Private Evolutionary Episodes: The Melancholy Inamorata and the Repentant Reaper

[Quietus]

Point Nadir
Some Fancy Art Gallery
Art Auction Fundraising Event
Aver Brand

---

It will be fun, she said.

It will be nice to be out doing something different, she said.

Just wear this fancy outfit and doll yourself up, she said.


Aver had promised a quiet evening with a nice dinner and an art gallery show. What she delivered was an event of some notorious hob-snobbers rubbing shoulders and peacocking around the gallery. Quietus had decided she didn't want to be here the moment they stepped inside, and said as much to Aver who insisted they would only stay for dinner and drinks, then take their leave. She even used the word please - and Aver Brand rarely ever said please.

So while Aver kanoodled with the other big fish for Force-knew-what, Quietus took her drink on a long, silent walk around the gallery. It was at a painting of a lush meadow that she paused, thinking the style looked rather familiar...

 

[Aver Brand]

The oily functionary in front of her was a single double-entendre away from her drink on his shirt. Loathe as Aver was to waste good whiskey, she’d much rather shut him up than suffer through another remark.

But palms needed greasing. If she wanted to do this right and proper, Aver had to use these people. When you wanted a government overthrown, her side of the line could provide in spades – hell, she’d been at the top of that game back in the day. But if you wanted to build one? Good fucking luck.

Thus this artsy event, with all its miserable handshaking, polite smiles, and the hundred politicians and business folk swarming through the spacious gallery. A brief glance at the clock on the wall - an exhibit-worthy piece itself - and Aver nearly wept to see they only had another half hour to go. As soon as the auction floor opened they could fuck off to wine and dine the select few investors she’d seduced earlier in the evening.

It was in weak moments like these that she longed for her days of gunpoint diplomacy. One snap-hiss, and this sack of lard in a tailored suit would be history.

But you can’t build anything lasting when your only language is the knife.

“Miss Var Nabba. Dren. It’s been an absolute pleasure talking business with you, but I really must get going. There’s a piece by Sarmantine on auction tonight that Arienne’s threatened to divorce me over.”

The round of chuckling snapped her out of her reminiscing. “The Sarmantine. Yes. What’s a hundred thousand credits with a wife as lovely as yours, Tamen?”

The ambassador laughed, cheeks dimpling. “I’m sure Mara and Devlin can fill me in on your discussion later. Have a fine evening, gents.”

Aver watched him go with a barely repressed sigh, then turned to address the remaining pair. “Walk with me.”

If she was to survive the rest of this, she needed a shoulder to lean on.

 

[Quietus]

Desdemona Shamalain had never been much of a entrepreneur when it came to art. Her mother, on the other hand, had taken up the hobby of collecting it while living on Coruscant and married still to her father. It had been as much shopping therapy as it had been payback to the cheating man - putting large dents in his funds by buying art of all things. It brought her no peace, but the look on his face when he saw the bill had apparently never gotten old.

Especially if the piece in question wasn't to his discerning taste.

So the old condo on Coruscant had been filled with art, and even decorated with art when her mother tested her own hand at the skill. She'd been quite good at it, if the fresco on the main hallway ceiling were anything to go by, and Quietus had come to be intimately familiar with that particular fresco some time ago.

She continued to stare at the painting of the meadow, eyes unfocused while her mind wandered, carefully staging self-interventions whenever a thought lingered near the subject of him.

 

[Aver Brand]

Mara (28, former high fashion model) and Devlin Neyhan (53, the eldest heir of a vast pharmaceutical empire) were awful company. The former seemed just clever enough to land herself the beached whale whose untimely death due to clogged arteries would settle her for life. The latter was exactly what you’d expect with his pedigree, enhanced with poor table manners, a worse taste in alcohol, and a positively sagging belly.

Aver had a bet going with herself on whether the long-suffering buttons of his shirt would survive the night. She’d just upped the pool in her head by another thousand credits when they stopped to chat by the next exhibit – N32, Tarfur’s Mists of Sol.

“Say, where’s your lovely brunette this evening?”

Aver dragged her gaze from the big splotch of red on blue with a blink. “What brunette?”

Mara maintained her inane smile without faltering. “Anna, wasn’t it?”

“Ananne,” Devlin sputtered as he struggled to swallow his cognac. “We had such jolly good fun together last time, I was looking forward to seeing her again.”

Aver conjured a flat smile as she drew a blank. ‘Last time’ had been more than six months ago, and fuck knew enough shit had gone down between then and now that she was lucky to remember what alias she’d used.

The name of the escort she’d brought along to lube the gears of bureaucracy? Anyone’s guess.

“Oh, I’m here with my wife tonight,” she said serenely, holding his beady gaze as she took one last step forward and pressed a kiss to Qui’s cheek.

“Devlin, Mara, this is…” well. She’d forgotten to ask Qui what name she wanted to use. Awkward.

 

[Quietus]

Quietus was not paying attention to anything but the painting before her, and even the span with which she'd granted the painting was questionable at best. Mostly she was immersed in her own self, dedicating the prime bandwidth of her mind to a dozen lines of thought - very few of which were of any help to the morose nature of her current mood.


She still had yet to be convinced that an outting such as this was of any use. If nothing else it made her more withdrawn.

This painting seemed to bare a curious resemblance to the meadows just outside of what had once been the Darke family estate on Kuat.

After all these years she still never learned that wine was repulsive and she greatly regretted taking the glass in her hand to begin with. There was no way she was drinking another drop.

Had she set the treehome's various electric elements to ECO before they left?

Should have brought Shai with them, could have used her as an excuse for ... anything really.

This shirt was actually quite comfortable and she wondered if Aver's tailor could have it custom ordered in dark green.

Where the feth was Aver - it was time to remind her that she didn't want to be here.


The kiss on the cheek shook Qui directly out of her musings with a rapid blink and slight startle. By the time she managed to figure out just what the feth was going on, she hadn't managed to wrangle the hideous RBF from her face before turning to find two strangers looking at her expectantly. It wasn't generally in her nature to be dismissive or poor company when in public and for certain she had centuries of practice in conducting herself diplomatically, but Qui found it an extreme test of her patience and mental spoons to put something that would pass for amiable on her face.

Mute as she always was in the company of the entire galaxy aside from Aver, Qui extracted her free hand from where it had been resting in the crook of the opposite elbow and indicated her charming hello with a single-handed sign.

Are we using fake names again? she intoned levelly to Aver's thoughts, Just pick something for me, I don't care.

 

[Aver Brand]

RBF or not, Qui looked fantastic in business casual. Aver needed to invite her out in civilization more. Most of their dates involved some manner of wild beast, a long jaunt through the jungle, and blood. Which required an equally fantastic wardrobe – she wasn’t complaining by any stretch – but variety was the spice of life.

“...this is Verie,” Aver continued smoothly. Her repertoire for dealing with troubles of the soul consisted of exactly one approach: humor. Did it always work? Was it always appropriate? Of course not! – but when did that ever stop her?

“Pleasure to meet you,” tittered Mara as she extended her hand into the void between herself and Qui. As if the blonde would ever take it.

“That’s a lovely… shirt, ma’am,” added Devlin with what Aver was sure he thought was a charming smile. If only his gaze weren’t glued several inches south of those cold green eyes.

“Mr. and Mrs. Neyhan here have generously agreed to fund my project as shadow investors,” Aver cut in, delighting in the delayed confusion and indignation that twisted his bloated features.

“Now wait a minute, Var Nabba,” Devlin straightened himself, buttons straining. “We haven’t—”

“No? My assistant assured me you were extremely enthusiastic during the meeting.”

“What assistant?” Mara from the left now, concern barely denting her smooth brow. “We never met with any… assistants…” she trailed off as something clicked behind those dim eyes, puffed lips hanging open in dawning horror.

“Well, that’s a shame. And Ananne spoke so highly of you!” Aver was no longer concealing her grin. “At any rate, I have the meeting minutes at my office, if you’d like to review them. I understand it’s been a few months.”

Devlin – and Devlin’s second chin – trembled. Before the man and his shirt could burst from rage, his wiser, paler, better half grabbed him by the hand and began to tug him away. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. Let’s go, Bunny.”

Sorry about that. Some people here stick to you like dry brain matter. The merc placed a tentative hand at the small of her back, grin gentling into a genuine smile. Find any art you like?

If Qui so much as implied a preference for a certain piece, it would be bought and packaged for the long journey back to Thral before the end of this detestable little soiree.

 

[Quietus]

Verie.

Qui's nose twitched at that one.

She remained silent during the exchange, RBF slowly shifting to genuine disgust at the repulsive, bloviated commerce whale standing before her presently gaping at her chest. She stared back at him, the intensity of her acidic gaze having been enough to melt a mountain had she not the wherewithall to hold back on certain skills and powers.

Project. Shadow investors. If she didn't know any better she'd think Aver was up to something...

Watching the pair toddle away, Aver's hand would find her back to be stiff and prickling with discontentment.

What is this event for, really?

 

[Aver Brand]

Pinned by that gaze like an insect - hapless and disarmed. Aver made a noise and looked away, eyes wandering aimlessly across the spattered canvas. As if the splashes of color held any answers. As if they held any refuge.

Her hand tensed on the small of Qui’s back before she let out a long breath. The only way out is through.

I want to build some new shit on Nadir. Shit I don’t know how to build. A shadow of a smile curled her lips. So I’m hiring experts.

 

[Quietus]

The response didn't leaven the shadow of expression darkening Desdemona's face.

Are you being purposefully obtuse as some form of payback?

Yes, she knew that she was also guilty of this crime. Vagueries galore in the Shamalain line, but mostly Qui conducted herself that way out of her own sense of self preservation. Too much guessing or any general form of assumption could and would often end badly in her line of living.

What shit?

 

[Aver Brand]

Once hewn from stone, her features were now a pliable clay that shifted along with her thoughts, reflecting plain for her mate the canvas of her mind. Their bond of blood and sorcery rendered that unnecessary, and yet it was freeing all the same.

Aver scrunched up her nose like a disgruntled cat. Payback is for idiots.

Herself included, once upon a time. She didn’t regret it, but it had been her first – and last – act of vengeance.

Can I… she sighed, looking up at the cassette ceiling and its pompous gilt. I wanna wait ‘till the deal’s done to tell you.

There was no hiding the uncomfortable melange of emotions swirling in her gut like tar. Trepidation. Determination. Exhilaration.

Guilt.

 

[Quietus]

She wasn't looking at Aver but rather staring, focused, on the painting before her.

Another time she might've enjoyed watching those expressions and even if she wasn't one to pry, she might've pressed the issue more. Now? Quietus was struggling to care. All she wanted right now was to go home.

Fine. The response was sharp and all-too-much the telepathic tone that it was not actually fine but she'd deal with it.

I want this painting.

Apparently she wanted something else other than to go home. If she were honest with herself, she wanted to melt this entire building and every person in it (obviously not Aver) - but wanton gore and mayhem wasn't her schtick. She knew it'd feel good in the moment, but it wouldn't actually help anything.

 

[Aver Brand]

Three decades and counting was experience enough to look straight past that tone. Poking an enraged drexl? Colossally bad idea, even if you were confident it wouldn’t outright kill you. Aver would survive, but the building wouldn’t. And, loathe as she was to admit it, she needed this building – and the people in it.

It’s yours.

Did she like the painting? Well, she didn’t hate it, and that was an excellent start for the mercenary. Good chance it was being used as a dummy with an inflated price tag to launder someone’s shady credits – hell, for all Aver knew, it could’ve been her shady credits. Far be it for her to keep intimate tabs on every couple thousand that passed through Point Nadir.

Putting away her datapad after she’d marked the piece for collection at auction, Aver stuck out her elbow to her mate. Where at treehome are you gonna put it up?

The cool evening breeze swept over them moments after they left the lobby with their coats. A speeder with tinted windows was already hovering at the curb, ready to take them to dinner and then hopefully, swiftly, mercifully – into a quiet, dreamless night.

 

[Quietus]

It's yours.

Dry satisfaction settled into her psyche for several moments. The sort that came with the knowledge that though she'd not fully understood something, she now had the assurance that she would. That counted for something.

Quietus took the offered elbow without even having to look and willing walked along with Aver knowing that their departure from this place was imminent. That, too, meant something - she was getting closer to going home.

Not treehome, she replied, the sting of her tone leavened as they made way for their transport and smoothly slid in. Quietus sat stiffly for several moments before relaxing into the cushion of the bench seat and letting out a slow, barely audible sigh. I don't know where, she answered pre-emptively, feeling the follow up question rising in Aver's thoughts. For now, the painting would be moved to Aver's new flat and remain there until she figured it out.

Where are we going for dinner?

Maybe food would lighten her mood. She was a bit hungry.

 

[Aver Brand]

I don’t know where was code for your flat and honestly, that was fine. Aver’s sense of home decoration began and ended with a ceiling-height liquor rack and a print of a defaced sketch Qui had sent her way back when during her post-regnal travels.

She shared the mental image with a faint grin as they settled on the bench.

Neon-U. A clever wordplay between Basic and Huttese that made Aver snort her caf out her nose when the marketing manager had slid over the document. They cater to Outer Rim clientele, which really just meant they’d both be able to order their meat as raw and bloody as they wanted.

And if it pulled double duty as an intimidation tactic for investors, Aver wasn’t exactly complaining.

 

[Quietus]

That mental image certainly caught her off guard and for several moments as she pondered it, recalling what and when it referenced, she completely forgot about her poor mood. Now she remembered - both the original context of the image and the print hanging proudly on the wall in the flat. It looked ridiculous, but it made Aver happy.

And how many innocent little things in the galaxy such as that existed that genuinely made Not-Vrag happy? Not a whole fucking lot.

Another sigh, heavier this time, and Desdemona reached out from behind her grief and anger to touch on her mate's mind. A silent apology. She leaned over and let her head rest on the mercenary's shoulder, one hand reaching forward to take one of Aver's own.

Are we entertaining your guests at this dinner?

And did she have to be a nice wifey?

 

[Aver Brand]

Yes.

She nuzzled against the heavy head on her shoulder, craning her neck to press a soft kiss to a golden crown.

Be yourself. Aver squeezed the hand in her own, tracing a thumb along pale-scarred knuckles. I won’t have you otherwise.

Woe betide the fool who tried.

 

[Quietus]

Neon-U
VIP Section

If Quietus had come to expect anything about the locales Aver chose to use or frequent where her meals were concerned, she was in no way surprised or disappointed by this one. Fit for high-profile people the galaxy over, their menu was as expansive and inclusive as their clientele it seemed. Were she anyone else at all she might've felt out of place here, but Qui was no stranger to fine dining or dining amongst the predators and creme de la crop of the stars.

Mostly she was ignoring everyone but Aver and had settled for a glass of Whyren's Reserve on the rocks in an attempt to soothe her fraying nerves and patience with these pompous bullards.

"Your wife," said one of the guests to Aver in a low voice so as not to draw attention, "she is ...a woman of few words?"

Several attempts to strike up conversation with her had failed.

 

[Aver Brand]

“My wife,” Aver wrapped her lips around those two words with no small amount of satisfaction, “would rather be out hunting for this drexl than sitting here with us.” She smiled as the investors glanced down at the expensive steak on their plates, as if the meat was going to bite back any second. “I owe my life to her patience.”

In ways more literal than they would ever know, thankfully. Her expression petered out as the pair at the surprise and caution that fell in like shadows across their faces.

Aver sighed. She wasn’t any good at business meetings that didn’t include some level of intimidation and bribery. Where kindness wasn’t just a thin, false veneer wielded like any other verbal weapon, but an actual impulse people felt and indulged – not because they gained anything from it, but because it was the right thing to do.

What a bizarre way to live.

“Cultural differences, hm?” She made light of it, poorly, and bulldozed right through the feeling before it could settle like lead in the pit of her stomach. “So, have you put together a proposal for me? I was hoping to read it over wine tonight.”

The younger of the pair nodded, leaning over to extract a datapad from his briefcase and pass it to Aver. She turned it over in her hands and lit up the screen.

Proposal for the Holistic Integration of Educational Institutions within the Cultural Milieu of the Outer Rim.

347 pages.

Her eyes glazed over. This would take more than one evening and several bottles of wine. Aver cleared her throat and looked back up. “And the other one?”

“Esila is still working on that. Hopefully we’ll have something for you by next week, but public health in a place like that… forgive me, Miss Var Nabba, but why even bother? It’s going to be a credit pit like no other.”

Aver twisted her lips into a lopsided smile. “The billion-credit question.”

She still didn’t have an answer. At least not one she could stomach to voice out loud.

 

[Quietus]

My wife.

Years ago those two words would have been enough to send either one of them into an extremely negative snowball of emotions. Today? It was something else entirely. Over three decades together through thick, thin, feast, and famine, the amount of difference in them individually could not possible be believed by their former selves. My wife felt like something carved out of this harrowing history, made initially as a cynical jab but now used as a defining statement of what they were and had become together.

It felt natural, and the epiphany of this caught her a little off-guard.

She swallowed the feeling with a fresh cut of steak and a sip of Whyren's. Maybe it was the booze making her feel out of sorts - aside from her bender leading up to ... no, don't think about that now.

As for the rest of Aver's response, it went without saying that every word of it was true.

But while Aver busied herself with the younger of the couple, it seemed the older couple felt the need to push the limit of said wife's patience.

"Hunting drexl?" said the husband with a chuckle, "Next you'll tell us she swings from vines and eats with her hands."

Quietus landed the man with a level gaze, plonked her fork on her plate and proceeded to pick up a piece of her cut steak with her fingers before popping it into her mouth, making no effort whatsoever to hide the flash of her pointed fangs.

"What exactly is a drexl?" said the wife, frowning over her plate of greens at the steak juice presently running down Qui's chin, "Some sort of alien cow?"

Quietus set her tumbler down so hard it shattered in her hand.

 

[Aver Brand]

A moue pulled at her mouth as Aver watched tumbler debris explode onto her plate and all over the delicious steak. For once in her life, she’d slowed down her eating pace, and what did that get her? Predictably, a ruined dinner.

She cast her gaze about the table with something that might’ve passed for an apologetic wince in polite society. Wordlessly, Aver offered a napkin to Qui and soldiered on to address the most pressing question in the room.

“Drexl are a species of flying reptilian predators native to Onderon. An average adult is around twenty meters long.” To say nothing of Sevir, of course.

“Excuse me?” The man hadn’t looked away from Quietus, but his earlier mocking expression had been thoroughly wiped off and replaced now by a growing dread. In any other situation, Aver would’ve been delighted to watch this play out, but…

She closed her eyes and bit the bullet.

They’re helping me— Aver looked down in her lap, then slid the datapad over to her mate. I’m trying to build some schools on Nadir, and I need their expertise. Don’t antagonize them, Des.

Please.