Gault on Nar Shaddaa. This contains spoilers for Audra (smuggler) if anyone is reading that in the SFWCT though that will catch up soon this will be cross posted. Meanwhile... She isn't sure where Rennow is going. He weaves through people down busy streets with an overt assuredness that belies his easy guile. He takes short cuts that only double back to where he began and never looks behind him. A person only never looks behind when they know that they are stalked. Audra tries to stick to the shadows and blend in but she fails as she has never had a natural talent for stealth. Her crippled leg doesn't make it any easier. In Nar Shaddaa's busiest sector a stealth field would never work. She follows him anyway and almost looses him at times. She doesn't know that she has piqued Gault's interest. He knows that if she wanted to kill him, she would have in any of the empty lanes he took her through. He's curious to know what a Republic messenger could want. He toys with her for two hours as a test to commitment. She passes. Audra turns down an alley she thinks he walked down. When she turns the corner it is empty on the ground and she curses. 'Sorry, Limpy,' she mumbles to her leg before sprinting as silently and fast as her little feet can take her. Half way through her awkward sprint, a shout of stop makes her slow and warily look around. 'Look up,' Gault calls down to her. 'You idiot' is mumbled under Gault's breath and he didn't need to be shout it for her to hear it. The exasperated and mocking tone of 'look up' was all that was needed. Audra does as the voice commands. She has to turn around to see her target standing on a small ledge three stories high with a sniper rifle pointed at her. 'Robbing little girls, are you?' Audra innocently goads. She wants to reach a hand down to her thigh and massage the muscles but any movement is stupid when you have a sniper rifle aimed on you. 'Trust me, you are twenty decades too old to be a little girl,' Gault frankly replies. She can see the edge of his wide smirk but from down there can't make out the sharp points of them. 'Well, I guess I really must have no choice but to hand over my wallet to the scary demon man,' Audra taunts. She pulls out her wallet and waves it in the air. 'Cute,' Gaul sneers. 'I don't need the money but if you're offering throw it up here.' Audra does as he asks and Gault lets it fall to the ground next to him. He has noticed her two blasters and wouldn't be surprised if there was at least one knife somewhere under those tight clothes. Gault doesn't picked up the wallet. The move would leave him distracted and unprepared enough for her to draw those blasters if she had any basic speed. From what she's done, he'd say she would be proficient. 'So I believe you're meant to tell me at this point why you're following me,' Gault conversationally shouts. He only watches her through the sniper lens. He isn't taking chances. 'Am I now? Who said I'd follow your flat arse?' Audra asks with two casual hands on her hips. Gault shoots next to her foot. He has learnt a few things from Leer. Experience provides the rest. 'Tell me now,' he orders. 'Or you'll kill me?' she asks with snide disbelief. 'Pretty much, yeah,' Gault affirms with a shrug that doesn't shake his aim. 'After a job,' Audra answers with crossed arms. 'A job?' 'A job.' 'And is that how you came to work for the Republic? Just stalk enough senators through Coruscant and one finally gave in?' Gault taunts through heavy sarcasm. The things you put me through, Leer. 'Pretty much.' Audra shrugs and smiles. Her fringe slips from behind her ear and into her eyes. She impatiently flicks it back and continues her smiling glare at the Devaronian. I'll have to get around to cutting that again, Audra thinks. Not helpful in this situation, Audra, pay attention, she reminds herself. 'Then you have no ability for learning if that was the best shadowing you could do after extensive practice.' 'Look, shoot me or hire me. Don't insult me,' Audra warns. Her fingers inch closer to the blasters at her hips. 'Move your fingers another inch and you will lose at least one of them,' Gault warns. Audra holds her hands away from her sides. 'What job?' 'Repair man or Captain.' 'Why?' Gault demands. 'It's what I'm good at,' Audra easily replies. 'Easier talking to Leer than this,' Gault grumbles under his breath. Audra doesn't hear but her eyes regard him with a little more curiosity than they did a moment ago. 'Why do you want a job with this flat arse?' Gault shouts. 'I like flat arses,' Audra replies with a shrug and flirtatious smile. Gault remains apathatic inside. 'I'll have to keep that in mind, babe,' Gault promises as he lowers his gun. He straps it onto to his back and jumps from the ledge to evaluate the Captain without narrowed vision. He walks closer and looks her over. The word curvy enters and quickly leaves his mind. It's an understatement. 'Go to hanger 38 in my sector,' Gault eventually instructs. 'You have twenty four hours to fix the ship there.' 'And if I don't?' Audra raises and a challenging eyebrow. 'You don't get the job and I consider selling you to a bounty hunter.' I hear your chummy with one bounty hunter in particular, is the reply that her instincts almost make her blurt out. She can stop the words but she can't stop the smirk before her practiced smile. Gault catches it and it confirms his suspicions. 'If I do it in 15 we go to dinner.' 'I was going to ask you dinner anyway but sure.' Gault moves closer and puts her wallet into her pocket for her. 'Your shout.'

Comments (only from posts on the last page or two and I'm sorry if I missed anyone but rest assured, I probably liked it. ) I'm glad people are liking Audra and Corso, thanks for the comments. I'm glad Audra's Corso is slightly different in a good way ---- NotLP: Confessions, Affection, Gifts and Failure. Class: Smuggler (Audra) Set at the end of Act 3 and here is one reference to its end but it's minor.

I agree so entirely Thanks for all the replies on my last post. On the comments front... I enjoyed everything as usual, but Bright: for Wynston and Vector. NotLP: Affection, Discoveries and Confessions Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 1300ish No spoilers. Set on Voss though directly after the last post on Audra. And now what I was building up to.... Prompt: Collections! Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 1600ish Spoilers: minor act three spoiler at the end. Set a few weeks after concluding Voss.

Yeah.... so it has been more than a few days but here it is. ------ A few hours later... I take the glass of ale Corridan offers and can feel a clammy chill through my leather glove. The glass feels just as cold against my lips but my eyes don't leave Corridan. He takes the sofa across from me but sits on its cushiony edge. Nothing is said and he seems content to sit and meditate over his glass. My eyes carefully scan the room and find no security cameras. The steel walls are decorated in places with a piece of armour or a weapons display. Can tell they are sharp and ready to be used. Everything is organised and clean. Very homey. Though I can't see into the adjacent room we haven't entered I would guess to its being Corridan's quarters and the other door to a refresher. My back is to the only visible entrance or exit. Finish my glass and stand to get another. Corridan's severe eyes watch my progress and an amused spark lights them when I begin to pour myself some more. Scan this wall of the room and find nothing unnecessary or any security devices. Show of trust or confidence? Take a different seat when I sit back down again. Red chair that has a view in the periphery of the entrance and most of the room. Backs to the bedroom but sacrifices must be made and I doubt there are men hiding in his quarters. I know there aren't any hiding in his quarters. Still. Trust isn't an option for me. The silence carries on when I finally tire of observing ever inch of the room I decide to initiate the reason for my being here. 'You said on the holo message we had a lot to discuss,' I begin carefully. 'We've gotten the pleasantries out of the way, but I would like to know what the business part is so far. I'm not being threatened and I can't hear or see anyone ready to jump out and shoot me on your command so I'm guessing I'm not a traitor yet.' 'Far from it,' Corridan replies. He looks up to regard me and takes a sip from his glass. 'Have you heard the rumours?' 'I hear a lot of rumours, Ordo.' Recline in my seat but it doesn't remove the testy edge of my reply. 'Know which I mean.' Sound of Corridan's glass as it skids across the table is grating and testing. 'I don't think-' I realise in that my voice has risen to almost a shout in my anger and my fists are clenched. I take a deep breath and when I speak, it's low and very impatient. 'I do so why don't we drop the games?' 'So you have heard then,' Corridan confirms. 'I heard while on Onderon. Seems I'm a little behind on Mando news these days since I had to hear it from an Imperial.' Corridan raises an eyebrow leans a little closer. But that's all he's getting. 'How long until it begins?' 'Depends.' Corridan confidently shifts so he faces me completely. 'Mandalore hasn't called it yet. Needs a Huntmaster first. Last went down to the Shadowlands on Kashyyyk and never came back up.' 'So you want me to go fish another one out of Kashyyyk? I'm not cheap.' Corridan's frown tightens and the deep wrinkles on his head become darker and prominent. His mouth opens and closes before he speaks and I know what he says is the second thing to enter his mind. I am sure I'm not the only one in the room to hear a lot of rumours. 'Nayc,' Corridan negatives. His hands entwine and his two pointers press against each other in a fleshly, stern triangle. He points there tip at me. 'Mandalore wants you to be it.' 'His adopted daughter the Huntmaster?' Corridan isn't moved by my scorn. 'Don't think that will look impartial.' And I don't hink I could live with calling another Champion. 'Impartial in the way that matters during a war.' 'Hasn't been a Great Hunt called in less than half a decade in a long time. Haven't most Mando's been called to war?' 'All except you.' Corridan's confirmation is stern and I wonder how much I am testing the Captain's patience with my dismissive sarcasm. 'I'm flattered,' I reply with another derisive prod. 'Should be.' Corridan gives his head a sharp nod. I know the look his eyes have. It's the look any animal tamer gives to their pet when they try and make it jump through a loop; it's forceful and makes you think there is only one option. I never have only one option. 'So, let's speak even plainer then, Corridan,' I begin with a pleasant smile. I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. 'Mandalore - the leader of the Mandalorian's that adopted me a year and a half or so ago and I haven't heard from for a year and two months - wants me to be the new Huntmaster because...' 'Mandalore's been busy,' Corridan immediately defends. He couldn't be any plainer in telling me to stop than if were holding a sign saying so in five different languages. 'Haven't we all?' I clench my fists and when I speak it is low and threatening, the lava that waits to burst from a volcano. 'Last message he sent me told me to take care of Jicoln's son. That son died because of me and I heard nothing from Mandalore.' 'He died with honour and is remembered,' Corridan sombrely recites. 'Mandalore is sorry-' 'Sorry!? What would he know about sorry? What is his apology going to do? My husband died for me. I know what it is to be sorry. Rejorhaa'ir Madalore nar'sheb kaysh suvarir laam kaysh osik palon jorcu kaysh teroc, shabla bal skanah bal kar'taylir nas be ner or'trikar bal nayc baatir. Rejorhaa'ir kaysh bah shabiir tracy'uur bal narser te trigger.' 'Don't think I can pass that along. Like to but value my head.' Narrow my eye at Corridan and he only watches me with grave, tired eyes and white teeth that stare behind quivering, upturned lips. I shake my head and give a short hiss. It's pointless to let it out on Corridan. 'Will you take it up?' Corridan asks when he sees I'm more collected. 'Don't know,' I shortly and testily reply. 'Understand. Torian would want you to,' Corridan gruffly coaxes. My eye turns to regard Corridan and consider my next move. I extend my blades but watch Corridan. He hardly moves at first and I know he is thinking rapidly first. Action needs to comes second. 'Think I'm going to have to kill you Corridan. Know my weakness too well. And too willing to exploit it,' I add after a moment. Corridan's body stiffens and his fingers twitch. They're ready to reach for a weapon and pull a trigger. I laugh and shake my head, retracting my blade. Raise a questioning, belittling eyebrow. Corridan relaxes and shakes his head. 'Was only joking. Told Torian I wouldn't kill you,' I ad with add as an explanation and a smirk. 'Keep Torian on his toes this much?' Corridan asks with a wry smile. He reclines back into his seat for the first time and he knows that I would never break a promise to Torian. Not unless I had no other choice. I laugh darkly and take off my boots, bringing my socked feet up to me. 'Could be worse, Ordo, I could be throwing crates at you.' Corridan silently asks me for an explanation with only his eyes that laugh at an imagined reply. I smile and shake my head. 'Training. I would throw crates of varying sizes at him for practice when fighting a Jedi. Flicked some cereal at his face once too,' I add after a moments consideration. 'Not gonna be cereal a Jedi is throwing at you or milk shooting out of a troopers gun. You need to be ready for that. Real training is starting now, Torian.' I laugh at the memory but it can't last long. Everything happy of then is now tainted with the present. I haven't spoken this much about Torian since it happened. Corridan doesn't laugh. Can see the cogs of a Commander turning behind his flesh and not the man close to being a friend. The only thing that binds us is that we both lost the same person and that neither of us can completely recover from it. 'Worked?' Corridan asks seriously. Nod and give Corridan a small smile. The movement makes me feel a weight in my head and pressure. I move my fingers and toes but stop when I imagine the flimsy skin splitting. Want to check my hands are whole. 'Very well,' I confirm. Keep your mind here, I remind myself. Corridan isn't a man to lose your marbles in front of. 'Hmm,' Corridan mumbles as he begins a musing that doesn't need any input. His fingers drum on his knees and I watch them. They are callused, tanned and hairy. Wrinkles and spots of age threaten to take them over and I wonder if he will see the end of this war. 'Going on a hunt tomorrow,' Corridan almost barks. 'Join and train the men.' I raise an eyebrow and smirk. 'But not them women?' 'Both, naturally,' Corridan impatiently replies. The fingers begin to drum faster as they reach a crescendo. The ideas are flowing through his mind and so is a plan. Corridan was born to lead an army and raise soldiers, I realise suddenly. He should be more than a left hand. 'They all need it,' Corridan comments. Haven't been tracking Corridan and I feel he has seen too many near defeats. I've cut myself off from the galaxy and placed myself in a bubble where I don't even know which side is winning anymore. 'I would have thought real life experience would be better training,' I taunt. 'Men are dying. Better training could stop that.' It can't stop them all dying, I think. But it wasn't a defect in training that was responsible for Torian. Only a defect in character. Corridan is right. Training is for home not the battlefield. 'Command or request?' I clarify with a wry smile. 'Request.' 'Fine. Hope to be gone in three weeks. It's all you're getting.' 'Won't complain,' Corridan answers with a slightly relieved grimace. His fingers stop and his focus returns to me and not the battlefields of the future. 'Where you off to next?' 'Don't know,' I reply with a shrug. Swing my legs over the edge of the arms rest and rest my elbows on the other. I throw my head back and look to the ceiling. 'Waiting for my droid to find the targets location.' 'Bounty size?' 'Money wise? Nothing. Otherwise? A lot.' 'Personal?' Corridan asks. The warning is clear in his voice and it's strange to hear how someone feels so clearly and without deceit. Or maybe I just lack suspicion. 'Don't worry,' I assure as I lean further back to look at an upside down Corridan, 'they're a Jedi. The enemy. Don't think there's any honour to be lost through it.' 'Agreed to be Mandalore's daughter,' Corridan asks in reply. Wonder how long Corridan has wanted to know the answer to that. 'Why?' 'Saw a pretty blonde at my ceremony for the Great Hunt. Thought it might be a way to see him again,' I joke with dry laughter. I push myself up again and don't look behind myself to Corridan. Corridan scoffs and looks away to the shield on the far wall. 'Why?' 'Even I need an ally,' I confess with a devious grin. My reasons lack any depth. I needed someone to think twice before wanting me dead and the Republic wasn't. Might not be what Corridan wants but it's the truth. Torian couldn't change the past. 'Being Mando'ade means being part of a family,' Corridan distantly answers. 'From tonight onwards you are entirely part of it or you are not.' 'Drawing a line in the dust, huh?' 'Turns out Corridan heard about us taking down Jicoln on Taris.' He pauses a little. I wave him on. 'Sent me an invitation.' 'A friendly invitation?' I stare at the carbonite man in the cargo hold. I still find it hard to look Torian in the eye. 'Didn't draw a line in the sand I hope.' I draw a line between us in the thin layer of dust. It clings to the tip of my leather gloved finger. 'Reject us then I expect you gone by morning,' Corridan continues as if I hadn't spoken. 'Staying means accepting us and our way.' 'Interesting. And what happens when I want to leave in three weeks?' 'You leave as a Mando'ade. You remember it. You respect it.' Corridan's eyes were blue once but now they are a dull grey. His eyes are the eyes of a man willing to die for what he believe in. I wonder what it would be like to be willing to die for ideals and family. Maybe it's worth a shot. Torian thought it worth something. For a while I thought it might be too. Maybe... 'I promised to train your men. I'll be here for three weeks. Mando'ade keep their promises, don't they?' Corridan nods solemnly. 'Before breakfast at dawn, go to Tent 3B ground floor. There's someone who wants to see you.' 'Karyan?' 'Elek. Be nice,' Corridan orders as an afterthought. I slide down the red leather chair and move my head over the edge of the armrest again. I looks at him upside down and for a moment my vision glitches and it can't orientate itself. 'Being nice to family part of the package, is it?' I ask with a sly smile. Corridan's wrinkles twitch and shift when he smiles. I roll my head to the side and look to the entrance and wonder how many times Torian walked through that steel door way or sat in this room. I wonder where he slept. I wonder if Corridan is haunted by the memories of those who never come back when he is back at Camp. Maybe sometimes he sees more ghosts than people. 'Vercopa...' The word catches Corridan by slight surprise and his eyes search my face with sombre understanding. 'I know,' Corridan replies as his gaze joins mine at the door way. 'Echoy'la never ends.' 'I never thought he would come back to me after that hunt. If he had chosen to stay with you-' 'He would have died protecting my back or mooning after you,' Corridan sternly replies. His fists clench and I take my legs from the arm rest and hold them to my body. 'It's happened. I wouldn't of wanted it a different way.' 'Can't mean that, Ordo,' is my stubborn reply. Cynicism is an impossible disease to kill. 'Torian was better than me. Torian meant more to you. Torian-' 'Made his choice,' Corridan rumbles in a yell. I will not be intimidated into silence or belief. 'And how can I live with that?' I shout back. My legs move to the ground as I turn to completely face Corridan. My feet touch the ground it is with an inhumanly loud thud and my toes clench and unclench. 'Because he would want you to,' Corridan reasons in a barely controlled volume. The truth is always hard to confront or make a reply to. I have nothing to say in return. 'So you threw cereal at him?' Corridan asks with a smile. 'Elek.' Corridan chuckles and regards me curiously. 'How'd he take it?' 'On his left cheek,' I reply with a grin. Corridan's laughter is loud and like a rumble of thunder in the distance. 'Was more surprised than anything. This other time...' We trade stories all night of the one man we had in common until it was time for Corridan to begin organising the hunting party. Neither of us felt it relieve anything. If anything, his death pressed heavier on us with every story we shared. They only made us realise even more how much we had lost and that we would never get it back. ---- Mando'a translations: Rejorhaa'ir Madalore nar'sheb kaysh suvarir laam kaysh osik palon jorcu kaysh teroc, shabla bal skanah bal kar'taylir nas be ner or'trikar bal nayc baatir. Rejorhaa'ir kaysh bah shabiir tracy'uur bal narser te trigger. = Tell Mandalore to shove his understanding up his **** hole because he is a pitless, screwed up and despised and knows nothing of my grief and doesn't care. Tell him to **** a blaster and pull the trigger. (I couldn't find a translation for trigger) Nayc = No Echoy'la = searching, mourning, lost Elek = Yes Vercopa = I wish

I enjoyed everything this week so much. Reading this thread when sick is better than any medicine. Thank you for those who replied on my last post. I'm glad it was amusing Prompt: NotLP - Sacrifice Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 1000-ish Spoilers: vague Chapter 3 spoilers for Voss. Set after the incident in the Nightmare Lands.

Yep, I agree, too much good stuff to comment on in one thing. I'm sorry But taking it one step at a time, I am going to do replies: So I really wanted to write a gifts piece but... well, this blurted itself onto my page instead. It's a very lighthearted and I hope it's not too bad Also, it's been ages since I finished my smuggler so I have forgotten a little of Risha's exact character. Apologies if she's a little off. Set after he Anniversaries piece but before (maybe two days before) the Nightmare Lands incident. Prompt: NotLP: Best Day Ever and in a way, Good Memories. Words: 1100-ish Class: Smuggler (Audra) No spoilers.

Oh my poor, poor neglected thread! I won't leave again until exams come around again. I promise. Well, here we go, taking off directly after the last one (which might need to be re-read if anyone forgot what happened all those weeks ago ). ------ I look to Corridan and raise an eyebrow. His heavy shoulders give a trivial shrug. 'Now come meet the other's,' Corridan orders as if nothing significant was said. Three Mandalorians stand aside. The shorter Krish doesn't. He turns to the groups rear and stands waiting for us to form a formation I don't know. His brother takes the rear and I follow third after Corridan. The woman and human speak in hushed Mando'ad that isn't washed away from my ears by the persistent rain. 'We agreed to not mention it,' Vankx hisses. 'Nothing to hide. We are kin,' she steadily replies. Something about her words remind me of Torian. Clan members share characteristics. Think an open honesty might be Cadera's. Might of been the cause of what made Jicoln speak as a traitor. 'Don't talk to her. We don't know her.' 'I know Torian loved, trusted and respected her. Don't need any more than that.' 'You mean you don't need to know the news?' Vankx hisses with incredulous scorn. 'She is a strong fighter and fights against our enemies,' Karyan calmly defends and informs. 'Last time I checked the Empire wasn't an enemy.' 'Empire isn't family,' she steadily replies with a grim patience. Corridan drops back to join me. Know he knows that I am listening with interest and an understanding on only a shallow level. 'How'd you find Iziz?' Corridan gruffly asks. 'Frigid.' Corridan chuckles and shifts the blaster rifle strung across his back. It slips down the wet metal again immediately. 'How far until the camp?' I ask in reply. 'Hour walk.' Time doesn't measure distance but I keep my peace on this count. 'And the woman?' I ask instead. It's Corridan's turn to keep his peace. 'That bad, huh?' 'Yes. She will most likely speak to you upon our return to the Camp.' The rain becomes harder and the mud around us turns untrustworthy. The leading Krish pulls out a cable and throws it back to Corridan. Corridan clips one of the many hooks around his belt and secures it, passing the cable on to me as we continue walking. I smirk down at it and test its strength. Fairly strong but not sure if it would be strong enough. Corridan gives me a stern look. One of his turning grey eye brows quivers into a raise and I tap my metal eye and then gesture down my body. 'Humour us,' Corridan sternly demands. I give a nod and clip it on. I throw it back to the human man and match my stride to Corridan's. 'Didn't know Mandalorians liked to be humoured,' I comment with barely contained scorn behind a tight smirk. 'Watch it, Cadera,' Corridan warns without a glance. His eyes scan the tree tops where unseen and probably uncategorised creatures watch and follow our progress. 'Some men in the Camp don't want you there. 'So I've heard,' I grimly reply. Corridan grimly nods. 'Comments like that will-' 'Cause a challenge and anyone who makes it will die,' I finish definitively. 'Taking a risk in letting me come.' Corridan nods and a small upward tilt of his lips occurs. 'I know. Trusting my faith and Torian's wasn't misplaced.' 'Low card for you to play, Ordo, but it's a winner,' I grimly congratulate. 'Don't worry, I'll play nice. Unless-' 'They're far away,' Corridan replies. 'Good.' We don't speak anymore and the others had stopped long ago. Corridan moves ahead of me again. The pace is slow and even. To tire in this jungle means death. After 36 minutes of walking, Corridan drops back to my side. 'See the camp soon,' is all he says before walking ahead again. Within two minutes, we break free of the trees and dense undergrowth. Corridan pauses for an instant just beyond the tree lines end to look back at me. He smiles at the uncontrolled surprise I show. I stare at the perfectly smooth, brown wall before us. There are no seems in the metal and cement. It stands just under the height of the canopy. The buildings beyond are a little taller. Plants sprout from the tops of the buildings like bright green hair in an attempt of further camouflage. A second line of defence most likely. A city could not be kept secret without a cloaking device over it. The others move up and spread out to the side of me and consider the city for an instant. 'Home' is what I hear them all think. 'We're home, Cyare.' A gloved hand claps down on my armoured shoulder. 'Welcome to the Camp,' Vankx hospitably smirks. He laughs lightly and walks on with an eager, military jog. The others follow at a calmer walk. My eyes scan the wall and look for the guards. I count fifteen on this side of the wall that are only visible through dark slits skinny enough for a sniper rifle and nothing more. The gates only extend up a fourth of the wall and they blend in with the wall seamlessly. They open a crack to allow the five through. Corridan stops at the entry and looks back to me. He doesn't speak or shout an order to run in. Corridan only nods and gives me that small sad smile before walking through. Walk across the short clearing and listen to the sound of my boots squelching in the moss covered mud. I listen to everything around me and I listen for an ambush but I don't hesitate to walk through the gate. My boot clips on the metal floor on my first step in the Camp and it makes me look to the ground under me. Walk ways of steel cover the Camps floor. My eyes returns to look ahead. My welcoming party stands in the same formation as when I first saw them only their guns are away. Don't let my eye wander too far from them but I can't see or hear any other people surrounding me. I look at the buildings that are all dark shades: their metal painted to blend in and not catch any shine from a stray beam of sun. The streets are clean and neat. I can tell they form an organised grid. 'Come on already,' Vankx impatiently urges with a tap of his foot. Corridan's finger moves out of place slightly in a motion for Vankx to remain silent. It is grimly followed. My second step into the Camp is accompanied by the closing of the gate and the ceasing of the rain. ----

A belated welcome, Lady-Jean Everyone else, I sincerely enjoyed all the pieces in the past week. Prompt: NotLP - Mea Culpa, As Time Goes By, Canned Responce Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 1000ish No spoilers. Let's say it takes place on Belsavis though and is after Audra has healed again. Prompt: NotLP - Anniversaries Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 1000ish No spoilers. Set on Voss shortly after landing. And now, the actual prompt of the week! (I rushed a little so I could make it on time XD ) Prompt: Animal Kingdom Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: Almost 5000 (longish I know) No spoilers really. Set on Voss in the Nightmare lands. I'll put a mild warning on this of just general adult themes eg. sexual references, violence and disturbing themes. Only mild though

Thanks for all of those comments my last post. I'm glad it was liked As usual, I'm reading everything posted here and enjoying. Maybe one day I will do individual comments... I know I briefly mentioned four parts but... for some reason the vague idea I had of including the Smuggler in my Bounty Hunter story has captivated me at the moment though am still writing the latter when I have the chance. Just a note: the Chiss referred to is Damin (my IA) post meeting Leer (my BH) for the first time and before becoming an agent. Sooo here's three pieces! 1. Prompt: NotLP - Discovery and As Time Goes By Words: 980 Class: Smuggler (Audra) No spoilers To confuse everyone, it is set a week or so before the last post where Audra walked out on Corso. 2. Prompt: Mea Culpa and NotLP - Confessions Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 600ish No spoilers. Directly after the one above. 3. Prompt: Mea Cupla Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 3,500 No spoilers. Back to after Audra went out on Corso in the last post.

As usual, reading and enjoying everything here. Thanks for those who commented on my last post Prompt: NotLP - What's in a Name?, Loneliness and Solitude and Failure. Class: Smuggler (Audra) Words: 1,800 No Spoilers. Set four weeks from my last Smuggler post. Part 2 of 4.

Ahh! It's sooo cute and great! (and I'm there that makes me so happy :') ) Happy belated Birthday SFC! I shall take this opportunity to say I have read, loved and enjoyed everything posted over the last year. I'm sorry I don't say it very much. And ahh... guess I should post something now... this has sat on my computer for a while and vaugely added to every now and again and I think it's pretty much finished (though finished doesn't always mean 'great'. I enjoyed writing it though and I guess that's part of what matters. ) Prompt: NotLP - Confessions, Bad/good memories, Bad Timing. Class: Smuggler (named Audra. Recently appeared for a moment in my thread 'The Life That's Left') Words: 3,500 (I know, that's long.) No spoilers. Set late into Act 2 or at its end (it really doesn't matter).

Look! Updates are becoming regular again! Well, I hope this is alright. On Dxun...(finally) I jump off the cargo ramp and feel the pull of the sallow, viscid mud on my durasteel boots. Hear the loud, final clang of the ramp as it closes behind me and shrug my crossbow into a better position. Look around me at the livid green foliage that circles the ship with trunks that stand like light brown jail bars. Feel the first splash of rain on my forehead. Dxun doesn't impress anymore on the ground then in the air. Check my direction and begin marching straight ahead. Rains harder and the pale mud becomes black water as god know what is brought to the surface and the trunks of the trees turn **** brown with patches of dirty yellow. Reminds me of the food the droid would cook for us. See things move in the dark canopies above hidden by the now dark green leaves. All colours seem unnatural here as they shift from too light to too dark at smallest change of weather. There's something in this planet's air that I can feel clogging my lungs as if it doesn't want me to breathe here. Wade through the tenacious undergrowth of branches and viscous grass at a steady and quiet rate. Not the animals in the trees I need to be alert for. Corridan knows I'm coming. The welcoming colonists are what I'm concerned about. Never thought of doing things certain ways just so the dead will be pleased because it would of been 'what they wanted if they were here'. But I don't want the mud to be stained red with his families blood. Too soon I see five figures ahead. Smell Corridan on the damp breeze. Hear their breathing through taunt chests and thick helmets. The traditional Mando armour of the five metal statues are the only things in the jungle with a median colour: two tall and wide men watch the canopies above in undescriptive blue; another watches the left in grey armour that the mud can't find a stable pigment for; the fourth stands in green that is too average to blend in with the undergrowth. As I move silently and undetectably closer, I confirm that she is the only female of the five. She watches the right but she stands at the back. No one is watching their rear. My permanent interest is in Corridan. His standard red armour is the only warm colour in this jungle yet it seems dull and old amongst the fanatic vitality of the forest around us. Like Torian, Corridan doesn't wear a helmet and his footing is assured. His eyes watch straight ahead for my approach and his hands don't hold a rifle like the others. Corridan doesn't move when I emerge from the undergrowth as if he isn't surprised and knew I was there all along. The others turn to me and continue to hold their blaster rifles only now they are pointed purposefully at me instead of at the aimless sea of rippling green around them. I take three more steps until we stand three metres apart. Silence enters the jungle as the animals above cease there scurry as if to listen; the rain alleviates a little as if its holding its breath. 'Corridan,' I neutrally greet. The Mando's fingers aren't on their triggers but that can be solved as they watch from under thick metal helmets. My concern is for nothing. Corridan closes the distance between us and pulls me into an embrace, patting my back three times before letting go. I stand very still, scared that if I even slightly move it will trigger a response to cut off his arms or shoot him in the head. 'It's good to see you,' he coarsely breathes as his right hand clasps my shoulder. Something about it doesn't suit this jungle of black and white and as if it realises the intruding feeling, it rains harder as if to wash it away. I shrug Corridan's comradery and hand away. 'I wouldn't have thought so after our last little conversation.' 'Both said things we shouldn't,' he replies with affronted patience. 'Cui ogir’olar.' I stop myself from cringing but I can't stop myself from taking a step back. Hearing that language is a like being thrown into a tub of boiling water after weeks on Hoth. The other Mandalorian's raise their blasters again. Wish the rain falling down my cheeks was as satisfying as if they were tears. 'I thought Mando'ad draar digu,' I disparage as I recover. 'Haven't forgotten,' Corridan retaliates with a warning frown. 'If anyone is going to live through your visit here, then I suggest that you stop remarks like that.' 'Ke nu'jurkadir sha Mando'ade, huh?' I return with a delusive smile. 'Gar serim.' Corridan smiles but the fatherly wrinkles at the corner of his eyes don't appear. 'You've come alone.' 'I am alone.' 'Devaronian not with you?' he inquires with a glance behind me. Pointless question after my definitive declaration. 'Occurs to me no one uses his name much,' I comment as I begin to crack my metal knuckles by my side. Corridan shakes his head and I feel no amount of shaking could really remove that frown from his lips anymore. 'Name doesn't matter.' 'Really, Corridan Ordo?' I sneer. 'Race matters, does it?' 'Not what I meant. Irrelevant if he isn't with you,' Corridan explains in short words and sentences. It makes everything a Mando says sound like an impatient order or keen truth. 'He isn't, wasn't and won't be again,' I grimly guarantee. 'Good.' Corridan gives a sharp nod that's an order to the others and not one of approval to me. They lower their weapons and return to scanning the environment. Except for the woman in green. She watches me and I don't know why she does but I know it is with an intensity. 'Take one of the many stern talking to's off your list?' I slyly ask as my eye returns to Corridan. 'Gar.' A Mando's truth. Corridan turns to his small troop of guards. 'Introduce yourselves, verde.' 'Jakor of clan Vevut,' one man in blue says in Basic through a guttural, spitting accent as he beats his chest with primitive pride. 'Younger brother is Heelt.' Jakor's hand and arm motion are crude as he gestures to the second man in blue next to him. The younger brother stands silent and a foot higher than his brother. They aren't human like I suspected. It's hard to make out their race but I think it may be Krish. Body type matches and so does the voice. Spent enough time around some to know. 'I am Vankx of clan Fett,' the human man introduces with a salute that more resembles a wave. I don't need to be able to see through his helmet to know that he is smiling with sparsely disguised curiosity and insolent mockery. Then there is a pause. It extends to only twenty seconds but that is long enough for a feeling of intensity to press up on us harder than the rain and all four men turn tight beneath their armour at its feeling like they were strings of a viol. 'My name is Karyan, ner vod,' the woman finally says. Vankx turns his head from his watch to her and I wonder what meaning he was conveying behind metal walls. She ignores it and I know her eyes are looking into mine. 'Karyan of clan Cadera.' And then the rain stopped falling. ----- Mando'ad translations

Well, here's something a little experimental. Third person but from Gault's perspective. He's having a fun shuttle ride. I'm not sure if I got his voice 100% spot on though but I wanted it to be a little lighthearted and was originally written for a few SFFWC prompts in mind. I might still post it there but this will require some more thought. Since it has nothing to do with my stories canon so its an optional read and thus in spoiler tags (though it does introduce someone who may or may not become a character). Well... I hope that was alright

LOL! I couldn't agree more but I have a plan there And here's an update because I always keep my promises A short four hour sleep later... 'HK, halt initiated orders,' I call to the darkness of three large cargo crates. Nothing overtly changes in the shadows. 'Enter the ship,' I order as moments pass and it doesn't emerge. Eye leaves HK's favourite hiding place as I hear his movements and I look to the hanger door. It is like most hangers across the galaxy: large, durasteel, thick and impossible to blast through with a standard blaster. Like most of the others, no one is there. There isn't anyone calling some line of an apology or a white flag. Turn my back on the hanger and the droid. 'He won't be returning,' I whisper to myself. Walk into the ship and head to the bridge. Can't wait in the cargo hold. I can't stand near a holo. I feel a restlessness that hadn't happened in a while. Sleep didn't remove it. Only made it worse. Walk to the bridge doesn't calm it and the familiar doesn't either. Look to the control panels. Want to set a course for another target. Can't wait anymore for HK to find her. Look around the cage again. Eye lingers on the Captain's chair. New upholstery doesn't change the memories we made on that chair. 'As much as I would love to interrupt your disgusting display of affection for no reason, we're here on your orders,' Gault sneers. I sigh and sit back on Torian's knees. I don't look into Torian's eyes, over his shoulder to Corellia that floats out our window or over my shoulder to my crew. Interestingly, it finds a place to stare in Torian's neck. My eye watches the quick pulse that rhythmically moves under his skin. 'Jealous, Devaronian?' Torian goads. I look over to the chair Gault would claim whenever he actually decided to sit instead of haunting the doorway or leaning on the back of my chair. See the slightly dulled metal on the arm rest where his fingers would tap as he read the terminal screen. The faster they tapped they more interested he was in what he was reading. They were tapping quickly one night and I listened to them with a strange fixation as I finished my push ups. Eight, nine, ten, switch hands. One, two, three... switch hands. One, two, three... done. I lower myself onto my stomach and roll onto my back. Stare at the ceiling of my room. Mind drifts to what I started this to escape from. Can't get it out of my head no matter how fast Gault taps his fingers down the hall and how hard I listen to it. Can't think of anything but- 'Interesting searches you're running.' Hear the voice of the man I can't block out. Close my eye and concentrate harder. Been a long two weeks since leaving Taris. Been a long two months since we met on Dromund Kas. 'A man has to have some hobbies,' a higher voice replies. The tapping stops and I hear Gault's chair squeak a little as it spins. Caught by even the Mando, Gault. You aren't very cautious. I want to sit up and face the door of my room that hides them from view. Know that won't help my hearing but something in me tells me it will. Don't want to miss a word by rustling though. Stay lying there as if paralysed. 'Call stalking you're crew members a hobby?' 'I wouldn't call it stalking so much as... investigating investments.' 'Called stalking anywhere else.' 'What's wrong, Blondie? Scared I'll dig up some dirt on you or your little dead dad?' 'Nothing to hide. Not like you.' 'Then which of our female crew members are you worried about? I hardly see anything wrong with a little look into a person's past. Or a person's lack of a past. Don't you want to know about the people you're living with, Mando? Haven't you wondered who she is?' 'She's Grand Champion. Helped me get my honour back. Don't need to know or have a right to know more.' I hear a chair move with a quiet groan as it is relieved of Gault's weight. Hear Gault stand on his feet and take a stake a step. 'Well, come and find me if that stops being enough for you, kid.' 'Don't touch me.' 'Sorry, Mando, I didn't leave a crease in your armour, did I? Now, if that was all, I have some things I would like to get back to,' I hear Gault pleasantly dismiss Torian and take a few steps. I don't think Gault walked more than one or two steps past the Mandalorian before Torian stopped Gault with his words. 'Not the only one doing background checks. Looked you up. Not much to find. Not much legitimate that is.' 'Well, I haven't led a very legitimate life. Now if you don't mind...' 'Hurt her in any way, Lokai, and I will make sure you regret it.' 'I'm the one least likely to hurt her on this ship. What will be interesting to see is whether you or her rank first.' 'Nothing could ever hurt her. Can't see how I could hurt such a warrior.' 'And with those words, you just took first place. Good night, Mando. Be sure to turn the console off for me, will you?' How long had Torian stood watching him before speaking? Was he in the shadows of the doorway standing straight, proud and angry yet skulking and watching like a common voyeur? Did he read the console before turning it off? I do know one thing: Torian never went to Gault for information. But it doesn't matter. It was a long time ago. I hadn't recalled that conversation in a long time. Hadn't thought much of it much even then. I hear HK enter the ship and close the cargo ramp. It is easy to follow its haughty footsteps through the ship. My previous crew made me miss loud footsteps: Mako was quiet when she wasn't petulantly stomping; Gault is always light and quiet like a man who doesn't want to be heard by the world because he walks through it with theft in his hands and arms; Torian always walked firmly yet his footsteps were never very loud: a life with a culture around hunting game no matter how large and carnivorous that game is, learns to walk silently; Blizz was so small and swift he was little more than a scuttling, unobtrusive mouse; Skadge never moved enough for me to make a note of it. 'HK,' I call to it once it is still steps away. 'I want a status update. Been weeks. Tired of waiting.' It halts in the centre of the doorway, standing straight and without support. I turn around and stare at it. My only companion. In the end, it always seems to be me and my psychopathic droid. Even if that one leaves, I will have myself. 'Apologies, master. Statement: the sabotage protocols in my system matrix continue to operate, master. If this-' I shake my head and hold up a scratched finger. 'I don't care, droid. Have you found the targets locations?' 'Answer: locations remain unknown, master.' 'That isn't good enough. Your systems are beginning to interrupt with your operations detrimentally. You are no use on the field. While on Dxun you are to remain on the ship and find those targets. Call me when you find each one. Is that understood, droid?' 'Perfectly, master.' I hear the words 'I want to kill you' in his voice. I glare at him a moment as his eye flickers. Soon won't be much better than my previous droid. Turn my back on it and set a course for Dxun. Flight should only be half an hour. I receive clearance and begin take off. Isn't until we're clear of the spaceport and out of orbit that HK speaks again. Hasn't moved a metal limb and his voice sends a shiver of disgust and surprise down my back. 'Query: master, is the red organic no longer a member of your crew?' 'Yes.' Any human would leave it there. Any human would sense the anger, the stop sign and the gun I hold to their head. 'Eager query: can I kill him now, master? I have so longed to blast the organics brains out.' 'No. He is still under my protection.' HK doesn't reply. Hear the whinging of a child in the silence. Not sure I want his systems restored. Not a threat this way. Can't be helped. Need him to find the Jedi. His uses won't stop there. I am always weary to throw away a possible asset. Is that why It remains in your engine room? 'Dismissed, HK. Return to post 2.' The droid leaves in vocal silence. Dxun is large and green and only gets bigger as I fly closer. I know my thoughts should be on Corridan and what he wants. But as I fly straight towards Dxun alone except for my memories I only listen to a quiet voice that doesn't quite leave me be like a burst of fresh air from the unseen entrance of a cave or an echo of a call far, far ahead in the darkness. 'We're going home, Cyare,' it whispers. 'Trust it. Trust me.' -----

I didn't go far: I've been reading, looking in at everyone's threads, working on that, stressing over Damin, stressing over her stressing over my suddenly hectic real life, the usual, and then a month went by and I hadn't updated. I was so sad And on the other note... Welll... I don't mean to but it ends up being 5000 - 7000. That last one was 6,700. I just start off with the grand plan, then I have my list of the conversations/events that need to occur to lead to end game, then write the dialogue for the selected convo/event, then flesh it out to how I imagine them standing/speaking/thinking/feeling and then put more dialogue maybe throw in another character... and before I know it I'm up to 6000. That makes it sound a lot more structured then it is. I more just go with the flow of whatever they say and let their convos flow and sometimes take direction I don't imagine or intend. I'm not very organized in keeping the documents either, they're all scattered everywhere and from different places in the story and it's just chaos. Not that you really wanted that much of an answer lol pointlessly long story short: 5000-7000. So excited for Dxun! And then what happens after!! Good stuffs coming up! *runs away to write happily, then stops and comes back* I hope you're all still interested and excited even though there was a short break and things aren't looking up at the moment. They all turn around and then back again and around again and so on. And hope Damin is... not necessarily likeable (I like him despite everything) but more interesting

Gah! Sorry I'm late again! But I will update this weekend! I promise! On Damin's ship at the end of their holo call... 'Aww is the agent's little friend too busy with another mate to speak to him?' Kaliyo steps from the shadows of the corridor behind the agent as she speaks and saunters over. With every step, he feels her desire to step on him. He smoothly turns to her, appearing unfazed by the jab. 'It appears so, Miss Djannis. How are you this evening?' Damin moves his hands to edge of the terminal and leans back on them as if relaxed and casual. He can't remember ever genuinely feeling relaxed. As he fiddles with the vibro knife handle in the pack of his pants, he thinks he has been tense and wary for his whole life. Kaliyo stops in front of him and rests her hand on her hip. She is still dressed in the red singlet from the morning and plain black pants. The bare skin makes the urge to hurt her and kill her that much stronger in the agent. The desire claws at his stomach and makes his fingers twitch. It has been too long since he had a play thing. 'Peachy, agent, real peachy. I was just walking past and couldn't help but over hear your little talk. It seems it's your time to swoop in if Rennow is gone.' 'You seem to have a talent for listening to things that do not concern you,' Damin replies with a friendly smile and a gentle expression. He steps forward to close the distance between them: the footfalls loud. A countdown to the coming pain. He draws his knife from the sheath strapped to his wrist. His arm is quick as it moves to slice her right ear off. Her blood and mind freeze for a moment before the first begins to ooze out and the pain encloses the second. Her scream is refreshing and satisfying in his own ears. The Ratattaki is hard to stun but this movement has. Her thoughts are too clouded to slap, punch or shoot him in the way any other behaviour might have produced. The day dream only lasted a moment and leaves a frustrated disappointment behind. Damin finds it difficult to not lick his suddenly dry lips. 'I know. So are you gonna catch her on the rebound?' The Ratattaki folds her arms over her small chest as she asks. His deflection came easily but her return to the trail doesn't surprise him. Her constant interest in this subject could only mean she plans some personal gain or pleasure from his relationship with Leeriah. 'Yes, Miss Kaliyo, this is my chance to achieve my ultimate goal of *********** Leer.' His conviction is feigned and though the disdain doesn't taint his velvet voice, it is thick in the air. 'Hold back that sarcasm, agent, or you might just start being mistaken for a real boy.' 'I shall make a note of it, Miss Kaliyo. Do you have any other words of advice for how to conduct my behaviour in the future?' What has started to happen to him? His perfection is slipping. He is becoming a real boy. 'Apart from keeping your clothes on at all times, agent? Not really, though maybe you could be gracious and let a lady win a friendly drinking game.' 'If I ever find myself competing against a lady then I shall be sure to. Until then, I shall continue my winning streak, Miss Djannis.' 'Cute, agent, real cute,' she sneers with narrowed eyes and a scrunched nose. Her eyes are a similar colour to Leeriah's but maybe it's the naturalness that produced the colour that makes the difference. Leeriah's is a twisted flower of sharp and shining metal with an dark stigma at its core: Kaliyo's is the steel walkways in Nar Shaddaa's scummiest sectors. 'Thank you, Miss Kaliyo.' He gives her a small bow with his hand on his heart. He can feel a strange pounding that is 0.56 seconds faster than the beat he had become accustomed to. He had become aware of such a phenomenon approximately fifteen minutes before this interaction began. He also experienced difficulties breathing and tense muscles. Maybe it's that flu that was going around Alderaan... 'Agent, call me 'Miss' again and I'll punch your lights out.' I genuinely doubt that you will be able to even brush the air near my head, the agent thinks with smug contempt. 'I shall bear that in mind,' he replies with a friendly smile. 'Until then, would you mind setting course for the Imperial fleet? I want to take off as soon as Leer has called me back.' 'Don't go thinking you can boss me around, agent,' the Rattataki reprimands as she walks to the cockpit. He turns and watches her and notices a lack of symmetry between her shoulder blades. One begins slightly higher and is more prominent than the other which is thinner. The weakness is in her left arm. Interesting, he idly thinks with a scrunched nose. 'I would never dream of it, Miss Kaliyo,' Damin vigorously assures as he turns his body and attention to the holo terminal again. He dodges the knife thrown at his head with ease. He was the best student the Academy had seen in years yet nothing he had learnt then or after could stop his heart from beating quickly as he waited. Everything he has ever failed at has always involved her. A rational part of him realises he needs to take this to a different room. His quarters are too familiar and intimate. The conference room, he decides and begins to make his way to the door located approximately 6 metres away. Vector is in the silence of the medbay across the way communing with the hive. Kaliyo will remain for at least another fifteen minutes in the cockpit and the formality of the conference room usually deters her from approaching it. It occurs to him as he adjusts his black sleeves as he walks, that his ship is quiet. The engine is always a low purr, the machinery all a gentle, unobtrusive hum. His footsteps remind him of the falling of a tree in the forest around a silent glade. The thought of whether Leeriah's ship is as silent and isolating as his is, is an unwelcome thought that as he takes a seat at the end of the conference room table (the door securely locked) only produces more. He couldn't refuse this mission. His career, his success, the achievement of their dream, hangs on it. But if the worst is to happen, how could the dream they shared ever come true? How can he let go of something so important even if it is going to destroy him? The holo's insistent beeping interrupts his thoughts and his eyes refocus on the terminal in front of him. It is all irrelevant, he resolves as fixes his fringe and checks his shirt for imperfections. He is a Cipher and must work for the glory and success of the Empire. He must hold the Republic by its throat. He must. If he doesn't, everything will of been for nothing. The agent presses the answer switch hard enough that it temporarily leaves an imprint in his dusty-blue finger. He needs to move forward with force and certainty. Scars are temporary. He believes he will always find the strength to move on. Her holo figure is small and something in that appeals to him. He smothers the smile. Perfection, agent. You aren't a real boy anymore, he reminds himself. Only real boys feel stupid. 'Are you really so stupid as to start talking about that when Gault's around?' Her question is spiked with emotion and little needles prod the agent's heart. It isn't the informal greeting he had been expecting. 'Never took you for a ebeucot.' With one word she excites a longing to hear her speak his language again. He wants her. He wants her worse than he ever has wanted her. One word has broken fifteen minutes of concrete resolve as if it were only crystal. 'Cut your tongue out if you were here,' she ends in a quiet voice that travels as clearly as if she were before him. It's a voice that is a little too soft to encircle such a sincere threat: it's tone is low and warm like a small flame on a cold night. It is inviting and he wants to be lured to it like an insubstantial, trusting moth. But the agent can see the tears that can never be shed building up. She is about to cry and like it did back then so long ago, it is about to break his heart. 'It was a simple mistake, Leeriah, and I apologise.' It is what the Cipher needs to say to do his job. That is all it is. It is. Genuinely. Honestly. He does not mean it. Does not mean it at all. 'Exactly! A simple *********** mistake that you, a Cipher, shouldn't have made!' Her shout is like a blazing fire and he can feel her disgust and anger burning away his flesh and seeking out the vulnerable centre deep within his heart. It does not have to burn deep to wound any of his pride. 'I see I was correct in thinking my news had distressed you,' he peacefully redirects. The Cipher remains calm on the outside. That is what his training is for. His understanding of her character allows him to know the best way to appease her isn't by vicious retaliation. 'I wanted to apologise for this as it was not my intention,' he appeals with rational dignity. 'What is your intention, Damin? Why the **** are you bothering with me now? You've known where I've been since I left the organisation yet you've waited three entire *********** years to contact me and even then you made it look like coincidence.' It is not until then that the Cipher realised how suspicious, how cautious and how perceptive she is. Her occupation was similar to his yet he underestimated that. She is more than a perfect killer. 'It was, Leeriah. I knew you were on Nar Shaddaa, it is true, but I did not dream that our paths would cross.' A part truth is best, he decides. 'You're a shameless *********** liar, you know that?' Best but not quite good enough. 'I do not lie to you, Leeriah,' the agent calmly defends. Her fists clench and she looks away. Her body seems to shake and the agent wonders what memory was stirred with his words. Her husband, he hesitantly concludes. Only an echo of her husband's words could shake her so deeply. 'Don't you dare say that to me. Do you want to lose the other eye? Burn the other cheek?' The warm flame is back yet all it does is seem to chill the agent's skin. He can feel the blunt truth to her words. He cannot imagine a more dangerous dog to call and tame. 'You never did those things to me. However, if that is what you wish then I will follow it though it does not change the truth of my words. I am intrigued as to why you did not want your... friend (he could allow the drip of scorn into the word, couldn't he?) to know of our conversation or its contents. Does he still not know of your situation?' 'If you mean that my husband is a burnt corpse then yes, he knows. He confronted me on it after your call yesterday.' Her voice carries the note of victory yet her twisting fingers by her side suggest fear and uncertainty. He doesn't let his eyes linger on the fingers that dance on normally impossible angels. There is something unnerving in it like the twisting of a too realistic dolls head until it faces the wrong way and stares into you with observant, judging glass eyes and porcelain skin. 'I see. It led to his departure as predicted.' 'Neutral, agent, neutral,' he reminds himself. 'Not sure that's any of your business but since it gives me pleasure to tell you that you wrong, will tell you that it had nothing to do with that little revelation.' 'How can you be sure?' Doubt. It's his best weapon until he understands them. It will not matter if that petty criminal doesn't return but Damin doesn't know whether he will or not. Never live in a castle of certainty built on sand. It will only fall on your head. He watches her. He sees the flinch of her shoulders and the widening of her eye before it narrows. He wonders what words are going through her mind. He wants to know what they said after his call. He needs to know what actions were made. 'Who would you suggest I trust? HK? Blizz? You?' 'Yes, me!' Her hands begin to scratch her wrists. Isn't satisfying when her nails are broken. Rub of skin on skin only makes her scratch harder until friction numbs her finger tips. 'I don't think my Empire can stand a prolonged separation.' She glares at Damin but has no words to defend herself or Gault with. Saying Gault will be back and there was no correlation would mean that she trusts and believes in Gault. Her fingers rub her wrists harder. 'I apologise, it is none of my business,' Damin says after watching her scratching. He never used to see her wrists. They were always covered in metal plates that were long, finger-less gloves. He notices the wrist guards she had had on are now gone. He waited half an hour. A lot can happen in half an hour: clothes can be taken off, acts performed and clothes can be put on again in half an hour. 'However, as I am concerned for you, it does concern me,' he continues. She doesn't really hear the agent's words. Thoughts are back with Gault who by now is clear of the space port and already on his way to or on top of his rich schutta. Can see the hurt when she said that name to Gault in her memory. She can trust that her words finally cut Gault deep enough that he will never return. Lokai. Why'd she say it? He tapped her knee with a mallet and she kicked him on reflex. Been a long time since she's really done that. 'I'll be back a lot sooner. You can trust me, my dear.' Never. Can never trust. Not again. 'Shove it, Damin. Gault's gone and not coming back. Pity from an Imperial, especially if genuine, would only be Hutt spit in the wound.' He evaluates her calmly. 'I can never provide evidence to you of my honesty in concern to you.' It is strange, he thinks dejectedly as he feels himself watch and listen to this as if a bug on the wall. It is strange what beings can do to their voices and expressions - what they can control - with a little bit of pain, hatred, teachings, meditation, training, lessons and beatings. It is strange that someone should be able to hide the deep defeat and ache from their voice. It is strange for someone to live a lie. Does the air taste sweeter like killik honey instead of military rations for others? Is the sun brighter to them and not a compound of chemicals that will eventually die? He would like to know just once before he dies how it is to live the life of an honest man. 'Probably because there isn't any. Even if there was, I would think you had made it.' Her insight is piercing and incorrect. She couldn't know that on a small, war free world there is a warehouse and in that warehouse under a fake name is a large, locked crate and within that crate is a datapad and on that datapad are her last words to him before they were to meet again until ten years later. He thinks of it so far away as he watches from the wall. It is the only thing left of their relationship. Intelligence doesn't know that they knew each other. Their orders to him were get close and turn or break. Maybe one day, he will travel there and retrieve it: maybe one day, he will travel there and burn it. Even locked far away, he has lived his life by those words. He began to attend classes that bored him. He became everything necessary to climb whatever ladder was handed to him. He worked as hard as he could to be able to achieve those words to the most of his ability. He made himself something else for it. He tore away his everything for it. Will she ever know that her words are the words he built his life around? Maybe in the end when this is all over - if it ever can be over - he will tell her. Yes, when the job is done, she will know. 'It is understandable that my occupation would give you doubt. That does not change my capacity for honesty to you.' 'Right, Damin,' she sceptical replies. She rolls her eye and scowls up at his figure. 'Let's just drop this.' 'If you wish.' Damin swings his legs onto the metal table and leans back in his red lined chair. He pulls a shiny metal ball from his pocket and throws it up and down with his left hand, watching it's progression up and down with curiosity. 'Where has your lackey gone?' Damin jovially asks after seven throws. 'Notice you don't particularly like Gault. Any reason?' Leeriah ignores the ball. She knows games. She focuses her eye on his mouth and eyes and doesn't let it move no matter what. 'He is driven by greed (up) lust (down) self (up) preservation (down and hold) And has no loyalty to anything or anyone other than himself.' He holds her eye then looks to the ball. Up again. 'With you being the exception, of course.' It is a begrudging admittance. dealt smoothly. 'Guess you read the holonet then.' Her smirk has too much apathy for his taste. If he had a real identity, he believes his pride would loathe the stupidity of the media and feel disdain at the scandal. After all, an identity should be something that is cherished and never violated. When did she gain such an amused indifference to the world? When did she stop caring about people and their thoughts, beliefs, actions, needs, desires and hopes? When was it that she came to only laugh at them from afar as if she wasn't one of them? It must have been after I left, Damin concludes. He wonders if it was sudden or gradual. He has never been compassionate. People are his studies, his fascination. Like a scientist may observe the behaviour of womp rats in different conditions or with different mutations, he observes people. But Leeriah's distance is different. There is something colder and violently apathetic in it, he realises. When her passions and grudges are removed, there is something cold and hard at her centre and the agent wants to know whether it was what she went through that caused it or whether she was born with a shard of ice in her soul and all it took was some excavating. 'Yes. I suppose that proximity breeding intimacy is shown in your preference for that being to myself.' He continues to throw the ball up and down. It begins to feel heavier and heavier with every throw. 'Oh, your jealous. Gotta say, I've seen three men jealous in the past two years and it seems to suit you least.' She looks to her broken nails quickly before hiding them in clenched fists at her side. 'I am not jealous. It is none of my business who you ****.' That action would hurt him less. What tears at his chest is whether she gave the Devaronian the goodbye that Damin wanted so badly. 'Did jealousy suit your husband?' 'Something endearing in listening to a man threaten another over you. Why all the questions, Damin? Trying to find the best way to get close?' Yes, because I was given you as an assignment. Yes because that is the only way of completing it. Yes because I want to know you again. Yes because I don't want to have distance between us. Yes because it is all I want and why I follow what was written on the datapad that she left in pocket. Yes, yes, yes. 'I am merely fulfilling the part of the conversation dealt to me.' She frowns and her fists clench. Too much apathy? 'I must confess some confusion over your associates presence and existence. It puzzles me greatly.' 'Glad I entertain,' she sneers. He catches and holds the ball, moving his hands behind his back. 'You do, Leeriah.' And a whole lot more. 'If one were to factor in the dissimilarities of your interests and personalities while taking into account your temperament, personality, the aggravating environment of Tatooine and the long chase Gault provided you, he should have died in the Great Hunt as was dictated and never made it aboard your ship alive.' 'And according to some of those factors, plus or minus some, I should have done my job back on Tython and we shouldn't be having this conversation.' She sounds angry. He knows it isn't from the truth in his words. She is displeased with her Devaronian. Good. 'That is entirely different. I am smart, charming, attractive, mysterious and you once loved me.' 'Wrong, agent. Make mistakes like that often?' 'No. I never make a mistake.' Liar. 'Some would say calling me is.' 'Then they are wrong,' he vehemently retorts. It is the closest to speaking loudly that she has heard Damin's voice taking on. It shocks her and a disturbing and unpredicted warmth trickles into her chest. She makes a snort of derision but can't think of a rebuttal. She can't think of much but one of them is why this conversation is even happening. She has something at stake, most likely her freedom, and he has his life at stake. 'Tell me what kind of man you do like.' Was that roughness in his voice? A rough patch created by wear and tear in his velvet voice. 'Is that an order?' She ask with amusement. The amusement is shallow though. He can sense the attack that might ensue like the watching of a Wookie load their crossbow. Damin does not appreciate being target practice. 'A friendly request.' His smile is gentle and sweet. 'How could I ever disobey a friendly request from my lying, scheming and most likely back stabbing Imperial friend?' she sneers. The smile disappears and is replaced with a stern frown. The agent knows the truth in her words, and though it stings somewhere in him, he acts the role of someone hurt because that is how he should. 'That was uncalled for, Leeriah,' he quietly reprimands. The breaking of a stick never occurs at once: different parts snap before others. A rope must have each thread fray before its cut. It is the same with people. We do not realise that they are slowly shaping us and cutting away at our hearts or defences until they politely knock on the front door or until they open it and step inside. Maybe it was something in the frown that reminded her of her husband or maybe it was a trace of affection for the blue alien that programming and time hadn't worn away entirely but whatever it was, the cutting of thread led her to the melancholy and thoughtless honesty of her reply. 'Told a someone once 'they have to be able to kill. And like to kill. Strong. Loyal. Genuine. Honest. Have a great body'.' 'Somebody like your husband.' Damin allows his facial muscles to relax into a feigned look of compassion. He alters his tone into one of gentleness. 'Yeah... someone like him,' she affirms from half way across the galaxy. Damin's words were a reflection of her own and she feels the memory play back before her eye. 'We can talk later, Cyare.' What do we do with the voices of the past? How do we remove the biting irony? How do we stop tomorrows pain? Our constitution is the same as the branch and twig. It can only take so much before it breaks. Only so much pressure can be applied before it will just... snap. Her mind comes back to the present and her harsh reprimand shakes Damin from any gentle reverie he had entered. 'That list and the one I have of you aren't compatible, Damin.' 'I can make them be,' he smoothly and reflexively assures. 'You can only act that role. I know that isn't you. You meet only three of them.' She holds three fingers up and until then, he had never hated the sight of her slender fingers. 'Tell me at least one of those three is that I have a great body,' he jokes. She notices his smile is only thin and small. He isn't laughing. He isn't happy. He isn't pretending very well. 'Guess you meet four then,' she returns with a wink and smirk. It doesn't get the reaction she wanted. He doesn't flash his perfect teeth or chuckle lightly. His frown tightens and if she could see his hands pressed together behind the back of his chair, holding the ball so tightly, she'd see that they were clenched until his knuckles glowed a human white. 'I can be loyal to you, Leeriah. I was always genuine to you and honest. I was willing to forsake everything in my life to be with you.' The bitterness is back. That sharp edge under his collected, formal charm. The anger of disappointment and rejection. Was what she did really so horrible? Was it so unforgivable? Did she hurt him so deeply? 'And I knocked you out and sent you home,' she concludes. Is that sympathy or regret he can hear? No. Never that. She made her decision. Even now, she would choose revenge before anyone or anything. That is what the agent thinks. Maybe it is what she thinks too. 'You remember.' He has returned to holographic indifference: no accusation, no sadness, no pleasure. She taps the side of her head and smiles. It isn't happy and kind. 'I remember everything.' 'Then you must remember my honesty.' How can he do it? How can he remark on their past as if it were only predictable weather on the outside of a building we would never leave? she speculates in frustrated aggravation. She does though. When it comes down to it, she remembers everything they went through in those months. She remembers the sweet young man that didn't belong in that place. She remembers the kindness he had never shown another human before her. She remembers his dissatisfaction with a life that tried to constrain and shape him: that tried to force him into a uniform two sizes too small. She remembers a young man wanting direction and an escape from the irksome mediocrity of his peers and the stuffy, empty authority of his superiors. She remembers the hatred that that place bred into him. She remembers how red his eyes would glow when he thought of destroying the Republic. He learnt hatred there. Real hatred. That changes someone. She wonders how long it will be until she sees how much and what is under his charade. She remembers thinking that he would never let the Republic stand if he were to ever leave. She remembers thinking he would shape his life around making it crumble. And she remembers what the General forced her to do. She remembers what the General made her watch. She can never forget. 'Didn't say I don't. Person you were then isn't you now.' His lips are moving and he can't stop it. Something in her words forced him to ask what he vowed to never ask. 'Do you ever regret that decision?' 'No.' His bravery was rewarded with the answer he knew and the disturbingly strong ache it produces in the area of his heart. He has heard it. He can let it go. The 'what ifs' she has awaken can sleep again. 'Your revenge was worth it.' 'Let's talk of something else, Damin.' 'Such as? Recent history contains either your Mandalorian or Crime Lord. The tightening of your jaw and narrow eye suggests you don't want to talk of anything related to them. However, your time in the Organisation would be fascinating to hear.' 'No,' she flatly refuses. 'Why don't we talk about you?' she slyly asks. 'My operations are confidential.' Bland. Disappointing. Predictable. Grating. The adjectives for him run through her mind. 'On a job now?' 'No.' 'Then your actions aren't confidential. Where are you going?' 'Dromund Kaas,' he smoothly lies. 'Family visit?' 'No.' 'How's your Ratattaki?' 'I assume you refer to Kaliyo. She is inconsequential.' 'How did your Academy training finish?' 'I was top of the school.' 'Sleep with any teachers?' 'I did not need to or feel the desire to.' 'Continue skipping classes?' 'No. Is this another interrogation? I think it is missing some chains and pain,' Damin dryly comments with his indifferent expression. 'Not an interrogation,' she sternly defends. Her pout of what he knows are sculpted red lips makes Damin smile a little. Her offence at such a teasing accusation makes him... feel. He walks the line of realisation and denial perfectly. 'I see. You are attempting to have normal discourse.' His teeth flash for a moment, a small unguarded moment, into a smile. He doesn't know that while his heart stops every time she is thought of by him, that her body hangs suspended for a moment every time he smiles. 'It is a complete failure, Leeriah.' 'You fail as a human being, you know that, my dear?' 'Can go back to the pointless accusations if you want,' she snaps. 'My father is currently overseeing the mess still known as Correllia. My mother is on an operation somewhere.' Why did he say that? The impulse was foolish. He just hated hearing her angry with him. The time will come when she will hate him and it will tear him apart. Until then, he will do whatever he can to appease her so long as it coincides with his loyalties and mission. 'Hear from them at all?' 'Yes. From my mother, it is every six weeks at galactic standard 1700. From my father, it is every month at 0600. The communication is only through mail.' 'Pleasant?' 'Excruciatingly painful,' Damin corrects. She laughs. He's never been fond of her laughter. Even when it sounds so happy and carefree as now, he can only feel that it is the sound of a lie. 'Were they happy to see when you came back?' 'No. So what are you doing now? You have been on Iziz a while.' 'Come on, Damin, you're smarter than that. Where'd you think I'd be going next?' 'Dromund Kaas,' he replies immediately while bringing the ball out from behind his back and beginning to throw it again this time with his right hand. 'Smooth. As much fun as it sounds to walk all over the Dark Council's front door and pull my pants down, I think I'll skip unless you change it to a much more 'most wanted' friendly planet.' 'Interesting image. I think I and many others would enjoy seeing that.' 'Sure they would.' 'You are going to Dxun.' 'In-laws have called me home,' she affirms. 'Interesting.' 'As interesting as a sun shining.' 'I find the molecular composition and life of a sun fascinating.' 'What else do you find fascinating?' 'People. Environments. My work. War. You.' 'Smooth again, Damin.' 'You are fascinating, Leeriah. I have always thought so.' He smiles again and something in her moves. It would be a terrible thing to be drawn in by that smile. She would drown in that deadly sweetness. 'Sure that sounded a lot sweeter in your head,' she sneers back. He catches the ball and closes his fingers around it. He looks to the wall a moment before staring deep into her eye. He takes his legs down from the table and leans forward. 'No, I was only admitting a truth. You are the only thing that truly fascinates me. If I were to try and be 'sweet' as you ineloquently put it, I would tell you that you are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy and I have missed you every day and every minute that we have not spoken or been together for the last decade; I would tell you that all I have been able to think about since we met again is you and it kills me inside to see you with another man and know that you have found another man to make you smile and to comfort you in the way I always dreamed of and want more than anything else in this galaxy or another; I would tell you that all the pain I felt through our acquaintance was nothing compared to the pain of being apart from you; I would tell you that I have gone from planet to planet hoping to find you or see you; I would tell you that when I finally found you, it was the happiest moment of my life and I wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms and kiss you like I had been yearning to do since the first moment you walked through the cell door and I would tell you that every breath that I take as I speak to you, see you or think of you is like breathing in smoke and it is slowly killing me because I cannot live without pain in the knowledge that I will never have you.' He pauses and regards her for a moment: her armour, her body language, her wide eye. The pale mark of that scar down her right eye. He wonders if she remembers how she got it. She does not move and appears to not be breathing. It is ok, he decides. I've said it. Now to only make it a lie. It is better for both of us that it is. He swings his feet back up onto the table and begins to throw the ball up and down again, switching hands after every throw. 'That is what I would tell you if I wanted to be 'sweet'.' 'What would be 'very funny' and very stupid is if you trusted that phoney blue-boy.' 'Nice bit of bantha ****, Damin,' she sneers after a short pause. The words are hard to force through gritted teeth. She might hate it and she might not want it, but she knows that she will never be the last woman to be charmed by his words even if she was the first. 'How long have you been preparing that one?' 'I would not be much of an agent if I had to prepare every word I said. Sometimes, I can speak from my heart.' He glances at her as he says the last words. He doesn't drop the ball. This is repulsive, Damin concludes. He thinks he would esteem her less if she were to fall for this ****. However, no training could prepare him for someone like her. How does someone tame and charm her? How did her husband do it? Until he knows a better way, he will follow what he would say to any normal woman. ''From your heart' and 'honesty' never have to be the same thing,' she scathingly replies. 'I can speak words as honestly as any man that has been walking the Dune Sea for weeks can say 'I need water'.' These lines are an insult to his intelligence. But on all normal women, and sometimes on men, they work. Stupidity is a common occurrence in all species and it repulses and fascinates him. 'Yes, as honestly as a man that had been walking in it and that had twenty gallons of water with him. But then, it doesn't matter, does it? That was only the **** you would say and pretend to mean if you wanted to be sweet and I'm guessing your 'sweet' days ended over a decade ago.' How is it that she can still make him love her after all these years? In moments like this, she has not changed. She is different from others and not ready to please or be pleased. She works against it and yet everything she says comes with an honesty that only pleases him and lures him in more. 'They will never end when it concerns you.' 'You really know how to lay it on thick, don't you?' she asks incredulously. Damin catches the ball and holds it. 'I am not playing games with you, Leeriah, or feeding you false lines,' Damin testily returns. Inside, he feels something get a little bit bigger and a little bit stronger in his chest as if his heart had just expanded by 2%. 'No, you just dangle the lines in front of me with charm, (he begins to toss the ball again) good looks and lame lines as the bait and your destined betrayal and occupation as the hook.' 'You think in interesting metaphors.' Another glance and another smile. 'It's a new habit.' All she does is shrug in return and stare up at him. 'Interesting. You think I'm charming and good looking.' 'You think I'm cute?' 'Only reason I bother with you,' she cruelly affirms. She isn't sure how much she means it. Isn't sure of much. But she smiles and her eye flirts with his heart. 'I-' The agent begins before cutting himself off. 'That-' He fumbles with the ball. Once he has it under control he holds it firmly in case it might slip out and be lost otherwise. 'Didn't think that would leave you speechless. Thought you'd get training against that.' 'I was not speechless. I was merely contemplating my words.' 'For an extended period of time after beginning things, ending them and opening and closing your mouth. Called speechless by the common folk,' she informs with a teasing sneer. She enjoys watching others squirm. 'Thank you, Leeriah, but I know what it means. I was also not exhibiting the behaviour.' He isn't aware of it but his chin lifts up slightly with Imperial pride that he can't quite shake. 'Like a fish doesn't swim, I know.' He shakes his head and runs his hand through his fringe. She stiffens at the sight of that eye. 'You are impossible, Leeriah. Impossible, amazing, strong and beautiful.' 'I have relatives to see in the morning. Night, Damin.' She moves to cut the comm channel. 'You cannot run away forever,' he calmly informs her as he begins to toss the ball again. 'I never run away.' 'As you want it.' Just know I'm ready and waiting for you to run to me. 'I will be calling you soon.' 'As you want it,' she mocks. Her figure then disappears from his long table and he is left to consider the empty seats around him as he casually throws the ball up and down, hand to hand. He tests the weight of the ball in his hand and then throws it with full force against the far wall. The loud strike brings Vector to the door, enquiring in that strange tone if there is anything the matter. 'Nothing, Vector. I shall be in the bridge in a moment.' Damin adjusts his shirt, fixes his fringe into position and then walks to the door. His eye is taken by the sight of the ball where it rolled into his path. He bends down and picks it up, tosses it once into the air and then places it back onto the table where he successfully hears it roll to the ground as he leaves the room. He doesn't re-enter the room to pick it up. It will still be waiting there when he returns. -----

Gah! Sorry for the late update. Here's a small rant on why it's late: Oh wow, thank you so much You really did just make my week. If only you told me that before I wrote this post... but I'll see what I can do later (because there is always a later) Blizz will always play an important role whether he's there or not. He's just so darn cute. I'm glad you liked it and found it funny! I find it amusing but then I wonder if that's only me... Yes, why are they both still there? ----- On Leer's ship after the amount time it takes for a certain agent half way across the galaxy to shower and almost finish procrastinating... We unpack the last of the supplies. In the end, Gault ended up only carrying one small and light crate. I had given him three but his whining was not worth a mildly lighter load. Supply shopping is one of the few things that doesn't remind me of him. Was always Gault's and Blizz's job with me, with Mako making the lists of necessary items. Eyes still immediately found the items for tiingilar and gihaal in the stalls. Quick to avert my eyes like a coward. I hold up a bottle of whiskey we just unpacked and raise an eyebrow in question to Gault. 'Nah,' Gault declines with a shake of his head. I hold back the snort of disbelief because I feel my chest sink to somewhere down around my ankles and a rope tighten around my neck. Never known Gault to turn down a drink. Feel like I know what's coming. Torian got me used to sensing goodbyes. 'There's some business that's been waiting on Nar Shaddaa a little too long and now I have my reach around Iziz, I think it's time I left.' His thumb indicates over his shoulder to where the exit is unseen; the strong walls, a few doors and the great desert of the cargo bay are in between us and the only escape route. Often don't come to the galley. Can't stand the walk. Guess I don't eat as much as I should. Doesn't really matter. 'Business never sleeps,' I sagely comment. I put the bottle back and smile a little. I don't blame Gault for wanting to run away. His courtesy in staying this long surprises me and reminds me of someone else. Nothing new there. Everything reminds me of him. Except for supply shopping, I think with a sad, wry smile. 'Exactly.' He pauses and we both have nothing to say. The time apart may be indefinite yet that doesn't make any words come to mind. 'I'm not sure I'm suited to being in a camp of Mandos,' Gault eventually says. 'The whole fighting and honour thing... it's a little-' 'Intense? Strict? Demanding?' I give him a wry smile and close the cupboard. I lean against its closed doors and wish it was that easier to keep the fear, anger and desolation inside my chest and away from sight by merely closing doors somewhere. I wish there was a kolto patch that could be put over Torian's exit wound. It won't stop bleeding and it's slowly killing me. I guess there is a way. People always say feeling pain is better than feeling nothing. Do I really want to test that? Guess when I do, I will forget it and there will be no comparison. And what if it doesn't work? What if it breaks like it has in the past? I'm not that desperate yet. Not yet. Gault gives me a wry smile and shrugs his shoulders. He leans against the opposing cupboard and crosses his arms and rests one ankle over the other. 'Something like that, my dear. It's just really not my scene.' 'Thought you would feel that way.' I shrug. Guess Gault was leaving in the next twelve hours or past twenty four no matter what happened. 'Not sure you'd be welcome either with all the rumours about us. Rather not have to kill my in-laws.' Gault chuckles and I allow myself to indulge in another sly smile. Not much else to do but joke about it. Guess killing anyone I see with a camera is an option. Guess I'll think about it before heading to Dxun. Not like there'll be much else to do except talk to HK who, now that I think about it, I haven't seen since I got back here. Guess that should make me feel nervous but it doesn't. 'Well, I guess this is a temporary goodbye then, my dear,' Gault clumsily says with a shrug and averted eyes. 'You have a shuttle prepared?' I inquire with more concern and care than I feel. 'Yes, there's a noble here who I believe has a large amount of credits and a strong interest in seeing Nar Shaddaa. They also have their own shuttle.' I know the deviant glint in his eyes and that sharp toothed smile. I shake my head at it and smile. 'She was easy pickings?' 'Unbelievably so.' Gault chuckles with contempt. Wonder when he'll get tired of it. Wonder if people do get tired of it. Guess I wouldn't really know. Can't imagine Gault living a life other than the one he has. And a wife? Like he said, it is impossible to imagine. A wife would have nothing to give him he couldn't get through other means. Guess the impossible can happen. I got married. 'Wouldn't be a wrong guess to says she's pretty?' He shrugs again and waves a hand. 'She's alright.' He pushes off the storage case and steps closer. 'She's got no-' My holo bleeps and it cuts off Gault's sentence. He steps back and returns to his casual lean. Wonder sometimes if Gault knows how to stand straight and alone. Decide to answer my holo after a few beeps. Feel a mild surprise at seeing Damin. Doesn't call for three weeks and then twice in the span of a galactic standard day? Must have a reason. Must want something. Wonder if I'm fit enough to play these games still. Something tells me Damin will win in the end. It feels inevitable. 'Good evening, Leer.' Damin slightly bows and Gault snickers. Scan my eye over Damin quickly before making a reply. Notice his buttons on his white, neatly tucked in shirt are all one button off from where they should be. 'Cipher, this is an unwarranted novelty,' I matter-of-factly comment. Gault begins to make faces and a range of crude gestures behind Damin's holo and I smirk and shake my head at them. Always something amusing about Gault when he decides to hate someone. If my interpretation is correct he's making assumptions as to Damin's parentage and others that I'm not quite sure I want to be able to figure out. 'Yes, I wanted to call and make sure you were ok.' Stop talking, Damin. ' You seemed shaken at the end of our last conversation. I hope my news that-' 'Nothing to worry about, Damin,' I cut in sharply. I glance at Gault and see he falters and gives me a sharp look. He doesn't need to know everything. That hasn't changed. I promised him nothing. And this revelation is also nothing. Close the cupboard. 'I feel that you are not alone.' Almost sounds like an aggravated accusation. Too many layers to the agent for me to unravel and this games objectives are still unknown to me. Guess I'm wary but I'm also apathetic. Because apathy makes your cheeks flush and blood pump faster. Always a liar. 'You never miss anything, do you, Damin? Except your shirts done up on the wrong buttons,' I smirk at him and leave him baffled as I twist my wrist so Gault is in its beam. 'I believe you know Gault Rennow.' Gault bows in mock of Damin. Damin only returns the greeting with a warm and civil smile. Can I presume to still know him well enough to be seething on the inside? I don't think the agent has lost any of his pride. Imperial's never lack pride which never fails to amuse me. Remember breaking Imperial's was always the best. Better than Jedi. Jedi code isn't bred into them like an Imperial's pride is. Making someone forsake the core of themselves was always the most gratifying. Tingle of desire runs down my spine and I know Damin's right. It doesn't leave you. 'Yes, I have been following his illustrious and prosperous career. It's amazing what common smugglers turned con men turned bounty hunters can achieve these days.' He speaks without sarcasm or open threat but the idle praise is nothing else. It amuses me to watch the hesitant man I once knew put Gault into his place with only two sentences while still retaining such a civil smile that so uncannily represents sincerity it repulses me. He has gotten very good. For the first time since I have ever met Damin, I almost fear him. Feel like I'm standing near cliffs edge and there's a strong wind, and though my feet are on firm ground, though the edge is far away, the fear of falling and the doubt of my safety still prod at the edges of my mind. I am a fool to allow these conversations but I would be a bigger fool to underestimate him or trust him. I am not stupid enough to even dream of turning him into an enemy. So, Damin knows who Gault is. Anyone with half a brain could guess. But maybe no one wants to look close enough. Intelligence, the Organisation and SIS aren't the only ones that can make people disappear. Also think more than enough people live happier thinking Lokai is dead even if it's a lie. Did some digging on him when he first joined up. Records of Lokai only existed for thirty years. Who were you before being Lokai, Gault? Who are you, really? Guess it isn't my place to ask about pasts. Guess Gault and I aren't too different in some ways. Might make a good story though. Remember what he said about forgetting them. Wonder if Gault's as bad as mine. Guess I saw him as Lokai for a while. Don't know when he did become Gault. 'Anyone who is a resourceful enough can make a fortune out of war. I believe Cipher's are one of the best paid employees of the Empire,' Gault returns with a civil smile that fails to hide the mocking behind it. I twist my arm back. Damin frowns slightly at me. 'I had hoped to have the pleasure of speaking to you alone and on your ship, Leer.' Gault raises and eyebrow and makes suggestive gestures as to the nature of our interaction. Maybe if the hand gestures weren't so unbelievably graphic, I would think it childish. 'I am on my ship. Gault is a crew member. Why wouldn't be here?' 'Maybe I will show you the list of reasons I have made some other time.' I doubt the joke was not founded in hard evidence but it still makes me smile. Not like it isn't the thing I ask Gault most. Damin's smile is small as he speaks but still there: just a slight upward twitch of the corners that don't reveal his dimples with lips slightly thinner and lighter from pressing them against teeth I know are perfect and white. Wonder if he still has the right dimple or whether it was removed when he gained the burns. 'My father hates to see me smile: the dimples are an imperfection and deformity he cannot stand the sight of as well as evidence of a lack of stoic obedience. Military men should not smile. However, my mother loves them in the way anyone in Intelligence loves a natural charm that can assist with their ambitions and missions.' I remember those words. I remember the hatred in his voice that hadn't yet found a way onto his antagonists instead of himself. Can't understand how people find the difficulty in hating their parents. Guess mine weren't around long enough to teach me that. Wonder if he has found how. Wonder if when he returned, they greeted him with open arms and love. Hope they did for his sake. 'I like them,' I remember I said in reply. I liked his masculine jaw, straight nose, perfect facial symmetry and ever so slightly large eyes. Don't know how I noticed all this when it came to him and not any other man. Maybe it was because he was so exceptionally handsome. Still is despite everything. Wasn't why I wanted to say that. Felt like the words might comfort him. I don't know how I thought I could act as a kolto patch over his wounds. 'Why?' he asked in return. I had no answer. 'You did not answer your ships holo,' Damin continues before I can voice a request of comparison of lists or remark on the jealousy or interest making such a list would involve. 'I was out if you must know.' 'I was aware but thought you had returned already,' he replies with patience. 'Oh, and how were you made aware?' 'Holonet, naturally.' Gault looks at me and seems bursting to say something. I can think of a list of what they are. I sigh and shake my head. What a nuisance. 'My desire is still valid,' Damin continues. 'I would like a private word with you, Leer.' 'Leer, now, is it?' He slightly inclines his head, his hands clasped tightly behind his back and his back unbreakable straight. I shrug and flick my hair away from my eyes. 'Gault was just leaving. I'll call you back soon.' I shut Damin off before he can agree. I want to scold Gault for being an immature idiot. I want to protest to the hand signals. Find I only chuckle and shake my head instead as I put the comm back into my belts pocket. Notice the pouch is coming off and other places are well worn. Need a new one. 'You do know you're playing it dangerous by talking to a Cipher, right?' Gault has the sharp look in his eye he does when evaluating a good he's considering buying. Same look he has when he's thinking of rebuking me or with unbelievable concern. 'Yeah, I know,' I reply with a shrug. Not going to discuss Damin with him. 'Just be wary, okay? I'd rather not have you unnecessarily put your neck on the line.' 'Because it will be bad for your business and might endanger you as well?' Voice slices across the three metres between us a little too sharply. 'That's only a bonus,' he defends. I raise a sceptical eye brow and continue to stare into his eyes. 'Ok, it makes up about 40% of it. The rest is entirely sincere concern for my favourite mass murder.' 'Sure, Gault.' 'Just want to check that you are aware that being close to Imperial Intelligence generally isn't good for your estimated lifespan and that you have thought this through. Not to mention what a conceited and snobbish bore he seems to be.' 'Jealous again, are you?' I sneer. 'Of that rigid metal cut out and poster boy for Imperial Intelligence? You must be joking! Though you aren't always very good at those.' 'Very funny, Gault,' I spit back. 'Nooo, what would be 'very funny' and very stupid is if you trusted that phoney blue-boy.' When did Gault move to stand so close to me? When did I also move towards him? I look up into his crimson eyes with a hostile eye. My breath comes short and heavy through my nose and I want to make blood pour out from his. 'Wasn't aware you had a say in who I trust or not. Who would you suggest I trust? HK? Blizz? You?' 'Yes, me,' he almost shouts back. The two words ring in my ears. 'Don't. Make. Me. Laugh. I would sooner believe the flirting **** that comes out of your mouth than trust you.' 'You can trust me, babe,' he almost pleads if it weren't for the frustration and gritted teeth. 'You know I-' 'Never lie to you,' I finish with scorn and laughter. Gault only continues to stare down into my eye and I am surprised and angry to find there isn't any hatred there. What's it going to take for him to leave me? 'Aren't you supposed to be leaving?' I frostily ask as I step back. I hear his quick heart beat and his even breathing. I hear the rustle of his shirt as each breath moves in and out and I hear the workings of my own body and mind. Gault shrugs with an rustle. 'What's the hurry? Eager to go talk to blue-boy?' Scorn in his voice is palpable and I wonder why we are even arguing. Not like the other times we've had this banter. No humour in this. My body is tense and I realise my blades have slipped out. 'No but I don't want you to keep your noblewoman waiting. Must be eager to leave if you turned down a drink.' Calm down, I reprimand myself with. I avert my eyes from Gault and force my blades back in. 'Sure you won't stay until the morning?' I glance back up at Gault and see the tight frown is still there. He waves his hand like he's swatting at a sand fly. Remember how comforting it was to hold it as I fell asleep: smooth and slightly warm but not burning, his long red fingers wrapped tightly around mine. Missing him already? When he's still here? You're pathetic. 'Nah, hate to wake late and find I'm in a camp of Mandalorians.' Shrug my shoulders and feel the weight of my armour. 'Suppose.' I don't know what to say. I guess what I want is to ask if afterward he will join back up. Would it be so stupid to think he might even after this? 'Call me when you're done with them.' I look at Gault and see that strange sharpness in his red eyes, like he knew what I was thinking. I hope Gault never does know what I think. It might drive him insane as well. 'I'm not sure my Empire can stand a prolonged separation,' he jokes with a secretive wink. 'Ah, we wouldn't want your Crime Empire to crumble now would we?' I give him a sly smile and raised eyebrow before looking to the low ceiling. I guess the bathrooms above here. 'Never, babe. Don't worry so much. You know I'll be back.' I hate it when he says things like that. Phrases like that, looks like that, sentiments like that look like they spring from an emotion I know can't be the right one. All point to something that could be undoubtable if it wasn't Gault. Feel inept when it comes to the people around me. His words inspire hope but I can't trust them. I can't understand how they can be true. I just don't get it and sometimes I wonder if Gault really knows either. Guess I must be ****ed up if I can't believe in the existence of friendship and even more twisted that I can't understand what it's meant to feel like or really mean. People are equations: their behaviours are caused by certain biological, cultural and personal factors that lead to predicting behavioural outcomes in certain situations. I see the figures but they lack any emotive ability. Guess that does make me a droid. 'Like a cold you just can't shake.' I chuckle but don't take my eyes from the ceiling. Could never look at Torian when he left. Never watched Damin's shuttle leave. I didn't wave goodbye to Blizz. Only listened to Gault's departure from his empty room. I can't watch the people I care about walk out of my life. Never had trouble watching the General walk away and imagining a blaster bolt shot through his back. 'Come on, I'm not that bad. I want your word that you will call me, my dear.' 'And I want yours that you will stop siphoning credits from my account but we can't all get what we want,' I snap back. He touched a nerve and a muscle twitched: he moved quickly and I'm back in my shell. What is it with people wanting to call me or me to call them? Gault knows about Blizz. He should know I will never make a call asking for them to come to me. 'You win some, you lose some. You just keep losing some,' is Gault's only reply. Gault walks out of the galley and into his room. The strange dejection that settled on me seems to be pulled tighter. It isn't like him to not argue with me. I stand in the hallway outside his door and look across the cargo bay. Gault picks up his packed bags and walks past me into the cargo bay without a glance. I feel my chest tighten and my fists clench. I hate that room. I hate that door. I hate that I can't let them go. I hate that when it comes down it, I don't hate them at all. The happy memories are now painful and this room and ship is a prison. But I'm institutionalised and I can't leave. I love Torian too much to let anything go even if it's killing me. Gault stands at the exit and I am forced to walk again through the cargo hold. I shiver and my skin tingles as if I can still feel burning Torian's touch over it. 'Cyare...' 'So, do I get a goodbye kiss?' I roll my eye at Gault who stands closer than I thought he was before. I cross my arms over the comforting hardness of my armour. 'Keep wishing, Gault.' Was that convincing? Gault didn't hear it. Guess I am going mad. Feel I should care more. Feel I should be terrified of losing my sanity before I lose myself. But hallucination or not, the ghost of his touch and the loud echo of his voice make me feel secure and safe. If anything unnerves me, it's that I feel the most contentment and the most security when I'm hearing his voice. 'You gave me one last time if you remember.' I remember. Corellia. We just landed. Gault jumped ship to go find Hylo. 'Wish me luck with a kiss?' 'Need more than that, Gault.' Hell has no fury like a woman scorned. I know that more than most. 'Is that an offer?' he slyly moves back closer and I look up at him levelly. I didn't mean it like that and he knows it. But I'm taken by a brief spout of compassion for the irritating and roguish Devaronian. I kiss his cheek quickly but counter it with a slap on the other. Don't want him to get ideas for things that are beyond impossible. I smirk at him as I step away and he sighs dramatically, rubbing his reddening cheek with the back of his hand. He picks up his bags and heads for the door. But he doesn't walk through it without hesitating and turning his head slightly, his eye catching mine. 'Will you miss me?' Guess the look that unnerved me then has come to be one of his most frequent now. When did we start to change? 'Asked me the same thing eight months ago. Gave you one and I didn't see you for four months. Think if I don't this time you might come back sooner to collect.' Gault must step closer because he seems very close. 'Will there be something to collect, babe?' he asks quietly. I shrug. 'Guess you'll have to come back to find that out.' Because I honestly don't know. Gault shifts his bag and brushes my hair back from my cheek. It had fallen over my cybernetic eye hiding it in a way that reminds me of Damin. I feel Gault's finger tips on my cheek and I refuse to blush this time. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 'I liked your hair when it was shorter. It's past your shoulders now.' 'Are you saying you're not coming back because you don't like my hair? Or that you will only come back if I cut my hair?' Raise an eyebrow like I always do with Gault and smirk up at him. He smiles back and he twists my hair around his finger, the colours almost matching. Almost. 'Neither. Don't worry, my dear, I'll always come back for you.' 'Like you did for Hylo?' I feel his finger unwind from my hair. Gault steps back from me back but doesn't go to move out the door. Think those five words were more painful than a slap. But he got too close. He looks away from me and I feel I just changed something. I feel I lost something I can't get back. I will wonder when I look back on this conversation, whether what happened later would have happened differently if I hadn't said that. I think Gault will remember those words and it will make him make a choice that will change everything. 'No, not like I did for Hylo. I'll be back a lot sooner. You can trust me, my dear.' 'Don't get carried away there, Lokai. But I'm sor-' 'Yeah, yeah. Stop getting all touchy-feely on me.' Gault twists his face into teasing disgust but I didn't miss his frown. It was only an instant and though it's now captured in my memory, can I still be mistaken in thinking he looked the most hurt I had ever seen him? He turns and opens the door, walking down the cargo ramp before it's extended. He jumps off the end nimbly and it doesn't break his stride. Gault looks different from usual as he walks away then: he wears the same shirt and pants that probably cost far too much since he will never wear them again; his black shoes are quiet in the large, echoing hanger bay; his skin is the only colour that can be seen amongst the grey steel yet something was different. I close the exit and bring the ramp up. I can't watch Gault walk away any more. Know after this, that he won't be back. I hit below the belt too many times in one day. I glance at the crates still arranged like a table. See Torian sitting there for an instant, watching me with those intent blue eyes and a frown on his face. Shake my head and walk up to the comm room. I talk to Damin for hours. I'll never know it but while I spoke to Damin, Gault didn't leave the spaceport that night. He didn't go to the woman he promised to see. Instead, he turned right and bought a ticket for a shuttle to Nar Shaddaa that was to leave in the morning. He spent the night pacing through the space port, wondering if he'd made a mistake and whether that shouldn't be a goodbye. He thought of Torian. He remembered the rebuke he gave Torian for leaving her and Torian's objection that it didn't matter because he came back. Gault thought he was right in arguing against it but now he isn't sure. She shouldn't be left alone. 'I thought I told you I'll stay and do what I want as long as she wants me. I didn't hear a 'no' just now, did you, kid?' He remembers the words. He remembers how he had only said them to aggravate the kid. He isn't sure when they started to be true or if they are. He thinks he might want to be with her more than she wants to be with him. He went to her hanger door more than once but something other than the knowledge that HK could be programmed to shoot him kept him from entering my hanger. In the morning, he will almost miss his shuttle because he stood too long waiting on the roof to watch my ship leave. I'll never know what he thought as he watched it fly straight to the large, green moon that hung so large in the sky. His actions will prove or disprove the honesty of his words. Neither of us could have known then that Gault held the key to my freedom in his hands. ----

Damin's POV Six hours later on Alderaan... My eyes do not open. I keep them closed even though my face is softly implanted in my pillow and hidden from others view. I reach under my pillow for the blaster slowly ensuring the movement won't catch my watchers eye. I retain the heart rate and breathing of someone asleep. Whoever watches me doesn't move from the door way. However, I am patient and willing to wait. Eventually, I hear their movements and I do not know how, but I feel like something is coming toward me. I turn quickly, sitting up and shoot at what comes toward my head. The blaster bolt hits it off course. I hear the female snicker I loathe and groan. I spread my arms wide and lie back down in my black silk sheets. 'Nice shooting there at a harmless datapad, agent.' 'What do you want, Miss Kaliyo?' I ask with as much pleasantry as my hangover and irritation at being awoken can allow. I would also not call a rather hard and cornered object being thrown with considerable malice towards my head 'harmless'. 'Not to see your naked *** in the afternoon, agent, that's for sure.' I don't need to open my eyes again and look at her to know she leans in the doorway where she always does. The doorway is empty in a very pleasing way when she is not standing there and that pleasure is far too infrequent. I grope my hand around the bed near my outstretched hand and when I find a grip on my covers I pull them over my body. I feel it necessary more as an observation of general decorum among business associates than any discomfort at someone seeing my naked body. An agent who suffers from self-consciousness, nervousness or timidity is not a very good (and thus not a very successful) agent. 'Would you please tell me what you want from this discussion, Miss Kaliyo?' I ask again. The politeness of my language improves but the testy irritation in it has increased. 'I just wanted to make sure you read all the latest news so I was doing a special delivery.' 'How thoughtful, Kaliyo. Well, if that is all, could you please show yourself out and inform Vector that our discussion planned for this afternoon will have to be delayed to the evening after we have made the job to hyperspace?' 'I'm not your messenger, agent.' I hear Kaliyo walk off and I am left to despise and mull over her many contradictions. After I have completed these thoughts and found Kaliyo to be one of the most aggravating hypocrites in the galaxy, I then begin to consider what to do to alleviate my hangover. I eventually decide to sit up and drink the glass of water that was readily waiting beside my bed for this predicted affliction. I was able to prove to Kaliyo I could drink more Tarisian ale than her and still walk in a straight line though it seems she is better suited for the side effects of such a challenge. I pour more water from the ready jug and scull it. On the fourth refill, I merely swill it around and around, watching the clear liquid made a dusty blue by my hand, move into a vortex. I move my hand to hold the glass from the top and hold it up to the burning, bright light of my room that Kaliyo so joyously left on for me. The way the light moves through the distilled water reminds me of the shine in Leeriah's eye and I am left to shake my sore head in melancholy and self scolding. She cannot escape my thoughts in idle moments now that we have met again and I wish I had less idle moments. I rest my elbows on my knees and hang my head. I run a hand through my fringe as is my habit when thinking of a difficult or perplexing problem. I pull at the roots and think of what I should do about her as I swirl the undrunk water. I analyse the effect the news had on her and take in her current situation, location and general personality and come to the conclusion I should call her before we make the leap to hyperspace. I must ensure that telling her this well-founded rumour has not endangered our relationship. And that she is ok. I shake my head and drink the glass of water, putting it down on the table a little too hard. I cringe. It was foolish of me to drink so much last night. Vector's conversation, Kaliyo's summations and Leeriah's... everything effected my judgement more than I care to admit. I must not make the same mistake again. The thought of Kaliyo reminds me of the datapad which has remained in my peripheral. I bring it close enough to me to pick it up with my bare foot. The screen flickers and I doubt it is still working. Before I place it neatly in the bin under my desk, I see the screen work and display the latest celebrity news. As soon as I notice the effect the image and article are about to have on me, I lower my heart rate and breathing. Before I read it I consider the rationale for why Kaliyo would decide to show me such an article and can only come to the conclusion that she still doubts my indifference to Leeriah and seeks to aggravate me for her amusement and possibly as a form of revenge for either beating her at drinking or the refusal to join her crazed crusade against her short list of exes that all resided in different ends of the galaxy. I carefully examine the image. She's on Iziz still from the clothes of those around her and the architecture. It is early afternoon. The only other information they can offer is that she is in a market place. I had thought her leaving for the Mandalorians soon. I let my eyes turn to him first. I critically take in his expensive grey shirt and black pants which are both cut according to the latest style. I notice with little interest that his horns are slightly long for a Devaronian and they are well groomed. The latter is of little consequence: all Devaronian's take pride in their horns. Though I believe there was a time when he was a bounty hunter that it was broken by a target in an explosion. His expression is what interests me. The picture is grainy when closely examined and doesn't give the nuances I desire most to dissemble his expression as he watches her. There is no doubt he is amused by whatever she or he is saying and no further than that can I tell. It ads little to my understanding of their relationship. If I cannot understand it, I cannot end it. However, my eye doesn't fail to notice how close they stand. I don't want to dissect her like I do everyone else but I know it necessary and inevitable. I look to her clothes first and see she is in armour. It is the same as on Nar Shaddaa and as in most of her recent photos. It is painted a dark blue and always polished. I find the symbol on the chest fascinating and wish I had clearer images to scrutinize it. She has bare biceps like only she would dare but her forearms and hand are covered in matching dark blue and silver wrist guards that leave her fingers free. She wears black pants with not armour and black durasteel boots. I notice the boots under the stall with a wry smile and let the memory of a time when she only wore boots to smuggle me kolto patches, food and water to distract me for an indulgent moment. I take a deep breath and let the memory leave with the air. She's an infection that needs to be removed from myself and the galaxy. I take in the large sniper rifle she's touching and about to pick up as she looks at the Devaronian with a smirk and raised eye brow. I shake my head. Their expressions and proximity ad nothing new, only confirming previous observations. I think of the other images of them strewn across the holonet and frown slightly. Though these images are most likely taken away from context, I cannot help but feel that they are still evidence for the intimacy that I and half the galaxy believe exists between them. I am curious as to know whether she is aware of these articles and how she can never notice someone with a camera pointing toward her. I consider this and pin it down to her eyes only looking for threats or prey and a camera is neither to her. More curious is why she keeps him as a companion. If I believed Leeriah materialistic it may provide an explanation but credits are something she has always been easy with. I could almost say with certainty his attachment to her is founded in finance. All other reasons would always be second from the reports of his character that I have received. I find it hard that such a shallow materialistic being with a known tendency for deceit and betrayal would care for her. Given their age difference, a certain fatherly affection or indulgence is possible especially given that I believe 'Gault' to be far too shallow to look past her metal enhancements to garner any sort of aesthetic pleasure from the sight of her. I read the article which adds nothing of worth and contains only ridiculous extrapolations from one supply trip. Is it such a mistake to feel a little twinge of irritation that is similar to jealousy or regret? I know I could never persuade her to act in any way other than she did and her objections were founded. I know it was highly likely to occur how she must of imagined and I was only later forced to realise through my parents loss of trust in me. But there is still the doubt and the slim chance that would defy terrifying odds that it could have worked. Maybe, for just a little while at least, I would have felt something similar to Vector's contentment. Damin believes against reason and probability that even a short period of time would be worth whatever the consequence instead of a life where the closest thing to happiness is self-satisfaction in another perfectly completed mission in deceit, subterfuge and/or death. But such emotions aren't to be bourn long and are quickly cast aside by the agent. Damin doesn't exist anymore. I straighten my back and place the datapad in the trash. I pull clean and perfectly folded clothes from their appropriate draws and head for the refresher. All I want is another drink.

5 long hours after... (middle of the morning) 'You're still here.' How does it sound to the Devaronian? Does her greeting sound surprised or like an accusation? Does it betray happiness? Is she angry? None of these. It doesn't sound like anything. She sounds like a woman commenting on unsurprising and mild weather. Or a droid. He spins around in his chair with a creak to face her as she stands in the doorway with legs apart and arms crossed over ample chest. He lets his eyes linger there as he speaks before moving them up to take in her expression. His eyes look for dark lines under her eyes but her skin is as clear and porcelain as it is every day. He isn't sure if it is the face of a woman who spent the night crying or grieving. 'I am, my dear. I never said I was going to be anything else. Though I am also rather hungry. We need more food supplies.' Gault gestures with a lazy and dismissive hand to a datapad that is on the control panel next to him as he explains. He does the jobs around the ship that are expected of him though that list has shrunk substantially and he never likes to give the impression he does. He knows if he left it to her, the galley would remain empty forever. She arches her eyebrow in an expressive and regal way that beats even the most high bred Aleraanian. Yes, she definitely doesn't look like a woman grieving, he thinks with a mutter to himself. Is it because she's keeping it so close inside or is it because she doesn't feel anything? He knows it has to be the first. He doesn't think two stubborn, cautious people being in love could have been more obvious. Gault doesn't understand how she could hide it for so long or how she could say nothing when he stood in this bridge and scolded her like she was misbehaving child and insulted her husband like he was a negligent father. If he knew, if he had understood then, then maybe he would have let her crimes slip and not tugged viciously on a lead he has no right to. But he didn't know and he didn't understand. All night he thought of everything he has said to her and all night he has admonished himself for them. 'I don't see why Torian isn't stopping you. He is supposed to be your brave and strong protector after all. Isn't he fretting that you're going to break a nail?' Idiot, Gault silently cursed himself for. How could he not see her constant aversion, the stumble over his name and the bitterness and self-loathing in her voice every time he was brought up? The way she averted her face and her fists clenched? Now he knows it was so obvious, so clear. 'I guess since you say 'we' you aren't planning to leave anytime soon.' Her deduction is cold and rather accurate. She's tired on the inside and if this is a good bye, she wants it over with. He grins at her in the most charming way he can and is rewarded by no change in her. 'Can't get rid of me that easily, babe.' She frowns and her brow knits in confusion. The wrinkles it causes in her forehead and straight and dark with shadows. When she ever so slightly tilts her head without conscious thought, her hair comes free from one of her ears and falls as a wave across her face. Her hair has gotten longer like how he preferred it, the Devaronian thinks with a scowl. He liked it shorter instead of the length now a little past her shoulders. She doesn't move it back and he wonders if it is because she is too single minded to notice such a small distraction from her interrogation. 'Even when I've spent three months lying to you?' she inquires incredulously. She doubts him and is suspicious. She had expected his immediate departure and any reason he has to say cannot be a good one for her. He can't do anything to remove her distrust or take the walls around her down. All he can do is stay even when it isn't in his best interest and hope that if a day comes that she needs help, then he is there to help her. 'Four months and one week actually,' he corrects her. He didn't notice that he was keeping track of the weeks that went by with her. 'And hey! if that's the worst thing you've got in your closet then yeah, I'll be here for a while.' Her frown turns to a scowl. It isn't a closet she keeps her secret in and it is far from the worst. If he stays as long as he always proclaims he will, either of her secrets will get him killed. She tells herself this isn't her concern. **** happens, right? Right? He notices the reaction and it only makes his suspicion of something she never wants him to know being hidden in the engine room. And by the way she avoids ever being down stairs like the it was had the rakghoul plague, he guesses it isn't a secret she particularly likes. He wonders if it has anything to do with her Mando. He isn't sure about that though. It feels separate and... darker. 'If that's the case, you can come supply shopping with me.' Her neck and back straighten as she deals the order. It's a tick in her she has never noticed and never will: it's a left over habit from over a decade ago when she gave orders to scared men and scuttling women. Is Gault scared? 'After all, a weak and pathetic woman like myself needs a strong man like you to help carry all the boxes,' she mocks with a smirk. His body relaxes at the well loved expression and he returns it willingly. Gault scoffs. 'I've seen you throw a grown Gamorrean out of a window from five metres away.' 'Used to be able to do seven metres.' Was that teasing joke or a disturbing fact? 'That was a good night. Hutta?' This is how it should be. No secrets, no lies and no tension. Would it be a mistake for him to hope their banter will never end? Would it be a betrayal for her to never want it to end? 'No, Hutta was the Rodian and Twi'lek. The Gamorrean was Tatooine. First night I joined the crew and you literally brought the cantina down.' 'And you're still here,' she sighs with a smirk. Her eye seems a lighter now, like sunshine through a fractured window. 'Why are you here?' Why is she never satisfied with his answer? What does she want to hear? He tells her the truth. It isn't a lie just because he doesn't say everything. She's not sure why she keeps asking. She can only sense that he never tells her everything but doesn't have the understanding of people to fill in the small and obvious gaps. The only behaviour Gault could display that she could understand is his constant lechery and an anger at being lied to for over four months. She would walk out if she were him. Damin thought he would walk. She can't understand friendship. 'Do you really not know, my dear?' his sly smirk softens a little. Sometimes, she looks as young as she is and he feels the force of how horrible and long her corruption was. She's a fifth way through her natural lifespan but her emotional understanding is stunted at a tenth of it. But that only makes her more dangerous. 'I wouldn't ask a question if I knew the answer.' She's angry now. She hates anyone realising any gap in her understanding and knowledge. He shrugs and holds his arms wide, palms up. There's nothing up his sleeves. 'You're good for business, that's all.' It's an answer she can understand. 'With the galaxy knowing Gault Rennow, galaxies uprising Crime Lord, travels with the infamous and loathed Leer aka. Ravager Haran aka. the Champion of the Great Hunt aka. Republic and now the galaxies Most Wanted, I have to buy and fight a lot less people.' 'And how does the galaxy know this?' Her scepticism is unfounded and her ignorance to their fame is endearing. Take away her hate and anger and there's something... not so bad. 'Don't you ever read the holo net, my dear?' 'Not what you seem to.' 'Well, the funnies are for an acquired taste.' She doesn't laugh at his joke and waits for an explanation, still standing rigidly over him. 'Every time you kill someone, it's all over the holonet news. Every time we're seen together in public, it's all over the celebrity gossip.' 'And why would that be?' She raises her eyebrow as she always does and it distractedly crosses his mind that her eyebrows and a dark brown while her hair is a deep, dark red. 'My dear, maybe you haven't noticed, but you're almost more famous and feared than the Emperor. You certainly are more seen and directly kill a lot more people. Don't tell me you actually thought no one knew anything about what you do? You aren't an assassin anymore, babe. You're in the limelight now. I'm merely basking in the reflection of it.' 'And reaping it's rewards apparently.' She quickly smirks before it fades and her expression relaxes. She turns this information over in her mind. Her gaze goes blank and Gault is reminded of a wait to a terminal generating an answer to a search or installing a new program. 'So tell me what exactly the gossip on the net says about us?' She eventually asks. 'Nothing spectacular. Only that you're my bodyguard, hired killer and then some.' He waves his hand and picks up one of his many discarded datapads, skimming through the net and searching for the best example of proof she could want. He seems to be able to tell them apart despite no immediate difference in appearance. 'And then some?' she inquires. She knows the Devaronian is keeping something he finds amusing from her and is enjoying toying with her. It annoys her in the way a cat is annoyed with dangling of a string that keeps escaping it; only this cat has very dangerous, very sharp and very quick claws. 'Yeah, only speculations on our relationship: married or not? That kind of thing. General consensus is that we're *********** though.' He knows the best way to get a reaction from her and he finds her coming anger amusing. So he doesn't leer at her or smile suggestively. He only waves his hand dismissively as if it were nothing. 'Despite the fact I already am married?' 'Well, you didn't exactly go put that down into paperwork, did you?' 'Mando'ad don't need to. Our word and oath is strong enough.' 'You're-' Gault shakes his head at how she can hate something, become it, reject it and freely accept it at random moments. 'Right, whatever you say, my dear. The point is that no one who isn't a Mando doesn't know it.' She nods and then leers at him in the way that show the white, long pointed teeth in the back of mouth. 'Poor Hylo must be heartbroken by these reports,' she mischievously sneers. 'And so must your blue-boy.' She scowls. He meets her every offence with another. He could never count her in combat but he always can in words. She guesses that's why she keeps him around. She always likes a challenge. But she also hates losing. It makes her very, very angry. He smirks. Her hit was wide with Hylo. He won this round and he always does like winning. 'And these rumours have been around for how long?' she asks coldly. It's a strange contradiction the way her voice becomes gentle and soft when she's angry like fine velvet covering your ears. She's a reflection in a broken mirror: she's the same as other women but she's broken and fractured and sometimes you realise how opposite she is. Sometimes, you realise she isn't human. 'Well, they didn't care about you till after the Great Hunt though I think the military on both sides found you irritating. And then you had the Mando and everything and I wasn't a crime lord then so... they've only been around for the last four months.' 'And you were never going to mention them to me?' she clarifies in that soft voice that is warm and sweet like fresh honey from a hive. 'I didn't know they were worth mentioning. I thought you knew.' He always supposed until this conversation that she was aware of them and didn't care. If anyone in the galaxy could genuinely say they cared for no one's opinion of them, it would be her. He finds it amusing that she couldn't be and was possible the only person in the galaxy who wasn't. 'Of course I didn't know!' she snarls angrily. 'If it will make you happy, the next time an article is written on us, I'll read every false and saucy word of our steamy affair.' She glares at him and her deep red lips slightly pout. He groans inside and curses how oblivious she is to how beautiful she can be even when missing an eye. If she ever guessed even half the things he imagines she would have killed him long ago. 'You really have no idea how famous you are, do you?' he asks with a chuckle, letting his eyes return to the datapad. 'You know, it's kind of adorable how unaware of yourself you are.' She extends one of her blades and reaches her arm out to point at him. It isn't close to him in that is a hairs width away or even a hands width away, it is that it is out at all and pointed to him that makes it too close and his heart start drumming a little quicker. The blade is clean and shining but all he can see is the blood of many men. 'Take that back now,' she warns. She wonders for a moment what Gault would do if he ever really tested her. Could she still kill him like she could of once? She isn't sure but she knows she hates the accusation more for how uncomfortable it made her than anything else. The thought of her being 'adorable' in any way even if it is only 'kind of' to anyone is repulsive and confusing. 'Come on, honey, no need for violence,' he calms in an acted husbandly voice. He doesn't even look up from his datapad. She scowls and retracts her blade. 'At least this explains a lot,' she growls. She begins to pace the four metres from one side of the cockpit to the other and Gault refuses to let his amused eyes follow her. 'You mean all this time you thought people stared at us because we're so devilishly good looking?' he asks with a smirk. 'Something like that,' she concedes with a pout, continuing her pacing without pause. She honestly thought it was more her armour or the blood on her arms. Never for this. How could she ever think it was for this? 'Are you even aware of yourself enough to realise how oblivious you are?' he muses, allowing himself to watch her for a moment. He knows he can push a little further. He doesn't know why, but he feels he does need to assure her that nothing has changed because he can feel that it has. He found out what she wanted him to never know so she could continue her make believe. She can't run away from what happened for ever. 'Shut it, Gault,' she spits. He smirks at her a little larger and returns to looking through the holonet. 'Now I know why Corridan wants to see me,' she mumbles to herself. She stops at the end of her pace and looks at a small blank wall panel. She punches it quickly and continues her walking, leaving the badly dinted panel to fall with a loud clang. 'You think the big Mando daddy wants to tell you off for sleeping around?' he leers at her. He's enjoying this and these rumours are the closest he's ever going to get to sleeping with her. It hasn't changed that. And he likes the idea of someone trying to tell her off. He's tried and it almost killed him. He values his life and her honour too much too try again. 'So many things were wrong with that question Gault,' she says with a shake of her head and a scowl. She stops pacing and moves into the pilot chair next to his. 'So why do they even think this?' Gault turns his ready datapad to her with a repressed chuckle. Under the heading 'Galaxies Most Dangerous Couple in Danger of Splitting' are three images of Gault and her from five weeks ago on Nar Shaddaa. First, it looks like she's sitting over Gault and no more than a horn and slither of his leg, torso and arm can be seen. There are many possibilities to what they could be doing from that angle and all would be incorrect and more than a little unseemly. The second is her moving away from Gault's arm with a glare to the wall. The last shows her walking away from the booth with a frown and Gault looking after her with a glare. She scowls at the datapad and Gault takes it out of her reach. He can sense when she's about to destroy something and that time is about now. Eventually, she takes a deep breath and smirks at Gault with an amused arched brow. 'So we've split up, huh?' she asks with a terrifying chuckle. 'Nah, if you look at the news two weeks ago it's us in the alley here on Iziz. Apparently I was begging you to have me back. Though, I think we both know it would be the other way around.' She smiles and laughs with scorn before shaking her head and scowling again. She would never beg anyone for anything. Unless begging would bring him back, she thinks. 'This is f***ed! Those photos were completely misleading!' she protests. Her mind turns to their conversation that night and takes her to Damin. Have you seen them, Damin? 'Don't you think it's better they think we were having a tiff over something like the man hitting on you at bar instead of what we were really talking about?' 'Shove it, Gault. You're not married.' 'And not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for it,' he confirms as he leans back in his chair, hands and datapad behind his head. So that's what she had been thinking about, he muses. Mando honour and all that ****. 'Oh? Forgotten about the woman you're so madly in love with?' She inquires with a leer and kick of his leg. 'Nah, I could never do that,' he answers as he rubs his lean leg. She didn't mean to kick him so hard. She strangely never means to hurt Gault. 'Marrying her would be light years beyond insane and impossible.' She didn't seem to be listening to him because she shakes her head and her reply has again returned to the reports. 'Don't understand. Don't they see you hitting up every dancer in every city, every night when we're landside?' Gault nods and presses a few buttons before showing her a new picture and article title. It reads 'Rennow to be Haran's next target?'. The accompanying picture is Gault walking out of a cantina with two twi'leks on his arm. It was also taken on Nar Shaddaa and by the date it was taken after the last ones. 'You're loving this, aren't you, Gault?' she asks in irritated astonishment. 'Completely,' he assures with vigour and a grin. She chuckles in the way he likes and shakes her head. She looks up to the blank metal ceiling of removable steel plates with a sneering and content smirk. 'I hate you, Gault. You do know that, right?' How can a woman who has killed so many and hates with so much vigour sound so sweet no matter what she says? 'I never doubt it,' he swears with a self-satisfied grin. They both know it's not true but it's easier to say than anything else. True friendship doesn't need to be announced. 'Good. Now come on. I leave for Dxun in the morning.' She stands up and turns to him considering the best way to make him stand from his reclining position. She decides to only kick his leg again as she makes her demand. 'Let's go get those supplies.' He looks down at the datapad he's still holding. He examines the back of it and doesn't look at her as his leg aches with a whitening bruise. 'Sure but it's going to cost you.' 'How much?' she demands in disbelief. 'Not that much,' he reassures as he turns the datapad over in his hand examining it. She knows there is something wrong when he doesn't smile, call her by an endearment or flirt with her in any other way. She thought they were ok. She thought it didn't matter. 'No credits at least. I was thinking more along the lines of no more secrets or lies especially about dead spouses.' 'I can't do that, Gault, and neither can you,' she frostily replies. 'My mother always told me I should try new things. Or did a twi'lek dancer tell me that? Either way, it's worth a shot. We might find we like having no secrets from someone else.' He flashes her a grin as he picks up the datapad containing the list and puts it into his back pocket. It's a little sad but he's trying to play it cool. He wants her to know for once that he is serious. He never has been entirely honest with someone but then he's never stuck around with anyone this long or through so many life and death encounters. Maybe... 'Last man I promised it to ended up dying. Had three secrets from him in the end.' Her voice that can be so warm like honey in tea is now cold and sour. She knows it will be the same with him. Their friendship won't allow it and he knows less of her history than her husband had. 'Don't worry, my dear,' he promises with a lopsided smile. She can see something intent in his expression but it doesn't melt the ice in her eyes or heart. 'I'm really not the heroic sort.' Gault takes a step closer and reaches a hand to touch her cheek. She stands her ground and allows the movement. It makes her skin tingle and she feels ashamed of the unwanted blush that blossoms from under it. It assures him she is alive in there somewhere and some part of her must feel still. The Mando thought she was worth the risk of a blade in the gut or a blaster bolt in the chest. Gault won't go that far but... guess he'll look out for her in a brotherly or fatherly way. 'We all die some day,' he quietly tells her. 'It's not your fault. There isn't any shame in continuing your life or feeling happy.' 'You're obviously not a Mando'ad then,' she sneers. She leans back a little and Gault let's his hand move to her shoulder. 'And there isn't anything to be happy for or about.' 'Think about it and you'll see that's not true. Sometimes you need to let the past lie, my dear.' 'No! I can't.' 'Have you ever noticed that the people with power in the galaxy - any person that actually matters - has had the shortest straw in their past? Survival of the fittest and only the fittest make it to the top. We, my dear, are at the top. The past has done its job in getting us here and now we can let go of it and reap the rewards.' I can't say anything to this. What is there to say? That she had spent hours every day and every night ensuring that her man was at the top as well? It was her guard that was down and it was her unfit mistake that should have led to her death. She will never let the past rest and her past has given her no rewards except the ability to get revenge for all the horrors it brought her for the rest of her drastically shortened life. So she turns her mind back to the real topic at hand. 'Gault, you lie to me on approximately three times every conversation. And on the secret front, you won't even tell me why you're really here.' He drops his hand and snickers at her as he crosses his arms. He leans against the control panel next to him, careful not to press any buttons. 'I've told you, my dear, I never lie to you. And why I'm here isn't much of a secret. Anyone could know it.' 'Except for me?' 'You're a little slow, my dear. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone that.' He winks at her and it only makes her glare deepen. 'Thanks,' she sarcastically returns. He chuckles but then it goes and his frown and intensity is back. All she wants from this friendship is light banter and someone to keep the darkness a little at bay. Someone to keep her company while she's human enough to appreciate it. 'I don't ask for much but I'm asking for this.' Gault's sober expression vanishes and he grins at her with sly mischief. 'Plus, we make such an adorable and much loved couple.' Gault turns the datapad he still holds toward her and she sees a picture of Gault and her here on Iziz walking down the main street arm in arm. He's leaning down to whisper in her ear and she's smiling at what he was saying. The title reads 'Is it love?' 'You were telling me your predictions of the fetishes of other women in the street. I'd hardly say that counts as a romantic conversation,' she drily comments. 'Ah, but they don't know that. I must say, we have a much more turbulent and passionate relationship on the holonet. It almost makes our real life look dull and disappointing.' 'Really, Gault? I've hit you on the head far too hard and too often, haven't I?' she asks in disbelief. She can't understand how he can take it all so lightly. She can't understand how someone could look at it from that angle. 'Well, yes, but that's not the point.' 'No, the point is that there are people writing speculative crap about us and that there are other people taking photos of us!' she growls. She can't see the it with vaguely amused indifference or conceited cynicism. It's far too serious to her for that. 'Price of fame, my dear. Could be worse. I could be Skadge.' 'Don't make me vomit or I will kill you,' she spits. 'I'd rather my current state of marital bliss over either of you.' He has nothing to say to this. There's no words of comfort he can provide and the knowledge she prefers a dead man over him is a blow below the belt. He can never compete and he isn't sure if he even wants to. A woman like her can only **** a man up or get them killed. There is evidence for the latter and he would rather not be evidence for the former. 'Let's just go get the supplies. Make a list?' He pats his back pocket and grins. 'And I've checked it twice.' 'Don't exaggerate,' she scolds. 'I'm sorry, my dear.' 'Don't lie.' 'I'll try, babe.' 'Don't call me "babe".' 'Whatever you want, honey.' 'I really hate you, you know,' she sighs in exasperation. She turns and walks away from him but he is as quick and sly in following as always. 'Yeah, yeah. If you think that's enough to make me leave though, you're mistaken.' 'Never give up hope.' He frowns at the saying and she only laughs with twisted, dark humour at it. What hope is there for her now he's gone? What hope did she ever have? But she isn't alone. Not yet. And she doesn't want to be until the end and she's surprised she isn't after what she has done. She stops at the exit but doesn't turn to look at Gault. She doesn't have enough courage and she has too much pride. 'Gault, thank you,' she quietly and firmly says to him as he stands at the ready behind her back. 'I'm sorry, my dear, what did you say?' She looks back at him then and he waves the datapad at her with something serious and distant in his eye, a frown on his forehead and a smirk on his lips. 'I got distracted by this ad for a twi'lek slave girl. Say something important?' She smirks and shakes her head. 'No, nothing important.' 'Good to hear.' He moved it too slow for its page to miss her eye. There wasn't a twi'lek in sight. It was a picture of them on the Imperial fleet seven weeks ago surrounded by soldiers, cantina patrons and bouncers. She's standing in front of Gault with her blasters drawn and Gault's hand is on my hip a blaster in his other hand and he's leaning in to me to whisper an escape plan. He always likes to restrain the number of people she kills. The heading caught her eye and burnt into her memory: 'More than a body guard?' She doesn't understand why but he lied to avoid her gratitude. She knew better than to push it and her pride and their relationship would also not allow it. Why moves beyond her mind as questions she had never considered enter her mind. Is that what we look like to others? she asks herself seriously for the first time. Is that how you saw us? I'm so sorry, Torian. I never knew. Gault is right, she realises as they walk through the street, bartering with sellers and bickering with each other, him leading her by the hand away from a brewing fight or her pushing him away from every woman slightly rich or attractive in the market. If she were to allow him to flirt and buy a drink for all of them, they would still be attempting to buy supplies a week later. I have no clue when it comes to myself, she has realised before they return to the ship. What else have I never noticed? And how do I start to? ----

Five minutes later... I peel what's left of my torn shirt off. I wince when I feel the sting of hairs and skin being torn off from slime that slipped through gaps in the material and made it meld with my skin. It leaves my arm red and in some places bleeding. I throw it the trash can and sit down. Are you packing your bags, Gault? Lie on my back a moment, staring at the a black nothing and consider turning the light on. If I do, I have to see my reflection. Is he checking the time for flights to Nar Shaddaa? I lift my torso up, resting my weight on my feet, neck and head so I can peel my shorts and underwear from my arse. I hiss when it rips from my body and sit up. I carefully move it down my legs, trying to avoid it touching them. I'm unsuccessful. Am I alone yet? I feel alone. I stand up and toss the shorts in the trash can as well. I clap my hands twice and the lights come on. I'm careful to avoid the large mirror as I slip past it and walk into the shower. Has he left yet? Turn the water on and let out and involuntary scream at the pain. I turn the water off and my breath comes in fast gasps. Lean my shoulder and against the shower wall and feel myself sliding to the ground. Look over my body and see more scratches and tears than I thought I had. My transition is making me slip. That's an excuse. It is. Know it isn't entirely that. I'm reckless and careless. Why dodge claws when it won't break my arm? Why duck jaws when they can't tear off any limbs? Why live when Torian isn't here? Stand up and turn the water on again. I bite down hard on the inside of my lower lip until my teeth cut through the skin and even then I only bite harder. My blood is sweet like melted honey in water. Eventually, the liquid needles stop biting and stinging my gashes and I let my teeth slowly leave my lip. There's no point is screaming. I've always been better at keeping things inside. Do you even care, Gault, that he's dead or that I kept it from you? I turn my head up to the water and open my mouth. Swallow it readily as if I've been thirsty for a very long time. I shake my head and begin to look my body over. All the while, I my tongue plays restlessly with skin that was almost bitten off of my lip. My body looks like abstract art or a quilt of different colours carelessly knitted on with no sense of schemes or contrast. Take down a harsh cloth and begin to try and wash it off. After ten minutes, only the blues, greens, reds and browns are left. The pink that seems to be some sort of pollen resists water and I know I will have to use some sort of oil or if that fails, live with pink on my arse, left calf and right collar bone. Unless I carve the skin off. Why did I keep Gault in the end and not Blizz? What did you have to say to me when you called? Turn the water off and step out. Steady drips quickly form a puddle wherever I stand. Remember Mako used to make a fuss of it. Her appeals to Torian always fell on deaf ears. First time in a long time, I'm not using my hearing to keep track of my few crew members. Rather not hear Gault's departure. Have you left yet? Dry off my body as gently as I can, facing the blank wall. My back is to the mirror. Take a deep breath. I look at my hands that hold the soft towel in clenched fists. Straighten my back and prepare my body for the blow. Raise my hands closer to my eyes. I inspect my metal knuckles. I don't have time to make it to the sink. Vomit escapes and flies from my mouth. Taste of it burns my mouth and makes my mouth uselessly numb. Fall to my knees and my body jerks again. Tremors rack my body after its over and my hand shakily wipes my mouth. Watch the puke leak into the water and spread. Stand when my legs are assured and walk to the sink. Wash my hands thoroughly even when nothing is left. I wash my face again and again and again. When I feel a little cleaner, I look into the mirror. See for an instant what I will look like before a year is out. Probably won't even make half a year. Look to my hands again and I can see it; there's a small part of my skin less than two millimetres pulling away from a metal knuckle. My body heaves again but I have nothing left to vomit. I turn away from the sink and look at the mess. Walk out, naked but dry and standing, to the small cupboard across the corridor. Take a mop and bucket and begin cleaning the mess. When I'm done, I twist my leg so my foot reaches the sink and wash the vomit off it. My eye finds the same problem on my foot as it did on my hand. Only this time no heaving occurs just the feeling of sinking. Only when everything is clean and away do I get dressed in long pants, a long sleeve shirt and gloves. Walk to my room and close the door. Spend the night standing there, just inside my locked and secure door. From there I spend the night staring at my breaking bed and the flower that still sits above it; spend the night looking at the wardrobe where his staff and clothes are still along with my bloodied dress from Nar Shaddaa; spend the night looking at my cross bow case, the bow sitting on top; spend the night staring at the cupboard where my failing elixir stays; spend the night staring at the objects that symbolise my desolation and what I lost. Was stupid to believe him. Stupid to think we'd be happy until I had to go. I knew better. But then I would look into those blue eyes and feel his rough hand and I would believe in him. I did have faith in him. Faith gets you nowhere: faith is worthless. I sit up with a jolt, all weapons active and ready. I attack the wriggling thing next to me, the nightmare still clinging to my mind. Reality still distant moments from my mind. I spring onto the thing next to me, straddling it and holding a knife to its throat. 'Cyare.' The word falls from somewhere under the white. It pulls at something too new for my past to know and I with strain it's reaching hand. 'What are you and why are you in my room?' I press harder and the thing stops any movement. I become suspicious and pull the white away to reveal it: the blonde hair, the blue eyes that hold stern concern and the tight frown. And then the dream passes, the other thing leaves and my memory and self return. 'Torian,' I breathe with a groan. I retract all my weapons and sit back on what turns out to be his hard stomach. 'What was it this time, Cyare?' His doesn't sound frustrated or harsh: only gentle and concerned. It doesn't fail to amaze and irritate me. My arms cross, my hands finding a grip on lean triceps. I rub my hands along them and feel my own cold, smooth skin. 'The usual.' That covers a range of sins and evil, doesn't it? It normalises something that can never be normalised and makes the unacceptable acceptable. I've been telling Torian only 'the usual' from the beginning, never defining, never elaborating. He never asks specifics as if he can understand what the horrors of 'the usual' are. And that makes me feel a little lonely, knowing that there are few people that will ever know how unbearable and terrible 'the usual' is and even lonelier that he isn't one of them. And if I can, I will never let him be. 'You can go sleep downstairs again if you want,' I quietly suggest. My voice is weak and pathetic in my ears when I want it strong and indifferent. 'Nayc, Cyare.' 'Don't you get tired of this?' I ask a little too wearily. I hold my arms tighter across my chest, finding little security or comfort in the thin shirt I wear. 'Waking to have you on top of me? Never, Cyare.' His arms emerge to hold my waist and he gives me a small grin I can't help but quickly return. I shake my head and lie down on him. I like his heat warming my skin so much it makes me feel like it's my own. But something about that feeling makes me disgusted with myself. It makes me feel like a parasite or leech and I suppose in too many ways I am. He wraps his arms around me and holds me so tight that I feel them say 'I will never let you go'. I can only wish to believe them. 'Utreekov,' I scold with a smile he can't see. I can feel his own smile that's hidden in my hair. Neither of us say any more for a long while. He only holds me close and I feel my ineptitude at any of this. When other women wake their men with kisses and touches, I wake mine with a knife or hand to his throat almost every g** d*mn night. 'Do you ever go to bed with me and wonder if you won't ever wake up again?' 'Gev, Cyare! You know I never do.' 'I don't know it anymore than I know that I might not realise soon enough and I might kill you,' I coldly reply, glad I can't see the frustration in his eyes. 'Then you need more faith in yourself.' 'I have faith in my ability to kill people.' Torian gently rolls me off him and onto my back, rolling himself on top of me. His hands move to my face and I'm forced to look into his penetrating, blue eyes. 'Then have faith in me, atin mesh'la.' His kiss if gentle and warm. His lips and tongue and hands try to remove my doubt. And they do. For these few moments or longer, I do believe him and that everything will be alright. He's alive tonight and tomorrow doesn't matter. It's tomorrow now. I'm standing in it and it does matter. It matters so much. Sometime in the early morning, I lean against the door and sit on the floor, my legs pulled to my chest with my head on the arms that rest on my knees. I cry because tomorrow matters more than I can stand and hurts more than anything I've ever felt. I have faith that I will live through tomorrow and I have faith that tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after, will be that little bit more painful to live through than the tomorrow before. I have faith that everything will only get worse from here. -----

Oh! Ok. That's perfectly alright then I had missed making my regular updates

This is a little embarrassing for me, but what does that emoticon mean? I've asked six different people and they haven't reached a general consensus.

To recap... 'This isn't just a... social call. I know something you might be interested in.' Ah, the real point of his call. How could I have been swept away by him and forgotten where I really stand? Where I need to stand. 'Thrill me,' I reply with a challenging smirk. 'Maybe if I live through the next few weeks, I will.' He smiles in that sad way and shakes his head. His fringe falls back into place; his black eye hidden once more. I dig my teeth into my tongue to stop any reply or change of expression. He's still taking me apart with every word. 'Leeriah.' It's all I hear. The rest is static, white noise that's deafening yet everything is silent all at once. I see his lips move more and his business air crumble into concern as I begin to shake. I take steps back but soon run into the couch. I sit down on it, out of the holo range. I watch but don't register Damin pressing controls, trying to see if there was a cut in the line. Either he gives up and hangs up or we really do cut out because the light in the room leaves with his holo image. So soon... why? ------ Less than an hour later... 'Great Hunt starts in two months. When can we expect you?' 'Be there in three weeks. Got a few things to wrap up here.' Brandon frowns a little. 'Can't be sooner? Cutting it a little close.' 'I like it close.' 'We're not like Eidolon, right? We're different?' 'Huntmaster declared her Grand Champion.' 'Try to keep up, Torian! You might learn something from the Grand Champion.' 'Kellian Jarro. You took down the 'Mandolorian Killer'?' 'It's nice to see a professional in action.' 'Twenty two Talz, four Wild cats and five Wampas. I would say that's a tie, Champion.' 'What would you like to be called, Champion?' 'Grand Champion, Corridan Ordo.' 'Why did you enter the Great Hunt?' 'Next hunt that's called, I'm going to enter.' So much to prove. 'Don't think there's better than Mandalore's daughter and Grand Champion of the Great Hunt in one.' 'Will need new recruits. Another Great Hunt might be earlier than usual. I know if you entered you would win. Planning too still?' 'Yes. Hope this war doesn't get in the way.' 'Stay safe and careful, Champion.' 'What kind of guy does a Grand Champion of the Great Hunt go for?' 'They have to be able to kill. And like to kill. That would be necessary. And strong. Loyal. Genuine. Honest. Have a great body. Someone like you.' 'I'll be with you then, Champion.' 'Have fun out there, my dear?' I look to my right. The voice didn't fit. It was new and clear and loud. When the present returns, it is a controllable wave. Gault stands in the doorway of the holo room. I've forgotten that I was angry with him for slicing my security. I forget that I am angry with myself for leaving it unguarded. 'I did actually. Nice of you to ask.' I come out of my daze enough to know to pretend to be here: smirk, breathe, meet his eyes. How can you not see that I'm falling apart before your eyes, Gault? Are you that blind and shallow? I move myself up and cross my legs. I pat the seat next to me but Gault doesn't take it. He swaggers closer and leans against the holo terminal, folding his arms and look at me with a stern and curious evaluation in his eyes. 'Hey, something came for you while you were gone.' Gault pulls a small, rectangular metal crate from his pocket. It isn't as lengthy as his skinny, long fingers and it isn't as wide as his palm. Gault tosses me the crate and I catch it in my right hand on reflex. I can feel the damage to the muscle as they try to pull come up short. It doesn't change anything as long as my metal is intact. 'What happened to your arm? And the rest of you as well now that I look at you.' 'You know how it is,' I reply with a sly smile and a wink. I turn the crate over in my hand and wonder what it is. 'They just don't make clothes like they used to.' 'And for that I am very grateful,' Gault assures me with a vigorous nod of his head and a long leer at my too exposed chest. I hadn't noticed. I should have checked what I looked like before calling Damin. Do you really care? 'Keep your eyes up and away, Gault, or you'll lose them.' The threat comes without thought. My mind is on the strange crate Gault has given me. It's marked in the same way all postal boxes are marked. The only thing that makes it strange is that Gault is giving it to me. 'No promises, my dear.' 'I never expect any.' He chuckles but I only frown down at the crate further. 'This has your name on it.' Gault shrugs and crosses his arms. 'Ah, yeah, only because I picked it up.' 'And bought it I'm assuming since I haven't bought anything in months.' I raise an eye brow and begin to examine Gault as carefully as I examined the box. 'Yeah, well, just open it already.' I open it and look inside with contained curiosity. I'm surprised to see the comet set vile I that I had been thinking of buying for months. The process of making it hardens the glass but 80% making it stronger than steel but it also increase the price by 987%. Atonement isn't cheap and indulgence is expensive. Still, it would be better than the fragile glass cylinders I carry my serum in on long trips. Three vials broke while I was in the jungle. How many I have left is rapidly decreasing and my need is speedily increasing. I look up at Gault and raise an eye brow as I tip it into my hand. I hold it up, my elbow on my knee as I lean forward and cross my other arm across my chest. 'Alright, I bought it for you. I saw you looking at it on the Galactic Trade Network and thought... you spend far too much money on farmers and paupers.' I scowl at him and he only grins as he mooches closer, sitting on the still vacant space next to me. I make a 'hmph' sound and look back down at the item that is feeling heavier and heavier in my hand. 'What's the angle, Gault?' 'What angle? I never have an angle with you.' I roll my eye and smirk at him, easing away and facing him. 'And I never plan to kill you in your sleep.' 'Well, that's a relief because I had been left thinking sometimes that you were.' I shake my head and wonder not for the last time what's under all that indifferent, perverted slime. 'Gault, we've been together for over two years and in that entire time you haven't even bought me a drink.' he shrugs and raise his empty hands. 'What's the hurry?' 'Usual.' I hold up my bitten forearm. 'Constant life or death situations.' Gault moves his arm as if to move it around my shoulders but looks at the blue, red, brown and green on me closer and decides against it. I notice he is wearing yet another new shirt. 'Well, I've only gone through fifty of my two hundred years. I'm planning on living for the next one hundred and fifty of them. What's two years mean in that time?' I bite back any retort that two years is actually 6% of my life and the less than a year left will make it 9.67742% of my life. I only sigh and recline my head on the back of sofa. I can imagine the hell it is going to be to get the dirt, slime and blood out of the dark blue suede. 'What have you been doing while I was gone?' I ask instead. 'Only the usual things that running a crime empire involves. Though I did receive an interesting call,' Gault too casually says. 'Mmm?' I ask as I massage my temple with my free hand and lean as far back as I can. Too many things to think about and even more that I don't want to think about. I will leave for Duxn tomorrow. Why did you have to tell me, Damin? I can't make a connection between that news and Corridan's insistence on seeing me. 'Much too discuss', huh? Well, even if it is part it can't be everything. 'A Jawa by the name of Blizz called, maybe you remember him?' 'You know, Champion, I know your secret.' 'Rings a bell,' I lightly and warily reply. I curse myself silently for being so stupid as letting my thoughts wander to Duxn when Gault is being so... 'Well, he seems to remember you. He was most excited that his call was answered and seemed very eager to talk.' Gault's dark red eyes are cold and serious as they gaze at me and I wonder if his lip curls slightly up in a disgust that doesn't come from what I'm wearing. 'Say anything interesting?' I ask overly casually as I toss the vile from one hand to the other. My eyes watch it's silver, shimmering progress between the two as it is tossed back and forth: left to right, right to left. 'It depends. Were you aware that four days ago you sent him over half the money you earned on your last bounty?' Left, right. Right, left. Left, right. 'Yes, I am. Isn't any business of yours though.' Left, right. Right, left. Left right. 'Maybe not but he had other interesting things to tell me.' I don't answer and the gift feels like a very large and heavy weight in my hands as it passes between them and what is left of my vest and shorts feels far too tight and far too small. If I had a heart, I know it would be beating very, very fast. And then the anxious silence is over: the question I didn't want to hear is said and the truth that was so easy to hide and so easy to uncover is out. 'Did you know Torian is dead?' I almost don't move anymore: my lungs become empty of air and I don't fill them up again; my mind becomes black and dark; red plays across my vision; my right forearm finally begins to hurt with a torrent of constant, intense pain that spreads to my shoulder and my finger tips. But the vile continues to move from left to right. Gault continues mercilessly. 'Yeah, it seems he died on Corellia or more specifically on the Chancellors' flag ship almost seven months ago. So of course you must know since you were there, just the two of you. And of course whoever killed him.' I can't speak. I can't say anything. Never meant to not tell Gault. I just can't say it. I can't even say enough to acknowledge it. I'm so tired of thinking it every waking moment. Past months with Gault has alleviated the constant agony to a small pang that though it can't be ignored, it doesn't consume my consciousness. Except for that one slip. One always seems to be a very large number. I begin to sway or at least I think I do as the world begins to spin as it moves from side to side. Gault pulls me closer to his side, kissing my cheek and my forehead quickly as he pulls me across onto his lap which I numbly sit across. 'Why didn't you tell me, my dear?' he whispers harshly. My mouth won't open to speak the words I haven't yet thought of. It has always been my way to keep my pains and wounds inside. Why bother to break a habit of a life time twice? It will only hurt more. I lie as a dead weight in his arms and he remains still, not rocking or moving his hands or arms, just still. Some part of my thinks about all the filth I'm getting on his shirt and pants. My face is against his chest and his breathing is calming despite the loud flurry of its quick beat. I slowly fall asleep from exhaustion. When I wake, I lie still for a long time trying to discern my surroundings as the happy memory fades. I thought I was back in my room or the cargo hold, Torian holding me in his arms after a nightmare. But these aren't Torian's arms. They are too lean and spindly with none of the warm muscle of his arms. And I'm not in the cargo bay or my room. I'm still in the comm room. And Torian is dead. 'I thought you would never wake, my dear,' Gault quietly says with a smile that hides the two rows of his sharp teeth. He loosens his arms around me a little more but I don't move. In this moment, I don't want to move. 'Wish I didn't.' Didn't mean to say it. Why did I say it? 'Hey! I-,' Gault pauses and the indignant, conceited retort he was about to say fades from his lips. 'Yeah, I know,' he mutters bitterly instead, arms slightly stiffening. 'Blizz tell you anymore than that?' I ask eventually. 'Only that he wants to hear from you soon and some other jibberish. I recorded the conversation so you can listen over it.' 'Not what I meant. Did he tell you how it happened?' 'No, my dear. But I know you well enough to imagine how it went. Let me guess, Torian died doing something foolishly heroic and after it you came back to the ship, killed Skadge because of some taunting and cruel statement, then Mako which I don't mind at all, then made Blizz leave and then assassinated our dear old friend Sith, Tormen, and used his fleet to successfully level Coronet City and give the Republic an opening to destroy the Imperial fleet. Am I close?' 'I actually asked Blizz to leave before killing Mako,' I correct. 'He doesn't know about that. I thought it might upset him.' How can I smile and half joke when the darkness of reality is pressed upon me and we're talking of my husband's death? 'Ah, well, my lips are sealed.' A retort concerning his kiss earlier enters my mind but then it fades. There wasn't anything in it. There isn't anything genuine in our relationship. 'A Jedi attacked me from behind but Torian moved to take the blow. He was burnt with the Mandalorians on Correllia.' When I finish my small narration, a long shuddering breath escapes me. It hasn't lifted the heavy burden. Don't people always say you feel lighter after revealing a secret? I only feel it has gotten heavier. I now have to live my reality and I am feeling it's great weight already. '*********** Mando idiot,' Gault mutters. I move a finger to Gault's lips and he stares into my eye with weary confusion. I extend my blade and shallowly cut his lips with it. 'Ow! Wh-' I slide off Gault's lap and spin to face him. My punch cuts off the rest of his sentence. Gault rubs his jaw and I sneer at him. 'Well, I can't say I really did deserve that,' he comments dryly as he pats his lips, looking distastefully at the blood it leaves on his fingers; small bubbles of crimson liquid, lighter than his skin. He looks around for somewhere to wipe it and settles for his own pants that are already stained with the slime and filth of myself. 'That was for kissing me. And if you dare kiss me or touch me again, I will tear your horns off with my own hands before I carve your lips off your face and I will do things you can't even imagine and make you feel pain you have never known before if you ever insult him again.' I stand over him and become aware of the gift that is still held in my clenched fist. I wonder at how it hasn't broken. Guess it really is worth 36000 credits. 'That what this was, Gault? A pity present?' 'What? No!' Gault keeps rubbing his jaw and looks away from me as he shifts slightly in his seat. 'I bought it around two months ago. I'd been waiting for it to catch up to me ever since we landed in Iziz.' 'It doesn't change anything, Gault.' I turn and begin to walk away from him. 'I know,' I think hear Gault reply with a sigh. But I don't let it falter my steps or allow myself to look back. I can only look back for so long.

Well, I wrote this for the prompt 'Hide and Seek' but got nervous so I'm only going to post it here instead. I also thought at least here everyone knows the situation and Gault/Leer complicated, bizarre relationship where boundries are very flexible. But I do not know, I may post it there later... ----- He doesn't hear her approach. His thoughts are absorbed in cracking the code before she notices. She can walk silently when she chooses even though the underside of her feet are plated in metal. It isn't until she speaks that he realises her. 'It's a little late to be making repairs in the engine room, isn't it?' Her voice is loud when she asks though there is now only a hands width between them, her chest almost brushing against his back when she silently inhales. He curses in his mind and wonders how she knew when he had been so careful and so silent. He takes a step back and then to the side, as far away from her as he can be in the narrow corridor. He feels the metal walls on the side of his shoulders. They reassure him he's in a corner with nowhere to run. 'This is the engine room? I thought it was my room. All doors look the same, babe, when you've had too much Tarisian ale,' he pointlessly justifies. She looks him over solemnly and nods her head. She can't smell ale on his steady breath. He only looks into her eye nonchalantly. It's colour reminds him of ice in vodka and he refuses to get intoxicated by her from staring into its crystal depths. She holds her arm crookedly out to him. 'I'll escort you to your room then,' she offers with a smile that shows her perfect white front teeth a little. It's stiff gentleness makes the Devaronian uneasy though he refuses to shift his feet or flex his fingers. Only his eyes can't help but shift around looking for an escape that only his tongue can make and he notices the upward flicker of her lips, the open and alert watch of her eye as she catches ad waits for a movement. He can't remove the feeling that she can smell fear on her targets like a clawbird smells death and putrid meat. She wants to get him away from the door as quickly as she can and she wants to get away from the door. Carbonite, metal and a high tech alarm system can't make security encase her mind or lock out the fear and hatred of what's on the other side from entering her heart. It's presence is an odour that stops her ship having the comfort and safety of a home. 'No, my dear, I think I can manage the three steps without your help,' he replies with pseudo calm and an easy smile. Gault begins to take the steady steps easily to his door to prove his point. He enters his room and begins to get undressed as if she wasn't standing there and as if this conversation is over. Inside, he is entirely aware of the gaze of her cold, crystal eye. He doesn't let his hands shake as they begin to untie his black boots. He's never been scared to take his clothes off in front of a woman before. He's never felt so vulnerable or desirous of their approval. All the women in the galaxy... why does it have to be that one? he thinks exasperatedly. 'Taking off your clothes pretty easily for someone that should be seeing pink banthas or passed out on the floor.' Gault puts his now removed boots at the end of his bed and begins to take off his jacket. He has to move slowly to keep his body steady. 'And you're very patient considering you have blue-boy on hold up there,' he retorts with a smirk. She doesn't make a biting reply or even return his smirk. He frowns a little at the edges of his lips but though she notices this, she doesn't think of it. She notices everything that passes across his face and every change in his body's rhythms. But seeing isn't always understanding and when it matters most, she is blind. He frowned because he hates it when he fails to make her smile with dark, amused cynicism or chuckle with pessimistic scorn in the way that always unsettled her husband. He hates the laugh she always had for him: the breezy laugh of indulgent, happy delight that was like the tinkling of metal in the wind or of a gentle stream falling into a pool. Gault likes her harsh view of the world, her ready, sharp and pessimistic wit and their banter that makes her just as happy. He isn't mistaken, is he, in thinking that she is happy with him? He walks to his wardrobe and hangs his jacket up. She feels the heavy tension between them (though it is as far as her understanding can extend when others emotions concern her) as each wait for the other's accusations to begin. Only Gault has the power here. And she hates that. Three options are before him: 1. Stay silent about his suspicions and a) forget them, b) ignore them or c) wait until she tells him 2. Stay silent and continue to attempt to break into the engine room 3. Come out and blatantly ask what is in there. She can't do anything about the first. Second, she can only continue to stop him. Third, she can kill him or leave him. If he doesn't leave first. It's a fear she has in the unexplored region of her hearts: the fear of abandonment and the fear of being alone with herself. When it comes down to it, she's scared of herself and her grief and waiting alone for her death. 'You know how this works: you mind your business and I mind mine.' How is my voice so level? she wonders to herself. Her stubbornness to deny her feelings comes in waves and right now, it's current has a strong grip on her. She won't acknowledge that she is just as terrified of what's in the engine room as she is of Gault finding it. She's desperate but resolute to ensure he never enters that room. Gault hardly even glances at her as he walks to sit on his bed again. He feels curiosity chew on his mind and stomach and make his fingers twitch. His imagination gets the better of him when he imagines what's behind that door but he can't shift the feeling that it is something dangerous and best left on the floor of the Shadowlands or in the depths of Manaan's oceans. But despite this, all he wants to do is know. 'Don't see me dabbling in your accounts or territory,' she ends her friendly warning with. There is no need for a charade. She is a horrible liar. 'I wasn't aware that you had secretive business in the engine room, babe.' Gault begins to unbutton his grey shirt as he speaks. It seems to attract his entire concentration but she knows his mind is as much in the conversation as hers is. However, if she could hear his thoughts, she would know that it was only entirely in the conversation half of the time. She could never have stood so firm if it was... not Gault who she was hiding It from. How can you still recoil from his name? You're weak, she accuses herself. How can you deny the accusation of your heart? 'I don't. We're talking about Damin.' She leans against the door way as she speaks and her eye takes in his slim, crimson body with critical evaluation. She doesn't miss the slight tremble in his hands that is now shown. She can think of no explanation for it. Nervousness couldn't account for it, nor fear or anger. In less than a month, she will be forced into the realisation of how little she knew of Gault and what he feels. 'So you won't mind if tomorrow morning I make some repairs in there?' Gault asks her as he throws his shirt into a pile in the corner of his otherwise neat room. She wonders if he ever plans to wash them or only continually buy replacements. 'I would. It's my ship. I make the repairs.' He knows her well enough to know when to back off. This is one of those times for tonight. He reminds himself tomorrow is a new day and he will be at the lock again. Or if not tomorrow, then maybe another tomorrow or on a new week. He stands up but doesn't entirely face her. He faces the corner with the clothes next to the door way, ready to throw his pants on top of the pile as he takes off his belt. 'Sure, babe. Never been good at fixing things anyway.' Gault stops his hands at his hips to take off his pants. He turns his head to face her and gives her an evocative and amused smirk that shows his sharp, white teeth. 'What were you saying about minding each other's business?' She returns the smirk and raises a perfect eyebrow, her implants rising with it. 'I wasn't aware watching you strip was a business. You never told me about that.' He chuckles and in the pause that follows he begins to feel uncomfortable. It isn't his place to stand like this before her. 'Well, maybe I will some other time, babe,' he avoids. 'You better get back to blue-boy.' She misses the bitterness in his voice and hears only the scorn. She's come to understand that he only likes people as sleazy, self-serving and underhanded as himself. 'Well, since you've drunk so much ale tonight already I'm sure you won't want to join me for some Corellian whiskey in half an hour.' 'Well, if you're begging I guess I can't refuse.' She only laughs in the way he likes and leaves him alone to finish getting changed. He releases a breath he always seems to be holding when she's around and then his mind turns to the engine room again. Maybe it was a fancy, but he feels like he can feel malice coming from the engine room and through his open door. He takes the two steps to the doorway warily and shuts and locks the door before taking his pants off. She walks upstairs and sees the hold button is still glowing in the murky light. She wonders what will happen if she never presses it. If he waits for her answer that never comes. Will he keep calling her in the way her husband would have? All she can do is mistrust and question the Cipher. All she can do is press the button and find out. If only things out of sight were out of mind.

I have no comment on the Damin/Leeriah front I'm glad you're liking it My subscription ran out but I've been writing like crazy and the ideas are coming but then I'm having problem phrasing them and argh! Anyway, here's a few posts. ------- Damin's POV Set at the end of part one of Leer/Damin holo call Her figure disappears and my fingers linger for a moment of the controls. The hardest part is yet to come... I take a deep breath. It is not the time to think of it now. I have company. 'Master Hyllus, you can approach now.' I turn around and lean against the holo terminal, resting my hands on the terminals edge. I smile at the Joiner as he walks out of the doorway to stand before me. 'I am sorry, agent. We did not mean to pry. We only felt strong emotions that sung so loudly to us we could not stay away.' 'It's alright, Vector,' I assure him with a smile. If I did not want any listeners I would have bought a new holo. If Intelligence wasn't listening, what would be the point in our conversations? 'Would you mind if I call you 'Vector'?' 'Not all, agent,' the Joiner replies with a small bow. 'I would request you also call me by my first name but given our occupation and the difficulty of speaking Cheunh among others, I think we will have to settle with 'agent', 'cipher' or whatever else current missions dictate.' I keep my smile gentle and friendly. I mean it as much as I can. I don't relish in the news I will have to give Leeriah and I would rather keep my thoughts away from it. There is only one person in the galaxy who calls me 'Damin' and her memory is the only record of that name left. My own parents call me by full name or only 'son'. I think that latter is grossly ironic when it resounds from their cold lips. 'We understand, agent.' An interesting statement. What exactly does he really understand? The Joiner sees more but doesn't the hive impair his understanding of emotions and expressions? 'We did not think Cipher's kept a single mate,' the Joiner suddenly states. 'She isn't and has never been anything like that.' Indifference, agent, where did it go? You need some in your voice at the moment. Vector returns my frown and a weak mimicry of apology colours and shifts his features. I tighten my hands on the terminal edge and attempt to control myself. It is always hardest when it concerns her. 'We are sorry, agent. We did not mean to offend or misunderstand.' The sincerity in the Joiners voice seems to come from large distance away or down the end of a dark cave: it is only a faint noise or echo of a humans emotion. 'I believe 'it's alright, Vector' is going to quickly become all I say to you.' I force a small laugh and another smile. Fooling the Joiner will prove a personal challenge I look forward to and relish in. It only seems I am off to a stumbling start and a handicap. He gives me the smile of someone on a spice trip and I am pleased he didn't fail to misunderstand such a small joke. 'We hope not, agent. But before you are occupied with other... people, we would like to take a moment of your time to discuss our position upon your vessel.' Maybe I have been in the coarse company of Kaliyo for too long but the Joiner's company is soothing and at present, a welcome distraction from less favourable problems and thoughts, and an idle amusement to pass my wait with. 'Please, sit, Vector. We have plenty of time. I have hopes that we will become very close.' I usher him over to the closest lounge in the room and sit down with a crossed leg and an arm over the back. Vector takes the space I face and sits strangely stiffly, turning his torso so he can face me and keep his feet firmly on the ground. I take this frigidity to note and place it away so I will be able to remember it for future operations. I do not want to be in a cantina and have Vector speak like a man on a spice trip about auras while he sits with an inhuman rigidity. 'So do we, agent. We have finished finalising everything with the diplomatic service. We are now yours entirely.' 'Mine and the hives,' I correct with a faint smile. It doesn't come with malice or suspicion. It is merely a realistic analysis of the situation. I feel I will have as close to trust in Vector as my nature, history and occupation will allow and though I will be playing him like a conductor leads an orchestra, I will enjoy every moment with as much friendly warmth as I can allow. 'Our loyalties are not divided by two opposing forces. We are hoping for an alliance in time between the killiks and the Empire.' My cynicism is stronger than my training for a moment. I am a Chiss-Human. My existence is not a symbol of the Empire's tolerance only my parents ambitions. I removed outward displays of xenophobia in the Academy by blackmail and when there was no real evidence to incriminate another, I would create some so flawlessly that no one could find it's fraudulence. Such a thing earned my mother's respect for a time though my father preferred brute force. I learnt early on it was impossible to appease two entirely opposite people who only share a common love of the Empire and themselves. There is a two second pause that is two seconds too long before I can continue civilly. 'You are a very welcome asset to our small team, Vector, and I do not question your loyalty to myself or the Empire.' Not out loud, at least. 'I am sure your actions will only further prove that my confidence is not misplaced.' The Joiner bows slightly and I appreciate his civility and formality that is very lacking when speaking to the Ratattaki. 'We thank you, agent. We ensure that our duties as Dawn Herald do not interfere with our duties as an Imperial.' 'I would appreciate it if you removed my ignorance around the duties and meaning of Dawn Herald.' I loathe ignorance and I am not a stranger or blind to the Empire's faults: when it comes to alien cultures, the Empire is an expert in wilful ignorance. 'The Dawn Herlad is a warrior and emissary for the nest - one who confronts the unknown. We retain a sense of individuality and it is also why we are useful to you. We honour the killiks gift and we are content.' Content? What is such a feeling really? Does it just mean you are not restless or unsatisfied? Whatever it is, I have never felt it and Damin feels a squirm of jealousy the agent will not allow. 'Interesting,' the agent says through gritted teeth. There must be something in the way I say it because the Joiner tilts his head and gazes with what I think could be perplexity. 'Surely everyone carries over rituals and habits from their life before Intelligence?' 'No. Having a history makes a person vulnerable. Habits should be forgotten: connections severed.' The answer is automatic as if it comes from a brain washed reflex. I have severed the connection to my parents but they refuse to do the same to me. It is not out of any form of parental attachment or concern. They do not want their possibly spy son to slip through their fingers and fall out of reach. 'We cannot believe that you feel this way when you keep in contact with a woman who you care so much about.' 'I do not care for her. She is an assignment like any other.' Vector nods like bird giving a testing peck to a strange seed. 'We are sorry to make you angry, agent. We will not mention her again though we would be interested in hearing of your past.' I sit straight and move my leg down the black silk of the sofa. 'This conversation is over, Vector.' 'As you wish, agent.' Vector stands to leave but when he does, the rational agent returns again and I realise I cannot leave things like this. Vector is not Kaliyo or a trained operative. The probability of being betrayed by him intentionally or otherwise is slim on both fronts. But I have not made it to 'Cipher' by playing it unsafe. 'I have met an agent, though,' I begin with a grin. Vector turns back around to me and retakes his seat. 'Who still claps their hands twice after anyone sneezes because their mother always told them a sneeze is how evil spreads. You should see what they have to do when they sneeze.' I force a perfectly practiced and neat laugh that is an exact copy of a genuine laugh. 'You're habits and rituals are still strange as these things go though, Vector,' I gently tease. 'You cannot blame us for trying, agent,' Vector replies with that same spice trip smile. 'I don't, Vector,' I reassure him. I don't blame him because if I had something that made me content, I would damn my training and damn my job. I give him a rare grin and unknowingly begin the basis of a friendship that would become closer and more important than I could have ever thought it would be. 'Now,Vector, did anyone ever introduce you to the composer...' -------- Damin POV cross post from short fanfiction thread. Takes place at the end of their second call. The last loud note is struck before it fades to strings and wind. The calming and hopeful flute makes me remember the hope of escape. The strings leave me feeling the fear of years past. My finger worms its way into my hair and twists my fringe around and around it, unwinds and then twists again. With each note and each instrument, the memories take on different hues. With each change in tempo so did the memory I watch. I see her come to my cell that night. I see the Guard dead outside the door with his or her blood eagerly running through the open doorway as if it was tired of being trapped in skin and wanted escape. I remember thinking it was heading in the wrong direction. As the flute draws longer notes, my memory shifts to her as she moves toward me. Each step seems long and her footfalls match the winds ending notes. What was it I felt when I saw her? I can't remember. I remember her unlocking my chains and letting me go. Her cold hands held my arm too tightly as she helped me stand and left bruises that would last for weeks. I never noticed how average her height was until I was looking down into her eye. I remember my free arm raising a hand to touch her cheek in what I was thinking was a moment. She flinches away then and lets my arm go. She takes hurried steps away and leaves the room. I ran to follow with stiff legs that ungainly limped. But there was no need. Her chest was heaving then with laboured, heavy breaths as she stood just around the corner of the door. I didn't need to see more of her than her straight, shaking back to know she was crying. Her head shakes slightly and she calls to me. 'The Guard is changed only five times every twenty six hours. I've made a clear way from here to the elevator but we need to go to the first floor. Undress the Guard and put his clothes on. No one will question us.' I do as she says. She never turned around and I was slow and anxious to follow her orders from anxiety about anyone coming by despite her reassurance. The left shoulder and collar was wet with blood but it didn't show. In my relative innocence or sense of prudence, the clammy touch of it on my skin made me shiver. She turned to me once I was finished despite my lips remaining closed. She smirked at me with a perfect raised brow. 'You look just as piss weak as any new fish around here. No one will know.' I smiled despite my disgust at my disguise and the fear of getting caught. Her smirk became a smile that's gentle and sad. I remember her white skin blending in with the seamless white walls, leaving only her tight, small black clothes to give her definition and physicality. I clear my throat and look up and around my clean white surroundings. The door to my room had closed shut and only the small rectangle window let me know there is a room there at all. 'Aren't there camera's around here?' I ask. I remember that look of contempt for my question and the way she turned on her heel. 'Mask down, 329.' I move my mask down and walk behind her. My knees don't shake and my back is straight. A General's son knows how to march without fear even when pee drips unseen down his leg. She was correct: no one challenged us. I notice the salutes she receives and the stares of fear. I wonder what it would be like to look at her and feel fear. 'I have attained clearance for you,' she begins as she types her code into the hanger security door. I follow her through and feel tiny and vulnerable in the large open space. I feel I should stick to a wall and find somewhere smaller. How many months was I here? Over a year or less? I lost track despite my most sincere efforts. 'I signed your papers for service leave due to an ailing spouse this morning,' she explained with an amused smirk. Her nose twitched and it made me wonder if she could smell fear. 'I do not have a spouse.' Was your voice smooth and flirtatious or did you have no emotion? Did you make that connection at the time that she killed a man who she knew well enough to know he had a wife and feel sad at his death? When was it later that cynicism took over the memory and you saw that she had waited until it was that Guard on duty because no other would have worked? 'Don't tell them that. 329 had a wife. Aren't you 329?' I slowly nod my head. It is the first alias I had ever undertaken: the first time I stole another's identity. I watch her and stand there not knowing what to do now that freedom is twenty paces and few buttons away. How was this so easy? 'Get on it or die: either way you have to hurry.' Her voice was gruff and annoyed. I now wonder if she still uses anger and apathy to hide her true feelings. I find no condolence in knowing that I may have been the first to see through her. 'General is expecting me in half an hour.' She looks over her shoulder to the door. Do I now imagine the flinch around her eye? 'You don't have to go to him.' Did my voice sound so level and reasonable then or have I changed the plea to what would make it easier to live with? 'And the sun doesn't have to rise.' I never new in those months that she could be so wistful, but I knew she could be that bitter. 'Get out of my sight. I hate the colour blue.' She turns her back on me and I know if she isn't crying now, she soon will be. If I leave, I will never be able to take her tears away again. I lift my mask up and take a small step to her. 'Leeriah.' She stiffens and looks up to the hanger ceiling. From here, the night sky can be seen though it is tinted pink by the force field. The music I only dimly hear reaches its crescendo. The voice of my memory has taken me away and I am there in the place I think of most, with a timidity so un-Imperial stopping me from taking another step forward toward her. What did she look like in that moment? What was her expression? I wish she had turned around. And then the question comes. 'I want you to leave with me, Leeriah. Will you?' I draw in my breath and wait for her response. But it never comes. A different woman and a different voice speak from a different time. 'What's with the music, agent?' I don't bother to look at her as she leans in my doorway. I keep my eyes on the ceiling where the memories I had been watching no longer dance slowly across the metal in time to the music that now sounds only loud and vulgar. 'It helps facilitate my thoughts,' I reply after a lengthily silence. Kaliyo walks across my room to the screen displaying the song. The impertinence annoys me as much as it did the first time she did seven months ago. Commenting on it will only increase the behaviour from a daily behaviour to an hourly behaviour. She laughs at me and reads the song title aloud as a belittling question. 'The Force of Destiny?' 'Quite,' I passively reply. 'Are you still mooning over her?' 'Specifics would be helpful in my deduction of who 'her' is, Kaliyo.' 'You know who. I wouldn't say that tracking someone is exactly 'destiny' at work, Damin.' 'The conclusions you spring to!' I marvel in sarcastic amazement. I hate how Kailyo says my name. She says it was the same mocking as 'agent' only that does not bother me. I only want one woman to ever say my name. 'So, what's the play, agent?' She reminds me of a hunting beast that once on a trail of one prey, cannot be taken of it by the scent of another. 'My play in what, Kaliyo?' I know from experience that not responding to her only leads to the opposite desired effect: it makes her stay longer. I desire to be back with my memories. There are things I need to analyse and a future I need to predict from them. 'You're play with her. You've been tracking her since before I met you, you finally meet her where you knew exactly where she'd be, don't sleep with her, keep in contact and seem to have no financial benefit. So what's the end game, agent? She betrayed you and now you want to kill her in some twisted way?' 'We don't all travel the galaxy killing our exes.' I rebuke myself for the hint of accusation that enters my voice. This is one of the few times since I refused to follow such an unorthodox and time wasting scheme that she has spoken to me without a glare. I don't miss it. The only benefit is not half waiting for a knife to be pulled behind my back. 'You want her back?' Kaliyo asks. She hasn't even erred to rebuke me for that. 'Kaliyo-' I alter my heavy reproach before it begins. There is no gain for me to illustrate to Kaliyo her short comings in human understanding and begin a hostile lecture on the complexities and subtleties of emotions, duty and human relations. 'Let's go for a drink.' I continue with no pause and sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. 'I think we need to celebrate our new crew members arrival.' I look over at her and see her glare. My eyes wander to the point under her left eye where there is a slight hitch in her tattoo. The lack of symmetry in it offends me and makes looking at the Ratattaki that little bit more irritating. I continue to silently question the Keeper's decision to assign such a companion to my ship and crew. I would prefer another agent, Cipher, or at least an Imperial Academy graduate. 'We will talk about this again, agent. It isn't over.' She slips away, walking warily backward in a way I don't think she even thinks about anymore. Things are never over until one side is dead and I am determined to make sure that is never me. Kaliyo was right. I did know Leeriah was in the warehouse that day. But it isn't the first time in a decade I had seen her or we had shared the same planet. But things were never as dire as they are now. She is angering the wrong people on both sides. I know why I approached her and my reasons are more selfish then love. I know my play is why I can never thank her for saving me. My only unrecognised thank you was keeping her and her location a secret. I can't tell her she's the only woman I've ever loved. I remember her then: young, hurt, angry, passionate, torn, righteous and so beautiful. I loved her as soon as she walked through the cell door and glared at me with so much hostility in that blood shot, arrogant and challenging eye as if she was the one in the chair and was challenging me to do my worst. I wasn't wrong when I told her she hasn't changed. She's still that girl only I know she's crying over a different man. Why were agent's never trained against jealousy? Because they are trained not to love and not regret. That training was too little and two years too late. I look up to my ceiling and see too many things there that still cut. My hand fixes my fringe, making sure it covers my eye. I never thought I was insane until I found myself loving her. I have heard wives say to their husbands and husbands to their wives before I kill either or both of them that they still love them no matter what they did to bring this to their house. I wonder if their testaments are as strong or true as mine. I run my hands and fingers quickly up and down my scalp, gripping and pulling at my hair as I throw myself back onto my bed. My head hit's the hard edge of the frame and I groan and roll over. You're a Cipher. Start thinking like it or you know what happens. Are you ready to die? No. I'm not. I take a deep breath and roll off the bed. I switch the music off and walk to join my crew of two with refreshed resolve. Force of Destiny disappears with the touch of a button. I only don't know that changing fate isn't as easy as flicking a switch. ----- Force of Destiny is a 1862 Overture by Verdi