Act III: Gula

[Hal Terrano]

The Ball of Bastion

He did not belong here.

A solitary man in his past life he would have never attended a ball even if it had been hosted by the Republic. However, that was a question of duty over revelry, a simple belief that it was not proper for a Jedi to partake in what he saw as foolishness, even if it felt like nobody else disagreed with him.

These were far different circumstances, a macabre affair hosted by The Primeval that celebrated horror and excess, as if his life didn't contain enough of those elements already.

Thankfully he had not been tethered to Vrag for the event, and so he couragously opted to skip the slave auctions and the live executions. There was absolutely no desire for him to be in that situation once again, even if the concept of the former Jedi spewing his guts onto the floor would have been entertaining to the many sadists in attendance.

So instead Terrano found himself, seated alone at the bar, beginning to accumulate an impressive collection of glassware. Strangely enough, it wasn't the first time that he had imbibed alcohol. While it had never happened during his time amongst the Order, it had, on occasion occurred during his first painful stint with the One Sith.

Only seemed proper to do it again.

Inky despair-laden blue eyes stared into amber liquid, the sound of revelry around him tuned out into a continuous drone, the odd burst of hearty wicked laughter slashing through his pity bubble now and again, causing a small wince each time. His stare unfocused, what sat before him was blur. Practically catatonic, it was likely that he would remain there until [member="Vrag"] wished to depart.

Hopefully sooner, rather than later lest the Black Beast wished to drag him home.

 

[Vrag]

She wasn't… drunk. It was decidedly difficult to get her drunk, even if she was doing it herself, and you could bet that if anyone knew her limits, it was the schutta herself.

No such luck, and not for a luck of trying. Her metabolism simply processed it to quickly, and by the time she was finished with the drink, whatever buzz it had granted was already halfway gone. Rather frustrating, really, but there was nothing she could do about it, short of injecting the alcohol straight into her veins, and she wasn't quite that desperate. Yet.

Socializing in general was neither her preference nor her forte, and she knew that well. Why she'd agreed to come to this Ball in the first place was becoming a very distant and unclear a reason, but four hours and a few executions in, Vrag couldn't bring herself to simply up and leave. If she'd gone to all the trouble of getting here – with a pet Jedi, no less – she would see this sorrry affair to its bloody end.

"Hal!" she snapped over the din of inebriated murderers, criminals, and politicians discussing their mutual business. No response.

The knotted muscles of her jaw shifted subtly beneath the skin, but she held her hand. Not here.

"You're karking wasted, aren't you?" There was disbelief mixed with genuine surprise in her voice, and the woman leaned closer to grab his chin and force him to look up. Black as the void between the stars. The stare reminded her – vaguely, at least – of another pair of eyes, eyes that had witnessed what lay in that void, stared at it, and gleefully let it stare back. For a moment, Vrag let her gaze wander away and scan the crowd for the petite figure of [member="Matsu Xiangu"], though she doubted she'd be able to spot her in the crawling throng of naked flesh and obscenely expensive fashion.

"Just my karking luck." She glanced at the row of empty glasses, then at the man again. "Is it good, at least?"

[member="Hal Terrano"]​

 

[Hal Terrano]

Her voice was another that managed to pierce through his bubble of self-pity, garnering another small flinch that might have only been an illusion, his shattered psyche trembling.

The former-Jedi imagined that his mild inebriation would have come as quite a surprise to the woman. After all he had been known as a bread and butter (maybe not even the butter) variety of Jedi, alcohol would have no doubt been taboo to the man. She probably would have been expecting to have to spend a day trying to force it down his throat, before making him weep once more.

Apparently it was not so.

Face of cracked stone held within that vice grip his gaze refocused, a modicum of clarity returning as he was forced to crawl out of his fog of misery.

“Slightly,” came the response, quiet but with an edge of gruffness that could have only come from the consumption of alcohol. Everybody had their signs in inebriation, some could be spotted from their demeanour, others in their eyes. In Hal Terrano however, it was in his voice, removing some of the monotone to reveal the human buried beneath.

Such a melancholy, resentful little human.

“No, I hate it,” the broken man admitted, making it more obvious that his endeavour was to get drunk and not for a love of the drink itself. Frankly, he found the taste disgusting and that it burnt his throat. However apathy dictated no care for his chosen beverage.

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

She leaned on the bar beside him, sliding the last glass out of his floundering reach. If she'd had an ounce of mercy left in her, Vrag would've put him to sleep right then and there. He was a pitiful creature, a drowning man gasping for air, a wanderer dying of thirst in the desert. Struggling like a fish out of water, with its cage of scales and morals dragging him down.

How he couldn't adapt was beyond her. He might as well have been an alien. Or perhaps she was, it made little difference in the end.

"Then why do it?"

There was a innocent ignorance to her voice, for Vrag, truly, did not understand why [member="Hal Terrano"] was broken as he was. Oh, she'd been around for long enough to comprehend the workings of the human mind, but the why remained as elusive as ever. Always slipping out of her grasp, always just on the edge of inkling.

A frustration of hers, and one she had aimed to put to rest through her fast-failing experiment.

With a tilt of her head, the firrerreo knocked the last of the alcohol back, letting the shudder run its course down her spine as the burn did the same with her throat. Unlike the former Jedi, she was never drunk, yet drank often. He seemed to be the opposite.

How curious.

 

[Hal Terrano]

Why?

There were so many questions, so much pondering filed under the category of why. It was a word that left his mouth like Basic bile, one that echoed in his mind, screeching, incessant but never came with any answer.

His gaze moved to his stolen drink, a twitch of annoyance appearing upon his face for a flash of a second. It was if he were a child and she his disapproving mother, snatching away the bleach before he took a greedy slug, only aiding in making him feel more useless, more helpless, if such was even possible.

“I am a coward.”

It was firmly in his beliefs that all mind altering substances were for cowards, for people who couldn't handle the standard and reality of their lives without and upper or a downer to help them along. Evidently, this was a belief that still stood standing even after Vrag's work. After all, he was no longer a Jedi, so why follow his self-inflicted doctrine any longer?

His answer however, would likely be largely unsatisfactory, much like the majority of their relationship.

“You can't understand.”

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

"No?"

A rhetorical quip, almost.

"You overestimate me, [member="Hal Terrano"]," she continued, carefully setting down the empty glass. Bottom-up, lined up almost comically accurately compared to the unruly scatter of the rest. She was nothing if not exact.

Except when she elected to be messy.

"Never wondered why I run as fast as I do?"

This one was rhetorical.

Thoughtfully, she twirled the shot glasss with the tip of one finger, wondering absently when it was going to slip in the small puddle of spilled liquor and shower the floor in broken shards. Maybe then someone careless would wander by, slip themselves, and break their neck – tragically – on the edge of a barstool. Unfortunate happenstance, indeed.

"Everyone's a coward, in the end. You just need to learn how to drag them to the edge…" like a barstool, "and push them over." Crack, neck against the floor, down into an abyss of broken glass. Hundreds of such chasms, just waiting to consume the unwary.

This ball, however, was brimming with those who did the pushing, rather than the falling. The former Jedi before her was just the rare exception.

"You ever… push anyone, Terrano?"

 

[Hal Terrano]

Rhetorical questions were the kind that were lost on a man blunt like Hal Terrano. He held an innocence in the Galaxy that was somewhat alien in nature. Imagery was truly lost upon him, and why ask a question if you didn't want an answer? He simply couldn't comprehend.

“Training,” he replied bluntly, ruining any wonder and aspects of the woman's past that might have been hinted at. Terrano was likely barred by the galaxy from being in the same room as the Galaxy's most poetic tale spinners, in fear that he might have destroyed their works by being far too obtuse.

He could run fast. Training. Build your stamina, then your speed. Every single morning, no matter what planet, no matter what circumstance. Mostly alone but sometimes she would pass him.

Honey. Tea. Porridge.

It did not matter that Hal could run fast however, nor did it matter that the man could fight. Courage and pacifism kept him chained respectively, had he ever really let loose? What was the point in training if one didn't use the rewards that they reaped?

Rhetorical questions only threw thoughts off tangent.

“Only in discipline,” he replied with a glum inflection, not sure whether it was now apt to laugh or cry at that statement. Difficult to say, he had done none of the former and far too much of the latter. His own discipline was half-abandoned upon a Prakith dungeon floor and the other half still clung desperately to him, pulled and stretched to the point of tearing.

“If I order another drink, will you steal it?”

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

She scoffed, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling with an exasperated smile. "Sure, let's go with training."

The fine thing about knowing who you were, that. She couldn't care less about the people's opinion of her, including [member="Hal Terrano"]. The life she lived had made sure that she'd become deeply and closely acquainted with all of abilities, shortcomings, and characteristics. Unfortunate as some of them were, she gave one kark too little to bother changing them.

"No," she replied, tilting her head slightly to the side. "I'll order one of my own." With that, she turned towards the barkeeper – a droid – and lifted up two fingers in front of a toothy smile. "Two shots of your best Corellian brandy."

What was the point of having all of this money, if you never spent it? In truth, Vrag had very little need material possessions; aside from the occasional upgrade to her equipment, which set her back a couple of thousand credits at a time, the woman hardly bought anything at all. The apartment in Coruscant heights stood abandoned the year round, Par av Mor Adone was entirely comprised out of One Sith warships, and… well, that was mostly it, if you didn't count the cigarras and the whiskey.

"Let's see who falls off the chair first, Hal." And she tipped her glass back, and ordered another.

 

[Hal Terrano]

At least the monstrous woman wasn't going to be inhibiting his ability to drink.

As if that was a bright side. How far that he had fallen that the only brief, fleeting respite out there in the galaxy was that he could keep trying to drown himself in a sea of depressants. Maybe if he went over the limits of human consumption [member="Vrag"] might have left him to choke to death upon his own bile.

A fitting way for him to whimper out of existence.

Hal very much doubted that he would have been allowed to exit this life in such a manner. Well, maybe, if his continued pathetic presence was truly fraying those vicious and predatory nerves of hers.

The shot glass barely touched the bar, as a large hand snatched it away and immediately tipped the contents down the back of his throat. The taste was an improvement upon the prior swill he had been consuming but as always was tinged by the bitter aspect of his very existence, of how he was here and why.

Always why.

“I will fall off of my chair first,” Hal replied bluntly, “given your species, I imagine it is beyond difficult to become so inebriated.”

His brow dipped, a slow half-drunken scowl appearing upon his stony features.

“Unless I opted to push you off.”

 

[Vrag]

An eyebrow shot up, along with another glass.

tink. tink. tink. tink. they went against the polished wooden counter, one by one by one, until her blood was as much water as it was alcohol. It made the annoying party more bearable, and drowned out the droning conversation into a mere buzzing whisper in the background, much like the rustling of leaves in a breeze.

She nodded sagely, smacking her lips in relish of the expensive burn that lingered there.

"You're not as dumb as you look, Hal. Ever thought of putting all that knowledge to use?" The woman spoke as she peered at him over the curve of her hand, propping up her head as she leaned onto that same counter with a pointed elbow. Though she was dressed as one, there was nothing about Vrag that spoke of a civilised, distinguished member of society.

Clothes make the man, but sometimes, they simply can't obscure the nature of the beast. Fingers, meant to hold blades, made to hold tumblers. Skin, rough to the touch, and coarse, and a tongue more suited to the pronunciation of a thousand expletives than a single nice word.

A toothy smile, sharp as a knife.

"Without discipline? You'd stoop that low? You?" she chuckled, drank, and tinked yet another glass upside down at the end of the row.

"You karking liar."

[member="Hal Terrano"]​

 

[Hal Terrano]

“Put me in an archive then,” he quickly grumbled in response, another empty shot glass down upon the bar, as his ill-advised drinking continued at what was now, a much quicker pace.

It was, of course, his forte.

He almost inquired as to how he looked dumb, a more inebriated mind being susceptible to such mild insults, when they would have usually bounced off of him like they were nothing. He was not slack-jawed, nor was his face set in a way that indicated any dim-witted nature, in fact, if anything all he exuded was that same old stern, solemn and solitary nature.

Although, dumb likely came in reference to his aversion to the woman's mould. Not that dramatic sudden fall where heroes became monsters, no, no, he had to be difficult, he had to be the Patron Saint of I Can't, he had to weep and expel the contents of his stomach at every possibility.

Perhaps it was that 'man of few words' nature that painted a portrait of some stupid stalwart. Intellects were oft difficult to hush.

Or maybe, just maybe he really was a dumb, drunk man, letting mild jibes and brandy go straight to his head. The more time he spent with [member="Vrag"] the less he was actually sure. Of anything. Another shot slammed down upon the surface of the bar. After all, only a dumb man would try to keep up with a Firrerreo in drinking.

“Hythopetically.”

A pause, a grunt, a rather…aggressive sigh.

“Hypothetically,” he said again, this time slowly, “in reality, no, I would not push you off of your stool. Are you disappointed?”

 

[Vrag]

She quirked her head to the side, toying with a glass by twirling it about on its edge. It would fall.

Eventually.

"Knowledge, huh? Hrm." The woman gave a shrug with one shoulder and flicked the glass down the length of the smooth counter, lazily watching it skid to a halt just before the brink. This time.

"Well, different stripes, and chit. Everyone has to have a hobby, yeah?"

Hers just happened to be wholesale slaughter, but that was neither here nor there. With the lot surrounding them, she was hardly the worst of the bunch. There were definitely some shining knights milling about, but they were the exception to the rule; the Primeval rarely harbored well-mannered folk, and the various Sithly dignitaries were merely a different kind of evil.

"Mm, a bit. But I expected as much, Hal. You are a stubborn man."

She slipped off the chair easily as she knocked back her last drink and placed it surprisingly gently back onto the counter before returning her gaze to the former Jedi with a flash of teeth.

"Let's go for a walk."

Was there anything more amusing than watching a drunk stumble through a crowd of posh, self-proclaimed luminaries? If luck was on their side, the man might even puke again, ruining a dress of three that each cost more than his sorry hide.

Fun.

[member="Hal Terrano"]​

 

[Hal Terrano]

His inebriation didn't hide his blatant disdain for the pursuit of knowledge being placed into the hobby category. Without knowledge they were nothing but beasts and he scoffed loudly at the notion of anything otherwise. He had been thrust into this world of brutality, where actions always dominated words.

Terrano looked much weaker for it too, what redeeming quality did he have when they didn't see what was stored within his head? Oh no, let us put an Archivist in the dungeon, Hal thought to himself, his head bobbling slightly as he did so.

“Yes,” he said, pausing after his statement to take his last shot of amber too, a decision that would surely have no ill consequence whatsoever, “I am.”

He had been informed of such before. Tea.

There was another sigh, as the beast beckoned for him to walk with her, or perhaps to be walked by her. There was no question that the manner of their relationship was more akin to a woman and her broken pet rather than between two sentient beings. At least while he was drunk his pride could freely resent her for it.

“If I can,” Hal muttered, shifting gingerly from his stool and onto his less-than-steady feet. It wasn't until standing up that he realised that his constitution had definitely been rocked by inebriation. A sense of dread attempted to creep up upon him but was quickly squashed by a certain alcohol-fuelled bitterness.

“Why...are you even here? I cannot imagine you enjoying this...company.”

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

"Dear feth, Hal," the woman growled out under her breath, deftly dodging any attempts on his part to seek purchase in her shoulder.

She would offer no support.

"I swear, I'm going to erase that damn question from your vocabulary, even if I have to cut off your tongue." Knowing her, it was anything but an empty threat. "Always with that karking why." Shaking her head slightly, Vrag meandered through the milling crowd of the Galaxy's best dressed mass murderers. One of them, foolishly unwary, found himself the target of her momentary annoyance when he didn't move out of the way quickly enough.

He was still screaming obscenities after her when the woman caught up to her stumbling pet Jedi, threatening revenge while his buddies were picking him up from the splintered wreckage of a nearby table.

"Comparatively?" she started, quirking an eyebrow at her outfit as she dusted herself off, "you're probably the best company around, believe it or not. Matsu is off playing host and Rev is getting sloshed. Probably going to turn into carnage either way, but until then, you're stuck with me."

With that, she grabbed his arm and dragged him forcibly along as she shoved her way through the rest of the chatting throng. Multi-million dresses were trampled without mercy, Peri's limited edition shoes smashed underfoot, shell-spider slik shirts made victims of spilled drink; the woman stopped at nothing until they broke out of the main hall and into the fresh air of the inner courtyard.

As if someone had snapped a window shut, the hubbub of the party inside cut out, and the pair were left alone in the relative quietude of the sprawling gardens.

"Thank kark," she exhaled to no-one in particular and released the former Jedi, leaning back against the nearest vertical surface.

"Look on the bright side, Halsie. You can throw up in peace out here."

[member="Hal Terrano"]​

 

[Hal Terrano]

What was supposed to be a simple walk across the main hall became a challenge.

It was like being upon a transport shuttle that was speeding through a storm. It was often that one didn't realise how inebriated they were until they stood up and tried to walk. This was the case now. Terrano swayed and he stumbled, letting tilted momentum taking him in one direction before he suddenly went in the other.

There was a moment of consideration, as if he might have invited Vrag to remove his tongue at that exact second. Of course, she wasn't even next to him by this point, too busy manhandling some fool that had gotten in her way.

By the time she was back next to him any thoughts of tongues had vanished into the night.

The thought of being the best company around in that moment was enough to make him laugh, and with loose inhibitions Hal did laugh. He laughed quite raucously as he was dragged throughout the crowd like some stubborn-shaped wrecking ball.

Seeing and hearing Hal Terrano laugh was like seeing a bantha do the tango. An experience more rare than any of the trampled finery left in their wake. It almost seemed wrong.

Finally they were outside, cool air something of a relief upon his drink-flushed features. Released from her grip, the man staggered forward as if he was about to embark upon his own garden adventure before he turned on his heel and went for the closest wall for much needed support.

“That is….very true,” he conceded, his back slowly sliding down the wall until the man finally ended up settled upon his rear. He blinked once, then twice and then a third time before an expletive actually left his mouth.

“Feth."

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

Like so many times before, Vrag remained ignorant of the precious gifts life threw in her way. Pearls before swine, someone might have remarked, right before they died a swift and brutal death.

His laughter, unbridled, melodious, and rather raw from all the alcohol he’d consumed that night, echoed off the walls of the inner courtyard. It was a strange sound, an antithesis of the wicked chuckles and vile cackles she was sure someone was practicing on the other side of the door. It was as big a congregation of corrupt, cruel, and downright evil individuals as they got. Possibly the biggest in the last decade, but who’s counting?

Her blue gaze settled on the slumped form of the former Jedi, drawn back to his doubled form by a singular word she’d never heard leave his lips before.

“Glad to see that stick’s coming out of your ass,” the woman spoke, interrupting his nauseous silence. “Definite improvement if you ask me, but it might need some work still.”

A grin twisted the corners of her mouth upward, then, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. She obscured them a moment later with the rim of her glass, sipping the drink that had miraculously made it through the crowd without being completely spilled on the floor.



[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

A sickness stirred.

Perhaps born of drink, but possibly from another realm. It swirled within the pit of the man's stomach, giving a strange sensation of almost weightlessness, that rose up towards a throat that felt loose and unsure and all the way to his jaw, that hung slack and trembled slightly.

He wasn't sure how to respond to her words. Not that he was unfamiliar with the notion of a 'stick being up his ass', on the contrary he was quite accustomed to such a reputation, Hal was even somewhat proud of it.

“What's so wrong...with having a stick up your ass…?”

More crude language spilled forth from his lips, his mind thankfully managing to bypass literal interpretations upon this occasion. Hal remained sat against the wall, head tilted downwards to stare befuddled at the space between his legs. Coherent words tried to formulate but it was somewhat difficult in his state.

“Nobody has restraint, nobody,” he slurred bitterly, brows creasing in a blend of anger and frustration, “they fight, they have sex, they fall in love,” the man's right fist became balled, growing ever tighter as he continued his non-coherent rant, “they get married and have kids! They….they go to things like this and DANCE WITH FETHING SITH!”

It was pretty evident that Hal Terrano's they was in reference to the Jedi.

“So why's….why is having a stick up your ass so bad? Somebody has to..."

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

She eyed him for a long time, sipping deeply from her glass before she swallowed the amber liquid to answer his question.

“Literally? Nothing.” A shrug. “Figuratively, tough?” A snort, this time. “Plenty. Best scenario, your kind ruin everyone’s fun. Worst case, you climb onto a nice government seat and start shoving mandatory sticks into the colon of the whole frakking population.”

Vrag[SIZE=14.6667px] leaned forward then, teeth glinting viciously in the warm light spilling through the tall windows of the ballroom. “Well, chite[/SIZE], Hal. We just can’t have that, can we? I mean. Denial and repression are all fine and dandy, but love?”

A mocking peal of laughter tore from her throat, bitter and derisive. The broken shell of a Jedi before her represented everything she loathed the Order for. Built on hypocrisy and lies, their code preached self-punishment and numbness. It preached muzzling and chaining the people around them to their contrived principles, without ever living those lives.

“Frak that. I’ll take war and sex over your crap any day.” She shook her head and downed the rest of her drink, slamming it back down with far more force than necessary. It was a wonder the thing didn’t shatter, really.

[member="Hal Terrano"]

 

[Hal Terrano]

As he leaned forward there was a flinch, a flash of a disgusted grimace at the mere notion of literal sticks up asses, in his inebriated state the notion of such had slipped by him, but now that she had mentioned it, well, needless to say it brought back some less-than-fond memories.

A touch too forcefully he veered backwards again, slamming his back and bashing his skull against his wall of support.

“No!” Hal replied loudly, “It is NOT a Jedi's duty to govern!”

Of course, throughout history, recent and beyond there was plenty of evidence to show that the contrary of his ideals had happened. Of course, it was a point of frustration for him but he had never spoken out against it, until right about now.

“Jedi exist to protect and defend the people, not to rule over them, never to rule over them!” he said with rarely seen fiery passion, stemming from both alcohol and former grievance, “The people follow their own laws, we follow...the...Code.”

We?

You forget yourself, Hal Terrano.

“...they're supposed to...”

Was he rambling utter nonsense or speaking his heart? When your eyes are up to the brim in potent amber liquids it was hard to tell. Ever the beast, she mocked and laughed, bearing carnivorous teeth that threatened to devour more than just flesh, ideals were apparently just as satisfying.
“...I don't want any of it,” he spat, steeping his demeanour back into bitterness, “kark war, k-kark...sex AND KARK LOVE!”

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

“You got that right. That’s never stopped Jedi from doing it, though.” She wasn’t even angry. She just sounded tired. Whoever – whatever – she was, Vrag never deceived herself. While she had lied and would continue to do so until she stopped drawing breath, it was never with the promise of fair and equal treatment. Vrag lied, but never lied about lying.

“Sure you do. That’s why every other Jedi has a lover on the side. Bonus points if that lover is Sith. Who the frak are you kidding, Hal?”
The Hand shook her head, an expression of distaste settling on her features.

“Your precious Order is just as bad as any other. Just as good, too. It’s not the name, you see,” she spoke and extended her index finger. Teaching moment. “It’s about the code.”

“The frakking code. Everyone’s so crazy about these few lines, it’s like you’re worshiping that chit! It’s just some words that someone wrote, frak knows how many centuries ago. Times change, people. Adapt.”

Adapt or perish.

[member="Hal Terrano"]