Extreme Makeover: Home Episodes

[Aver Brand]

Aver didn’t even bother holding back a delighted snort. Phabess shot her an odd look from where he was taking notes on the measurements.

Maybe you shouldn’t have slammed me against that rock then.

She ignored both pairs of eyes on her and picked up a magazine from the stack on the side table.

Real paper? in this age? Few things screamed luxury as loud as the shlick of glossy pages.

And even as her stupid helmet disappeared behind the magazine, that same skull-visor continued to grin at Qui from the cover, posing for an imposing shot under the dark letters of Badass Weekly.

 

[Quietus]

You literally asked for it.

She kneaded silently at the bridge of her nose, eyes closing over a sigh. Why did she bother? Why did she even - was that her smug karking mug on the front of that zine?

The galaxy experienced the hard eyeroll of Desdemona Shamalain it had ever seen, and it had seen quite a few of them in her long lifetime.

"Arms up please - er-" Phabess caught himself mid-sentence, recalling Aver saying the woman couldn't understand basic and was curiously surprised to see her raise her arms up and straight out to the sides. He blinked, side-glanced Aver, then went about measuring again, "Miss Brand is it? Might you two be ... sisters?"

Now it was Qui's turn to snort.

Ok she definitely understood basic.

 

[Aver Brand]

She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud – at Phabess’ flailing commentary; at the shet in the article. Nonetheless—

“Yes, Bess. Scissor sisters, you could say. Or,” and she pointedly turned a page, “as this piece of shet reporter would put it,”

She dragged her voice to the lower register and her eyes from the mix of speculation and blatant lies.

“Gal pals.”

 

[Quietus]

The moment his question entered the open air Quietus made a conscious effort to stare straight forward. Aver would never be able to resist that bait.

...yep.

"Scissor sisters."

There it is.

She tried to keep a straight face, but the woman's sense of humor was as infectious as it was insipid. Qui had to pull her lips in and pinch them in her teeth to stop the grin from growing too wide.

"Gal pals."

Snort. Lost it.

What the fuck are you reading?

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver lifted her brows as she folded the magazine over the finger holding her place. It was a crap article, but sithspit, she was going to see it until the end. “How to Blow Off the Heads and Minds – they forgot dicks – of the Galactic Underworld.”

She clicked her tongue. Phabess looked about ready to sweat through his suit. And wouldn’t that be a sartorial transgression of the highest order?

“A feature on the Equalizers and their two-decade impact on the black economy of the Outer Rim. You know, I feel like everyone always ignores the work we did down in the Unknown Regions. So karking rude.”

The bith streaked his eyes from the merc to the matriarch, then back again. “Er, ma’am?”

“Yes, Bess?”

“I’m, er, done. With the measurements. Would you like… the watches?” He gestured towards the wired display case set against the back wall.

“Sure, in a sec. You two can figure out the color and pattern while I finish this.”

 

[Emryc]

While Phabess anxiously attempted some form of communication with the silent women in figuring out colors (he finally settled on bringing over a lookbook and fabric swatches - old school sales) over the next client fitting area down the silver-skinned man stepped out of his fitting room with a fully custom tailored suit of black. He took a moment before the mirrors while he fastened the jacket buttons to get a look at the finished piece.

There were few things better than a brand new, perfectly-fitted suit, and one of them traipsed out of the fitting room behind him heels clacking and fingers in her tousled hair. She seemed particularly pleased with herself despite her rumpled blouse and crooked skirt seam.

"I'm just going to find the ladies room to ... freshen up. Don't leave without me, Dodger," her laugh was swallowed by the sound of her heels clacking across the tile floor as she trotted off.

Emryc, for all his mettle and steele, turned to tell Phabess to place an order for three more in his usual color selection before his gaze of icelandic blue landed on a painfully familiar suit of armor. Nevermind, he'd tell the sales clerk at the front desk. The man sharply turned and made his way to the front with calm and measured purpose.

 

[Aver Brand]

A gaze of that same icelandic blue met Emryc dead-on. The skull was, well, grinning – being painted on, it could do little else. Regardless, it currently echoed the expression behind the visor perfectly, down to the last sharp tooth glinting in the low light.

“Stay.”

Her voice was level with the din of the station, and yet it cut through the noise like a vibroblade. There was no threat to the command; no mocking undertone; no grin seeping into the solitary word.

Once she had his attention, Aver patiently patted the chair next to her. “Join us for lunch, won’t you? We’re just about finished here anyhow, aren’t we?” Her eyes flicked over to Qui, who had finally settled on her preferred shade of gray among the fifty on display.

 

[Quietus]

No, Qui was not just about finished.

She needed multiple sets of clothing, not just one. What did Aver think she was? A savage?

The mute didn't even bother looking back at the woman, engrossed as she was in the catalog presented to her by Phabess. A casual handwave was her response.

Phabess, on the other hand, seemed to be getting a little sweaty. His eyes bounced between Aver on the couch and Qosta stopping mid-stride on his way to the front desk. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he was.

"Roelle, take care of Mr. Qosta's order would you."

A smaller, female waitstaff hurried over to Emryc, who had yet to turn back towards Aver, and peered up at him somewhat impishly, "Will that be all today, Sir?"

 

[Emryc]

Not too many things in this galaxy that could make Emryc Qosta stop in his tracks while simultaneously wishing a freighter ship would come crashing through the building and take him out on the spot.

A line of granite formed along his jaw, brow setting somewhere between suicide and torture. He sometimes wondered if this was the exact train of thought that went through the minds of his own targets - not that he ever stopped to ask. The man took a slow breath, closed his eyes, and reached into the front breast pocket of his new suit coat.

"Will that be all today, Sir?" the Sales Clerk seemed to shrivel at his movement, wincing for a shot that would never come.

Emryc held out his credit pin, "Yes."

"I'll get that taken care of right away, Sir." and off the Clerk went.

Turning to face Aver Brand was a bit like turning willingly into the heat of a collapsing sun. The woman who was ever so eager to burn those around her and suck them into some nightmarish vortex of inescapable doom. Despite not seeing her in action once in his lifetime, the stories Pa Qosta told could hardly be brushed aside.

Last time he sat down next to the woman he'd been forced into a pit fighting ring followed by a night of merciless debauchery. He tried not to think about it.

Pa would have happily taken that proffered seat and laid on the Qosta love as only he was capable; thick, hairy, and gritty. He could just see it now...

"BRAND! Look at you all karking metal and shine. What a sight for sore old eyes, did you paint that goddamn faceplate yourself? You beautiful, talented queen."

Emryc, on the other hand, would have liked nothing more than to put a bullet through her gleaming forehead...or maybe throw himself into a sarlaac pit.

He sat, eyes forward, one hand on his knee while the other settled on the armrest; a man ready to move at the slightest provocation.

"Don't believe I've ever seen you in a suit."

kark he needed a cigarette.

 

[Aver Brand]

A civilized savage, apparently.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Aver trained her gaze on the grim approach of the Coathanger instead. He’d filled out quite nicely over the years.

Now it was the urge to sigh she was tamping down – if only Qui found it in her barbaric heart to share.

Though granted, between the two of them… a man would be hard-pressed to get out alive. But hey, he was a weird one. Maybe he’d be into it?

All of these thoughts went unheard by Emryc, of course; and ignored by Qui, no doubt.

“You wouldn’t have,” she replied blithely as the man finally folded himself into the chair as if it was his last supper. They weren’t even eating yet. “And since we’re waiting on my lovely associate to…” she waved a hand in the general direction of Phabess and her mate, who were at this point conspiring over a textile catalog, “you still smoke, right?”

It was hardly a question that needed answering. Within seconds they were on the secluded balcony devised precisely for this type of client.

The glass was bullet- and grenade-proof.

(Those who wear bespoke suits on Nadir usually wear them for a reason.)

She offered a Black Label to Qosta without further comment, content to let the smoke swirl into dense plumes between them before words disturbed it again.

“You’re aware Pa is looking to retire, I’m sure.”

 

[Emryc]

It behooved him to ensure that he had his feet before the woman did. To stay one step ahead of the enemy, so to speak. These sorts of dances were common among gang leaders and not knowing the steps typically landed you bleeding out in an alley. Emryc had seen it and given the final flourish plenty before.

He took the offered cigarette and lit up, caught somewhere between unnerved and grateful for the silence. Bit like being caught in a cage with a raltiir tiger that did nothing but sat and stared at you expectantly.

I'll just kill myself and get it over with then, ey?

The statement caught him somewhat off-guard, but he supposed he never really knew what to expect when it came to this woman. He didn't know her like he knew Pa or Archon.

"Yeah," Emryc replied, glancing shortly at her, "he's been saying that for years."

But the man didn't have an heir to his throne. Never had any kids, and no one really expected him to give the mantle to Archon despite how long the man had worked for him. The two were a pair, if Pa went - so did Archie. Pa hadn't deigned to speak to Emryc much beyond the desire to kark off to some satin-and-sun-covered-planet. Emryc passed it off as a welcome to his enemies to try and make him. No one had succeeded in putting the man out in a ditch yet.

 

[Aver Brand]

Pa wasn’t her friend.

“Well.”

He wasn’t even her coworker.

“Only three things are certain in life.”

It wasn’t a business conducive to nurturing deep, loving relationships.

“Taxes…”

That’s why you had to be ahead of the curve.

“...change…”

Anything else might be an insult to the man.

“...and death.”

He’d earned that respect.

“What’ll it be, Qosta?”

 

[Emryc]

One last glance before the silence returned, but it was by choice. Emryc's gaze remained glued on the cityscape horizon while the cigarette continued to shorten. He filled the space between them with smoke instead, deciding on his own that it wasn't a question that required a spoken answer because it wasn't really a question at all.

"Whatcha doin' out here sweetie?" the candy-coated voice of Emryc's companion cut the quiet like a lightsaber through flesh. The woman was petite, curvy, and very much a Zeltron if her rosey skin and hair had anything to say for her, "Catchin a smoke? Did you save some for me?"

She had herself wrapped around his arm, fingers plucking the cigarette from his lips without protest in barely the blink of an eye.

The line of granite along Emryc's jaw visibly softened, no doubt an effect of the woman's pheromones.

"Who's your friend? I like her armor..."

"Miss Brand," he replied, "this is Lena."

 

[Aver Brand]

‘Brand’ tumbled on a half-growl from Qosta’s lips, and Lena suddenly looked ready to choke on the smoke in her mouth.

Aver ignored her.

“You can get back to your whore after we’ve concluded our business.” She tilted her visor down at the girl – couldn’t have been a day over eighteen – and met her wide eyes with the leer of a skull. “Leave.”

 

[Emryc]

Lena frowned, opening her mouth to say something and stopping short at a look from Emryc. The offense couldn't have been more clear if it had been tattooed across her forehead beneath magenta bangs.

"Alright," said Lena, "but I'm taking this with me," and off she went with the cigarette pinched in her lips.

Emryc wasn't looking at Brand, but he was lamenting the loss of his cigarette. The intensity of his posture returned like the tide coming back in after a short reprieve.

"She's not a whore," said the man, his tone level and without ire, "she runs dark web intelligence for Qosta. She's a Slicer."

 

[Aver Brand]

“Wonderful. So you shet where you eat.” It was her turn to set her jaw, and she had over a decade on him in practice – were she without her helmet, someone might’ve even noticed the violent familiarity of their features in that moment.

Alas.

Still, Aver leaned in with a grin that had nothing to do with amusement. “But play your cards right and it’ll be your trough to shet in.”

 

[Emryc]

It probably wasn't the first time someone had said that to him, judging by the twitch of his face. Emryc knew what she meant and heard all the stories from all the people who told him what a bad idea it was. At the end of the day ... he didn't really care.

Because at the end of the day he knew he could pull the trigger.

"Why me."

Seemed a fair enough answer. Of all the people she could have chosen, why the fuck did it have to be him?

 

[Aver Brand]

“Because you’re competent. Because he’s spent the last fifteen years grooming you for this shet. Because you hate this job and you still fucking do it.”

Aver would’ve clapped his shoulder if she didn’t think he’d flich away with a knife in his hand on pure instinct. Nadir-bred folk weren’t so much folk as animals, and even then only a single step away from going rabid with foam at the mouth.

“Because you got a healthy stink of fear,” her voice grew low at the last, dragged down to a gravelly pitch by her helmet. “Now—”

And she stepped back into the cozy shop, hands clapped behind her back and a politician’s spring to her stride, “who’s up for lunch?”

 

[Quietus]

With several outfits chosen and measurements sent in, there wasn't much left to do but get comfortable and ... make new friends. One minute that pretty little Zeltron had sat down on the chair opposite her, Phabess offering up a tray of freshly poured bourbon over ice, the next minute that pretty little Zeltron was snuggled right up next to her, stealing the taste of her drink off her lips.

"who's up for lunch?"

Lena broke away from her new friend to look up at the voice, leaving a dazed and flushed Quietus with one hand on her drink and her other hand on the woman's thigh.

The Zeltron's gaze watched Aver warily before moving to the shadow that stepped back into the shop after her, "Lunch?"

Emryc lofted a brow at the scene, one of his own hands slowly sinking into an outer pocket where his fingers closed around two small vials within. He nodded.

"Yay, how fun. Is this your friend, too? I just love her, she's from Onderon - so exotic. Where do you find these people Sweetie?"

Emryc gently cleared his throat and motioned for Lena to get up with his hand. The woman giggled and hopped off the couch over to him, "Where are we going? I'm starving." Emryc muttered something about Brand's choice before steering Lena to the front to pick up his credit pin and order flimsy.

Qui blinked and seemed to come-to, feeling the flutter of warmth slowly seep from her face. After a few listless moments she looked around to find Aver standing over her with a shit-eating grin she could feel through the mask. Aver, what the fuck?

 

[Aver Brand]

Given her otherwise strong predilection for violence, one might be forgiven for assuming Aver would fly into a jealous rage at the sight.

One would be wrong.

She said nothing while Qosta and his very, very zeltron sidepiece disappeared to the front in a cloud of one-sided banter. Her mouth curled up into something wicked and hungry as she slowly stalked over to a flushed Quietus.

“You’re what the karking me?” Amused brows danced upwards. “All these years you had me believing you didn’t share. Do you want to try?”