Crazy Bastard Wants to Hit Me

[Blackthorne]

"Taken?"

Dahl looked around, wall-eyes wide in thought. They swept across the room, from floor to ceiling before landing on his desk. She'd not touched any of the holoflimsies or business stuff. There was, however, an empty spot over to the side.

"Ah," she smiled blithely and leaned over to pull a silver-something out of a leather satchel sitting on the floor by the chair. Dahl planted the very same fetish on the center of his desk that had caught her eye the last time she'd been in here, "I've taken this." She stated matter-of-factly, "I'm not really sure why...clearly it's incomplete."

"And clearly," she picked it back up again and gestured to him with it, "you have no respect for the history of the very game you produce here. Rativak was the location of one of the greatest gladiatorial events in the history of the Sith. Nemene Talith and Evelyn Dorn are practically synonymous with the business of torture and death pits."

"But you don't care about that."

"...and I'm taking this."

Dahl promptly put the fetish back in her bag.

 

[Darth Osano]

"That isn't what I..." Maleagant trailed off, watching as she fumbled around with the broken statuette that had been previously seen.

Fine. She could have it. It was little more than a paperweight. Ruddy thing had been here when he was getting the original structure and Maleagant had only kept it as a memento. A little souvenir from a now distant and irrelevant past that this arena was separated from. Clearly, though, he was hung up on something else she had mentioned. Of course he was aware that of Rativak- Rattatak. Of course he was aware of its history with gladiator combat and, more importantly, that it had once been the seat of Evelyn Dorn and her bride. He had meant to make the pilgrimage, if it could be called that. But there was so much work to be done. He knew what was there that belonged to him, but it was too close. Perilously close to...

He could risk a covert scouting.

This was as good an excuse as any, really.

Ostensibly he would just claim that the [member="Blackthorne"] was... Touring... In that sector of space. To make more money for the Syndicate and to build up her reputation.

Yes, some publicity on Rattatak would do her good. And him.

But first...

"Fine." Maleagant said suddenly, marching across the room. His hand came out of his jacket, grabbing Blackthorne by the scruff of her shirt. "We're going to Rattatak." He said this with the sort of finality that implied it had been his idea the whole time. Suddenly the location of his guards and their role in the Blackthorne's present high was irrelevant to him. Overseeing business at this arena was irrelevant. He would leave it to Ogedei and Qarr and come back when he had finished. He would relay these orders after his shuttle took off, but for now he was just dragging Blackthorne out of the room like she was a tote bag.

 

[Blackthorne]

Grabbing hand was met with bulging eyes.

"We're going to Rattatak."

"Oh, good," Dahl smiled, tone as though he'd just told her he'd gotten an A on his science project. This face immediately changed to sudden, blithering surprise as she was bodily yanked over the desk, feet and satchel dragging behind her. Flimsies and business stuff went scattering to the floor. Dahl stumbled after him, barely managing to regain her feet and putting up no fuss about being dragged off like a bad dog by the collar.

"Look at the mess you made," she remarked, looking at the mess he made as he yanked her out the door.

 

[Darth Osano]

The doors parted before them, revealing the hallway. To their immediate right was Qarr the Toydarian, once again seated on his stool. He was also reading from a book, although the cover was colored differently, indicating it must have been a different one. Where did Qarr get all these old books from? It was probably irrelevant. As long as he did his job, Maleagant didn't care what he read. "Qarr, take over." Maleagant said, taking a sharp turn past Qarr and marching down the hallway.

If [member="Blackthorne"] cared enough to look behind her, she might have seen Qarr shut his book and, without ever bothering to look in their direction, lift off his seat and flutter into the office.

They passed the refurbishing teams and exited the arena, the loading ramp descending upon detecting Maleagant's approach. He apparently did not want to wait long enough to muster any of his guards. This was, strictly speaking, a private matter. Blackthorne's blazed presence notwithstanding. He finally stopped dragging her around when he boarded the ship proper, as if he was temporarily depositing his luggage in the hallway. The loading ramp started to shut behind them and Maleagant departed from the lounge to the cockpit, wiping his hands.

He made a mental note to wash them later. "Strap yourself in somewhere."

 

[Blackthorne]

Dahl dropped to the floor like an abused rucksack and remain there for several minutes staring up at the retreating form of Maleagant. He seemed to move in slow motion, which was strange given the fact that he was quite the astute fellow. She blinked after him until his figure disappeared through a door, muttering something about strap-ons.

Strap-ons? she mouthed in confusion. What sort of stuff was this guy into?

The ship rumbled beneath her, driving its passenger into a slow roll-crawl towards the nearest open bench. As she neared the shuttle bobbed into ignition, the force of which caused Dahl to smack her head into the base of the bench.

"Ow-hohohohohoooo...." Dahl slapped a hand to her forehead and gave up attempting to sit on the bench utterly.

She passed out on the floor a few minutes later clutching her pack.

 

[Darth Osano]

Some time after takeoff, Maleagant had exited the cockpit. He intended to brief [member="Blackthorne"], but only found that she had fallen unconscious on the floor. In fact, thanks to the force with which the ship had moved through the atmosphere and then shifted as it adjusted course, Maleagant found her essentially rolled up in a tangle of limbs in the far corner from where she had fallen, jammed under and between stabilized furniture. Completely unconscious. Must have been Millaflower. His eye twitched in irritation. She was not going to be in any condition to fight once they arrived now. Fine by him. More time to patrol the ruins. Maleagant marched forward, grabbed her by the ankles, and dragged her out into the open.

Once she was wedged free from where she had wound up, he placed her roughly and unceremoniously onto the bench she had previously tried to clamber onto. Again. Hand washing would be needed. Now that the ship was safely in hyperspace, he didn't have to worry about her bouncing off of everything in here. Knowing Blackthorne, it would have been his ship that took a beating and not her. He wouldn't have to worry about it until landing procedures started, at least.

Silently sneering, Maleagant returned to the cockpit, adjusted the auto pilot, and proceeded to the refresher. And lo, the hand washing did commence in great earnest.

 

[Blackthorne]

Twelve hours was a long time to sleep for just about anyone. Blackthorne slept sound as a stone the duration of the flight.

At some point Maleagant made another showing as he moved to prepare for landing sequence. He stood considering her for .2 seconds before turning and leaving her just as she was. By the time the ship had landed on Rattivak he would find her wedged back into the same place as before, somehow still clutching her pack.

Somehow still completely asleep.

 

[Darth Osano]

It had been an equally relaxing flight for Maleagant, who had napped briefly before turning to more productive matters. Like his training lightsaber and a few meditation sessions. When the ship alerted them to their imminent landing, Maleagant deactivated the remote, cleaned himself up, and returned to where he had left [member="Blackthorne"]. By then, the ship had landed completely. Despite his previous, less-than-sincere efforts, she had gotten wedged back into the same spot as before. Maleagant sincerely hoped it was the landing sequence that did that. He could not imagine the masochism of a person who willingly wanted to sleep, contorted, like that.

Must have been a gladiator thing.

Maleagant, impatient as he was, decided to be less gracious in his treatment. He kicked the bench that she was under, causing a calamitous rattling sound. "Wake up." Maleagant said, just in case the furniture kicking was not enough. "We're here."

 

[Blackthorne]

WHAM.

Skull met metal bench frame, exploding stars throughout whatever realm of semi-conscious state Dahl had suddenly plunged into.

"AH! HNNNNNNnnnnnnnnn!"

Despite being called hard-headed her entire life by just about every single person she'd ever met, there was no void of pain where injuries were concerned. Dahl peeled herself out from beneath the bench, seething air through her fanged teeth and holding her throbbing head. The ride was over - both chemical and the astrological - and all of reality was slowly starting to slide back into place. A bit like slugs slithering around in her stomach and through her veins, if she had to describe the sensation, her keening head wasn't helping.

"Oh...ufff..." the pit of her stomach churned as she moved into an unsteady stand, "great...wh-"

where are we? was what she wanted to escape her mouth.

Instead a whole lot of vomit did, and not of the word variety.

 

[Darth Osano]

For arguably the first time in his recent life, a chit-eating smirk wormed its way onto Maleagant's face. It had been summoned forth exclusively by the sound of Blackthorne's skull smacking right into the underside of the bench. There was no humor like slapstick humor, especially when visited on a groggy spicer coming down from an annoying high. While the [member="Blackthorne"] was peeling herself out from under the bench with the same speed and grace of a crippled tortoise, Maleagant left the room. Ostensibly to gather a travel bag but really to better keep himself from snickering like a jackass. When he returned, Blackthorne was uneasily on her feet again and he appeared his normal steely demeanor of permanently unamused.

He held out the travel bag for her to take. "This is-"

"Oh...ufff..."

"Are you-"

"Great...wh-"

Maleagant would have preferred if the pits of the Netherworld opened up a second time, spewing forth all manner of demonic spirits out into the realm of the living to torment the innocents, than to watch Blackthorne vomit up the contents of her stomach on the floor right in front of them. Any trace amusement left in the Acolyte died a swift death, replaced with disgust and moderate horror. He jerked the bag away from her, but his shoes were not so lucky. The liquefied remnants of whatever under-cooked meat dinner she had enjoyed earlier now occupied a small portion of the floor and possessed some colonies on Maleagant's boots. Rightly back in his annoyed state, Maleagant turned on a heel and strode out of the room. "I'll get you a bucket." He took the travel pack with him.

There was a squeaking sound as Maleagant trailed some of the vomit behind him as he went. Moments later, down the corridor and into the room Maleagant had entered, there was a short cry of disgust as he realized what he just did.

 

[Blackthorne]

Thirsty.

The most immediate thought, aside from her pounding head, squirming gut, and taste of stomach bile in her mouth, was that of thirst. Dahldesa Shamalain had never been drunk in her life - if she had, she might've noted that the symptoms of withdraw from this particular form of spice were painfully similar to that of a hangover. Might've opted for a big ol' guzzle of water, perhaps a bite of brek; things that would have helped in her current state except that the very thought of them made her stomach churn more.

She walked with the bucket over her head to shield her eyes from the light. Vast amounts of vomit had made it across various areas of the shuttle and loading ramp, as well as the landing pad outside. Not a single drop had managed to find its way into the bucket.

Dahl smacked her lips and fumbled through her pockets for something, anything to help rid the taste in her mouth.

"I can't....even remember the last time I threw up like that," she mumbled to herself, fishing through her own backpack as she wandered after Mal, "must have been when my brother snuck Piraruku into my dinner. Feth..."

 

[Darth Osano]

At the end of the boarding ramp, [member="Blackthorne"] would find only Maleagant with his back to her. They hadn't landed at a city or an arena. It was a ruin. Parts of it had been reclaimed by the desert, other sections contained gardens in varying states of dry death or overgrowth. The skeleton of a large beast was clearly visible in the courtyard they had landed in. The courtyard itself was also in shambles, the paved stone cracking horrendously. The building ahead of them did not look to have endured the passage of time or subsequent looters any better. The facade was crumbling and parts of the roof had caved in.

Home sweet home.

Maleagant took a deep breath, closing his eyes and silently praying the Force would offer him some token of restrain and focus. "Do me a favor," He said, dimly aware of the fact that the Blackthorne had spilled vomit virtually everywhere other than the bucket he had desperately thrust into her hands. "Stop talking." As if the circumstances that brought him here weren't dire enough, now he had to deal with a gladiator coming down from what was clearly her first spice run. Was he going to have to give her the talk about the dangers of addiction now? He'd save it for later, she wasn't going to find any spice in this area any time soon.

The Acolyte stepped off the boarding ramp and proceeded towards the building. He was carrying two travel packs.

 

[Blackthorne]

She'd opened her mouth in a rebuttal but the only sounds that followed Mal as he made his way towards the crumbling ruin was more retching. At the very least it was no longer happening on his ship. Dahl stood stooping over a pool of bile wondering where her life was going that she was here, dry heaving at the ass-end of the galaxy with a head full of nails and a stomach full of slugs, wishing she was dead.

How she had gotten here and where, exactly, here was ... the memory of the last day and a half were fuzzy at best.

Her comm chirped.

Dahl very slowly pulled the bucket from her head and sat it upside-down on the ground to use as a seat. The labor of fishing through her pack to find the comm was likely as painful to watch as it was to do.

"Eor?" [member="Greyhide"] on the other end sounding more than a little worried. Something about not meeting her at the arranged time. Not calling. Not being at the fight club where she said she would be.

He was yelling at her. She grimaced and held the comm away from her ear, other hand pulling a jug of water from her bag. If Mal continued on his path then he was very likely reaching the building by now.

"I'm f-fine-" Dahl attempted to swallow a gulp of water. It resulted in immediate retching. She spit it out.

"I'm not there," another gulp, this one she got down but now without gagging, "I left...bleh...for a job...hfff.."

Where was she? Over and over.

Dahl looked up at the retreating form of Mal, green eyes squinting into the sunlight as she took another long swig of water, "Rattatak."

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant stopped just short of the ruin's entrance. The doors were completely missing, but the hinges remained. They must have been made out of something fancy and were looted a long time ago. Despite no immediate obstacles, he hesitated in entering. What would he find here? Probably nothing, but it was important to make these sort of pilgrimages. Ground oneself in history, bleak as it was. Though it was just a little hypocritical, considering he had never visited the location where his family was massacred. There was nothing to be learnt from that. Here, though? It was a possibility.

The pack intended for [member="Blackthorne"] slid off his shoulder and landed on the ground. She could pick it up when she was done vomiting. She was talking up a storm again, but Maleagant was too far off to hear the details. He began to turn around to yell at her to speak up, only to see that she was on a commlink. Really? Out here? Now? She actually had friends? No, there was no way. He would have known about that. Some rival agent, more likely, trying to steal another of his prized gladiators out from under his feet with promises of more winnings. Bastards. All they really did was get them hooked on hard spice so they would never leave.

Well, apparently a couple of his Enforcers had adopted that strategy for him. Maleagant, however, was above that.

"Who are you talking to?" He dropped his own pack next to hers, marching over carefully. Just in case of projectile vomiting. He had just cleaned his shoes, after all...

 

[Blackthorne]

Uuugggh.

"She sent me here," Dahl stared at the approaching figure of [member="Maleagant"], grimacing, "I gatta go, Eor."

She quelled another rising gurgle with a large swig of water and looked up as Stripes came to a stop nearby. He was just out of vomit range. Dahl sucked the last of her water into her cheeks, squinting up at him with a short glance at his curiously clean shoes.

"Who are you talking to?"

Gulp. She scowled. The desire to make a smart remark fell short of the rising acid from her stomach, "My brother." Her eyes moved past him to the building in the background, squinting through the sunlight. Eor would have loved to see this place - fething nerd, "So this is it." Not quite enough of a beat for Male to question the call further. Couldn't get things tangled up and besides, he'd told her to stop talking to him.

Dahl stood and pulled her pack over her shoulder, spitting the last bit of aftertaste off to the side, "Fething brilliant." Power through the hangover, just keep marching with your eyes on the prize. Whatever that was.

 

[Darth Osano]

"Is he also looking to become a gladiator?" This was not, actually, a hostile or accusatory question. Rather, it was serious. If one Blackthorne was threatening to break the bank of many of the spectators who bet against her based on her appearance, imagine what two could do. Or three. Maybe she even was from a set of quintuplets, all with the same irrational taste for blood and uncanny pain threshold. The possibilities, and the profits, were endless. "I can set him up in the arena on Moltek."

Maleagant was no monster, he would never make brother and sister fight. Unless they wanted to and there was sufficient economic demand for a battle. Or if this quintuplets theory proved correct, a battle royale. Now that was the kind of gladiatorial content that was going to put him on the map. Too bad it was just idle fantasy. He was about to answer her question, fill her in on some important details, but he dismissed the possibility with a wave of his hand. Maleagant did not want her puking all over the ruins. It struct him as blasphemous. Improper. He was going to need some sort of estimate on how long this would be going on for.

"How much spice did you take before we left?" His gaze narrowed.

 

[Blackthorne]

"No," the response was immediate and hostile as Dahl continued to make her way towards the ruins, trudging through the sensation of a skull full of needles pumping liquid hot magma into her brain. Why was it so damn hot out here?

"My brother doesn't fight," not technically true. He could and did - he was royalty of the Onderonian wilds; the son of the Beastia and a most predatory Sith Lord. Eor could likely wipe clean a gladitorial court but the difference between Eor and Dahl was that one of them cared about the way their face looked. Two guesses as to which one that was, the first one doesn't count.

His follow up made her pause. Spice?

"Spice?" A blink. Dahl glanced back at him over her shoulder. Spice? When did she take Spice? "I don't use Spice."

Momma told me not to - this remained unspoken.

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant scowled when she marched past him. Not because her brother didn't fight, but because they had apparently already moved into the denial stage of things. "Don't bullchit me."

He recovered his own pack as they pass through the door, slinging it over his shoulder. The inside was no less worse for wear. A few skeletons, mostly men mingled with beast, littered the floor. Everything in here was dead, including the potted plants. It was almost miserable. As expected, the main room had been picked clean. Large staircases flanked either side of the massive doorway that lay ahead of them and two more passages were situated on the left and right side of the room. This had been the palace of the planet's rulers for quite some time, after all. Of course it would be big. It would also make finding the bedrooms and libraries more difficult.

As they both adjusted to the gloom of the interior and oriented themselves, Maleagant continued.

"You just spilled your guts on my ship after sleeping like a rock." He said, definitely agitated because it had just happened. "My guess is Millaflower. Happens to all the first timers."

 

[Blackthorne]

"I have,"

Dahl walked through the doorway, green eyes tracing the line of a collapsing vaulted ceiling,

"no idea,"

they landed at the far end where a large beastly skeleton lay in a heap, covered in several years worth of dust and neglect,

"what you're talking about."

Their footsteps echoed through the barren hall, but it was more than just footsteps lingering around them. Some time long ago before she was born two women ruled in this place of great infamy. Dahl had grown on stories of the fighting pits and gladiators on Rattatak. The story of Evelyn Dorn was known quite well in the circle of Halcyon Citadel. Nemene Talith? Nearly family - extended, anyways. The daughter of the father of her half-brother, Soliael. Had to count for something.

Certainly Dahl felt an innate kinship towards the two Queens. They had come from nothing, built their own powerbase, took everything they wanted.

She stopped at the beast skull, taking in the detail of mandibles filled to the brim with lethal fangs. Nexu.

"The great beast tamer Evelyn Dorn," Dahl stooped at the skull and reached to touch at the fangs, "...my mother trained her."

 

[Darth Osano]

Maleagant had never known someone to go through the seven stages of grief over spice use. He briefly wondered how long she would stay in this disbelief and-slash-or denial stage before moving on to something more productive. Like guilt and anger. The depression leg probably wouldn't do either of them a lot of favors. Depressed gladiators were not effective fighters. He would just have to deal with it as it transpired. [member="Blackthorne"] had an interesting disposition already and he could not afford having it made more so with frequent spice binges.

There would be words with whatever guards had forwarded spice into her hands.

"You can claim whatever you want after you clean my ship." He replied, watching her wander over to one of the skeletons. Once the vomit was scrapped off the floor and no evidence remained, he'd buy into whatever narrative she wanted. But all of that was expelled from his mind the moment she mentioned Evelyn Dorn and her mother's apparent relation. What, What? He hadn't even told her what this place was. Maleagant restrained a tempest of anger.

His right eye twitched in irritation. "You know anything else about Evelyn Dorn?"