Addictions, Mr. Dorn?

[Boethiah]

The streets of Ravelin on Bastion were not perfect despite being The Primeval's capital.

In fact, this was part of a plan... Few really knew where The Primeval ruled or that they did at all. Governing from the shadows and running the show under false identities has allowed them to successfully avoid the various spies sent after them.

Anja Aj'Rou was traveling by escort through the lower streets where the heart of all remaining criminal activity thrived. Drugs, black markets, slavery; it was all found here. The Witch-Queen of Bastion, as some grew to call her, was without a doubt an imposing figure. It was in the way she strode tall and how her eyes acknowledged not a single fear. The banter of denizens grew softer as the woman walked by before turning down a small alleyway.

Irredeemable souls laid around, covering themselves in what cloth they could muster; the smell of alcohol and deathsticks formed a foul stench. Yet she did not recognize their existence, stepping over those who were too weak to get out of the way before barging into the drug den.

She felt someone in the force -- someone who radiated enough that she could not ignore their meager existence.

Her feet carried her to a washed up man and looking down upon him she asked...

"You smell most foul, you look too foolish, and you bask in a life of failure... Yet the Gods seem to favour you with gifts you surely don't appreciate. Who are you?"

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Coruscant was yesterday's news. Old hat, old tat and whatever other words might have rhymed.

After an assassination attempt on his life by the Goth Guard of the God King, and his tracking down by a persistent and rather rude cousin, Kiber had had enough. For so many years he had made Coruscant work for him, he partied hard and ensured that others had partied harder, peddling whatever he could make work for him, which, and I do mean to brag, was pretty much everything.

He had once sold five grams of herbs to minors. Yeah, cooking herbs. No high to be found there, but at least they would have had zesty breath.

Hey don't judge, underagers were made to scam. Who were they gonna tell? Their parents? 'Wah! The drug dealer gave me herbs de lunar eclipse!' As if. Get outta here. Drugs are bad, think of it as a public service.

Kiber Dorn: Hero.

The music had long since stopped, their seemingly unending playlist of mish-mashed tracks finally coming to an end long before the party had. How long had it been? Two days now? Maybe that, maybe more, maybe less, maybe somebody had just stolen the music player and it had only been five minutes.

Drugs were hellish on the perception of time and motion.

Death sticks, glitterstim, giggledust, thruster head, all the classics right down to the new legal highs, like kitty-kitty, smush, FTEH and the drongo. He had provided them all, and then ingested a fair few for himself. The drongo was going down particularly well, made him feel like he was on a different plain of speed and reality.

A voice from above spoke, as he lay there content like a cat in the sun. Emerald eyes with pinprick pupils flitted upwards to see who addressed him so rudely.

“...well….the Gods...saw it fit to….give me...such a big hooter...you would think they were...spitin' me, Missy.”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

The room smelled of a concoction of poisonous fumes. Even her own guards were beginning to feel hazy; she however could resist such things by will -- like many force users. Of course the one in front of her seemed to welcome such highs with open arms.

A pity.

His words were slow, intoxicated, and nonsensical to say the least; there were several more daring words one could use to describe what he said.

Don't waste your breath.

The various dying souls were hardly having a party. Perceiving wildest visuals and audibles likely; but in actuality they were lethargic and some even irresponsive. In fact one of the partakers had just passed, their energy fading could be felt through the force. This was the life of the petty, sinful, and otherwise unimportant many who could not bear the reality of life. Yet before her was someone whose eyes did not scream, cry, nor care. It was utter apathy -- arrogance, even.

Reaching out with the force she went to raise him along the backwall before swinging a punch with her opposite hand; straight for his face. A rare treat from a woman who favoured agility over brute.

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Kiber was scarcely aware that he was being lifted off of the ground, which was as one might have expected when shot full of narcotics. He was already floating, the drongo providing a smooth ride through metaphysical air with the odd jolt of turbulence that sat in his stomach like waves of gravity (waves of gravity?). He would find out later that he actually really needed to defecate, but his warped connection between brain and body jumbled the signals.

Then a wrecking ball hit his face.

Which can be expected if you don't move to try and at least block it, he remained there against the wall watching the woman's fist swing in with a sweet tranquilised glaze brushed across his face, a gleaming of silver coming from his open maw.

There was a crunch.

“...ooooooOOOOOOOOH!”

Then there was blood. A lot of blood. It dribbled down past his lips to the chin, dripping onto this clothes from there and just generally making a good old fashioned mess. Broken nose. It was a sensation that the man was very used to. Private doctor once gave him an estimation of five thousand credits to fix his beaten beak. He didn't indulge of course. What would be the point?

“….yoouu….ahh….like it...gah...rough….babe?” he slurred, pupils still shrunken, eyelids dark and hooded, “….I can….do...it….oh….rough.”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Some of the blood splattered onto the thin armour covering her chest. The drug-induced loafers barely reacted to the incident; most probably did not perceive what was transpiring. The minority who were sober enough to gather tried to get up but were quickly brought down by migraines or aching pain in their muscles from where they injected the last hit.

It was clear now that some were attempting pitiful escapes. Rising and collapsing, crawling and moaning; trying to recall their senses.

"Clear them out." Anja ordered. The few escorts who followed her took out their blasters and began to fire at the sluggish parasites. Gasps escaped into the air as they even lacked the strength to cry.

Turning to [member="Kiber Dorn"] who was slurring sexual innuendos, she scowled; peering into his eyes. Once again she reached out with the force, pushing him against the backwall and approached his ear.

"You will be broken in, tamed, and called my own." She growled the words before pulling back; strengthening her grip slightly before finally releasing him. By this point the other addicts were slaughtered and her guards began to pile the bodies atop of each other. If that was escalation to the man, he may find himself surprised.

"You have a power beyond these foolish corpses; I won't let you spoil it..."

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Her definition of clearing out was slightly skewed.

It must have been brutal when this wench went to clean her bedroom. Scorch marks all over the walls, the floors and the ceilings? How did she wash the stains away? By stabbing them? Maybe, possibly, definitely.

Kiber's eyes were half-filled to the brim with painful tears, courtesy of a broken nose rather than any extreme amount of sadness. The room was lit up, pew-by-pew in a haze of red deathly blaster fire, the odd pathetic squeal the only thing punctuating the rampant loss of life, but come on as if those lives weren't lost already.

The weasel of a man was...surprisingly unmoved by the slaughter.

In those spaced-out watery eyes a glimmering of an expression emerged, a glint that said, 'who the frickity-frak do you think you are, lady?' Of course, he would refrain from saying that out loud, given that he was practically paralytic and she had the right hand of a champion shockboxer.

Broken in? Tamed? Called her own?

He was starting to have old family flashbacks, memories of a pressure to succeed with his natural born talents. Was she his mother? No, impossible. Kiber Dorn had ran away from that, and now it was catching up in new and exciting ways. You can't run forever apparently.

“….you….YOU OWE...ME….you...stupit...bloomin'….HOW THEY GONNA PAY FOR...THE SHET...if they DEAD?”

Wait, what happened to the not saying out loud thing?

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Anja looked back to the mess before once again laying eyes on [member="Kiber Dorn"].

How pathetic.

"No." She retorted with a brief answer. In actuality the woman was only paying half-attention to what he was saying; she was more captivated by his signature in the force.

Everything that was going down had already ended... It was swift, relentless, without a second thought. These were not people that were killed, rather they were vermin to be exterminated. The other junkies were dead. Every single one and their bodies littered the singular pile. "We're leaving." Her hand went to grab him and bring him forward. From there the guards she was with went over to grab him; mostly to prevent any struggles. The foremost guard in her service was a rather large human who had fresh scars marking his face.

"I hope you like palaces."

She began walking towards the way they came in.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

What had changed?

He had managed to stay in obscurity for so many years, so many enjoyable, hazy years and now, in the space of a relatively short time, he had experienced an assassination attempt on his life, been found by family and now he was apparently getting kidnapped. Not to mention upon each occasion he had been manhandled in some manner or other.

Wait, say that again, I'm really high. Kidnapped?

KIDNAPPED?!

Fear tried to break through his thick sedated shell and did not succeed. It wasn't that he was left in a pliable jovial mood but rather the man was completely karking karked. “I would….rather...not...ya know?”

He was passed from one set of rude hands to another, brand new friends, brand new customers. Common sense was fleeting. Although the palace did sound nice, an upgrade of scenery. As long as it wasn't permanent, mind you. Instead of resisting, Kiber decided to go limp, forcing the guards to literally have to drag his ass around. His head, rolled, looking to the most grizzled of the lot as they began to leave.

“PSSSST,” he practically shouted, “...you...you wanna buy some drugs…..haaaandsome?”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

The guards began to drag the now limp drug addict out of his den and into the streets. The only response to his comments were audible exhales of irritability.

The path they took was winding from high streets to low streets until they came to what looked like a high-grade military complex. These were the ramparts which guarded the palace; once home to Emperors and now to Anja Aj'Rou. The grand citadel was a towering structure that looked as if it could house thousands, at least several hundred guards stood vigilant over the courtyard as she marched into the main halls. Behind her was the presumably still limp [member="Kiber Dorn"].

Their journey did not end there. From within the palace they headed off behind the throne and into what looked to be a training room of some sorts. From the ceiling dangled a set of steel chains.

"Hang him," the Host Lord turned. Without hesitation her guards lifted the blonde brat and -- assuming he wasn't fighting back -- began to strap the chains around his arms to be dangled like a piece of meat. The chains would begin to bite into him, peeling skin and jabbing at the muscles.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

No sell.

“...no?”

When they didn't give him much response to work with he let a small whistle from out of his mouth, and included a playful comment (as Kiber Dorns were prone to do).

“...well...well...that's...toooooo baaaaaad….”

Then he fell asleep.

Prior to the invasion on his life that was what he had been doing, just a nice peaceful drug nap, courtesy of the drongo. He didn't have the mental capacity to care, or find any inch of self-preservation, he just wanted to hit the snooze button on life and close those eyes for a good refreshing forty winks.

So rather blissfully Kiber was dragged throughout the streets missing out on all the scenery and the directions that might have been handy to recall for later escape purposes. He even missed the citadel and all of it's grand glory. Ah, for the best, he would have probably slighted the drapes.

He was only stirred from his nap by a gradual build up of both pressure and pain, in his shoulders and arms respectively. This wasn't pleasant. No, sir, no sir. Not. At. All.

“….gnraaaaaaahhh….”

This was the initial verbal response, a dazed groaning combination of crusty saliva and nose blood. He opened his eyes, and finally realised that he was suspended, rather painfully from the ceiling. Rolling his eyes around lazily Kiber's face scrunched up to reveal an immature expression of discomfort, almost child-like in nature.

“...l-l-lemme down...honey….baby...boo...”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Finally the subject woke up suspended in chains. Anja would be standing in front of him and the two were completely alone; unusual for someone who tended to have others do such trivial tasks for her.

The witch had taken a great interest in this person specifically; he radiated with potential.

Could he not see it?

The room itself was glossed in a soft light which managed to find its way through what cracks it could, there was so little of it that those who did not see well in the dark would've only seen hazily. As an Umbaran, Anja could make out each and every detail like it was clear daylight. She walked around [member="Kiber Dorn"] in a circle; a bird of prey circling its meal. Finally she stopped once she came all the way back around, her thoughts lingered on his eyes.

Her own milky-blue pearls examined him like a curious cub outside of its den for the first time.

Then came the surprise....

Honey? Baby? Boo?

Her body moved forward as one arm reached out to pull him back like a swing and released allowing gravity to do the rest. The victim would swing like a pendulum and allow the chains to dig deeper into him.

"A blonde brat like you should keep his mouth shut." She chirped.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Apparently she didn't like any of those affectionate nicknames.

He was pulled backwards, the chains digging ever further into his lanky appendages and drawing the first notions of blood (well, if we're not counting the broken nose).

Unfortunately it was here that the drongo betrayed him. Not immune to pain, the first swing forward felt like an eternity, in his warped perspective of time pain seemed like a factor that would last forever for as long as he remained up there in those chains. His expression was further scrunched, as he moved out of the territory of discomfort and into the playing fields of actual pain.

The sound that came from his throat was somewhat a blend, a mixture of a groan and a gargle which came out still sedated, like somebody had tranquillised a dying wookiee.

“….graaaaaghhh….if ya….l-lemme down...I...gwahhhhh….shut mouth!”

It didn't sound like the most believable statement coming from the mouth of the dealer junkie, but still, he was a man that could work with a compromise.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

The half-awake blonde brat managed to let out a pitiful plea. It did indeed sound like a smothered dying Wookiee.

The dangling body swung back and forth like a hypnotist's device. It was somewhat mesmerizing but the cranking kinks in the chain could only destroy the mood. Anja waited a while, letting him swing moments more as he asked her to let him down. Maybe she just wanted to see how far he was willing to go but this [member="Kiber Dorn"] was all talk. She'd have to make him work for it.

She walked forward and reached out to stop him, the sudden forced stop would cause the chains to sink in just a little bit more.

"I will let you go... If you tell me your name, just your name."

Hopefully he wouldn't be stupid enough to lie... Umbarans--forget the force--could tell a lie from the truth.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

What kind of person owned ceiling chains? Better yet, why the feth would said person be interested in him? He was a small fish, travelling iliicit salesman and while he expected the odd fist in his face, or blaster pistol cracked across the knees he wasn't quite ready for the chain experience.

Suddenly Kiber wished that he had absorbed her words at the start of this unpleasantness. How was he supposed to know? She just came in out of nowhere, with guards and guns!

His painful swinging momentum was brought to a stop, and he admitted a garbled yelp as the chains decidedly buried further into his pallid flesh. The pressure in his shoulder joints caused by the strain of supporting his body began to give him gyp, he was not a man who worked out, his flim-flam spaghetti arms were not for suspending the rest of him.

She wanted a name? Fine. Self-preservation is for losers.

“….greeeaaaagh….it's K-Kiber….Dorn….damn it…!”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Dorn? She's never heard that name before; although her one time acquaintance, [member="Darth Vornskr"] has. A fact the Host Lord was entirely unaware of.

These chains were actually for hoisting a punching bag. Merely training quarters for Anja to stay in shape but she didn't mind being innovative with such uses. For some people it might've been tempting to use the fleshy substance that was [member="Kiber Dorn"] for such practices. This witch was not like that. She got what she wanted, she'd let him down.

Reaching around, she began to disconnect the chains that hoisted him up before unloosening him and allowing the man a brief fall to the ground.

There was no rest.

"Kiber Dorn... Who are you, why are you on my world... Are you a Sith?"

Jedi didn't do drugs... Most Sith did not either but she was still quite foreign to their nature.

If he was a Sith, he didn't act like one. Besides most Sith wouldn't come to Bastion unannounced; let alone have no idea who Anja was.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

His landing, of course was agile and cat-like deserving nothing but high praise from the Galactic Circus Performers Guild.

Okay, that was a lie.

Kiber's drongo-addled legs hit the ground and turned into human jelly, ensuring that the man fell to the ground in a puddle of human flesh and foetid clothing. He managed to at least shift onto his knees, still bent over as if he was bowing to the woman, which could have sent off some very mixed signals. Whatever, man. He didn't care if was prostate or not. Don't you know that pride is the worst sin?

A sloppy grin came to his hidden features when he realised that she didn't know who he was. The anonymity he had been craving was so beautiful to behold, even if he had to bleed quite a bit before grasping it.

“...I...am a spice dealer...aahh...”

He said, a combination of time, pain and bleeding helping wear off the effects of the drugs in his system.

“….an' I'm here...on your world...to deal spice...”

Pretty blunt and honest answer. Well, hey, she'd let him down from the ceiling, right? Kept her word, that at least warranted some form of respect honesty in return, you dig me?

“...not a Sith wanker either...I'm just in….tune, love...”

Wait, stop the whalloping wampas! What did she mean her world?!

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Stepping away from the bowing brat, Anja reached over to a small stand that held training blades. They resembled a typical steel blade but were blunt rather than sharpened.

The first that she grabbed was tossed and landed just a few inches from Kiber. The second was a blade she held firmly, a battered blade.

"Not a Sith? I see... You're selling drugs on my world, without my permission." She began walking towards him, holding the blade towards the ground but firmly nonetheless. Her feet strode softly and delicately as if she was ready to jump at any moment like a tiger striking its prey. Despite the fact he was beaten and still high she had tossed him the blade and stood like she was facing a worthy opponent.

"I believe actions speak louder than words, Dorn. Pick up the sword."

Was she a bit odd? Perhaps. But for Anja she was only testing him...

It was easier to find out about someone through what they did rather than what they said.

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

 

[Kiber Dorn]

There was a loud clatter near his head, causing him to look up, half-bewildered, half-dazed. His lazy emeralds flickered over to...the gleaming...what? Oh oh no, you gotta be Sith-spittin' me.

A sword?!

His eyes widened, the man shuffling backwards so he was sitting on his arse, palms flat on the floor in front of her, rather than on his knees. Kiber had never used a sword, oh when he was but a boy his parents forced training sabers onto him but never a great bloody blade!

“...ma'am..”

No.

“...Princess…?”

Dangerous.

“…m-my....Queeeeeen?”

Kiber waggled his eyebrows with desperation at the woman, his head bouncing up and down, constantly flicking between the sword and his aggressor. There was no way, absolutely no way that he would be partaking in such a barbaric practise! Besides, he'd get skewered.

“...you...might not have noticed….but but...I am...really farkin' high right now….and bleeding, bleeding! I mean...I mean...look at me, your Majestic...uh...ness! I can't fight! CLEARLY!”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Anja stood about a meter from him, holding her blade in hand and pointing the weapon outward.

"You cannot or you won't? Your survival instincts tell you to flee when you cannot fight, to surrender when you have nowhere to run but when you cannot surrender you either choose to fight or to die."

Her eyes narrowed and her hand guided the blade towards his shoulder. He was a coward; as selfish as they came. Believing in his own demise and doing anything to save himself, that is the kind of man [member="Kiber Dorn"] was and it seemed he had no shame. He was ready to accept that he was high, that he was bleeding, and that he was trapped. Yet did he even take a moment to realize that his own actions are the reason he's in this situation?

Do you not take responsibility for yourself?

"Pick up the weapon or I will kill you."

She spoke softly yet in a way that curtailed any leniency. There was a clear lack of remorse; she would kill him.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

She was speaking about fleeing, fighting and dying. What about talking? He preferred talking, and for as much as his double-edged tongue got him into trouble, it also got him out of those same tricky situations. Most of the time.

“...fight...or….die?” he asked, eyes flicking towards the point of her battered blade and then back onto the one cast upon the floor.

“….talkin' in absolutes, i-innit…?”

Of course, given her threat of imminent death he wasn't going to take his chances upon his drugged-up podium of relative peace and not-sword fighting. Very cautiously he reached out to grab the hilt, the chain-inflicted wounds upon his arms protesting as he stretched out.

Force, it was heavy and he was such a wimp.

Still sitting on his arse he tried to hold the sword upright with a single hand, but when it wavered in the air, he decided to put both hands on it. The drongo was beginning to wear off, taking it's crippling grip off of Kiber's jaw and allowing him to talk with a little less drawling obstruction.

“...look look….look! I've picked….it up, eh?! So...can we just...chat now, 'aight!?”

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]