Sleep came easy for Tess'iri. It always had. Even growing up with the Jedi, sleeping in the bunks and rows of other children she had always found sleep. She had always lived her life by the Jedi code and found no conflict to keep her awake during the night. Even when she deviated from the strictest points, found a male, shared her bed, she still slept easy. She was Barsen'thor. The Force guided her. And the Force had guided her to him.

She had adjusted quickly to having someone else in her bed. Zenith's presence was a comfort somewhere deep inside her she had never realized needed comforting. And having those moments, warm sheets, warm bodies, she cherished them then let them go. She may die one day, he may fall in battle, but right now they had this.

He was brooding. It was his default mood. The weight of whatever was on his mind teased hers, pulled her from her light sleep. She lay still and silent for a moment, judging his Force presence. She knew much about him, and sometimes not enough. But even though she had no eyes, she didn't grope blindly through these new experiences. She listened to her intuition and the Force and knew he needed her. She stirred with a pleasant sigh and smiled when he touched her back.

“I wake you?” he murmured.

“Your thoughts are loud and heavy,” she said and turned her smile on him. She rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the strong thud of his heartbeat. She counted them lazily as she entwined her leg with his. He was relaxed against her. It was always better to push when he was relaxed. “Do you want to talk?”

He was silent for a time and she contented herself with the sound of his heart as she waited. He may not say anything at all, as he was wont to do sometimes. Whatever took place inside his mind didn't always come out. She couldn't force it and she didn't try. But he surprised her when he took a breath and spoke.

“You asked my name once. I didn't give it to you.”

Ah. Home. And the past. Tess pressed herself closer to Zenith's body and raised her chin, ready to listen. And counsel. “You gave me what you wanted me to know. And I'm alright with that.”

He looked at her for a moment and said nothing. Not for the first time she felt more than just naked beneath his gaze. He insisted on seeing her face, all her face. Her mask was removed with her clothing during intimate times. Most beings in the galaxy didn't care to see the blank sheet of pale skin that covered her eye sockets. Zenith wanted to see all of her.

“Haven't told anyone. Not even Grey Star. My secret I guess,” he continued, interrupting her thoughts. She remained quiet and allowed him to tell it to her in his own time, his own way. She traced his skin with her fingertips, enjoying the smooth touch and the hardness beneath. Tough body, tough mind, tough heart. “Parents died when I was young. Separate Imperial attacks, two years apart. Mother went last.”

If she had eyes, she would had closed them in pained sympathy. “I'm so sorry, Zenith.”

“Missed her fiercely. Gave the Resistance my father's name until Grey Star trained me. Grey Star named me.” His voice was matter of fact, but his tone was slightly hard. He was still angry at finding out Grey Star had hid refugees who negotiated with Imperials. He felt that was betrayal. Tess didn't grow up in war, never fought from childhood to free the only home she knew. She was not one to judge.

“His highest point,” she said with a small smile. It was an effort to remind Zenith that Grey Star had still been his mentor, his leader in the resistance. “My highest point,” she added in a whisper, maybe to help him move on.

“Am who I am now. No regrets,” he murmured, running the flat of his hand down the curve of her spine.

“No reason to have them,” she answered.

“I love you.”

It was like stepping into a hot shower. Surprise had her hands stilling and her muscles tensing against the heat, but relaxation took over quickly as the warmth spread. Love. Jedi weren't supposed to have it. Jedi weren't supposed to have strong bonds. But wasn't that what she was feeling as well? It was an organic thing, a thing that grew and shone with a light to guide her home. A thing of the Force, because the Force was all life. The Force had guided her here to him. She loved him, there was no other choice. Until they joined with the Force, she would love him.

She often wondered what it was to cry. Emotion welled up inside her and for a moment she turned her face from him and wished for tears. But he reached for her chin and brought her face back to his and the emotion cooled and evened itself back into the Force leaving her with a place fulfilled and a renewed need to be Jedi, to be Barsen'thor and protect what she cared about. Zenith, her crew, the Republic.

But he gazed at her intently. She knew that he had memorized every feature, every plane and curve of her face, every strand of hair. As she knew him. “Sometimes I wish I had eyes so you could look into them,” she said quietly.

“I know what I'd see.”

“You do?”

“You love me as well.”

“Yes.”

She thought the time for words was over. He shifted towards her and she lifted her chin, ready to meet him. But he skimmed his lips over her cheek and nuzzled them against her ear. He whispered to her, two words she could never mistake for being anything other than what they were. His name. His given name. She exhaled shakily and bit her lip. Now the time for words was over. She reached for him, surrendered, and gave.

What if Minalde and Randall never made it to Tython?

This is how it did happen

This is the What if

**

The ambush was perfectly set up. The passenger ship emerged from hyperspace and was immediately attacked by the pirate's ship.

The Jedi escorting the younglings assessed the situation and began to put them into escape pods for what he hoped was their safety. Chaos reigned as passengers panicked, pushing their way into any pod around. Crew members, frantically trying to remember their drills locked the doors and launched the pods without checking them.

Randall

The escape pod was launched with just me and one other person inside. I was thrown back into the wall as the pod hurtled away from the ship. The girl was a little more prepared and had strapped into a seat right away. The pod then jerked in the opposite direction and I slid back across the pod, practically into her lap. Her eyes widened but she grabbed onto to me to stabilize me and keep me from falling again. For a moment all I could think was, her eyes are green. I realized she was saying something to me.

“Whats going on?” she whispered to me, her voice calm, though I could sense her concern. I was surprised that I actually wasn't sensing any fear from her.

“I think we are caught in a tractor beam” I whispered back. I wasn't quite sure why we were whispering but it just felt right.

The pod had stabilized enough that I moved into the seat next to her. There was no way of knowing who was pulling us in. I wish I had anything, a vibroblade, even just a knife, but the Jedi who was taking our group to Tython insisted we didn't need weapons. Everyday during our journey he had repeated the Jedi code to us, over and over and over.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no death, there is the Force.

I wanted to learn how to control these abilities and he had given us some training, but it frustrated me that the Jedi didn't seem to realize that the Universe was not a peaceful place. I understood that to protect those weaker, to help make the universe a better place, there were those who had to step up and do the distasteful things. There is idealism and there is practicality. I am practical. I will make the Universe a better place with my abilities and I am not afraid of the shadows. I will not fall to the Dark side. I am ready for whatever is next.

Minalde

I have been groomed to be a Jedi ever since I was found as a small child to be force sensitive. The Jedi code was the framework my life was build upon. I had no choice, it drilled into to me that it was my privilege to serve as a Jedi. I am okay with that. My skills lay in empathy and healing, though I also was taught the basic combat arts. Not my favorite part though.

Now I've been summoned to Tython to complete my training and do my trials. The trip had been pretty uneventful until this last hyper-jump.

It was the overwhelming sense of panic that hit me,even before the shots that rocked the ship that roused me from my studies. I had been trying to take in everything our Jedi escort Betkis was teaching while gather this group of padawans.

“Quickly! You're the last. Please, get to your escape pod. I am afraid the ship may be boarded or worse.” Betkis' voice was hoarse with worry.

“But Master, I can help” I shouted over the sound of the klaxons.

“No, no. I must see you safely off the ship” Betkis practically picked me up as he ushered me to the nearest escape pod. He pushed me through the door and sealed it shut behind me. There was only one other person in the pod. I remembered him from our group. Randall,cute, but a bit arrogant. He looked towards the door with a faint frown on his face. I slid into the first seat by the door and strapped myself in, just in time, as the pod launched with a jolt.

He was unprepared and was thrown against the wall. Then another jerk of the pod send him flying towards me. I grabbed his arm to keep him from getting hurt and the momentum spun him up against me.

I found myself lost in his blue eyes for a moment. Shaking my head, to get my mind back on track I realized that something wasn't right.

“What was that?” I whispered to him

“I think we are caught in a tractor beam” he replied softly.

I whispered “I have a bad feeling about this”

**

The pod landed with a thud. Minalde could only sense smugness and triumph. Randall prepared to attack with his bare hands and what force powers he had. The door cracked open and gas flooded the pod. They didn't stand a chance.

Randall

I woke groggy and very very angry. I felt a cool hand against my head and a light trickle of Force healing.

“Its me, Minalde. Shhh. We were captured by slavers. I don't see Master Betkis or any of the other padawans. There are a lot of the passengers though.”

I tempered my anger, and took a deep breath. I knew it was not my destiny to be a slave. A calmness washed over me. I felt I was ready to deal with anything. I knew I would survive what was to come.

I pushed myself to a sitting position just in time to see a Nikto pick Minalde up and took her to where the other females were being ushered out.

The odd sense of despair I felt caught me by surprise but before I could say anything,she was gone.

Minalde

I was glad when Randall stirred and opened his eyes. It was a dire situation. Fortunately we seemed to be the only Force sensitives there. Many of the other passengers were with us but no one seemed seriously injured, just frightened.

I whispered to Randall our situation, I felt his anger flare and die, replaced by a deep coldness that made me shiver. Before he could respond I felt myself being lifted up and carried away.

My dream of being a Jedi died that day. I would be a slave.

The Imperials brought Hepoul back to the interrogation room, shackled him here, and left. Still having trouble figuring out what to do with him and his crew, it seemed. What to do about the Chiss? They really had only three options, vape him now, opt for a show trial on their homeworld, or let him go with a piddly fine. Any of which would cause political trouble.

Oh, there was a fourth option. Be an Imperial slave in all but name. This last brought by an Imperial human with a diplomat's tongue and warrior's hands. Black eyes and strange speech. The others deferred to him, but he was not military. Odd. Very odd.

Imperials were such a nuisance. He never knew whether he'd get one of the corrupt ones, easily bribed, or a true believer. This Vector was a true believer. Which meant that this session was likely to be painful, so he'd be more receptive to Vector's overtures when he returned. They wanted him to serve like an obedient alien, a groveling ally, which was reason enough to refuse. Humans were so pathetically transparent.

Not all that good at interrogation, either. No appreciation for the subtleties of psychological manipulation. He waited, now. Waiting was supposed to increase his anxiety. Supposed to put him off balance, make him nervous as he contemplated what they might do to him. But the room was too sterile. He’d already counted the tiles in the ceiling and the deckplates on the floor. Memorized the electrical pattern in the shockcuffs keeping his hands on the table. They really ought to leave a few spots of blood, a scrap of cloth, perhaps a bit of skin snagged on a hidden corner. One little bit that the cleaning droids missed. Now that would make him wonder what the room looked like when they’d finished with their last prisoner.

Thus far, the only torture going on was wondering which option they’d finally choose.

The door slid open. Hepoul looked up. So, this was their angle. Bring him a Chiss woman. An alien to deal with the alien. It took him a moment to recognize the Imperial sycophant as Haraz. Little Haraz, his sister, a Human in a Chiss skin.

A new problem to analyse, and quickly. Imperial uniform but no insignia. So, she didn’t want him to know her rank or position. That meant it was sensitive. Possibly outside normal chains of command and with enough authority that the picket’s captain held off judgement until she could arrive. The week of interminable waiting made sense now.

And how had they known to contact her? The black-eyed Human, of course. This Vector must have recognized their shared family name. Perhaps the resemblance as well. He must serve her in some capacity. As advisor, or maybe something more intimate. Haraz always had enjoyed her exercises in information-gathering with the Imperials, even if her preferred target apparently had instructions to deliver her to some Major-or-other all the time. He remembered her whinging about it to their tutor, Helara.

Interesting she’d bothered to respond. He felt her eyes on him, evaluating his state and poor dress. Appraising. Judging. The thought that she might find him wanting pr*ckled. He’d earned everything he had, not gone simpering to the Empire. “So, she comes when called,” he taunted in Cheunh. He half wondered if she had an accent now. If she even remembered her native tongue.

She slipped her hand out of her pocket and took the seat opposite him at the interrogation chamber, “Schehe’pou’larane.”

“Lovely to see you again Schehe’ra’zaede, dear little sister,” he continued in Cheunh, “Is the Empire treating you well? I can’t tell from your insignia, it seems to be missing. Was that for me? I’m flattered you think I’d pay attention.” He’d love to know what little device she had in her pocket. Some minor defiance of her Imperial masters? There was hope for her after all.

“Do you have any idea the trouble you’re in?” she asked.

Not much hope, he reappraised. Of course he knew his situation, he’d had plenty of time to think on it. What an idiotic question. And such a blunt, heavy-handed opening, “You’ve been around Humans too long, little Haraz. This isn’t how we do things. There should be pleasant conversation first.”

“You have four minutes thirty seconds, Hepoul. If you’d prefer to waste it on small talk I can oblige,” Sha’ra’zaed said.

Ah, so a limited duration, possibly disposable jammer. Fun little toy, clunky and expensive on the black market. She was well-placed indeed, if she had free access to such useful technology, “Touchy touchy,” Hepoul said, flipping his hair nonchalantly, “I don’t care about your Empire’s rules.” She did. But willing to bend those same rules for family. Why else would she come?

“You should. Between your cargo—all your cargo, they found the little hideaways, Hepoul—and your ship’s logs you’re looking at spacing. Your crew? Kessel or Sevarcos II.”

More than half of his crew were from the former house Scheh. They’d had nowhere else to go after its demise. The rest were other exiles. Fellow Chiss. All adopted, all Scheh now. His few ships were a bit of lost Csilla out here on the rim. She had the crew roster. She had to know who stood accused with him. Hepoul jerked forward to the limit of his restraints, “They’re your family too, Haraz,” he hissed, “will you send them to Kessel? Should we all have stepped up and become honorary Humans like you did?” She jumped, just a tick. Remember who you are and who you’d send to Kessel, dear dear little sister. Remember who took the easy way out.

“Emigrating was an option. You chose otherwise.” Haraz said.

Recruiting? Pathetic. Hepoul’s eyes narrowed, “Oh, I did try. I could not stomach the propaganda. Humans, superior? A government ruled by insane mystics? Whose only claim to power was their seeming invincibility? Sith are not invincible, Haraz. One well-placed shot from very far away…” He’d actually killed one once. Took the job for amusement, and to see if he could. A long range pre-Republic slugthrower with no beam to reflect, a perfect location, and emotions as cold and implacable as Csilla’s ice. One shot. No Sith. This ‘Force’ gave them no advantage that couldn’t be negated.

“Why not go to the Republic, then?” she asked, bored, “You had a ship. Go there if you hate the Empire so much.”

Hepoul lounged back in his chair. His hair fell in his eyes and he tossed it away with a flick of his head, “More Humans. All holding hands and pretending to be friends, while stabbing each other in the back. And more mystics, refusing to use their supposed powers because they fear temptation. Fools.” If the Empire was insane, the Republic was paralyzed. Neither deserved their galactic positions.

Haraz sighed. She seemed more irritated than concerned, “I don’t care about your politics, Hepoul,” she said, “only resolving this situation.”

Her masters were still blind. Did she have a better offer without their eyes? Hepoul picked at his fingernails, drawing her attention to the shockcuffs. See what your Empire does to Chiss they dislike. “Your emissary was already here. The Human with the black eyes, what was his name? Ve-something. I don’t remember Human names,” he lied.

“Vector Hyllus,” she supplied.

She cares for him. He could hear it in her voice. “That might have been the name, yes.”

“Have you considered his proposal?” she asked.

So, she could disagree with the Empire. A tiny ch*nk in her armor. He grinned. “We hunt what we like,” Hepoul said.

“Hunting what you like netted you a hold full of glitterstim, recorded attacks on Imperial-flagged vessels, one scrapped hyperdrive, and a week in the brig.” Haraz leaned forward, menacing. “The only reason you’re not breathing vacuum right now is because the Human whose name you can’t remember understood Chiss naming conventions well enough to realize you might be related to me.”

Haraz remembered her psychology. He had his people to think of, their shared family, and they were here because of his decisions. He hated the fact that it was a Human who called her to intercede on their behalf. “If he is your underling then it is his responsibility to know,” Hepoul said, shaking his unwashed hair out of his eyes again.

Haraz glared at him, her jaw set in stubborn lines, “I have obtained a Letter of Marque and Reprisal for you and your crew.”

Excellent, the proposal you do not wish your masters to see. At last. “And this means what? Chiss have no such laws.” That he knew of, at least.

“You agree to pursue only non-Imperial beaconed ships,” Haraz said, “and the Empire will take no action against you. For past or future deeds, so long as you leave Imperial shipping unmolested.” She withdrew a datapad from her other pocket and slid it across the table.

Hepoul scanned the document. Almost a pardon. No spacing, no trial, no prison, no fine. Operate within the confines of Imperial law, loosely defined. “And what must I do to accept this…license? Kiss the Emperor’s *ss?”

“Mark accepted. That’s all.”

The jammer must be reaching the end of its life. And so was he. It wasn’t fair. The Imperials could kill him if they wished and eat the fallout. He didn’t care. In fact, he’d be pleased if his death embarrassed them. But the others, his family, his people, he had to think about them. Hepoul glared at the datapad. He couldn’t send them to Kessel when Haraz arranged this chance. It was almost acceptable. He wished it wasn’t computerized, so he could sign it in blood. Like an evil contract out of myth. Reluctantly, he initialed it and flicked it back across the table. Get it out of his sight.

“I want my things back. My clothes, all the things they took from me,” he growled. You win, little Haraz. Your Empire wins. He’d never forget how the Empire extorted his compliance. They won’t always have the upper hand.

Sha’ra’zaed stood, “They’ll be on board your ship.”

She was leaving. He finally asked the question he’d been longing to ask for years, “Why do you do it, Schehe’ra’zaede? Bend knee to these freaks? They aren’t your people, they aren’t Chiss. They’ll always hate you, you know. You’re better than this.” Not accusing. Not hard or confrontational like the rest of their conversation. But a brother to his sister.

Hepoul saw something very strange in her eye. A sadness. Or unhappiness. Disillusion. Perhaps she was not so pleased with her situation after all. “If you violate the terms, Hepoul, they’ll space you. All of you. I cannot intervene for you again.” Her voice was soft. The Cheunh words casual but the construction of her sentences formal. A treaty. A plea. A message invisible to a translator, but clear enough to him. She still cared for her family.

Definitely a break in her armor. Even so, he still didn’t like accepting her terms. “I hunt what I like,” Hepoul repeated. It would worry her.

“Then you’d best prefer Republic shipping,” Sha’ra’zaed said, leaving the cell and closing the door behind her.

Hepoul drummed his fingers on the interrogation table. He could use eyes in the Empire. He should send her a gift. Something to remind her of home, of what she’d left, of who her family, her people, really were.

He knew just the thing.

A vacation. Quinn looked around the beach in disgust. He’d been ordered to take a vacation. He straightened the button up shirt with the pattern he’d been assured was appropriate for the locale. He looked down at the list of activities he was to undertake.

1. Sunbathing.

Step one. Find a towel or lounge chair.

A towel would never do. The distance from the sand would be needed to maintain the integrity of his uni…Quinn sighed…his clothes. He procured an appropriate lounge chair from the selection available, measuring for the correct length of his torso and length of his legs. It was barely within the acceptable parameters, but it would do.

Step two. Sit and relax.

That was really two steps. He frowned at the list. There was no step three. Well that was ridiculous. There was no activity here. Sitting? Preposterous. He skipped down to the next item.

2. Swimming.

Step one. Take off shirt and shoes.

He frowned. This was highly inappropriate. However, swimming was undoubtedly an activity. He unbuttoned his shirt and carefully folded it on the lounge chair. He neatly tucked his shoes together. Quinn glared at his bare feet. In the sand. Disgusting. He looked at the list.

Step two. Swim.

Swim? Where to? What was the point? What was the objective? The lack of an actionable plan with useful goals rendered this activity moot. He jerked his shirt back on and then spent entirely too long attempting to remove the sand from his shoes before he was able to go back to the entirely unhelpful list.

3. Build a Sandcastle

Step one. Mound sand into a castle-like shape.

He frowned. Sand was a ridiculous building material. Still…

Quinn requisitioned…er bought…a bucket that was sufficiently sturdy and a shovel and got to work.

Step two. Be creative.

Creative? He looked at the structure. It was based on Kranda G’nar’s classic treatise on strategic fortifications with some of the modifications he had designed himself. Creative? It was a masterpiece. He leaned back and admired his sand castle.

A large ball slammed into his masterpiece and destroyed most of the structure.

“Sorry, mister!” a teenager said, giggling as he grabbed the ball to throw back to his group of friends.

Quinn put his hands on his hips and glared at the beach. Vacations. Worst idea ever.

Happy, fluffy joy! I know, Quinn, a complete waste of time.

Roflcopter Lolzerskates was a simple man with simple tastes and the weirdest name any Wrath had ever held. Considering he was only one of two it wasn’t quite fair, but it was what it was. When the Emperor called he snapped to attention and picked up the phone. He was quite surprised when the holoterminal beeped with a call, he hadn’t been expecting one. Well, that’s not true. He hadn’t really wanted one. The Emperor was always calling him personally to nag him about something. He could ignore The Hand, but not the Emperor’s whining. Such was life.

Of course, this call summoned him to the big floating invisible thing where the Emperor, or at the very least a Voice, hid in plain sight floating above Dromund Kaas. How no Sith had found him yet was amazing.

He disembarked alone and made his way to the throne room and beheld a most terrible sight. The Emperor had new clothes.

“Uh – your uh – mightiness, or something… what the hell?” Roflcopter asked with a slack jaw.

“I found this new market on the trade network,” the Emperor said proudly.

“Is that the Covert Top?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“And did you hide your head slot?”

“My what?”

“Nothing.”

Rofl turned his head to one side and tried to focus on anything, but the pale, veiny, skinny man before him. It didn’t work. He could feel the Emperor pouting.

“You look good, my Lord,” Rofl said as cheerfully as possibly.

The Emperor preened before dismissing him. As he boarded his ship he wondered just what the hell had gotten into the Emperor.

Special thanks to Ves for the kick a*s last name. XD

"So who's the guy?" Sana asked Skari, leaning back against the bar while she waited for Aric, her daughter, and the Sith to show. The Star Cluster had offered wait staff along with the private lounge, but they'd decided they could pour their own drinks. Sana pointed with her beer towards the lean, scarred man who stood near the back wall, examining the room around him with sharp, curious eyes.

"My...uh...my fiance," Skari said uncomfortably.

"You sure?" Sana asked with a grin, "You don't sound sure."

Skari shrugged with a slight grin. "He hasn't actually asked me."

"Want me to poke at him? Get him moving on that?" Sana offered with a grin.

"Stars no!" Skari said in horror, "No, he's fine. I'm fine. F**king hell, don't poke him."

Sana set her glass down, her brows drawn in concern. "You okay? You're not in trouble are you?"

Skari shook her head, "No, I'm good. It's just that he's...touchy sometimes."

The major looked over at the brown man who had his head cocked to the side and was watching the two of them intently. Very intently.

Sana turned around to face away from him. "Listen, if he's causing you trouble, you say the word, okay?"

Skari sighed and called across the room, "Crae, come here please."

Sana turned to face him as he walked across the room. He was a handsome man, even with the scars. All sharp cheekbones, lean muscle, and slanted golden eyes.

"Crae, this is my friend, Major Sana Kaarde. Sana, this is Solomon Crae."

"Nice to meet you," he said with a slight grin that made Sana frown.

"Something funny?"

His grin widened. "Mama cats. They're just so much fun."

Sana blinked and looked at Skari with both eyebrows heading into her hair line. Skari had a palm over her face. "You know your guy here's crazy, right?" Sana said to her, her eyes sliding back to Crae who started laughing outright.

Skari sighed. "Yeah, I know." A grin spread across her face though when Crae reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear with an affectionate smile. Sana looked from one to the other. Apparently, crazy or not, Skari liked this one. Sana shook her head slightly. There was no accounting for taste.

"I miss anything?" Aric asked behind her.

She looked over at him. "Cats apparently."

Aric raised an eyebrow.

"I'll explain later. Aric, this is Skari's...fiance?" Crae's grin just got wider, so Skari forged on. "Solomon Crae. Crae this is...what's that look for?" she asked Aric who had a serious stare going on at Crae.

"Couple of the Deadeyes came back from an op in the Tabrel Sector a few years back. Heard some...interesting stories about some ghost sniper by that name."

"That was a long time ago," Crae said with a sly smile.

"And tigers change their stripes?" Aric challenged with a narrow eyed glare.

Now Crae's smile widened into something real. "I like your family a lot, Skari," he said while watching Aric, amusement bright in his eyes.

Skari stepped between the two men. "You," she ordered Crae, "quit being creepy. And yes," she said irritably to Aric, "tigers can change their stripes."

"Not that I've ever seen," Aric said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Sana, some help here?" Skari said to her.

"I'm more curious about these stories," Sana said, her lips pursed as she watched Crae.

Skari groaned.

Crae's smile had Sana glad she'd tucked a few weapons under her casual clothes.

"You guys made it!" Esma's happy voice brought everyone's attention around to her and the huge Sith who walked in behind her.

Skari looked over at Sana, her eyes wide. "Who the hell's that?" she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Sana's nose flared. "Her fiance."

"He's a Sith," Skari said in disbelief.

"What can I say," Sana said with a raised eyebrows, "you two have interesting taste in men."

Ah, Sana, I need to give you some company in the "I chose a sane husband who won't stab me in the back" department, don't I? Hehehe.