Hired Hands

[Tryp West]

Bastion​

Imperial Palace​

It was a good thing that [member="Darth Carnifex"] had said they could use an official Sith Imperial Shuttle for this little jaunt. Tryp's ship had gotten wrecked on Upatau and geez did she need the credits he was offering to escort a... ward?.... student?... it didn't really matter.... of his on a little field trip.

Of course, it wasn't starting out well. Not because of anything Kaine had done- so far their professional relationship, despite him being the Dark Lord of the fething Sith, was perfectly acceptable. No, Tryp had mucked this one up. When she'd been met at the entrance, she'd assured them that she knew where she was going. She'd spent two weeks here last time after all, hadn't she? Finding the particular place she was supposed to meet this [member="Farah"] should be a piece of cake.

Sigh.

She'd been wandering around in circles for probably about an hour now. She was fairly certain she'd passed that exact vase (twice her height, how had they even gotten it in here?) at least twice.

Or else they had several vases taller than a Epicanthix just hanging around.

Hmmm. That was also possible.

Finally, with a grimace, the dark haired woman stopped and asked for directions. Not a great way to start a job as a guide, now was it?

"'Scuse?" She addressed one of the guards, looking up (and up and up), offering a little wave and a smile.

"Kin ya direct me ta da East'n Reven Lib'ry? 'Parrently der's anoder one, but I need da East'n one, please an' tank ya very kindly."

 

[Farah]

The guard did not answer immediately, silence thickening the air and hanging between them. Finally he pointed, down one of the corridors she’d yet to traverse that would eventually lead to a massive pair of ornate doors.

Inside the East Revan Library, a certain clone-turned-doctor was fully immersed in her research. Some would say too engrossed with the way the redhead mumbled to herself, earning her a few looks and the occasional glare from other patrons.

“No, no, not that one.” She muttered while flicking through a screen. The image of a viral structure appeared in a schematic form, projected in front of a pair of discerning eye. “Wrong.” She grumbled, swiping through the next few pages with a frown creasing her face.

In all truth, Farah had forgotten that she was to visit some sort of ancient Sith site today. Electively forgot, perhaps. The Zeltron wasn’t keen on furthering her education into the historical significance of the Sith, though she supposed her creator insisted upon it. She was far more concerned with her lab, preferring to make discoveries for herself into what she deemed as important.

Ah, well, you had to make a compromise somewhere. Though notoriously difficult to work with in the medical field due to her abrasive nature and high standards, Farah had some respect for authority…especially when that authority could smite you at will. Whether it was her maker or her Master who had organized this, she would go along with it.

Still, she’d forgotten all about it.

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

"Eyo, anyone 'ome?"

Tryp knocked on the large doors and opened them without waiting. Apparently the guards were inside however, and the woman pulled up short, blinking as two force pikes crossed in front of her face.

Looking up (she wasn't a short person by any stretch, but goodness knew she looked up at everyone in this place) she smiled easily, putting her hands up in a traditional indication of 'I'm harmless, don't run me through,' but she was pretty relaxed about the whole thing. She was supposed to be here, after all.

"Got an' appt'mint, gents," she said easily. "I'm on da list. Tryp West, 'ere fer Miss Farah?"

Of course there was no list. But they had been expecting her and once they checked her credentials they let her through. Whistling casually, she sauntered in, looking all around- the melodic sound turning into a 'chuuuuuuuu' of impressed away from the music.

"Ah bet der's not a ting in da galaxy dat ain't in a book on dees walls, eh?" She called out by way of greeting. Not that Farah would have missed the kerfluffle at the doors- force pikes crossing in a face were probably a familiar enough sound in this place, after all.

Tryp paused in the middle of the room, turning around and around slowly for a moment, face full of obvious admiration.

"Dun find many places like dis one anymore, I'll tell you what."

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Scroll, scroll, scroll. The Zeltron’s eyes had begun to glaze over, unfocusing away from the screen and the schematics she flicked past.

Something was going on elsewhere in the library, noise drifting though the stillness of the library easily enough. Whatever it was constituted only a minor annoyance to Farah, just enough to tickle the back of her mind while she searched for the right viral map.

And then a voice rang out, startling her from wherever her thoughts had drifted to. Her brow crinkled, nose wrinkling in confusion as she played the voice over in her head. And again. What?

She scrolled back a few spaces, finger landing on the image of a prion. “Yes.” She grunted in minor victory, tapping the screen in a few places to sync the information to her personal device. With that done, she blew out a breath and composed herself for whatever would become of this meeting.

“Excuse me,” Striding out from between the rows of texts, Farah approached the one thing in this room that didn’t quite look like she belonged. Taller than her with dark hair and the sort of rebel getup she’d only seen in holofilms. Then again, Farah hadn’t seen much so far. Everything she knew of the galaxy beyond the Zambrano estate was all heresy.

Pulling out a pocket translator, she thumbed the activation button and held it up, not directly in the newcomer’s face but close enough so that it would hopefully pick up her speech. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid that I don’t speak…” She drifted, looking a little unsure of exactly what foreign tongue it was the woman was speaking.

“…That.”

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp smiled broadly. She was used to that. Oh, it didn't happen often- most people weren't that snotty. But she didn't take it personally either.

"Ah'm speakin' da Dark Lord's own basic, same as ya. Ah jes' speak it wit' a little more spice," she said with a wink.

Walking up to the desk, she rested her hip against the front end, one gloved hand extending to shake.

"Tryp West, at yer service. Yer Miss Farah, yeh?"

Tryp was, in most things that didn't involve being shot at, easy going and relaxed. She knew who and what she was, and didn't let comments from people who didn't know her do much more than roll off of her back.

"Whatcha workin' on? Looks serious."

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Farah blinked. It took her a few moments to process Tryp’s words and she lowered the translator slowly.

“Oh.” Was all she said. Apologizing hadn’t occurred to her.

The redhead nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s me.” She grasped Tryp’s hand in a surprisingly firm shake.

The quickest way to get these science types talking was to ask about their research. Accordingly, Farah’s grin spread nearly ear to ear as she hurriedly took out her datapad. A few taps and the image of a viral schematic projected between them. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She gushed.

“I’m researching exogenous viral transport methods.” She explained, then paused for a few moments in a thoughtful silence. She’d been scolded by countless attending physicians on Coruscant for ripping apart students and interns alike when they didn’t know the answer to a question or the finer details of some rare procedure. Help them learn, they’d said. Explain things in different ways.

For all Farah knew, Tryp could have a doctorate in any discipline. As mean as she was, the clone had quickly come to learn not to judge people in this galaxy too quickly. She’d been smacked in the face with surprises before.

“You know how when you get sick, you run a fever and start sneezing?” She spoke slowly, mind whirring as she tried her best to explain this without all of the technical jargon. She’d watched some of the more empathetic residents at CoreGen explain complicated procedures to patients in layman’s terms, but that was a skill she still hadn’t developed fully. “I’m studying ways to…make the virus do things like that. Different things.”

Ugh, close enough. Points for trying.

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp listened with her full attention. The first sentence sailed right over her head, but even if [member="Farah"] had continued in the vein, she would have continued to offer the same response. Tryp's interests and knowledge were fairly varied, but when it came to medicine it mostly stopped at first aid and a little bit of emergency field stuff that one could *help* but learn in the life she'd lived. But it wasn't the *topic* that she offered the respect of full attention to- it was the passion. Even if she didn't understand something, she wasn't interested in it, Tryp appreciated the enthusiasm someone showed when something really mattered to them.

Fortunately, the other woman toned down the technical talk, so Tryp could actually follow it, rather than just the enthusiasm for the topic. That did make things easier.

"Mighty impressive.... ya know, I default ta 'miss' but is der somet'ing else I oughtta call ya? Doctah Farah?"

There was no sarcasm and teasing, just a genuine question on how she'd most like to be addressed.

 

[Farah]

The Zeltron was used to beating down interns and younger residents, verbally smacking them upside the head for wrong answers and degrading them into either working harder or dropping out. It wasn’t that she had a mean streak—while she certainly wasn’t nice, Farah didn’t have the desire to be unnecessarily cruel. It was simply the culture she’d been taught in—surgical residency was cut throat and accepted only the very best.

Of course, Farah counted herself among the very best. It was also her duty to cull the weak and nurture the strong. But it was nice to talk about her work and not have to be on her toes, waiting for somebody to pick it apart or discredit her. While there was a certain thrill in defending yourself, there was a certain levity in just sharing knowledge and passion.

“Not necessary,” She flicked her wrist down. “Just Farah will do.” Titles were only suggested in hospital, and she wasn’t particularly fond of wearing the Zambrano name simply because it carried the weight of actions and achievements that were not her own.

“What should I call you?”

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp had already introduced herself, but she nodded amicably because it wasn't worth making a fuss over.

Besides, it wasn't the first time someone hadn't necessarily realized her name was a name.

"Tryp West," she repeated patiently. "Jes Tryp is fine, doh. Was hired by yer...... uh..... was gonna say boss but I 'spect no one is da boss a' yah, Miss Farah. So. Yer Emperor den. 'E wanted a guide fer ya ta explore some ruins."

She honestly wasn't sure anymore if [member="Darth Carnifex"] had actually told Farah she was coming and why, so it made sense to explain it. Of course, if the other woman didn't want to do that, then Tryp would just refund the credits already paid out for the job. She was an honest sort, but also not one prone to bullying someone into anything they didn't want to do.

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Farah smiled vaguely. She had a handful of bosses—one at CoreGen, another at Bastion’s medical center and a Sith Master. She was…not a model employee when it came to interacting with anyone in charge of her. Farah pushed and questioned, not necessarily to be rude but because she didn’t understand the importance of being polite. Sometimes it worked out to her advantage, sometimes it resulted in disciplinary action. Still, the Zambrano name seemed to pull some strings on its own. As much as she felt uncomfortable wearing the name, it was to her benefit sometimes.

Not outside of Sith space, usually. There she was, more freely, Farah Navarro. Acerbic doctor extraordinaire.

“Darth Carnifex.” She nodded slowly, not having anything to add to that. “That sounds about right. I suppose now is as good a time as any.” A little sigh of frustration slipped past her lips at that. Farah had postponed as much Sith training as she could but she didn’t want to piss any of the higher ups off. She should count herself lucky that she actually had something of a choice.

“Where are we going, Tryp?”

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp laughed and nodded. While she couldn't have followed Farah's thought process, her own coincidentally coincided.


"I jes call 'em 'Lord Carnifex' an' mind mah p's an q's while I'm 'round 'im. Found dat bein' polite ta folks dat could rip mah spine t'rough mah t'roat was da best policy fer walkin' outta meetin's still breathin', ya know? Dun cost me much and keeps t'ings from gettin' messy."

Tryp pushed off with her hip from the desk.

"'E wanted ya ta git yer 'ands dirty. Der's some ruins not far from 'ere. I've already scouted 'em and I've got some spots checked with some 'istory I tink might be relevant."

She was not forthcoming as to how or why yet. Farah would see when they got there.

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Farah still found Tryp’s accent a little difficult but made no further comments on it—she found that as long as she gave the woman her full attention while she was speaking, she understood what was being said.

Thicker accents were a bit harder for Farah to process given that she’d only existed for a fraction of her physiological age. Still, it was times like these that reminded the clone that she still had a lot to learn. And she liked learning, so that was sort of an exciting thought.

“I agree.” She nodded in earnest. Though sharp tongued, the Zeltron had adopted more respectful mannerisms around the Zambrano family in order to avoid being punished for her infinite sass. “Our spines are quite happy right where they are.” Didn’t take a doctor to tell you that, but still.

“Hands dirty, huh?” She considered that for a few moments. Usually ‘dirty hands’ referred to her being elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity but hey. Why not try something new?

“Sounds…different.” She settled on that broad descriptor. “Are they far? Are they haunted by these Sith ghosts I’ve been hearing about?” The young doctor was weirded out by the occult.

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

"Gotta speeder waitin', so wit' dat it t'ain't far, nah," she answered as the two headed out of the library and through the hallways. Tryp offered a two fingered salute to the guards (gosh they were tall) before the pair headed on their way.

"An' I dun know 'bout ghosts," she hemmed a bit, waggling her gloved hand back and forth. "Haunted by mem'ries mostly. All sortsa weird stuff, but din't see no ghosts."

Tryp didn't believe in ghosts. She also didn't not believe in ghosts. She'd seen too many strange things in her travels to discount anything completely out of hand.

"It's da mem'ries yer.... boss.... er whatever 'e is.... wants ya ta see. Dat's where I come in. Gonna tour ya 'round, see what catches yer eye an' go from der. I know dat's not a great explanation but.... well, ye'll see better when we get der. Better ta show, ya know?"

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Farah paid the guards little mind. They were permanent fixtures in the background of her life and she’d rarely had to interact with them—more akin to furniture than soldiers to her.

Still as Tryp answered her questions about spooky ghosts, Farah looked a bit like a child waiting anxiously for an answer. Everything she’d learned about spirits and specters came from late night holodramas and she did not like what she’d seen.

“Oh,” She tried to hold back how relieved she really was. “That’s good. I don’t hate to get my brains eaten.” The comment was slipped in there oh so casually. She’d also watched quite a few fantasy programs about the undead as well.

It still took a bit of effort for her to decipher Tryp’s accent, but that came with the sheltered upbringing. If one could call being spawned into existence as an adult an upbringing, but hey. Here she was. “That sounds…benign.” So long as there were no ghosts or zombies, she wouldn’t hassle her escort.

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

“That sounds…benign.”

"Uhhhhh."

Tryp paused, trying to mull out just how to answer that. They reached the exit and the speeder that had been allocated for their use, and it wasn't until they were both strapped in and Tryp was maneuvering them out of the grounds and into the city, headed toward the outskirts, that she elaborated.

"Depends," she finally said. "Der's some mem'ries dat jes ain't no big thang. Then there's BIG mem'ries. T'ings dat take 'old and root down inta yer 'ead an' never really let go. Diff'rent people 'ave diff'rent things like dat, so somet'ing dat's benign ta me, might give ya nightmares, and vice versa. Yer in luck, cause I'm gonna be showin' ya what's der second 'and..... unless yer skilled in readin' t'oughts. In dat case it'll be up ta ya which way ya wanna do dis."

Tryp pulled down her goggles as they picked up speed upon leaving the city proper.

"Tell me," she said, raising her voice a bit over the wind. "'Ow familiar are ya wit' psychometry?"

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Farah chewed at her lower lip. For someone who didn’t bat an eyelash under the surgical lights, she was awfully wary of spooky ghosts and things.

Hence was why she tended to stay away from the more brazenly occult side of being a Sith. Alchemy was cool enough what with the twisting of life into something useful or ghoulish (or both?), but ghosts? Even though Tryp had assured her that there were no ghosts, Farah was still thinking ghosts.

“Not very,” She admitted. “I mean, I know what it is but I can’t do it myself.” It was a little awkward for her to raise her voice above the wind but she managed. Usually loud Farah was also angry Farah, and angry Farah was not a conversationalist.

“I can read emotions sometimes.” Maybe that would be a little more helpful, but anyone could assume that from her pink skin. Farah hadn’t been taught how to use her natural empathy so her ability to read emotions and thoughts was still in its infancy. “Wait,”

She paused, face startled with thought. “You can use psychometry? Are you a Force user?” It was very possible that the distracted doctor had missed any Force signatures floating about. Her senses were used to being blasted by the Force presences of Zambrano-bred Sith.

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp laughed, slapping her hand on the wheel.

"Forcer? Nah. I mean, if'n I am, wouldn't dat be a surprise ta da folks? Nah, it's a family t'ing. Not all'a us got it, jes enough, more den da gen'ral pop, but not most. My pa did 'is best ta show me 'ow ta.... uh.... not let it get ta me. My cousin wasn't so lucky."

She paused, noticing a look on Farah's face and not be entirely certain what it was, but taking an educated guess.

"Kiffar," she clarified, one hand going up to touch the clan tattoos on her cheeks. They were pale, easy to miss, unlike the usually dark, bold strokes of most Kiffar clan tattoos. "It's a t'ing."

She shrugged.

"Anyway, I make a livin' on it. Not usually tourism," she joked, "I write music based on da impressions I git. Sure, sometimes I pull his'tries fer someone, like yer boss. Especially these days. Used ta be I could sell a song in da core like dat, but wit all da upheaval, well, music industry's kinda tanked lately, ya feel me?"

Tryp eased back on the throttle as they approached the ruins.

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

“Oh.”

Her face firmed, brows arching downward as they knit slightly. To an outward observer it may appear that she was angry or displeased in some way—but this was Farah’s ‘thinking’ face. Pensive expression, lack of speech.

An ability like psychometry than ran in the family? In a race? She glanced over at Tryp, noting the small facial tattoos that sat just above her cheekbone for the first time. She’d heard of Kiffar but hadn’t recalled the biological affinity for psychometry. Somewhere, a professor she’d had at some point would have shaken their head in disapproval.

“Really, you write music?” Her voice was lighter and had notes of genuine curiosity. “How fun. You’ll have to tell me about your favorite one.” Farah knew that she liked it when someone asked about what was important to her, much like Tryp had done back at the library. She paused, unsure of whether or not to say something else.

“I knit.”

“Sometimes.” This was the doctor’s awkward way of trying to connect, at least on a polite level. “Keeps my fingers dexterous when I’m not in surgery.”

The dot in the distance became larger and larger the closer they drew to it and the Zeltron tried to mute her grimace.

“You said no ghosts, right?”

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

"I always git knotted up when I try dat," Tryp admitted without self consciousness. "Mah ma tho? She could prob'ly knit a cozy fer a star destroyer w'out breakin' a sweat." She paused thoughtfully. "Pa might be able ta too, he jes does it less. Anyway, it's a good skill ta 'ave. Dat kinda workin' wit yer 'ands is undervalued, in mah opinion anyway."

They hopped out of the speeder, the ruins looming in the way ruins were wont to do.

"I kin play ya some stuff on da way back if'n ya want- but dun say yes unless ya do, won't hurt my feelin's none, ya know? Ya might know a few, couple were top 'undred in da Core last two years. Nuthin' top top o' da charts, but it's always funny ta walk inta a place an' over 'ear someone humming somet'in I wrote, ya know?"

Tryp shook her head again, smiling gently.

"Not dat I saw on da first run t'ro. If'n der are any, dey weren't int'rested in lil' ol' me. 'Ow 'bout dis, if'n we see one, we bounce. Sound good?"

Tryp honestly didn't expect to, but it was also clear that Farah was legitimately nervous about the idea of that. And while she didn't really get it, Tryp respected it and took the other woman seriously.

"Watch yer step, der's some stairs missing, but it evens out a ways down."

They picked their way through the rubble until they reached the promised stairs. While the upper levels had long since collapsed into nothing useful, the lower levels were still intact. They just had to go down to reach them.

"I got a couple t'ings in mind, but if'n ya see somet'in dat catches yer eye down 'ere, jes lemme know an' we'll check it out, hey ya?"

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

The idea of a star destroyed wearing a hand-made knitted cozy made her snort. Instinctively, she thought about reigning it in to regain her doctor-like composure, whatever that was. But so far, Tryp didn’t strike her as the type to make fun of her for giggling at the idea of yarncrafts on battleships.

“I’m not very good.” She admitted. “I find surgery easier.” Farah had the patience for taking a needle and durathread to flesh, not for making a scarf. That didn’t stop her from picking up and dropping the hobby numerous times like a hot potato—plenty of snapped knitting needles, though. Calm was never a trait high on her list.

“Yes, good. If we see a ghost, we will bounce.” It wasn’t the sort of vernacular she was used to using but it sounded sort of…fun? More hip and age appropriate, anyway.

Farah wasn’t great at placing trust in others, but she had no choice today. At least Tryp was nice and she wasn’t stuck with some black robed super-armored demi-god.

The Zeltron gingerly made her way down the steps, skirting over the crumbled edges and doing her best to stay away from the weak points.

“I still would like to hear your music on the way back.” Saying that helped ease her nerves a bit in confirming that there would indeed be a way back. “It’s sort of cool when I see a patient I worked on carrying on normally outside of the hospital. I imagine it must be the same as when you hear your mu—argh!!”

Part of the step beneath her feet gave way, though it wasn’t enough to drop the Zeltron into the depths of the void it was certainly enough to startle her into clinging onto Tryp’s back.

[member="Tryp West"]