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Don’t Call Them Ruth-Less: Tales of Wynston and Quinn


bright_ephemera

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The minimally spoilered adventures of Imperial Agent Wynston and Imperial Lackey Malavai Quinn, platonic brothers-in-arms. Very quarrelsome platonic brothers-in-arms.

 

I expect this will be generally but not exclusively lighter in tone than its predecessor; the first post, at least, is going to be exposition at the expense of humor.

 

This story, starting in this post!, contains spoilers for the previous Ruth Means Compassion: A Warrior’s Tale story. You don't have to read that whole thing to follow these stories. They just happen to be in the same continuity.

 

All explicit class spoilers will be marked on a post-by-post basis. A lot of background here, though, is simply a product of this being seventeen years after the class line.

 

So, our premise:

MOAR WORDS. HAVE THEM.

 

After the events of Ruth Means Compassion: A Warrior's Tale, forty-seven-year-old Malavai Quinn finds himself facing a galaxy where no authority is above question. What's a lifelong servant, newly single father, and recently devastated widower to do? Team up with his longtime, bitter parallel counterpart, Imperial Agent Wynston, and start learning his way around a second career, of course!

 

Background as established in Ruth Means Compassion:

 

Class plotlines happen as in game. Warrior Ruth Niral sleeps with Agent Wynston early on, but settles as friends and allies after that. Wynston and Malavai Quinn's interactions are hostile due to their being excessively similar except for where Wynston is a) an alien and b) has a pulse while c) still getting the job done. Within a year of the class line ending, Ruth has a falling-out with Quinn (and, not coincidentally, stops playing Ms. Nice Sith). She carries and raises a son, Rylon, by herself while Quinn proceeds with a solo military career and has occasional visits (to the son, not the mother). Meanwhile, Wynston wanders out of Imperial Intelligence in favor of a sort of galactic watchdog agency trying to take care of the general population of all factions, protecting them from authority gone bad.

 

Some fifteen years after the class line ends, Ruth re-encounters Quinn face to face and begins a long slow climb toward Light Side; the following year, Wynston sets her off on an adventure that culminates in facing down the Emperor himself, over the objections of her corrupted son Rylon. Quinn attacks Rylon in order to keep him from killing Ruth under the Emperor's compulsion; Ruth dies anyway at the hands of the Emperor himself. The attack reduces the Emperor to a small greasy residue in a Rakatan mind trap; we leave that in the Sith Lord Scourge's keeping. Meanwhile, Rylon survives and rejects the Emperor's ways. Quinn gets to survive knowing that the last thing Ruth saw of him was him shooting their son in the back. Way to go, Quinn!

 

(Oh, and by the way, these boys are very much Ruth-less, now and hereafter. I just didn't want a definite statement of that in the thread title.)

 

 

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September, 28 ATC: Getting a job

 

 

 

“Heavy fire on our left, sir.”

 

Malavai Quinn stood in the command center and scanned the real-time map of the sprawling city. “I’m well aware. Bring up our center reserve, I want to keep the others on hold in case the Republic tries to sweep clear around the end.”

 

Which it did. The left reserve was available to counter the Republic’s move after they thought they had skirted the whole Imperial line. The Republic was thoroughly crushed on that flank.

 

He was about to transition to wrapup activities when news came of multiple fresh Republic squads stabbing at the battle’s center. Oddly, irrelevantly, he thought of a sunny afternoon among the mountains of some Core World about six months ago, standing outside the brilliant mixed crowd of his wife Ruth and her Jedi and Sith allies, taking out yet another circle of the Emperor's planet-killing cultists. Stopping another planet from dying. It had been a triumphant day. And here he was now, reduced to spending a week in a titanic struggle to secure another square mile of another pointless planet.

 

“Sir! They’re slamming our artillery. Two guns already down.”

 

He turned to his aide. "You know something? I don't care."

 

"Sir?"

 

"I'm finished. This war can drag on perfectly well without me." And had, while he was on a leave of absence to assassinate the Empire’s own head of state. It had been necessary, but still: so much for patriotism. He raised his chin a little, called over to his subordinate, Major General Vance. "General, you have the command." And with that, Quinn turned on his heel, headed to the spaceport, and took his personal ship out.

 

*

 

He had hyperspace coordinates he hadn’t really planned on using, given to him by an ally he hadn’t really planned on seeing again, after a conversation he hadn’t really planned on allowing. The agent Wynston was Ruth’s friend, not Quinn’s, and it was Wynston’s mysterious galactic-protection organization that had dragged Ruth into the hunt that had killed her.

 

Plus, the man was just annoying.

 

Still, in some ways the work it offered was the closest thing Quinn could have to carrying out Ruth’s wishes out there. She had always favored protecting people, all populations, regardless of affiliation. She had wanted a galaxy where people were safe from the whims of the Sith as well as other major powers. Quinn knew Wynston’s agency sought that goal as well. It was a way to continue her work. And the prospect beat another twenty years of crawling through infinitely repetitive battles that simply could not keep his mind busy enough to avoid other, painful topics.

 

Quinn got automated clearance to land in a hangar of the massive Imperial cruiser he dropped out of hyperspace next to. When he left his Fury, one person stood in the hangar waiting for him.

 

The Chiss wasn’t quite the scarred Wynston he had last seen, the natural, real one. He was similar, still rather short, but this greeter was a little more muscular, with a different, finer-featured, scar-free face. Not for the first time, Quinn found himself envying the permanent disguise technology Wynston had integrated into his cybernetics.

 

"General," said Wynston.

 

"Agent," said Quinn. "You mentioned something about a job opening in your organization?"

 

"In The Organization. Yes. Welcome.”

 

“Let’s not mince words. Why exactly are you welcoming a ‘perfidious bastard’ who ‘can’t be trusted outside shiv range and, for that matter, can’t be trusted within shiv range’ and furthermore ‘constitutes the single most irritating liability to a cause you’ve ever met’?”

 

“What, are those all the lines you remember from our illustrious joint career?”

 

“I could continue reciting, but I don’t want to be here all night. The question stands.”

 

The Chiss didn’t demonstrate a trace of self-consciousness. “Ruth believed in you. And I think, by the end, I trust her in that.”

 

“Just like that.”

 

“If you want to call ‘hunting down and killing the Emperor’ ‘just like that,’ then yes.” He shrugged. “Effective operatives are rare. Effective, experienced, and endorsed by the likes of Ruth? If you want the work, I’ll take you.”

 

“Hm.” Quinn looked around the hangar; it was unremarkable in every way. He wondered what was set up elsewhere in the ship. “Very well. Where do I start?”

 

“Well, I was going to be courteous and say we can play this two ways. You can work with me. I show you the ropes, do some ops with you. Or, I hand you off to Imperial Affairs and we just don’t talk to each other. You still get meaningful work and we don’t have to endure each other’s company.”

 

Phrased like that, it was a hell of a choice. Not working with Wynston would be a relief and a pleasure. At the same time, it meant learning his way around a new organization, surrounded by strangers who outranked him, who had no idea why some greying set-in-his-ways soldier was looking so moody all the time.

 

Working with Wynston would mean working with Wynston, which was terrible; but the Chiss knew him, knew his methods, respected his intellect if not his ethics, and most importantly, had known and valued Ruth. Quinn wasn’t quite sure he was ready to be alone in that mourning.

 

“Better the devil I know,” he said at last.

 

Wynston grinned. “I’m flattered. I’ll try not to ‘toss the mission out the window the next time some pretty thing in a skirt wanders by’ or otherwise demonstrate the ‘flagrant lack of professionalism’ that will ‘compromise everything for a moment’s cheap pleasure.’”

 

“It would be appreciated.”

 

“Come with me. We might have a couple of hours to look around before the next crisis hits.”

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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September, 28 ATC: A lady friend

 

 

 

"And our hub in the Ilum sector is in the asteroid belt surrounding Star C284. From here our ships can reach-"

 

Quinn squinted at the galactic map Wynston had zoomed in on. "Where do you refuel from there?"

 

"Fun question, isn't it? That difficulty is what keeps this out of the military considerations of the major powers. We actually have a major refinery on a larger asteroid, here, from where we can periodically resupply in huge quantities. The expense is worth it to maintain our things where nobody thinks it's worth looking."

 

"I see."

 

When Wynston had offered to brief Quinn on the broad lines of the Organization's operations, he hadn't expected quite this much enthusiasm or attention to detail. Wynston had the feeling that Quinn would be able to run the whole thing himself, from a logistics perspective, after no more than another six or eight hours' study. Ruth couldn't keep track of her own shoes. No wonder she relied on him so heavily.

 

Someone knocked at the conference room door. A willowy young Twi'lek, blue, lovely, with the flat black eyes of a Killik Joiner, stuck her head in. "Wynston. We would like to speak with you when you have the time."

 

"Of course, Hazard. I'll be along shortly."

 

The Twi'lek smiled, blew Wynston a kiss, and withdrew.

 

"All right, Quinn. I'll leave you access to the files on the rest of this supply stuff. Find me tomorrow if you want clarification on any of it."

 

Quinn was still looking at the door, though the Twi'lek was already gone. "Hazard?"

 

Wynston quirked his eyebrows. "In more ways than one. It was her street name from her pre-Joiner days."

 

"And what does she do?"

 

"She's a Dawn Herald of the Oroboro Killik nest. Vector's job, once upon a time. She's been working for my organization as a goodwill gesture by the hive."

 

"Very good will."

 

Wynston shrugged modestly.

 

"That girl can't be a day over twenty-five."

 

"Oh? Is that a problem, Mister Decade Older Than His First Wife...When He Was Twenty-Nine?"

 

Quinn made a face. "My only wife. And you're talking a twenty-year gap here. She's far too young for you."

 

"Do I need to bring up Lieutenant Grace?"

 

Quinn's eyes widened. "You know about Lieutenant Grace?"

 

"I kept tabs on you through the years. In case you ever tried to...you know. If you ever tried to hurt Ruth again. I had the dossier to destroy your career."

 

They let the awkwardness sink in for a few seconds.

 

“I had one on you, too,” admitted Quinn.

 

Wynston flashed a white smile. “Bet mine was better.”

 

“That’s because you cheat. You and your however many pseudonyms. I still managed to get enough to seriously inconvenience you if I had to.”

 

“We should compare notes sometime. I could point out what you missed. Now, as I was saying, if you want to criticize my sleeping with women too young for me, I can remind you of Ensign Rhona, Lieutenant Qurek, Lieu-"

 

"Your point is made," said Quinn hastily. "It just looks much more disturbing when you're doing it."

 

"I could ask the hive to fix you up."

 

"That won't be necessary. I'm sure you can handle the twentysomething population of the galaxy without me."

 

"That's very generous of you. As long as we're on the topic, you holding any claims on the thirtysomething and fortysomethings?"

 

Wynston enjoyed these surges of outraged disapproval from the officer. "No," huffed Quinn.

 

"Excellent. That makes my life easy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to...I'm going to resist saying something unbelievably cheesy about communing with the hive."

 

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

 

“…Yes, perhaps that's just as well. Anyway, good night."

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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Crosspost from Ruth's original thread.

 

September, 28 ATC

 

 

 

Gorath Jin was an uncommonly mean-spirited smuggler, well known in Hutt space and the Outer Rim. When he picked up a shipment of certain rare materials that Wynston's espionage operation could use, Wynston decided to kill two birds - or rather, one supply problem and one infamous thug - with one stone.

 

And, since Malavai Quinn was still learning the ropes in this industry, Wynston brought him along.

 

"Do I get a disguise generator like yours?" said Quinn.

 

"No. It takes a while to produce them. We'll issue you one when we can. Besides, I doubt you'll need it just yet."

 

"Oh?"

 

"You'll want it to hide your face when you operate in Imperial space. But in the Outer Rim? You're fine. To be frank, you're in the luxurious position of being able to elicit positive social responses with your natural face."

 

"Positive...social responses."

 

The scarred Chiss looked him over and let one corner of his mouth quirk up. "You've done a much better job of preserving your looks than I have. You look striking, bordering on distinguished with the greying-hair thing, and quite possibly still handsome enough to sweep young Sith Lords off their feet if you had to."

 

"Don't joke about that."

 

"Ah. Sorry. It...may take a while to sort out how humor works here."

 

"Quite."

 

"For one thing, I am never hitting on you. You can set your mind at ease there."

 

"That is a relief to hear."

 

"I thought it might be. I'm as flexible as I have to be professionally, but I don't go after men in my spare time. And I won't be offended if you tell me I'm not your type."

 

The cargo was set to be handed over on Tatooine. Wynston put on an unremarkable Twi'lek likeness. Both Wynston and Quinn picked out street clothes, some light body armor, nothing that would stand out in a crowd of mercenaries. The warehouse stood in a deep desert canyon, with only the smallest of landing pads available alongside. Wynston and Quinn quietly infiltrated the warehouse, observing the Exchange crew that had brought the shipment that far and was now waiting for the handoff. Wynston hid in the shadows, Quinn settled on an out-of-the-way packing crate, they activated their respective stealth generators, and they waited.

 

Finally the lead Exchange thug got a holocall, grunted a few times at his correspondent, and nodded for his people to haul open the great cargo door. Gorath Jin walked in alone.

 

The ugly smuggler scanned the warehouse with a critical eye. "I see, I see." A few gunmen entered behind him and started walking up and down between packing crates, periodically prying one open to check inside. Eventually they gave their boss the all-clear. Gorath walked up to where the Exchange crew waited. "One credit stick for you, sir."

 

"Eh," grunted the Exchange leader, and accepted it.

 

Gorath beamed and backed off. "Now," he sang.

 

The gunmen who had examined the shipment opened fire from all directions, joined by another two from outside. The battle was short and one-sided; Gorath's men cleaned up while only losing one themselves.

 

"Nice an' neat," announced the smuggler. "Swipe their identicards and let's take this stuff home."

 

"I'm afraid that will be quite impossible."

 

Quinn strolled out from behind a pile of packing crates, his hands folded behind his back. He took up his distinctively military parade rest. "The shipment we have a use for. You, Gorath Jin, we do not. As of today, your bloody trade is at an end."

 

Gorath grinned a gap-toothed grin. "You don't want to be crossing me, buddy. I have powerful friends."

 

"They won't miss you," Quinn said scornfully. "I suppose eventually some of them might wonder where you went, but I can continue to supply them with their goods. As long as that's assured, I really doubt any of them will be sentimental enough to ask after you."

 

Gorath looked off to one side and beckoned. "May get hairy, boys. Come on."

 

The gunmen formed up around Gorath, blaster rifles and one assault cannon trained on where Quinn stood alone. The smuggler chuckled. "You still thinking you're in charge here, buddy?"

 

Wynston, without saying anything, stepped into the open behind them and tossed a thermal detonator.

 

"Yes, actually," said Quinn in a friendly tone. And the detonator blew.

 

Between the two of them, Quinn and Wynston rapidly cleared the survivors of the blast. Wynston holstered his pistol and spoke in a stage whisper. "Formal pose, stiff neck, accent, plus gloating?"

 

"Well, yes."

 

"Bloody hell, Quinn, try to remember you're a mercenary, not a...well...an Imperial officer."

 

"The gloating needed to happen," said Quinn defensively. "The opportunity was right there. Besides, it's not like anybody survived to get offended over it."

 

"You'll never get anywhere acting like that."

 

A cool feminine voice sounded from the staircase leading up to the second floor. "Well, that was unexpected."

 

Wynston took his blaster back out, but he was smiling. Quinn trained his blaster on the dusky beauty who was sweeping down the stairs, her intriguingly thin green dress billowing behind her in the slight air currents of the warehouse.

 

"Gentlemen, I have been waiting longer than you can imagine for somebody to clear that pig out of my warehouse. Are you planning on setting up...business...here?"

 

Quinn appeared to be calculating rapidly as he watched her. Wynston also appeared to be calculating, but he was clearly concentrating on a different data set. "Madam, I'm open to setting up business any place you like."

 

"Hm." The woman gave the false Twi'lek a dismissive once-over, then turned back to Quinn. "Nice moves during that little showdown, sugar. I like your style. And I wanted to say, you're missing out if you only take the parts of the shipment at this warehouse."

 

"And what does that mean?" asked Quinn.

 

"The Exchange always stashes the good stuff elsewhere." She jerked her head toward an undistinguished corner of the warehouse. "Come with me and I'll show you."

 

The woman took a step and waited expectantly. Quinn raised his eyebrows at Wynston and mouthed "Never get anywhere?" Wynston rolled his eyes and cleared out to let Quinn do his job.

 

*

 

Wynston, having finished directing the lifting droids to load up the transport, was waiting in the blissfully air conditioned cockpit when Quinn finally climbed in.

 

"Never ask me to do that again," said Quinn.

 

Wynston grinned. "Ask? Sir, you volunteered."

 

"No, I didn't."

 

"The minute that woman showed up you were ready for playtime."

 

"No I wasn't! I only did what was necessary to secure the shipment."

 

"Every last part thereof," Wynston said slowly.

 

"You are an extraordinarily unpleasant man."

 

"You're a real professional. Take it from someone who knows." Wynston's grin widened. "So, you go through with it?"

 

"Of course not."

 

"Backing out early raises a lady's suspicion."

 

"Not as such. She led me into a closet that, I regret to report, had no additional smuggled goods, and, once she was sure we were alone, she tried to stab me."

 

"Really?"

 

"Really. So I killed her and went back out to help load the true cargo. No intercourse required."

 

"I stand corrected, Quinn. You truly are a professional."

 

Quinn sniffed disdainfully. "I found this resolution considerably more tasteful than the alternative." He hopelessly brushed a little of Tatooine's dust off his sleeve. "Tell me these materials are worth it?"

 

"Absolutely. Instead of benefiting a Hutt, they're going to benefit scum like us."

 

"We're not scum."

 

"Quinn, you've been calling me scum for the past twenty years. Give or take."

 

"Fair point. I'm not scum."

 

"Whatever you say, sugar."

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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December, 28 ATC

 

The Wingman

 

This story contains minor spoilers for the Sith Warrior line on Nar Shaddaa.

 

 

 

“Quinn, I have a practice session for you.”

 

Quinn looked up from his holonet research. “Oh?”

 

“Got a target back on Nar Shaddaa.”

 

“Ah, my favorite place to be with you.”

 

“Yes, I remember. Simpler days, eh? Hunting down and killing an agent just like yourself, watching me simultaneously get the intelligence you couldn’t find and-“

 

“Distracting my commander from doing the same? Yes, I remember very well what you were doing,” said Quinn, fiddling with his wedding ring. “So what’s the mission?”

 

“Jedi, a rather corrupt one, smuggling privileged information to contacts in the Duros resistance movement. I have reason to believe the dirt she’s carrying could destabilize not only the system, but the sector, and give the Republic a leg up that will – according to predictions – only invite an extremely messy Imperial counterattack. Best take that information ourselves, disseminate what’s necessary, remove the rest.”

 

“Simply killing one Jedi, then?”

 

“Alas, she’s got connections. No kill. Straightforward seduction and theft, with a datacard swap so she has something less volatile to deliver to her contacts.” Wynston paused. “It’s about time you got into this game, you’re by far one of the best qualified candidates to keep your wits about you.”

 

“I can’t seduce a Jedi.”

 

“You already seduced the galaxy’s most soft-hearted Sith. It’s practically the same thing.”

 

“I didn’t seduce her,” Quinn said resentfully.

 

“Right, you merely wrapped her around your finger, somehow made yourself the object of her undying adoration, then slept with her. Seduction was not involved.”

 

“It’s not like I set out to do it. If anybody is seducing anybody in this job, it’ll be you and that Jedi. Leave me out of it.”

 

“Quinn, I have no use for an agent who can’t hoodwink anybody into certain varieties of physical interaction. Let me deal with her, but you’d better be observing, at least to start.” Wynston studied Quinn’s face and frowned. “You realize this isn’t a terrible assignment, right? Normal people would be delighted to have the chance?”

 

“Then find a normal person.”

 

“Just observe. Just once. You’ll have to observe without the ring on, though.”

 

*

 

Wynston selected a ruggedly handsome human visage, not too childish, not too weathered, and got to the target cantina to take a booth with Quinn and wait.

 

The target entered a little after dinner time and went straight to the bar. She was thirtysomething, black-haired, Mirialan. She wore an interesting hybrid of dress and (in a vague design sense) robe. Cut low for a Jedi, covering a tragically large amount of leg for a civilian. She ordered a blue drink and started watching one of the big neon screens on the wall.

 

Wynston walked up to the bar. “Telos Twist, extra rathan juice.” He looked over at the Jedi and her drink. “Excuse me, miss. Word of advice? As long as you’re on Nar Shaddaa you should really try the Huttese version of that stuff. Best place in the galaxy to sample it, you don’t want generic Core liquor here.”

 

She gave him a wide-eyed look and a small tentative smile. “Is that so?”

 

“It surely is. Here, have a sample on me.” He ordered a shot and started casually chatting about the meaningless fluff she had been watching on the big screen.

 

She sampled the shot he had ordered her and pronounced it “really amazing.” Then, with a charming smile, she changed the subject. “Hey, if I might ask, who’s your friend?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“I noticed that man you were sitting with earlier. You going to just leave him there?”

 

Wynston blinked. Then smiled casually. “I was going to, but if the lady has other ideas…”

 

“Hey. I’m just after respectable conversation, sir.”

 

“I’m happy to oblige.” Wynston offered Nasya his arm and escorted her over to the booth, where Quinn shook himself out of his moroseness to straighten to Imperial-grade-board stiffness and watch them.

 

“Nasya, meet my friend Goryn Shei. Goryn, the Jedi Nasya.”

 

Her eyelashes fluttered for a second as she looked him over. “Pleasure to meet you.” She smiled slyly and slid into the booth opposite Quinn.

 

“I wouldn’t have expected to see a Jedi in a place like this,” he said, his manner bordering on ice. Wynston cringed.

 

“I like to explore,” she said breezily. “You new in town?”

 

“Hardly.” Quinn blocked further speech by pretending to sip his drink.

 

“This is my first time through. You’ll have to tell me all the can’t-miss places around.”

 

“You’ll have to narrow it down by your preferred pleasure,” said Wynston, “or else plan to spend a few years straight here.”

 

“Is that so,” cooed Nasya, looking at Quinn.

 

“Mm,” said Quinn, pretending to sip his drink.

 

“Unfortunately he’s incapable of appreciating anything that isn’t stock trading,” said Wynston, his air theatrically tragic.

 

Before he could continue, Nasya interrupted. “We’ll have to fix that.”

 

Quinn shot Wynston an imploring look. Wynston cleared his throat.

 

“Wait a minute,” said Nasya. “Hold on. I don’t mean to be forward, but your collar’s crooked.” She leaned across the table, exposing a nonnegligible quantity of bosom, and ran a couple of fingers along Quinn’s collar, ending with a slight tug and a thoroughly unnecessary touch of his throat. “There. Better.”

 

“Thank you,” said Quinn, with only the faintest timbre of talking through gritted teeth.

 

“Any time,” she purred. She looked at Wynston. “Does your friend ever smile?”

 

“Not that I’ve seen.”

 

“We’ll have to fix that, too.”

 

It went on like that. Wynston found it extraordinarily difficult to get a word in edgewise. Nasya permitted Quinn to say “Hm” and other monosyllables, then took up the slack the rest of the time.

 

Finally she excused herself for a moment, smiling brilliantly at Quinn and sashaying off with a hell of a lot more sway in her hips than she had had showing up.

 

“Make her stop,” muttered Quinn.

 

“I’m trying,” growled Wynston.

 

"Can I just announce that I'm gay?"

 

"This late in the game? Absolutely not. Remember, we have a job to do here."

 

“We have a job to do,” Quinn repeated, in a tone of dread. “Should I be warming up to her, then?”

 

“Oh, no. Don’t start smiling now. She’s clearly lapping your natural disposition up.” Wynston shook his head. “I will never understand that.”

 

“Believe me, I have never once wanted it to work.”

 

“You never exaggerated that for a lady’s benefit?”

 

“I don’t see how I can possibly exaggerate being this unhappy.”

 

“Hsst, she’s coming back. Think brooding thoughts.”

 

*

 

Quinn got more and more laconic as the evening wore on, and Nasya got more and more bubbly about it. By the time she was talking about getting a safe escort home, she seemed to have forgotten Wynston was there.

 

And she did request an escort home. Quinn looked impassively at Wynston. Wynston gave a brief indignant glare, a resigned shrug, and a tap on his own jacket to indicate where in the woman’s dress the datacard they were after was most likely to be. Quinn gave a hair’s-breadth nod to acknowledge the information, then got back to glowering while he allowed Nasya to seize his arm and lead him away.

 

*

 

Wynston followed at a distance, enough to verify where they were going, then meandered into the nearest public restroom to await word, doing some busywork on his wrist console while he waited. Eventually, as expected, Quinn walked in.

 

“There,” said Wynston, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

Quinn proceeded straight past him to the nearest refresher and threw up.

 

“…Okay, maybe it was so bad?”

 

Quinn proceeded to the sink and washed out his mouth with the help of one hand while the other fished in his jacket and handed Wynston a datacard.

 

“Wait, you got it?”

 

“Of course I got it. That was the objective. The swap went off without a hitch. So did everything else, technically. I don’t think I raised her suspicions apart from being perhaps overeager to leave.” He touched his stomach. “I didn’t think I could hold out much longer.”

 

“Was she that awful?”

 

Quinn shrugged. “She wasn’t Ruth.” He fished his wedding ring out of his jacket and put it back on. “Can we go?”

 

“I didn’t think it would bother you that much.”

 

Quinn headed out the door.

 

Wynston hurried to keep up. “I do appreciate you getting the card.”

 

“I always get the job done. But, if I may suggest something, agent, you try brooding next time.”

 

 

 

Notes:

 

Wynston: Really not that great at comprehending deep attachment, or at comprehending not wanting sex. I love him, but in some respects he’s pretty shallow.

 

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“Make her stop,” muttered Quinn.

 

“I’m trying,” growled Wynston.

 

"Can I just announce that I'm gay?"

Lost it laughing.

 

“Hsst, she’s coming back. Think brooding thoughts.”

HAH!

Quinn proceeded straight past him to the nearest refresher and threw up.

Aww, poor Quinn.

 

“I always get the job done. But, if I may suggest something, agent, you try brooding next time.”

HAH!

 

Notes:

 

Wynston: Really not that great at comprehending deep attachment, or at comprehending not wanting sex. I love him, but in some respects he’s pretty shallow.

 

 

I think all Agents are like that... lol.

 

Edited by irishfino
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Jumping back in the timeline a little bit, to very shortly after Quinn’s recruitment…

 

September, 28 ATC: Bugging Quinn (Insomnia edition!)

 

 

 

"Mind if we join you?"

 

Quinn looked up from his breakfast to see the Twi'lek Joiner known as Hazard. She had passed by a number of tables in the mother ship Aegis' cafeteria to reach him.

 

"By all means," he said, redundantly gesturing to the seat she was about to take.

 

"We like to keep up with the recruits," she said. Her voice had that strange evenness Quinn remembered from Vector Hyllus: sweet, almost musical, but on a single note. "At the same time, we realize not everyone is immediately comfortable with Joiners."

 

"Oh, no, I'm quite familiar with Killiks. A Killik eviscerated my wife once."

 

Hazard looked stricken. "Um. Oh. We, uh, we are sorry to hear that."

 

Quinn waved dismissively. "She got better. In the end, the primary significance of the experience was that it forced me to realize, for the first time, that I cared for her." He considered. "The secondary significance was dramatically reduced liver function, but it never caused her any trouble."

 

"Oh," she said awkwardly, fiddling with the blue lekku she had draped in front of her.

 

"Vector was there. Do you...can you, as part of the nest, remember?"

 

Hazard tilted her head. "Perhaps."

 

She closed her eyes for a few seconds. Then a few more. Quinn got back to eating while he waited.

 

Her black eyes opened. "We recall. She was beautiful, for a human." She stared off into space. "Vector thought she was an idiot to leave Wynston for you."

 

"What?" Quinn scowled. "Vector can keep his opinions to himself."

 

"The opinion is shared with the nest. Tens of thousands of us, and the hundreds of thousands that will come after, for all time."

 

"That's intolerable. Can I register a dissenting opinion with your hive mind?"

 

"Vector was the only one who knew her. The only one of us who could judge," she said distantly.

 

"I take back what I said to start with. I'm not immediately comfortable with Joiners and I do mind if you join me."

 

Wynston showed up with a tray heaped with what appeared to be wampa jerky. "What's the subject of the day?"

 

"I was just noticing," said Quinn, "that everything comes back to Ruth, and that everyone really enjoys volunteering criticism of my relationship with her."

 

"Well, it was a terrible idea on her part."

 

"Do shut up."

 

"No, I sympathize. After Kaliyo died it seemed like everything reminded me of her. Every explosion, every obvious opportunity for dealing in stolen goods, every flask of Corellian whiskey, every angry ex and bounty hunter and debt collector - and let me tell you, they had loud opinions on our relationship. Particularly the linked finances they imagined we had."

 

"It's not the same at all," sniffed Quinn.

 

"I suppose not. For one thing...hm."

 

"You were saying?" grated Quinn.

 

"I was debating being tactful for a moment. I'm wavering on the subject, though."

 

"Please be nice," Hazard said softly.

 

"Oh? What do you care?"

 

"We just found out that the nest attempted to cut out his wife's entrails once."

 

"Oh. Right. You did, at that."

 

"We feel bad about it and wish to be kind to Quinn for now."

 

"That's a mistaken conclusion, sweetheart, but for you I'll behave."

 

"I appreciate your consideration," Quinn told Hazard. "But not your taste in men."

 

"Full circle," murmured Wynston.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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A serious one. This is a plot followon to Ruth Means Compassion. Apologies for obsessing over the dead ex-girlfriend, but this story is probably going to continue alternating between entertainment and me sorting out the fallout. Some implicit Sith Warrior spoilers here.

 

October, 28 ATC: Remembering the scene of the crime

 

 

 

Quinn found Wynston in one of the Aegis' labs, tinkering with some excessively electronic-looking sheet of what might be body armor. "Reporting for duty," said the officer. Ex-officer, he mentally corrected, not for the first time.

 

"Welcome back. I trust Rylon's doing well?"

 

"Yes. He's making excellent progress in his studies with Jaesa." Quinn's son with Ruth had soured on the Dark Side after the Emperor compelled him to attempt to kill his mother; now the teenager worked with Jaesa in less vicious pursuits. Not really what Quinn had dreamed for his Sith son, but then, attempted matricide hadn't been on the list of dream achievements, either.

 

"I'm glad. I prefer for Ruth's loved ones to be doing all right. I hope there's minimal lingering unpleasantness about that time you shot him in the back."

 

"What do you know about that?"

 

"Maybe the less medically inclined weren't examining his injuries too closely, but when I caught up to you in the Emperor's throne room, the only people I found in there were Jedi - wielding lightsabers - Sith - wielding lightsabers - and you - wielding a blaster rifle. Rylon was shot, not stabbed. Conclusion, either a mysterious gunman got disintegrated, or you repeatedly discharged a blaster into your kid."

 

Quinn backed away a little bit.

 

"I asked Rylon some weeks back," said the Chiss, not looking up from his work. "He explained. How he and his backup were winning against Ruth, and you only had one way to instantly compel their attention while leaving Ruth uninjured so she was free to fight the big guy." His hands stilled for a moment. "That stunt's got to be the most courageous thing I ever heard."

 

"You aren't going to crow about how this proves I'm a dyed-in-the-wool traitor?"

 

"Crow? No. This time I understand why you did it." He paused again. "I'm glad you were successful in making it nonlethal. I've never had a child. I don't know what squeezing that trigger must have been like. But I have seen enough of love to figure it must have been hell."

 

"It had to be done."

 

"It did. If you hadn't done something, Ruth would've died at Rylon's hands, and then the Emperor would've wiped us all out." He looked up. "Doesn't make it any easier, does it."

 

"No. It doesn't."

 

"Is he holding up okay?"

 

"Yes, he's been surprisingly understanding about it. He's devastated about Ruth, obviously, but...we're getting on better than I expected."

 

"That's good." Wynston watched Quinn's drawn face. "She would've understood, if there had been a chance to explain before the end."

 

"There wasn't. She saw me attack him, then the Emperor demanded her attention. I know for a fact she would have killed me then and there if she could have, but she didn't even get that satisfaction."

 

"She would've understood."

 

"It was the one nightmare I could never combat for her. That I would decide it was necessary to harm her again. And I carried it out right in front of her. Against our son. She was half mad when she went into the final fight, because of me."

 

"She was alive to go into the final fight because of you."

 

"The thought is strangely comfortless."

 

"If this is what your internal monologue is like, I'm starting to understand the perpetual bad mood."

 

"Traditionally, the recent death of one's spouse ruins one's mood anyway."

 

"No one's ever accused you of being vulnerable to traditional emotions." Wynston made an odd variety of thoughtful face.

 

"Will there be work to do soon?"

 

"I didn't have anything lined up, but I'm developing a desire to screw over the next batch of unruly Sith we hear about."

 

"The prospect does have a certain appeal."

 

"Good. I'll keep you informed."

 

Quinn nodded and made for the door.

 

Wynston took up his armor project and studied it intently. "Just one more thing, Quinn, just so we're clear. The way things ended wasn't your fault."

 

Quinn clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the wall, his profile to Wynston. "Agent. As one professional tactical analyst to another, I must ask you not to lie to me in my area of expertise." With that, he walked out.

 

 

 

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"Oh, no, I'm quite familiar with Killiks. A Killik eviscerated my wife once."

 

Hazard looked stricken. "Um. Oh. We, uh, we are sorry to hear that."

 

Quinn waved dismissively. "She got better. In the end, the primary significance of the experience was that it forced me to realize, for the first time, that I cared for her." He considered. "The secondary significance was dramatically reduced liver function, but it never caused her any trouble."

 

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!

 

"That's intolerable. Can I register a dissenting opinion with your hive mind?"

 

AHAHHAHAAHAAAAAAAH!!!

 

"I take back what I said to start with. I'm not immediately comfortable with Joiners and I do mind if you join me."

 

<3

 

"Well, it was a terrible idea on her part."

 

"Do shut up."

 

XD

 

"We just found out that the nest attempted to cut out his wife's entrails once."

 

"Oh. Right. You did, at that."

 

Joiners are hilarious.

 

"I appreciate your consideration," Quinn told Hazard. "But not your taste in men."

 

Oh Quinny Quinn Quinn Quinn...

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Lunch hour nonsense!

 

 

November, 28 ATC: What's in a Name?

 

 

 

 

"Do you have a last name?"

 

"Sure. Wynston."

 

"Then do you have a first name?"

 

"Sure. Wynston."

 

"Wynston Wynston."

 

"No, just the once. Single word, means it qualifies as both first and last."

 

"You could just say you don't want to tell me. It's not like I haven't heard that from irritating colleagues before."

 

"Quinn, I've been in this line of business for just about thirty years - Chiss start young - and I've had perilously close to four hundred names. 'Wynston' is enough to keep track of in my down time."

 

"What you're saying is 'blah blah blah I'm too cool to have a first name, just like all the other goons who are trying too hard to be special.'"

 

"...Pierce really got under your skin, didn't he?"

 

Quinn, rather than responding with irritation, suddenly perked up. "Wait. You have the most powerful intelligence apparatus in the galaxy here. Did you ever catch Pierce's name?"

 

"Why, yes, we did."

 

Quinn's eyes fairly sparked. "What is it? Where's the record?"

 

"The record, sir, is right next to the file that has my original full name."

 

"...Either you're making this up or I have reason to be extremely annoyed with you."

 

"Is that an either/or, or is that a both?"

 

Quinn glowered. "You tell me. Wynston."

 

"I don't believe I will, Agent Malavai Quinn." Wynston stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered off, whistling.

 

 

 

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Lunch hour nonsense!

 

 

November, 28 ATC: What's in a Name?

 

 

 

"What you're saying is 'blah blah blah I'm too cool to have a first name, just like all the other goons who are trying too hard to be special.'"

 

 

 

haha, even after all these years Pierce still can annoy Quinn without even being there.

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Quinn, rather than responding with irritation, suddenly perked up. "Wait. You have the most powerful intelligence apparatus in the galaxy here. Did you ever catch Pierce's name?"

 

"Why, yes, we did."

 

Quinn's eyes fairly sparked. "What is it? Where's the record?"

 

"The record, sir, is right next to the file that has my original full name."

 

"...Either you're making this up or I have reason to be extremely annoyed with you."

 

"Is that an either/or, or is that a both?"

 

Quinn glowered. "You tell me. Wynston."

 

"I don't believe I will, Agent Malavai Quinn." Wynston stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered off, whistling.

 

 

Poor Quinn can't escape Pierce's influence, can he? HAH!

Edited by irishfino
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December, 28 ATC: The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape

 

 

 

"Quinn! Ready to be someone else?"

 

Quinn looked up from his console. "I...wasn't planning on it."

 

"And that's your problem. You still don't have the secret-agent mindset." Wynston grinned and waved a flat metallic device. "Your disguise generator is in. You can look like anybody you want now. With some very convincing forcefield tricks to tangibly back it up."

 

"I, too, can officially deny my age and species?"

 

"And gender," said Wynston.

 

Quinn scowled at him.

 

"Or not," said Wynston. "I'm just saying, it would save you the trouble of warding off adoring women."

 

"I'm hoping there are less extreme methods. All right, show me how it works."

 

"Just loop the strap over your shoulder for now. Ideally we do some surgery, get this implanted, but, first things first. You see these lights here, indicating control buttons. Once a profile is selected - and there's one up now - "

 

"What?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"What profile will be showing up when you activate that on me."

 

"...It's not important."

 

Quinn pulled the device out of Wynston's hands. "I'm not giving this back until you agree to give me something dignified."

 

"You're a cynic, Agent Quinn."

 

"You're untrustworthy, Agent Wynston."

 

Wynston raised his wrist console and hit a few buttons. "Fine. Transmitting Generic Soldier Number Three Thousand and Two now."

 

"The image will be clothed," specified Quinn.

 

"Wow, I hadn't even thought of tampering with that," said Wynston. "Missed opportunity. - Well, not really, most illusion profiles let you show your own clothes over them. Here. Tap the green button twice, firmly, then green and yellow together."

 

A few faint green lines slid across Quinn's vision. He opened a nearby cabinet to check a mirror therein.

 

It was, in fact, a fairly generic soldier staring at him. Blond, grey-eyed, still seemingly dressed in the pseudo-uniform Quinn favored.

 

Quinn touched the stranger's face and watched his own motions in the mirror. "Fascinating," he said. "It even feels real."

 

"Remarkable technology. It took us years to develop it to this point, and we had the luxury of starting from a very convincing version of the tech." Wynston reached out for the device, hit a few buttons. "Try this one."

 

Quinn hit the activation sequence and saw his image change, shrink, to a petite brunette Zabrak...a decidedly female one. In a short red dress. "I don't like that one," he said, in a voice that came out disturbingly squeaky.

 

"I think you look quite nice."

 

Quinn shuddered. "Don't start."

 

"Images smaller than yourself have limits anyway. You can look the part, but we can't forcefield away your basic body mass. So it's risky to operate like that."

 

"I see." Quinn hurriedly tapped yellow, yellow, yellow-plus-green, and saw the image dissolve to reveal his true face (and clothes) again.

 

"Good guess on the deactivation control. Now, we have an extensive database of physical profiles to choose from; you can load a few into the device at once and choose among them in the field. You're not obligated to walk around with one active all the time. I do, obviously -" he ran a hand over his delicate features, his unscarred blue skin - "with a few rare exceptions when I'm around people who knew me before; but a lot of us only use the disguises for specific assignments. Now, if you're satisfied with the basics, we're going to want to implant the device."

 

"Where?"

 

"Usually we drill a slot into the pelvis. Easy button access; the control lights are visible under the skin for your convenience, and it doesn't look much different from other cybernetic gadgets; and the bulk of it is protected by bone."

 

Quinn shifted uncomfortably, touching one hip. "I'm using that iliac crest."

 

"You've got another one just like it," Wynston said, gesturing at Quinn's other side. "I don't see the problem."

 

"Will you be performing this surgery?"

 

"Yes, in point of fact."

 

"See? That's the problem."

 

"What, you think I'm going to do something underhanded while operating on you?" Wynston's smile went beyond malicious. "I could tell you stories about my old Intelligence colleagues..."

 

"Really. I didn't think you could talk about that."

 

"To you? Sure I can." Wynston clapped Quinn on the shoulder. "Our work unites us in bonds of trust, comrade. And now you're going under the knife."

 

"Bonds of trust do not figure into our relationship, agent."

 

Wynston produced a scalpel out of nowhere and smiled winningly. "Let's get started."

 

 

 

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January, 29 ATC: Quinn's World

 

 

 

 

"Quinn! I've got just the thing for you."

 

"I'm not going to help you test any more energy weapons until you can assure me the failure mode is less...incendiary than last time."

 

"No, no, a job you're perfect for."

 

"And by your interpretation that would be, what, rules lawyering?"

 

"No. For stars' sake, play along, this one should be good. Infiltration of an Imperial command ship. We need to get on board, grab one of the bridge or associated terminals and slice the archives of what we have excellent reason to believe is an altogether corrupt officer. Swipe the data, then get on home in time for snootiness competitions or whatever it is you officers do in your spare time."

 

"You're in a good mood."

 

"This one looks exciting. I always did enjoy putting one over on the military. Now, as our resident soulless cog in the machine, you should be the one to work out the details of how we get on board and how I access the vault we have in mind."

 

Quinn decided on a surprise inspection, the whim of an overbearing higher-up; the commander in charge of the target vessel couldn't say no. General Malavai Quinn had abruptly resigned the service four months ago, but with a different human face and a made-up name he could still pull on the old uniform and take up the air of command.

 

He and Wynston faced each other aboard the Fury, one small slim human and one man who was a simple face replacement for Quinn. They wore identical grey and red uniforms.

 

"All right," said Quinn. "Fake identifiers are in place for this vessel. I get on board the target, storm about, criticize - I have yet to see a ship this size that didn't have some significant failure. You find an excuse to do some minor task on one of the bridge consoles while I cover for you. When you give the signal I finish up and we go.'"

 

"Sounds right."

 

Quinn reached out and snapped the bottom row of squares off Wynston's rank plate.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"Demoting you, Colonel."

 

"I make a perfectly good general."

 

"So long as we're on an Imperial vessel, I outrank you."

 

"The organization's own command ship is an Imperial vessel, hotshot, and I rule it."

 

"Yes, but you stole that one." Quinn smiled a small cool smile. "In active service, you simply aren't at my level."

 

"Well, I'm relieved to see that your uptight jack*ss manner is as polished as ever."

 

*

 

Wynston strode at Quinn's side off the Fury and into the hangar bay. Commander Oznyk, their suspect, was there to greet them with a few hangers-on. Quinn made the introductions - General Hett with the unassuming Colonel Vym - then talked military-ese with Oznyk on their way up to the ship's bridge.

 

Oznyk slowed as they stepped onto the command deck. "Now, one thing, gentlemen. I like to check the profiles of visiting officers, especially surprises; really helps me get a sense of where I fit in the service in these tricky times. So I found it odd that I could not find your records at all, 'General Hett,' nor yours, 'Colonel Vym.'" He gave them a small menacing smile. Behind them, the doors to the bridge slammed shut.

 

Quinn turned to Wynston, looking haughtily annoyed. "Pierce?"

 

"Pierce," said Wynston in a similarly irritated tone. Even though he had no idea what Quinn was talking about.

 

"Who?" said the commander, his confidence suddenly wavering.

 

"Major General Pierce, commander, perhaps you've heard of him." Quinn fairly dripped exasperation. "He's notorious for never promoting slicing technicians unless they perform some act of vandalism, which, for the third time this year, appears to be the removal of my identity in the official databases." He bared his teeth. "Academy friends. You know how it is. I'll have to resubmit my data backup when I get back. Again."

 

Wynston quietly snickered.

 

"He got you, too, colonel."

 

"Maybe, sir, but that inconvenience is worth it for the look on your face right now."

 

Quinn conspicuously bit back what looked to be a really good enraged outburst. "Get yourself a console and start restoring those records, Vym. If you're lucky, the Central Identity Authority will let you past the automated holocall tree before tomorrow night."

 

Wynston's smile dimmed. "Uh, Sir, yes, sir." He scurried off to the nearest unattended console.

 

"I apologize, sir," Commander Oznyk said politely. "I have heard of General Pierce and his...policies. I didn't realize."

 

"No matter. I'll deal with him later. Now please, tell me something around here is operating within regulations."

 

*

 

Some time later, Wynston, datacard safely in pocket, caught up to Quinn and Oznyk, who had finished a tour of the facilities and were now conferring on the bridge. "Sir? General, sir. I made it through the holocall tree back at the Identity Authority."

 

Quinn looked down his nose at Wynston. "And?"

 

"They're going to need confirmation from you, sir." Time to work on extricating themselves.

 

"What good is getting my personal confirmation going to do if they don't have a record to verify 'me' against?"

 

"I don't know, sir."

 

They exchanged very very small nods, enough to confirm that the data was good. Everything after this was theater. "Very well, let's see this call."

 

"Oh. I hung up, sir."

 

"You did what?" Quinn said, quietly, icily.

 

"They wouldn't put me on hold, so they just told me to hang up. We'll have to go through it again." Wynston's composure wavered for a second as a laugh visibly struggled to escape.

 

Quinn picked up the cue. "Is something in this funny, colonel?"

 

"No, sir! No. No, we should definitely just move on to trying to call them again, sir."

 

"I will do so from my own ship, colonel, without your 'help,' since your efforts seem to have been a total waste of time." Quinn turned the full force of his scowl on Oznyk. "I won't take any more of your time, Commander. I'm satisfied with the state of your vessel. Now I must return to my own command ship to repair General Pierce's damage personally."

 

"Of course, sir. Is there anything I can do to assist?"

 

Quinn considered, then jerked a thumb toward Wynston. "Yes, actually. Store this dead weight in the brig or something until I can stand to let him back onto my ship." He glowered at Wynston. "Should only be a few days."

 

"Uh, sir?" said Wynston, his eyes widening in genuine alarm. "Is that wise?"

 

"You're a smart man, colonel. You figure it out." Quinn turned on his heel and stalked back out to the Fury, leaving Wynston to the mercy of the officers Oznyk had signaled to escort him to the brig.

 

*

 

Wynston made it back to the Aegis less than a day later. He was back in Chiss form, slightly scraped up, missing his shirt, and oddly redolent of cheese, but he strode in with an assurance bordering on belligerence.

 

Wynston found Quinn in the command center. "Do you have any idea what I had to do to get out of there?" blustered the disheveled Chiss. "That was considerably less than professional on your part."

 

Quinn raised his eyebrows and spoke very mildly. "We got the job done. I took the opportunity to make your life hell. This seems like precisely the modus operandi you have been encouraging me to observe and replicate ever since I started studying the ways of the operative."

 

Wynston took a deep breath.

 

Quinn smiled a small yet radiant smile.

 

"That may be a fair point. Quinn. But fair's not what we're here to do."

 

"Oh, yes, try to change the victory condition on me, that'll slow me down."

 

"The next excuse I have to sell you into slavery - for the mission, of course - you are going down."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now the real question: Was Wynston's near-laugh an intentional acting cue to play off, or was he just enjoying Quinn's anger impression...well, okay, Quinn's anger...that much? Wynston's been in this business for a while, so he should know better, but he rarely gets to torment partners. He's usually busy angling to sleep with them instead.

 

I imagine that, once Quinn knows he's in a fluid situation, he might be pretty good at improvising "I have goal A and, upon seeing random opportunity/object B, must work it into fabricated pretext C in order to get a start on acquiring A" in conversation.

 

Meanwhile, knowing the reputations and weird habits/quirks of half the Imperial military's leadership is useful when making stuff up! Thanks for the assist, Pierce, the fact that you're a legendary disruptive influence came in handy!

 

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February, 28 ATC: Friendly concern

 

I can’t decide whether this one is “more serious” as such. The subject is, partly, the treatment isn’t?

 

Anyway, this stuff isn’t always in chronological order, but for the most part that doesn’t matter. Just some things are arbitrarily pegged to calendar dates.

 

 

 

Wynston caught up with Quinn where the human was leaning on the railing over the Aegis’ observation deck.

 

“Rodia tomorrow?” said the Chiss.

 

“Yes.”

 

Things were silent for a little while.

 

“What’s the matter?” said Wynston.

 

“I should think that’s obvious, agent. I miss her."

 

"Ah. Yes. About that."

 

"Something to say?" Quinn asked pointedly.

 

“Yeah. You’ve been awfully preoccupied with this.”

 

“No more than could be expected.”

 

“Not really. It’s been seven months, man.”

 

“Well, yes. That’s not nearly adequate time to get over anything.”

 

“It’s three times as long as your original marriage lasted.”

 

Quinn’s stare stayed fixed on the stars as it sharpened into a razor-edged glare. “Agent, I thought people like you were supposed to have social skills.”

 

“I do. I’m great with people.”

 

“You’re working on the verbal equivalent of beating my existing head injury with a heavy blunt object, you cyanotic wretch.”

 

“You’re not people. I don’t have to be tactful.”

 

"Don't you have work to do?"

 

"I did until you cleared the entire quadrant's data analysis tasks, then sorted out orders for nine surrounding quadrants so our agents could go on their way with optimal resource allocation, then automated report handling to the point where we only need one employee to do the opening sorting on twenty agents' worth of correspondence. You did my job and about three dozen other people's for the week and it’s only two PM on Tuesday. When you're depressed, your productivity is prodigious."

 

“So what’s the problem?”

 

“I just think you should consider filling your spare time with something less…mopey. Have you considered a hobby? Fly fishing, pazaak, h00kers, alcoholism?”

 

Quinn turned, very slowly, to give Wynston the angriest disbelieving look he could manage.

 

“What? It helps.”

 

"Agent, have you never lost someone you cared for?"

 

"Look at my line of work, Quinn. I lose people I like all the time."

 

"Well, then. To phrase it differently, have you ever felt even slightly bad about losing someone?"

 

"Sure. A few times. It didn't take me this long, though. I got over it."

 

"Oh? And how did you 'get over it' so quickly?"

 

"Well, in the case of, say, Vector, I drank myself into unconsciousness, woke up, rinsed, and repeated until the headache was such that I couldn't think straight enough to feel emotionally bad. Just physically."

 

"That was your plan?"

 

"It worked. I can't remember enough of that two-month period to recall whether I was sad as such, but I figure I got adequate mourning in. Now I'm fine."

 

Quinn shook his head and looked away again. "Why are you so interested in this?"

 

"It’s…no reason." Wynston cast shifty eyes around. "I'm trying to help here. It’s just that you're really depressing to be around when you're depressed.” He ran his hands through his hair and frowned. "Also, the sooner you ditch the air of noble tragedy, the sooner women will stop clinging to you like mynocks on a circuit breaker."

 

"I don't have an air of noble tragedy," Quinn said indignantly.

 

“According to my interviewees, you really do.”

 

“You interview the women who follow me around on jobs?”

 

“Just analyzing where I went wrong since you showed up.”

 

“I thought the difficulty was supposed to be resolved when I started selecting hopelessly unattractive disguises.”

 

“That was the theory. But even the leprous Houk got a girl or two pining from afar for no evident reason.”

 

“You must be joking.”

 

“So get a hobby. Lighten up. Ditch the brooding. I really think it’ll make the difference.”

 

“Go to hell.”

 

“Quinn, I find myself in a galaxy where I can no longer command female attention at will. If that isn’t hell, I don’t know what is.”

 

Quinn, for no reason Wynston could intuitively sympathize with, threw up his hands and stalked away.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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