered closing her eyes and taking a nap behind the privacy of her mask, as she suspected that Darth Marr was doing. Still, there was something almost hypnotic about the duel, pathetic as it was, and she found herself staring transfixed despite her increasing boredom.

Time wore on, and the combatants were showing signs of fatigue, their strikes becoming increasingly akin to uncontrolled flailing. A’tro was starting to seriously consider intervening, if only to spare those watching any further agony, when Necrosion got in a lucky strike.

Vowrawn collapsed to the floor, dead. Necrosion sagged where he stood, gasping for breath, covered in sweat.

Ravage looked up from his debate. “Well, well. About time somebody offed that insufferable idiot.”

Nox smirked at him. “How fortunate for you that you declined to take me up on a wager.”

“Enough, both of you!” Marr snapped. “Lord Necrosion, you have bested Darth Vowrawn in honorable combat. By rights, his seat on the Dark Council now belongs to you.”

“What?” Ravage exclaimed. “You’re going to put some nobody on the Dark Council just because he managed to skewer Vowrawn?”

“For once, I agree with Ravage,” Nox said. “A simple duel is hardly enough to deem suitability for a Council seat.”

“His actions in salvaging Vowrawn’s operations have proven his strength,” Marr retorted.

“I, for one, see no reason to oppose Necrosion’s ascension,” Mortis put in. “He showed his superiority by defeating Vowrawn. You all saw it.”

“That was pure luck,” Nox said dismissively.

“And what does the Wrath think?” Marr asked, turning to A’tro.

She frowned. “The law is the law,” she said reluctantly. “Like it or not, Necrosion has won a place here.”

“This is preposterous,” Ravage grumbled. “You can’t put a Lord on the Dark Council, not again.”

“Quiet, Ravage,” Marr said. “Lord Necrosion, you have proven yourself worthy. You are now Darth Necrosion. Vowrawn’s seat on the Council belongs to you.”

Necrosion bowed somewhat unsteadily. “I will not disappoint you, my lords,” he said, sounding winded. “You will see that I deserve this power.”

“We will be watching you,” A’tro said warningly.

Necrosion turned to look in her direction, and she started at the sudden burst of hatred she sensed from him. What could this unknown Sith have against her?

“Darth Marr has lost his mind,” Nox said as she and A’tro exited the Council chamber together. “What the hell was he thinking? Putting that nobody from nowhere on the Council! I can’t believe it.”

“It’s a disturbing development,” A’tro agreed.

Nox shook her head. “He’s going to be trouble, mark my words.”

“I doubt he’ll be able to do anything too drastic, not with all of us looking over his shoulder.”

Nox smiled coldly. “I almost hope he does try something, just so I can put him in his place. Say, when are you leaving for Balmorra?”

“As soon as I return to Dromund Kaas to collect my crew,” A’tro replied.

Nox raised an eyebrow. “Are you taking the full complement?”

A’tro shook her head. “Just Pierce and Broonmark. The situation on Balmorra is not so dire that I’ll need all of them. Besides, they aren’t all getting along of late. I try to keep them apart as much as I can.”

“Ah, the joys of managing people,” Nox sighed. “Have fun crushing the Republic.”

“I’ll do my best,” A’tro said dryly. “Stay out of trouble, and keep an eye on Necrosion.”

“Believe me, I will.”

 

“What?” Ravage exclaimed. “You’re going to put some nobody on the Dark Council just because he managed to skewer Vowrawn?”

Eeheehee! The image of Vowrawn having an ineffectual Force-slapping-contest with some upjumped Sith blade is just marvelous.

I've always wondered what it would be like to fight Vowrawn. I know a big part of his thing is never having to right, but he must do it sometimes.

Eeheehee! The image of Vowrawn having an ineffectual Force-slapping-contest with some upjumped Sith blade is just marvelous.

 

I've always wondered what it would be like to fight Vowrawn. I know a big part of his thing is never having to right, but he must do it sometimes.

Going through Corellia as a SW was seriously annoying for me. I found myself yelling at the screen, "for chrissakes you're a Dark Council member! DO SOMETHING YOU USELESS WUSS!" Honestly, I found the fact that Vowrawn is utterly incompetent to be more frustrating than the Quinncident. For srs.

So I vented my frustrations by killing him off. Force-slapping contest, indeed.

And now, time for another one of Vesaniae's editorials on writing! This one concerns...music!

I find that music is seriously helpful to my creative process. I'm not going to get into my taste in music because I'm sure you all don't care about that. Suffice to say that I have a playlist specifically for this story, with songs selected because I feel that the lyrics and/or mood contained therein is particularly suitable to this plot, or parts of this plot.

I love the feeling of "omgsquee" that comes from listening to a song, noting the lyrics...and realizing that they fit with my story as though they had been written for it. I'd cite a few examples, but that would violate the "no discussing my musical tastes" rule, not to mention give away a few plot items that haven't come up yet!

When I write, I'm in the zone. I'm not even really hearing the music. But it's there in my subconscious, creating the appropriate atmosphere and feelings within my brain, and I think that gets transmitted into the scene somehow. Music is amazing.

And that was your Vesaniae editorial on writing for tonight! Short and sweet, because the plot is thickening and I want to write moar chapterz!

I could kill Vowrawn in my sleep.

Yes, yes you're super special awesome. Shut up.

*flexes*

Do stop that.

LIGHTSABER SLAP FIGHTS ARE AWESOME.

There is a single line of dialogue in this chapter that contains a minor spoiler for Agent Chapter One. I've spoilertagged it. Those of you avoiding agent spoilers, you're not missing anything important. It's just one line, and it's there for flavor rather than plot.

Twenty-Nine – Inferno

Balmorra

14 ATC

The dropship hurtled through the air above Balmorra’s mountainous landscape, the engines rumbling like thunder.

A’tro held onto the rack overhead as turbulence rocked the vessel. Atmospheric flight was always so much more…chaotic…than space travel.

Pierce and Broonmark stood on either side of her, while the ordinary Imperial soldiers on the dropship kept their distance. Pierce in particular had been noticeably colder towards her since the incident on Telos over a year ago. Considering that she had very nearly executed him, it was difficult to blame him for being unfriendly. On the other hand, he had brought it on himself for going against her will.

Abruptly, the dropship lurched, as though struck by some unknown force.

“What the hell was that?” A’tro demanded once she had regained her footing.

Pierce frowned. “I’d say something hit us, but there aren’t supposed to be any Republic air forces in this sector—“

The ship shook again, and this time A’tro heard the sound of a missile exploding upon impact. Pierce stuck his head out through the opening in the ship’s side, then quickly withdrew as yet another blast hit.

“Those are our ships, milord!” Pierce shouted. “Imperial forces, firing on us!”

A’tro’s eyes widened.

Fire blossomed at one side of the ship, and the world spun wildly.

She felt an impact, then everything went dark.

Sith Academy, Korriban

14 ATC

Darth Nox settled herself in her chair and took a look around the Dark Council chamber. It was the first meeting since Lord Necrosion—Darth Necrosion, she corrected herself sourly—had joined their ranks. There was no sign of the young upstart, however.

Maybe he’s late? she wondered dubiously.

The meeting started. Necrosion did not appear.

One would think that he would be here, Nox thought. And yet there’s no sign of him. What is he playing at, I wonder?

She listened with half an ear as Ravage droned on about one of his stupid little pet projects, not even bothering to deliver her usual blistering commentary. This whole business with Necrosion was troubling. Every instinct screamed at her that something was amiss.

Raw ambition was not sufficient justification for taking down a Dark Council member. Not even the most power-hungry young Sith would challenge one of those most powerful twelve on a whim. Yet Necrosion had appeared out of nowhere and seemingly done just that.

There has to be a reason. Some grudge, some plot, some motivation for him to have targeted Vowrawn like that!

“You’re rather quiet today, Nox,” Darth Mortis noted, his voice breaking into her thoughts.

She shrugged. “Just noticing the conspicuous absence of our newest colleague.”

“Necrosion? Yes, I wonder why he chose not to appear.”

Before Nox could reply, the door to the Council chamber opened, and Necrosion strode inside. He had an object tucked under one arm.

“So, you decided to grace us with your presence after all,” Nox said acidly.

Necrosion glared at her, then offered a bow to the rest of the Council. “I apologize for my lateness, my lords. I have an announcement to make.”

“Really,” Mortis said. “And what might that be?”

Necrosion took a deep breath. “The last time I stood before this esteemed gathering, I revealed the weakness of the late Darth Vowrawn, and eliminated the threat that weakness posed to the security of the Empire.”

“Yes, we remember,” Ravage muttered.

“Since that time,” Necrosion continued, “I uncovered another high-ranking Sith who was unworthy of their position. Now, they too have been dealt with.”

He tossed the object he had been carrying to the floor in front him.

The mask of Darth Zariel struck the stones with a clang, bounced once, then slid across the floor, coming to rest by Ravage’s chair. The metal was stained dark with soot, and was warped along one edge, as though it had been exposed to high heat.

“Darth A’tro, the woman you knew as the Emperor’s Wrath, was a liar and a pretender,” Necrosion said savagely. “She hid behind her claims of having the Emperor’s favor, when in truth she was nothing more than a coward. Now, she is dead.”

Nox sucked in a breath as fury surged through her. Control, she thought grimly. Show no emotion. Give them no sign that they’ve affected you.

“I will believe that Darth A’tro is dead when I see her corpse at my feet,” Nox said flatly.

Necrosion whirled to face her. “You doubt my words?”

“I doubt a great many things about you, Necrosion, your words being but one of them.”

“Your implications offend me.”

“Your continued existence offends me. But I suppose that can’t be helped.”

Necrosion drew himself up angrily. “Challenge me, and I will end you like I ended the others!”

“Tempting as it is to teach you to respect your betters, I really can’t be bothered,” Nox drawled.

Her attempt to provoke him proved successful; Necrosion’s face turned crimson, and he glared at her with obvious rage. “Are you too afraid to face me?” he demanded.

“Afraid? Of course not,” Nox scoffed. “You simply mean so little to me that the satisfaction I would derive from crushing you isn’t worth the required effort.”

Necrosion’s face darkened towards purple. “You—you dare—“ he spluttered, reaching for his lightsaber.

Enough is enough, Nox decided.

“Oh, yes,” she said softly. “I dare.” She paused deliberately, then added, “Coward.”

Necrosion snarled something incoherent, drawing his lightsaber and charging towards her.

Nox’s eyes flared with violet light, and she lifted a hand casually, gracefully. Lightning blazed from her fingertips, catching Necrosion in mid-step.

He tried to block the attack with his lightsaber, but the dark energy surrounded him in a searing embrace that was impossible to escape. Nox watched with a critical eye as the lightning rapidly overwhelmed his Force defenses, blackening his armor and blistering his skin.

Hmm, that was a rather pitiful attempt at resistance, she thought.

A combination of training and experience had made Nox an expert at causing pain, and she adjusted the power level of her lightning so that it would only cause agony rather than death. With clinical detachment, she noted the exact moment when Necrosion started to scream.

Ravage said amusedly. “Can I play, too?”

Nox smiled at him. “Ask me nicely, and I’ll think about it.”

Ravage frowned, evidently torn between the desire to inflict pain upon a helpless being and the desire to avoid being civil to Nox at all costs.

After a few moments, she noticed that Necrosion’s tormented writhing was starting to grow distressingly weak, so she let the lightning fade away and lowered her hand to her lap.

His armor had been reduced to a charred shell, and his exposed skin was little better. By her expert estimation, she had burned half his face off. He would need some serious prosthetics.

“You could have saved some for the rest of us,” Ravage pouted.

“You didn’t ask nicely,” Nox said contrarily.

“It seems Necrosion was not as strong as he had led us to believe,” Mortis said thoughtfully. “You dominated him completely, Nox.”

“Send word to Balmorra,” Marr said. “See if the Wrath is truly dead.”

“I’ll handle that,” Nox volunteered. She reached out with the Force and pulled A’tro’s mask over to her, then grabbed it out of the air.

“What about him?” Ravage asked, gesturing to Necrosion’s still form.

“Send for the medical droids,” Marr said. “If he survives, he may redeem himself from this failure.”

Ravage snorted. “That was one failure I’ll be hard-pressed to forget. He claims to have killed the Wrath, yet Nox utterly humiliated him without even leaving her seat.”

She winked at him. “And don’t you forget that I could do the same to you.”

“You could try,” Ravage smirked.

Nox looked down at the mask in her lap. She knew that Necrosion could never hope to best A’tro in a fair fight, but there were other ways to kill a Sith Lord. She smoothed a finger over the partially melted edge. This would bear closer investigation.

It was time to call in old favors.

I now ship Ravage/Nox.

What about -

No, shut up.

*pout*

I now ship Ravage/Nox.

Wha-- NO! Don't give her ideas, you fool!

Hmm, interesting. I could get behind that.

Don't you dare pair me with Ravage! I will hunt you down!

Watch me.

*glower*

On another note: Since I have never played through Republic Balmorra, for the purposes of this story we're just going to pretend that Balmorra exists in a time bubble where the Republic storyline there never happened. I figure, I'm going to be screwing with continuity enough later, I might as well throw that in.

So this chapter takes place before the second part of the previous chapter. Because I felt like it.

Thirty – Embers

Balmorra

14 ATC

A’tro staggered to her feet, her head whirling. Heat pressed in nearby, and she instinctively shied away, stumbling in a different direction until her feet caught against something and she almost fell.

Her vision blurred, then refocused. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see… Something was obstructing her face. She reached up and tore the barrier free, tossing it away. She inhaled and promptly started coughing as smoke filled her lungs.

She looked down. The object that she had tripped on was a motionless figure in the armor of an Imperial soldier.

Pieces of heat-twisted metal lay scattered all around, and she could see flames prowling closer. She stared at them, hypnotized, wavering where she stood as a wave of dizziness crashed over her.

“Milord!” a deep voice said urgently. “Milord, we have to get out of here!”

Reluctantly, she turned away from the flames and towards the speaker. A burly man in the same armor as the one she had stumbled over before, dark red beard, eyeing her with an expression of concern…

A name floated up from the depths of her mind.

“Pierce?” she whispered.

Then she passed out at his feet.

The first thing that A’tro noticed upon returning to awareness was a pounding headache. Trying to ignore the pain, she warily opened her eyes.

She was lying in what appeared to be a small cave of some sort. Pierce was sitting across from her, his gun balanced on his lap.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said, noticing her looking around. “Good.”

A’tro carefully raised herself to a sitting position, putting a hand to her head. “Where are we?” she asked.

“Somewhere in the mountains east of Sobrik. Dragged you in here after you collapsed after the crash.”

“Where’s Broonmark?”

Pierce shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”

“Damn,” A’tro whispered. The pain in her head pushed in all around her, making it hard to think. She pressed both hands against her temples.

Pierce noticed the gesture. “I don’t think you’re concussed,” he said. “You were only out for a few minutes. I’ve got some painkillers, if you want any.”

A’tro closed her eyes for a long moment, drawing on the Force. The pain receded into the background. “Save them,” she said.

Pierce shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

A’tro thought for a moment. “You said we’re somewhere east of Sobrik. Do you have any idea if it’s possible to navigate back through these mountains?”

“Based on what I saw of the maps, I think there’s a trail of some sort.”

A’tro nodded. “Excellent. We should leave quickly, before the Republic comes to investigate the crash.” She rose to her feet, using the cave wall for support.

“Ready when you are, milord,” Pierce said. He quickly got up, leaning on his weapon. A’tro noticed a pained expression flash across his face for a brief instant.

“Are you injured?” she asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said grimly. “Let’s go.”

Pierce’s assessment had been correct; there was indeed a trail through the mountains. It was narrow and winding, and A’tro reflected concernedly that it would be the perfect place for an ambush. Fortunately, it headed as straight in a westerly direction as the terrain would allow.

After a few hours, she spotted a hollow in the rock off the side of the path.

“Let’s stop here for a bit,” she said, noticing that Pierce was starting to look slightly unsteady on his feet.

The hollow proved to be a decent sized cave similar to the one they had occupied before. A’tro used the Force to maneuver a nearby boulder to conceal the entrance, while Pierce sank to the ground, his face pale.

“You don’t look so good,” A’tro told him.

“Twisted my knee pretty badly in the crash,” Pierce admitted. He fumbled in his utility belt and pulled out a small syringe. “Should be able to keep going with enough pain meds.”

“Until your leg collapses out from under you,” A’tro said sharply. “Let me look at it.”

“It’s really not that bad—“

A’tro folded her arms across her chest. “Quit stalling. Boot off. I have a couple of emergency kolto injections—they won’t do much, but it should be enough to keep you walking until we get to Sobrik.”

Pierce sighed. “Fine, fine.”

The injury definitely looked bad. The knee was purple and swollen, and A’tro was amazed that he had been able to get as far as he had. She extricated the kolto syringes from their hidden compartments in her boots, then removed her gloves and carefully applied the injections.

“There,” she said. “That should start to work in a few minutes.”

Pierce didn’t respond. For a moment, she feared that he had passed out. Then she realized that he was staring at her bare hands.

“Pierce?” she asked warily.

“Didn’t know you were married, milord,” he said thoughtfully.

A’tro looked at her left hand, at the ring clearly visible on her third finger, and silently swore. “Um. Yes, I am,” she said awkwardly. She reached for her gloves and quickly put them back on.

Pierce raised an eyebrow. “It’s some kind of secret, then?”

She shrugged. “I’m a Sith. He’s not.”

“I see. Never took you for the marrying kind,” Pierce mused. “Then again, I should probably know better than to assume things about you.”

“Yes, you should.”

“Of course, now I’m curious…”

“You don’t want to know,” A’tro said dourly.

Pierce gave her a long, calculating look. “It’s Quinn, isn’t it?”

A’tro raised a brow-ridge. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“With due respect, milord, I’m not an idiot.”

“No, I suppose you’re not. All right, I won’t deny it.”

Pierce smiled faintly. “That lucky bastard.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” A’tro said lightly.

“What, of Quinn? Never,” Pierce scoffed.

A’tro frowned, but said nothing. An uncomfortable silence fell.

“Once that kolto starts working, we should get moving again,” she said finally. “No doubt the Republic forces will investigate the crash, and we don’t want to be around when they get here.”

Thirteen pages.

3600+ views.

Thirty chapters.

~42,000 words.

Damn.

I'm awesome.

Actually...

You're awesome.

To my readers: An eternity of love and gratitude. <3 seems insufficient to express my joy at your continued support for this, the longest thing I've ever written, the first decent length story that I think I have a good chance of finishing. YOU'RE ALL AMAZING COMMENT MOAR PLZ

Oh, and if anyone wants to say something constructive, go ahead. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing skills!

Ravage/Nox! Ravage/Nox! Ravage/Nox!

A'tro/Quinn! A'tro/Quinn!

Stop trying to steal someone else's woman.

Technically -

No, no "technically".

Ravage/Nox?

Much better!

Aww, jealous Pierce.