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Grey. Red. Black.


thatghost

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This tale originally began in The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread (A Different Kind of Grace) without which it would have just stayed in my head and endlessly tormented me (I needed that prompt!). I'm going to try to further the story at least once a week but there's this pesky thing known as "real life" which tends to hamper me in every writing endeavor I undertake ;) (addendum: I swear I'll try to lighten up a tad; so far this is grim stuff even for me, me being someone who generally writes a lot of grim stuff) (another addendum: chapters will be posted one by one in blocks of three for the time being; I'll try to keep an updated chapter+page reference below so readers- myself inclusive- don't have to hunt around)

 

Page 1

I: A Different Kind of Grace

II: Another Scar

III: Absence and Presence

 

Page 2

IV: People are Strange

V: A Night Out in the Madhouse

VI: The Nature of Chains

 

Page 3

VII: Looking Sideways

VIII: Unmasking

IX: Chokepoints

 

Page 4

X: Pale Blue

XI: Just Walk Away

XII: Gradations

 

Page 5

XIII: Convivial Dis-ease

XIV: All That Matters

 

(soooo much thanks and <3 to Hoyden for a proper index :))

 

*****Spoilers thus far = Jedi Knight, Imperial Agent, Smuggler, Sith Inquisitor (mild)*****

 

 

I: A Different Kind of Grace

 

 

Belsavis

 

It was a natural bridge of volcanic rock spanning a deep lava-filled chasm. Mirrigan felt it was as good a place to rest as any and, after trying the sturdiness of the surface with a few stomps of her boot, she walked carefully to the center and spun in a slow circle to take in the stunning contrariness of her surroundings. A ribbon of waterfall danced over a cliff to her left, straight down into the molten fire below. Shimmering wavelets of heat competed with snowflakes, the heat the victor. It didn't seem possible- she'd certainly never seen anything like it before- and her mouth began to twitch up into a smile of delight.

 

And steadied itself back into neutrality when she noticed Scourge standing several feet away, studying her face with unsettling intensity.

 

"You like this place?" His gaze slanted down to the roiling lava. "It's hardly conducive to peace," he murmured, that final word tinged with contempt.

 

"I find it peaceful in its own way." She crouched, peered into the liquid flame. "Peace can be found amidst tumult. Sometimes it must be."

 

"Spare me the Jedi dogma." He was beside her then, mirroring her crouch. "What do you see? You, not the being cultivated by the Order."

 

"But that's...it's...who I am." She squinted up at him, shaking her head. Her words tasted wrong, like sour ashes. Like a lie.

 

"Try harder. That was pathetic." He found a flake of rock and cast it into the chasm. "This isn't serenity. This isn't the sort of controlled grace found in the grounds of your temple on Tython. This is-"

 

"A different kind of grace. It's power. It's raw and an entity unto itself. And it's balance." Was he smiling? She stopped squinting and stared at him full-on, not an easy feat since her eyes had begun watering due to the excessive warmth and sulfurous fumes.

 

He stood, abruptly, and brushed his hands together as if they'd collected too much dust. Or blood. "The Force understands passions. Nature understands passions. Feels passions. And so do you. You hurl yourself into battle whenever the opportunity presents itself. You show no remorse over the lives you've snuffed out. You don't chant tired old mantras about peace as you engage a foe," oh, yes, he was smiling- and laughing, "you growl. When you retire for the day on the ship you retreat to the quarters you share with your husband-"

 

"You know this for fact- how?!" She sprang to her feet, hands automatically closing in on the hilts of her lightsabers. She didn't care about her lips curling into a furious grimace. She didn't care that her sudden careless movement hadn't been so much up as sideways, that she was poised on the very lip of the precipice. That maddening bemused expression on his face...something was burning icy in her veins. Worry. Guilt.

 

Anger.

 

"A bottle of Tarul wine. Or was it two?" Scourge mimed deep thought, fingers drumming pensively at his chin. "Yes, it was two. Kimble might claim to be a connoisseur of fine wines. He doesn't drink like one." The drumming ceased. An eyebrow arched. "My, my. Such fear. So delicious. So unwarranted. Only I know how deep your attachment goes. How deep all of your attachments go." Too fast for her to register, he clasped her shoulders and dragged her away from the edge. "The one I foresaw was a means to an end. A warrior. Warriors need balance. Where's your balance now?"

 

It was the touch. All the lengthy philosophical debates they'd had- and Scourge had never touched her, nor she him. They'd maintained a respectful distance from each other at all times except during battle. And- her interior voice both insisted and confirmed- isn't that when you feel most alive? Her right hand left the saber hilt and raised unbidden.

 

It almost reached his jawline before he caught her wrist.

 

"No. Even if I could feel, if I could care in that manner, would you be able to bear the censure of your Council? Your entire Order? Your crew, your friends...your husband? I paid my price. How immense would yours be in comparison to mine? I wonder. I've been wondering. You're no Jedi. The shadow is too dark in you. The radiant shadow. You could be so much more than the Council's puppet and poster girl. So much." Scourge released her, not without peculiar gentleness. "We should move on or else the local fauna might take an unexpected interest in this spot."

 

A mute nod from her. They trudged across the remainder of the bridge, back into the Belsavis wilds, side by side. Silence seemed a necessity for the first few meters, at least until her tongue couldn't be bitten any harder.

 

"I saw beauty in the tumult. Not peace. I saw perfection."

 

"As I thought."

 

"My mother told me about a place on the planet Voss. The Shrine of Healing. She said it could undo what had been done although she wasn't sure how-" all too aware that she was close to rambling- "or at least she couldn't tell me how. She's Sith, my mother. Her life has been devoted to rooting out and dissecting the arcane. If she couldn't tell me specifics then...what if it could undo what the Emperor did? If...would you..." her voice trailed off, her thoughts in a whirlpool blur even as her feet kept moving.

 

"Mortal again? Able to feel? Assuming I wouldn't immediately crumble into dust? We'll see what this shrine has to offer. I have profound doubts that anything could undo what was done to me." He halted and pointed ahead. "Kintan. An ancient by the looks of it. Kill with me, Mirrigan."

 

It was the first time he'd addressed her by name instead of simply 'Jedi'.

 

"Yes," her breath hitched as she grinned through a snarl, "yes."

 

 

 

II: Another Scar

 

 

The Lambent

 

It burned. Oh, did it burn. As vicious as the pain was, however, it was nothing that teeth-grinding and stitches wouldn't cure. Perfect stitches. Unflinching hands. Only a few days, she estimated, and it was her left arm anyway. Not a hindrance at all. There were other, cleaner ways to treat a wound but lately- to Arch's dismay- Mirrigan insisted upon stitches. Another scar. Another memory.

 

The imprecise leap, incited by his request, the smooth flow of it into her mind, her limbs, her scream as she descended to cleave the thing in two..."That was sloppy" and the scarlet slash of his blade searing away the creature's life as she stood by clutching her arm...'put me down', that final stretch to the airlock when she'd tripped over her own feet, dizzy, arms lifting and carrying, 'down now', "As you wish"...

 

"What was it this time?" Close to finishing, his grip on her bicep tightened. There was no way to read his expression; he hadn't bothered to scrape his hair back behind his ears when she'd walked into the medbay blood-caked from neck to waist. Dark curtains concealed his face but the cadence of the words was unmistakable.

 

"Kintan. Big one." No point in craning her head to catch his eyes with hers. She could tell the walls were up, that this wasn't Arch and Miri. It was strictly Doc and tiresome-yet-injured patient. Nothing would work when he was locked into that space, not cajoling, not flirting, not demanding. "Got a swipe in right before we took it down." Another lie. So many lies stacking up, all of them to her husband. All of them recent.

 

"Done." He released her and began to tidy up. "You might want to spend a while in the refresher." He bustled around, very careful- she noted- to keep his back to her. "Find yourself some decent armor. Here," and he turned to her again, hiding behind that damnable hair that she used to twirl around her fingers in delight, the sharp nip of a needle piercing just above the crescent of stitches.

 

"That's not kolto." And she did try, then, to catch his gaze.

 

"It'll help you sleep." And his eyes did, then, find hers.

 

"We're not going to talk about this."

 

"No."

 

* * *

 

It didn't foster drowsiness. It didn't even make her blurry enough to stop her from roaming the ship. That had been his intention- to keep her from the pacing which had taken the place of meditation. To halt, at least for one night, the uneasy perambulations which inevitably led to Scourge's quarters. Mirrigan didn't blame Arch for the attempt. It was his way of protecting what he perceived as being his, once he finally had something. Or felt he had something.

 

"Always the timid knock. Just come in. You're late."

 

She stepped in and leaned back against the wall, eschewing her usual spot next to his desk. Whatever Arch had given her suddenly blossomed, spread itself over her synapses not unlike a too-strong drink. "You would have carried me into the medbay," she blurted out, "you would have, wouldn't you?"

 

"You were injured. You could barely walk. It wouldn't have been my problem if Kimble had drawn a few erroneous conclusions." Scourge unfurled from his bunk and strode to the desk, drew concentric circles on its surface as he continued to speak. "He sewed you up. That's all that matters, isn't it? All that matters right now. What happens between the two of you is none of my concern unless it jeopardizes what we need to do in the end. What were you thinking, launching yourself at that kintan like a fresh acolyte brandishing a twig?" Too close too fast, glaring down at her with a harsh scrutiny that made her feel like an insect under glass. "Well?"

 

Her fists clenched. Her spine stiffened. The fuzziness retreated. "What were you thinking, encouraging me to do it?!" She heard her voice rising far above the hushed tone their conversations usually took. "Not just encouraging- persuading- you made me-"

 

"I made you do nothing! Do you dare to imply that I was responsible for your lack of discipline?" Unlike hers, his voice had progressively dropped until it was but a scant scathing whisper. His right hand curled down until it closed- gently, to her surprise- over one side of her face and rested there like a heated brand. "I know your blood. Imperial, every last one of them. Sith, most of them. Did you really think I'd not bother with the details after we met on Quesh? If what I saw today was an example of current Jedi training then the Jedi Order is," fingers smoothing, strangely soothing upon her temple, "digging its own grave. With stunning haste."

 

It would be so easy to stand on tiptoe. Not his height but near enough to reach...reach his...the caress became a ghost of itself. Scourge was standing across the room, shaking his head. Mirrigan loosened her fists and slumped back against the wall in resignation, a lengthy silence spinning out between them until she was able to find speech again.

 

"Through passion, I gain strength?" It felt odd as it dripped off her tongue slowly, syllable by syllable. "No feeling. No passion. No strength. I won't be your marionette, Lord Scourge. I won't be a slave to your vision."

 

Was it a smile or a sneer? "We'll see what the Mystics have to say about visions. Until then, Jedi, don't confuse passion with love. Love is weakness. Therein lies my only concurrence with your precious Order. You remind me of someone-"

 

The room tilted. Her stomach informed her that it wasn't happy. The slump became a slide.

 

Arms and lifting. 'Put. Down'. "Quiet". 'Sleep here'. "Certainly not kolto". 'Please'. "Could I? Yes. Will I? No". 'Just sleep'. Knock. Knock. "Can you? There". "...happened here?" "Crystal...saber...faint..." "...it from here..." Slam. "...talking about this tomorrow...pillow...we go..."

 

So many lies. Another scar. Soon.

 

The idea of it carried her into a shred of dream, a slashing sliver of red light followed by nothingness.

 

 

 

III: Absence and Presence

 

Mirrigan groaned and dragged the pillow off of her face. Tiny fists pummeled her temples from the inside. One searching hand found emptiness. The other hand hurled the pillow across the room. She needed breath in her ear, intertwining of legs, the filthy jokes..."so a Houk wanders into a cantina and walks up to the first dancer he sees, asks for a private show; 'extra if you pretend to be a Hutt', he says, and the dancer says"...no shoulder to giggle into. Cry into. Tomorrow, he'd said. Tomorrow was here. He wasn't. When her feet met the floor she knew, without doubt, that the ship was almost deserted.

 

Almost.

 

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, master. Might I prepare something nutritious for you? If you don't mind my saying so, I'm concerned about your caf consumption and lack of-"

 

"See-two. Where's Doc?" She really wanted to kick the droid but common sense told her that doing so would be more painful than satisfying. Bad enough that she'd almost bruised her shins, the way he was situated right outside her quarters. Stationed there, probably, by any one of several culprits.

 

"The doctor disembarked this morning, along with mistress Kira and the sergeant. May I suggest the-"

 

"And where, exactly, did they disembark?" It was like pulling rancor teeth. "And did Tee-seven go with them?"

 

"Why, Coruscant, master. I believe Tee-seven was with mistress Kira-"

 

"Enough." Teeth. Pulling. She took a deep inhalation, held it for several moments, sighed it out. The urge to dismantle metal and circuitry with bare hands was rising fast. "Let's make this easy. Doc, Kira, Tee-seven and Sergeant Rusk all decided that they should take a jaunt to Coruscant while I was sleeping. So where is Lord Scourge?"

 

"Lord Scourge is waiting near the holo for you. He informed me precisely thirty minutes ago that you have a call on hold, assured me that it wasn't urgent, and told me to not wake you. About your breakfast, master-"

 

"Please go wreak some of your own special havoc, See-two, I don't know, clean something." Mirrigan shoved past the droid, her nerves near to snapping. It was difficult to reach out with her senses, what with Arch's anodyne still dulling the edges of her mind, but she managed a few thin threads of focused consciousness; they sent back nothing that blared wrongness as she crept toward her destination. The only wrongness she felt was the same she'd experienced when stepping off her bunk- the peculiar, unprecedented absence of almost everyone she cared about.

 

Almost.

 

It was highly odd to see Scourge sitting at ease on the lounge. Even odder, his face was hooded- the first time she'd seen it so, the worn soot-black material concealing his eyes...but not the chilly arc of his smile. She blinked. Scourge gestured in her direction and, as if choreographed, the figure on the holo turned its head. That soft plane of cheekbone, the pallor just like her own. The silhouette of sweetly-curved lips...

 

Scourge cleared his throat. Mirrigan glanced at him, up and under the hood. His smile sharpened and the temperature in their immediate space seemed to plummet as he spoke. "Your mother has very thoughtfully shared with me everything she knows of the Voss. She's also told me that your grandfather has even more information concerning the Mystics," he paused, tilted his chin up enough to lock her into his gaze, "and that somehow their ritual 'trials' changed him." A few inches closer, suddenly. A few degrees colder.

 

She held his eyes but addressed the wraithlike form of her mother. "Father? Is he well?" It might not be the diversion she hoped for but anything was worth a try at this point.

 

"Traipsing around inside some stagnant crypt the Reclamation Service discovered on Dromund Kaas. I'd be with him if I could but my lungs..." the holo-ghost shrugged. "Mirrigan Mi'rial. What you're undertaking is foolish but necessary. No," her mother's hands made an abrupt slicing motion, "no protest. A mother knows these things. And your mother knows the Sith beside you, if only in a fleeting manner."

 

Scourge pointed at the phantasm standing on the holoviewer. "Lord Kalya. 'Fleeting' isn't the word I would use for our encounters. The time you tried to poison me. The time you meant to skewer me, your saber, my spine." Now his mouth was twitching. A laugh building? "The time-"

 

"The poison was my father, not me. Fleeting. Once I knew you were immortal and that you weren't going to kill me how could I not insist that you buy me a round- or three- of drinks? You were flush with credits then thanks to the Emperor." She inclined her head in what could only be respect. "I'm honored that you travel by the side of my daughter. May you find her as trying as I did." Static shivers rippled through the image but the words were perfectly clear: "Trust him, Mirrigan, and do what you must." The static broke into motes; the voice eroded into whisper. "If you're wrong, Lord Scourge..." and then nothing.

 

She counted to thirty before she lunged across the lounge. Gleaming blue-white met glinting yellow-orange, daggers on her side, bemusement on his. Nose pressed against nose, breaths battling, his icy to her humid warmth. Another thirty-count before she shouted- "My mother! Why?! How much did you tell her? What did you tell her?" Mirrigan spat at him, a wave of dark overtaking her common sense. She didn't care. Years wasted with caring. She'd tried, how she'd tried, but her blood wouldn't let her try hard enough.

 

His hands spidered up and out, cupping her chin and jaw. "I told her what I had to. Your anger is priceless. Invaluable. How does it feel?" Breath and breath. That near. Too near. "You could demolish worlds with that anger alone...but there's more. Power channeled. In..." fingers pressed against her cheekbones "...multiple directions. Focus. Learn. Where does it want to go? He'll eradicate us all. Channel it. We're running out of time, Jedi. Centuries, and I'm finally running out of patience."

 

That was what did it. Jedi.

 

To call it a 'kiss' would have been simplistic. It was a violent, crushing thing, nothing like the hasty pecks she'd played at with a few of her fellow padawans on Tython. Nothing like Arch's hesitant osculations, lips touching here...there...careful, questioning, ever since the secret ceremony and the kriffing marriage droid. Even before that they were tepid kisses- not this. Not ice and magma all at once. Not with this tinge of death. No death, only the Force.

 

"Free me," and as soon as it was uttered she attempted to pull back...with little success.

 

"You need me." Spoken with a growl of such resonance that her throat ached.

 

"I need my crew." A shove away and she was pressed to the holoterminal. Scorching veins. "We're going down to fetch them, since it was your idea. You didn't feel a thing, did you?"

 

A slight bow, from his still-seated position on the lounge. "Indeed, it was. And no."

 

"I hate you." Mirrigan turned her back and headed to the bridge- but not quick enough to avoid the reply:

 

"Good."

Author's Note:

I must have been in some zombie-like state when I originally posted this chapter and misspelled "Presence" in the title..."Prescence"? Ouch :o

 

Edited by thatghost
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I really liked the first post I'd seen from this in the SFWC thread and am glad to see it continue! More Scourge is never a bad thing :D

I'm getting there. Tonight's was difficult but there it is above ^. More later today (since it is...good gods...almost 4 am EST:eek:).

Thank you, Hoyden (I shortened it- love "hoyden" on its own but please correct if necessary ;)). +++++'s.

 

(if I'd known what a tough er nut Scourge is to crack I would have stuck with Doc...but the challenge, ah, now, that keeps me writing :D)

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I'm getting there. Tonight's was difficult but there it is above ^. More later today (since it is...good gods...almost 4 am EST:eek:).

Thank you, Hoyden (I shortened it- love "hoyden" on its own but please correct if necessary ;)). +++++'s.

 

(if I'd known what a tough er nut Scourge is to crack I would have stuck with Doc...but the challenge, ah, now, that keeps me writing :D)

Hoyden's perfectly fine. It was already taken or it would have been what I chose :)

 

Scourge and her mother's conversation was funny - the extent of history there, the assassination attempts. And that kiss. /fans self

And I sympathize about the difficulty of writing Scourge - he's challenging. Really challenging.

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Hoyden's perfectly fine. It was already taken or it would have been what I chose :)

 

Scourge and her mother's conversation was funny - the extent of history there, the assassination attempts. And that kiss. /fans self

And I sympathize about the difficulty of writing Scourge - he's challenging. Really challenging.

"Hoyden" it is, then :) *hugs for the commentary* that conversation almost didn't make it in.

Tried to avoid the whole Dark Council thing even though Mirrigan's mother is a SI. I just abandoned the game storyline and imagined her as a once-assassin who married a certain *coughcough* archaeologist, settled down and removed herself from Sith society so she could happily dig through ruins and rubble with her husband. She doesn't have much history with Scourge outside what was revealed in that convo.

I'm having some niggles about Mirrigan coming off as a vapid Mary Sue. She's not, but I'm afraid her confusion is manifesting that way and, if it is, I'm not sure how to turn that around :( but less frowning and more...Coruscant :D

 

Hideously challenging. I've been avoiding what I know are beautifully-written Scourge stories, here in this forum. It's inspiring to read others' work but in this case I'm worried that certain facets I see in him might be compromised by different viewpoints. That's a worry I haven't had about anything else I've written- ever- both fanfic and just plain fiction. It's weird. I do admit that I've glanced at Kabe's art from time to time, though ;)

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IV: People are Strange

Coruscant

 

They stood together outside the spaceport and watched the ceaseless stream of overhead traffic: silhouettes in the fading light, both robed and hooded, one significantly shorter than the other. The crowd flowed both around and away from them as if repelled. The smaller silhouette waved at the speeders and larger ships racing in orderly grids across a backdrop of daytime waning in a wash of impossible colors.

 

"It's beautiful, isn't it? It always is." Hours had been wasted in her quarters. Meditating had been fruitless and disturbing; the smooth plane of openness and oneness had become a sea of red foaming up under shadowy lightning-stabbed mist. She'd given up on it and curled into a ball on the bunk, stared at a single strand of inky black hair on Arch's pillow until a rap on her quarters' locked door roused her from the cold space she'd fallen into.

 

"A mid-air collision with multiple fatalities would be 'beautiful'," came the reply, a deep dulcet grumble.

 

Before she could turn her head to shoot him a scathing glare an elbow angled into Mirrigan's side. "Beg pardon," a male voice called back at her, "our wife has imbibed past her limits." A high-pitched tipsy giggle confirmed that. She pivoted around to peer into the churning bustle of citizens and offworlders and saw a flash of formal clothes before the couple was swallowed up by the concourse crowd. With a shrug she returned her eyes to the traffic. It never failed to mesmerize her, even now when her stomach felt as if she'd swallowed a lump of desh. Her reverie was smashed when Scourge's gloved hand dragged her close and crept around her waist, fingers splaying out and caressing. She moved to smack him away and was rewarded with bruising pressure.

 

His lips touched her left earlobe. "Who's bugging you?"

 

"You," she snapped at him, "it isn't obvious? Quit groping me. In public." It did seem like groping, heavy sheathed fingers probing under her sash, trailing across her ribs...

 

...in her face, holding a tiny chip.

 

"I swear to you that any groping will remain private." He flipped the chip forwards and backwards a scant inch away from her eyes. "Curse these things. Your admirer is resourceful," the minuscule square went sailing over the edge of the concourse, "no common black market listeners for him. Or her. Well. That was a regrettable impulse. I should have kept it. Walk."

 

Baffled, Mirrigan obeyed. Some distant corner of her brain registered relief at the crowd engulfing them now instead of avoiding them. She allowed him to grasp her arm only because it was conducive to whispering. "The drunk woman and her escort," she murmured, "and there I was gawking at the sky."

 

"Oldest trick in the galaxy. Works just as well for stalkers as it does thieves. We'll run your stalker a fine chase before we root them out and kill them." A soft snort of disgust. "Your naivety is appalling. I reiterate for the thousandth time- didn't they teach you anything on Tython? Besides how to rescue orphaned baby Flesh Raiders from the elements?" The taxi pad was in sight. Scourge's pace quickened. "You have an idea of where we might find our disparate band of do-gooders?"

 

"A pretty good idea, yes. Some of them." She gave the transport droid a destination and frowned at Scourge as they waited for the cab. "It was a single infant. I couldn't leave it there to die."

 

"Why not? I would have stepped on it." Baiting her again, even if they both knew that he would have done worse than step on the mewling blob of Flesh Raider. His smirk gave him away.

 

She wasn't taking it this time. She was giving it back. "Private groping?" She gnawed on her tongue to contain the laughter bubbling up in her chest.

 

"A mere riposte to your outrage. I do nothing as inelegant as grope. It's not even worthy of further consideration. Our ride is here." He relinquished his grip on her and settled into the patched-up seat. "If this taxi is any indication of the Republic's greater state then its downfall is even longer overdue." His tone had become peculiar, almost wistful. It was unlike anything she'd ever heard emerge from his mouth.

 

She winced at the stains on her side of the transport but climbed in anyway. Having unsettled Scourge was worth sitting on...whatever it was she was sitting on. As the cab began to accelerate the lump of desh in Mirrigan's stomach dissolved and she wore a smirk of her own, hidden in the folds of her hood.

 

* * *

 

The place must have been shined up recently but the stench hadn't been given the same treatment. Spilled drinks, wisps of cheap Zeltron knockoff aroma, vomit, tarnished credits... the main room of the Dealer's Den smelled the way a cantina should and usually did. Mirrigan could think of only one exception on Coruscant- the hole-in-the-wall bar near the Senate Tower that she'd visited once with Kira. As much as the Senators liked to boast about mingling with the little folk she doubted that they'd ever set foot in the Dealer's Den unless it was to be rushed into one of the VIP suites.

 

If Arch was on a binge he was too smart to drink himself silly in The Silent Sun, even with Rusk playing bodyguard, and the Senate Plaza cantina was too obvious. He'd come here. They'd come here a few times. Her eyes picked out a particular booth and saw it inhabited by a party of burly troopers clinking their shotglasses together. She glanced at the center of the room and admonished herself for being nostalgic about 'their' booth; right there in plain sight Rusk was leaning stiffly against the bar, a full tumbler of what looked to be nerf milk at his elbow. It was like the man never unwound. She wasn't even sure if he slept.

 

"There's the sarge," she muttered, nudging Scourge.

 

"There's your husband," he nudged back and pointed. "I wouldn't let Rusk hear you call him 'sarge' if I were..."

 

The rest of his admonition was muted by a rush of blood to her face that thrummed painfully in her eardrums. Dancers dancing, that she didn't care about, that's what they did. But a stunning mauve-complexioned Twi'lek with her bare feet on Arch's lap while he kneaded her soles? That was something else. She went on automatic pilot, straight to Rusk. He spied her immediately. His expression spoke volumes.

 

"Believe me or not but," he nodded at the dim back booth and its table littered with glasses, "I did try. He's soused. Lum-soaked." Rusk shook his head. "Never seen anyone toss it down like that. I'd be impressed if I hadn't been playing nanny until about an hour ago- that's when he forgot my name and kept asking me if he knew me 'from somewhere'. My advice is to not be too hard with him until he sobers up."

 

"Good advice. That will be my job, Sergeant, the crackdown on our sole medic's antics." Scourge gesticulated at the barkeep and mumbled an aside to Mirrigan: "I will cram the Emperor's rancid entrails into his own rotten maw as he labors to gasp his last...but I'm not going over there with you." His voice rucked up several notches when the bartender arrived. "Corellian whiskey. Three fingers. My fingers, not yours. Don't give me grief about importation restrictions and cost. Just bring it out."

 

"You're delusional if you think that pun was witty." She shook her head in disgust, swore under her breath and glided away from the bar. There were several ways to handle this mess. Without backup the casual approach might work best. If she was careful she could convince Arch to let Rusk and Scourge drag him back to the ship. She slipped into the booth, gave the dancer her very best fake smile. Arch seemed oblivious to her proximity so she inched closer and bumped his thigh with hers.

 

"Hey there, Doc." Keep it calm. "Whatcha doing, big man?" Don't look at her. Don't look at her feet. Keep smiling.

 

His head whipped around. "Son of a...sshweetheart! I...er...thish lady hash the worsht cayshe of Twi'lek Toe Putrefasshion I've ever sheen!" He tore his hands away from the Twi'lek and clutched at the table. "Medic! No...wait, I'm a-"

 

"I have what!" The dancer's heels jerked up-down-up, hammering Arch's crotch before she retracted her legs. Mirrigan flinched. That had to have hurt. He'd feel that once the numbness wore off. "What is that? Is it fatal?!" The woman was practically hysterical, shrieking and drawing the attention of the other patrons and the bouncers. A middle-aged couple in the far corner was being discreet about their staring but staring they were...the man's eyes resembled black holes, spooky-familiar...but the lighting in this dive...

 

Quick. She moved seamlessly into that placid place she'd failed to find via meditation. "You're going to calm down. He's making it up. There is no such thing." Her gaze snared violet eyes. "You want to go ask the Chagrian at the bar if he'd like some company." Have to pay the nanny somehow. She probably wasn't doing Rusk a favor at all but she was curious to see how he'd react.

 

"Excuse me. I'm going to ask that Chagrian at the bar if he'd like some company." The Twi'lek slithered to her well-massaged feet and sauntered seductively towards Rusk.

 

She gusted out a sigh of relief and ventured a glance at Scourge. He raised his glass to her. Mirrigan nodded and slid an arm around her husband, brushed a lock of hair behind his ear as he slumped against her sideways. "Arch." She kissed his forehead, a soft peck. "I'm not angry. I'm just concerned about you."

 

"Consherned?" A long acerbic chuckle. He made a clumsy swipe at his eyes. "A Jedi comedian, ish too kriffin' funny. Whatsh your mashter think of your act?"

 

"What?" This was new. She didn't know of lum causing hallucinations. Not even vast quantities of it. "Master Orgus? He's gone." Not to her- but this was no time to bring that up. "Let's get you to a bed. Our bed-"

 

"No!" His fists curled and punched air. "Becaush of you Orgush ish twishting in hish grave! I mean him," index finger shaking but unmistakably aimed at Scourge, "that bashtard over there beshide that guy I know from shumwhere. You come back, blood, bleeding all over my medbay, push me away," and he did just that to her, planted his palms on her shoulders and pushed, "an' you come in here an' get huffy becaush I'm talking to a girl with hair-"

 

"Lekku classify as 'hair'?" She couldn't help herself. The laugh boiled out, cruel in timbre and cutting in volume. "Get a grip." It wasn't the calm place. It was the frothy crimson ocean. "You're going back to the ship so you can sleep and burn off the alcohol. The floor in front of the cargo hold is very comfortable. I wasn't here tonight and neither was Lord Scourge. And I'll see you when you're sane again."

 

"Can I go back to the ship? Wanna shleep. I'll shee you when I'm not inshane. Think I'm gonna be shick." Arch reeled and teetered until his forehead met the tabletop with a resonant thud.

 

"Not here, you're not. Not on me, either, if you value what's left of your miserable life." Scourge was looming over them. She hadn't even noticed him approaching. "Splendid work, well done. I can haul Kimble back by myself. The Sergeant appears to be having some trouble." He shifted to give her the full view of Rusk peeling the Twi'lek dancer off of himself. "From the way he's behaving I have to wonder if he's even aware that flesh can do more than march in step and shoot things. You continually astonish me, Jedi." Arch was neatly extricated from the booth, as neatly as possible, the process peppered with half-conscious protestations. Scourge stared at her intently from over the crown of her husband's head and gifted her with an all-out grin. It was, like his weird tone of voice earlier, something she'd never before experienced.

 

It felt like a million suns burning out, bleak yet magnificent, heated past comprehension.

 

She followed their slow progress to the cantina's exit, tuning out Scourge's voice beyond his inquiring "Cargo hold, is it? Very well" in response to some babble of Arch's. Whatever else he had to say to Arch...she didn't want to hear it. When they turned around the corner out of sight she rushed inside to divest Rusk of his 'trouble'. He was backing away from the dancer, the woman making sinuous beckoning motions with her fingers. Mirrigan tamped down a giggle.

 

"Get. Her. Away. From me," Rusk muttered, "and don't tell the rest of the crew about this. Please." He sidled behind her with such haste that a whole swarm of questions buzzed in her skull.

 

She laid the false smile on the dancer. Again. Dived into the red sea. Again. "I need to have a word with my friend. Those troopers in the corner look bored. Some wriggling around could bring in big tips."

 

"Those troopers look bored. They could use a dance. I could use the tips." The Twi'lek slunk away to new prey.

 

Rusk exhaled audibly. "Thank you."

 

"No thanks needed." She patted his back. "All I want know is where Kira and Tee-seven are and then we can take a cab back to the spaceport."

 

He cast a wary eye at the dancer who'd begun to undulate for the troopers. "She's at one of those female places. Left a com number with me. Said she'd be done tomorrow, something about freckles," he stared longingly at his still-full tumbler of probably-nerf-milk, "guess they work on droids too. I don't know why freckles would be a liability in a combat situation."

 

The stare wasn't lost on her. "People are strange, Sergeant. Tell you what. You finish whatever that is, I'll order up a glass of the swill that passes for spiced wine in this place, we'll give Kira a checkup call. And then we'll compare battle scars for a while before we head to the hangar." She needed innocuous talk. Badly.

 

"Sounds like a plan, master Jedi." He grasped the tumbler and took a long pull, sighed with satisfaction.

 

"Don't call me that. Bartender? Over here?"

 

 

 

V: A Night Out in the Madhouse

Warning: mild IA spoilers begin here

 

"Mmmmm," she lolled her head around on his shoulder and then lurched forward to toy distractedly with her glass of water, "what do you think? Drunk enough? Or should I get up on the table and give those troopers a show?"

 

"You've already embarrassed us. Our mortification would be complete if you were to make such a shameless display of your natural charms. Also, our shoulder is cold now."

 

Rhexi smiled at his wry tone as she settled back into place and snaked her hand down to clasp his. She wished this had been a night out just for a night out's sake. They never seemed to have the time for a leisurely meal, drinks, dancing...although her mind drifted into memories of their very first membrosia-inspired dance her eyes never left the scene unfolding across the cantina. "Here we go," she muttered, "this should be fun." Fun but no surprise. She'd never known her niece to refrain from confrontation, and the surprise had already been sprung just outside the spaceport. The SIS might be very interested to know that the former Emperor's Wrath was roaming about Coruscant. Sadly, her evidence would be thin since the bug had been wasted and, with the exception of the vibroknife strapped to her thigh, she'd left behind her normal little arsenal of useful gadgetry. She'd known it was a lost cause the moment she'd espied Lord Scourge. It was better to have made the attempt, though, rather than present her father with a pristine chip.

 

Honestly, Kalya, she mused, those musty artifact fragments and gloomy old tombs have ruined more than your lungs, what were you thinking, treating this like just another innocent tidbit of family gossip?

 

"Are you positive that man is your niece's consort? We are extremely ambivalent. We recollect Kaliyo's praise concerning the medical prowess of a certain Archiban Kimble although she had little else positive to say about him." He released her and leaned forward, elbows on the table, brow furrowing. "Would an accomplished doctor make a woman scream so stridently?"

 

"Well," she coughed, choking on mirth, "I think it would depend upon if he was good or bad or both. I'm positive that's Kimble. Exactly when did Kaliyo rhapsodize about his professional skills?" That Twi'lek dancer was definitely kicking up a fuss about something. Rhexi grimaced in sympathy and felt Vector flinch beside her. "Oh my. That poor man." A pity about the lost listener. This was more entertaining than a third-rate holodrama and it would be even better if she could hear it all. If only Mirrigan had been with her pet droid instead of the...Rhexi reached out and tapped the rim of her glass twice.

 

Her husband relaxed. His mouth found the space between her jaw and the high neck of her evening gown. "Our apologies for drawing her attention," the words hummed sweet warmth across her skin, "we thought she was too preoccupied to take any notice. If you remember the morning Kaliyo strove to convince us that a rare and hazardously hallucinogenic species of fungus would be beneficial to our libido-"

 

"Oh." Yes, an unforgettable morning. Years ago. Still amusing. She did miss Kaliyo; six months gone this time and no word, but if anything at all was certain in the madhouse commonly known as 'life' it was that Kaliyo could take care of herself no matter what fresh trouble she was brewing up. "That was-" his lips froze on her pulse and he shuddered, breath hitching. "What is it?" Her senses snapped to maximum alertness. Ignoring his instincts was akin to suicide- she trusted them more than she did her own.

 

"Something we've never felt before. A wisp of weeping white clarity muffled in grey. Soundless red rivulets scorching, broken by blackness. A stratum of twisting strange," his voice faltered before continuing in a flat monotone, "a cacophonous dirge our senses shun." He sat up abruptly and clutched at his snifter of Cortyg brandy.

 

She curled her palms over his trembling deathgrip on the glass, huffed out a soft sere laugh. "Isn't it plain?" Plainer than a shaved bantha's backside. It seemed that Scourge had finally deigned to add direct insult to Kimble's various injuries. He'd left the safety of the bar and was busy extricating the man from the booth. Even from her distant vantage point she could see the air between the Sith Lord and Mirrigan almost ripple with palpable mutual hunger. Look at that grin. It made her knees weak. "We've both dealt with plenty of Sith, darling." She watched her niece leave the cantina. The woman appeared to have no regard whatsoever for Kimble; she only had eyes for the tall, disturbingly attractive abomination who was struggling to support her semiconscious husband.

 

So much for entertainment. Rhexi was sickened.

 

She was comfortable in her anonymity and her allegiance was as flexible as that of the most hardcore of spacers. Empire, Republic, her family, whomever needed her the most at any given time- she was there and ready to help if it preserved sanity and lives...but she loathed the Sith. Part of her deep dislike had been fostered by her father and his long-running feud with his prominent Darth of a sister. The source of the rest of her animosity was vague; she often thought of pitiful creatures like Zhorrid, of soul-songs warped or crushed underfoot until nothing was left but debauched vessels for the dark side.

 

"If Mirrigan becomes one of those things," she murmured, "I'll be skipping the next family reunion."

 

Slow-motion minutes stretched out before Vector's hand eased up on the glass and he twined his fingers around hers. "But she's a Jedi." He inclined his head at the cantina's entrance-exit. Mirrigan was back, alone, approaching her uneasy Chagrian friend. "We admit that our knowledge of the Order is rather outdated. They encourage this now?"

 

"No. Her marriage alone should have been grounds for expulsion no matter how much good she's done for the Republic. I doubt the Jedi Council knows about it. I doubt they know anything of the machinations and melodrama of the sort we've just witnessed. I might not be a sensitive but I can tell the difference between a Jedi mind trick and brute Sith persuasion. The Force has a crazy way of zigzagging through bloodlines. I thank the stars that the bad blood and the Force ignored me." She searched for his eyes and discovered shining pale hazel instead of the usual inscrutable ebony.

 

"So do I," he smiled. "Every day. Every night. Ever thankful." Ebon-dark again. That quick. Over the years he'd become adept at severing himself from the hive mind. It still floored her when he did so. He sipped at his brandy, light pensiveness mixed with mild pain flickering across his features. "We would like to meet the Wookiees who distilled this. They have much to answer for." He placed the glass back on the table and pushed it in a certain direction to draw her attention to the central bar. "The primary target is engaging in mundanity. Has the objective altered, agent?"

 

Rhexi nodded, slightly giddy from his shift. "Consoling her crewmate. Boring. Most likely worthless. We'll move out as inconspicuously as possible and trail the Sith back to the concourse. Even if we take our time we should be able to catch up to him and the good doctor. And then...how does a dance sound to you?"

 

"It sounds like the perfect night out." A wonderfully open grin of delight. Had that monstrosity really made her legs go wobbly earlier? Maybe, but this and only this was the grin that meant the galaxy and beyond to her.

 

They waited for an opportunity, making small talk about the cantina denizens until Mirrigan was immersed in a com call. Whomever she was speaking to it wasn't Scourge nor Kimble. The brief window open, they kept to the shadowy perimeter of the Dealer's Den until they were safely outside and dodging vendors and revelers. After calmly dissuading one overly-persistent spice dealer from following them, Vector led Rhexi aside.

 

"We wanted to tell you that we're pleased you decided to leave this be," he stroked her hair, the single thin stripe of silver she'd been fretting over for months, "it flatters you."

 

"Funny," she tilted her face and nuzzled his palm, "that's exactly what the Jedi girl said to me."

 

They slipped back into the street proper and became just another upscale couple slumming it in the Old Galactic Market, strolling towards the taxi pad, hand in hand.

 

 

 

VI: The Nature of Chains

"Again."

 

Backtracking already, just as he was, trying to ignore the insectile crawl of sweat down the nape of her neck. Stopping at his nod and responding with one of her own. Again.

 

"Your face is flushed. Your heart is skittering like a trapped thing's. It would be pleasant in any number of other scenarios I can envision. What might you envision, Jedi?" His mocking tone ricocheting around the walls of the deserted canyon, a curious trick of acoustics carrying the words to her ears thrice. Cold syllables slithering through phantasmal heat mirages, the volatile string finally found and plucked after hours of his goads falling on deaf ears.

 

Her leap, hissing yellow blades springing into life mid-arc, the central smash into single growling scarlet. Sizzle.

 

'Done with this,' whispered snarl, slashing at the hem of his robe. A rough landing, not on her feet but her knees, biting gravel instead of cushioning sand.

 

"Indeed," a severed scrap of pale brown dangling from his fingertips, "we're done here. The weakness has been revealed."

 

Ragged breaths, pulling herself into a crouch and keeping her eyes fixed to the ground. 'This should be enlightening. My weakness is?'

 

"Me." Simply stated, no trace of smugness.

 

A half-laugh, scoffing at him. 'You? Did the Emperor drain out your sanity along with everything else?' A hand offered and not accepted.

 

The same hand clamping around her forearm and yanking her to standing. "No. He left that intact. It elevated the pain."

 

 

"What does Tatooine have to do with my freckles?"

 

Mirrigan shook her head at the little holo-Kira in her hand. "Nothing. Why do you ask?" She cast a covert glance at Rusk. He was bantering with the bartender, banging his empty glass up and down for emphasis and laughing.

 

"You just muttered something that sounded like 'Tatooine'."

 

"I'm tired, is all. But the Sergeant is enjoying himself."

 

"And I'm missing it?! Pretty sure spiking drinks is against the Jedi Code but I won't tell. So...what do you think?"

 

She squinted. Kira didn't seem to have lost any freckles. "About what?"

 

"My hair!"

 

 

"I confess I was surprised to discover a Rattataki behind that ray shield on Quesh. I'd heard the claims. I had to see for myself. Fierce opponents, your people. Bloodthirsty. That the Jedi deigned to train you-"

 

'They're not my people. My father is human. My grandmother. I've never been to Rattatak.'

 

"Some things cannot be diluted. Do you always invite your paramours to Tatooine to spar?"

 

'What do you think would happen if I gave a lightsaber to Doc?'

 

"Point."

 

'You're not my paramour.'

 

"I concede once more. Did you think that by bringing me here you could convert yet another Sith Lord to the light?"

 

'Praven? I only did what was right.'

 

"Right for whom?"

 

'For him, for the Order-'

 

"Save your sermon for one cares." He'd halted their trudge towards the outskirts of Dreviad, tugged her hood up over her exposed head. "Foolish, courting sunstroke."

 

'I'm much more susceptible to cold. The heat feels good.'

 

"Yes. Yes, it does."

 

 

"It's nice. I don't think anyone, including the Order, would begrudge you a trim. Keeps it out of your face when you're busy killing. Will you be back in the morning? We need to head out." She rubbed at her eyes with the hand not holding the com. It wasn't normal to feel so emptied-out inside, so somnolent, desirous of a slumber that wouldn't end. Dreamless. Blank.

 

Holo-Kira crossed her arms and mimed a frown. "I don't know, I have an awfully plushy suite here. They leave chocolate on your pillow. Chocolate. Beats being cooped up in the ship scarfing down nutrient paste. And you should see Tee-seven! I wish you would have come with us. But yeah, I'll be back early...uh...wait...when I'm 'busy killing'? What's wrong with you? Is Doc there? Did he convince you to play that game? The one where you have to take a shot of whatever every time you use the word 'I'?"

 

"No. Doc isn't here. I have to go. Take your time. We'll still be docked and waiting for you. It really is pretty." She clicked. Kira shimmered away, mouth forming sound that Mirrigan couldn't and wouldn't hear. The half-glass of spiced wine had made her irritable and even more distracted. Whatever was awaiting her back at the ship she wanted it over with, fast. Sleep might be the only escape from her own mind.

 

 

'Just come in.'

 

"Oh?" And he did, somewhat warily, she'd noted. "I expected you to storm out flinging epithets. I was under the impression that you hated me."

 

'I spoke before I thought.'

 

"If a single kiss unleashed such animosity then I should most definitely strive to make the eve before we face the Emperor...memorable."

 

Mutual scrutiny. Him, stepping even further into her quarters. Her, remaining on the bunk but sitting up, chin on knees, arms wrapping wire-tight around herself, embracing the illusion of self-protection.

 

'I've been ruminating.'

 

"Meditating?"

 

'No. I couldn't. Can't. Just thinking. Is death the only true freedom?'

 

"Is that rhetorical or are you anticipating?"

 

'I have no intention of dying anytime soon.'

 

"Neither do I. As if I could. Your question in unanswerable...except by the dead."

 

'I suppose you're right. More, then- through passion, I gain strength. Anger is passion. Hatred. Pride. How can one be numb and-'

 

"This again? I've read treatises expounding the art of fly fishing on Ord Mantell which were less tedious than you can be sometimes." He'd picked up the worn emotional unity focus from the bedside table, turned it over in his hands twice before replacing it with a sigh.

 

'They don't exactly hand out the Sith Code as homework back on Tython.' Her glare, knifing up at him until his posture shifted from weary to defensive.

 

"These are pointless queries to which you already know the answers. Your roundabout excavation is awkward. Bemusing but awkward. Ask."

 

'Fine. What about lust?'

 

"Ah. Finally. We delve deeper into the specifics of pleasure. Lust is another passion altogether. The most dangerous of all."

 

'Why?'

 

"Because it too frequently leads to love. Lust for someone- or something- can be harnessed if skillfully manipulated, converted into a power of unique intensity. Combined with fear, anger, even hatred, it can be the greatest of destroyers. Love...did I not already tell you that love is weakness? Allow me to expand upon that since it seems you were too occupied with fainting to properly comprehend: love is a chain which cannot be pried loose nor broken. A hindrance to victory. A captor of freedom. To love is to limit your potential." Tone as defensive as his stance, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of something.

 

'And you complain about me spouting Jedi dogma at you...are you speaking from experience?' Unwinding herself and rising from the bed, scanning the room for her boots. Finding his gaze instead.

 

"Am I?"

 

'Stop staring at me like that.'

 

A lazy smile. The defenses palpably discarded. "Like what?"

 

'Like I'm an appetizer.'

 

"Perhaps you're the meal. Have you noticed the galley cupboards lately? Dismal."

 

"Sergeant? Another call and we'll go. I need some privacy for this one." A brisk nod of acknowledgement from Rusk and she slipped away into the only unoccupied corner in the cantina. Facing the wall, she held the holocom at eye level and ticked in a sequence for a frequency known only to herself and one other individual. By the time her summons was answered her impatience was ready to stomp a hole in the floor. "Where are you? Why did it take so long for you to respond?"

 

"The Garden of Justice. We took a detour. Before you ask, he's right behind me. A bench surrounded by pruning droids is hardly my idea of comfort but to each his own." His voice sank to a murmur so low that she had to dip her head and place her ear right beside the bluish flicker of his face. "Your stalkers are now my stalkers. A woman with a Joiner in tow."

 

"A Joiner? How do you know?" She gnawed on her lower lip, fought down the urge to scream in frustration. It hadn't been a trick of the lighting, then. Why can't they leave me alone? Why is my business always their business? "What are they doing?"

 

"Pheromones. He reeks of them. I caught a whiff back there in the cantina. To be sure, it was faint, the overwhelming aroma of that place...they are...hmm. Well. Any dedicated voyeurs in the vicinity must be thrilled-"

 

"Stay there. We're on our way."

 

"Do hurry. The gardeners might not appreciate having their prized shrubs painted red."

 

"Don't. Just keep watch on Arch. We'll be there."

 

"'Keep watch'? He rolls off the bench. I laugh. What is there to watch besides the writhing? Far be it from me to deprive the galaxy of two such talented contortionists, but I can only bear so much. I'll restrain myself. For now." He vanished, terminating the call before she could reply.

 

* * *

 

"He is aware of us. Proceed?"

 

"I know he is. Yes." Rhexi's leg slipped out of the slit in her evening gown and hooked around the base of Vector's spine as he lifted her, putting the vibroknife within easy reach. He held her aloft against him with one arm; they smiled mouth-to-mouth when their hands moved in unison to rest on the sheath secured around her thigh. "Keep your eyes on him. Damn it. We went about this all wrong. I must be losing my touch."

 

"We believe your touch is keener than ever," lips gliding away from hers, the barest suggestion of teeth grazing her earlobe along with an outrush of breath. The grazing became a teasing nip. "He has a holocall." The hand atop hers lifted to rake through her hair and pull harder than she was accustomed to it being for its signal designation. "He is staring." Grip easing, gentler, segueing into a massage.

 

"And Kimble?" A delighted sigh. Her eyelids slid shut.

 

"On the pavement...he has crushed a small pruning droid..." he continued to speak as he traced her jawline with slow contemplative kisses "...the Sith has concluded his conversation...he is pacing...we think he is scanning for security cameras..."

 

She kicked his shin lightly with her free leg. His supporting arm fell away and her muscles went slack; she allowed gravity to carry her down until she was puddled at his feet. When he hoisted her up and over his shoulder she buried her face in his back, muffling a giggle. He was supposed to carry her, not sling her around like a sack of flour. She twisted her head, just enough: Scourge had stopped pacing and was standing stock-still as a marble monolith, regarding their retreat with chilling calm. That was it. As far as she was concerned the matter had been decided. They would chide, threaten, cajole- in no particular order- but she was done with the lot of them...except for Mirrigan. For her own peace of mind Rhexi needed to know if her niece was fully aware of the consequences of toying with a Sith Lord.

 

The garden far behind them thanks to Vector's swift stride, she was deposited back onto her own feet. The overt glances of passersby had her smoothing down her skirt with haste; when she recognized several Senators pausing along with their entourages she blushed despite herself. A wanton charade in a near-deserted area for the sake of surveillance was one thing. Such behavior here, however, would get them picked up for public indecency. Not a charade, really, but more excessive than...persuaded? Revolted, Rhexi banished that idea even quicker than she'd covered her legs. "Where to, my knight in rumpled finery?" She brushed her fingers over the golden clasp securing his evening cloak. "We haven't had that dance yet."

 

She sensed it before she heard and saw it:

 

"I suggest acquiring lodging away from the Cutter for the remainder of the night. Eckard needs his rest."

 

Chat with Mirrigan and then I'm finished with them. Forever.

 

Her true family was too precious to expose to the inevitable implosion of her family-by-blood-only.

 

* * *

 

"Your duty is to get him back to the ship, Sergeant."

 

"With all due respect, master Je- sir...if there are assassins nearby your safety is our number one priority." Rusk backhanded Arch lightly across both cheekbones. "Up, soldier."

 

"There are no assassins. If there were," Scourge toed a panel of metal with his boot, a piece of ruined pruning droid, "do you mean to imply that she's incapable of dispatching them herself? Or that she's unsafe with me?"

 

"That hurt. Lemme alone."

 

Rusk leaped up as if scalded, backed away from Arch as the man struggled to stand and then lurched off in the direction of the concourse. Arch clearly had ideas of his own; he navigated droids, benches and decorative topiary with amazing dexterity. The three of them followed him at a distance, speaking rapidly in hushed tones.

 

"I wasn't implying anything, Sith."

 

"You owe her an apology."

 

"The day you get an apology from me for anything is the day I-"

 

"I said nothing about apologizing to me. All those nights polishing your cannon seem to have granted you astonishingly selective hearing."

 

"I'm right here, gentlemen-"

 

" 'Gentlemen'? Where? Oh...what a shame. He was doing so well. If I were a gambler I would have placed good hard credits on him circumventing that marvelous likeness of Senator Grell-"

 

"That's not Senator Grell. It's General Garza."

 

"General Garza has a waist. It is Grell, I tell you. And you still owe her an apology."

 

"Right. Here."

 

"You could be right."

 

"Ignorance of one's foes' figureheads is an unforgivable tactical error."

 

"Now who's implying what?"

 

"Not implication. Fact. I would expect a military man to know better. Then again, the Republic military-"

 

"Don't condescend to me, Sith. You and your kind are worse than a rash on a vrblther's-"

 

"Enough!" It was louder than she'd intended. Rusk and Scourge froze in their tracks. Even Arch seemed to hesitate. "Sergeant Rusk. Escort the doctor to the ship. That's an order."

 

"Yes sir. For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He cast a stony glower at Scourge before sprinting to keep Arch from straying into the path of a young Mon Cal courier on a speeder bike.

 

Mirrigan watched their sluggish progress up the Avenue of the Core Founders until they were out of sight. Certain that Rusk would do his duty to his utmost abilities, she turned and meandered back into the confined greenspace, pausing near the splintered droid. At least Arch was walking on his own...she blinked. Unbidden tears.

 

"Look at me."

 

An index finger clad in blackest shadowsilk trailed over her cheek. It was soft, to her surprise; she knew the fabric was interwoven with durasteel. He'd told her so when she'd admired the gloves aloud. I've broken what never existed to begin with. A sob swelled in her chest.

 

"Quell your self-pity and look!"

 

A demand, a command. Borne on delicate wings, tender in timbre.

 

She looked, then. His expression was sublime. "What are we doing?"

 

"I believe," he said simply, voice devoid of smugness, "that we are forging a chain."

 

They stood together on the fringe of the Garden of Justice: less than silhouettes in the deep evening dim, both robed and hooded, one significantly shorter than the other. The taller figure drew the shorter form into itself, creating a solitary shadow.

 

Coruscant's neverending stream of traffic whirred above.

 

The shadow was oblivious.

 

Edited by thatghost
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Why do I love that line so much?? Doesn't matter, it made me giggle. Very nice! Looking forward to more!

:D Thank you, Earthmama, thanks x pi ad infinitum and a hug because you made my day (Monday. ill child. car woes. August weather in December). More is on the way, perhaps this evening :)

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I love Rhexi and Vector!!! The plot is building.... :D

They're good people. Probably the best in an absurdly dysfunctional extended family. Thanks, Legacy :p and thanks Hoyden :)

 

Scribbling as much as I can tonight until the nyquil knocks me out...

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Squee! So much love.

Just so you know, I have been checking for an update on this thread at least 5 times a day since you last story update. I would be just sitting in my chair hitting refresh all day, but I have been restraining myself...for now.

 

As yet another Scourge fan, I'm liking the direction you took with this. Something has totally changed with that guy and I want to know what.

 

So update? Soon?

<3

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Squee! So much love.

Just so you know, I have been checking for an update on this thread at least 5 times a day since you last story update. I would be just sitting in my chair hitting refresh all day, but I have been restraining myself...for now.

 

As yet another Scourge fan, I'm liking the direction you took with this. Something has totally changed with that guy and I want to know what.

 

So update? Soon?

<3

<3 back atcha- thank you soooo much :D <----that, from ear to ear *hugs* (I'm really curious about "tipsy_llama", what I'm seeing in my head is making me giggle).

 

I've got a big chunk of text minimized right now. It may very well be finished and posted tonight, tomorrow at latest. Still feel like I've been run over by a fleet of steamrollers so I'm not really sure where this chapter will go...might be a little disjointed...but maybe disjointed will work out for the best considering what I've already written ;)

 

(btw I'm not sure if anything has changed with him- yet)

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Lol, she's in good company. And the shock of Rusk enjoying himself - I may keel over.

<3 Hoyden :D Yep. And after the dancer debacle I had to cut Rusk a little slack (I felt guilty). Just a little.

 

(possible next chapter late tonight, and I need to catch up with TSFWCT too...agh what a weekend it was)

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So I'm ashamed to admit that I actually read the post mere hours after you updated(...roughly 4am EST...) and did not comment until now.

 

I blame finals.

 

The last post was a bit odd and disjointed as you said. Still delightful to read though. :)

 

(The username came from the mind of a twelve year old who just learned of the word "tipsy" and had a fixation on llamas due to a) the llama song and b) a llama who ate her favorite flowery shirt at some odd petting zoo when she was five. While she was still wearing it.)

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So I'm ashamed to admit that I actually read the post mere hours after you updated(...roughly 4am EST...) and did not comment until now.

 

I blame finals.

Ouch, finals >_< hope you aced them :) and I'm disgustingly flattered that you'd even be wanting to read at 4 am after that <3

 

The last post was a bit odd and disjointed as you said. Still delightful to read though. :)

I know LOL a horrid horrid bug and it made me more than a little bit wonky and unfocused..."delightful" = thank you so, another week made! :D more <3

 

(The username came from the mind of a twelve year old who just learned of the word "tipsy" and had a fixation on llamas due to a) the llama song and b) a llama who ate her favorite flowery shirt at some odd petting zoo when she was five. While she was still wearing it.)

Aha...wait...ate her shirt? Llamas eat clothing?! ("llama song"- only one which comes to mind is Monty Python- is there another llama song I don't know?)

 

(next chapter is still in the works...if the rest of the night stays smooth I anticipate posting)

 

(JINX LOL...connection is fluctuating wildly, took a break from writing and may have just wiped in spectacular fashion in Maelstrom...d'oh...think it's bedtime)

Edited by thatghost
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VII: Looking Sideways

The Lambent

 

Must have been Alderaan. Sun filtered down through a fine tangle of branches and rustling leaves. He held her within an ever-shifting fretwork of gauzy light and gentle shadow, her head nestled into his chest. An empty flagon of Tarul wine and two comet-stone glasses lay nearby along with the remnants of a midday meal. There was a conspicuous absence of nutrient paste. A mild breeze stirred his hair, causing her to laugh and insist that it was tickling her scalp; he retorted that it couldn't be any worse than her facial jewelry creating permanent indentations in his flesh. A herd of uxibeasts grazing across the meadow suddenly became uneasy, stomping and snorting. He felt her stiffen. They spotted it at the same time: the manka cat slinking its way through the stand of trees near the big herbivores.

 

She was up and running faster than his senses could register.

 

Dual blades, xanthous-bright, blinding as she sliced through the air towards the stalking predator. She impacted with the ground and whirled in a graceful and complex series of strikes and deflections. He sprang to his feet- and sagged back against the tree when he saw her stride away from a lifeless sprawl of Imperial shocktroopers. A squad of Republic soldiers waited where the uxibeasts had been, their weapons lowering at her approach. For a moment his eyes darted back to the not-manka-cat corpses, the severed limbs and melted Imperial insignia on the armor.

 

That moment cost him...no, not cost him: spared him. She was sauntering back in his direction, a second swath of carnage behind her, lightsabers still ignited. The beams were a sullen scarlet.

 

They were pointed at him.

 

"You ate all the moon fruit, didn't you," she teased, a sinuous smile quirking up the corners of her lips.

 

Her eyes-

 

"Oof. Yeah. That'll leave a mark," he muttered to himself, sliding his hand underneath his head and cupping the base of his skull. He had a funny feeling that he should have slept on the floor in front of the cargo hold; no chance there of falling out of a bunk and saying 'good morning' the hard way to bedside furniture.

 

Bad dreams, a hangover, a brand new contusion. Already one of those days.

 

He hauled himself up- not without dizzy difficulty- and staggered to the galley, avoiding See-two and heading straight for the caf. It wasn't going to physically remedy anything, he knew, but he wasn't going to chance the ramp down to the medbay. As it was he almost collided with Rusk, who was rummaging around in one of the cupboards. He started to mumble an apology but the grim-faced Chagrian laid a steadying hand on his shoulder and cut him off.

 

"Fragile this morning, Doc? Have a seat," he nodded at the nook at the far end of the galley, "made some wicked strong caf for you, it'll set you right." A clatter of cups. "Right as you can be, anyway, for how you're feeling. You have my sympathy-"

 

"For what?" He sank into one of the seats, elbows on table and head drooping. Bring it on, Sarge. Might as well get it over with. "Who did I punch?"

 

"Nobody that I saw." Rusk clinked down a mug of something that smelled like burning hydraulic fluid and sat across from him, expression neutral. "You upset a pretty Twi'lek. Smashed a droid. Broke off one of Senator Grell's legs. Nearly got yourself flattened by a kid on a speeder. Worse than that night on Nar Shaddaa last month but no serious collateral damage."

 

He choked on a mouthful of the fiendishly potent brew and gaped at Rusk. "I broke off the Senator's leg? That's not 'serious collateral damage'?!"

 

The Sergeant's hands raised in placation. "Relax. It was just one of those shrub-statues in the Garden of Justice. Worst case scenario is you've earned a lifetime ban from the Dealer's Den and Senate Plaza Security wants a word with you."

 

"Great. Just great. Where's my- the boss? Does she know about this?" Doc grimaced as he sipped. His palate might be barely able to tolerate the taste of the stuff but his stomach was downright offended.

 

Several minutes' worth of silence ticked away before Rusk cleared his throat and replied, "I took a couple calls just before you woke up. Kira and Tee-seven are on their way to the hangar-"

 

"Fine and dandy, but that still leaves us down one Jedi and one..." he trailed off, frowning at the viscous stuff in his cup. Could be he had a mercy killing in mind when he made this gunk. Drink up, Doc.

 

He was aware of his comrade's pitying scrutiny. He just didn't feel strong enough to face it.

 

Not right now.

 

Probably not ever.

 

Rusk was still talking. The words faded back in slowly through a surreal daze "-about that. Don't let your imagination run wild, soldier. The other call was specifically for you. Mouthy little cyborg lady. You know a 'Vee'?"

 

"Oh, I know the Captain," he grinned despite his glum mood, "she's no lady. Made you blush, huh?"

 

"I learned a few new words."

 

Doc ventured a glance. No pity. A trace of humiliation. The very first hint of a smile he'd seen on the Sergeant's face.

 

The day wasn't looking up- sideways, if he was lucky- but it was looking better.

 

"Never a bad thing to expand your vocabulary." Silently thanking the stars that he had a legitimate reason to leave the remainder of the caf-sludge in his mug, Doc gave Rusk a friendly clap on the shoulder and walked a bit easier to the holo than he had to the galley. He just couldn't, wouldn't admit to himself that the caf had anything to do with the spring in his step. He blamed Veolet. She'd made so many of his days brighter that he couldn't not be delighted by even her most foul-mouthed diatribes. Dodging blockades and using her black market contacts to get much-needed supplies to him and his patients, making him laugh when things seemed to be heading in downward spirals- she'd been there for him. They went so far back that he'd started to take her for granted until...the sequence was a new one to him, and when she crackled into scowling blue life he could tell that she was using a public terminal.

 

"Awww Vee...let me guess: you misplaced another ship? Looking good though, gorgeous." He knew it would needle her. And needling her was fun. Anything to take his mind off of...

 

A lengthy string of expletives in Basic and numerous various other languages spewed out before she stomped a booted foot. "Took you long enough. I didn't lose my ship, you slimy Hutt-son," she hooked her hair behind her ears, winking with her non-cybernetic eye. It was something he'd always found weirdly attractive, the enhancement. "Flattery will get you blaster bolts. You look like something the rancor dragged in, sat on, ate and vom-"

 

"Charming as ever. Got something interesting for me? Or did you ring just because you couldn't resist?" Of course he knew it was wrong to keep flirting with her. It had all been wrong since that half-remembered evening on Tatooine when he'd thought he'd lost Miri to the desert forever and called on Veolet to ease his grief. He'd taken Vee for granted until then and, when his head had stopped spinning the next day, he'd berated himself for letting their friendship escalate into something more. Miri had been asleep in their quarters when he'd stumbled in from a hard night's carousing. Wrong.

 

And when he dug deeper he discovered that he didn't really care.

 

Her slight frame shifted into a more serious stance. "Think your Jedi can stay alive without you for a few days? I gotta tip that a certain Organa mucky-muck has some serious jewelry."

 

"They all have 'serious jewelry', Vee. What's the catch?"

 

"She gave it away to some Rist pretty boy. Nice little fling, wonder what that pillow talk was like? Anyway. Now she wants it back, huge reward. Your cut would be enough to build a lot of Kimble Clinics..."

 

He let that sink in for a moment or three. "I do, now and forever." 'Definitely and always- we married yet?' "I don't know, I-"

 

"Come on, you rotten old scoundrel." She leaned over conspiratorially, as if someone else might be listening, her mouth puckering into a sultry pout. "All you have to do is keep a steady kolto hand and stay mum about us in front of Riggs."

 

"You didn't." What was this, the new knot twisting in his stomach?

 

"You crazy?" The diminutive cyborg snorted in disdain. "He's a nice guy. Me and nice guys just don't work out."

 

He knew a cue when he heard one. "I'm in."

 

Kriff forever and always, but of all places...did it have to be Alderaan?

Author's Note:

I had to break this up into two chapters in order to move things along. This chapter occurs simultaneously with the flashback at the start of the next. (addendum: no, no it doesn't- it did but that flashback itself has been broken up...see the author's note below VIII)

 

 

 

VIII: Unmasking

Voss

 

A mutant caricature of a tree rises far above them, its russet leaves shuddering in the bleak evening breeze; they are hidden, he hopes, within the coils of its massive roots. He cradles her head against his chest and stifles a growl of rage at her shivers. The rage has two targets: himself, and the medic who'd gone absent without leave long months ago.

 

The doctor wouldn't have been able to reach their location without gaining security clearance to set foot on the planet and then somehow miraculously employing a squad of commandos, but if he'd been aboard the ship- or just within holo reach- he might have been able to provide some modicum of medical insight that Scourge himself lacked. Heart-hurt with a hangover was no excuse to go scurrying off without leaving contact information, not when they were all so close to achieving what the rest of the galaxy deemed impossible. Curses for Kimble, a litany richocheting around inside his skull, curses and a nasty, literal shock whenever the cur turned up again.

 

Curses for himself, too, for not actively pursuing further knowledge of the darkness contained within this region before their hunt for Fulminiss led them here, before warped horrors had been constantly stalking them even as they stalked a far more dangerous warped horror. Of course, he reasons, even the Voss seem to know little about the blasted place, when one could coax them into talking about it at all. Inquries at the Shrine of Healing itself had been met with consternation and disbelief that anyone- especially outsiders- would even consider venturing into the Nightmare Lands.

 

But venture here they did. It was a vicious stroke of fate that just as he'd raised his saber to deliver the death blow the single survivor of a crysfang pack had lunged at her and swiped at her right thigh just above the knee. When she'd complained of sudden grogginess he'd knelt to examine the wound, had seen only a thin rip in her leggings and a faint pinkish scratch.

 

More yet milder curses for himself for abandoning his efforts to convince her of the need for thorough armoring. He'd grown weary long ago of her insistences that mobility took precedence over the increased protection heavier gear would provide- and he'd also become tired of conceding to himself that she was probably correct since she utilized form IV to the exclusion of all others. He could make up for a slight decrease in her dexterity, however, and perhaps this incident would serve to convince her of such.

 

Nothing like a mild poisoning to alter perspective.

 

He estimates that in total it had taken all of three minutes for semi-consciousness to set in.

 

Pearls of sweat bead up on her face. He wipes them away with the sleeve of his robe. Her eyes flicker open for the first time in what must be hours.

 

"Hello, you," he's careful to speak softly so as to not draw the attention of anything skulking nearby, with scrupulous effort made to keep the raw furor at Kimble and himself out of his tone, "are you back now, manosi?"

 

"I think so," she whispers, a cold hand straining upwards and nestling under his chin.

 

It feels like a small frozen moth has alighted upon his skin. Pleasant. The stir of emotions it evokes is troubling but exhilarating. Something bellows mournfully, far too close for his liking. The ground trembles underneath them as the noise's owner nears. He clasps her to him tighter and pitches his voice down into hardly a murmur:

 

"Excellent. I do not lay claim to weak things."

 

* * *

 

Why are they back on Coruscant? Hasn't she heard this before? Been here already?

 

"I find it almost poignant, how near you are to a perfection you can never attain. The Jedi corrupted you, " fingers stifle the remonstration forming on her lips, "yes, they did. Corruption wears a myriad of faces and forms. They stripped away what was yours by right. By the will of the Force."

 

She swats him away. "If what you say is true then the Force led me astray, sent me running away to the Order when I should have gone to Korriban. It makes no sense. The pull towards Tython-"

 

"Youthful rebellion? If so then that in itself indicates much. The Force led you on a roundabout route to enlightenment, not 'astray'. It brought us here."

 

"To what end? We pace around each other. We bicker. Philosophy, light versus dark, code versus code, same old same old. Nothing we couldn't have taken back to the ship. We've made an even bigger mess by staying-"

 

"To this end. And beginning."

 

A fierce embrace, elegant in its swiftness.

 

Inexorable in its execution.

 

Dawn slants in through slatted blinds.

 

He skims a fingertip over the barbed tattoo inked upon her forehead. "Someday I hope to hear how you obtained this. You should know...I felt the suns on Tatooine. A memory magnified into more than reminiscence. The pain has been extraordinary since then. Veils are being torn asunder. His power wanes further by the second. Yours can only grow stronger. I have...lied to you."

 

"I know," she smiles into his shoulder, "should I expect more subterfuge?"

 

"By its very nature subterfuge requires a lack of expectations on the part of the deceived. Your candor is distracting...too distracting...are you back now, manosi?"

 

"I think so."

 

"Excellent. I do not lay claim to weak things."

 

The borderline-shabby room in the Seven Stars Inn begins to shake. Mirrigan sits up beside him, alarmed. A horrific groaning fills the air, her ears, her mind.

 

"What's that sound?" she asks.

 

He pulls her back down, locks her against him.

 

* * *

 

"Vorantikus. Be still. Be. Quiet," he hisses, hoping that for once she'll comply with a command. As pleased as he is to have her cognizant again, she's now a liability and will remain so until they can backtrack to Shad-Ka. From recent experience he knows that it takes both of them to bring down a single medium-sized vorantikus- and judging from the way his teeth are rattling the approaching creature is far larger than any they've yet encountered.

 

The beast is so close he can smell it, acrid rot, the stench of dead leaves and moldering bones.

 

Startled by the proximity of the monstrosity, he takes a perilous gamble and plunges into the darkness which engulfs and sustains the Nightmare Lands, draws it into himself and then pushes it out as a cloak of sorts, rising again with the exudation. It's a technique with which he has limited skill and the descent is excruciating, not unlike the battle he fought against the specter of Corruption during the trials. The ascent is even more arduous, whiplash tendrils of twisted dark side energy seeking to drag him back into the maw of the land.

 

Somehow he succeeds.

 

The vorantikus emits a rumble. Its thunderous footsteps meander away.

 

He notices that her breaths have become regular. Sleep, then. Dreaming, perhaps, as her lips are moving.

 

"Gone," he assures her although he's not certain she can hear him.

 

The ambient temperature around them seems to plummet.

 

* * *

 

He secures his saber to his belt. "This dalliance has lasted long enough. By my sworn word, in blood if you desire it, we'll have more. Until then, when we need be apart, you should keep Kimble as sane as possible and on a short leash."

 

"Whose blood?"

 

"Give me a list if you like."

 

"I don't think 'Kimble' and 'sane' even belong in the same sentence."

 

"Stable enough to keep you alive should unforseen events arise, then. And beware your former apprentice."

 

Mirrigan grabs her own lightsabers from the floor at the foot of the bed. "She's a Jedi. Scheming, plotting out how to deceive our Masters...we tend to frown upon that."

 

"Quaint understatement. Quainter still that you of all people would dare to speak for the entirety of the Jedi Order. You equate betrayal with death, not incorrectly." He steps past her to open the room's door and inclines his head towards the empty corridor beyond. "Perfidy destroys more than mere flesh...but no more subterfuge- between us. Shall we depart this hovel and learn what our idyll has killed?"

 

"This will be ugly."

 

"I do hope so."

 

They traverse the inn's maze of hallways in perfect sync, matching strides, equal speed. A lift is ahead. They halt to wait for it. He pulls her to him.

 

"Gone," he whispers.

 

She shakes her head in befuddlement. "Who's gone where?"

 

* * *

 

She mumbles into his chestplate: "Who's gone where?"

 

Relief floods him that she hadn't raised her voice. "Not 'who'. What. The thing has moved on to easier prey. I confused it." At a price, he thinks bitterly. Meditating upon the dark side is one thing. Using it for sorcery is quite another, and using it for sorcery in this place is yet another. There had been plenty of time to study in between carrying out the Emperor's biddings; he had scoured the archives of the Sith Sanctum and the Academy on Korriban, scrutinized texts and artifacts acquired from slain Sith and Jedi alike.

 

Study but no formal training: he's no sorcerer. For the very first time he rues that fact.

 

Chills wrack him as the mask slithers off like a sentient shroud. He knows she feels it as well; she stirs restlessly, her hands scrabbling at the intangible shield.

 

Now we're both liabilities, to each other, for the time being.

 

"Go back to sleep," he adds a splinter of persuasion to the order. She frowns but obeys. Remember to knock her senseless the next time she won't listen to reason, he muses grimly.

 

He closes his own eyes, not to rest but to focus on purging himself of nightmare residue so virulent that it could drive even him mad.

Author's Note:

This didn't turn out as originally planned (does it ever? lol). There are two separate points of view. Although it's influenced by minor delirium, Mirrigan's POV does accurately reveal what occurred that night/morning on Coruscant (someday I'll post that in its pristine, non-fractured form).

 

As for Scourge: writing from his perspective is addictive, expect more of it.

 

An inordinate number of crysfangs, vorantiki, twisted Gormaks, mawvorrs, shaclaws and nexus were fought for the sake of this chapter...;)

 

 

 

IX: Chokepoints

First light finds him prowling back and forth.

 

Back. Pause to assess the drowsing form he'd shifted gently off his lap, noting the regularity of its breaths.

 

Forth. Halt to scan the brightening landscape, vigilantly hunting for hunters.

 

Back. Forth. BackForth. Quicker. Grinding his teeth. Fighting the voices.

 

His voice. And His voice.

 

She will fail. You. Will fail. Strike her down. Incapacitate her unto helplessness. Find a way back. Demand to be taken into His presence. Kill your way into His chambers if you must. Lay her at His feet and kneel. Claim you never defected, that you only sought to eradicate an even greater threat than the one which earned you immortality, that you wanted to bring this greatest of threats to Him just as you did the other. Swear that your loyalty has been unwavering. Leave Fulminiss be to carry out His will and move quickly before He finds another lapdog. Beg Him for clemency. Beg. Him. You had power, once. Now you lack the power to keep even an insignificant Jedi safe. Insignificant. She will fail. Do not fail with her. Reclaim your power. You are nothing without Him. Torture her if He wishes it. End her if He orders it. Make her beg for the end. Beg. You. Imagine how-

 

He stops pacing and slams his fist into the nearest tree root.

 

A sere smell, arid decay. A shower of splinters.

 

-your darkest whims. You miss it. You excelled at it. You could reach that pinnacle again. Feeding off her desire is little more than gnawing on air in comparison to the banquet her-

 

She stirs, stretches, stands and brushes shards of wood off of her shoulders.

 

Stares at him, her posture stiffening.

 

-strike now.

 

His hand closes around the hilt of his lightsaber.

 

Her hands mirror his motion.

 

"It's been telling me all about how Master Orgus had ulterior motives when he accepted me as his padawan. That I should have taken advantage of him to rise higher, faster. How I've wasted my connection with the Force and if I'd gone to Korriban I would have had your place by the Emperor's side. It keeps insisting that I should have killed Leeha and Jomar, just for the sake of ridding the galaxy of one more weirdo droid fetishist and her sniveling excuse-for-a-Jedi boyfriend. It says that you're simply a trap, a test set by the Order to gauge my devotion to the light because they've never trusted me. It wants me to give you to the Jedi Council. 'You' meaning 'your head'. What does it want you to do to me?"

 

"Sickening things." Sickening to whom? Not you. Surely not. You've committed sublime atrocities, you've- "We could end this. In unison. Here, together."

 

"No. Drop it. I'll drop mine. On three."

 

I'll make a game of you. Bleed you of intel and essence. Then bleed you.

 

"Good luck with that. One."

 

So he'd said it aloud. He blinks hard, shakes his head. The voices intensify inside his skull, rise in a buzzing cacophony. Break her. Yes, begin with the mind. Extract every useful morsel and then twist before moving on to the body. His permission to do so will make it even sweeter. His approval. And when He consumes everything-

 

"Two."

 

"I'll finally die, and with the exquisite taste of your fear lingering on my tongue." Freeing the hilt, he shifts into initial form VII stance, arm raised, readying himself to ignite the blade.

 

"You won't. Go right ahead and try, though." Her fingers flex, unhooking, but her face is calm. She takes a step towards him. "You idiot. You invited it in. You might as well have given it an engraved invitation. Whatever you did kept us safe, yes, but you're no better now than those addled Gormaks we ran into a few days ago. Snap out of it or I'll take the maps. You can stay here and revel in your crazy like a Gamorrean in a mudbath. Minus a few limbs." Another step. Hilts loose and gripped, twin shafts of golden light hissing to life at her sides, pointing at the ground. Her expression remains remarkably placid.

 

Your affection for her has crippled you. She is nothing. You are nothing with her, without Him. Reclaim. Power-

 

"Well?"

 

Go back to haunting your beasts and boneyards. You. Are nothing. To me. She is everything. And he will perish.

 

"Three," he finishes the count, his weapon falling.

 

* * *

 

"Just wear it. My armor is sufficient. Have you not noticed the frost?"

 

"Sorry. I was too busy contending with a lunatic Sith to notice. Stop fussing and take it back. If I wanted a gentleman I'd dump you, divorce Arch and go find one. Is this another kind of madness? I think it's even creepier than the other."

 

"We have to get moving. If the toxin is still in your system a chill could cause a relapse." He tries to account for the curious surge of gallantry which struck after they'd taken time to individually regroup and confirm the restoration of sanity. It isn't in his nature, or hasn't been until this moment. The voices have disintegrated, leaving behind only echoes which are being swiftly smothered by an odd sensation of warmth. She does look absurd with his robe draped around her like that. "Try this," he grumbles, undoing her belt and sliding it off.

 

"Don't 'we have to get moving'? Can't this wait-" she bites her lip; he could swear she's blushing as he wraps the fabric around her and secures it so it won't drag when she walks "-never mind that. I'm not a morning person anyway."

 

"Oh? I can recall being exhausted before midday on more than a few occasions over the past months. You seem to feel better." Their sabers are still on the ground. He picks them up, affixes his and then attaches hers to her waist, gliding his palms over her hips. Sudden hunger. Another place. Another time. Quell it. As reluctant as he is to do so he lets the touch trail away. "Do you?"

 

"Feel better? I've been through worse. Ever had a cup of Rusk's caf?"

 

"Ah. No. And I never shall. I've scented it. Your courage is inspirational."

 

"It's an experience. Maps? If you're done groping, that is."

 

"Well enough to tease. Right. Tala-Reh is no doubt far ahead of us now. I still question Gormak accuracy but- if you truly have no need to travel back to the outpost- let us have another look. No subterfuge?"

 

"None. Promise. A little walking, some exercise, I'll be one hundred percent. My muscles ache, probably from being huddled under that tree all night. That's it."

 

"If you say so."

 

Maps scrutinized again, he determines that they're not as far from the Dark Heart as he'd previously thought, a day at most if they don't dally. A speeder would have been convenient yet they'd agreed from the second they'd seen the proliferation of creatures on the outskirts of Shad-Ka that utilizing one would just further antagonize the wildlife. At that recollection he surveys the meadow for the umpteenth time since dawn. Empty but for a distant cluster of crysfangs. Safe to set off in the opposite direction, which is where they need to head anyway. He imposes a brisk pace just to verify her claim of wellness; she keeps up with him, demonstrating no sign of infirmity.

 

"You called me an 'idiot'." Only one of several troublesome things she's said this morn, things interfering with his ability to concentrate on their surroundings. Were the voices correct solely on that account? Crippling affection? The vast meadow left behind, rocky bluffs studded with stunted trees surround them: a canyon, a chokepoint. An empty chokepoint, yes, but still too dangerous to continue through without having full mastery of his senses. He slows and then stops altogether, leaning back against a fallen boulder and crossing his arms, chiding himself: be done with this quickly, you are indeed an idiot for letting these trifles nag at you.

 

"Because you were being one. We can't stop here. Anything could amble along looking for breakfast and we'd be kriffed." She sidles close and peers up at him quizzically. "You're not, okay? Just then. I didn't mean all the time. You used to insult my intelligence on a daily basis and I didn't let it bother me. Can we-"

 

"Severing my head and presenting it to the Council. Leaving me in this place 'minus a few limbs'. Was that the darkness here or the dark side?" Better that he not mention her eyes to her. The irises boring into his own are no longer pallid ethereal blue- they glow sallow amber. He finds them enchanting but she...he has no idea of what her reaction might be.

 

Her features take on a pensive cast. "I could ask the same of you. Ugh. I'm plenty warm." The pensiveness gives way to irritation. She tears her belt off and struggles out of his robe. Balls it up. Throws it into his face. Straps the belt back on, mumbles: "It's the darkness here. I could never do those things to you. I love you. There. I said it. Let's go."

 

Now he has to keep up with her, as fast as she's dashing ahead through the narrow canyon. He shrugs back into the robe as he sprints to her side, reaching it only to have her crouch and leap at a wandering nexu. Instead of joining her he waits and watches as she butchers the multi-eyed felid.

 

Graceful, relentless butchery.

 

He smiles to himself.

Author's Note:

My significant other suggested that this chapter be entitled "The Mad Jedi and the Lunatic Sith"...

 

Edited by thatghost
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Getting this latest chapter finished and posted was my Xmas gift to myself :)

 

A few things need to be clarified:

-Don't anticipate much Corso. My 'slinger resents the [bleep] out of him after that companion quest on Tatooine- and no doubt Veolet will too once she gets to that level;

-The lack of Kira will soon be remedied;

-"Manosi" = "Mine" (source here);

-I haven't forgotten about Rhexi nor the rest of my bizarre legacy (SI and SW spoilers eventually? maybe) :D

 

Edited by thatghost
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