A Companionable Sort

[Lucianus Adair]

Onderon
After Nightfall

While Annaj still stood as his home for the time being, civil war and the folding up of the Fringe Confederacy left him out of office, and with little to expend the endless hours of his time on. While it would make some lick of sense to put his energy into the proper tutelage of those gifted with the power of the Force and the cognizance to use it as it should be used, he selfishly didn't, finding himself increasingly in the company of another on Onderon, or perhaps Dxun or anywhere else that would do to scratch an itch that had doubtless festered for long enough. Through little fault of his own - he was a private man outside of his now-former work, and his work had kept him busy, which was his preference.

It was the first span in the years since he had come to this realm of time where he had nothing so far reaching to protect as the populace of a large political entity, no hundreds of worlds to claim as his, which had driven him to twiddling his thumbs... in a manner of speaking. Boredom was simply unbecoming of him, and at one time there would have been a simple solution for that, but indiscriminate murder was hardly a thing he ascribed to without good cause. Not anymore. It hadn't been the case for, well, centuries. Withdrawing from those thoughts, his glacial eyes slipped to her, the only other occupant of this room. to A glass of wine occupied one hand while his chin filled the other; it was in a chair he sat, the comfort or discomfort of it being irrelevant, the wine being his, the glass his.

His attention, however, was all hers.

"You are certain no Jedi will come around? I have little interest in squabbles over petty philosophical differences."

While the wanton murder of Jedi was a thing he partook of in his much younger days, the years had effected change, a solidification of his convictions. He would kill to defend, to prevent, to nourish. He would if he had to. The spilling of blood for a difference of opinion on how the Force was to be used was a waste of time.

[member="Quietus"]

 

[Quietus]

Onderon
Blackthorne Beastiary HQ
Halcyon Citadel

Quietus could hardly remember a time that she had ever allowed herself to grow bored. Boredom was as much a disease of the mind as it was an excuse to the Beastia, given all the many, many things she had at her disposal to do. Creatures to capture, raise, tame, sell. A people to watch over, govern, protect, and nurture. A walled city to grow commerce in. Endless planets to visit. Family to see.

Students to teach.

Speaking of students, she had been expecting one or two in particular but was waylayed by an unexpected guest instead. The children were likely disappointed in the aspect of having to wait another day or two, but they had waited for years already and if there was one lesson Quietus was adamant in teaching it was that of patience and self-control. They would wait and they would find something else to bide their time with.

Kidnapping, for example, was a wonderful life lesson to live through.

Far from having her own schedule offset by the unexpected, Quietus was keen to adapt and her wine stores were quite healthy. The Beastia was readying the supplies that would be part of Ibaris and Micah's first lesson - a clutch of skreev eggs left abandoned when the mother failed to return home several days ago. They sat now on a raised stone dais in a nest of large, round rocks around which she began lighting kindling. Maintaining proper temperature was key to the survival and inevitable hatching of the eggs - but it was difficult to say just how long the nest had gone unattended. Several had already been lost, but within the remaining five she could sense the life growing within.

Her guest's question caused her only to pause in her care of the nest, injecting open nooks with smoldering wood and coals. The woman glanced back at him briefly, one brow slightly elevated, before returning to her work.

Do you like the wine? she asked in return, voice reaching him only via telepathy.

The Jedi were of no concern to her.

[member="Lucianus Adair"]

 

[Lucianus Adair]

The absence of an answer was answer enough, and to it he closed his eyes a moment; the wine reached his nose without being near it, in the absence of one sense, and if it were a matter of timing, her question came with the perfection of it. Eyelids slipped open, pale blues settling on her as she tended to the eggs.

I do, he returned in kind, would that I had known your affection for wine, sooner.

A corner of his mouth quirked upwards, in brief. Overt flirtations were not his way, but this? The implications presented by the thought were a thing he could not deny dwelling on, from time to time. He took another slow draw from the glass, and leashed his thoughts from wandering too far into that territory when the woman in question was in the room, right in front of him.

Do you look forward to the training?

The last attempt he had made at imparting his knowledge to another had been a fruitless endeavour. The polydroxol had been keen to do nothing more than show off and dictate the content of the lessons, himself. Nothing more than an exercise in drawing out the ire of this former Lord of the Fringe, as it was seen now. When he might deign it time to exercise his will over another hopeful was unknown. He did not suffer fools lightly.

[member="Quietus"]

 

[Quietus]

Affection? For wine?

The woman narrowed her eyes faintly, subduing a derisive snort. I keep it for guests, the woman's voice replied bluntly to his thoughts as she carefully shifted the nesting stones around the eggs, I don't drink wine.

No, wine was the choice of many others in her extended family but never herself. At most the woman might partake in blodwyne from time to time but lately it had proven ineffective to sating her more instinctual needs. For the last century there was only one thing that really curved those desires and she'd taken to indulging herself on it.

She stood finally and slowly circled the dais, checking the consistency of heated coals and the distribution of stones around the eggs. In six hours they would need to be turned and the coals refreshed again, but by that time a Nester would take over to free the Beastia for other ...endeavors.

Do you look forward to the training?

A quiet, questioning glance shot his way as if to ask, are you kidding? She followed the sentiment by moving to close the distance and without any inclination towards politeness did straddle the man in his seat and settle her weight onto his lap. Does a hunter look forward to sharpening his blade? The answer was rather simple - no. A hunter looked forward to the hunt; sharpening his blade was simply an essential step to ensuring the hunt fair in his favor.

Quietus was not a teacher nor a Master. She was a leader. A mover and shaker. What she looked forward to were not the machinations she created, but the ripples effected by them later on.

I look forward... she leaned in, lifting a sooty hand to draw a black line across the man's cheek, to their mistakes.

Mistakes meant reparations. And that ... could be quite entertaining for the Beastia.

[member="Lucianus Adair"]

 

[Lucianus Adair]

Mistakes.

The word, placed in this context, drew his lips outwards and ever-so-slightly upwards when soot was marked to his cheek, pleased at her proximity and the consideration of reparations. The wine glass was set aside, and fingers were wrapped around her wrist where it held closest to his face, and his head turned; he pressed nose and mouth into the inside of that wrist, and grazed once softly, with his teeth. The existence of the soot was ignored.

Doubtless, there will be enough to sate you, in that respect. It excites me...

His mouth lifted away, head turning a small fraction, and his eyes found her face.

...to think what you might have them do.

Maybe he would take a student again...

[member="Quietus"]

 

[Quietus]

Eyes of frosted jade watched the man with great intensity, daring him to break skin, draw blood. She made no move to repossess her borrowed wrist.

A bare smirk alighted upon her lips as visions of a young Evelynn Dorn flew sailing feet over head beyond the edge of a cliff. If she closed her eyes she could almost hear the terrorized scream torn by the winds from that meekling's throat. That moment of horrific realization in Evelynn's mind that her actions would provide quick and often dire consequences, lest to speak of her inactions.

That until she was in control of herself - she was completely out of control of all other things.

It was the learning process that fascinated the Beastia the most. Witnessing these moments was what she enjoyed - not death or wanton destruction like most would assume. Such things were far too true of the Sith, and Sith she was not. Really, she never intended to kill the Dorn girl.

It has been many years since I've taken an Apprentice ... I have my doubts these will be as challenging as the last. The spawn of Varanin does not want for failure and Talith is far too eager. When was your last?

As a matter of fact Quietus believed both the children would prove to be great learners - something she wasn't sure how to feel about. Enthusiastic was hardly a descriptor used for the woman, but there was far too much opportunity there for her to remain apathetic. Complicated.

Irrelevant.

Her free hand lifted to the man's chin where she drew her nails roughly along his jawline to pursue a sudden curiosity of note. The smirk vanished then as her fingers pushed aside the collar of his shirt to find her mark upon him faded. Nearly healed. That would need to be rectified.

[member="Lucianus Adair"]

 

[Lucianus Adair]

His chin lifted to accommodate her seeking hand, and glacial eyes peered down his nose at her as a result. The grip on her wrist loosened and left, both hands coming about to her bottom to lift her and urge her closer still.

Miss Ibaris, to his knowledge, had always been a keen and studious one; a sponge with little hesitance to speak of from such a young age. To gain a congruent opinion of the girl from the woman in his lap was a representation of the fact that they had occupied overlapping circles, circles that brought them into orbit of one another, a binary star whose parts traded attempts at swallowing the other with the fire each possessed.

Long ago, when I was first gaining my bearings, stranded centuries and systems away from everything I knew. He was a polydroxol who thirsted not for knowledge, but sought to have me watch while he would show off, to what end I can only presume - approval? No matter. I rid myself of the fool with haste.

His chin lowered, he leaned in, and caught her lower lip with his teeth.

I have since been... otherwise occupied.

He tugged.

[member="Quietus"]

 

[Quietus]

Several years and one fateful Sith dominion later...


Dxun sat high and green in the evening sky of Onderon as the day of reckoning finally came to a close. The One Sith had come at last, bringing forth their multitudes of dark heathens eager for the blood of the Republic. Like most periods of flux, Quietus was complacent to be ... adaptable. There would be no grieving the removal of the Galactic Republic's presence nor would there be any upset at the installation of Sith power within the city of Iziz. The Beastia, as she had promised so long ago, moved to maintain her seat of power and the wellness of her jungles, her beasts, and her people with remarkable success.

She had returned tired, triumphant, and exceedingly pleased with herself for this day of many victories.

Morning saw the successful negotiations with the Sith Hand Vrag, afternoon saw the toppling of the Republic's Academy, nightfall saw the efforts to clear Scarside ridge in preparation for the new prisontown. It had been an evening of carnage and bloodshed in the jungle - the Beastia had announced open season on the rank and wild beasts dwelling there and more than one Drexl had met its demise. Sith, Riders, and all other manner of bloodthirsty types seeking a challenging kill had stood in attendance to partake in this event. Even [member="Lucianus Adair"] had been there.

Quietus had felt his presence, but Scarside ridge was a massive swathe of land and the chaos had been quite feverish. They'd not managed to make contact there, but as with every adventure: Halcyon Citadel marked the rendez vous point for the pair.

It was there, in the open courtyard that Miir landed. The skreev gave a baleful screech as it found its mate nestled over a clutch of eggs. He moved stiffly, exhausted from the day's events, and greedily snapped up the slabs of meat tossed to him by the attending Handlers. Quietus smirked after her mount, feeling as though he might just be reflecting a bit of her own present needs and desires.

So she made her way in, heading through throngs of celebrating Beast Riders and Acolytes of the citadel. Feasting fires had already been lit and the smell of roasting meat sat heavy in the air accompanied by music and loud chatter. The Beastia passed through crowds along the inner foyer, feeling the hands of her followers stretching out with their cries for victory, touching along her armored shoulders and arms.

Her mind reached out beyond the racket of applause and song and crackling flames, searching for that one other.

 

[Lucianus Adair]

Not long had he been returned to the Citadel, that when her presence brushed against his own, he was still clothed and marked with the viscous rouge and aromas of the afternoon letting, the tinge of sweat salting his present sweet and iron-marred scent. Unbathed as-yet and still wound from the activities of the day, he had been pacing - impatience and heat, absent of anger and rage - waiting for her. She had been beyond or at the fringe of his senses, day-long, and unseen since departing in the morning.

When her presence pressed into his, his head and eyes snapped to, as if he could see her through the walls, the floor, beyond the staircase that lead to another floor and to the chambers in which he spent his days when venturing out was not intended to occur. On an average day, the stairs were made use of, calm and controlled; his present state demanded expediency, making the stairs irrelevant when he vaulted the bannister and dropped into the inner foyer with a resounding thud, the motion dropping him into a crouch.

Pale, frozen eyes looked through the gathered as he became erect once more and saw her amidst the throng. She was as unkempt as he, and to his vision, primed, and many pairs of eyes were witness to the pull one exacted on the other when he stalked towards her.

There you are, words trickling into her as he closed the distance, I hope you have not had your fill.

He passed the Beast Riders and Acolytes layer by layer.

I have been wanting all day.

Then he reached her, hands went to shoulders, neck, then fingers in hair and curling in; a slow, steady force exerted with that hold towards the Citadel entrance, his nose exploring the crook of her neck, and her scent that he knew to an intimate degree, the blood of the beasts they both had slain this day, and... the unfamiliar. He paused, a particular rage, territorial in nature, rose like bile in the pipe. His face pulled away, and the free hand, one finger, dragged through the slick of crimson on her person that had to this point attained a state of partial drying, and brought to his nose, then sampled with his tongue. His eyes never left her face when he did this; he then put that hand to her head and brought his face so close, as if to seek her mouth and never take it. Then, a rare occurrence when he spoke with his mouth to her.

"You are mine," it scraped into her ear, "mine."

Mine, it rumbled in her psyche.

One swift motion, he crouched and hauled the Beastia over his shoulder in front of her Riders and turned away, to take the time for the staircase, thinking on what to do with a woman that had woman all over her.

[member="Quietus"]

 

[Quietus]

There was something that just screamed animal in the way the two interacted. The High Beast, Alpha of the pack, Queen of all the lands beyond the realm of Iziz, returning home after a long day of reaffirming her territory. Regal, languid, lazy with the drink of success watching with an austere complacency as her mate approached to welcome her home in the only way that suited them. Reaffirming his territory, as it were.

Her gaze was easy, a mellow shade of blue-green as his hands and senses sought her out. Lips stretched in a lopsided grin, wry as he discovered the encroachment on what was his. Beastia's head tipped back to watch his change in demeanor shift in that instant, droll amusement evident in her own expression. It was not unexpected in the least, his reaction, and fangs peaked through split lips as he seized her round the middle and hoisted her over her shoulder, blood-stained wheaten lengths of unruly hair flouncing about her face. She did not fight against him and gave her Riders a wane smirk as he turned away, propping herself up with one elbow against his back.

They cheered [member="Lucianus Adair"] on as he claimed his woman and made to take her off to celebrate a day of carnage with a night of debauchery.

But not before tossing a roasted leg from the spit to the Beastia which she caught from her draped position over his shoulder and bit into with fervor. Because Vrag's flesh and blood simply hadn't been enough. She devoured it on the way up, snapping the leg bone between her hands to suck the marrow clean. She'd be picking her fangs with it by the time they reached her private chambers.

[member="Lucianus Adair"]

 

[Lucianus Adair]

The raucous cheers tugged a mild smirk onto his own lips, roaring over the sound of her mastications. Devouring a leg while draped over him, her pointy elbow digging into the musculature of his back - he would devour her all, to the bones, for certain. Suck out the marrow, take it all. One firm arm about her legs, her bottom was given a whup with the other hand as he took to the stairs, one at a time.

What am I to do with you?

Thoughts of all that he could do prowled across his mind. Steps were taken. He went on.

There is... some thought that you do this to get a rise out of me.

One step, two step, this wasn't a dance. More steps were taken in further silence, the top was only a few more.

Regardless, you succeed.

They reached the top, and he looked down a corridor to one door in particular. One that had become the after-picture of a devastating event of weather more times than he bothered to count. He walked there, giving another whup to her rear.

I intend to exact a price. I have in mind a thing I have sought for some time, now.

He opened the door, and entered the large chamber, in order once again after the last time, and proceeded to disburden himself of her form, only to the point that he could toss her on the surface that was classically intended for this use.

I will have it.

The door was shoved, slamming shut with a resounding slap. There was no doubt it could be heard by the Riders below.

[member="Quietus"]

 

[Quietus]

Even after all her years, the modern fresher wasn't something that Quietus felt fully comfortable with using. Technology in general garnered a stronger disdain, but as the galaxy turned so too did the Beastia have needs to fulfill. Presently that need was for the toilet as what remnants of last night's meal quickly vacated her system with a sickening wretch.

One moon and a half. Six weeks.

The Beastia curled sick and dumbfounded over the seat, vaguely aware that she'd woken up in her bedchambers at the Citadel and not in her treehome back in the clan lands. Hadn't she fallen asleep there last night? Or had she? There had been a feast for a successful hunt and copious amounts of meade. It was all a bit...foggy, but certainly no reason for this.

Dizzy, nauseous, hungover perhaps?

Qui couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a sick spell. Well, no, not true - recovering from poisoned arrows from the Carden Crag clan. That had been a doozey. And then there had been that contest with one of the Chieftains for who could eat the most Drexl heart. What a foul night that had been.

Hrk.

She was only mildly aware of someone else moving about in her bedchamber.

Flush.

Weh.

[member="Lucianus Adair"]

 

[Lucianus Adair]

Even he had slept some, the night previous. In prime health, his need was a few hours, every few days, and he slept like an immovable object. He had already been conscious for several hours when the sounds of retching sickness pulled his attention and his eyebrows up from ingesting current events, to turn a long gaze towards the loo. Thoughts dashed to and fro at the peculiarity - he knew her fortitude, a stomach that was not weak by most standards. His mind worked at discerning the cause, a slow, wicked smile blooming on his face when a few choice pieces of information fell into place.

He rose, smoothing out his trousers and banishing the smile from his face before heading to find the Beastia bent over the toilet, evacuating her innards. One corner of his mouth quirked, his nose wrinkled, and he smothered them both.

"You seem ill."

Such obvious words, as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Violently so. How fitting."

[member="Quietus"]