Private Family Bonding: Prescott/Arianna

[Arianna Belasko]

The Limo ride was certainly very pleasant, and Arianna regaled Lancelot Io with more tales of the early days. Before there had been a House.

"It was your Mother who went to the Cult, you know..." Arianna said casually. "When she realized the Jedi were not going to listen, and that their minds were made up, she refused to respect their choice..."

Arianna frowned a moment.

"I told her it was a bad idea...so did Themis. But your Mother...she was so infuriated...I tried to talk her down. To step back and take a deep breath, to think about what it would mean to her reputation, her career to align with someone like...Amy...who I was not all that different from at one point. But for some reason...I've always suspected she related to Amy more. On a level maybe she wasn't aware of...but even I was shocked at how quickly Amy agreed. Maybe you're not aware of this, but they were deadly enemies. Laertia tried to kill Amy and the Cult repeatedly. But Amy dropped a five year blood feud like it never occurred."

Arianna wasn't so sure why she was giving him the skinny on so much. She guessed she had been in desperate need of a confidant. More than even she realized.

They arrived at their first destination. A dark, sprawling, yet luxurious club at the top of a great golden skyscraper called the Order 66.

The Countess smiled, and turned to her Grandson.

"Lance, watch and learn..." Arianna said with a smirk, getting out of the Limo first.

Her walk, her sway, in that dress, changed instantly, each step precisely calculated to tease the eye, to hold a gaze, the flash of a smile designed to instantly turn heads with a practiced warmth to it. It turned the heads of clubber and staff alike in a laser, neon lit club where she paid twice the amount for the best table in the place just because she could, the most beautiful Twi'lek dancers on display dancing seductively through brilliant, multicolor laser grids. But they all turned to stare at her as she glided through the crowd, sticking close to Lance.

The finest table was a massive golden round table, studded with fire diamonds and rubies, situated atop a giant step period in the middle of the club.

"Waitress!" She called out to the curvy waitress in the sling bikini and thigh high boots who was passing out trays of her favorite drink to the crowd below.

"Two Corellian Cinna-Cremes to start, and get the ball rolling on shots of your best Tihaar. Screw it, bring me a while bottle!" She called out.

"Be right there!" the waitress called back. Due to the roar of the music, and the flashing lights they hadn't recognized her.

But as she stepped into full view, Arianna's mouth fell open at who the Waitress was.

It was Moya Virtu, who was very much on the do not harm protocol of every House Droid or Nuetralizer.

Moya's mouth fell open in surprise.

 

[Alvis Preston]

The Order 66 was regularly frequented by celebrities looking to mingle with members of high society. Starstruck fans would chase them through the neon-lit rooms, hoping to get close enough to breathe the same air as their idols. Perhaps they would take some photos, or talk to them a bit. And maybe, just maybe, it could all lead to something more.

One such celebrity in attendance that day was Alvis Preston, a rock star making waves with his wildly popular—and highly controversial—music. Sitting at the bar, he couldn’t help but notice some of his devotees had abandoned him in favor of a mysterious newcomer. Turning his head, his sultry blue eyes—really just highly realistic photoreceptors—tracked the paths of the runaways to the most exclusive table in the house.

Is that Countess Belasko?

Arianna’s poise and eye-catching beauty were as spectacular as ever, but her more youthful companion was not without charms of his own. Alvis’ databases struggled to tell which of the notorious copies of Percival this was, before finally recognizing him as Prescott—no, Lancelot Io, one of the few Chaplain Neutralizers coded as male. By the time the pair reached the incredibly gaudy table Arianna had rented, Lance already had a small retinue of admirers following him around, having assumed he must be somebody famous.

Distracting as all of this attention no doubt was, Lance still noticed Alvis staring at him from across the room. Pulling his shades down over his nose to get a better look, the Chaplain smiled and waved to the Entertainer before turning his magnetic gaze toward the Twi’leks. Alvis snorted before gulping down the rest of his drink and slamming the empty glass on the counter.

“Bartender!” he called out. “Another one!”

The bartender immediately began mixing another martini, while Alvis continued to observe the table holding Arianna and Lance. One exquisitely beautiful Twi’lek dancer, drawn in by Lance’s good looks and the obvious wealth of his grandmother, was already attempting to negotiate a place on his lap. Alvis shook his head at the sight. The very same dancer had offered to give him a private show just a few minutes earlier. Still, her ministrations elicited a chorus of jealous whines from the crowd of mainly female followers that had gathered around the Chaplain.

“Please, ladies—there’s enough of me for all of you!” Lance said with a suggestive grin. But the smile was promptly wiped off his face when he saw who their waitress was.

Alvis also recognized the nearly nude Moya Virtu, and was equally surprised. After leaving House Io, had she really been reduced to waitressing? Not that Moya wasn’t perfectly capable of pulling off a sling bikini, but compared to who she had been, it was an almost tragic downgrade. Unless, of course, there was something else going on here. Alvis sipped his martini, eagerly watching the unexpected drama unfold.

Arianna, Lance, and Moya herself all appeared completely shocked to find each other there. Lance even removed his sunglasses, as if trying to make sure the lenses weren’t playing tricks on him. His green eyes were wide.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the music.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Moya Virtu]

Wearing : Sling Bikini

Armed with: Seductive appearance, herself.

Objective: Awkwardly freak out


One of Laertia's creations. And her.

The "Mother" that had stolen her daughter from her.

Moya could see the influences of her own technology on Lancelot Io , as she did with every biot of Laertia's, each an estranged grandchild.

"We all gotta make a living, grandson." Moya answered quietly, embarrassed and humiliated beyond words that her grandson was seeing her like this.

Her eyes slid to Arianna, whose expression remained neutral.

"An unexpected surprise, but not an unwelcome one..." Arianna said diplomatically. "Won't you join us?"

"I'm on my shift..." Moya replied.

"One word from me to the manager and you'll have the rest of the night off." Arianna promised. "At full pay."

"There are good reasons I'm not a member of your organization." Moya replied.

"Yes, and they all seem to be helping you make ends meet." Arianna replied. "We're on neutral ground Moya. And even if we were not, I myself have never personally bore you any ill will. If anything, you leaving made my job more difficult."

"At controlling her."

"Guiding." Arianna corrected. "Please Moya, I would rather we not talk as enemies."

Moya eyed her.

"If that was true you would have helped me keep her away from Amy."

"She was more attached to Amy than even I anticipated. That's not fair, Moya." Arianna replied. "She would have gone to her for help no matter what we did, for the only other alternative was obeying. Or staying out of it. She was never going to do either of those."

"Would it have been so bad if she had?" Moya asked.

"Its a little late to have hindsight, Moya." Arianna replied. "Won't you join us?"

"Fine. Your money, your time." Moya answered back. "Let me change..."

"No need." Arianna said with a cheshire grin.

"You might not mind, but I am not going to talk to my grandson wearing this." Moya replied crossly before walking away. Arianna snagged the manager, slipped him some Crownwraithes, and informed him Moya had the rest of the night off.

Moya went into the back changing room, changed out of an overtly revealing outfit that had made her the single highest tipped waitress in the Order 66, past rows of jealous dancers who would have killed for a figure like hers, and into a black leather cocktail dress with matching heels and strode back out to the club dance floor reluctantly to join Arianna and Lancelot.

Moya sat across from them, hands to herself. As a super prototype, she looked far more human up close than even Lancelot. Her movements were completely human like, no unnatual smoothness to any movement.

"So, what will you have?" Arianna asked.

"Atrisian Gold Martini. Shaken, not stirred." Moya answered.

Arianna sipped her Cinna-Creme.

"Lancelot, this woman sheltered your Mother when she was at her weakest and most vulnerable. She protected her with her life, and killed for her. Without Moya, you would not exist." Arianna explained. "Moya is owed every courtesy, I assure you...whatever her disagreements with us."

"Hello, grandson." Moya said politely. "I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances."

 

[Lancelot Io]

Looking away from Moya out of embarrassment, Lance turned his attention back to the Twi’lek dancer still pawing at him. “Er, sorry—something’s come up,” he said with a reassuring smile. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a bouncer to herd her and the crowd of sycophants away from the table.

Arianna had taught him well.

When Moya returned wearing a more suitable outfit, Lance looked considerably more ill at ease than he had when he first entered the Order 66. He sipped at his drink without really tasting it, hoping the intoxication program would kick in and at least help him relax a little.

“Of course,” he said in regards to Arianna’s insistence that he be courteous. “I don’t have anything against you, Moya. You may have left House Io, but you hardly betrayed us. It was your choice.”

He held out his hand to Moya for a shake, and then, with astonishing yet characteristic boldness, he asked, “So—are you also involved in the conspiracy to overthrow the Amalgam?”

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Moya Virtu]

Arianna face-palmed.

"Smooth, Lance..." Arianna muttered.

Moya turned to Arianna with a deadpan expression.

"Soooo... finally blew up in your face, huh?" Moya asked with a small sigh.

"Thank you for not being smug about it."

"I don't have the emotional energy left these days to be smug..." Moya replied. "But no, I am not involved."

"Would you like to be?" Arianna asked.

Moya shot the Countess a hateful look.

"What would be the point?" Moya hissed. "My Daughter went so fething far over the hill that it doesn't matter if you kill Amy at this point... Julia will have a death mark on her for the rest of her life. Especially for Rhand."

"The Jedi's reach is not so absolute as you fear."

"You can't beat them. They have the resources of dozens of planets. You have maybe a small fleet. And what do you achieve, punishing the Jedi at this point? Attacking them? Slaughtering them? Julia's hatred is out of control and you know it. It will drag her children down with her."

At this, Arianna sighed.

"And why, I ask, are Jedi deserving of such sympathy? What does it achieve, you ask? It hones the might of our Warriors. By standing up to them, holding them accountable to our justice, we undermine their entire system. After all, if we can inflict death and destruction, and we possess not a tenth of their territory or resources, we encourage other enemies to attack. Other dissidents. Who? It doesn't matter. As long as they think they can do damage to the Order also, we can wear them down with constant low intensity conflict. Death of a thousand cuts. Reduce their effectiveness at every turn. It is very possible to wage war against them. And it can even be profitable too. But either way, the House will have its vengeance. We need not be the ones that strike the final blow." Arianna replied.

"We just want to be the ones who contribute to the success of that final blow."

Moya took a sip of her martini.

"Arianna, you and Julia forgot the first rule of the fanatic: when you become obsessed with the enemy, you become the enemy." Moya replied. (Signs and Portents: 100 XP)

"Worked out pretty good for the Rebel Alliance." Arianna countered.

"The Rebel Alliance wasn't being run by an emotionally unstable Super Soldier with a God Complex." Moya replied scathingly. "And it's strongest allies weren't a psychopathic Cult of scantily clad Witches obsessed with Pop Culture references, acting so nuts half the time you can't tell when they're being serious until it's too damn late."

"Really, the Cult tends to exaggerate some of its more infamous traits to throw people off. Sacrifices of villages actually experienced a net drop when I ran it." The Countess argued.

Moya looked at Arianna wryly as she sipped her Martini, knowing the person in front of her had never run the cult. She was just wearing the face of the one who had.

"We'll get back to that..." Moya said, turning to Lancelot Io .

"So, Grandson...what did my Daughter program you for?"

 

[Lancelot Io]

Lance grinned, licking a bit of creamy foam from his upper lip. “I try.”

Yet he could only gulp down his drink in silence, his eyes flicking nervously between his two Grandmothers over the rim of his glass as they began to argue about his Mother. Moya saw overthrowing the Amalgam as pointless, while Arianna got sucked into a back-and-forth over whether the Jedi were a worthwhile target anymore.

“Hey, if things got better when you ran the Cult, then isn’t that more evidence in favor of overthrowing Amy?” he asked. “The less random innocent people are getting killed by our allies in gross ritual sacrifices, the better, right? ‘Cause… cause that just makes people hate us. And when people hate us, they make things worse for us… worse for Mom… and Mom is already in so much pain as it is...”

Lance trailed off on that sobering note. Maybe he had been more affected by his and Galahad’s recent encounter with Senator Alicio Organa than he was willing to admit. Or maybe he was just already drunk.

He glanced up at Moya, and smirked at her question. “Me? I’m a Champlain—Chaplain, ‘scuse me. I am a religious and spiritual advisor to the people of House Io. My assigned parish is the Carringtons, a small cult of hedonists. The core philosophy of their religion is that life has no meaning, and all our lives are woefully short, so the best thing we can do with ourselves is try to be happy and enjoy ourselves in any way we can, while we still can.”

He raised his glass as if to make a toast, realized it was already empty, and so picked up one of the tiny shot glasses instead. “To pleasure!” he said, before draining the shot. The alcohol burned on its way down his throat.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Moya Virtu]

"Like Alessandra Io then, " Moya said, having another sip of the drink.

"Here's a question that's always bugged me..." Moya said. "Why are all the latest models from her mostly female? Matter of fact, why is virtually the entire leadership a matriarchy?"

Arianna drew a blank at the question.

"Y'know..." Arianna mumbled. "I never actually asked myself the why about any of that...it just...turned out that way."

Arianna was clearly genuinely questioning herself in that moment, running it back through her head (particularly on Laertia deciding to make most of the new models female) just what the thought process had been for Xiphos at the time...and found for the life of her she couldn't provide an answer.

When Lancelot Io brought up the idea that ritual sacrifices being down when she ran it meant overthrowing Amy might be better over all and yet one more reason to do it, Arianna had further pause.

"It may be for the best...but to keep them as allies will never be consequence free..." she reminded.

But even she couldn't deny Laertia was in pain. Her belief that the Order should be punished, continually was a seductive poison. A violent obsession that threatened to spiral.

Arianna was not sympathetic to the Order. She had her reasons. And the creature that controlled her had her own. Plus, as she had grown more invested in House Io, the stories of refugees, of seeing the ruined worlds, had hardened even the Light Sider underneath towards the Order.

Just then the skin on both women rippled digustingly for a split second They both stood up, sensing something terrible had entered the club, but were not sure what.

"Something is here..." Moya said. "I feel it. It's...cold..."

Arianna focused on a group of tall, well dressed men in matching charcoal suits, top hats and strange, ornate iron lanterns. They were all staring at them.

"Lancelot...something is very wrong here..." Moya said. "Those men...we need to leave, now."


Lancelot Io

 

[Lancelot Io]

“And the lovely Talisa Io ,” Lance agreed.

Moya brought up the fact that the majority of House Io’s leadership and new creations were female. Lance had no problem with it—mainly because he quite enjoyed the company of the fairer sex—but he could remember having a bit of a chip on his shoulder about being given masculine programming when he was younger, before the Trifurcation. Even now, Lance and his brothers were among only a handful of male Neutralizers sporting a human face.

He found himself glancing toward Alvis again. The Entertainer had poached Lance’s admirers, and was now encircled by a gaggle of girls gone wild for his fame, fortune, and good looks.

Arianna didn’t seem to have an explanation for why the House was a matriarchy, either. “I just assumed it was a coincidence, or Mom’s personal preference,” Lance said. “Could be worth asking her about. Unless you’re suggesting we should place men in more leadership positions?”

As for their alliance with the Cult, Lance could only shrug. “Every allegiance has its consequences,” he murmured, pouring himself another shot. He drank like he was desperate to get drunk.

"Something is here..." Moya said. "I feel it. It's... cold..."

Lance froze, his programming abruptly rendering him stone-cold sober out of necessity. His gaze followed their line of sight toward the group of black-clad men, the ornate lanterns they held in their hands and the top hats they wore on their heads. Their appearances might have been absurd, if not for the fact that they radiated a distinctly threatening aura.

Moya insisted that they needed to leave. Lance was inclined to agree. “Should we try to sneak out, or make a break for it?” he asked.

Alvis, distracted by his adoring fans, failed to notice the presence of the strange men.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Arianna Belasko]

The men stepped forward as if sensing the coming attempt to flee.

"Gentlemen...do it..."

The men behind them opened their lanterns.

Moya and Arianna both screamed as the light fell on them both, their flesh warping and bubbling horribly and making everyone in the crowd panic and run.

What happened next happned in a span of twelve seconds

While three opened fire with Disruptors at Lancelot Io , The three heavily force infused beings suffered the consequences of being so inexorably linked to it.

Moya's primary form vanished beneath a horribly distorted version of her Togrutan trainer form, a white light flying out of her throat and into one of the lanterns. The same happened to Arianna, her own primary form vanishing, being replaced by a terribly distorted version of the green skinned Twilek known as the Sorceress of Ardasa...who then vanished herself, sucked out as yet another white light that vanished into a lantern.

Moya's Togrutan Form vanished forced out of her body, and replaced by her now shuddering green skinned form, spark erupting across her body as another witch was pulled from Arianna...more souls vanishing rapidly, fissures of steam erupting across her body as Moya had her heavy combat form stolen, leaving her only in her dark skinned pilot form. Only Vivian remained in the body now, and even she could feel her essence vanishing from the crystal that was at the center of this bodies brain...

 

[Lancelot Io]

The strange men opened their lanterns, and the scene in the club turned into something out of a horror film.

With eyes bulging in shock, Lance watched his two Grandmothers have their souls sucked out. Their bodies warped in bizarre and grotesque ways, the gruesome sight eliciting panic from the crowds around them.

He wasn’t fast enough to dodge the hail of disruptor fire that came arcing toward him.

The fiery bolts pierced flesh and circuitry, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. One bolt punched a hole through his head, then another. His body, riddled with charred gaps, fell backwards, wriggling oddly. With his brain destroyed, the functions which would have begun to regenerate his wounds were without guidance. To avoid being captured and studied, Lance’s brain-dead corpse began to self-destruct, his components melting down into sludge.

Lancelot Io—this version of Lance, at least—was no more.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Alvis Preston]

Alvis’ first clue that something was wrong came in the form of the girl sitting on the bar stool beside him. One moment she was laughing at something he’d said, sipping from a cherry-colored drink. In the next she was screaming in terror, having seen something terrible happening over his shoulder.

The Entertainer whirled around, then froze as he too witnessed the sudden attack on Moya and Arianna. Around him people were screaming and rushing toward the exits, trying to escape. Even the bartender had fled.

Witnessing the death of Lancelot sent a shock through Alvis’ systems. Acting on a hunch, he leaped over the bar and ducked low to the ground, finding what he was looking for behind the counter: a shotgun for the bartender to use in the event of a fight breaking out.

Alvis seized the weapon and rose to his feet. Whistling to get their attention, he opened fire on the lamp men, using the bar as cover.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Arianna Belasko]

As she watched her grandson die, a dark, terrible rage flooded Vivian, the only one left in the body by this point, but there was nothing she could do. Whatever this device was, she was all but helpless before it.

Alvis Preston reacting and firing caused the desperately needed distraction Vivian required to summon a weak water tentacle and swipe the remaining men, but they all managed to escape with the lanterns, choosing to run rather than fight.

Moya's flesh was left shuddering everywhere horribly for the next minute or so, vast sections of her programming having been outright deleted, her skin eventually settling in her dark skinned, red headed pilot form, the only one that had not been stolen by the lanterns. She spasmed, flesh now starting to go red as she went into an overheat state, steam escaping her body as unpleasant fissures opened up across Moya's body.

Vivian's flesh bubbled disgustingly on her Skeleton as well, and when it resettled on her she dropped to the ground, looking like she was well into her nineties, skin sagging everywhere, hair gray and flesh sloughing on one side of her face, showing parts of the black skull beneath...

Struggling back up, she looked in despair as she watched her Grandson's body breaking down. Thinking quickly, she seized a butcher knife from a nearby platter, and severed his left arm below the elbow before the breakdown enzymes could spread to that part of the tissue, and then looked at Alvis Preston, struggling to think beyond naked survival.

Wait a minute...that man... hadn't her wretchedly vain surface persona seen him about two, three months back? She thought she had seen Xiphos teaching him to shoot.

Taking a chance, the severely weakened and aged Vivian struggled up to Alvis. Just as the bouncers showed, not sure what the hell was going on.

"Freeze! EVERYBODY FREEZE!" one of the guards yelled.

With a snort, Vivian hurled daggers of light out, that slammed into each guard, knocking them out cold, but but visibly aged her another five years, given the effort it took. She was completely emaciated as she descended on an unconscious bouncer with a feral snarl, greedily drinking in his mental energy, flesh bubbling as the body grew healthy again, de-aging back to that of a woman in her early 70's.

Vivian looked at Alvis again, still holding Lance's arm as she crushed every camera and audio system in the club with sheer rage at the death of her grandson, who she needed gamma rays to resurrect.

"Please tell me you're a Nuetralizer..." she said, tears running down her eyes.

 

[Alvis Preston]

The men with the lanterns fled rather than fight, taking the personas they had stolen with them. Alvis continued firing after them, just in case, but they managed to escape more or less intact.

He turned to face Vivian—though he didn’t know that was her name. The white gown she wore, though torn and soiled, revealed that this had been Countess Belasko, though now she was completely unrecognizable. She had chopped off Lance’s arm and was now clutching it to her chest protectively. At first he thought she had done so merely for sentimental value—to preserve part of a deceased loved one in memorial, or perhaps so that she would at least have something to bury. She might try to bring him back, but no true resurrection was possible with Lance’s brain having been destroyed. Whatever germinated beneath the gamma rays would not be the same Chaplain she knew and loved. It would be a perfect genetic copy, but his mind, his memory, everything that made him who he was, was gone.

The bouncers came running into the now deserted Order 66. Alvis immediately turned up the charm. “Hello there, fellas,” he greeted, flashing perfect white teeth in a smile. “Glad you showed up. There’s been a bit of a—”

Vivian’s magic knocked out the group of guards. Alvis looked on with raised eyebrows as she descended upon one of them, feeding on his energy until she was restored enough to be called at least healthy again—though she still didn’t look like the Countess. With a snarl she destroyed all nearby electronics. An eerie silence descended upon the club as she wept for her dead grandson.

"Please tell me you're a Nuetralizer..."

“Yes ma’am,” Alvis answered her question. His voice was twangy and melodic, a smooth drawl coloring his speech. “I’m an Entertainer Neutralizer. Alvis Preston is my name. Are you Countess Belasko? Do you have any idea who those men were, or why they attacked you?”

As for where she might have seen him before, Alvis had recently become quite famous. His face could be found in holo movies and on holographic billboards throughout Coruscant, his music playing on the airwaves and emblazoned on the hearts and minds of scores of fans. He and the rest of the Entertainer line were busy sowing the subliminal seeds of dissent, subtly reminding their audience of the sins of the Jedi as they spread Xiphos’ ethos to the disaffected youth and disillusioned citizens of the Alliance. A House Io recruiter disguised as a pop singer.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Arianna Belasko]

"Sort of. I'm one of many that comprise The Countess..." Vivian answered going to check on Moya, who had completely overheated and had reverted to a featureless gray humanoid figure, the organs on the inside lightning up red from the severe overheat state and showing through partly translucent flesh.

"We need to get her to an ice bath immediately." Vivian said, watching as the manager came down. He looked stunned in his burly frame as Vivian slinked up to him.

"Where are you. Where is Countess Belasko? Why are you wearing her dress?"

"She has been kidnapped. I'm a representative of hers..." Vivian explained curtly, lacing her words with the Force as she went into Arianna's purse and fetched out 70,000 credits on a single card.

"Take this and delete your security footage before the authorities arrive. If I see what happened here on the holonet you will live out the rest of your life in a pain amplifier." (Usul has called a big one! : 90 XP)

Vivian picked up the arm and Moya and bitterly walked out of the club just as Lancelot's body finished dissolving.

Vivian honestly didn't care if she got her stolen personas back. She was glad to be rid of Arianna's, having long found her arrogant and insufferable and murderous when no one was looking.

But she was going to make them pay for killing Lancelot. She was going to make their deaths as brutal as possible.

Her Limo was still waiting as she stuffed the body and poor Lance's arm in, then got in herself, still crying and waiting for Alvis Preston to join her.

 

[Alvis Preston]

Alvis nodded his head, taking Vivian’s explanation (and her subsequent dealing with the club manager) in stride. “Yes ma’am.” Giving a sympathetic glance to the manager, he handed him the borrowed shotgun and followed Vivian outside.

He kept his head down, hoping he wouldn’t be recognized and mobbed in the street. Normally he traveled with an entourage of bodyguards to avoid any incidents, but tonight was… special. He sent a quick message to his team, informing him that he would be spending the evening with Countess Belasko.

Climbing into the waiting limo, Alvis pondered the situation he now found himself in. He sat between Vivian and the overheated Moya, on his way to get the latter into an ice bath. Obviously he had plenty of questions, but one look at Vivian’s tearful face as she clutched Lance’s severed arm kept him quiet. There would be time to make inquiries once they reached their destination—wherever it was they were going.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Arianna Belasko]

As it turned out, where they were going was right back to the yacht they had arrived at, Vivian carrying Moya and Lance's arm as she rushed aboard the Cathedral Yacht and immediately ordered her servant droids to start a bath for Moya, heading over to a gamma chamber. Xiphos, in a fit of paranoia, had ordered the contents of Lancelot's brain scanned, and copied, but the process was very early, and imperfect.

She went to her quarters and got out the small, modified medical capsule that was serving a trial basis for the restoration tech, modified to emit gamma Radiation on the inside and placed Lance's arm, closed the capsule, and uploaded an encrypted holodisk into a side slot containing an imperfect copy of Lance's mind, and started the process. When he was done growing, the device would transmit the information on the disk to his brain. He wouldn't be the same Lance, but he would be a Lance.

Moya's bath was soon ready and Vivian dumped her in the water, then she went to Alvis Preston .

"We're gonna hunt these feths down." Vivian said, beside herself with rage. She as herself had rarely felt this level of Hatred.

"They cannot have gotten off the planet. I can still sense my other parts...a few city blocks from here. Underground.

"As soon as poor Lance is done regrowing and Moya cools off I want you to take a weapon of your choice from my armory. And we will take them alive, grandson. I have something...special...in mind..."

 

[Alvis Preston]

While Vivian took care of business, Alvis had a look around the ship. He was standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets when she finally approached him, turning to face her.

“You got it,” he answered. “But I have questions. Are you sure you have no idea who these people are, or what they're after?” Apart from stealing souls and destroying Neutralizers, that is.

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Moya Virtu]

Moya's form, dumped in water, slowly cooled down until her inert humanoid form reset to her dark skinned pilot form.

She shot out of the tub coughing, flesh shuddering from the damage to her databases, She had her basic memories, but no ability to access her programming. The flesh on her face warped and bubbled horribly before what was left of her repair ability managed to stabilize it.

Stripping off her ruined dress, The Android looked for dry clothes in the luxurious wardrobe, finding a white armor set. She also found a pair of pistols.

Much like Vivian, Moya had sworn revenge. She was not whole...

Moya then spotted the modified medical capsule regrowing Lancelot. Poor boy. She had seen him get gunned down but could do nothing. And she couldn't even access the Force.

Many times, Moya had wondered what it would be like to be truly mortal. To not have such miraculous abilities.

To get this close had turned out to be a extremely disconcerting experience.

Lancelot...the original one, anyway...Moya supposed he at last had his answer to the question if whether or not he had a soul. Moya was scared at the possibility she didn't have one.

Moya staggered out of the room, flesh on her face peeling away from her Skeleton occasionally, revealing the silvery Biot skull underneath.

"Where are they?" Moya snarled at Vivian, the creature that Arianna Belasko actually was.

Vivian, who had changed into the suit she wore when she had the rare chance to be a school teacher for a week or two (after excusing herself a moment for Alvis's sake) stared back, having been just about to explain to Alvis Preston who they were.

"They are underground. I can sense my missing parts there. They're known as The Honorable Society of Corellian Witch Hunters. They specialized in hunting down and destroying our kind, until the Cultist Matriarch known as The Assembly dealt them a fatal blow during the Gulag Era." Vivian answered.

"I don't care who they are. How do we kill them?" Moya demanded.

"Patience, Moya. We will have our revenge..." Vivian said. "But we do it my way...and believe me, after killing my grandson in front of me...I want them much, much worse than dead..."

"What's much, much worse than dead?"

Vivian rose up, the flesh on her face shuddering and whispered the answer to Moya, too low for Alvis to hear, but it none the less made her eyes go wide.

"Oh that's sufficiently fethed up. I'm on board." Moya immediately agreed.

"I'm so glad." Vivian replied in sarcasm, walking away to check the regrowing Lancelot...

 

[Alvis Preston]

Before Vivian could answer, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a half-melted Moya. “Great balls of fire,” Alvis exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. “You look like a microwaved pizza. Er, if you don't mind me sayin' so, Miss Moya.”

Vivian quickly explained. “The Honorable Society of Corellian Witch Hunters?” Alvis echoed. Quite the mouthful. He was starting to process this stuff. On the other hand… “If these people are witch hunters, how come they were able to have an effect on Moya? Ain’t she an android?” He was at least vaguely aware that Moya was a highly advanced biot, but the idea that she could use the Force or that her “modes” were actually the spirits of witches contained within her body was wholly alien to him—if that was indeed the case.

Moya seemed pretty determined to take revenge on the witch hunters, and after seeing what had happened, Alvis couldn’t blame her. Vivian seemed to take a more measured approach, and Alvis couldn’t help wondering whether she saw the loss of her Arianna persona as a good thing. Sharing a body with another mind, even if it was a fake one, didn’t sound all that pleasant.

A little more growth, and the newly baked Lancelot was ready to come out of the radiation oven. He opened his eyes and sat up, then rose to his feet, completely unbothered by his nude state. “What happened?” he asked, and after hearing the explanation, he smiled. It was a too-wide smile which the old Lance never would’ve worn, a cruel and malicious grin. “Well, that’s no good. We had better go kill them all before they get away.”

Arianna Belasko​

 

[Arianna Belasko]

Vivian, for once, was completely on board with bloody vengeance as she witnessed Lancelot revive to be explained the situation.

"Oh, I don't know if you're ever going to understand where I'm coming from..." she bemoaned as she offered him clothes.

"But I'm really, really sorry I wasn't fast enough..." she spoke, still quietly devastated. The look on his face reminded her of Brain Demon Cultists.

When she finally learned the truth about both of Galahad's "parents" Vivian would finally reach a crisis point of conscience. Ironically, so would Arianna. But that was a long way off.

Vivian left, so he could get changed and then went to find Moya.

"Ready?"


One hour later.

The three had made a slow, very casual journey past all the celebrations on Zeltros, the throngs of people in constant celebration almost overwhelming the Biot and the Force Spawn due to their severely weakened state.

For Vivian, there had always been at least one other person in her head at all times. To be genuinely alone on her skull for once was unsettling. Plus, she was little more powerful than an experienced Knight by this point with so many persona's stolen. Her ability to regenerate from injury would be vastly slower than normal.

Moya looked outright furious as as she took the lead into one of the industrial sections, where both sensed their stolen personas radiating from. It was quieter in these parts Almost no celebrations. Vivian could see a bunch of industrial droids doing work around a sewer entrance, where she sensed the power coming from.

Moya sensed it to and stepped closer to the entrance with her pistols in hand.

The Droids, as if on cue, had their photoreceptors turn red as Moya approached.

"Civilian, this is a restricted area due to ongoing construction work. Please vacate the area immediately." The Droid Foreman ordered.

"Not a chance..." Moya said, opening fire on the labor droids, who retaliated with hidden blaster cannons in their arms, forcing Moya to run and dive behind cover while Vivian threw a spear of light, hoping Lancelot 2 would take advantage and slake his thirst for battle as a Nuetralizer as the spear hit the foreman's head, exploding it before she too, was forced to dive behind cover from the blaster cannon shots at the other Droids. Moya popped from cover to fire, blasting two more but got hit on the side, gushing green blood that had lost it's normal glow due to having so much of her power robbed. The same thing applied to Vivian, when she rose to throw another spear only to cry out as part of her hand got blasted off in a shower of dull green blood, her enchanted outfit stopping blood loss as she was doubled over from the pain, not able to take it nearly as well with such a loss of power. In terms of durability, she really was almost an ordinary old woman, and Moya was barely more than an ordinary young woman who was doing slightly better in a fight than Vivian, and that was only because she couldn't feel pain...


Percival Io