First Time For Everything

[Lancer Damar]

"I had one. I destroyed it for identity-concealing purposes."

That was actually true, and slightly joking. He just shredded the paperwork and made sure the landlord wouldn't talk by placing a certain camera at a certain spot when he was doing a certain thing with a certain not-his-wife. His silence was damn near eternal. Something about Zabrak honor or something. Either way, it didn't matter to Lancer. Lancer Damar might as well have never existed outside of a circus act. But Lancer Damar got a serial number and traded his name for black facepaint in the Blackguard. Lancer smiled to himself, before he stood tall and cracked his back. He leaned on the wall, feeling the fatigue taking hold of him.

"I appreciate your concern."

He nodded at her words. He was exhausted and there was no point in staying awake, besides a habit. Lancer made his way to where he was living- or staying, for the time being. He didn't need a guide or direction. He practically memorized the entire layout of the ship already- another oddity of being an assassin. Layouts became similar. Hallways became blueprints that followed a pattern. The ship wasn't much different. He pressed open his door to the berthing, raking his fingers through his hair. He peeled off his shirt and his pants, standing only his compression shorts. He neatly folded his clothes before rubbing his eyes. He laid down on the bed, on his back. He folded his hands on his stomach, and laid the handgun under his pillow after a moment. He crossed his ankles and failed to close the door. If she passed by, she could see the tattoo. Lancer was exhausted and made a mistake.

Let a detail slip. Enough details and someone could form a piece to the puzzle. Enough pieces and you could make the picture. And Lancer had worked very hard on making sure nobody got that picture, or could find a way to get that picture without going through some serious hoops. He made it a point not to have much conversation with the mystery woman. She could've been lying. It wasn't hard for Lancer to lie when he never told the truth, or for that matter- anything.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She didn't take him for the kind to have a home, though she supposed everybody needed a place to retire to every now and then. That's what the 'Bucket was for her, a retreat, though she had met many in the Galaxy who found her attachments to the vessel odd, moreso when they realized she didn't really have any other home.

There's Starpoint she reminded herself, but that homestead back on Jakku was more for show than anything else at this point, in fact she had only been there once since leaving alongside Connor. The reminder of that man made her bristle somewhat, a half-scowl on her expression, before she turned from Lancer and peered out over the galley.

He spoke to her, though she knew he was not expecting any kind of reply, and she heard his footsteps retreat from the communal areas back to the space she had given him. Now came the tricky part for Kyra, since she still had not calculated a real route. Where did they go from here? You could takr him to Jakku, but the traffic there is so poor he'd likely end up hitching another ride. Perhaps somewhere with no ties to Kyra herself. Again Lianna came to mind.

Plenty of business, ships constantly docking and leaving. She gave a slight nod, and turned to wander through the halls toward the cockpit. Upon entering she found Screw hard at work as always.

"Good evening, Mistress!" he chirped, though how he had deduced the time of day she had no idea, "We are, as you requested, currently en route along the Mara Corridor. Is there anything more I can do for you, Mistress?"

She offered him a small smile, though it did little to affect the funny droid, and stepped toward her chair, hands settling over the back of it. She stared at the lines of stars which held the telltale signs of hyperspace, before nodding.

"Lianna" she stated, "That is where we ought to head." The center of the Galaxy, in the eyes of many.

"Of course, Mistress!"

She left him then without another word, her footsteps returning her back to her own cabin. She might have returned to the maintenance suite, to work on one thing or another, but she was as tired as her stowaway had appeared... Rest would no doubt be wise.

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

Sometime a

He usually awoke with the humorous bugle call he set as his alarm. However, this time he awoke to silence. His mind raced, figuring out where he was. Piecing it together rapidly. He slid off the bed, quietly. He was still shirtless, still not strangled, and nobody shot him in his sleep. He considered that a win. He figured the lady wasn't going to kill him now. Maybe keep him as a weird pet and skin him alive and use his organs as funny side-projects for her droids- but maybe not outright murder him. Although the latter would be preferable.

He wandered around the ship, getting the layout. It was modified to the point that it was difficult to guess where things were. Everything looked different, but he eventually found the woman. There was a droid hunkering over something. The map caught his eye, near the droid.

Lianna.

He'd never been.

He turned on his heel. Surely she wouldn't mind him getting something to eat. After all, he was going to drop a fat stack of credits on her and leave her be. He made his way to the mess, after groggily finding his way there. He was silent, as per usual. The assassin had a habit that he couldn't break- but also saved his life on occasion.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

Just a few hours of rest, before her feet returned her back to the cockpit. As Screw hunched over the controls, she resigned herself to a corner of the control room with a small pull-down desk. Various notes, taken on flimsiplast, lay before her, spread out in an unorganized heap. At least, to the untrained eye it was unorganized. The language found upon it was... Not at all legible. It did not make sense, not even a communications droid would be able to make sense of it. Yet Kyra..? With a stylus-like pen in hand she scrawled further words without hesitation, the occasional sigh escaping her lips.

How long had passed since she had first begun? It was difficult to say. Her eyes scanned some of the older sheets, hand still working away at the newest even at times without her glancing to see what it was she was writing. Footsteps seemed to approach, light yet pattering somewhat on the metal, and she lifted her head toward the entry of the cockpit. She barely saw him, just enough to spot some strange mark on his skin. A tattoo of some sort? A brand? She did not know, nor did she look long enough to fully gauge it, instead she flicked her gaze back to her notes, and before she could open her mouth enough to speak he was gone again.

A few more moments passed... And then she rose up, pushing the notes to one side in favour of walking barefoot back through the hall. He was fast, she'd give him that, but she hazarded a guess to his general location. It was 'morning' for them, no doubt he was heading in search of sustenance. That or a shower. She wasn't about to follow him into a refresher, nosiree, so she ventured toward the Galley instead.

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

Wait by the door, crouch low. Knife in hand. Stab at the jugular, upon failure to do so, reattack under the arms, back of knees, and under chin.

That was at least, what he thought about doing.

He instead, turned to look at her. He realized he was shirtless. The lone wolf attitude he had both drawbacks and advantages. The drawbacks were few and far between most days, but being shirtless, and unarmed around a person whom he didn't know, was one of them.

He turned to face her in the doorway. He had gotten some strange looking fruit. He usually ate simple meals, small sustenance based things that did little more than provide him with calories and nutrients. He preferred to horde his money to eat better later in life. Killing people never really made him hungry. He was however, happy to retire on Naboo somewhere, and eat like a fat king for the rest of his life- eventually. Or somewhere quiet like that.

"I was hungry."

Came the gravelly voice, as he dug into the fruit again.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She found him there, stood without a shirt on, munching on a pallie. It was almost amusing to see someone eat it in such a way, she was used to the skin being peeled at the very least, though she did not know why. It wasn't gross-tasting, or poisonous, perhaps it was just one of those things that had become a custom? Whatever, it did not matter in the least.

A few steps brought her toward the galley, and she pulled open one of the refrigerators to pull out a glass bottle of .. something. It was purple, looked a little thicker than water, but not so much so that it would be tough to drink.

"You know... You're welcome to eat anything in the stores," she offered, as she poured herself a drink of the liquid, "Though I don't blame you for going for the pallie, they're one of my favourite fruits." She didn't get to eat fresh food often, it was pointless stocking up on it when you spent ridiculous amounts of time in space, but she was... celebrating? Wrong word for it. In mourning? Also not right. There was some reason for it, she needed it to boost morale. Sure.

"Did you sleep well?" When she turned toward him her eyes instinctively fell back to the tattoo, and she regarded it curiously for a moment. She had no such things herself, except... Well, nobody could see that, it was at the top of the back of her neck, always covered by hair. The less she remembered it, the better. She did not ask any questions regarding it, and shifted her gaze back to his face.

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

He worked out, but not that much. She wasn't staring at him, she was staring at the tattoo. It'd come out eventually, that much he knew. But hopefully she'd do some research on whatever she saw when he was well off her ship and into his own little corner of the galaxy. A deep, dark, ugly corner, where everyone would leave him alone and he could work in peace. Work, being killing people, collecting blackmail- and other nefarious espionage work.

He paused when she asked him if he slept well. All things considered, he did. The bed was comfy and nobody was watching him (as far as he knew). The droids creeped him out, but he was exhausted enough for it to not matter. Lancer blinked, then glanced around the galley. However, the fruit did it's job of sustaining him.

He stared at her for a while before speaking.

"All things considered- I did sleep fairly well."

Another truth. He was telling too much of those to this woman. That made her dangerous. That, and he was beginning to like her. As a person.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She raised one hand to rub the back of her neck, it felt as though the damn thing was crawling, before tilting her head somewhat to the left. Regarding him, not his tattoo or the invisible mask he wore, but the man himself, for a moment or so. So many things she did not know about this stowaway. She knew it was probably safer that way, but it didn't make it any less infuriating.

"I am glad you slept well" she stated, as she turned her back to him to pull some sort of can out of the pantry, her other hand bringing the glass back to her lips, it had taken him a little while longer than expected to respond, no doubt he was chewing over each word before he spoke them aloud. She didn't blame him. Kyra knew she could never live such a way, always second guessing.

"I decided on a destination."

Turning back to him, she gave him a curious expression, before setting the can down on the work surface at her side. "Lianna. Shouldn't be more than a weeks travel at this pace. It's a central hub, from there you should be able to go wherever it is your heart desires. Customs is a bit of a pain, but I can deal with that so long as you let me do the talking."

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

She decided on somewhere to dump him off- a hub world. Customs was a easy thing to mitigate. Palms greased, threats made- simple blackmail and violence was all that you usually needed to bypass most customs agents. The suppressed pistol could even more than likely be passed through. If the woman gave it back to him. Lancer couldn't help but smirk when she mentioned doing the talking. Lancer didn't talk much with strangers- but the assassin could work his way around someone verbally if the job required it.

"My main goal is to kill whoever came after me."

It was a simple statement of fact. Lancer took lives like some people took pain medication. He did it professionally and without remorse. Kyra was right- Lancer picked his words. He had said more to her than he had to people in years. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in the chair.

"Where are you from?"

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She was not at all surprised by the next words out of his lips. A man for hire, was that who she had on her ship? Was that who had so haphazardly attempted to stowaway? Yes... That made sense, actually, especially when added to his odd quirks and sleeping habits, the fact that he seemed to eat without much consideration, when he ate at all that was.

Without really intending to, her gaze shifted toward the tattoo again though this time she was less discreet about the whole thing.

Perhaps she ought to have been unnerved, to stand in the presence of... What? A contracted killer? An assassin? Whatever he was, whatever he was capable of, didn't seem to bother her. Or if it did, with that information out there between them, she did a very good job of hiding it.

"Would you like some tea?" was all she finally retorted, as she put her back to him briefly in order to open up the can - then reached out for a mug or two from one of the cupboards, and began to boil some water. Most preferred caf', but Kyra had always turned her nose up at such for the most part, save for a cup or two here and there. It gave her the jitters.

His question had caught her momentarily off guard, and she allowed herself a moment to contemplate it while she added a little tea and sugar to her mug, and to his if he had asked for some.

"I don't know where I'm from," she finally confessed, "Earliest memories I have are being in space, I was raised by..." She mulled over the word for a moment, before shrugging, "Pirates, I suppose would be the best word for them."

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

He wouldn't, actually. Lancer had a very strict diet, and adding caffeine in any form really screwed with his system. He dismissed her offer politely with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. That, and caffeine didn't agree with his stomach.

Her reaction to his question caught him off guard. He then inferred that she didn't often get asked personal questions much. It was obvious between the two that any information divulged from the pair would be entirely one-sided. Lancer was a brick wall when it came to information regarding himself. In fact- he hadn't even given her a name, and yet, here they were, in her galley, conversing. Maybe she wanted the company. Maybe she wanted a friend.

Or she wanted an assassin in her debt for something later on. The thought crossed his mind that he couldn't trust this woman. He was taking everything at face value, with no real basis in any of the things she said would be truths. Facts and truths were not necessarily the same thing. It was a fact that Lancer was a killer. It was a fact that he had a weapon (in her possession somewhere). It was the fact that she could fly.

But the truth was that he was an assassin, and she was...something. Could have been anything. The part that Lancer was trying to figure out was where she fell in the galaxy, if she fell in anywhere.

"I hate pirates. I hate the way they operate."

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

"You and I both," she retorted, without much thought. She could have gone into more details as to the why of it, the fact that they were scummy, reckless, the way they had treated her, which was in truth better than they treated their prisoners but not by much, but she did not. Instead she finished up her own cup of tea and took a small sip.

Tipping the contents of the can, whatever was inside it, into a dish, she placed it into the microwave-like device and let it do its thing. She could've opted to make something a little more fancy, delicious, but it was one of those days where she felt suspended in time, she preferred to save the better stuff for when she could really enjoy it.

Drumming her fingertips on the counter top, she visibly pondered on something for a moment, before turning her gaze back toward him.

"I've been thinking," she said, after a few more quiet moments, "That at this point, there's little sense in keeping your things from you. You kill me, and you're stuck here floating through space, Screw isn't going to listen to you, Kyne would pounce..." She didn't envy any man who was on the receiving end of the hound, regardless of how much of a puppy he appeared.

"You're a guest, not a prisoner. So..." She offered a very loose shrug of her shoulders, perhaps this was a show of good faith she was going to regret, but truth be told she knew that if he wanted her dead? Well.. Then she'd be dead already. She wasn't stupid. He didn't need a blaster to kill her. "I'll fetch them after lunch."

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

Truth be told, he didn't need the gun to feel safe anymore. The woman herself wasn't exactly a threat- it was she was keeping from him, the hidden details of her life, that worried him. However, he smiled an appreciative smile. It was either a ploy to let his guard down, or a way for her to build some trust with him. Lancer thought of why she hated pirates. Perhaps a vendetta, perhaps the ire of growing up with them. Could be a lot of things. Could actually be nothing, too.

Lancer hated them because they were sloppy, ineffective, and brutish criminals who didn't seek the finer aspects of life. Lancer operated as if he was still in the military, still fighting a war. In a way, he truthfully was. A war against himself. He hadn't moved on from the One Sith collapsing, and it showed.

His eyes locked onto the spacer, as he mused over the One Sith. Lancer moved slowly, each step deliberate as he closed the distance between the two. He wasn't too close, but he wasn't too far either. He touched the tattoo on his chest.

"You've either been looking at how much I work out or my tattoo- would you like to know?"

Something sinister hid behind his emerald eyes.

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She waited for a moment before noticing how he approached her, just a few steps but in a galley of this size it made all the difference. He stopped before he was completely on top of her, and she followed the motion of his hand to look upon the tattoo once again.

It was what he said that surprised her though.

He had been so... Reserved. Quiet. Guarded. Yet now he was willing to open up about a piece of himself? A piece not so easily removed.

Her expression turned momentarily wary, eyes returning up to meet his gaze.

"You definitely look to work out more than most," she quipped, though it was the nerves talking and she barely heard her own words, barely thought on them until they were already out there. Her cheeks turned crimson for a moment, before she took one slight step back.

She wasn't afraid. Atleast, she didn't think she was.

"Yes, I would..."

Part of her hoped she wouldn't live to regret it.

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

His well-calloused hand guided hers to touch the tattoo. It was a ploy, really. A simple one. Either she would stammer and stutter her way, or he'd find out what kind of person she was. If she was bold, if she had desires, or if she was scared of him. If he could manipulate her in one way, or have to use another. If she was capable of these things. Lancer was a calculating, cruel man. But to Kyra- he was just a man, and she was a woman, and he had desires. That was the intent, at least. Part of him wanted it, but the majority of him saw beyond that.

He let her fingertips touch over his skin. The tattoo was faded, only slightly.

"This is the mark of the Blackblades- a member of the One Sith's special forces. Before I became...well, me."

The distance was closed between them. His voice was gravelly. He smelled like carbon and gunpowder- even after using the refresher.

"Does that unnerve you?"

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

She breathed in slowly as the man took her hand with the intent to guide it. Toward his torso, no less, where the tattoo lay. Her gaze faltered, falling down from his to look at the markings as he spoke, she could feel the intent behind his eyes as they set upon her, but she did not recoil or step away, not even when the meaning behind the mark was spoken.

The One Sith?

There was a name she hadn't heard in a while. Then again, Kyra didn't keep on top of Galactic Politics, all she had to know was which planets were to be avoided.

"The Blackblades," she repeated, looking up once again to fix her gaze on his, unwavering; her fingertips ran the length of the mark, tracing it for a moment, before pausing in place. Truth be told she had forgotten that the One Sith placed any trust in the Non-Forcies beneath them, so focused they had seemed on their own superiority. The superiority of their mysterious leader. Best she not voice that.

He stepped toward her, all of the space which had lingered between them now gone, and she caught his scent. It was... Not unpleasant, though she knew that to many it would've been. Kyra couldn't say much, while she was freshly bathed on your typical day she was streaked with grease. Not that it ever bothered her, and not that she had any care what others thought of her.

"No," she stated, when he asked if it unnerved her, and her eyes hardened somewhat, refusing now to leave his, her jaw tightening, "Should it?"

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

"I hold no love for the One Sith, nor any of what they did."

Silence occupied the space between them, for a moment, before he spoke again."Or what I did." Tall, dark, and full of regret. Every woman's dream. Except Lancer was about average height, and the only real distinguishing feature about him was his piercing green eyes, harsh, analytical bright-emerald eyes.

Here the two of them were. This close for the first time.

The killer and the mechanic.

His eyes met hers again, after he was done looking over her figure.

"Only should unnerve you if you were smart."

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

Green met green as her eyes lingered upon his, and the hand which had been lightly tracing the mark finally began to recede away from him.

"Your past means nothing to me, I do not play the great Galactic game. I stick to my 'Bucket, and Kyne..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment, she could feel his eyes traveling over her form, and had to fight to keep the colour from rising in her cheeks. She could feel her heart quicken, though there was neither fear nor excitement held within her... She could not explain it.

What he said next made her shake her head. Perhaps in a different setting it might have been different, but this was her home, the only home she'd ever truly known, and she would not be intimidated by some stowaway. Besides...

"You're not going to kill me," she stated, "You may hurt me, but I can assure you I've had worse. But you won't kill me. I doubt you know how to reprogram droids, and Screw isn't going to listen to you if you give him instructions on where to go. You kill me, you kill yourself, because you'll be stuck out here. We're not on a hyperlane, after all. The likelihood of someone finding the ship is slim to none."

Swallowing for a moment, she resisted the urge to step away from him, and instead remained rooted in place, eyes piercing into his own.

"I'm not afraid of you, whoever you are."

[member="Lancer Damar"]

 

[Lancer Damar]

"You shouldn't be afraid of me, you should be afraid of what I can do."

He remained in place, as firm as she was standing before him. He looked around the room, for just a moment. His went back to hers. He smiled. She was right, he was flying blind and solo. That, and her droid army would probably make mincemeat out of him if he tried anything- or more than likely, after he killed her.

"We all play the galactic game, Kyra. We just choose how big of a piece we want to be on the board."

Green eyes met hers. Locked to each other. Each unwilling to move. An immovable object meeting an unstoppable force.

"So. It's just you, me, the ship, and nothing but time. I don't have many suggestions, but I do have a few ideas."

[member="Kyra Sol"]

 

[Lief]

"Well I'm not" she said, with more conviction this time; she had faced worse than this man and survived. Even when she handed him back his weapon, she doubted he'd be cause for concern. At least, until they reached Lianna. Then it was anyone's guess as to whether he'd let her go without issue, or kill her to eliminate a possible witness.

"And I refuse to be a pawn, and I don't care for playing a larger role. You can play the game all you like, I'll stick to my hyperlanes."

Her gaze fixed up on his, emerald piercing green even more so than before, a confidence rising within her, and an unwillingness to budge. Two stubborn souls at loggerheads... The rock and the hard place, Force help any who got stuck between them.

"You do as you please, I have work to do" she stated, without actually making a move to leave, and truth be told that was kind of a lie. Sure she had to tweak the arm a little more, and there was always maintenance to be done, but nothing that demanded her attention right this very moment. He was in many ways an intimidating presence to host, as simple as his needs were, and she wasn't so certain that things wouldn't turn to violence if they were locked together for too long.

Thankfully the ship was made to host several lifeforms, not just her.

[member="Lancer Damar"]