Hang'em All

[Lassiter]

This night was different. Different when compared to the nights that had preceded it the last few months before the woman had taken to assassinations and other jobs that actually rewarded her for doing what she’d like to think she did best. Maybe it was just a sudden case of spontaneous nostalgia, or perhaps it was the fact that the man that had been sitting all night in the corner looked loaded in more ways than just the one. Sena had checked him all night and the way that he had partied by himself. Those were the targets she usually set her sights on before, the ones that had at a point in time been her bread and butter, and quite literally so. It was what had kept her fed when all else failed to put food on her table.

The man got out of his seat and so did Sena. She watched him from across the room as he staggered haphazardly towards the exit. The bartender gave him a look of disgust, the bouncer gave him the firm latch at his arm and tossed him out the door before the cantina closed for cleaning and to let the day-shift workers report in. Sena followed not too far behind and gave the bouncer a feigned smile of appreciation. He tilted his head in a farewell and she went on her way, the smile fading from her lips and being replaced with a frown the second she stepped out of sight. A glance was shot out at the man before her as her hand began patting against the surface of her jacket to make sure the knife she had on her at all times were still there.

It was.

Good.

The girl closed her eyes and felt the winds blow within her mind, whispers hissing of what they knew was about to happen. Some of them cautious, others excited, all of them aboard with it. It drove her forward. There were times when they weren’t aboard, there were times when they acted against each other and when the winds turned into a storm that wouldn’t quiet.

During these hunts the voices were always silent.

She liked the silence.

She had to appease them to keep them silent.

This was who she was and this was who she would remain. She had tried so many times to get them to be quiet, but they never were.

The man entered an abandoned alley, threw a few quick glances around before he began to ‘alleviate the burdens of drinking.’ The girl grimaced and the voices all hissed in disgust, but they knew that once he was done she’d have the best opportunity to strike. Sena prepared herself for the struggle.

This was who she was, and this was who she would remain.

[member="Eshtaol Hyde"]

 

[Eshtaol]

For once in her life, Eshtaol was enjoying doing something mundane. Mundane because she was contentedly killing time by lounging in a pleasantly well-stocked cantina - and enjoying herself because this was no longer the most exciting pastime available to her, because this was no longer all her life had to offer. When she had been suitably relieved of her stress and appetite, she could return to her new life with the Sith. The brethren she'd been made a part of by chance was one she was yet to fully understand, but what she knew was more than enough; when she returned, she would do so with pride.

But she was not yet ready to return. Pride or otherwise, her training was such that de-stressing breaks were not only helpful, they were practically vital in order to maintain her sanity. Perhaps later on, when she had built up her capabilities considerably, Eshtaol would be able to go longer without needing an outlet in the form of a day to herself, but she remained lacking greatly in such strength and so so long as her Master continued to allow it, she would take the occasional break; lie her way into a bar, have something to eat, something to drink, maybe observe her surroundings, as was her habit. Previously such a pointless way of killing hours would've been excruciatingly dull, but now she sat people-watching over the rim of her glass with a mollified air about her, happy to pass the time in such a way now that she had a proper life outside of barhopping.

Her gaze fell on a green-eyed woman sitting alone, and she momentarily noted the girl's looks before she disappeared a second behind a drunkard. That brought Eshtaol's attention to the time; it was getting late, and sooner or later the cantina would need cleaning. That would be her cue to take her leave and return to Malachor, but she wasn't ready just yet. Wordlessly she got up, nodded goodbye and left the premises.

Stopping at the door, she brushed her hair over one shoulder and scanned the streets, and discreetly followed the back of a head to an alleyway. The drunken man who'd been thrown out was...suffering the consequences of his alcohol; the redhead waited further off.

Not so boring perhaps.

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol Hyde"]

The pouring stopped, but the man didn’t move on. Sena hung back and observed while blissfully unaware that someone was already observing her. He planted his forehead against the wall and sighed as the stench started to drown out most others in the near vicinity. He pulled the flier up and with that, Sena seized the moment. She withdrew the knife from its holster and in one swift motion she tugged at the collar of his shirt to put him out of balance. He staggered, drunk and confused before he fell flat on his back deeper into the alley. Lassiter stepped up to him and raised her knife towards the skies before plunging it straight into his chest. He exhaled in shock, but his cries were muted by the hovering fingers of his assailant. Her fingertips were to be the last thing he saw and the quiet hushes the last thing he ever heard.

The voices muted, but something felt wrong. The feeling wasn’t there, the sense of relief that had usually washed over her at this point wasn’t felt. It made her perk a brow in confusion. The man was dead, she was standing right there over his body. That itch inside of her was usually fixed by now, but at this point was as if it had been nulled by something. Regardless, there was a clean up to be had. Or rather obfuscation. It was too late (or early depending on who you ask) to really do any sort of proper clean up at this point. She latched onto his shoulders and began dragging him towards the wall, propping him up there to be found later.

She didn’t usually let others find the body, but, well she was al-

Sena threw a quick glance down the alley.

Not alone.

Eyes opened wide in surprise. Witnesses were bad, witnesses were really bad.

“You there!” She called out towards the blonde kid. Feth, she hadn’t thought about that.

There was really just the one solution to this.

The redhead withdrew her knife again and set off into a sprint. No witnesses. Not ever.

 

[Eshtaol]

And in a moment, the silver that flashed through the air was masked by a spill of red. The warm crimson colour soaked the dying man's front for a few seconds, and then he disappeared altogether behind the feet of his killer. Ah, so that had been her intent. The redhead hadn't really seemed the type, but then she supposed that no skilled murderer would exude danger when it didn't suit them. She'd certainly been pretty good, though of course Eshtaol had naught to compare to but her own kill, which had been the only one of its sort and hadn't required discretion or finesse in any way. It was not unlikely that one day a more refined slaying that would be asked of her, but with any luck she'd be given the chance to hone her abilities a good deal before that day came. In the meantime, she'd seen what she'd come for, and the show was over almost disappointingly fast, so with that she could be on her way -

Okay. Maybe not.

The words directed at her gave her a split second of advance warning - oh, oops, she probably should've taken into account the possibility that nobody who wasn't drunk or insane would want to be seen killing somebody. Eshtaol didn't particularly care who the redhead killed when she thought nobody was looking, but it was perhaps a bit too late to explain that. As much as she didn't like to run away, the other woman was armed and had just taken down a man in moments and without a second thought. With that in mind, she ran away.

In truth, she didn't like running at all. She probably ought to be better at it by now, but she preferred to evade danger before it was chasing her down the streets rather than after. Regardless, she was running now: her best hope was to lose the other woman before her stamina gave up on her. Fear gave her a bit of a boost, but it wouldn't be enough. She risked a look behind her: the woman was closing in fast. Could she risk trying to convince her to abandon the chase? It was unlikely to work, but she was losing her lead and with it, her energy. She wouldn't be able to throw her off in time to get out alive. Better unlikely than impossible.

She ducked down an alleyway into a desolate block of streets; better. It wouldn't help to have others present.

"Calm down! I won't tell anyone. Can you please not point a knife at me?"

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol Hyde"]

Those teeth remained gritted throughout the chase. The girl wasn’t stupid, Sena would give her that. She was slower than she was, but she wasn’t stupid. She found the crowds and stuck to it and the murderer, Sena had to stop for a second to swipe away the blood on her blade against whatever she could find before she stepped into the quiet street. Her eyes remained fixed on the blonde kid. She seemed skinny, and in many ways even uninteresting. Average, she looked average, but even when looking average there was something about her that called to Lassiter. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, but it was there.

“Alright then, no knives.” Sena said as she holstered her weapon again. “And you say you didn’t see me do anything, right?” The redhead continued her approach. “What was it you didn’t see me do?”

Actually ripping into the girl’s mind and ripping the memory out came to mind, but it was hardly worth the effort. It was a child, no older than seventeen at most. Looked a bit like Sena herself had that age, before the Ember had taken her in and shown her what ‘three meals a day’ looked like.

“And what’s your name?” Sena added before the girl could answer.

 

[Eshtaol]

The moment the knife lowered, Eshtaol visibly relaxed, but she kept her guard up - after all, she was far from safe yet. In a reflex attempt at safety, she had half-raised her hands in what was almost the gesture meaning surrender; she brought her hands to her sides, hoping to make herself seem less weak. It wasn't a particularly useful endeavor - any fool could tell that the girl was no threat to anyone - but she could be weak without having to flaunt the fact. There was her pride to think of, after all.

"I - Eshtaol." She was quick to answer, but not overly so, still wanting to be discreet about her novicehood while she could. Of course, she was still scared - not enough so that she couldn't strategize, but still unsettled and tense in how she held herself. The Coruscanti was daring, but she wasn't an idiot.

"I swear, your secret's safe with me. Saw nothing, heard nothing. Just an innocent kid trying to get home."

Even had the woman not seen Eshtaol lurking contentedly in the cantina, the slight curve of her lips was a clear indication that she wasn't all that innocent. Not malevolent, of course. Just not all that innocent.

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol"]

“Well then, Eshatol,” Sena licked her lips and continued approaching the kid. “I am grateful that we understand each other, but you are a horrible liar and should know far better than to lie to someone who just held your life in their hands.”

The redhead patted against the holster on her lower back with an encouraging little quirk of her brows.

“Innocent people do not watch as others die and then agree to cover it up.” The redhead shrugged. “Appreciate it, by the way.”

“No, I feel the force flow within you and there is nothing about you that makes me want to buy into what you are saying, and you don’t strike me as an entirely worthless meat shield.” Brutal honesty wasn’t all that bad, right? “Who are you, really?”

“And don’t you try to lie to me. I’ll know if you do.”

Sena had been just like this kid at some point, after all. Nearly a decade ago.

 

[Eshtaol]

"Alright, my bad."

Oops. Now...how to explain this? Eshtaol was pitifully uneducated still in the conflicts between Force-users, but she was competent enough to be fully aware that not everybody liked Sith all that much. She lacked the skill, both in psychology and in the Force, to deduce whether the killer was one such person. Not that she'd have known what to say and how to say it to avoid getting her lie recognised if she had, but tactfully wording her answer could potentially save her some bother.

"I'm...an Apprentice. An Acolyte of the Sith."

No, she really couldn't phrase her answer in a more democratic manner without her response being too vague to appease the one asking. She'd have to gamble on the notion that anyone who killed drunks in alleyways - possibly for a living, Eshtaol was grasping at straws - couldn't be all that opposed to the Sith. She was no expert on these matters, but that seemed a reasonably achievable hope.

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol"]

An acolyte of the Sith. Either the absolute boldest lie Sena had ever heard or the truth, and considering she felt the force flow through the small woman before her Sena found herself more inclined to believe her. Instead of trying to tower the kid Lassiter would instead start to lean back and cross her arms and give the girl an up and down glance. She still didn’t look like much, but it would certainly explain why she was able to carry just a little more weight around her than would seem possible.

It took a while before Sena spoke up again. “Well, that explains things.” She smirked. “Considering the state of the galaxy I can only really make two assumptions as to which of them you belong to, right?” The redhead shrugged. “Either you are remnant One Sith, or you are with that ‘Secret Plotters Club’ that pushed the Jedi away from Korriban or what-not.”

“Don’t matter in the end, not really, however if you want some words of advice, kid?” Not that Sena didn’t fall under ‘kid’ herself sometimes, right? “Freelance is far more rewarding.”

“You will figure that one with time though, no doubt.” Sena approached the kid, albeit under far more friendly terms than before. No knives drawn here. “People have a tendency to die in our branch, you know. Better to be safe on your own than die for a cause you don’t believe in.”

Then again, Sena was a special case. Her faith had never been with the Sith as much as the Ember of Vahl. Now that was something considerably different.

“Again, that’s another lesson you will learn with time.”

 

[Eshtaol]

Secret plotters club? That sounded about right. She'd heard of the One Sith only in passing, mentioned in throwaway lines of conversation - she wasn't particularly knowledgeable on how they'd operated, but if they'd fallen then it couldn't be promising. She wasn't particularly knowledgeable on the Sith Order either, in truth. But she was learning.

Eyeing the other woman warily, Eshtaol tried to weigh up the situation. She wasn't dead yet, so that was good. Still, that could change if she said the wrong thing. It could change even if she didn't. Her gaze flickered to both sides, trying to decide which way to run should it come to that, but she was beginning to relax now. Just a little bit.

"You do freelance, then?" Fair enough. Couldn't be a bad profession, if you were any good at it. "Sounds...like fun."

It was true, death seemed to be the second option for everything these days. When she was training, she knew that so long as she didn't mess up so badly that it outweighed her potential, she was safe from such a punishment - but there were plenty of other ways to die. She'd always known that - it was why she tried to keep her head down at all times. Easier said than done.

But she did believe in the Sith Order. More or less.

"So you got a codename or something?"

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol"]

“Oh, it’s wonderful.” Sena grinned. Freelance was certainly fun. “Well, the One Sith gave me the title ‘Darth Drethi’ at some point, but I never really use it. Mainly I just take up fake names and make people believe they have known me their whole lives and such.”

Then she stabbed them in the back. Good fun.

“So for today, I am…” Sena pondered the possibilities. “Mira Trell.”

It hadn’t worked on Connor Harrison, but this other woman who, by Sena’s introduction, would be quite well-aware that the name was not her real name. Still, it served its purpose much like it always did. A thin veil by any other name was still a thin veil to cover your skin. Or some such equally assassin-romantic poem.

“I don’t normally talk to former potential victims for this long,” Other than Ameli, but that was for a completely different reason. “But uh, yeah…”

“You feel like a good kid.” Sena shrugged. “You got a master, or something? A dark past or are you just yet another nobleman’s daughter gone awry?”

Not that Sena was one to judge. She was both of those.

 

[Eshtaol]

"That does sound fun." Skulking about and crafting lies; to her, it was a strangely fun pastime, and Eshtaol wasn't even getting paid. With killing she had less experience, of course, but opportunities were sure to arise. For how little she knew about what life as a Sith truly entailed, it didn't take a genius to work out that a spot of murder would be necessary every once in a while. Maybe it said something about her that that knowledge didn't upset her in the slightest.

"Got it." Instinctively, the girl grinned. She had no idea whether the name Mira Trell would've meant something to somebody else - not that she cared much. An alias was an alias. That 'Mira' had a Darth name, whether she used it or not, interested her more, but it was the sort of thing you filed away in your brain in case it ever turned out to be useful.

"Close enough." Awry described her path to apprenticeship remarkably well. Albeit less interesting than even the most flowery language could make the tale out to be. "Got bored, took off, and then it turned out there's this big exciting thing floating around called the Force. Creepy Sith Lord in a hood showed up, one thing led to another, and I wound up on Korriban learning to use it."

A bit of a dull story, all things considered. But still. She could float rocks now.

"Can I go ahead and guess that your backstory's more interesting?"

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol"]

Oh really now? Sena couldn’t but help perking her brow. This girl shared more with her than she would have initially thought. Perhaps not the voices or the slave pits — at least not from what Sena could see at a first glance — but the parts that came after the pits seemed to be a familiar story.

“Well,” The freelancer snickered. “I was a kid on the street, a creepy sith lord in a hood showed up and one thing led to another before I wound up on Coruscant to learn about the force.”

There was a small devious grin there on the redhead’s lips. She liked this kid. Not to any degree that she would apologize for having attempted to almost murder her a few minutes ago, but certainly enough to try to act somewhat amicable or ‘sane’ towards her. This ‘Eshtaol’ was starting to look like a mirror of Sena herself, and if there was one person that Sena liked in particular it was herself.

This kid had a good style about her. Obviously.

“I like your style, Esh, so here is a tip.” Involuntary nickname immortalized. “Embrace the change, but never let go of who you were before the Sith found you.”

“I’ve seen three different Sith cults rise in notoriety throughout my life.” Considering how young Sena was, that kind of said something. Or so she felt. “Inevitably your cause is going to fail.” Sena cut Eshtaol off, just in case she would speak up on the matter. “It will, do not delude yourself.” The Vahla shook her head. “When that time comes you are going to need all the contacts that you set up outside of your ‘Sith Persona’ to call in favors you are owed.”

“It’s survival.” Sena reaffirmed her rant. “Give yourself to a higher purpose, but never put the survival of someone else — or something else — before your own. Do not forget the people that you have around you right now, and if you have none, find them.”

 

[Eshtaol]

Esh. Good grief. Eshtaol had to give Mira a look of 'really?' - just briefly, of course. Esh.

At the risk of sounding overly dramatic - in fairness, it seemed to be a common trait among Sith - she really hadn't been much before being apprenticed to the Sith. Certainly, she wouldn't have stood out from any other snarky teenage outsider in any respect besides her connection with the Force. Insofar, she hadn't really changed all that much, either. Matured a bit, gotten a little better at picking her battles - a little.

But really? Three Sith cults? Unless the freelancer was some sort of vampire, she couldn't be all that old; that she'd seen three Sith organisations rise - and fall - in her life said something. Eshtaol didn't know enough of Sith history to be able to say if the order she belonged to could be considered any different, but of what she knew, they commanded respect, at least. More importantly, she could command some respect if she stayed one of them until their fall. Whenever that ended up happening.

"You don't know-" that. Not even she could talk quickly enough to avoid being cut off. Really, Eshtaol wasn't particularly devoted to her Order - not even the Sith in general, truly - but without some sort of drive for something, she was a rebel without a cause. She needed some alignment to subscribe to, some group to put her faith in, at least until she had the skills to be any use as a lone agent. Different circumstances could've even made her a Jedi. Well, that might be pushing it a bit.

"Guess I better start finding, then." But now she was curious. "How many people's a freelancer got around them?"

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol"]

“How many are close to me? None. How many are at a respectable distance? A few.” Sena frowned. “What you need is a loose web of contacts that can help provide openings for when you need money. Contractors, Information Brokers, and if you get truly desperate there will always be Bounties.”

Sena began to lead the two of them towards a any café in an effort to get a move on. No doubt there would be security approaching the body she had just left behind soon enough and when she did there was no denying that she wanted to be nowhere near. Right now that meant that the single witness who would rat her out needed to be pulled away from the scene or better yet appear to be an accessory in case they caught up to her.

“We will continue this discussion over caf.” Sena commanded as she lead Esh through the streets. “I am not an idiot, I am not letting you go until I know for certain that I am safe.” Well, she was a bit of an idiot. An arrogant one if you considered their current proximity to the scene of the crime in relation to how distant she should be. For starters, Sena was still on the same planet.

Yes, she was that certain in her ability to manipulate the mind of others.

Taking a seat outside of a small café several blocks down the road she instructed her newfound acquaintance to do the same. No orders made, the waiter came out and began to pour one up for the redhead and then Esh.

“So, Esh,” Sena grinned. It wasn’t as if the half-Vahla had caught the frustration at being called by such a name before. “I guess what I am trying to say is that if you live through this, I guess I could trust you enough to give you a good start of a network.”

“That would be me.” She pointed at herself with no lack for arrogance. “I don’t pay well, but I can certainly find jobs if you ever need one.”

 

[Eshtaol]

Ah, so it was money that she was getting at. Well...fair enough, admittedly. At present, Eshtaol had little need for money of her own; as an apprentice to a Sith Lord, she certainly had no more than she needed, but rarely less than, either. But she wasn't so stuck in the present as to have given no thought to how things would be once she'd been deemed worthy to be Sith. She certainly didn't plan to go back to bartending once she'd left the nest.

Mira led, and Eshtaol followed. She nearly tried to insist again that she had no plan to sell the freelancer out - which, whether or not trust was a weakness and all the rest, she hadn't the slightest bit of motivation to do - it seemed rather a pointless endeavor. The Coruscanti had said her piece already; she was content to go along with whatever followed, at least for the time being. Caf didn't sound so bad, besides. Eshtaol wasn't one to turn down free drinks.

She sat willingly, looking expectantly to the redhead when a waiter came. No order was made. And apparently none was needed. Another raise of the eyebrows followed as caf was served up, but she had the sense not to acknowledge it further while there remained another in earshot. Not that further acknowledgement was needed, of course. Eshtaol had fixed Mira with quite the look.

"The Force really can do everything," she said in an undertone.

But then she thought on the offer. A network. That sounded like what she wanted, didn't it? It sounded exactly right. Sure, there was the question of the whole killing part, but she could work around it. It wasn't that bad.

"Doesn't sound so bad." She took a sip of the caf that'd been set down in front of her. "What's the catch? Is there a catch, or do I just need to be good at stabbing things?"

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol"]


“Well, mainly be good at stabbing people. Being able to get away with it is a bonus.” Sena shrugged and took a sip of her caf. “Really, as long as you are discreet in your dealings and make sure to create some, errr, ‘friends’ in the department you should be fine.”

Friends being blackmail.

“You… Are good at stabbing, right?” Sena looked at Esh. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly look like much.”

“Which also is perfect, it means people are a lot more likely to underestimate you. That’s how I got past when I was about your age, you know?”

 

[Eshtaol]

"That's the idea." Eshtaol almost smirked behind her caf. She was perfectly aware that she was easily underestimated - it was annoying at times, but she'd learned that more often it was to her advantage. When it came to killing, at least, she was more than happy not to stand out in a crowd.

"Erm, decent." She knew how to use a knife when it came down to it. Killing with a knife was another matter, but it was the same in theory, as far as she was concerned.

For an Acolyte who'd spent years on the streets, she had something of a high opinion of herself.

"My age?" Distracted suddenly from talk of murder, she looked curiously at the redhead. "How long've you been stabbing?"

[member="Lassiter"]

 

[Lassiter]

[member="Eshtaol"]

What would Sena have done if a stranger came up to her at that age and offered to pay her to stab people? It wasn’t so much an actual question as much as a way to probe herself for what the feth she was doing. This girl was around the age she had been when Nephthys had taken her in to be raised as a Sith, it was the one act of kindness that had stuck with the redhead ever since and the one feeling of ‘belonging’ that she had ever experienced in a long while at the point, and once it became known to her that she was of Vahla descent there was no denying the clarity it offered on questions she had always asked herself.

It was in her nature to cause discord. At this point it was merely turning into an attempt to see how much she would get away with before she died.

“A lady keeps her secrets.” Sena perked her brow back at Esh. “Oh don’t act all surprised that I wouldn’t tell you.”

“The real question is how decent ‘decent’ is in your case.” Gloved hand reached for her belt and slid the murder knife across the table towards Eshtaol. “You show me what you can do and I’ll give you my appraisal.”

“... Deny me and, well…”

“Accidents can happen when you’re at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

[Eshtaol]

She shrugged. "Worth a shot."

Then eyebrows lifted with anticipation as not-Mira slid a knife towards her. Swiftly, she brought the knife to the end of the table and held it at the hilt, eyes glinting with challenge as she studied the blade. Light, easily handled. Good.

Eshtaol smirked. She would admit to fear before but it was all but gone now; because as far as she was concerned the threat was gone.

"Of course."

To her mind it was entirely reasonable that denial should result in her accidental demise. Otherwise she was an unnecessary risk, and she was quite plainly of little enough value not to be missed (and as much as she hoped that was temporary, there was some value in seeming unimportant). But all she had to do to avoid such an unfortunate fate was comply, and - most importantly - there was no reason at all not to.

It was do or die, and Eshtaol was rather firmly against dying.

"Anyone in particular?" Her words were mildly curious, thoughtful. "Her, for instance. Those shoes..."

[member="Lassiter"]​