Private Ausgebrannt

[Sam Rodarch]

Stepping through the double doors into the restaurant, Sam had to shake off the feeling that she had just heard the ignition of the kitchen's hot plate. Was that how hungry she was? She was imagining that the chef was here?

There was no time to ruminate on hunger, however, as the moment her head popped through those doors, not one but two low-rent security droids armed with stun batons burst into life. Good. She craved the outlet, Sult had been getting under her skin more than usual. A smarter woman might have stopped to wonder why, not Sam, she skipped to the part where there was violence.

She charged into the fray of whirring servos and crackling static all fists and fury, unburdened by the fear of killing an accident.

The poor bucket of bolts never stood a chance as she launched a devastating cybernetic uppercut that parted the droid's head from its shoulders in one fell swoop. It felt unreal, seeing the rusted head spin through the air before landing on the ground behind with a satisfying metallic clatter.

When Archibald shouted through to her Rodarch froze.

Was he...

...cooking the fething burgers RIGHT NOW?!

She was seventy-five percent gobsmacked at his brazen disregard for keeping their break-in low key and twenty-five percent craving fries. This left zero percent left to realise that there was a second droid in attendance about to bring a stun baton down upon her back.

"WHAT!? ARE YOU FUAAAH!"

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

Archibald waited patiently for a response.

Then he almost dropped his spatula at the indignant outcry from his partner-in-crime. It wasn't entirely clear what she was going to say though. "Huh, what's that, Sammy?" More sounds of violence occurred and Arch sighed. "Well, I am just gonna make you some hash browns then and if ya dun' like it, you can come here and make yar own food."

Luckily for Sam he soon realized he was too lazy for hash browns.

Even if they sounded heavenly right about now.

Instead he opted to make some fries, exactly the way her cravings were demanding, even if Sam hadn't said so. It was simply the easiest thing to make really.

Just drop them in the baking oil and let it simmer.

"You want something to drink too?" Starting to rummage in the fridge. There was a whole assortment of drinks. No alcohol though. Not even in the cabinets. You'd think that any self-respecting fry cook had a bottle (or half a bottle) of vodka under the sink, so it could be added either to the borsjt or into his throat during a long shift.

No such luck though.

What kind of restaurant was this really? "I guess I will pour you a coke..." Muttered to himself as he found a few glasses that weren't entirely gross.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

Now, Sam Rodarch was no stranger to a jolt or two, a former career as a shockboxer setting her up to be resilient in the face of electrical currents but this stun baton just hit different. She felt a strange whirr in her chest; a strange whirr that burned.

Staggering forward, the fighter collided with the still-standing body of the decapitated droid, causing a great cacophony of clanging to erupt throughout the restaurant and completely destroying any remaining notion of this job being quiet or discreet. At least nobody was there to witness the complete calamity in all of its chaos.

Something wasn't right.

Sam couldn't internally articulate it, she could breathe but at the same time, she couldn't. She inhaled and exhaled and yet there was a process missing as if all the oxygen had left the room. Scrambling still to separate herself from the secondary defence droid she found a strange panic grip her heart, as breathing quickened and eyes widened.

There was a secondary whirr, and just like that everything was fine.

With a droid still in pursuit, there was little time to think, and as Rodarch returned to her feet, the droid rained down another crackling baton blow which Sam, in all of her thick-headed, swollen-brained glory decided to catch...

...using her metal cybernetic hand.

The sound of another violent yell reverberated through to the kitchen.

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

While Sam was having a whole adventure in one part of the restaurant Archibald had his own.

It was titled:

Where did the chitty chef put the salt?

Kind of a pain in the arse to say the least. Maybe not as much as not being able to breathe for thirty seconds, but Arch didn't believe in keeping score like that. There were all kinds of suffering. Who could say if it was worse to have to find salt, or to have the chit beaten out of you by a pair of droids really?

"Hey, you want yars to be nice and peppery? I found some chilly and black pepper mix here." Archibald called out as he bend over to open the cabinets on the lower-half.

Jackpot.

Salt almighty.

"Ooooh yeah, I found the salt, babe! It's gonna be great. Can you imagine cooking without salt? Terrible tragedy." Really though how long does it take to take apart two chitty droids. It can't be that much of a problem, can it? "You still alive there? You need a hand or something, I thought it was just a droid? Blink once if-"

A blink himself there.

"Well, I can't rightly see you right now, so I guess that won't work..." Thoughtful as Sult began to add salt to their breakfast, lunch and dinner for champions.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

As Sam's giant conductor of an arm gripped the electrified stick she found herself transported to an exciting new land where everything was dark, except for all the sparkles in the air. Also, everything smelled like burning.

What was Archibald doing in that kitchen?!

A second later, as she returned to their plane or reality Sam realised that she was not, in fact, smelling whatever Archibald was doing in the kitchen, but in fact, was smelling her own flesh, that was smouldering at the join to her prosthetic arm which, coincidentally, had ceased function.

Nice and peppery.

It was a small mercy that the droid's stun-baton had also been rendered entirely useless by the woman's poor choices and it was right then and there that Samantha Rodarch, dazed, confused and electrocuted headbutted the defence droid.

Clang!

CLANG!

Twice.

Something about salt. What? Where was she? Who was she? Were they still in the restaurant, had she died and gone to some strange limbo? Did Archibald fething Sult come to the afterlife with her? The wet sensation of blood dribbled down her forehead as she called back to her companion in desperate destitution.

"M'FINE!"

And then, with her cybernetic arm still seized up, useless and clutching the baton she threw a fleshy left hook. There was another clang, and another...and yes, there were several more after that as Rodarch gave in to violent delights and punched the ever-loving-droid-religion out of that cut-price bucket of bolts (which, had actually shut down due to prior electrical interference).

Eventually, through violence, the droid fell over and Sam reigned supreme as the number one droid smasher on the planet...but she wasn't done, no, she limped over to the counter, her paperweight arm weighing her down and picked up the cash register. It was quite awkward to do one-handed with a (now broken) hand but she was nothing if not determined and definitely still stunned.

With a triumphant yell, she threw the register down upon the deactivated droid's head, smashing it to pieces and causing various denominations of credits to come spewing out.

 

[Belfry of Tund]

"M'FINE!"

More often than not if someone had to shout 'am fine' they really were not fine.

Usually.

Sadly Archibald didn't really register this reality or perhaps the man with the pan didn't care. Either way, he flipped the burger one last time, until it was nice and well done. No raw meat for him, no, sirah. This was a Well-Done kind of household, thank you very much. He put them between a bun together with some veggies, placed them on a plate with fries next to them.

Poured them both a coke.

Then stepped out of the kitchen into the ravages of the common room.

Which was when Archibald blinked at the damage caused to the place. The droids shattered on the ground. At the very least it wasn't Sam dead as a corpse on the floor. Hooray for the little things.

"Well, I see you did... some... fine..." His eyes running up Sam and cataloguing the damage done to her. "Sweet karkin' god, what happened to you?" He gestured towards the droids. "Don't tell me they karked you up that bad, sheesh." Arch put the plates down and gestured for Sam to sit down.

"Let me take a look at the damage.... in the meantime eat. Your other arm is good to go? Good. Then grab the burger."

No matter her arguments Sult would crouch down to inspect the arm first.

Sam Rodarch

 

[Sam Rodarch]

Chef Sult emerged from the kitchen and when he did Rodarch's mid-rampage stare snapped towards him as if he might have been a third droid ready for a world of flesh on metal violence. The pair shared a moment, looking at one another to say 'what the kark did you do' but the longer she stared at the burger the more her frazzled fury fizzled out.

"...ah was...takin' th'edge off," she spat, voice somewhat slurred by a combination of concussion and electrocution.

Her cybernetic arm, which had completely seized up and was still holding the now broken stun-baton told most of the story.

"Piece a'shet broke on me," Rodarch grumbled, feeling as if it sounded like a poor excuse for almost being bested by two barely functioning security droids, "shet, like getting fuggin' beaned by jacked-up gaunts," the woman continued rambling, a sure sign that she was not quite feeling her usual surly self after such a potentially humiliating experience, "...got real sparked."

She sat down at the table as requested and rested the elbow of her frozen prosthetic on its surface for Sult to inspect. The other arm went for the burger, grabbing the bun in a bloody-knuckled grip and without much thought, the woman took a gargantuan bite.

Shet, he could have put anything in that burger, a terrifying thought that only peppered Sam's thoughts after she'd already taken a bite. Rat droppings came to mind. There was a sudden eyebrow raise as she chewed, the fighter finding that the patty was surprisingly tender, juicy and well-seasoned.

"...kark, thas'good," Sam garbled with her mouth full, "you'nebah said 'dat you cudcook..."

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

"Why's it that anytime you 'take the edge of' it's me who ends up with more work?" Arch grumbled as he checked over the internal mechanisms of the arm. Not too difficult, if you knew the correct handlings. Three taps in three distinct places in a very specific order opened up the cassis of the cybernetic arm.

"Yup." Chit be fried... but not unsalvageable luckily. It would have been worse if they had been actual mil-tech battle droids. Instead just cheap arse droids from the local store.

The bargain bin variant of security.

"Alright, hold still and don't be a big baby, if it stings." Archibald murmured as he pulled out a little servodriver and began to tweak the circuits. So, not only was he cook, but apparently also a mechanic? It seemed as if one Archibald 'Archie' Sult had more than one trick up his sleeve. "There be a lot ya dun' know about me, sweetness."

Cryptically and for a moment it would seem Sult would end it on that very Sultry note.

Instead-

"Our mutual friend spend half a year undercover in a restaurant. Picked up a thing or two about the kitchen. A year in the gear shop." Gesturing towards the servodriver. "His brain be big. The shit he could do..." A soft sharp laugh there.

"But Elly baby couldn't handle it all. Luckily I can... and lucky for you..." One last tap and suddenly Sam's arm whirred back into residual action... slapping Archibald in the face and sending him backwards against a table.

Blood from lip, grinning teeth.

"I am the karking best and can handle anything."

Rising up as he spit some blood on the floor. "Good burger tho, eh?" Sitting down to wolf his own down like nothing had just happened.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

Sam shrugged with a mouthful of burger, knowing full well that her method of taking the edge off was only more destructive than his on the surface. Even she, wearing her bloody crown of concussion knew better than bring that up, however.

She watched him work, continuing to eat her burger with all the charming grace of a heavily inebriated gamorrean, face twitching as his tinkered with the inner workings of her cybernetic arm. It was a peculiar and not entirely pleasant sensation, the artificial limb apparently connected to her own organic nervous system which made the quick fix more akin to a small surgery.

Chewing trailed off into a scowl as he paused, letting the word sweetness hang in the air for a little too long for comfort.

Then he (thankfully) carried on, offering a much-needed explanation regarding his apparent wide array of skills. Undercover work, shet, she couldn't even fathom pretending to be somebody else for a day, never mind an entire year. Did it kark him up that badly? Was there more beyond the mechanic and the culinary?

Why did he talk about Elliot Locke like he was dead?

Before Rodarch had time to even think about thinking her arm returned to life with an almighty strike to Sult's face, which deep down brought her a sense of base satisfaction even if the slap only served to embolden the crooked bastard.

"Shet, sorry 'bout 'dat."

She wasn't sorry.

By the time he had started his burger Sam had already moved onto the fries, an indication that yes, that was some true gourmet shet (at least for their standard of living).

"I dun'geddit," Rodarch finally spoke, still with the table manners of a homeless gremlin, going in about six fries at a time, as if it was the first proper meal they'd had in...well, actually, "Wha'couldn't Elly handle?"

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

"Pleaaaaase, you enjoyed getting to hit me with no consequences." Archibald drawled casually without making a finer point about it. Even a blind guy could recognize contempt if it oozed out of every bodily crevice. Sam was a lot of things, but a born actor was not one of them. So someone like Sult who had made a career out of mimicry and mirroring?

Oh, yah.

Easy identification.

He chewed absently on the fries while watching her. The question that came from her... hm, that was surprising. Then again. It always surprised Archibald to meet people who had cared about Elliot.

From Joza Perl (still scared him chitlessly) to- well, in Arch's defense. Elliot had managed to make enemies of most his former friends. A talented individual when it came to aggravating people. Even more so than Sult himself and that said something. Still had been stupid to go after the Doctor the way Elliot had.

They wouldn't be in this miss, if Elliot had known how to split the difference.

"Life, babes, life." Archie continued while chewing around a burger. "It grinded him down. His mind couldn't take all the bad chitty chit he was forced to do for The Greater Good."

It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows working for the SIS.

The Alliance might have pretty PR, but when the chips were down they played just as ruthless as the Sith.

Arch shrugged, tapping his head. "Mind shattered. And out comes Mister Sult to protect our poor baby friend. Without me at the steering wheel, he would probably be in a dumpster somewhere right about now."

 

[Sam Rodarch]

The real question was, who wouldn't enjoy hitting Archibald Sult with no consequences?

Exactly.

Sam paused with a mouthful of masticated potato as her partner in crime drawled still much needed further explanation. Not exactly being a practised neurologist or great thinker of their time, it was difficult for Sam to imagine how you could just stop being yourself. Rodarch didn't find her lot to be a sparkling bed of puppies and roses, and yet she remained the same woman.

Or so she thought as she finally resumed chewing and descending into further horrifying table manners.

He made it sound like the intervention of Sult was a way to cope, a crutch like hitting the bottle, or headbutting droids to soothe the soul.

"Ya'holdin'out'on'me," Sam somehow said while chewing, swallowing and breathing all at once, which was something of a marvel and before she continued that train of thought a new one collided with her mildly-electrocuted brain.

"Huh."

The fighter's left hand managed to steer away from the fries long enough to wipe the blood that still dribbled down from the cut on her forehead away (but really only smeared it around, which made the entire thing a spectacular sight). Her brow wrinkled, flexing the open wound like a tiny mouth that smiled at the crooked man.

"So....are...were ya, like," Sam started awkwardly before picking up the glass of coke and downing half the thing in a few meaty gulps, "like one of El's jobs?" Rodarch didn't hesitate before going back to demolishing the remainder of the fries, the salt stinging her open knuckles. "Like'da'cook'and'da'mechanic?

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

"Mmm, issa fair and responsible way of thinking. Always assume I am." Arch murmured as he started splurting heaps of ketchup into his plate. It looked messy and bloody, but without the nasty aftertaste of copper, so there was that.

About to say more Archibald paused at that question.

A smile reappearing as quickly as it replaced the concentrated effort of adding ketchup to the mix. "Ain't that the million credit question, babe." Sult drawled lazily as he leaned back against the seat. His meal seemingly forgotten. That wasn't a big surprise, because if there was anything that Sult enjoyed more than drinking, whoring or killing... it was talking.

Mostly concerning himself.

"But what sort of job would I be?" Clearly enjoying the quizzicalness as he rubbed some of the blood (seeping from his cut cheek after her clock-out punch) and licked it up with his tongue.

"Am jus' a dirty killer after all." Warm tone but there was something behind it.

What sort of identity had Archibald Sult been in his time? What kind of job needed someone that could clear a drug den in under five minutes with nothing but a scattergun and a pocket knife. Who could plan out an assassination jus' as well as navigating his way through any local underworld like he had belonged there for years?

Who knew exactly how to hide a body.

Or six of them.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

It was invaluable advice, perhaps better given when she was in a fit state to remember. Although, perhaps it might have been concerning that Rodarch wasn't already automatically filtering everything Archibald Sult said as a half-story or outright lie. Then again, he could be brutal in his truth.

Or could he?

An insidious headache began to creep in and as Sam polished off her remaining fries she attempted to blink away the dull groan that throbbed and thrummed.

"'Dat'one'seasy..."

Actually managing to swallow her food and with nothing left of her own to devour the now definitely former-shockboxer was left with an empty mouth free for talking as opposed to masticating mumblings of vague vowels.

"Crime shet, right?" Sam still asked, despite it apparently being easy, "I'd...have'ta say that yer too smart fer enforcin'. Too tricky ta be let inta a gang..."

It was strange, really, this as close to chipper as Samantha Rodarch ever got. It was most likely a fluke combination of brain damage and electricity, or perhaps burgers really were the way to her heart.

"So it's gatta be hitman fer hire, right?"

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

If Archibald was sad or disappointed that Sam reached the answer so fast he didn't show it.

Instead-

Clapping with pleasure and grinning.

Maybe Sult didn't mind it after all, but then again. "Half right, yar are. Crime shet." He agreed with her without a trace of irony. "Did do my fair bit of hitman for hiring, aye. Killed all manner of sorts, but." Raising a finger there. "I been part of a gang too." A bit of a dreamy quality in his eyes as he thought back to those quality times.

"Good karking gang too. Led by a maniac. Loved that boy." Smiling. "Course I had to betray him, he didn't take too kindly to that, but-" A light shrug there.

"That was the business back then." Back when Elly still called the shots.

If only Archibald had met that boy now instead of then. They... would have painted a beautiful drawing all across the world. Maybe as far as Nar Shaddaa, if they were lucky.

A sigh there as he nommed on his burger.

"Well, anyway, that had been the longest sting we ever been on. Ten years of our lives."

And maybe that explained why Archibald was the dominant persona out of all of them. And seemed to be able to draw from all of them at once without having to switch at all. He was used to being in the driving seat. And these days... nobody else tried to push him out of it. It was only him staring out of those vacant dead eyes.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

In contrast, she was the picture of innocence.

Sam had spent enough time in the pits of the underworld to understand on a surface level what made those kinds of places and people tick, but she was an outlier. She fought for credits, yeah, but her immoral acts went no further than fists and feet; a product of the environment, not a catalyst like he had been.

She just sat quietly as Archibald inflicted the tales of his past upon her, revelling in organised crime, death and betrayal. It was most definitely for the best that the latter had happened, the last thing the galaxy needed was two of them running around.

The woman grimaced as a thought pinged into her skull and caused her headache to throb just that little touch extra.

"El was you...fer ten years?"

It was beyond her limited imagination, playing pretend for ten years. No wonder it karked him up something chronic. The more Sam tried to consider it, the more questions seemed to be left unanswered. Her left hand moved to pinch at temples, but after finding little relief, Sam instead just rested her slick forehead against the table.

"...so you weren't born or nothin'? He jus' made you up," she grumbled face down, "like you don't have no memories like ya were never little....or did El make-believe yer parents an' shet?"

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

His eyes went down the same time Sam's head did.

What was... up with her?

"You uh... okay, gunshow?" The arm was operating fine again, but something about Sam seemed off. Then again. She had just gone through a fight with two droids wielding shock staffs, so maybe the lady was tired. It happened to the best of them. "Yeah, ten years." Getting back to the topic at hand, because if there was one thing Sult liked to do it was talk about himself.

"Give or take anyway. Might'a been eleven come to think about it..." Thoughtful there for a moment, before Sult shrugged.

Born or nothing...

Archibald was surprised about that question.

Because nobody had ever asked him that before. A little smile there. "Oh, I had parents alright. A big brother, a little sister. A racist aunt and a wholesome uncle." It wasn't entirely clear if Sult was serious or not before- "Elly's family is my family, babe. I don't consider myself a separate person, someone DISTINCT. He is me, I am him."

Elly would have aggressively disagreed with that assessment, but he wasn't here to play his own advocate sadly.

"Granted- some of us were a bit more distinct, I suppose. When the cover job required it." Again Ell- Archibald shrugged. "Anyway, you sure you're okay?" Regardless of her answer starting to rise up.

"I think that's enough food for the day. I think you need to lie down."

Was that... concern in his tone?

 

[Sam Rodarch]

That made sense.

Or at least she thought it made sense.

Which didn't really the man's mental condition any validation, Rodarch couldn't even spell the word diagnosis, never mind give one.

"...two sides'ov da same chit," Sam noted, the sound of her voice attempting to sound sage muffled by the table, "...I 'fink I got it...yea'yea..."

What she didn't get, however, was Archibald fethin' Sult's sudden concern for her own well-being. Her face screwed up, befuddled by his peculiar face turn as the bones in the empty cavern of her head began to rattle in thought. Why was he concerned? What did he want? Just when she thought she had the bastard figured out he went and did this.

He couldn't possibly care, could he?

"...what'r'ya....my dad?"

Yellow man.

With her head still resting on the table, Sam took the opportunity to raise both her arms and flex them as if she were in the running for Mr Galaxy, "Tha' gunshow is doin'....greeeaaat!" she boomed into the table while continuing to flex.

Perhaps there was cause for concern; Samantha Rodarch engaging in such merriment was just as alien as Archibald Sult caring.

 

[Belfry of Tund]

Sam Rodarch

"Pretty sure I'd know if I was yer daddy, girl." Sult responded amusedly as he took it all in. Yeah, there was definitely something wrong here, but he wasn't sure what it was.

Maybe some more internal cybernetics got shortwhired by the static staff?

It was possible, he supposed, but very unlucky on Sam's part. Then again. Could either one of them lay a claim to 'luck'? The way they were right now... he most certainly thought not. He gently put a hand on her shoulder, while hoping she wouldn't try and punch him again. Once was fine. But twice would probably require a response.

And Sult didn't think that would be much of a fight right now.

"Let's go, Sam. Gonna have ya checked out by our regular. At the very least we got our belly full and I put some supplies in a bag, so we will last for a few more days with the haul."

Unless she budged herself Sult would lightly tug at her to get up.

This was definitely not how Archibald had been expecting this day to go.

 

[Sam Rodarch]

She didn't actually try and punch him when his hand touched down upon her, in fact, Sam barely noticed that he had laid a softer hand upon her. Brains were too scrambled to consider it.

Weren't too scrambled to groan when Sult mentioned their regular. That fethin' insectoid creeper; if Archibald had ever made her skin crawl then Zazil had made it turn inside out. The former-shockboxer couldn't put her finger on it, but something about the way those bug eyes looked at her didn't sit right.

"...ahw'shet, I dun want'a see tha'creep," she drawled as Sult urged her return to her feet, "'m jus' sparked, l'be fine after a coupla'winks."

Probably not true, not judging by that strange burning smell that had been smothered out by eau de burger but who was she to know that there was an implant in her brain, eh? Hadn't seemed to come up, funnily enough.

"Hol'up a min' tho," Rodarch mumbled as she stood, but not before staggering over to the wreckage of the chit register and pocketing the petty change that had scattered across the floor in her rampant destruction, "...can't fo'get da visible economy..."

See, she had been listening (understanding, on the other hand...), even if it was only enough money to make one vending machine reasonably happy.

What did she care? Sam got her burger in the end, after all.