Odds of Hope When Rylee first laid her eyes on the freckle faced kid who was supposed to save them from Paladius, she nearly rolled her eyes and threw him out. Zash had promised a warrior apprentice, not a boy. Zash was mocking them, she had to be. And, yet, the more he did the more he proved himself as something more. He was powerful, well spoken, controlling without being domineering, and oddly calm for a Sith. Despite his youthful appearance he was amazingly mature. She found herself seeking a private audience with him. He might have sensed it, she wasn’t sure, but he never approached her and he was very adept at avoiding speaking with her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the moments she had gathered enough courage to approach him he suddenly was nowhere to be seen. Even that giant Deshade of his disappeared. She was very disappointed when his time on Nar Shaddaa came to an end. It was all the more distressing when Destris started acting out. It took months, but it escalated to violence and threats of death if people wouldn’t join. She hated it and she hated him. She compared him to Paladius, that damnable Pureblood who had become obsessed with the power he had over his cult. That shut Destris up and, for a time, it was quiet. Gelt, as he preferred to be called, returned every few months to check up on things. A simple holo call would have satisfied any other Lord, but him. He insisted on it. The more he visited, the more active he was with the cult and its effects on Nar Shaddaa the more she found herself interested. The fact that that interest was more than plain sexual desire confused her. She knew of her crush and he knew of it too, but she wanted to actually get to know him as a person. She wanted to get to know a Sith Lord as a person. It was so very strange. He was open to her seeking him out for conversation and, as he aged, he avoided her sexual advances less. She hadn’t realized at the time of their meeting he was only sixteen years old. She knew he was young, but not quite that young. It was rather strange, however, to hear about his sexual conquests. He never hid the fact that he was very active and very desirable to many an appraising woman. She wondered why she was so different. She didn’t have to wait for very long to find the answer to her question. He had invited her to his estate on Dromund Kaas, even sent for her to be picked up. Things were coming to a head with Thanaton, he told her, and he might not get another chance to see her again. She reassured him of her confidence in him, but he smiled that strangely calm smile of his and told her to come. She did. He took her on a short tour after she arrived and let her get comfortable while he cooked dinner. It was all very romantic to her: being invited to his home, being picked up and hand delivered to his doorstep, him cooking for her while she roamed the building. After dinner they adjourned to the balcony attached to the main bedroom. It was raining as was normal on Dromund Kaas. He stood there, silent and thinking, as the warm rain soaked every inch of him. She was unsoaked, having been offered a rain shield. He braced his palms on the railing and looked into the jungles. She mimicked his pose and waited for him to speak. Minutes passed without a word. “I might die soon,” he said quietly. She had been waiting for him to speak, but the sound of his voice still made her jump. He chuckled quietly and looked at her sidelong. “Thanaton is powerful and learned,” he said, turning his eyes back toward the jungle. “I am easily twenty years his junior and he is a Dark Council member. The odds are not in my favor.” “You’ve beaten the odds so far, haven’t you?” Rylee asked quietly. She sidled closer to him until her elbow nearly touched his. He smiled. “You have a history of living despite the things thrown at you. At least, from what you’ve told me.” “Yes,” he agreed, “I am quite stubborn. Something I inherited from my father.” “Then Thanaton is nothing in the face of you. I have faith in you.” “I will take it to my grave.” “You will live as you always have. You will rise and become even more than you are now. I know hope and faith aren’t in the Sith teachings, but… I have faith in you. I have hope that you will return to me.” He turned to the side, braced his hip against the railing, and crossed his arms. “Return to you?” “Yes,” she said firmly. She didn’t move to face him, but the challenge was there. It was up to him to make his move if he so desired. She desired it to be so. And it was. He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to him. With a tug of her arm she was in his. His embrace was gentle and unsure, his face open and hopeful. She smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting him down, urging him to press their lips together. He was nervous. As such, his control slipped enough to short out her rain shield generator. He apologized profusely, embarrassed that he still had issues with controlling his powers, but it didn’t matter much to her. The sting from the shield shorting out was nothing compared to the feel of his lips against hers. It was made all the more electric by him letting go, just a little, to ignite the air around them with a static charge. It was dangerous for him to do such a thing with so much lightning in the air, but it heightened her senses. When he pulled away she was bereft at the loss of contact. He smiled down at her with that calm, assured smile of his. “Hope, hm?” he murmured quietly. “Yes,” she replied. “Hope.” “There’s a first time for everything.” She smiled, her face positively glowing with happiness. His smile persisted as he led her back into his home and closed the balcony doors. Their time together was to be enjoyed in private. And it was.

Sacrifice “The man’s a bloody hero!” said a man. “No Sith Lord’s ever done that before,” said another. “’E saved lots of lives, ‘e did,” agreed another. Rylee wasn’t at all surprised at the chatter from the men; she was surprised that there were so many clamoring to watch over their downed Lord while he recovered from the blast. A landmine, she was told, one that should have been caught in the sweep, but slipped through. By all accounts, most of which she had overheard, there was a shockwave before the blast that shoved every man away from the mine. Every man, but Gelt. Consensus was he used the Force to get the men to relative safety before purposely setting off the mine. He had his own defenses, of course, least of which being his shield generator, but no Sith was immune from concussive force. When she was allowed access to his room, he was still unconscious and hooked up to a few monitors. She didn’t know what the monitors were monitoring exactly, they weren’t labeled, but one displayed a pulsing heart and that was enough for her. She settled into the chair next to the bed and alternated between watching his face and watching his heartbeat on the monitor. “I’m here, Gelt,” she said quietly. His heart rate increased slightly. With a smile, she grabbed his hand and cupped it between her own. A small leap registered on the monitor. “I overheard from the men what you did. You’re amazing. They’re calling you a hero!” She paused and laughed quietly. “You’ve always been a hero to me. Saving Destris and I from Paladius, saving the cultists from Destris, saving me from Destris. I never did thank you for that. So, I’m not surprised you did something to save the lives of others. I think I’m surprised that others are so surprised, but, then I remember this is the Empire. I – I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I don’t know if you can even hear me.” A small spark of lightning spiraled over her fingers and up her arm. It settled around her right ear. She laughed softly. “I’m glad you can hear me. I should get going and let you rest.” “No,” Gelt said or would have said if his mouth had moved. “What –” Rylee started, surprised and frightened. “Sound is a set of vibrations perceived by the ear. The lightning around your ear is my conduit,” he explained. “But you’re unconscious.” “I can still sense you and it doesn’t take much to control so little energy.” “You should rest,” she said quietly. “I am, but it’s boring.” She laughed softly. “I’ll stay, but only to keep you company.” “Tell me a story.” She laughed again. “What sort of story?” “One of those happily ever after ones, you know, the ones that don’t exist.” “They do exist, Gelt.” “Sure,” he said. She could feel him rolling his eyes. “Now shut up and tell me a story.” She laughed again. “Very well. There once was a handsome Sith Lord…”

No Need For Change “If I told you I was pregnant, what would you do?” Rylee asked one morning over breakfast. The question gave Gelt considerable pause. “I’m – I’m not, I’m just asking because we aren’t always careful and we – we,” she stammered to a stop. “Have an impressive amount of intercourse. Yes,” he said with a firm nod. “First, I would have you tested. If you were lying, I would kill you.” “Just like that?” He snapped his fingers, a spark of lightning igniting between his thumb and middle finger pads. “Just like that. However,” he said as he dropped his hand, “if you were pregnant, I would welcome you into my home on a more permanent basis.” “Just like that?” “Just like that.” She smiled. “You’re not like any man I’ve ever known, Sith or not.” “I am a wholly unique creature.” “You are and I really – I really like that about you.” “Good, I’m not changing who I am,” he said with a nod. “Good,” she replied, “I like who you are as you are now.”

Drunknanigans “Gelt, you really shouldn’t,” Rylee giggled. “I can knock over that Nerf and run back here,” Gelt said, swaying on his feet a little. Rylee broke into a fit of giggles and flopped onto the couch. They were at his estate on Dromund Kaas, an estate he had rebuilt after the fire, and they were both delightfully plastered on a very blue alcohol. He couldn’t quite recall the name, but it was an import from Csilla and very, very strong. “That’s not – that’s not a Nerf,” Rylee giggled breathlessly. “That’s the bed!” “I should toss you on it and we could have a rodeo,” he said seriously, looking at her over his shoulder. She laughed again and clutched her sides. “Stars, Gelt, I can’t breathe!” “I better use mouth-to-mouth.” Rylee’s laughter echoed throughout the estate well into the morning.

Firsts “When was your first time?” Rylee asked quietly. She was rather bold, asking such a question, but Gelt never minded her or her curiosity. He rather liked it, actually. It’s why he kept coming back to her. She was refreshing and sweet, ambitious and smart, but not – well, she was decidedly not Sith. He liked that most of all. “I was fourteen,” Gelt replied. “Both slaves, obviously, but we managed to sneak away for a bit.” “What was she like?” “She was a sweet girl all things considered. She had the most beautiful mind I had ever encountered. I was quite taken with her.” “You would have to be to lose a game of HoloChess,” she said with a smile. She looked down at the board, made her move and looked back up at him. “Checkmate.” “There’s a first time for everything.” “I was taught by the best.” “You were,” he said with a grin. “What’s your prize then?” “Shirt.”

Valid Question “Stars, Rylee,” Gelt said quietly. “It’s a perfectly valid question,” she replied. “No, I have never been in love. There was someone when I was a kid, but that can’t be defined as love. I was a child, I had no idea what love was.” “What was she like?” “Does it really matter?” She shrugged. “I suppose not.” He rolled over top of her and grinned as he balanced on his palms. “Round two?” “Do you even like me?” Rylee spluttered. He rolled his eyes and rolled back to his side of the bed. “Stars, Rylee.” “It’s a perfectly valid question.” “I’ll put it this way: you’re the only woman I purposely seek out.” “I’m flattered.” “You should be.” She laughed then rolled over him as he had her, bracing her palms on his shoulders. “So… round two?” His grin was all teeth. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Turn to the Left He never considered himself a vain person. No, growing up in the slave pits as a pit fighter tended to make one rather fashion unconscious. If he wasn’t covered in dirt, sweat, tears, blood, vomit, or any other variety of bodily fluid, he was in rags. When he made it to Korriban on some sort of scholarship, the damn clothes had been included. Nice clothes. Soft clothes. Blood free clothes! Well, until he started training, anyway. And it wasn’t always his blood. The drycleaners were rather good at removing blood and staying silent. He liked them. He looked at himself in the mirror and smirked. He looked a lot like his father dressed like this. He straightened the collar on his uniform tunic. Yes, he was dressed as an Imperial Officer despite his Darth rank, but he wondered if things had been different if he would have been an officer just like his father. Perhaps better than his father. Despite his numerous short comings, all of which he admitted to him as a boy, his father was loyal until the day he was murdered. He remembered that day with frightening clarity despite the many years it had been. He brushed his hands down his sides and tugged at the bottom of the tunic. He turned to his side and checked his bum in the mirror. If being a Sith in uniform didn’t get him a bit of tail, his tail would get him a bit of tail. The door to his room slid open. “You look good, my Lord,” Rylee said as she entered the room. “I always look good,” he replied, grinning at his reflection. She chuckled softly. “That is rather true.” He turned to her and tilted his head to the side. “Do you need something?” “I just wanted to see you off.” He grinned wider, cupped his chin in his hand, and cocked his hip to one side. “That’s all?” “Yes,” she said quietly. Her cheeks blossomed into a cherry red blush. “If you want a quick one, just ask,” he said as he flashed his teeth. “I – I – y-yes. If you have time I…” “On the bed, then.” “Yes, my Lord.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s not an order, dammit.” “I know.”

Recognition When I look into the mirror anymore, I don’t see me. Not the me I’m used to. My eyes aren’t as sharp, my hair’s not as dark. I look tired. I look old. I do this once a week, at least. Stare at myself. Look into my own eyes. I do it to remember who I am. Who I was. Who I am beneath this mask. Who I was before the mask. Who I still am. I still see the echoes of the man I was. I still have the mark on my cheek. I’ve considered removing it recently, but, well, it’s part of me. I’ve grown used to it these last few decades. I’m almost fond of it. Almost. Before the mask I was someone else entirely. I never dreamed of becoming this. I had killed before, but it was always a mission to further the Empire. Now I kill to further my wealth. I kill to buy my son’s freedom. His freedom, his return to the Empire will further it. He is the future. He will return to the Empire and receive the recognition he deserves. Even if he never recognizes my efforts in the shadows. I don’t need it, I decide. I can barely recognize my own face, let alone any accomplishments this… Ucles has made. That is my name, my alias, my mask. I bring the mask over my eyes again and feel the silver locks engage over my temples. When I look up, the face isn’t mine anymore. There are scars that never were, eyes that never see the light of day in its purest form, and me, still with the contours of my old face, but forever changed by this tiny mask. When I step out for the day, I am recognized as Ucles the Bounty Hunter. No one knows my past. And if they look, I am a man who came from the mists. To shoot them in the face. Such is life.

Identity I’ve changed how I look as much as I can without surgery. A simple visual interface covers my eyes, hiding their color. Sophisticated little thing. Gives me a rundown of the local area, optional speech paths to take, projects an image of a scarred visage and manipulates an implant in my neck dropping my voice an octave or two. I let my hair grow out. It’s all grey now. Nothing for it. I chalk it up to stress and experience. Long at the top and slicked back, but trimmed around the edges. Professional sleazebag. Let my face get scruffy, let my eyebrows get bushy. No finely trimmed Bounty Hunter would be taken seriously. That’s the last change there. The title. I’ve already picked a name. Ucles is my name. Targets are my game. People who get that joke always laugh. Hatred Lister Scro is a slimy son of a b*tch if I ever met one. I knew he would be going in, but talking to him face to face, listening to his keening voice as he mewls over his slave girls. I want to bash his f*cking skull in. I’m a bodyguard for the pit fighters. Some of ‘em are Force sensitives. I ask him first chance I get how he’s able to keep these sensitives under the Empire’s nose. “Hutta is neutral,” he says. “Don’t explain how you keep ‘em here without getting raided,” I say. He must think I’m worried about my life. He gets this weirdly calm look on his face and tries to comfort me with his voice. It’s not going to work. “I release the ones who survive at sixteen. From there, they go to Korriban.” I hate his f*cking voice. “How many survive?” “Enough to keep it profitable.” F*ck you. F*ck you with a rusty lightsaber hilt, you scum pile. “Nice.” I hate my voice. “I’m glad you agree.” He leans to one side and reaches for one of his girls. She barely flinches. When I get the chance, this man is dead. I’ll make the f*cking chance.

Loss I’ve lost everything. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I treasured. Everything taken from me. Items I can replace, some can be replicated from memory. I can replace my arm. It was cybernetic up a bit past the elbow. I can’t replace my son. HK is little comfort. He’s not supposed to be. He’s a bloody droid. He keeps going on about searching the HoloNet for information and I can’t see why he’s bothering. Can droids feel guilt? Maybe. Maybe he’s just defective. *** Lanniter Droge is a funny little man. He’s upset the arm was destroyed. He could have fixed it, he says, could’ve extended it. I don’t much care. I just need an arm. He makes the arm in less than a week. Looks just like my old one. Minus the glove. Beggars can’t be choosers. Well, that’s not true, they can, but it’s rude. I am not a rude man. Then again, I’m no longer a man. I’ve been erased. My family has been erased. All because of a vengeful Darth’s bloodlust. He’ll get his. And I’ll be there when he does. *** HK gets a lead on where my past belongings are. It’s weird to think of him as a belonging. My son. A child. A boy. He’s barely eight years old. He should be on Korriban instead he’s here on the selling block. And I can’t afford him. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. The only thing to do now is manipulate the sale. And I can do that. No one pays any mind to the scruffy looking, dirty bastard looking at slave trades. Probably think I’m here for unsavory purposes like the rest. If I can get the boy purchased by a no or low kill slave fighting pit… I’m taking a gamble. On my son. On the chance his training will kick in, no matter how insignificant it seems. I can barely keep the bile down where it belongs as I do this. As I take a chance. I find a name, Lister Scro, and get him priority bidding. I know the name. Seen it on a few listings for pit fights and job opportunities. It’s my only in. If he wins the bid. I’m taking a gamble with both our lives. And my son is completely unaware. Forgive me.

The first few posts of this story will be cross-posts from the Short Fic Thread. The last two I post will be all new content. Om nom nom. This follows Ucles, the Bounty Hunter, and Geltie, the pit fighting slave turned Darth. Enjoy. Love There is nothing in this Galaxy that I love more than my son. Not his mother. Not myself. Not even the Empire. Yes, it is blasphemy to speak such words, but, in my head, such thoughts are safe so long as I never betray them. And I won’t for I love my son and value his safety. I value his future. I have the means to make his future bright and it is impossibly so. He’s Force sensitive and guaranteed a place on Korriban because of who I know. I don’t have to pull strings, or draw rank. I have an in with someone I daresay I never thought I could call friend again. But she is my friend nonetheless and my son’s future is assured. There is something, something small gnawing at the back of my head. I must prepare. Whatever this feeling this, it grows everyday magnifying my dread. The end is near and I can feel it. I must ensure my son is safe. He is the future of the Empire and he is all that matters. Joke's On You This has to be some f*cked up joke. Twice. Twice in one lifetime I’m set upon by Trandoshans. They’re looking for something. I can’t decipher their guttural, bone chilling language. I focus on one thing, the most important thing: getting my son out of this place. He doesn’t need to see his father die as well. I get him down the escape hatch and into the tunnels before the damn lizard catches up to me. My arm is up in self-defense then it’s gone. There’s pain. Pain and blood. Damn lizard is grunting something again. I spit in its face. I’m about to die anyway. Hearing goes first then numbness sets in. Never felt it like this before. It’s final. The end is really here. Before everything goes black, I see the lizard’s head explode into a mist of blood and viscera. Can’t even feel it splash against my skin. About time, HK. *** Wasn’t expecting to wake up. Don’t know where I am or how long it’s been. Can’t really think. “Assessment: You are regaining consciousness, Master. Query: How do you feel?” Numb. I feel numb. I can’t feel my right arm. It must be gone. I’ll need a replacement. My son. Where is my son? I open my eyes and look toward HK’s voice. “Where is my son?” Sweet stars, is that my voice? I sound old. Tired. Dead. “Statement: I do not know, Master. After liquidating the undesirables, the estate was set ablaze. Prideful statement: I ceased deleting undesirables to save your life, Master. Solemn assessment: The young master did not make it out alive.” No. No. NO! Not him. Not my son. I should have died protecting him like his mother did. My son. I can feel my throat constricting. My eyelids burn. This has to be some sick f*cking joke. And it’s not funny anymore.

Three hours later, the Dominator exploded above the skies of Dromund Kaas. Notes:

Continuing the thread spam... NotLP: Uninvited Guests Character: Geltie Come Back

NotLP: Bad Memories Character: Gelt I See Notes:

Replies! Ze Story! NotLP: Health, Discoveries Characters: Ucles and Talos Get Better, Dammit

So many things. You hush.

Looks like he was... Draagh'd away.

NotLP: Life and Death Character: Ucles Nothing Else

Replies! Story Time! NotLP: Health, Life and Death Characters: Geltie, Ucles, and Talos Blind Notes:

Prompt: Cross My Heart Character: Ucles Life, Love, Loss

Polarity Shift Cerrill felt the change in the air before Jadus did. She knew exactly what it meant. She drew on the memory of being fourteen again with Malavai and Pemeri and Teala and the experiments. They hadn’t programmed her just yet. No, they were saving her for later. She was brought in to be the critical eye that monitored Malavai up close, but that annoying green Twi’lek made that nearly impossible. She knew. She knew exactly what Cerrill was up to and did her damnedest to keep her out of the loop. But, when Malavai was fourteen, things changed. She felt the shift in the air before the others could register the change and it was only the beginning. “Malavai,” Cerrill said quietly in greeting. He was seated at a table, hunched over slightly. He looked up from his morning survey at the sound of her voice and grinned. “Cerrill.” “How are you this morning?” “Seven bee,” he replied as he returned his attention to his datapad. She smiled. “That good? That’s wonderful.” “Yes,” he drawled, “it’s very wonderful.” She arched a brow. “Did something happen last night?” He shrugged dismissively and continued his survey. She studied him for a moment too long and was rewarded with a slight glare. “Tell me, Cerrill,” he started as set his datapad on the table and turned his head up fully, “have you ever had sex?” She sputtered and blushed a pleasing shade of cerulean. “N-no, of course not! I’m – I’m not even fifteen yet.” “Fifteen Imperial years or Chiss years?” “Imperial,” she replied quietly. “My sister taught me how to do the conversion.” “I’m surprised Pemeri bothered.” “She wants me to fit in. I’m alien enough without using non-Imperial terms or measurements.” “You even have a bit of the local dialect.” “A little.” She paused and shifted her feet. “So – so why did you ask me about – about that?” “Sex?” he asked with a grin. She nodded and blushed a darker shade of indigo. “I tried a bit last night. With an alien, no less.” “How does one ‘try a bit of sex’?” “Close the door and I’ll show you.” Yes, the shift in the air was very familiar to her. And, soon, he would feel it too. She couldn’t wait for the fun to begin anew. She quickly prepared for her day and assumed her position at Jadus’ side. She couldn’t wait to tell him the news. His plan, his glorious plan for a new Empire under a new Emperor would progress significantly today. She was giddy with excitement. It began today. “He has claimed the Jedi girl,” Jadus said. He was keenly aware of everything that happened on this ship. Nothing passed through his vision. Nothing. “Yes, my Lord,” Cerrill chirped excitedly. “He will awaken in an hour. Bring him to me.” “Yes, my Lord.” Notes:

Replies! Story! NotLP: Life and Death Characters: Geltie and Rylee Between Notes:

Finding a New Normal He was floating again. He didn’t like the sensation. He didn’t have control over where he was going. He couldn’t flap his arms or kick his legs and go where he wanted to. He floated and was carried along with the currents. He hated not having control. Cry me a river, Mally. said Sliver. “Do not call me that,” he hissed. Or… what? He waited a tick. That’s what I thought. You’re not in control here. “Neither are you.” I have more control than you do. Tell me, have you confided in that little Twi’lek the fact that Syla so much as breathing in your direction sends you into a panic? You hide it well. I’m almost surprised you haven’t had a heart attack and died yet. I wish you would. “It’s always nice to have someone in your corner,” he replied bitterly. “I’m in your corner,” a voice said softly. Ooh, that little Twi’lek likes you. Does she remind you of Teala? Is that why you refuse to change your door code? He chuckled darkly. I think I’ll take a stroll down memory lane to find out when you started liking this little Twi’lek. I’ll be back soon, Mally. He jolted awake with a start and a small cry. Vette was there, as usual, watching and waiting. He told her to sleep at night, that he would be fine. She argued that she knew exactly when his dreams would end most nights, it was no trouble. He told her he would change the code on the door. He never did. That was their routine, but this creature – this part of him interrupted that and he needed it. He needed the comfort of routine. He needed the comfort of arguing with Vette over anything and everything, berating her for coming into his quarters unannounced, touching his person, helping him. Anything. Anything to make him feel normal again. He realized he would never be normal again. He didn’t know what normal was anymore. The mistakes he made, the chances he took, everything, everything had affected his normalcy, had taken it away. What was normal in the face of his choices? What was normal in the face of this – this being called Sliver? What was normal after everything he had done? What was normal to begin with? He wished such questions would keep him up at night. He wished the dreams would be driven away by questioning everything, examining everything, pulling everything apart and putting it back together again. He wanted to be whole. He wanted to be normal. He realized then that what he wanted was impossible. The scars, the mental and the physical, would never disappear. They would only begin to hurt less over time. When the aches and pains of the physical became a memory he could withdraw from and the memories distant reminders of failures and punishments past, he would get his normalcy back. His new normalcy. Vette didn’t say a word for once as he sat up, bracing himself on his elbows. He didn’t tell her for quite possibly the ninetieth time to stay out his quarters, he didn’t tell her to leave, he didn’t say anything. He stared at the other end of his bunk in silent thought. “What is normal?” he murmured at last. “It’s subjective,” Vette replied quietly. He jumped a little and looked at her. “Sorry. I thought you were – sorry.” He blinked slowly. “It’s… alright, Vette,” he said quietly. “I forgot you were here.” He sounded sincere, he looked sincere. Vetter smiled a little. “Is the,” she started, pausing only when she was unsure how to continue. “He’s away for now,” he replied. Vette nodded slowly. “Did that – does that – where did he come from?” “I do not know.” “We should probably figure that out before someone gets hurt.” She paused and chewed her lip. “Speaking of hurt, you had some pretty nasty burns. At first, anyway. You’ve sort of… you’re all healed now. It’s kinda weird.” “Yes, well, finding a Force sensitive entity living within a person could be classified as ‘weird’, could it not?” She smiled. “Yeah. Just a little.” When he spoke again his voice was very quiet, almost as if he didn’t want her to hear him at all. “I never thanked you properly for your assistance regarding the Transponder Station or the evening you pilfered my weapons.” She chuckled quietly. “You’re welcome, Quinn. And, uh, if you need help with this whatever thing just, you know, give me a shout.” He nodded and opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and closed it again. “Will you be alright for the rest of the night?” she asked. She stifled a yawn as best she could, but Quinn caught it and nodded sharply. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to wake me.” He nodded again and settled back into his mattress. She left him to his thoughts and, hopefully, to sleep. He knew attempting sleep again was pointless. Instead he focused on his new normal and tried not to make it too grand lest he be disappointed. Still, a time when the nightmares were distant memories and the pain nothing, but a dull ache was a time to look forward too. A new normal was something to look forward to. And, for once, he had hope of a slightly brighter future. If only for a little while. Notes:

Annnnd he's dead. What, no details? Think of the worst form of torture. Got it? Yes. Now double it. Naughty.

Jaesa could've beaten them up if she really wanted to. Good girl stopped arguing. You know, I consider myself rather... not evil, but different. This Quinn. He's a [slew of fiery invectives] Wow.