Broken Routine

[Atlas Kane]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpI-KeK-PQg​

Somewhere in the Outer Rim, abandoned Asteroid Field
Small Refueling Space Station



"Dis plant chow will get you whe' you want, aruetii."

"How much?"

"Two-'undred peggat."

The Sith rolled his eyes beneath the mask, though nothing betrayed his emotion outwards.

"A high price for a plant you claim can accomplish what far more powerful beings couldn't."

"T'ek it or leav' it, no matter to me, I find otha buyer, aruetii."

His fingers brushed over the few golden coins within the pouch hidden underneath the white fabric of his robes. The metal's cold sensation remained foreign to Atlas, the white fibre of his gloves obstructing any genuine contact.

"A hundred and fifty."

"No can do, price is fixed."

The hand shot out of from beneath its robes, fixed securely around the Cathar's throat, holding him in place against a wall a couple centimetres from where his feet had touched the ground. The clawed, furred hands shot back a few moments afterwards, clawing at their executioner, tearing white cloth over brazen armour, but to no avail. The Cathar managed to draw a few more breaths, but soon his struggle ended and his limbs dangled at his sides. Hand still firmly crushing the exposed neck of the felinid, the Sith reached out with the other to pluck a small orange pouch from the dead man's belt. In the near darkness of the alley he could barely see when the life left the Cathar's eyes, a small measure of disappointment came with that realisation.

A few moments later the Cathar's frame dropped to the ground, motionless and still, the Sith taking a few steps away from it to examine the orange pouch. Several small white orbs rolled inside it, barely moving from their spots as he opened it. The prize he gained for being the one still alive. Taking his gaze away from the contents he examined his surroundings. It was quiet on the streets behind him, only a few brave souls wandered the station at night. Before him, there was also nothing, a metal wall separating this section from the next. He was alone here. The tension in his body eased as he let out a quiet breath of relief. He reached into the pouch with one hand, taking two of the orbs into his hand. They were small, somewhat malleable. Not perfect spheres, though shaped to be more appealing to the eye, unlike their natural, more deformed equivalent. Holding the two orbs delicately he closed the pouch again, pulling at the string around its opening, concealing it below his robes once it was sealed.

Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes. The now-idle hand moved to his mask, lingering over it for a few moments before the thick fabric made contact with smooth metal. He exhaled again, motionless. He remained that way for a few more moments, for a few more breaths. Courage did not come quickly in this matter. Yet finally it did come and with it, the mask left. He had expected a cold breeze, but the air circulation in this part of the station was in a state of some disrepair, creating no artificial wind. He opened his eyes again, the new sensation of a dark alley not tinted in deep blue seeming not entirely foreign to him, the lack of light, paired with the moderately warm air made him feel more as though he was nestled in bed on Telos IV than on some forgotten station in the middle of space. The feeling of familiarity, the lack of a profound divergence of what he already knew made the moment feel shallow, trivial, and empty, despite its imagined significance. It felt no different than removing the mask in the safety of his home, almost like a routine.

He pushed the thoughts aside to put his focus back into the here and now. The softness and fragility of the orbs surprised him somewhat, they felt as though they would burst if he applied even the smallest amount of pressure to them. It was a strange sensation, one the Sith rarely felt. He held the orbs a little higher, allowing a stray beam of yellow light to illuminate them for a more clear picture. It danced on their thin, clear skin and painted the spectacle below in a more clear colour. They weren't solid white orbs, but rather a brilliant star with many crooked vertices reaching outward, though kept inside their translucent prison. He admired their beauty for a few moments, he'd never seen anything like it before. Perhaps some sort of stasis would preserve their likeness for as long as he needed? Perhaps a holographic replica would capture the same elegance? He'd have to experiment later, for now he needed to experience their effects, make sure they were suitable replacements.

He consumed both in quick succession, research suggested an individual dose's effect was mild, he wanted to be sure he'd feel the sensation, or rather the absence of one. They left a sweet, herbal taste, one he'd have to describe as pleasant. For a few moments, he could do nothing but stand and wait in the dark, expectation high. Seconds went by, though no change came. As they did, expectation slowly trickled out in favour of frustration. More seconds came and left, soon a minute had gone by, still nothing. His hand moved towards his robes, towards the orange pouch, but a loud noise and subsequent painful sensation coursed through his other arm, a metal clang followed the loud disturbance as the mask hit the ground. Immediately his hand clutched the arm, the echoing noise and stinging pain finally registered as a blaster bolt that had impacted right above his left wrist. His fingers wrapped around the area just above the impact zone tightly, gripping like a vice as he turned around to see the marksman. It seemed the plant had a different effect than he'd heard about.

At the entrance to the alley were two men, a Gank and a Rodian. The former brandished a long knife, illuminated by a faint glow running along its spine, the latter held a blaster, muzzle trained on Atlas' centre. Instinct kicked in, with a quick surge in the Force the blaster was ripped from the Rodian's grasp, skidding along the ground in the direction the Cathar's body. The instant it impacted the metal floor, the Gank shot forwards, closing the few metres between him and Atlas at an alarming speed, knife shooting forwards in a straight line the moment he was close enough to reach the Sith. Atlas was not unprepared, however, abandoning his grip on the arm his hand shot upwards the same moment his step shifted his body to the side, out of harm's way. Safe from the knife's reach he found his target, his hand gripping the Gank's arm. He pulled the Gank forward slightly, bringing him between Atlas and the wall. Another surge in the Force followed, this time to enhance his own strength and speed, as he threw his shoulder against the armoured frame with enough might to make a slight indentation in the durasteel wall. The Gank, now pinned against the wall, quickly attempted to angle his knife to cut the Sith's hand, but his attempt failed when his arm's hydraulics were nearly crushed, resulting in a loud and mechanical cry of pain from the cyborg. A moment later Atlas quickly pulled away, relocating his hand to the Gank's face he called on his emotion again to produce weak lightning, enough to render the assailant unconscious.

Another sharp pain shot through Atlas' leg, bending as his knee was forced downward. The Rodian was now attempting his luck against the Sith. He grabbed the Epicanthix' limp arm, still pressing down on his leg, and brought its elbow against his side, holding the extended arm firmly in place. Yet before he could apply more pressure to accomplish his goal of breaking Atlas' arm, lighting met his frame as well, coursing through his body and brushing against the Sith's, whose robes and skin were burned where they touched the Rodian. He endured the pain for a brief moment before concluding his barrage with a quick punch aimed at the Rodian's neck. The Rodian went limp as well, falling away from Atlas. His presence in the Force was faint, but it was still present.

[member="Gideon Blackford"], [member="Srina Talon"].

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Atlas Kane"] | [member="Srina Talon"]

Tixa was one of the many asteroid stations dotting the Outer Rim and was a frequent refueling outpost for spacers, traders and other people simply passing by. This wasn't the first time Gideon visited the asteroid, but in the past... it had always been with his Master, as a padawan and even as a fresh Knight only acclimatizing to new duties. But now he was lone... no, not alone. There was [member="Liya"] and his feelings were muted, confused and in constant flux when it came to her.

Her training went well and they had agreed to go buy a few things here and there separately to cover more ground.

When did Gideon truly start to trust her? Somewhere between the mornings and middays and nights filled with training, surviving and becoming familiar with one another.

He walked the Seventh's Glade Passage, shorter route, one that would get him to the repair shop sooner. Even if it meant walking through winding alleyways and more. The Jedi was about to walk into the alley, exiting the main street when he saw movement. A fierce battle, one against two, but before Gideon could step in?

It was already handled.

Lightning... Sith?

A shimmer of white hair and distracted him for a moment, a woman (Echani?) she was staring past him towards the scene. Gideon looked back as well and realized what was about to happen.

"Don't interfere." Gideon warned Talon, before unclipping his lightsaber and stepping into the alley. "Stop. You do not want to do that."

Part of him wanted to ignite the saber immediately, but knew... that would only attract immediate aggression. Sometimes the threat alone was enough without escalating the situation. Draya had taught him that- speak first, act second. Because you can never take an act back, but a word can be withdrawn with enough energy.

 

[Srina Talon]

Ever on the move, Srina stopped at many outposts to refuel, and resupply. The asteroid station was one of her favorite places to do that. They were generally smaller than some stations and the rotation rate was significantly slower. With everything that had happened recently, escaping the hunters and or assassins that the Echani Clans sent, she barely had time to breathe. She was still processing the fact that she had visions. Glimpses of things that were, are, and what would be. There was still so much that she didn’t know and couldn’t wrap her mind around—but clearing her head for a little while would certainly help.

Being in space, where very little bothered her, surrounded by a velvet blanket speckled with diamonds was one of the few things she deeply enjoyed. Srina could sit forever and just watch the blazing stars go by. Everything was peaceful and absolutely still. For just a few moments she could pretend that her life hadn’t turned itself upside down. It was a small reprieve in an otherwise abysmal situation.

The slender Echani walked through the limited marketplace with less fear than she used to. It was still there, fortunately and unfortunately, but things had changed. Srina hadn’t completely come to terms with the lessons that her new tutor had planned for her…But for now it was enough. She felt safer, somehow. Whether that sense of security was born of being submerged in the encompassing power of her mentor, or born of her own accomplishments, she wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter. For the first time she felt like she had a fighting chance against the distant relatives she had that wanted to drag her off to wed a man she couldn’t stand the sight of. If she could become stronger, stronger than any of the warriors they sent, freedom was real possibility. She could see Eshan again. She could see her father, her mother, her sisters, and her brother—without fear of the Clans kicking in her door. If she only grew to be a tenth as powerful as her teacher…It would be enough.

The Echani respected combat. They sought a perfect state of balanced body and mind to discover inner strength. They valued power. She would have it—And this game would finally end.

She wandered without aim. It would take time for her ship to be repaired with everything she’d put it through lately. It was in desperate need of some basic fixes that her droids took too long to complete. Her footsteps stilled when she felt something achingly familiar. It was light when it touched her, like the scent of heat that carried on a summer’s breeze. It clung, as it faded. Slithering around in places it shouldn’t. It was bitter, like poison.

Her head turned sharply, almost like a bird of prey, as she watched a scene unfold without really being able to see it. She knew this particular brand of shadow. She wasn’t sure how, why, or where she had met it before…But she knew the person that stood on the other side of the wall. Her hackles rose and an anger so cold that it burned flared behind liquid silver eyes.

For some reason this malefic presence infuriated her.

A rather unkempt man with dark hair ordered her to stand down. Her eyes flickered to him, sharp, as only broken glass could be. “Perhaps you should take your own advice.”, she returned, angelic voice edged with steel, and little more than a whisper. Her hand remained poised near her lower back. If the man in front of them moved the wrong way she wouldn’t hesitate to wield her blades.

[member="Gideon Blackford"] | [member="Atlas Kane"]

 

[Atlas Kane]

The smell of smouldering leather brushed against Atlas' nose, it was a putrid smell, unpleasant to its very core. Thin wafts of smoke rose similarly from his elbow and forearm, where the Rodian had held onto him and where the bastard had intended to break the Sith's arm. The pain he felt should have been sharper, an acute blistering coursing through his body with every heartbeat, but it was muted, faint, more akin to the distant echo of a Tatooine Blues concert than the personal Symponik aria it should have been. The same went for the blaster wound right above his wrist. He hadn't felt the initial impact, nor did he feel anything during the fight, but now that he had a moment to rest he expected some of the pain to surface, but none came. At least not until he tried to move the arm. The moment he attempted to bend his arm even slightly the pain ran wild. The Sith had to suppress a groan in order not to show any outward signs of its sudden and excruciating appearance. He was used to pain, but he rarely suffered injuries such as these anymore, usually, he had to worry about shrapnel, lightsabres that almost missed, and getting knocked into stone walls. While those experiences were also rather unpleasant, they didn't sting quite as much as the entirety of his right arm did at this moment, nor did they burn quite as intensely.

He let the arm hang limply, allowing it rest against the left side of his body as he tried to stand up again, only to feel a very familiar sensation in his left leg. This time he did allow a groan to escape, though not one born from this sensation of pain, rather one of frustration. Rolling his eyes he slowly attempted to straighten his leg, though it protested heavily and gave out, causing its knee to crash into the permacrete floor. Anger rose slowly as he watched his leg give out, it began burning fiercely when his arm swayed into his field of vision. He closed his eyes again, frustration and anger rolling over his expressions as he tried to breathe more calmly. His own body began betraying him, the one tool he'd always been able to rely on was failing. And why? Two thugs with little to no combat experience. Two. Thugs. Who managed to injure a Knight of the Sith. He breathed in slowly, but audibly, only to open his eyes when his lungs were full. For a few moments he remained still, allowing his mind to clear, to empty itself to the Force and when he breathed out again, it felt as though his anger and frustration was expelled also, a dark fog that cleared as the Force swept in to replace it.

The Sith took a moment to observe his surroundings. The dead Cathar's body lay a few metres to his left, the unconscious, or least he assumed so, Gank before him, the Rodian also to his left, but closer to the other wall, as well as a man staring right at him at the entrance to the alley, next to him a shorter woman. The two didn't look alike at all, one scruffy, clad in worn clothes, radiating an aura reminiscent of a chipped blade of light, wielded with a certain amount of uncertainty, the other more elegant, poised, an aura of power around her, though unfocused, untempered and somehow familiar. Both seemed equally ready to defend themselves, though the man's lightsabre remained deactivated and the woman kept her arms behind her back, likely ready to draw her own weapons at a moment's notice. Both stared at him as though he was about to jump at them, his brow arched, a question forming on his lips before realisation dawned on him. He'd heard a noise before, it barely got through the murderous haze that had occupied his mind at the time, though now he recalled it, from his left, there had been a male voice calling out to him, its message was had been clear, yet his mind was clouded. Stop. Likely a plea not to end the two thugs' lives. He couldn't tell whether the other one had also spoken, but no such memory resurfaced.

He still knelt as he watched their faces, scanning them for any aggression. There were no signs of any immediate willingness to act on their parts it seemed, the two parties simply stared, tension likely high for the two, he assumed, while Atlas remained calm, Force flowing through him, purging the remnants of any influence the Vincha had left in his system and easing his mind's recovery from a near murderous rage. It must've seemed strange to witness through the Force, one moment there was a raging fire, unrestrained, furious, the next a calm flicker of flame more akin to those found within fireplaces. Then his eyes suddenly darted down, side to side, up, down again while his head remained still, as though he was searching for something that should have been there, at the edge of his vision. His hand shot towards the Gank's vibroknife, uncaring of whether the two would take it as an act of aggression, which he took quickly to hold in front of his face. Within the dull metal, he could make out his reflection, no mask. His eyes went wide once more as his state dawned on him.

Instantly, he began turning to all directions, scanning the entire area surrounding him for a very specific item, oblivious to the fire's second sudden surge. To his left, above, to his right, in front of him, below him, behind him, he couldn't find the one thing that protected him above all else, the one thing that he required to survive, the symbol of his power, the mask that he wore, the mask that was his very identity.

"Where ... where is it ... it couldn't have ... where ..." his voice was quiet, reminiscent of a rambling madman, a stark contrast to the very composed and confident expression the face had worn only moments earlier.

"You ... where?" he asked, voice raised to be audible even by the two strangers standing at the entrance to the alley as he stared at them for the few moments it took to utter the words. Yet when his eyes met theirs in turn he turned away again, he couldn't let them see. Using the robe's hood he quickly covered his face, pulling at its right side to shield himself from the strangers' gaze. He stumbled sideways, falling onto his side as he began trying to stand using only his right elbow and leg, but to no avail. Abandoning that pursuit, he started inching away from the strangers, towards the darker parts of the alley, anywhere that could hide him.

They couldn't see his face, they couldn't. He couldn't let them know who he was- no, used to be. He was Sith, powerful, feared, strong. He was Sith.

[member="Gideon Blackford"], [member="Srina Talon"].