A Heart of Steel

[Mishel Kryze]

Tatooine

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Anchorhead
Eastern Sands Warehouse


Sometime after the events at the Wicked Womp Rat and Allecto's Bazaar. Mishel sat in a rented room in the warehouse. A small piece of parchment paper laid out on a crate, flatbread, brisket, and whatever passed for root vegetables around here. There was a small ramekin of eopie cream cheese that made everything go down a little smoother. At least that and the ganno juice, Mishel sat next to her meal her eyes fell to [member="Marakai Al'Orren"]. She had only just met the Jedi Master in passing before deciding to head down to Tatooine.

By this point, Mishel had consumed several sandwiches, and a lot of blue milk all in an effort to restore her energy which is what resulted in her losing consciousness. "Didn't mean to make you worry, Shia." She said softly looking over at the Rattataki. [member="Shia Kryze"] had been sent through a loop thanks to Mishel's actions. The young Sentinel had a terrible time of impulse control and the Wicked Womp Rat was evident of that. And, it wasn't that [member="Coren Starchaser"] hadn't been training her. Clearly, he had, as her force abilities had grown but perhaps she needed something more.

It was too tempting and too easy for Mishel to slip into the familiar hells of her old ways. Rather, she decided, it would be better to face the unknown of the Jedi Path. One that she hadn't done very well to walk at least she thought. The Tygaran was unsure of what to say to Mara, other than, "just, just tried to fix what I broke and I just, I ... I don't know." She said with a shrug not proud of what had occurred at all.

Add salt to the injury the mysterious Force connection she had with an unknown would be unraveled shorty. [member="Alessandra Creed"] was no doubt on her way to the warehouse to figure out the mystery of their connection once and for all.

 

[Shia Kryze]

"Hey now, cyar'ika."

Shia's voice was quiet, her features set into a look of gentle concern. She was surrounded by her dissassembled armor, her hands carefully and automatically checking every seal, screw, gear and connector as she more than field-stripped it. It gave them something to do, which was important right now. Holding Mishel and refusing to let anyone near her might have been seen as a bit of an over reaction, after all.

"I..." Her hands stopped their work, although she didn't notice. "... I guess I've never had anyone to care for before."

She paused, then laughed softly.
"I'd yell at you for being or'dinii, but... that might be a bit too much like hypocrisy. I..."

Manda Shia, finish a sentence you start here. She took a deep breath.

"I don't know much about how Jedi actually use the Force, or control it, or... whatever. My connection doesn't come in shades, except maybe shades of netherworld grey, and it's not something they teach on Mandalore, you know, we're much more 'how to deal with our ancient enemies'."

She slotted the mysterious metal tube - which turned out to be the barrel of a truly ancient railgun - back into it's mounting.

"I... actually I've no idea what I'm trying to say, so if I settle for the classic ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, you can still look confused and not know what I just said, so I don't have to blush."

She blushed anyway.

[member="Mishel Noren"] [member="Alessandra Creed"] @Marakai Al'Orren ​

 

[Alessandra Creed]

Typically, Alessandra Creed was reasonable. She was logical, factual, and held a tongue made of silver. The raven-haired woman that looked so much like her mother stepped off the land speeder with an expression that could have caused death to shudder. It was extremely atypic but she had finally managed to pin down the source of her ultimate irritation. Her Force Signature, as always, remained hidden behind the crystal that lay about her neck—but only barely.

Her anger was palpable and very nearly getting the best of her.

For months the Minister of Commerce had felt someone stalking her every move. On many, official, Confederate ventures. Masquerading as one of her family members, when really, none of the Creeds were anywhere near. They were literally lightyears away. She had chosen to ignore the disturbance up until now. It didn’t seem to be approaching her or causing trouble, simply buzzing like a fly about her head. It was an annoyance at best or perhaps some sort of cosmic mistake. Today the situation had changed.

During her meeting with [member="Jairus Starvald"] in the Dunes she had been compromised. Alessandra had felt her energy drain and slip away, as if the life had been siphoned out of her, and were it not for [member="Adron Malvern"] she would have passed out on the spot. It didn't make sense. Out of all the Force Users present on the planet—why her? It was specific. Targeted.

The dingy residential warehouse in Anchorhead caused her eyes to narrow with pure disdain. Of course, her enemy would be found in a place that was likely crawling with undesirables and had all the appeal of a Hutt’s dungheap. For the moment she would enter the facility without back up. But, that could change. [member="Adron Malvern"] had reluctantly agreed, through some stringent bartering, to allow her to test the water. It was her problem. Her mess to clean up. He was close enough that she could comm him if needed but far enough away that he could continue his own duties.

Instead, the sounds of dozens of metallic limbs moving together would surround the location at a distance. Evenly spaced apart, her requisitioned droids were typically more than enough to deal with most threats as long as they didn’t miscalculate a problem and decide to stampede ahead. They were generally capable of keeping the peace.

Alessandra had to remind herself that it was a public location. She couldn’t just orbitally bombard it. She wanted to. The more cruel parts of her wanted to send in a legion of MagnaGuard to drag out the offender by their hair. But, that wouldn’t be good for appearances. Despite her current mood, she would do her best not to terrorize any of the locals. Mostly.

Hands resting on her hips she stared up at it for a long moment. The soft tan leather of her traveling clothes was in direct contrast to the crimson scarf that wrapped around her neck—but it matched her sunglasses and the piping on her flat-heeled boots.

No weapon would be seen on her person but that was typical. She didn’t need one.

Alessandra rang the buzzer, hard pressed not to wipe her hand after touching the filthy wall, and waited for the proprietor to open the door. “Do you have master keys?”, she questioned with a hard glare that caused the urchin to recoil as if she’d brandished a disruptor. At first, he stammered and refused. He looked outside and saw the long line of red-eyed robots and soon began to break. She only had to threaten him slightly before he gave in and shakily handed her a keyfob that supposedly would access any of the rented units.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

The smile her red painted lips curved into was not kind. The Minister dropped a handful of credits on the desk before resuming her hunt. She followed the line between herself and her mysterious stalker with ease. After the incident, it was clear as day, and she felt as if she could track this snot-nosed reprobate across the galaxy. It felt like a switch had been flipped. She could picture her if she tried hard enough. Dark hair. Strong, but, not overly bulky. She could see her face.

She would not escape.

The Minister of Commerce swiped the keycard and walked into the rental. There were two others present. One, she could remember vaguely, while the other two she had never seen. One of the unknown parties was her target. The sense of family grew stronger with every step and her dark eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you and why have you been following me?”

If someone had paid the brunette to kill her she’d certainly failed. Perhaps Alessandra could buy out her contract and turn the tables.

“Congratulations. You almost killed me earlier. Almost. Who sent you?”

[member="Shia Kryze"] | [member="Mishel Noren"] | [member="Marakai Al'Orren"]

 

[Mishel Kryze]

Mishel was somewhere between the brisket and bread when Shia spoke up. The sentinel perked up at the sound of laughter, even if it was soft. The brunette tilted her head as she tried to make some sense of the Mando'a that was being spoken. Unfortunately, before Utapau she didn't really know what a Mandalorian was let alone knew that they spoke a different language. Her eyes watched the Rattataki's hands a moment and then shifted back to look into the other woman's eyes. She snorted, yeah confused seemed to be more of a state of being at this rate. Mishel wanted to just reach over and give Shia a kiss, but all she managed was a, "thank you." And then the Tygaran turned her attention to her sandwich which wasn't much but it was something.

It was just as she took a bite of the sandwich when she heard the sound of the keycard access. A raised brow, as she looked over to where the door slid open. In walked this hoity-toity, high dressed-reeked of money lady. And as the woman got closer and as Mishel tried to figure out what to do with the sandwich in her hands and mouth, the woman spoke. The padawan decided rather than waste the sandwich she would continue to bite, and then chew. Her eyes widened, and her mouth went open at the words almost killed. Brisket and bread stuck out of her mouth like wheat from a bantha that hadn't chewed it all the way. Gravity took hold and a piece of brisket began its descent. Mishel then made the most obscene use of her force abilities to not only stop the brisket from reaching the warehouse floor, but to scarf the entire sandwich down in less than two minutes.

She then held a finger up to let the diva lady know to wait. As she chugged her bottle of juice, and as Mishel then stood up she felt that strange force pull. That call, that the Force had been trying to make her notice. Her mouth would form words but they wouldn't go, and as the padawan would later note. It was hard to make the words go, but eventually she managed. "You're the..." An accusing finger now pointed at the well, whoever the hell she was. "You, first of all, you assume someone actually gives enough of a damn to send someone to follow you. Second of all, I - I am trying to live my best life which means I am on a strict no-kill policy, and lastly, why does the Force keep calling me to you, huh?" Mishel now looked the high-end lady with a little more than just irritation. "So you tell me that and then maybe, just maybe we can get somewhere."

[member="Alessandra Creed"] | [member="Marakai Al'Orren"] | [member="Shia Kryze"]

 

[Shia Kryze]

Shia's reaction was a little more... abrupt, but oddly in some ways no less peaceful.

The flicker of motion announced the drawing and levelling of a multi-cylinder revolver that definitely classified as a 'hand cannon'.

"Mishel. That was gross."

A beat.

"Nice lipstick." She offered politely to the newcomer, pistol not wavering for any of those two minutes. Nice hair too - but she didn't think voicing that would help her cause of not getting kicked by Mishel. This looked like weird Force-related business, and while she was a card carrying witch, she was a practical sort of witch and this sounded outside her esoteric interests of 'dead Mandalorians'.

[member="Mishel Noren"] | [member="Alessandra Creed"]
​

 

[Alessandra Creed]

Revulsion.

That would be the only word capable of describing how she felt while watching the moteliest creature she had ever seen slurp what appeared to be regurgitated slop back into her mouth. The dark-haired would be assassin inhaled what was left of her sandwich and Alessandra was left to wonder how she hadn’t aspirated chunks of bread and beef into her lungs. Did she have gills that she couldn’t see? A blowhole in the back of her neck from which to simultaneously breathe and shovel food into her face? How had this ill-refined urchin tracked her so long without getting caught?

Her bald and exceedingly pale companion spoke the words that the Minister did not say. Gross. That wasn’t even strong enough a word to begin to describe what they had just witnessed. At least the mystery was slowly unwinding without much effort. She knew her face and now? She knew her name. Alias or not—she existed. Mishel.

Alessandra turned her gaze to the amber-eyed woman and looked her over from head to toe. There was a gun leveled at her person but it remained unacknowledged. There was no point. At this range, a blind man couldn’t miss. That meant that Alessandra would need to react in time to either evade, deflect, or halt the shot. She would pull it off—or she would die. The finality of it caused her head to turn back toward the heathen. The Creed woman did not say a word. Her eyes raked over the women in the rental, not settling, not appraising, just coldly grazing.

“Geonosis. Monastery. The Fortressa. Castagne—Now here. You are everywhere I go, Mishel. I don’t know what you’re using to make you feel like a Creed and I don’t care. You crossed a line today. You ripped my power, my strength, my lifeforce out of me earlier so don’t give me this innocent routine.”

She didn’t bother introducing herself. If the girl had been sent to follow her, or, to kill her that was already information she would have. The brat had been all over Confederate space. She was one of the only Ministers that made public appearances regular and was frequently seen all over the Holo-Net for a variety of endeavors. Alessandra, simply for being a Creed, could have been targeted for a number of reasons—but it made more sense than it had something to do with the Minister of Commerce.

The raven-haired woman directly controlled most of the monetary funds that rolled in and out of the nation. She’d made just as many enemies as she had friends.

“You attacked me. If the Force is—“, she rolled chocolate eyes heavenward for a moment, disbelief, written all over her expression, “—Calling you to me…Why attack me?”

If it weren’t for [member="Adron Malvern"] sharing his energy with her she would most definitely be cold and dead. Typically, Alessandra safeguarded herself against intrusions of this kind through a variety of wards. Most could try the same thing that Mishel had done and most would fail. If one Force User could just waltz up to any other, randomly, and drink down their power like a younglings juice box everyone would do it all the time.

It was the aura she held. The presence of family. She felt like home—and fething hell Alessandra was confused.

“Who are you?”

[member="Shia Kryze"] | [member="Mishel Noren"] | [member="Marakai Al'Orren"]

 

[Mishel Kryze]

Oh. Well, that definitely narrowed it down.

"I'm not-" Mishel tried to argue, but the words fell away into the stale rewashed air of the warehouse. "I, okay hang on."

She put a hand up and brought her fingers to meet over the bridge of her nose, and eyes shut. Mishel took a moment to gather her thoughts and softly she took a breath and exhaled before her hands went to her side. She'd let Shia decide when to put the gun down, "I karked up, bad." She began, "we were ... at Allecto, and I owed someone money. I may have started a bar fight and then a bar fire. I tried to fix it by grabbing sand and tossing it into the cantina but..."

Hazel-green eyes laid with a lock-on gaze on the chocolate brown orbs that belonged to this woman. Whatever or whoever a Creed was... was lost on her, but she pressed forward. "I took too much sand, and the commons' bazaar started to buckle. I moved to try and hold up with my telekinesis but it wasn't working out the way I had intended and people ... I hurt people so I had to fix it."

"I tapped into Mara... and I guess you." She gestured haphazardly toward the lady Creed. "Look, I wasn't trying to kill you not that it's of any consolation, I was just trying fix my mess."

"So no, not trying to slaughter your pretty face across the Confederacy." Mishel's venom seethed through her words, yeah some Jedi. "And for the record, I don't even know who or what a Creed is, lady. Let alone who you are, all I know is that the Force keeps pointing me at you and I don't know why."

[member="Alessandra Creed"] | [member="Shia Kryze"] | [member="Marakai Al'Orren"]