Star Wars OPEN New Sith Trials: Dark Reach: Episode I: An Order Remade

Approved Combo with HanSolo29 - it's a lengthy read (shocking, I know), but a roller coaster of a ride if you choose to check it out. Thank you, HS29. We always manage to create such emotional distress when we write together, eh?

IC: Aryan Graul & Syren
Shuttle

The bunk had cleared out before Aryan could receive a satisfactory reply to his research on the crime syndicates. Admiral Jerod had quickly exited the small space to return to his duties in the cockpit, and the caregiver had turned away to clean up the remnants of their snack. Neither one of them had cared to acknowledge his words or provide him with the appreciation he so desperately craved at this critical juncture. There was no indication that he had been heard, or if his proposal would even be passed along to the others for their consideration. Their actions made it seem as if his efforts had been futile, and it left him feeling incompetent.

With these negative emotions stirring inside of him, it didn’t take long for him to become agitated, and when he began to raise his voice, the caregiver immediately stepped in and tried to console him by introducing a new task. She suggested that he should gather all of his notes on his findings and format them into a formal report to present to Haretisch and Bellorum when they arrived. Of course, that would require him to type out everything by hand, but she expressed faith in his abilities. She insisted that it would help stimulate his brain and promote healing. Not to mention, it would prove his worth to those in charge.

And so, with his confidence restored, Aryan set out to complete this new assignment. It was slow-going from the onset, particularly since he continued to insist on only using his left hand on the keypad – the other rested loosely across his thigh. Despite the brace he wore to provide support and mobility, he refused to exercise the weakened limb without being told to do so, mostly due to the discomfort it caused him when the muscles contracted.

But regardless of his limitations, he still managed to make some notable progress. In fact, it was enough that the caregiver felt comfortable leaving him alone for a short time while she stepped out to the galley to discard of the dishes. It was during this temporary lull that he noticed the commotion coming from the main hold.

Syren, her emotions having circled around so many times on this day that she was riding along on a manic rush for the third or fourth time now, was rather unceremoniously dumped onto the shuttle Plo had commanded come and pick up their group from the Nar Shadaa pharmacy. Everyone seemed to scatter in different directions the moment they had all gathered on board - each doing their part to bring Hel and some bratty kid home, if you could call it that - and she was left standing in the passenger hold, alone. It was oppressively silent but it was a far better option to what she knew was waiting for her, however she could not hide for long.

She knew who else was here aboard this ship and she knew what she had worked so hard to avoid for several days, weeks even, now she would not be able to. Frozen in place as her feet became suddenly too heavy to move, it became startlingly clear to her how very... sober she was, how vulnerable and awake she felt to what she was about to face. She didn't want to see him like this, like an exposed nerve, off her game and unstable. Hell, she didn't want to feel like this anymore and her visions of Plo just before had only worsened the situation. An escape was needed, required even.

Her hands frantically began shoving into several pockets, even rummaged around the small bag she had with her and with an angry whine Syren realized she must have left her flask with Anark before they had landed. "Kriff," she spat, her face twisting into a pained grimace though the look was fleeting, washing away as a memory dawned on her. She abruptly ceased her search and reached into the cuff of her left arm band, pulling out a small black pouch that had been wedged there since the cantina on Nar Shadaa.

Because she had previously traveled in this orbit and known the protocol, albeit from several millennia prior, it seemed this was one formal transaction that had not been lost to time. In an impulsively simple give-and-take swipe, she had covertly passed the extra credits to the barkeep and along with one of her refills she had received this little bag... filled with a single helping of the narcotic known to the galaxy at large as spice. Syren gave it not a second of thought and opened the pouch, pouring a portion of it onto a ledge that protruded from one of the walls of the hold. With haste she leaned down and inhaled it through one nostril, repeating the sequence once more using the other. It took mere seconds for the effects of the drug to be felt, and only a few more before they were unloading in full force.

It will be easier... this way, she told herself through an increasingly heavy mental haze. She simultaneously floated above all her troubles and concerns while she also seemed to be mired in them, but with a startling clarity wished to shove them all aside and push ahead. Heart racing after an electric charge shot through every single one of her muscles, Syren started off along the tangible line that linked her to one Aryan Graul. She may not have been ready to confront the mess she had inadvertently created by becoming involved with such a man, but now she was confident she could take him on, and the entire world after.

With his brow furrowed in concern, Aryan leaned forward to get a better look through the open hatchway. He heard the rhythmic cadence of rapid footsteps upon the deck plates before he saw the outline of a figure cross his line of sight. It was only a shadowy wraith at first, silhouetted against the artificial light, but then it--she slowly swam into focus.

His heart began to beat wildly against his chest as recognition dawned, the rush of such powerful emotions causing him to visibly tremble. “Syren…” he called breathlessly, the name tumbling freely from his lips before he had a chance to properly assess the situation. He had not seen her in several days, and he felt compelled to grab her attention before she could slip away from him again. It was a very basic need, born out of both desperation and fear.

“I...uh, I...don--don’t,” Aryan stammered after a moment, the datapad shifting from his fingers and clattering to the makeshift desk. “I, umm...I...didn’t...expect, uh...you...not--err, back...soon...erm, this...soon.” He lifted his good hand and gestured to her lazily, a faint smirk coming to his lips. “Uh, I--I’m…glad...you, uh…here. Good, umm...good...no--uh, leave...again.”

Syren's vision swam in and out of focus, but at the sound of his voice it lit up - a tunnel of strikingly clear images that only showed his face. She was not entirely certain how she had made it from the hold to this... room, but now she was suddenly upon the threshold and all she saw was Aryan, even the jarring stammer of his words not making her flinch or recoil as it had before. It was all drowned out by the sound of her own blood pumping in her ears and a rush of desire beginning some place deep in her stomach, radiating outward to every inch of her being.

Every nerve was going up in flames.

Spice had a way of honing in on your realest desires, your darkest parts, your worst attributes - and exploiting them all. That's what she used to crave about the experience, but in this case, it amplified Syren's privately buried need for physical intimacy. She and Aryan had not been anything remotely near close since before the Bedlam incident, and seeing him now, well it incorrectly flooded all of her senses with a primal urge and turned her into something almost feral. Loose, uncontrollable, and wild.

Again she lost track of her own movements and was all of a sudden before him, throwing his makeshift lap desk aside with too much force. It shattered against the wall with an earsplitting 'crash' that she did not hear. Straddling Aryan in the least gentle manner possible, she grasped his face with both of her hands and crushed their lips together. She did not see the brace that was fastened to his right arm.

For Aryan, all of his hopes and desires had led him to this moment. Syren had always remained at the center of his world, serving as the catalyst that had compelled him to push himself toward recovery. Even when she had quite blatantly pushed him away, or neglected him to carry out some other menial task, he held onto the hope that she would eventually come back to him. He only wanted to recapture her attention and prove to her that he was still here. And that he still loved her.

But all of that had come crashing down around him when she hurled the lap desk into the nearby bulkhead. Aryan openly cringed and raised his good hand in a defensive position, almost as if he expected her to harm him in some way. His eyes registered uncertainty, but before he could open his mouth to yell out or confront her in some way, she was on top of him and straddling him at the waist. An involuntary moan issued from his lips as he felt her weight press heavily upon him through the thin fabric of his shorts.

Everything became a blur after that. His mind simply could not keep up with this kind of intense stimulation. He soon found himself swept away, rendered helpless against Syren’s strong, sexual advances.

This is normal, this is what we need, she pleaded to herself and to him, though it had not yet occurred to her that he would not feel her as she felt him. Kissing him with a passion she was certain he would return - how could he not? - her hands were rough as they slid back from his cheeks and kneaded through his hair, abruptly yanking his head back as she broke away from him for a breath. Her body still writhing, she looked down at his face and in a flash, like a firecracker going off centimeters from her eyes, Aryan morphed into someone else entirely. Liev - her love from a distant past - appeared where the other had once been, grinning at her like a venomous snake about to ensnare its prey in a fatal trap. The not-really-there Liev suddenly leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her ribs, squeezing her so tightly that she thought they'd melted into one another and sent her gasping for air.

Where normal senses would see Syren alerted to danger and realizing this was a hallucination, her drug-addled mind accepted the vision as real and as something she actually wanted. Aryan would only be seeing a woman lost to something he could not measure, her eyes nearly black for how far her pupils would be dilated and her movements strange. To Aryan, she'd most certainly be a frightening force of nature.

Throughout the experience, Aryan had tried to persevere by reciprocating her affections where he was able, but his actions remained awkward and sluggish. He was behaving more like a nervous teenager who was only just beginning to discover the delicate dance involved in the act of intimacy. As such, he adopted a more submissive role, allowing Syren to have her way with him, no matter how crude or rough her approach. In a sense, it solidified the idea in his mind that this would help them to reconnect; he did not want to disappoint her, nor push her away and risk being alone again.

At least, that is how things had progressed at first.

There was a perceptible change when Syren sharply snapped his head back, the gesture sending a jolt of pain through his neck and down across his shoulders. But it was much more than that; it awakened something inside of him...something primitive and vital. Aryan shifted uncomfortably as an intoxicating rush of energy cascaded to every nerve-ending in his body, carrying with it a pulse of absolute clarity. He knew what he wanted, and he responded with a sensuous groan.

“More,” he rumbled hoarsely, issuing a slight gasp as he opened his eyes to look at her. She had disengaged from him by this point, watching him from afar with a wild gaze, but he did not allow this to deter him from acting on his most basic of impulses and satisfying his own natural desires. Reaching out, his left hand wrapped around her waist and found purchase at the small of her back. He even managed to work through his handicap to bring his weakened right arm up to the point where he could cradle her torso loosely on the opposite side. From here, he navigated the folds of her jacket until he found the hem of the black tank underneath. He then slipped his fingers beneath the fabric and dug his fingers into her flesh.

Without waiting for her consent, Aryan began to pull Syren back toward him. Closer. Closer still...

And then he stopped.

Her eyes. There was something about her eyes. At this proximity, they didn’t look right to him. They appeared dark and stormy, the pupils dilated to the point where they nearly engulfed the entirety of her irises. What little light he saw reflecting there was almost savage…dangerous. In fact, now that he noticed this, her overall demeanor seemed off. Was she drunk, or was it…something else?

Either way, it was enough to bring his insecurities surging back to the surface. This wasn’t Syren, or rather...not how he remembered her. With a wary sigh, Aryan began to squirm beneath her, his hold on her becoming tense as he ran his hand nervously across her back in a circular pattern. “Sy--Syren,” he sputtered in a desperate attempt to break through the mental fog that had plagued her. “Syren...I, uh--please…”

When she did not immediately respond, he quickly devolved into a series of grunts and incoherent mutterings. His right arm fell away, and the left began to squeeze, claw, and push against her in an effort to break free. Whether Syren would get the hint, or interpret his struggling as a concession to carry on was still uncertain.

Syren was lost, lost and consumed by what she perceived to be real. 'Liev's' arms wound around her, his strength binding herself to him even as she was certain she wouldn't be able to manage another breath. She remembered this, her and him... the simplicity in their needs and what they wanted from one another. In times like this they had forgotten any complications and any building rifts for the sake of what they knew only they could give the other. It was specific and it was addictive, and it was also a slow-building self destruction that her passion had blinded her to.

This co-dependence had never failed to steal all of her logic and render her senseless and it was what she had loathed most about her past, but that was not acknowledged here, not now. Every movement was like shifting in deep water - slow and telegraphed, but beautiful in its caution. It made each touch deliberate and every sway of a body meaningful, the minutes moving by in slow motion to stretch out to impossible lengths that made it seem as if one night could go on forever.

Pain began to radiate throughout her body, and while self-inflicted or welcomed harm was what she gleaned pleasure from most, this was starting to feel somewhat different. It was a sensation she had no control over, and even through the spice-induced euphoria Syren could tell it wasn't how she truly remembered Liev... after all. Before she had been wrenched from her blissful state of ignorance.

Wait, wasn't... he from before? Wasn't she with... someone else?

It was then that she became peripherally aware that the arms she had once thought held her, were really pushing her away. The enthusiasm she had been feeding off was more akin to fear or reluctance, and the Force was working overtime at breaking the facade the drugs had created for her. Her mind used the narcotic as a coping mechanism to deal with things she'd rather bury and forget but that would be short-lived. The scene melted away, the colors running into a picture all too realistic for her liking, her nearly black eyes all of a sudden staring into his. Aryan's.

A knee-jerk reaction and Syren nearly leapt off of him, staggering away into the opposite wall. She frantically rubbed at her eyes, trying to rid herself of the flashburn that left another man's face at the forefront of her mind. "I... I'm sorry," she whined, though she wasn't sure what it was she was apologizing for anymore. Even while trying to calm and sort her rampant emotions, it seemed to only spur the spice on to new heights and she gasped for air as her heart repeatedly rammed against her rib cage. This room was quite suddenly too small, looking around wildly she was certain the walls were closing in on them both…

With a long sigh, Aryan fell away and pressed his back roughly against the pillows supporting him from behind, his whole body seeming to wilt under his own self-inflicted misery. It was as if he intended to push through the bed to escape the pressures of this awkward situation. In many ways, he blamed himself for what happened; for not being able to rise up to the challenge and satisfy her needs. He knew others viewed him as incompetent and frail, but it was another matter entirely to watch as the woman he loved looked upon him with the same scrutiny. It was the worst possible outcome.

It didn’t help that he knew something was wrong. Syren’s behavior wasn’t just the result of lustful passion and the need to fulfill her desires. Even through the murky haze that clouded his mind, he could still see the feral glint in her eye, the dazed expression that had marred her features, and the sluggish manner of her movements. Again, he had to wonder – had she consumed some kind of substance to soften the blow of seeing him again? Or was there something more serious lingering beneath the surface? It was all too much for him to process at this moment. And unfortunately for him, he no longer had any inhibitors in place to keep all these turbulent emotions in-check.

Gritting his teeth, Aryan reached up and clenched his head against the mental anguish that was consuming him, his breathing coming in short, rasping breaths as he kneaded his forehead before running his hand down over his face. Tears flooded his eyes, and his right hand began to curl slightly inward against the brace. If she had bothered to pay attention to him at all in the past few weeks, she would have recognized this as a sign of his distress.

But at this point, he didn’t really expect her to know...or understand. The caregiver and the doctor knew more than her.

Aryan would’ve surely continued on to experience a full temper outburst if not for the quiet, almost pleading tone of her voice. It slowly rose through the recesses of his muddled brain to break the surface of his awareness, filling him with a sense of calm. It was only a simple apology, but it touched him on a far deeper level, allowing him to reevaluate the situation and approach this with a more open mind.

Parting his lips to issue a soft sigh, Aryan lowered his hand from his face and pressed forward carefully, his blue-gray eyes settling on her vulnerable form as she huddled against the opposite wall. He noted that she appeared afraid…fragile, almost as if she was warding off her own internal demons. Her eyes darted erratically around the room, seeking an escape…

“Sy...uh, Syren,” he sputtered in an attempt to quell her fears, his left hand clamping to the side of the bed for leverage. He intended to stand under his own power and go to her, but as he began to pull his legs forward, it soon became obvious that this was a task that he could not accomplish without assistance. The muscles on his right side would not cooperate, and he was unable to plant his leg under him to support his weight.

Aryan hung there for a moment longer, uttering a series of curses under his breath before he resigned himself to his fate and collapsed back against the bed. His focus, however, remained with Syren.

“Are...you, uh…” he began again, his hand gesticulating wildly as he tried to recall the words. “...hurt, or...uh...I, err--head...your...umm...head...blurred, uh...fuzzy.” He lowered his chin marginally and pursed his lips. “From...uh, drink. For, umm...because...me--myself.”

He slowly pulled his hand close and pointed to his chest, his eyes brimming with tears once more. “You...sorry, uh...I--I’m...sorry…too.”

Syren stilled and cringed, very visibly, as Aryan tried to quell her even though he couldn't get his words out properly. She turned in on herself and pressed further against the wall, closing her eyes so she couldn't watch him and pressing her cheek against the cool metal of the bulkhead. It burned her skin for how hot her body temperature was running.

"Stop..." she whispered, pulling inward on her senses as to not be able to feel his confusion or pain or frustrations... but it was no use. She was too finely tuned to his emotions that she didn't even have to look at him to know how he was feeling. He couldn't block it or hide it from her because he was weaker without the Force and he didn't have the powers and knowledge she did, the sum of it all making him so fragile. Too fragile, and ever since she had rescued him from the brink of death she had blamed herself for not being to do more.

She couldn't do more, she was too close. That's what it was. Being too close did this to you - made you drown in trying to do the impossible, unraveled you and made you behave erratically. Got in the way of how you liked things, used to like things, how you used to like your life. It ruined it, ruined lives...

"Just. STOP," Syren shouted suddenly, more so to herself than to Aryan, following by hammering a fist into the solid wall. It buckled slightly as she unwittingly amplified its strength with the Force. She turned away from him completely now, her forehead resting near where she had left an imprint of her knuckles. "I can't do this anymore. I can't, I can't, I can't..." She kept chanting under her breath, slowly shaking her head from side to side with each repetition.

Aryan cowered when she raised her voice, his shoulders visibly slumping as he sank back even further against the bed, like an unruly child seeking refuge after being scolded by a parent. But in this case, he hadn’t done anything wrong...at least, he hadn’t perceived it that way. He was only trying to help. But instead of being rewarded for his efforts, Aryan was left stunned, his expression clearly registering his shock at her harsh words. His lips worked slowly for several tense seconds before he was able to finally articulate his thoughts. And even then, it was very brief:

“Ok...I--uh, sorry,” he muttered meekly, quickly averting his gaze before his tears could spill over. He didn’t know what to do from here; he was completely lost. Syren’s erratic behavior and the subsequent response had felt like someone had thrust a vibroblade into his chest and continued to twist the handle until it inflicted the maximum damage. The pressure was unbearable, and he found that all he wanted to do was curl up on the bed and shut out the rest of the galaxy. He didn’t want to deal with it anymore…

The only thing that gave him hope was a tiny detail he had gleaned from her demeanor when she had initially yelled at him. Despite the intensity behind her outburst, Syren had failed to ever look at him throughout the incident. It was as if she was speaking to some unknown entity...or perhaps even herself; it was never intended for him. That seemed to reaffirm his belief that she was suffering in her own way. He could possibly help with that…

Or maybe it was his stubbornness breaking through, preventing him from leaving things well-enough alone. It was a driving force inside of him, and he realized that he wouldn’t be able to surrender himself without giving it a try.

Issuing a sigh, Aryan canted his head slightly and noted the package sitting on the edge of the nightstand – the whiskey bottle and spice loaf. That was all the initiative he needed to carry out the impossible.

Reaching across for where he had left his cane beside the bed, Aryan tried once again to rise back to his feet. It took a lot of effort, and maybe more than a few choice expletives, but he ultimately managed to straighten to his full height. With the package nestled under his armpit, Aryan began to slowly traverse the small space with the assistance of his cane. As he approached Syren, he wavered unsteadily and dropped the gift near her feet.

He didn’t utter a single word but simply crumpled to the floor beside her from the exertion of his endeavor. With his forehead glistening with sweat, he then slumped back against the bulkhead to catch his breath.

From here, all he could do was wait.

Syren sensed his struggle and slowly turned back around to see Aryan mustering what strength he could to get to his feet and approach her. She had no inclination to help him, mesmerized as the very air seemed to sparkle and glisten while she watched him, each bead of sweat upon his face twinkling in the light like individual specks of glitter. The closer he came, his face fanned out on either side in a ghostly pattern as if she were looking at three of him. On impulse, she reached out to touch him, but where she expected her fingers to connect to flesh they instead brushed only air. His face, all of them, disappeared in thin swirls of smoke.

A thrill of fear welled up inside her and her eyes traveling down and down, noticing the package at her feet and Aryan, now on the floor leaning against the wall beside her. She crouched, monumentally curious, to gingerly unwrap this gift he had left her as if diffusing an explosive. Once done, she only stared at the bottle of whiskey and the clear-wrapped loaf.

"You know I'll kill you in the end," Syren said, cutting the silence as her voice was all of a sudden strong and assertive. Quite the opposite of her panicked words before. Her head turned to look directly at Aryan, eyes wide, boring into him with a clear intensity. If he could have, he would've sensed the conviction and truth in what she said even more than simply hearing them spoken aloud. "You will die, because of me. You don't know... who I used to be. Who I really am. What I am capable of. The things I want..." She trailed off and took a deep, shuddering breath though her gaze never wavered from his. She didn't even blink. "This is not me. You and I, are not me."

The anticipation that was mounting in his chest as she unwrapped his gift quickly deflated when she failed to express any kind of emotion other than cool indifference. She only stared, seeming to miss the point of what he was trying to achieve. It was the worst possible scenario; in one fleeting moment, the culmination of all he had worked for to obtain the items and prove himself had come to naught. The words that tumbled from her mouth in response to his gesture made that readily apparent...even for him in his current state.

With a sharp intake of breath, Aryan swayed precariously under her scrutinizing gaze, his left-hand threading restlessly through his beard as he struggled to accept her damaging admission. He didn’t like where this was going, and he was desperate to find a way out...to fix this. Perhaps that is why the words essentially spilled from his lips with no regard to thought or reason. He began to ramble.

“No...no, uh…me,” he declared with full confidence, his hand falling abruptly back to his side as he lifted his chin marginally. While his blue-gray eyes still shone brightly with tears, there was a real fervor reflecting in their depths. It conveyed his determination and spirit in the face of so much adversity. “Only…us, umm...work--we, uh...work...together...to, uh...find...sol...soul--err, fix.”

Exhaling heavily, Aryan suddenly reached out and clutched her hand in his own. “You…” he slowly guided her hand back and gently placed it against his chest. “Save, uh...you...save...me. I, uh…know...what...umm, you...say. I...umm, I...remember...that...uh, day...you...tell, um...save--err, safe...with…you. Umm, I...see...that...uh, right...here--I’m...right…here.” He paused to let that sink in before shaking his head vigorously. “And...uh, I..don--don’t, err--no...care. I...uh, I’m...dead...all, uh--already.”

Aryan scoffed and brought her hand up to his face, a single tear trailing down his cheek. “Look, umm…look...at--at…me.”

Syren's gaze switched to her hand, held fast to Aryan's cheek by his own. She felt the sting of his tear as it slid onto her skin, her head listing as she scrutinized his behavior. He was extremely upset, showing her a mirror of her own dependency and how removed she had become from all she knew. My, how far you have strayed.

Somewhere in the back of her drug-addled mind she understood him as he pleaded, but she understood herself more - the most since before she had fallen asleep on Hoth.

The spice was still coursing through her veins but the chaotic rush of it was subsiding, bringing forth a surreal amount of clarity and self-realization. All the shards of a broken picture, the picture of her life before and how it connected to her life now, were falling into place at a startlingly fast rate. The completed effect of it told her exactly what she needed to do to align her two selves, two halves of the same coin.

It was a treacherous route to travel but she thought of her parents and what they'd think of how lost to her attachment she had become. Then of Liev and how he'd laugh knowingly at her patterns. And most insane of them all she conjured Typhojem, her closest confident for the majority of her waking life and how even He had guided her correctly, keeping her on the right and true path only for her to fall right off the moment she had let Aryan push her.

A new, fully conceived part of her manifested and opened as she funneled her blame. Inside that fresh, impressionable place she actually hated him for it. For what he had done to her, for what she now had to fix.

Gaining control over the hand Aryan cradled, Syren slid her fingers back and around the nape of his neck, appearing to tenderly pull him towards her. She leaned in at the same time, nearly brushing her lips against his. She stopped at the last moment, her fingers starting to press down into his skin. "Be careful, Aryan," she whispered, her words fraught with tension. There was an accusation there, but she did not expect him to pick up on it. "No one can save you but yourself." Her breath brushed his skin, lingering there. And then she detached.

Moving away and standing, she gave him one last emotionless look before she turned and left, the whiskey bottle he had worked so incredibly hard to obtain disappearing along with her. The spiceloaf remained behind, forgotten.

TAGS: @HanSolo29 @Darth_wanderguard @Lady Belligerent @Sinrebirth @Jerjerrod-Lennox

 

IC: Azeth Drost
Kamino - Tipoca City

Drost followed behind the group wordlessly, making no attempt to hide how he was staring at the group's guide. Taun We, and to a greater extent all Kaminoans as a whole, greatly interested him, not only for their apparent talents in cloning, but for their biology as a whole. They had an aquatic background, that was certain from their outward appearance alone. Yet, something rubbed him the wrong way. Their physiology, specifically their long thin limbs, didn't exactly make them appear like they would be the top of Kamino's food chain..

So perhaps their aquatic nature is a more.. recent.. evolutionary trait.. Interesting.. He thought, silently activating one of the voice recorders on his robe.

The group came to a halt, and he could feel the rising ire of Soliloquy ahead, directed towards their current leader, Cocytus. Drost personally didn't find anything thing wrong with what he had said, but then again, his current Master didn't exactly seem.. stable. He was far more interested with Taun We's open offer of a tour of the Kaminoan cloning facilities, which he was definitely interested in.

Drost line of thinking slowed as Soliloquy spoke, an eyebrow raising at it's unique manner of speech. He wasn't entirely sure of what it wanted, but from it's intent, he gathered that it wanted a tour as well.. Maybe. He shrugged, taking the opportunity to loudly clear his throat.

"I believe what my Master meant to say was that we would be honored for a tour of your great facilities, and that we appreciate your offer." He said, stepping beside Soliloquy, hands clasped behind his back. Now, all that was left was to create a compelling enough reason for him to slip away from the group.. He preemptively began shielding his force aura from view, just in case such a scenario presented itself naturally.

Tag: @Sinrebirth , @Mitth_Fisto , @Darth Cocytus

 

OOC: A combo with the always brilliant @Darth_wanderguard and @Lady Belligerent

IC: Captain Lennox Jerod, Plo Wanderguard, Bellorum
Location: Nar Shaddaa

Jeord had managed to take Aryan’s true meaning under advisement. It seemed the Shadow Syndicate was the big player here and could have a hand in Hel’s and Xander’s kidnapping. The Exchange could not be counted out either as they wanted to join the umbrella of the Shadow Syndicate like the Nar Shaddaa Labor Alliance and the Hutt Cartel.

After thanking Aryan for correcting him and promising to talk again soon, he headed back to the cockpit and gave the pilot the coordinates of Hel’s beacon. He sat in the copilot's seat to make sure that they arrived in the right place to not do so would earn Plo’s wrath.

Luckily they did with Jerod making sure they found a big enough space to park her in. There was also a quick comm to Carrusco to order him to stand by for a possible quick exit from the system once they picked Hel and Xander up and headed back to Dark Dreamer.

He sighed feeling quite weary. After his drug fueled antics he suddenly felt tired, both in brain and body. But he knew he could not rest until they found both Xander and Hel, because Plo and the others would certainly not give up.

Speaking of the devil…..

He heard Plo enter the cockpit and spun his chair around to face him. The pilot left which would mean Jerod would have to fly the shuttle if Plo decided they had to go immediately. Jerod was a fair pilot but nowhere as good as Carrusco. Bellorum then made an appearance, whether that was good or bad he would find out in moments. Plo’s face looked like thunder and Jerod wondered if he was about to receive a grilling.

Time for the old stoic face.

“Yes sir” he said simply in reply “I heard over the group channel that both Xander and Hel had been kidnapped. Myself Bellorum and Ike were looking for him but it seems she found him first. I returned to the shuttle as Azzurri had commed me to return to the shuttle immediately as something was happening, he had detected it over the comm channels he was monitoring. We both felt I would be safer back on the shuttle so we could see what was going on”

He crossed one leg over the other to try and make himself more comfortable “It may have been linked to Hel and Xander I do not know, but perhaps our new found friend can enlighten us. Aryan has been going through information to see if any syndicates were involved as I said and he has found some clues.”

“Thank you, Lennox,” Bellorum spoke up since Haretisch appeared to be content to glare at everyone. The man was a very competent captain, and Bellorum’s earlier opinion of him had softened somewhat. It was then she realized he was still in his disguise, and she was wearing the nurses garb. She looked down at herself and laughed, “we are a sight, but it did help us ditch our pursuers.”

Plo, who had been listening to Jerod with surprising patience now spoke up. “I’m glad you find this so amusing,” he remarked at Bellorum more than to him, before turning his attention to Jerod. “I can’t say I expected Aryan to be of much help,” he replied, “but at least someone is taking this seriously. What I can’t work out is how they managed to take her. She either went willingly or there was some kind of force user with them. This time is crawling with Sith,” he thought out loud.

Luckily Plo had not commented on the costumes he and Bellorum were wearing yet, that interrogation may come later. Bellorum it seemed had decided not to mention Jerod’s earlier antics either, that also may come later after they found Xander and Hel.

Meanwhile Lennox’s tactical brain was kicking into gear.

“If there was a Force user involved she may not have had much choice, the same with Xander. Perhaps she had a plan to get them both out that backfired, perhaps she thought the only way she could escape was to go with them and then escape when an opportunity arose. I don’t know about Force powers as much as you and Bellorum do but if there was a Force user involved, or as you say if this timeline is full of Sith then they could see Hel and Xander as competition or maybe even try to bring them into a faction, perhaps a Sith Empire or factions within?”

Jerod lt that sink in then continued “Aryan has been very helpful in deciphering information regarding the syndicates here. The Shadow Syndicate is the big one, two other syndicates are part of it as well, it seems they are a big player here, so much so that The Exchange, another syndicate want to join under this umbrella. It is possible that this Force user or perhaps Sith could be using or a part of a syndicate and could be there to grab Force users.”

“Unfortunately I think they were after Xander more than Hel, I think she got caught up after she found him”

“It sounds to me like Aryan has been a great deal of help already,” Bellorum said coldly staring at Haretisch. “We needed someone in a position to do research whilst we were rushing to the scene, and I know him to be competent. Just take the time to look into his eyes...and I mean really look.”

She then turned to Jerod, “we shall be getting Aryan’s report directly from him as soon as possible, thank you for passing on some details.” Taking a deep breath she addressed them both, “I feel like you’re both missing something here. Hel is a very talented fighter and powerful Force user, yet she was kidnapped.” She paused barely a moment, and to her it didn’t appear that either man had followed her thought process. She rolled her eyes and continued, “for kriffsake, she was protecting the child!” Shaking her head, she explained, “it's obvious to me, it would have split her focus to protect Xander and fight.” She sighed heavily, “we won’t know for sure until we speak to her, but I feel like that’s the only possible explanation. I have no opinion on it being a Force user,” she ended with a shrug.

Plo nodded in the affirmative. “That would... seem to be a possibility.” It was the first not acerbic thing he had said to Bellorum since... well, in a long time, perhaps. “If they were indeed taken by Sith,” he continued, “it could be tied to any one of a hundred Sith empires and kingdoms that dot the galactic map. Let’s hope it’s not that. And if a criminal syndicate were the case, I would have more confidence in Hel’s ability to keep them both from harm. If Sith then... all bets are off.” He sighed. “In any case, we can do nothing else now but look for them. I may question somewhat your commitment to parenthood, Captain,” he said, bitingly, “but I trust that this you will not do by half-measures. They have your son. Someone does, anyway, and my daughter. We owe a debt of service to them both, to retrieve them as safely and as quickly as we can.”

He was waiting for a comment about his parenting and Plo did not disappoint. And it looked like Bellorum was trying to get Plo to soften up a little bit towards Aryan in this charged climate. But she had also made a good point about Hel trying to protect Xander. It seemed hopefully that Hel had decided to protect Xander as much as she could for Jerod. To bring him back safely to his father.

Even if his father wanted to dump him on the nearest uninhabited planet and leave him there. But new place, new start.

“Rest assured sir I have no intention of doing this in half measures, my parenting may be the worst parenting ever but my hope is that we can bring back your daughter and my son back alive, for both our sakes” he knew that if they both ended up either dead or hurt Plo may end up possibly unleashing his dark side, and possibly on Jerod.

And if Xander came back safe he would definitely owe Hel one too.
“Bellorum is correct” he said nodding in her direction “Hel has only the best interests of Xander, and I am sure she is very capable of looking after herself too, she seems a very capable woman. Aryan hopefully will have some more details on his report about who he thinks could be involved. If it is Sith then it could be major trouble especially if this timeline is full of them. Whoever it is though we need to act fast because every second we don’t know where they are they could get further and further away. But we need to make sure we have the correct information before we proceed”

He smirked slightly “Besides if anything happens to Xander i’m sure Cleo is watching and she would have my balls in a vise if anything happened to him, she’d probably haunt me too”

Bellorum resisted a cringe at Jerod’s comments regarding Xander’s late mother.

“I believe we..., uh,” she looks distant for a moment and her eyes widened. “Did you,” she questioned Haretisch, “have you? Well...I’m finding myself speechless at the moment.” She looked away a moment and was frustrated that her face felt so hot. The Force was practically throbbing with waves of passion.

Plo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Those two...”

He sighed. “Well, this has been illuminating, but we need Aryan’s report before we move forward and I’m afraid Syren may eat him alive before we get the chance. Carry on, Captain,” he instructed as he got up to leave.

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard , @Lady Belligerent (@HanSolo29 and @QueenSabe7 for the mentions)

 

Darth Hades and Morrigan
Shuttle en route to Mustafar

Hades settled in to pilot the shuttle ad Morrigan took the co-pilot chair.

"I have never been to Mustafar. I avoided it."

Hades remained silent after that. He was more a man of action than talk.

Morrigan, however, loved to talk.

"I've heard the lava fields are gorgeous! But that's all you'll see. Not a very important place, except for Lord Vader's Castle, maybe."

She looked at Zalen thoughtfully.

'Are we going to the Castle?"
​

TAG: @Lady Belligerent

 

Darth Cocytus

Cocytus glanced behind him at Soliloquy, sensing the anger and frustration from him, and his smile grew slightly, pleased that he annoyed the holocron, feeding it's emotions as fuel for his power in the Dark Side. His eyes turned back to Taun We and made it known between him and her that he held much disdain for him... her... it, whatever the holocron wished to express itself as. Regardless, Cocytus had much little desire for a tour, wishing to get the pleasantries over with and get right to more desirable tasks at stake.

Suddenly, however, the kaminoan was once again reminded why he hated sharing his body with another mind as much as he found many benefits from Palpatine's teachings when the Emperor AI took control and spoke words that weren't his own. Cocytus didn't show his frustration afterwards and only nodded his head when Taun We pointed him to another kaminoan to take them to the Prime Minister, keeping his thoughts private as he mostly had.

You could simply have told me what to say, Master. Cocytus spoke bitterly, but with acceptance of what happened to Sidious and not with desire to question as he followed Koa Ne, We need to decide whether who will take hold of our target's body... Unless we must both transfer our essence together and figure it out later...

Yet that moment could not come soon enough, for as Koa continued to lead Cocytus, a young gray eyed female kaminoan walked passed them. The very moment the two kaminoans were side by side, it was as if time froze for a split second, as the very Dark Side screamed out to the Sith Lord. Time resumed and Cocytus glanced behind him to see the other kaminoan walking away, herself also glancing at him.

It's her, Master... Cocytus mused with triumph, a smile growing on his face, She's like me... The Force is strong with her... I can feel it... The Dark Side calls to her... We will have her... I vow.

Should we speak to the Prime Minsiter first? Request a midi-chlorian count just to be sure? Or simply claim what the Dark Side commands of us?

@Sinrebirth, @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Serapis
Aboard the Hapan Battle Dragon

The captain's orders took Serapis by surprise. He said the first thing that came to mind, "Roger Roger." Then the guards seized him by each arm.

They spun him around and started dragging him to the closest airlock. If Serapis had been more on top of things, he would have magnetized his feet. Yet he wasn't. He was considering his options when chaos erupted.

Ah, chaos. An equalizer in most circumstances. The guards dropped Serapis. That was their first mistake.

Serapis dropped into a crouch. He utilized his droid programming to scan the hangar completely. He cataloged and catagorized everything around him. Four guards. Two ships. The Neti. Several items lying around or attached to the deck. He noticed them all. Then he sprang.

He launched himself at the nearest guard. Unprepared for the attack, the guard went down hard. Serapis took the weapon from him, turned it on the second target and fired. He targeted his hands to disarm him. These beings might become allies soon.

Then he was hit by a glancing shot on his left shoulder. He aimed his blaster and fired again. Again aiming to maim, not kill. Three down. One to go.

Tags: @darthbernael, @Snokers, @darthhelinith, @Sinrebirth

 

Azeth Drost
Tipoca City

Drost gave Cocytus a faint nod, accepting and approving of the shift in their plan. It would be more difficult to sabotage their party if they were spread out, their goals uncertain. It was imperative that they keep the upper hand during this mission, lest the Kaminoans attempt some form of sabotage..

Drost chuckled inwardly at the irony. If everyone was trying to swindle each other, was anyone really? He squashed such thoughts, following close behind Soliloquy and Taun We. With a nondescript tap of his finger, the recording systems covering his robes switched on. His hands clasped casually behind his back, he made sure to minutely adjust the gait of his walk, shifting each camera's view into the desired position. Hopefully, he would now have a full 360 degrees of recordings to shift through at a later date..

The group was led onward through a number of softly curving passageways, before finally being presented with what could only be the cloning labs. Drost had silently relished the brief flashes of panic he had sensed radiating from their Kaminoan guide. Clearly his attempts to hide his presence through the force were causing additional unwanted mental effects on Tuan We, which was interesting to witness. Drost concentrated, further blanketing his aura. It was only for a moment, but he was curious to see what the effect would be..

That aside, the full majesty of the Kaminoan's cloning tech had finally been revealed to the group, and Drost struggled to hide his excitement. The room was segmented into different cells, each displaying a separate timescale of development of the clones, beginning with fetuses all the way to fully grown babies. Drost pushed his consciousness out from his body, inspecting each life form inquisitively through the force. He was surprised to find that, even though some aspect of each aura was similar, as one would expect from clones, there still remained some spark of individuality, a core nature that was yet their own. It was.. beautiful in a way.. A tiny smile grew on his face, betraying his true thoughts.

The galaxy still finds new way of awing me.. Simply marvelous! He thought, placing a palm onto the cool glass of one of the more developed baby's tanks. Drost turned back after a brief moment to rejoin Soliloquy and Taun We, his face once again emotionless. From the corner of his vision, he spied a door partially hidden behind one of the tanks, only visible if one was actively searching for it. I wonder where that leads.. Perhaps a monitoring terminal for this room? There's got to be somewhere nearby which controls the machines in here..

Drost train of thought derailed, as he bore witness to the two perfect clones of his comrades standing below him. He took a half-step forward, scratching at his chin. Of course, Drost had barely interacted with the original Darth Kronos and Esmeralda, but he was aware of them. The mere existence of these clones raised all sorts of nasty implications.. Taun We had just stated that it took a clone around 10 years to reach maturity, had Insipid ordered clones for each of his underlings? And more importantly, for what purpose?

Drost shuddered, turning to look up at Taun We. "This idea of DNA being able to store memories is certainly fascinating, tell me, have you had any success with these.." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Prototypes? This line of research opens up the possibility for all sorts of new discoveries, no?"

Meanwhile, through the force, he asked Soliloquy a simple question. Did you know of this?

The existence of the Kronos and Esmerelda clones was dangerous. Clearly they were designed for a currently unknown purpose, but Insipid, or however designed them, must have known the party would have stumbled across them. So, were they supposed to bring them back? The clones couldn't be left here, especially if the Kaminoans had discovered a way to tap into their original's memories. It was far too high of a security risk..

But if they were brought onboard.. Their originals may take some issue with the discovery.. possibly..

The Miraluka sighed inwardly. Why couldn't anything be easy?

Tag: @Sinrebirth , @Mitth_Fisto , @Darth Cocytus

 

IC: Soliloquy
Tipoca City

It was. . .less than satisfactory the splitting of the party at this juncture, but like anything that was in how you looked at the situation. He had wanted his apprentice to go off on his own and Cocytus to stay close so that he could keep an eye on the fin-head. As was they were split and he saw no reason they should not split farther, so he ignored his apprentice and let his dip in the Force go. It was fun to see the consternation on the fin head that was leading them. To feel how she dealt with self doubt.

The tour was dull, showing just enough to always wet the appetite. Snap shots of key stages with no regard to the ones that connected each stage into a ten year map. It was designed to impress, but also to leave plenty of holes. He approved of course. It showed they were not wholly dimwits with shiny cities and a rare skill.

He was sure his apprentice was going to sneak away, that was until they were faced with one simply truth. Two clones. Bait? Or reality. He could not tell from what she said, what she had done. Yet it was there, the road and impasse and his apprentice did not stray. Instead he stayed and asked. Drost shuddered, turning to look up at Taun We. "This idea of DNA being able to store memories is certainly fascinating, tell me, have you had any success with these.." He paused, whether for affect or loss of words. "Prototypes? This line of research opens up the possibility for all sorts of new discoveries, no?"

Meanwhile, through the force, Drost asked Soliloquy a simple question. Did you know of this?

No. He simply communicated back. "You anticipate. Blue Sphere!" He replied in a somewhat joyful and chime tingling echo to Drost before turning back to the Kaminoan. "Black sphere memories are. Also a hobby of mine this topic is. Has been for. . .ever seems an appropriate approximation if I have not judged your species life spans perpendicular. Perhaps if liquidated I could purchase them and what research if any to date? Perhaps Blue Bisector is possible for all, I would be willing to share some notes on my longitudinal non-dynamic generational studies in exchange. I have not delved into cloned memories for obvious limitations on my part for direct purple perpendicular research." he simply stated. Shifting in place as he reached out with the Force to caress both the clones minds. To gently probe and feel them, like a caring parent a worthy child. Giving notions of reassurance, care, condolences, and love saddened for them from him.

"Black parrel, wonderous to find one here." he softly added.

TAG: @Sinrebirth , @Silvertough

 

Inebriated meet and greet, with Sinre.

IC: Ike & Syren
Nook, Dark Dreamer

His prior drinking buddy didn’t add much, so Ike ditched her, trying to find himself a niche in the ship which was his own - outside of his room. As nice as their new craft was, it wasn’t home for Ike yet, and as much as he loathed to admit as much, home was the room that he and Insipid had made back on Moraband, nearly fourteen centuries from now.

He drew the black cloak around him, having discarded the face mask when they returned. Glumly, Ike found himself eying up the wine bottle he had mostly consumed. It wasn’t enough. Ike needed something harder, and found himself thinking of the drugs he had slipped their pet ex-Imperial.

He was still thinking like that, tuning out the fits of emotion flooding from Aryan and Syren as he wandered the ship; right until he found her. Narrowing his eyes, Ike prepared himself to speak to the woman for the first time.

Or, more accurately, what was left of her.

Syren was able to sense Ike's approach though she wasn't sure if it was him or someone else, and at the time didn't care to exert herself in order to find out. She thought she had found a place to be alone and just... ride out the remainder of her exhausting mistake without interruption. But apparently even in the very back of the ship, nestled between the engine room and an escape pod, a corner view port situated next to a random control station and pair of jump seats wasn't removed enough from her nosy companions.

She had been sitting in one of those seats, body turned to stare blankly out the large clear panel, her legs drawn up to her chest and held tight by her arms to help keep the tremors to a minimum. They were an unwelcome sign that she was beginning the long trip down from the peak of 'spice mountain' and her muscles had started to ache for how rigid she was. The still unopened bottle of whiskey was on the floor below her, knowing she would need it eventually to drag her into unconsciousness to avoid the more unsavory withdrawal symptoms that came at the very end.

"Need something," she asked, not bothering to look at Ike nor move at all.

Taciturn alright. That’s what Syren was. She had buried for a space in the ship, much as he had too. Kindred spirits? Doubtful. Preferring one’s own company? He imagined so. She was clearly drawn up tight, her legs close, not even looking at him. Which was fine; he could take a hint and he couldn’t be arsed to ask what had crawled up her exhaust port.

But she had that whiskey...

Ike still had both glasses with him, and his somewhat empty bottle. He pointed at the alcohol, stepping forward. “That.”

He waved the wine bottle at her; heard the slosh of liquid inside.

Syren clenched her eyes shut as a spasm ran over her body, bringing a chill to settle in even as she tried to ignore the heat of her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck. Against her better judgement, she slowly turned her head towards his voice, straining against her protesting muscles. Her eyes, still wild and dilated, found the wine before looking at his face.

It turned out to actually be Ike, all cocky bravado in looks alone. She knew little else of him other than being the Emperor's toy... at one time or another. Maybe more, maybe less. She had no energy to wrack her memories for more of him. "You can share yours first," she responded, her speech a bit more drawn out than normal. She didn't want his company, but she wasn't entirely sure she was able to reach where she had placed her bottle and it was getting to the point of needing to start drinking. This particular spice was being wickedly fast-acting, both in onset and finish.

Ike slid next to her. “Deal.”

He placed the glasses down, and filled them with the wine, not adding much else. Ike suspected that he knew the situation, now Syren had looked at him.

A drugs come-down.

Ike was not, however, a quiet person. He searched for a topic. He knew she was with Aryan, because Insipid has been inordinately interested in the politician, to the point of causing jealousy in Ike, but she was here and Aryan was elsewhere in the ship so... that was about all he knew about Syren. A memory tickled within him that Haretisch - Plo - had found her, and she was from the past, but they were in the past now, so Ike had no idea what that meant.

Ike opted to sit in silence, as difficult as it was. He nursed his drink, and waited for her to break. Ike had dated a spice-head, once... before Insipid. He frowned, leaning into the memory for a time.

A shrug, and he drank again.

She would break soon enough.

Into little pieces? Ike didn’t know if he cared enough to wonder.

She didn't take the glass right away, simply sitting for a stretch to try and familiarize herself with Ike's presence. Between her current state and the fact that she'd never even talked to him before, he was impossible to decipher but was still prominent enough in the Force to be irritating. Like nails on a chalkboard, or someone that chews food obnoxiously loud. That would've been anyone nearby though, Syren could at least admit. There was a dull feeling of surprise somewhere beneath the waning haze of the drugs, that he didn't poke and prod, didn't try to talk to her at all where she was braced - or would've been if prepared - for the opposite.

Ike probably had no idea who she was so that was even better.

Taking a breath before uncoiling herself enough to finally reach an arm out for her drink, she nearly spilled it for all she shook, quickly bringing it to her mouth and downing the contents in several large gulps before any more of it splattered to the floor, wasted. Wiping her mouth against her knees, Syren sighed as she savored the tiniest bit of warmth that moved down her throat before tipping her empty glass towards his side to indicate she'd like more.

"What are you drinking for, anyways. Missing someone?" The question came out harsher than intended and was more of a jab than intended, but her attitude was rough as it was so it seemed to fit the moment. And she didn't really know what the kriff to say.

Ike felt the bite behind the statement even though he knew an amount of would be the come-down. Syren’s mind was ablaze with thought, but it was all jumbled and he would never have made sense of how she felt if he’d cared enough to try.

Leg folded over one, and leaning on his knee, Ike merely watched her drink, spilling a chunk of it. He poured her the last of the wine, resisting the urge to bite back too strongly. “What are you taking drugs for? Missing someone?” An echo of what she had said would do, though he managed to keep at least some of his snideness out of it.

“What’s it to you, anyway? Misery loves company and all that,” he said, downing the last of the wine in his glass.

Syren breathed a laugh that was more awkward than comical, drinking what little Ike had given her by way of a refill quicker than the first round. Nearly dropping the glass while trying to put it down, she released the fragile object without a crack and then brought that hand up to knead at her eyes with her fingers. Even in the dim lighting, everything seemed to be glowing far too bright.

"Forgetting someone," she quipped dryly, now feeling loose enough to lean forward and pull the whiskey bottle up from the floor. She opened it and took a healthy swig, this time the effects flaring hot compared to the lukewarm relief from the wine. It was harsh and it burned, but it was a much needed jolt to her hyper-sensitive system. "And it's nothing to me, I don't even know who the kriff you are." Syren shoved the bottle across to him which would knock into his chest if he didn't catch it first.

Snorting slightly, Ike languidly snatched the bottle from the air. "Ah yes, forgetting."

"I could do with that." He eyed the whiskey, and poured it into his wine glass. "I could do with some of that." He downed the glass, and felt warmth immediately flood him. He heaved a sigh; being stand-offish was suddenly too much work. "I'm Ike. It's strange to think after all these years in the Empire I would need to do the whole introductions thing, but you were part of Haretisch's power base, and I was either part of Insipid's or Bell's... so yeah. We never really met, I don't think."

He held out a hand. Well, he tried to, but he had a wobble and held it slightly askew to her before correcting. "Syren, right?"

She stared at his hand for a second before hesitantly grasping it and giving it a single shake, then dropping it. Something like a static charge lit up her skin at the touch and she cringed away, aware some effects of the spice might pop into existence even as she came down, like the drug was fighting to its last molecule to keep her wanting.

"Yes," Syren relented, releasing her knees at last and letting her legs stretch out, groaning as she did the same with her arms above her head. "And I lied, I knew your name. Ike." Bringing her arms back down to her sides and her feet down to the floor, she stilled, realizing her tremors were nearly completely covered. Nearly. With softly vibrating hands, the assassin reached for the bottle and drank again.

"And maybe one or two other things." Her jaw suddenly began to hurt but she couldn't stop talking. Great. Shifting slightly in her seat so that she could face him, she stared at him inquisitively while cradling the whiskey like a newborn. "Your misery. What is it?"

"I reconciled with my husband just before he sacrificed himself to push me here," Ike shrugged again, and wished he had another way to emote than just pretending he was okay. "Deep stuff, for a Sith." Absently he took back the bottle and poured it into his wine glass, because why not. It was neat, and it was strong.

Good.

"I need to forget Insipid, and I guess you need to forget... Ryan, was it?" Ike grinned, misspeaking through his alcohol-infused tongue. "Insipid was always way too interested in that one... I suspect he had a crush. Maybe he wanted a threesome; you never knew with Insipid." Ike took a swig, ignoring the single tear streaking down his cheek. If Syren mentioned it, he'd probably hit her.

Frak him.

It was strange that Syren didn't even register that Ike had mentioned Aryan - misnamed, but still mentioned. It did not cause her emotions to ruffle or get her all riled up in her intoxicated state, which was becoming much more pleasant the more drink she consumed. She drank more while listening to the pretty boy beside her, returning the bottle to her hands quickly like they were playing Hot Potato.

"Well, the Emperor can have him," she rasped. She saw the tear but said nothing about it. After all, Ike hadn't commented on her appearance yet and she knew she looked pretty terrible. But she knew she wouldn't give a frak if he did.

Suddenly wanting to be on her feet, Syren pushed up from her seat and promptly threw a hand onto the control board on the other side of her to keep from falling over entirely. Her equilibrium was very off but with a struggle, she managed to straighten and stand on her own. She paced very slowly directly in front of Ike, wobbling a bit here and there.

"Why did I even bother? Aryan wants an Insipid, not a... a... well a me." Was she making sense? "Am I making sense?" She was talking too much. "Nevermind, I'm talking too much."

Ike cocked his head; he, too, was becoming more unwound, but that was whiskey for you. Never mix your drinks, Momma Bear had always said.

“I thought Aryan liked power, and he gravitated to it,” he said, supremely proud that he managed not to fluff a fiddly word like ‘gravitate’. “A woman with power? That ticks all his boxes, especially as he’s not a Force user.”

Part of Ike realised he was suggesting that Aryan had used Syren, but he was too addled to do anything with the idea before he lost track of it. “It’s pretty hard to drink in silence. Probably why I do it. The silence eats me from the inside out.” Now that didn’t make any sense.

Did it?

"No, he wants someone he would die for, and for that person to return the favor." Syren stopped in front of Ike and teetered on one foot for a second before balancing out. "I don't sacrifice for anyone. I worry about myself and that's it." Another swig. She was feeling manic again.

His last words slowed her some then, with how deeply they resonated with her, her instinctual drive to be removed from people for as long as she could remember. She gave him a single nod in understanding, dropping back into her seat and chewing her lip. "Sometimes, I fear silence," she whispered, staring blankly in front of her. "But there's always this... masochistic need for it." More whiskey.

Ike understood her; more than anything he felt her. It curdled within him, resonating, filling him up like a warm mead.

Ew.

Resuming his fake disaffection, he sipped his wine and held out the glass for more. “Masochistic indeed. Aren’t we all masochists, being Sith? The sadist and and masochist society.”

Ike had closed down. He was done with this. The two of them weren’t here for pity, and Syren would inevitably be cold to him for exposing herself like this. Ike definitely would, when he sobered up.

“But I suppose loving someone at all is a bit of S&M. The pain of living... and I still love him, though, for the exquisite pain it gives me to miss and want him.”

The man blinked. He hadn’t meant to say that. It had bubbled up within some hidden part of Ike, unlocked by the alcohol.

Ew.

Syren turned to glare at Ike. This was getting too emotional, and the whole point of her binge run this evening was to be without emotion. She hadn't come to this little nook of darkness to sit and pine away for someone she had just coldheartedly released from the obligations of their relationship. Cut off when he needed her most. Discarded like their love had never mattered. Forgotten when-

"You know what?" she abruptly barked, anger surging like a solar flare. "I wanted to be alone, not sit here with someone who doesn't give five kriffs about my issues and dissect mistakes neither one of us wants to actually talk about." Syren winced inwardly, regretting her tone to a degree but not being sober enough to really want to correct it. Instead her expression turned to stone and she looked at Ike like he was the stranger he had been up until he had joined her here.

"I'm... sorry for your loss..."

Then she stood with her whiskey safe in hand, wandering off to find another shadowed space to inhabit until she passed out.

Ike stood. He was going to snap at her, reach for her with the Force, but he hung off that precipice for as long as it took for her to apologise.

She apologised. Nobody had ever done that. Ike hadn’t been important enough to warrant anyone’s attention. Whenever Bell was busy with Haretisch, Ike ceased to exist in the larger scheme of things. He may as well vanish.

Overwhelmed for a moment, Ike nodded, and turned to go. “Yeah - you too, Syren.” He had to turn away quickly, to hide the tears in his eyes.

Damn alcohol.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth @Darth_wanderguard @Lady Belligerent

 

A combo with @Snokers , thank you!

IC: Captain Lennox Jerod, Anark
Location: Dark Dreamer, Nar Shaddaa

Jerod had managed to get the shuttle back in one piece and had managed thankfully not to scratch anything which was a bonus in his book. He would have rather had the pilot bring them back however it was a good chance to test out his rather rusty piloting skills. He would definitely have to get Carrusco to give him some tips. He sent a comm back to Dark Dreamer that they were on their way back, Azzurri sounding rather relieved.

As they returned the shuttle sook a little and then rattled more as Jerod set her down, Jerod checked the systems to see if there was a problem but nothing came up. It seemed Plo was wound up more than a child’s toy and Lennox could understand why. He was concerned for Xander as well even though he still disowned his son he didn't wish him dead.

After raiding the uniform bin again to find a new one a quick sanisteam and to finally dump the archeologist outfit he was back on the bridge again his blaster snugly holstered back on his hip. He had his stoic face back on which meant he was in business mode, Carrusco and Azzurri remained silent when they saw him. He thanked Alta for taking over and resumed his seat in the Captain’s chair. He felt better being back here but he knew it wouldn't be long before he had to head out again.

Can’t get too comfy…

Plo then came through on his comlink with instructions to comm Lord Anark and to get him back aboard. He answered with a simple “Yes sir” and then turned to Azzurri “Patch me through to Lord Anark’s comlink please” he hadn't worked with Anark before so he had no idea what to expect. Azzurri nodded once the connection had been made.

“This is Captain Jerod, please respond”

Anark took the dish cloth from the Twi’Lek and wiped the blood from his mouth. He was beginning to think he’d lost a tooth at the back, probably swallowed it.

The bar was still jam packed with spacers and wasters, the odd suited and booted type loitering around.

Thieves... gypsies everywhere, a phantom voice observed.

He returned the cloth to the bar maid and fished out his comm from his inner pocket. He’d expected Plo and was surprised to hear the voice of Lennox Jerod, a man he knew by face but not by name.

The Sith spotted a ruckus out of the corner of his eye - a fresh brawl was erupting and he was out of time.

“Affirmative, en route,” Anark whispered into the comm.

The Sith fixed his twisted robes before ascending the ramp of the shuttle sent down to pick him up. He had failed his mission on the Smuggler’s Moon and that annoyed him to no end. He swore under his breath as he made himself comfortable behind the pilot, keeping silent.

"Affirmative, awaiting your arrival" replied Lennox, he turned to Azzurri "Keep an eye on the radar and make sure that shuttle does not deviate"

"Yes sir" the young man replied and moved over to the radar station to watch the shuttle coming in.

Jerod spoke over Amark's comm again "Plo wants you back aboard, we have a situation brewing planetside and he wants you back before we head down again. No doubt he will want to hear about your trip as well"

Anark waited for a chuckle to pass before thumbing his comm again, “He isn't going to be too pleased with my report, I fear.”

As the shuttle left the ground he watched the cantina get smaller and smaller and wondered for a moment of Syren’s whereabouts.

The journey was short. Anark looked upon Dark Dreamer through the viewport.

Dark Dreams, just like ours

He wondered if Jerod would offer him a drink before they got to business.

Azzurri was watching intently it seemed as the shuttle came in on the radar, Jerod hoped that Anark would not decide to pull any stunts on his watch.

Jerod spoke to Anark again on the comm "Welcome back aboard, if you don't mind perhaps you would join me in the common area for a quick chat before you see Plo, I would like to hear what you got up to down there, even if it seems Plo will not be too pleased to hear what you have to say".

Jerod then stood up from his chair and stretched, he had only just sat down to rest his tired legs but it seemed business called "I'll be back in a few minutes, Alta, you have the chair" Lennox then trotted off to see if Anark would join him.

Certainly,” Anark replied.

As he waited for the ramp to extend he craned his neck to the left so far that it might’ve looked as though his spine was about to break. He let out a loud groan of relief when he heard a pop and felt the knot dissipate.

When the door opened he hurried down the ramp, tucking his comm away in a mass of jet black fabric, his yellow eyes familiarising themselves once more with the ship.

Upon reaching the meeting place he stopped, leaving a rather wide gap between he and Jerod. The Sith bowed his head, unsmiling.

Jerod greeted the black garbed Sith Lord with a smart bow raising from his seat “Greetings Milord Anark” he said keeping his serious face on “I am sure you are no doubt pleased to be back on board, a shame that your trip did not go as planned”

“I suppose since you are off duty you would like a drink. Help yourself, i’m on duty so I sadly will not be joining you” he didn't mention what had happened down on the planet “I’m not a big fan of drinking anyway” a small smirk there.

“Sadly I have not heard of your exploits in the future as it is now but I am sure that you have the talent to help us in this situation we find ourselves in.” he resumed his seat “Speaking of situations we have one brewing downstairs as we speak which hopefully Plo will brief you on. But please indulge me with what you were getting up to down there”

The Sith sat himself down and poured himself a drink. The Amber liquid glinted in the artificial light as it left the decanter.

“We-“ he cleared his throat and corrected himself. I managed to get myself in a room with some... industrious individuals in a cantina on Nar Shaddaa.”

We did! All of us!

“There was an altercation,” he took another swig of his drink and searched Jerod’s face -perhaps he could glean something from the man’s eyes as to what Plo had in the pipeline for him, “I was forced to eliminate them or I’m certain they would’ve brought in more bodies than I could fight off alone.”

He leaned forward and rested his glass on the desk, his voice lowered to a hiss, “We weren’t given enough time on the moon.”

Jerod kept his poker face on, the one thing about being a master tactician was that you never revealed anything until the time was right. And he knew Plo would brief Anark properly once had had the information from Aryan. Lennox kept his bright green eyes focused on Anatk as he talked.

And was Anark using the royal "we" or had he slipped into some sort of psychotic state where he was talking as if there were two people inside his head? Who knew but with Sith it was always difficult to get a read on their thoughts, unless you were Force sensitive of course.

It sounded like Anark had been a fight as well, Jerod could relate to that as he had been bashed a bruised himself in his altercation. "It seems you were pulled out in the nick of time then" he said with a slight smile, " I don't know how you managed to get in that situation but I am glad we managed to get you out, otherwise who knows how many bodies would be piled up. And you may have ended up gravely injured, and Plo would have been most displeased"

"I myself was involved in an altercation and I found it most…..satisfying to let off some steam as such" he didn't know why he was telling Anark this but everyone was bound to find out soon enough and it was something he could relate to.

"And all I can tell you about the situation is that it involves my son Xander and Plo's daughter Hel"

The Sith grinned and downed the end of his drink, “Has your son been bumping uglies?” He choked on the strength of the beverage.

“I’m not a violent man, Mr Lennox, but I am a man who believes in cleansing all those negative thoughts in whatever fashion one deems necessary.”

Anark began to rise from his chair, giving his lightsaber a pat as he adjusted his robes.

“Will you be joining Plo and I? There’s business yet to do.”

The stoic mask slammed down again, he wasn't going to rise to Anark’s challenge, especially if the man was mentally unstable.

“Whatever my son has done, I will deal with it when he returns.” he rose as well “As to whether I will be joining the meeting that will be up to the boss. If I am not needed I will obviously return to the bridge to continue my duties until I am needed again.”

He gave Anark a nod and began to move away back towards the bridge “I am sure Plo will have a use for you for when we return down below, what that use is I do not know. But my hope is that you will be able to help my son and Lady Hel, wherever they may be”

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard , @Lady Belligerent

 

IC: Manticore
Kuat Hotel corridor battle

Inwardly, he smirked with satisfaction, even as he was suddenly lifted from the ground and smashed into the ceiling with a thunderous crash. Manticore had been lightning quick at employing shields of his own to diffuse the impact, though such was the magnitude of the attack, that it sent a crack running through the ceiling, as he tasted his own blood inside his mouth from the internal injuries he’d just sustained. Better that, than to become a dripping bloody smear.

Yes…

His gambit had worked however. He’d forced Skywalker to react, thus affecting the flow of battle, but to a partial success. Indeed, he himself was forced to relinquish his focus on the fiery missile to preserve himself. The fireball had not detonated with the force of a thermal detonator of his own making, as was his intent, but instead, it fell to the ground, carried by momentum, and melted into fiery slag near Skywalker, setting the rug underneath the combatant’s feet ablaze.

The zabrak landed in a feral crouch and cough blood once. He willed himself to control his somatic rhythms and continue fighting at peak performance levels -ever channeling injury into power. He was even silently impressed at the Sith Emperor, utilizing his own lightsaber to cauterize his own wound; a technique he was very familiar with from personal experience.The scent of burnt flesh only added to the galvanizing surge of combat.

Still, he remained focused on the battle. They needed to change their tactics if they had any hopes of winning- unlikely, but not impossible. Manticore was just beginning to perceive a pattern. But would it be enough?

Skywalker was a thrilling adversary, one that fueled his personal desire to become an even greater sith warrior. What a worthy opponent; this enemy was mighty indeed, as he kept them all in check despite their best efforts, and was poised to raise the stakes. Like it or not, it became clear.They could not beat him here, not in this corridor- the combat stage granted the jedi ample advantage by design.

Leda was clear of the Jedi’s initial attack and undoubtedly Bernael could fend-off a telegraphed slash. Darth Insipid was back on his feet. Another pass would surely decide the outcome of this encounter.

Eyes narrowing, Manticore was about to use his own powers of speed to rush the Jedi and pin him to a wall, when he felt the windows blow-out and heard a command from the Dark Lord.

“Retreat, Acolytes.”

He couldn’t help but to growl bitterly, especially since he could not argue on many levels. He wanted to protest, but had no grounds on which to do so. The First Sith Order had to survive - even at the cost of their Pride.

Without a second’s hesitation, Manticore took advantage of the rushing air and once again used his powers of pyrokinesis to ignite the area and create a swirling wall of fire to deter the Jedi Master, in order to cover their escape. In the Force he let his fellow sith know that his flames would not harm them, that they should move with all due haste.

Their enemy was exceedingly skilled in the Force and would not be deterred for long.

According to the plans they had studied earlier, there was a landing not too far below. In theory, they could all make the jump, but would also need to be ready for any nasty surprises. No encounter was over until one was either dead or in full control of the field.

Should they actually manage their escape and survive, there would be time enough to lick their wounds and strategize a different plan for their survival in this timeline.


Tag: @Sinrebirth, @darthbernael, @QueenSabe7

OOC: Super Saiyan Luke is no joke!

 

GM UPDATE


IC: Hel, Xander, Plo, Bellorum, Cal, and Aryan
(GM combo post with special guest HanSolo29)


They stood on a dais surrounded by a raucous crowd. Xander was overwhelmed by the bright lights, and the noise was deafening.

Hel kept him clutched close to her, and thankfully no one else had tried to separate them.

A large man stepped beside them and began speaking, Hel was so focused on the crowd pressing in that she almost missed what he was saying.

’Next up on our block tonight is a real gem! He’s intact and unaltered! This versatile male child could be groomed into prostitution, or trained as a personal servant! Think of the possibilities! Use him for a stud once he’s too old for whoring.

Hel’s eyes grew wide as the words blasted over the public address station. This has gone too far, she had to take Xander and escape - now!

’But wait!! There’s more, good slavers!! The child comes with a bonus, when you buy the boy we will throw in his older female sibling. She’s a little older than most want, but she’s not painful to look at!

Bidding starts at...

The words faded out of her mind as she was feeling just how dire things were.

Hel allowed her panic to spill into her Force presence. She was no longer concealing it, this was bad.

Beings in the crowd were shouting, hands were waving, and flimsi programs were being thrown.

’Father! Please help me!’

Suddenly Xander began heaving and doubled over, Hel realized he was feeling her panic and instantly regretted she’d shown fear. She knelt down to comfort the child as he threw up on the floor of the dais.

To Hel it had felt like hours, but in less than a minute the auctioneers gavel slammed down and they were sold.

Sold!

“NO!” Hel screamed. The dais began shaking, no, the entire area was trembling as if there was a ground quake. Hel wasn’t doing it, it was Xander. She gripped his shoulder and shook him gently, “stop, Xander, you must stop.”

The slavers were screaming and rushing for exits, the entire place had erupted into chaos. Hel picked Xander up and jumped down from the dais, but it was impossible to get through the crowds. But, her attention was too divided by calming Xander and escape that she didn’t notice the sense of danger. She had made a terrible mistake, and that was her last thought after the cloth was mashed over her mouth and nose, and she was overtaken by darkness as she fell to the floor.

~~

Hel fought to clear the fog of the drug she’d inhaled, she focused on keeping her breathing calm and slow. She lay perfectly still and listened.

When she felt it was safe, she dared a quick peek. She was restrained on a gurney, and saw that Xander as on a gurney next to her, and that they were in a hangar. There was someone approaching by the sounds of voices she’d heard, so her eyes clamped shut.

“These two get dropped on Nal Hutta, Dinko bought the boy and they threw in the other one,” the pilot said as he pushed the gurneys into a freighter. “Let’s drop them and play some cards before our next stop? Feeling lucky Frank?”

~~~

In the wake of his fateful meeting with Syren, Aryan’s life had become a complex web of intense emotions that saw him fluctuating between his own personal exasperation and complete apathy. While these were fairly common traits for him since his injury, Syren’s decision to separate had only increased their effects until it developed into a debilitating condition in its own right. It had felt as if someone had ripped apart his very soul, and he was powerless to stop the resulting outburst of disruptive behavior. He vaguely remembered throwing the spiceloaf into the bulkhead before turning inward and grieving with his head pressed against the wall. That was how the caretaker had discovered him when she ultimately returned to the small bunk.

Naturally, she had tried to calm him down, but it was a fruitless gesture. Aryan couldn’t help but blame himself for this unfortunate outcome, citing both his physical and cognitive limitations as the primary reason for Syren’s departure. No matter how hard he worked to regain his faculties, it seemed like it would never be enough. It was a vicious cycle that kept him at an unfair disadvantage, one that saw him slipping deeper and deeper into the throes of depression.

Even when the shuttle arrived back at the Dark Dreamer, Aryan did not respond positively to the new environment. He continued to brood and simply went through the motions whenever the caregiver requested something of him. It was like navigating a chaotic landscape with no true purpose; he was lost and meandering…worthless.

And yet, nestled somewhere below the surface of this woeful display of affliction, there was a hint of anger...of clarity. It was only a tiny spark, but it had the potential to grow and evolve, particularly when he considered the source – himself. He was upset over his inability to resist when things had initially started to spiral out of control. It was the realization that he had brought on this suffering through his own foolish decisions, having never learned his lesson from his failed relationships with his wife, Sia, and others. What happened with Syren was a consequence of a long history of destructive tendencies. Did he really believe that it would end any differently?

Perhaps for a moment, and yet--

Aryan quickly lost his train of thought and fell back in on himself, surrendering to the inevitable return of the mental haze that plagued his mind. He refused to speak or engage with Valieri after that brief flash of awareness, seeming to regress in his recovery. This behavior lingered on as the caregiver led him to his private quarters, helped him shower, and provided him with a set of clean clothes in preparation for his meeting with Haretisch. The Dark Lord had apparently left a message on his comlink, but Aryan hadn’t noticed. He wasn’t in any particular mood to render reports and stumble through his findings. Maybe he didn’t even care anymore...

Nevertheless, he now found himself sitting awkwardly at the long table in the ship’s lone conference room, staring blankly at the opposite wall as he fidgeted nervously with the grip of his cane. Aryan clearly wasn’t comfortable being in this situation, and he could only hope Haretisch and Bellorum would hurry up so that he could retreat back to his quarters.

Plo hadn’t figured on a comm response from Aryan, and so had simply sent the message and filled some time, allowing what he thought would be just enough for Aryan to prepare and arrive. He was conscious that he would be slower than otherwise expected. When he did get to the meeting room himself, he found Aryan there, but looking more than rough, and not in any kind of good way. Eyes unfocused, somewhere else, belying that the man was even still in there at all. It was a tempting assumption to make, anyway, that he wasn’t. And Aryan was doing nothing to dissuade it, at least not at the current moment.

That was granting, however, that a force user would have needed eyes to see the shape Aryan was in - they wouldn’t. The despondency was pouring off of him in waves. Plo took a seat, quietly, unsure of the decorum where greeting the damaged and the vacant was concerned. Instead, he nodded in Aryan’s direction, more than to him as a person and waited.

The silence stretched on, even after Haretisch entered the room and made his presence known by sitting uncomfortably close to Aryan. He could feel the man’s eyes boring into him as if impatient, presumably making unfair judgments based on false assumptions...just like all the rest of them. No matter where he went or who he dealt with, it seemed like he could never escape the shadow of scrutiny.

In response, Aryan visibly flinched and slumped forward, pressing his chest against the table’s edge to make himself a smaller target. He could feel his anxiety increasing under the mental stress, and he had to quickly remind himself that the sooner he accomplished this task, the sooner he could leave. It was the only incentive he had at this point.

Still refusing to meet the former Imperator’s gaze, Aryan reached across with his good hand and began to poke around inside his right jacket pocket. A curse issued from his lips – the first word he had uttered since Haretisch arrived – when he discovered that it was empty. He swiftly switched over and searched the left pocket, but once again, he found nothing.

Panic began to set in as he realized that the datapad containing his report was missing.

Cal had been laying low since they had returned to the ship, mainly because he blamed himself over Hel’s abduction, also he was sure Haretisch blames him and was going to kill him.

He’d put away the supplies Hel had purchased, and left behind, and then went to give Valieri the droid Hel had programmed for Aryan to use for his speech therapy.

Valieri seemed pleased about the droid, but Cal felt like something was off. Rather than ask if she was okay, instead he asked where Aryan was. Valieri replied telling him he was assisting in the search for Hel and Xander, and was currently giving a report on his findings. Cal smiled and said he’d go see Aryan for himself and quickly left.

In the corridor, he ran smack into Bellorum, literally. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Cal gushed out as he gripped her arm. He’d be so intent on what he’d say to Haretisch, if given the chance, that he’d rounded a corner and crashed into the Dark Lady. Bellorum removed his hand from her arm, yet kept his hand gripped in hers as she spoke, “no harm done, doctor. Is there an emergency?” Her voice was so cold he had to resist the urge to shudder, “no,” he replied. The way she gripped his hand was unnerving, “I was hoping to hear the report Aryan has on who could have taken Hel.” He wondered how she appeared cold as ice, yet her grip was scorching hot.

“Did you want to ask me a question, doctor?” She realized he may have figured out the physician, and she was enjoying how she felt his internal struggles. “Not at all, uh... I’m not clear how I should address you,” Cal really just wanted her to let go of him. “You may address me as Bellorum, doctor” she replied as she laced her fingers through his before continuing down the corridor, “I was just going to meet Aryan myself, so you may join me.” She strode towards the conference room holding Cal’s hand.

“Doctor is a bit formal, please call me Cal.” Bellorum nodded and led him into the meeting.

“Did Cal and I miss anything?” She said cheerfully as they walked in. Bellorum crossed to the chair and finally released Cal’s hand as she dropped into the chair next to Haretisch and motioned for Cal to sit.

Aryan’s head snapped toward the door at the sudden intrusion, his blue-gray eyes widening as the newcomers entered the room and took their places at the table. He saw Lady Bellorum first, though he did not make any effort to answer her inquiry. Instead, he shifted his gaze at the doctor, his lips parting slightly as if to make a silent plea. It was bad form to broadcast his mistakes; it likely went against every regulation he had followed throughout his career, but in this case, he was desperate. Out of everyone at the table, he expected the doctor to help him with his dilemma.

It never occurred to him that the caregiver was probably in a better position to provide the assistance he needed. In fact, Aryan had been too preoccupied to even notice that the woman had left his side and slipped from the room shortly after guiding him to his chair. That’s why he jumped when she ultimately came up behind him from the opposite direction and rested a hand on his back.

“I believe you forgot this,” Valieri conveyed softly, flashing a gentle smile as she reached around and placed the lost datapad on the table in front of him. “You won’t get very far without it.” She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before moving away to reclaim her seat beside him. “Remember, you’ll be fine.”

Aryan canted his head and watched her for a long moment, seemingly perplexed. How did she--? Nevermind. Maybe it wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was that the datapad had been recovered. While he didn’t verbally express his appreciation, he still managed a slow nod of acknowledgment. He then turned away to work at the small device.

Using his left hand only, Aryan tapped the keypad to activate the screen and began scrolling through the various items until he found what he was looking for. Without meeting Haretisch’s gaze, he slid the datapad across the table for the other man to review.

The screen displayed a preliminary report on Aryan’s investigation, complete with typos and other glaring mistakes that served as a reminder of his impaired dexterity:

The Shaddow SYndicate is led by three criminal factions – the SHutt Caretel under Godoba the HUtt, the Cho’mash )leader) of the Nar Shaddaa Labor Alliace, and the DX Annihilator Netowkr (a droid orgnaiziation). But only the Hutts and the Labor Alliance tend t only deal primarily inthe slave tarad.e All three are based, or have a very large presence, on Nar Shaddaa itself. They have prie comtrol of the area,and itsls lunliekly they will allow other ornagiastionx onto their sturff.

But htat’s where the eExchange comes in. They are rather large, stretching out acoss the rest of the Outer Rim, byt they also have local contacts on Nar Shaddaa. They have rescently inquired about joining the Shadow SYndicate, but it appears the nexotiations have either fallen through, or they are still ongoing and not going to plan. Obviously, this is casuing a small uproar to lcaim their stake. It’s poossible they are rounding up childern, women, and other beings to turn the tables and show the SYndicate that thye acn stand on their own, or that they have the potential to become pwoerful in the long run. It’s become a turgf war...and they are well on their way to becoming a major rival for the HUtt CAtell.

There ae also various records that pointto the Ecxhange acquiring a small fortun recently from an unknown source. They have invested in this payday by purashcising cutting-edge tehcnology and new weapons. All indciators show that they are praparing forwar, which could be a reason fofr them topick up more ‘stock’ on the street – such as slave labor for their production facilities and soliders.​

Haretisch stared down at the datapad on the table - a jumble of typos and misspellings, but coherent in content anyway. He had underestimated Aryan’s remaining usefulness, he was realizing.

“This is...” he started, and then paused, “this is a start. And our first real lead. This ‘Exchange’ would seem our likely culprit.” He stopped again, but it was a more comfortable pause than before. He was able to think again, finally, thanks to Aryan. “But where do we begin looking? Where do we go?” he clenched his fist. This was something, at least, but still not a definite direction.

Pursing his lips, Aryan angled his chin down to study the natural wood patterns hewn into the tabletop. His body language seemed to admit defeat, particularly how he was still avoiding eye contact. While it was a relief to hear that the report had provided some benefit to the search, unfortunately, he did not have the answers to Haretisch’s questions. At least, it wasn’t anything definitive. The best he could do was supply more random points he had uncovered along the way.

But would it be enough to help and get him off the hook?

“They...uh, the--” Aryan mumbled under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. It was obvious through his efforts that he did not feel comfortable speaking at this time. If the others would look close enough, they would be able to see his jaw muscles bunching slightly in a nervous tic. “Sect, err--Sector...Chiefs...control...uh, sha...shh--fake. Many, umm...fake...fronts.”

Plo slammed his fist abruptly on the table, his frustration boiling over at being unable to decipher Aryan’s meaning. “Enough,” he muttered, purposely restraining himself from snapping the way he normally might. He was only half irritated at Aryan, and the other half was simply discomfort at watching him struggle. The man had done his part - for now - and Plo had no desire to watch this go on. He was, however, not so good at being gentle even when his intentions were good.

“Thank you, Aryan,” he said with remorse, “truly. You’ve helped. Cal, please see to the Prime Minister’s needs.” He stood up, gears still turning in his mind as he made for the door. He had to take some kind of shot, and at this point wherever they began looking would be a matter of playing the odds. Close or far - he had to decide which was logical for a slaver. Not logical... he simply had to trust. Close. “I have an idea,” he called over his shoulder. “Everyone else rest, shower, and pack.”

Minutes later, everyone’s comms would sound with a text transmission.

Captain, take us to the Bilbousa spaceport on Nal Hutta and set the Dreamer down. It will fit. Syren, Anark, Bellorum, Ike, meet me in the east hangar in the morning. Rest now. The trip will not take long.

Notably, he’d given no instructions to Cal or Aryan.

TAG: @Snokers, @QueenSabe7, @Lady Belligerent, @Sinrebirth, @Jerjerrod-Lennox

 

IC: Captain Lennox Jerod, Enzo Azzurri, Matic Carrusco
Location: Dark Dreamer, Nar Shaddaa

After his rather...interesting chat with Lord Anark Jeord returned to the bridge. Nothing new had happened in his absence it had seemed.

“Well at least you came back in one piece sir” said Carrusco slightly turning around to face him from the pilot’s seat. “I was worried for a few minutes that you had been injured, or worse, skewered. Lord Anark does give me the creeps sometimes when I pass him in the corridor”

Jerod returned to his seat thanking Alta again in the process. He waved arrusco’s comment off “He’s not that bad, well from what I had seen from the little time we have chatted. Hopefully he can prove himself useful when the time comes”

Speaking of which…”Anything come through over the comm?” he asked Azzurri.

The young man shook his head “Negative sir, it’s all gone quiet at the moment. I suppose the authorities are dealing with whatever had happened down there, especially with a couple of bar fights that had gone on”

The ones me and Anark had started Lennox thought. Plo hadn't mentioned or asked anything about what had happened down there as it was probably visible a little on Jerod’s face and hands but to b honest Plo had his hands full in trying to get his daughter back and to help rescue Jerod’s son too. Jerod himself was itching for some good news to come through regarding them both but since they had returned to Dark Deamer it had all gone quiet.

He wasn't sure whether their captive would talk, where he was from, who he was working for, why they would kidnap a young woman and a child. He had heard of gangs using human trafficking to make as much money as they coul and they did’nt care who they pinched to get it. Whether it was women slaves or even children if they were worth a lot of money, they did it. Jerod thought it despicable that human beings or even no humans would even think of doing such a thing. But in the underworld it was anything goes, a dog eat dog world. And if you wanted to be at the top, you did whatever you could to survive and thrive.

Whoever was behind this, and he knew that Aryan had a pretty good idea which syndicate it was, they were going to regret it. Because they had a shipful of Sith and a rather angry ex Imperial on board. Lennox may have disowned his son, but he did not wish to see him hurt or even worse, and for Cleo he would make sure that he got him back in one piece.

“You look tired” mentioned Carrusco breaking Lennox out of his thoughts “why don't you get some sleep. I’m sure me, Enzo, Alta and the navigator here can hold the fort”

After his drug infused fight and escape from the authorities Jerod did feel as if he had been run over by a speeder truck. His bright green eyes had regained their colour and he no longer looked like he was high. Thankfully thanks to Valieri he had eaten and drank something which had recharge his batteries so to speak and made him feel less nauseous. However, he knew he would not rest until Xander and Hel were back safe. And all he would be doing was either pacing in his room or staring up at the ceiling.

“Thank you for your concern Matic” he replied with a slight smile “But you and I both know I will not rest until this job is done. Because I don’t think the others will either, not until Plo gets his daughter back on board”

His comm then pinged with a message from Plo: Captain, take us to the Bilbousa spaceport on Nal Hutta and set the Dreamer down. It will fit. Syren, Anark, Bellorum, Ike, meet me in the east hangar in the morning. Rest now. The trip will not take long.

Looks like Aryan may have come up trumps here, we are heading to another cesspit, perhaps the center of whatever organisation is operating around here. And just to make things interesting Carrusco has to try and land this thing. It will fit? We will see, better not get any paint scratched…

Lennox focused his gaze on the navigator “Plot us a course to Nal Hutta, the quickest route you can, send the coordinates to Carrusco when you’re ready”

“Oh lovely” replied Azzurri “Another hell hole.”

“That “hell hole” as you put it Enzo is the home of the Hutt clans” replied Jerod “This is the center of their Empire, whether it is in this time i’m not quite sure. I'm sure Plo would not send us there unless he has good reason to. And if we want Xander and Lady Hel back we need to get there first before these outlaw scumbags send them somewhere else. So it's probably worth a trip next door if you will"

He turned to Carrusco "When we arrive you will need to land this monstrosity at the spaceport" a slight smile "Let's see if those advanced piloting courses at the Academy were worth it"

Carrusco then turned slightly pale which caused Azzurri to smile a little. Apparently the older Lieutenant had slightly bragged about his piloting prowess to his colleagues aboard the Repentance. Now he jad to put those words into actions.

Carrusco smiled nervously "I'll give it a good a good go, luckily it's not a Star Destroyer I'm landing" he faced front again "Course laid in for Nal Hutta sir"

“Sublights only, let's make sure we have no surprises waiting for us."

"Yes sir" Carrusco replied as he pushed lightly on the throttle and moved the stick to his right. The grubby city world began to move away in the viewport replaced by the rather better looking starscape.

"When we reach Nal Hutta we need to bo on our toes, the Sith are heading out it seems so we will need to do our best to assist them. I advise we all get rested and rejuvenated and be as ready as we can be" Lennox had noticed that he had been left off the list to join the hangar party so he didn't know what he would be doing when they got there. Aryan had been left off as well, perhaps the two of them could have a tete a tete. Jerod himself did not want to rest but his body was now screaming at him to do it.

"Carrusco, Azzurri, Alta that means you three as well" he looked to the navigator "And you too. I want my crew ready and raring to go. We don't know what we may come up against and we need to make sure that this outlaw scum know what they are up against"

He rose from his seat, "I'm going to go and grab some rest for a couple of hours, Alta I will relieve you once I return and you can go and get some rest yourself"

And so Jerod spent the next two hours trying to rest, but he found that sleep eluded him for a bit. But when he did drop off all that assailed his dreams were nightmares.

Xander getting hurt.

Xander dying in his arms.

Cleo dying over and over again.

Plo killing him for not bringing Hel and Xander back in one piece.

His crew dying aboard the Repentance.

Cleo haunting him, saying he was not good enough, why did you let our son doe?

He shot up in bed after the last bit, drenched in sweat. He threw off the covers and checked his chrono. He realised he had been asleep for more hours than he had allowed himself to and that Alta was probably itching to get away from the bridge.

After a quick stretching session and another sanisteam he pulled on his uniform and headed back to the bridge the images of his nightmares still going around his head. He had to banish them, make sure they did not happen. He had to hope that Xander and Hel did come back, because he probably couldn't live with himself or even live if they didn't.

Although it wasn't his fault that Xander had decided to take a joy ride in an escape pod.

As he came back on duty he replaced Carrusco in the pilot's seat as Carrusco and Azzurri departed for their break. Besides it would give Jerod a chance to familiarize himself with the controls in case he had to take over. A couple of hours later everyone was back on duty, looking refreshed and ready to go. In front of them the brown green world appeared to be getting bigger and bigger as Carrusco brought them in.

“Slow to half speed” said Jerod focusing his eyes on the planet in front of him, watching for anything that decided to take a chance and attack them “Azzurri, intecom call please and then contact Bilbousa ATC”

“Yes sir” he replied and then looked over at Carrusco who mouthed at him “Not Imperial”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Nal Hutta, the Glorious Jewel. Please be aware that it is an ever bigger hive of scum and villainy than Nar Shaddaa, and if you see anything suspicious, don’t worry it’s meant to be there. Weather forecast for today is rain, rain and more rain and please don’t wear anything you consider precious, because you will just get mud in it. Crime is rife here so please so no fancy jewelry or possessions. Thank you and enjoy your stay on the Glorious Jewel”

Carrusco mouthed back “that’s better” with Jerod giving Azzurri a nod and a slight smile.

As Carrusco continued to bring them in Azzurri then began having an argument with Bilbousa ATC who were arguing back that their ship was too big to land there. Azzurri then threatened him first with a buzz of the tower, and then threatened the controller with shoving the ship up the controllers backside to see if it fit which gained a snort from Carrusco and even made Jerod smile more.

Eventually ATC allowed them to land and Carrusco brought them down towards their landing spot and Jeod could see the man sweating a little. “No rush Carrusco” he soothed “Just take it slow and gentle. Watch your spacing and make sure you don’t scrape this ship, and also anyone else's in the area. Slow down to quarter speed and she’s all yours”

“Roger that” he toggled a switch “Landing gear down, now on final approach”

erod felt the ship slowing down as Carrusco eased back on the throttle and maneuvered the ship into position. He was inwardly willing Carrusco on, his hands flat on the arms of the chair but inside his mind keeping his fingers crossed. Azzurri meanwhile got up from his chair and stood behind him keeping an eye on anything parked either side.

“500 to landing” Carrusco said “Sublights to minimal power, repulsorlifts are green”

“Looking good here” said Azzurri “You’ve got a little space either side, should be a clean entry if you stay as you are”

Carrusco’s face was pure mask of concentration as he brought her down “250 to landing” he said inching her slowly down with Azzurri going back and forth from the viewport to his radar station to check on things.

“50 to landing” Carrusco said and his hands were not shaking at all although inside he probably was shaking like a leaf. “Drifting to the right a little, correcting…”

Azzurri was about to pipe up saying that he was about to hit a ship on the right but decided against it as Carrusco brought her back straight again. And then the gentle thud of the landing gear touching the ground, well in this case it could be mud.

“Touchdown” Carrusco then reported “Engines shut down, all systems nominal” he then blew out a breath and wiped a hand over his brow. That was the difficult part over with. Azzurri came over and thumped him on the shoulder with a “Well done” thrown in.

“OK, let's get down to business” Jerod said “Carrusco well done in getting her down and in one piece. Be prepared though we may have to exit quickly so you may have to forgo trying not to scrape the ship. Azzurri, get on the comm channels, see if there is anything about regarding a young woman and a boy either coming in or going out. Perhaps one of the scumbags will make a mistake and let something slip”

Now it was up to the rest of the group to do their bit.

And bring their comrades home.

TAG: @Darth_wanderguard , @Lady Belligerent (@HanSolo29, @QueenSabe7 , @Snokers. @Sinrebirth for the intercom call)

 

IC: Leda
Hotel, Kuat

Leda crashed into the wall with a crunch, an impressive indent present in the material if she’d had a moment to turn and examine it. She did not.

The man with the green blade had refocused upon Bernael after she had successfully evaded him, and she seized on his distraction to get the frak out of the way. Not bothering to breathe, she flicked her eyes to Insipid and Manticore, then to the window beyond them that suddenly shattered and blew outward the second she had begun to put her body into motion towards it. It was only natural, considering her narrow luck several times before, that she had not moved quick enough, again.

While the powerful assailant did lash out at the anzati, it was an attack not meant just for him. The weapon began its trek along a far-reaching arch that clearly intended to extend to include her throat after Bernael’s. How kind of the man to not exclude her from the slaughter…

“Retreat, Acolytes,” came Insipid’s command over the ringing in her ears, Leda’s mind coping with certain death at an exhausting rate.

She saw the killing blow set to be delivered in the glow of the emerald lightsaber and did the only thing she could think of to avoid it – abruptly, wildly, lunging at the man and his saber, sweeping out with her own pale yellow blade to swat his aside and clear the smallest hole for her to flee and escape on Manticore’s heels. She dove out of Bernael's way and whatever he might or might not do, gritting her teeth and charged, leaping through the wall of fire that the zabrak had conjured and out into the darkness without a second thought.

TAGS: @Sinrebirth @greyjedi125 @darthbernael

 

IC: Syren
Dark Dreamer - Asleep

“It was inevitable, you know. Shredding your attachment to him, it was only a matter of time before you had to break free of it.”

Syren nodded resignedly to the familiar voice, deep and husky and distinctly male. “I know,” she conceded. “For a while though, I thought it might be something different, that it might be real. I thought-“

“That it would work? That you actually loved him?” The voice laughed softly, an indignant scoff mixed in somewhere. The effect turned the gesture into pity. “You don’t love. You don’t know how to, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. You see, really see that it weighs you down and tries to change you, weakens you. Clichés abound but hey, they are all true.” Syren could sense a shrug. “What was it you used to tell me? It was so simple… hmm, oh yes! To-“

“To love is to destroy,” she cut in, saying her own words before he could. And he was right, the sentence was direct and to the point but full of meaning. Like a personal mantra, she had repeated it countless times in order to avoid the very thing she willingly became involved in with Aryan.

Aryan.

“Do you regret it?”

Syren couldn’t answer that, could she? She was thinking ‘no’ but could not pass the word from her mind to her lips…

“You do, you regret it!” the voice accused, jutting a proverbial finger right into her chest as he shouted and snarled. “You never regretted me, I’ll bet.”

“I only regret not killing you sooner, traitor,” she snapped back, feeling her emotions rising in an uncomfortable way. She was beginning to feel confined, claustrophobic even.

“I’m sure you do, I’m sure you do,” he agreed in amusement. “But then you wouldn’t have had that extra time to become so attached to me, to fall in love with me, making my death so much more impactful and damaging than you had thought it could be. Leading us... here.”

Syren’s anger felt as though it would burst from her body to engulf his words in flames, but instead she was choking on it. Unable to respond.

Suddenly his voice was no longer in her head, but loud and strong in her ears. Like someone whispering seductive phrases for only their lover to hear, or drawing as close as possible to an enemy to make sure a threat was properly understood. “He’ll haunt you like I do. Cling to you even when you try to cleanse yourself of him, and I do know you will try your best like you still have to do for me.”

She became overwhelmed by the certainty of his presence – a physical touch that she knew was not real but impossibly… felt real. A weight pressing down on her to the point of suffocation and just when she thought she could not take any more, that was when it released.

“I do love our little chats,” Leiv taunted.

And he was gone.

~

Dark Dreamer - Awake

Syren didn’t wake immediately as she had before, instead sleeping through her panic and rage, caging the frantic emotions until they were manageable. Submitting to the fact that she would see him, converse with him, even feel him whenever she closed her eyes and gave control over to her thoughts, in an odd sense it was easier to deal with when she didn’t fight, however unpleasant the experience might be.

The effects always lingered after she woke though, as they did now. A bad taste in her mouth she couldn’t get rid of. Sitting upright and assessing the damage of the spice and alcohol from however many hours before, she started to run over her encounter with Aryan in a clinical manner. Dissecting it with a harsh honesty, if only to have a sufficient distraction from her dreams.

His gift to her was in her hands – the whiskey bottle, empty of its contents thanks to the help of Ike, though she was certain she had ingested most of it. She held it gently and stared at it for a long time, expecting something to happen. Her anger peaking and sending her hand flying to smash it against the far wall, or maybe sadness would win out and push her into a fit of tears, dropping the bottle to clatter against the floor at her feet.

Cocking her head to the side after a while, she was surprised that she remained remarkably even. Level. Calm. Perhaps she hadn’t lost as much of herself as she had thought. Maybe she hadn’t lost anything at all because nothing was happening. The assassin just kept staring, no emotion outwardly present upon her features or displayed in her body language. Her thoughts were still churning but altogether did not cause anything close to an outburst or an overreaction. There was the residual notion of guilt along with a distant pang of absence but none of it overcame her as violently as they once would. Because she had given them permission to, thinking she hadn’t the strength to say that word she couldn’t say to Liev - ‘no’.

Syren said ‘no’ now, and with a slow shake of her head she knew she had always been strong enough to use it. Her feelings had lied to her and her love for Aryan and reinforced the charade. In the manic-depressive jumble of her spice highs, she had worked out as much but it was something else to reason it all out sober. It would stick with her from here on out as a lesson relearned, now stamped across her very soul this second time.

The last time, she made a vow of it.

Feeling her comm buzz against her wrist, she set the whiskey bottle down unharmed and read the message that awaited her. From Plo.

Captain, take us to the Bilbousa spaceport on Nal Hutta and set the Dreamer down. It will fit. Syren, Anark, Bellorum, Ike, meet me in the east hangar in the morning. Rest now. The trip will not take long.

Showing her first bit of emotion since she had woken up, Syren smirked. Rest?

“No.”

Whether it was the right combination of drugs or the will of the kriffing Force, she was only left with a fleeting headache and an empty stomach by way of a hangover. And she had rested enough.

Climbing to her feet and giving her limbs a stretch, she was all of a sudden jonesing for physical activity of some sort. Strenuous exercise like she had once routinely practiced, it always managed to center her like little else could. Switching her focus with welcome ease, she set off right then to locate food and then to work off any remaining intoxicants from her system (for now). Having picked up the bottle before leaving her little hiding spot, she discarded it unceremoniously into a trash receptacle along the way.

It’s good to be back.

TAGS: @Darth_wanderguard @Sinrebirth @Lady Belligerent @Snokers @HanSolo29 (mentioned)