Crazy Bastard Wants to Hit Me

[Blackthorne]

It wasn't like her to enjoy the sights of a place like this but certainly the changes and renovations had caught her attention. Less mystifying and more curious than anything else, Dahl was caught lost in the moment of taking in her new surroundings when the Guard approached. Visibly bristled by his sudden presence, the girl turned with a snap and looked the man up and down. Her nose wrinkled. She nodded.

~~~

A short while later she strolled into the office, casually nonplussed about the state of things.

A normal person might've remarked about the new diggs; maybe complimented him on his quick work. Dahl promptly took a seat across the desk from him and snatched a metal figurine off it for closer examination, "You changed the pits," she said, "where are the match fights?"

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant had his feet up on the desk. He was leafing through a folder, an itinerary. There were large numbers with credit signs scrawled next to them in the margins. He immediately shut it, handing it back to a nearby accountant droid and pulling his feet off the desk the second he sighted [member="Blackthorne"] cutting through the room. Perhaps he was slightly concerned she would attack him again. There were two more Helix Syndicate Specialists on the other side of the office, looking up briefly from their game of cards when she entered. The third one that had escorted her remained by the door. You had to be careful about these sort of things. Sometimes behavior is... Predictable.

"Observant of you." He flatly replied, frowning when she snatched a figurine off his desk. That had been a gift from... Someone? No, he had taken it during a raid. On Bastion, maybe. "They're in the big cage. The one with the most crowd seating."

Now that she was actually here, he could schedule her for something. As it happened, he could throw her into that arena in less than an hour. There had been quite a lot of teasing on the part of the Dead Clipper Arena about the return of an old-timer. Now there finally was one.

"There's a Weequay ex-Zeison Sha and an Abyssin with an axe waiting. Take your pick."

 

[Blackthorne]

It was a metal fetish of some sort - some God or spiritual being, that much she felt could be gleaned by the appearance alone. An alien of some sort, one she wasn't presently recognizing, arms uplifted and hands cupped. It had been holding something, but whatever that something was had broken off. Dahl picked at the area with absent interest.

"Both," she said without looking up, turning the item over in her hands ... ah, there were initials engraved on the bottom.

C.L.M.

Welp, not Stripes, unless Maleagant happened to be his last name. Doubtful.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant blinked. "At once?"

He frowned considerably. One of the guards gave a short, sharp guffaw that Maleagant snuffed any further outburst with a venomous glare. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk, then returned his attention to the young gladiator. These fights were not necessarily to the death, but if it was two against one and one opponent had flying, telekinetic disk blades and the other had a large axe and a bad attitude, it seemed more likely that someone was going to wind up dead.

No one was going to make any money if [member="Blackthorne"] got herself murdered and no one was going to want to fight here if they saw Maleagant throwing up such ridiculously lopsided fights. Especially not if it ended in homicide... He'd look like he was exacting vengeance over some grudge. Something petty, like getting assaulted in front of his guardsmen.

"You're not trying to kill yourself are you?" Maleagant asked. "Wouldn't you rather go quietly? Privately? Less waste of time and money."

 

[Blackthorne]

A derisive snort sounded from the girl as she set the fetish back down on his desk, "Why would I try to kill myself," it was a question, but it wasn't.

"I'm trying to give the people a good show. That's what brings in the money, that's what makes the bets rise. One-on-one fights are old hat. You've got the shiny new digs, you need a shiny new show. I want both of them, you're going to schedule both of them, and I'm going to bring my bow."

She stood from the chair, shoving it out behind her with a great deal of noise, and intertwined her fingers. A turn and a push later, eight knuckles cracked in unison.

"Savvy?"

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant's frown didn't deepen, which was always a good sign. Sort of. It was as good a sign as anyone involved in this present conversation would get. The logic was fairly sound, he would admit, but touting around a member of the old guard among his gladiators only to have her get killed in the first match she fought in seemed tacky. Then Maleagant remembered a few things: it wasn't his funeral, life would go on, and she had assaulted him the last time they spoke. Yes. Suddenly the decision became easier.

"Very well." Maleagant relented, then looked somewhere behind her. "Qarr."

Behind her, close to the door, a Toydarian was seated on a comfortable stool. He was reading something out of a book. A rare sight these days, as opposed to a datapad. Qarr looked up at the sound of Maleagant calling him, scratching the disgusting crop of stunted facial hair that clung beneath his chin.

"Show the condemned to the locker room. She'll be fighting Zweiniker and Lo-Yei."

Qarr left his book on his seat, lifting off the ground as his wings started flapping. Every flap of his wings brought a gust of body odor in each direction. "Fallah me." Qarr said, flapping on over to the door, which parted before horizontally him.

 

[Blackthorne]

Approximately three hours and some odd minutes later Blackthorne stood wavering but victorious at the center of the ring. The girl was covered in blood. Just absolutely drenched. Her blood, his blood, that other guy's blood. She had cuts, slashes, and bruises everywhere. Her left leg sported a massive gash that the ring stewards hastily packed with caustic powder to stop the flow. Her face was barely recognizable beneath the pulp of freshly-beaten flesh. Her left arm was broken in at least one place so the announcer lifted her right.

Behind her Zweiniker lay face-up, equally as matted in gore with an axe and two arrows stuck in him like a pin cushion. Lo-Yei had a telekinetic disc-blade stuck in his back, an arrow through his left ankle, and a huge chunk of flesh bitten out of his right shoulder.

Neither were dead, but that hardly seemed to matter.

Dahl swallowed the chunk of chewed flesh, watching the whirl of cheering audience with a haze slowly settling over her vision. The last thing she remembered was her knees buckling beneath her as the Announcer released her arm.

 

[Darth Osano]

So transfixed to the screen was Maleagant, he hardly even noticed he spilled his drink. Or that his jaw was hanging open. Not a flattering look. The good news was that this was going to put the Dead Clipper arena on the map fairly permanently. An Abyssin and a Zeison Sha, chewed up by a ten year old? Only at the Dead Clipper. Three hours long? Only. At the Dead. Clipper. It was nuts, stupefying even. He could already hear the clinking and clacking of a nice, fat sack of credits. The fact that Blackthorne had punched him in the face for no reason, made fools of his escort, and had all the social grace of a Rancor in heat was suddenly eclipsed by the fact that she was a gold mine.

No one else was going to be putting on that kind of a show- no one else could. And neither would he, apparently, because Maleagant watched the [member="Blackthorne"] buckle under her wounded weight. He supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised. Maleagant leaned forward and depressed the intercom button. "Someone throw her in the basement-level bacta tank. Let me know when she wakes up." Maleagant watched on the screen as two Enforcers fought their way past the crowd and entered the arena. Another squad of them cleared a path through the roiling masses by brandishing their stun batons. The two who had entered the arena floor dragged her haphazardly away.

Zweiniker and Lo-Yei were left to be tended to by their own handlers. Maybe they would be allocated the tank when they made some money.

-----​

​

Later that evening, or several evenings depending on the exact rate of Kpaur/Garhoon healing, Maleagant was informed that their patient was just about ready to regain consciousness and be ejected from the tube. Marvelous. The Acolyte removed himself from his desk and made his way down to the basement level, past the rooms filled with listening equipment and into the small medical bay. A droid was monitoring her vitals. After a curt nod, the droid disengaged the tank. The bacta solution flowed out, quickly drained through a grate in the floor without ever touching Maleagant's feet. Blackthorne was left to wash out onto the floor and get up on her own.

Never one to waste time, Maleagant was already talking. "You may be amused to know that Lo-Yei's days in the arena are over. You crippled him."

Alas, Lo-Yei. Some people knew him well. Maleagant did not.

 

[Blackthorne]

Bluuurrfffbhbhbhb.

This was the sound of a hybrid wildling spilling naked out onto a cold cement floor. She didn't get up.

Huuuhhmmmmm.


Dahl lolled on the floor, rolling to her back, neglecting to open her eyes for the sticky residue of bacta still clinging to her lashes. A lazy hand lifted to wipe the syrup from her nose and mouth. Dark hair clung to her face.

"Ffff...he crippled himself. Unless you missed the part where he zigged instead of zagged."

 

[Darth Osano]

"Depends on who you ask." Maleagant replied. Lo-Yei certainly had a different opinion on whose fault it was.

Not that it mattered. Crippled men did not seek vengeance unless it was through hit men or family. Starting now, Lo-Yei's finances were essentially flushed and Maleagant was aware of no immediate familial connections. [member="Blackthorne"] was probably safe from extra-arena reprisals in that direction. Hopefully. Lo-Yei did have a devoted fan base and a protective manager, but they did not strike Maleagant as the kind to rally to arms over the end of a career. Zweiniker, on the other hand, had a few brothers in the gladiator trade. They would not take the humiliation of their brother lightly. Either that or they would seek glory in vanquishing the now-famous wonder-teen themselves. This arena was about to get very... Busy.

The Shi'ido watched as the medical droid dispassionately deposited a towel on top of the girl. "Will you be taking your winnings as cash?"

 

[Blackthorne]

Dahl promptly used the towel to wipe her face clean of bacta, blinking her eyes open with sticky sleep still clinging on. She stood after a moment, wiping the pink residue away with no effort to cover herself up otherwise. Exposed as she was, her own tribal tattoos were visible for all to see. They covered a fair amount of her figure, many of which looked old and faded. Far too much so for one as young as she.

Noticeably a glaringly angry black handprint wrapped itself menacingly around her left forearm like a bad tattoo that simply wouldn't be forgotten or overlooked.

"Is there another way to take them?" the girl snorted, spying her belongings and affects thrown haphazardly on a chair to the side of the tank. She padded over and began to dress.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant eyed the abundance of tattoos warily. "Some prefer direct deposit."

How peculiar. If he were more well read on tribal customs, maybe he would recognize such markings. Unfortunately, he had no time to do that. He also did not particularly care what particular savage clan of wildlings had sired her, even though it could have meant recruiting more of her make into the arena. One [member="Blackthorne"] was more than enough for this arena, seeing as Maleagant would prefer that the structure remain standing for as long as possible.

"I'll have the money brought to your ship. The guards will escort you out of here when you're... Finished." Maleagant's eyes remained on the black handprint until it vanished underneath clothing, at which point he re-focused. "Find me when you're ready for another match."

 

[Blackthorne]

She waved away the idea of direct deposit. Where she made her bed at night and where she made her troubles during the day hardly cared for such civility as galactic bank accounts. It was one of the many things the Onderonian wildling had yet to truly come to grips with, her brother notwithstanding. She gave her earnings to him. Whatever he did with them afterwards was beyond her care.

So long as the ship continued running and they had the things they needed Blackthorne had more important things to concern herself over.

Like the fact that Stripe-face was staring at the handprint on her arm. Dahl caught him just as she pulled her shirt over her head and sneered, pointed teeth showing.

"Don't stare too hard, she'll know you're getting nosey."

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant paused in his departure and turned to look back at [member="Blackthorne"], taking a moment to realize what she was referring to. "She'll?"

Was he expected to believe that there was some sort of... Spy implant in that tattoo? A camera that could peer through skin and monitor his gaze? And that someone was on the receiving end of that transmission, watching Maleagant watch...? No doubt the explanation was more arcane than practical. Despite his interest in the occult practices of the Sith, he had little understanding of them. Only the most tentative grasp of the basics. Meanwhile, this one was beating up hardened gladiators and flinging his most skilled agents around rooms with telekinetic blasts. Like they were rag dolls. It was easy to forget these things when the perpetrator had been spewed so inelegantly from a bacta tank.

He would have to do better to remember.

"My apologies, then... To you both." He said, perhaps just as cautiously as was warranted depending on who this third party was.

 

[Blackthorne]

Three weeks later.

[member="Maleagant"] would walk into his office to find his chair occupied by the very same young woman, except in newer clothing. Despite her distaste for having to bow to her new Master Dahl was rather fond of the benefits reaped from completed missions. The pay was respectable and she had a brand new pair of harness boots to show for it.

Said pair of harness boots were presently propped on the man's desk. His Guards were nowhere to be seen.

Dahl looked up from a Gamepad she held in her hands, swiped from some ship during a raid about a week ago.

"Quiet around here today," she remarked, glowing green eyes looking back down at the Gamepad with apparent boredom.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant's hand slid upwards, sliding into his jacket pocket and taking hold of something. Probably a pistol. He did not look terribly amused with the [member="Blackthorne"] occupying his desk. He wore a wary scowl as an expression. As profitable as she was to have around, he did not enjoy these flights of fancy that led her into his office. This was a place of greatly important business at the end of the day, not a playground. If she was doing this sort of thing while Maleagant was still on-site, what could she have been doing when he wasn't here?

"The arena is closed." He answered tersely. "Did you forget? The main pit has to be repaired after what you did to the Harambis Triplets."

Those stains were never coming out. Several experts had already told him as much, but people would be talking about that fight for the next few years.

"Where are my guards?"

 

[Blackthorne]

Blackthorne looked up, a broad and cheeky fang-baring grin filling her expression, "How could I. It was the greatest display of Uses for Entrails in Close Quarters Combat this planet has ever seen."

Really, it was astonishing that particular triplet had survived the fight. Bacta truly was the miracle agent. Dahl snickered to herself as she folded back into the gamepad. Musical notes filled the silence between sentences. Level 11.

"Were you able to get his small intestines out of the rafters?"

At his last question she shrugged. It wasn't a very convincing shrug. Maybe.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant frowned more considerably, if it were at all possible. The debacle with the entrails had been extreme, upsetting the appetites of even some of the more avid arena fanatics. Maleagant had not personally watched it either, having shut off the view screen only a few seconds before what he thought was going to happen, happened. Before that, he had also muted it. The desperate screaming of the other Harambis siblings while [member="Blackthorne"] acrobatically disemboweled their brother had been more than he was comfortable listening to.

This was a Sith Acolyte who had watched people he had shot disintegrate before his very eyes, screaming all the way as their molecules destabilized. That was different, though. You only needed a vacuum cleaner to clean up that mess. The Blackthorne's methods were more... Extreme. Maleagant glanced up to make sure the intestines of his guards, or the guards themselves, were not lodged into the ceiling of this room. When he saw nothing, he quickly glanced back down, ignoring her question.

"Where are my guards?"

 

[Blackthorne]

"I have an idea," Dahl pulled her boots from his desk and set the gamepad down, curling upwards within the cozy hug of his leather chair to crack her back. She leveled the man with a green gaze acidic enough to burn through Beskar, "Expansion," she said, fingers splaying as she purposefully ignored the repeated question about his guards.

The guards were inconsequential. Her continued interest in this business venture was not.

"Hear me out," she pre-empted his rebuttal, "this ...little place of yours here is too tame. There's laws and local governments clogging up cash flow. I can't properly kill things..."

Dahl held up her hands, thumb and forefingers knocked to frame the idea, eyes swooping upwards as she recalled the pronunciation of a place, "Rat...Rattatak." Two brows larked, pulling a mild smirk up with them, "Hn? I hear there's an abandoned Collosseum of arguably significant historical relevance just wasting away..."

 

[Darth Osano]

The reason the Helix Syndicate had been as successful as it currently was could be attributed to its focus. Its focus on the Pentastar Alignment and only the Pentastar Alignment. Organizations that spread too far too quickly just collapsed under their own weight. Usually. Sometimes they survived, but only as a bloated, decadent mass barely capable of decisive action. Maleagant did not envision such a fate for his Syndicate. They would stay in the Alignment. Not trek halfway across the galaxy to a backwater for some ruin!

Ever since the sponsoring of Narbo's enterprise in the Outer Rim, Maleagant had become somewhat familiar with Spice. When she finally stared at him with those practically luminescent green eyes, he could see it. Was that the meaning for this... Behavior? Where. Were. His. Guards. He at least noted that her hands weren't covered in blood, so she must not have killed them. Someone else might have assumed that it only meant the [member="Blackthorne"] had washed her hands after the deed, but Maleagant knew for a fact hygienic practices were never a real consideration for her.

His grip only tightened on his sidearm. Drugged Blackthorne was more congenial than the sober one, but he could at least predict when the sober one would get violent. This one might as well have been a nuclear warhead, primed to go off at some unpredictable hour... Blazed out of its mind. Maleagant's pride prevented a more diplomatic approach, however. "I am not renovating an arena on the other side of the galaxy." He said, decisively. "What have you taken?"

He was clearly referring to taken in the drug sense, not the property sense. If he at least knew what she had in her system, that would make this easier to dismantle.