Hired Hands

[Tryp West]

Tryp was half turning even before Farah's strangled yell, one gloved hand snaking out around the other woman's waist and steadying her. Making sure she had good footing again, she nodded, letting go just as easily. For Tryp it was just natural. This was her life. Right as breathing.

"Ruins like dis are always fulla unexpected, an unpleasant, surprises like dat one," she observed.

Tryp had automatically skipped over that stair, but vowed silently that she'd point out the next one she knew was closer to the bottom.

"Ya good? Ya good," she confirmed with a smile.

They continued down, Tryp making sure to verbally mention she was skipping a particular stair the next time instead of assuming Farah would notice on her own. She shouldn't have assumed that the first time, but she'd gotten into the swing of the conversation and forgot that Farah was more of an indoor kinda girl. Nothing wrong with that. Just like Tryp would be totally useless trying to help in surgery or something she figured.

Everyone had their own talents.

If this was Farah's, [member="Darth Carnifex"] wouldn't have hired her after all. So really, Tryp appreciated it. Cause if she was being real, she needed the money.

"Okay, no more rotted wood, all stone pavin' from 'ere on out. Come on, der's a room I tink you'll be innerested in." Unclipping a small lamp, she flicked it on, lofting it high.

Tryp led the way a couple doors down, into a hallway. She'd left the cobwebs up on her way through the first time- spiders didn't bother her none- but leading the way through this time she casually swept up an arm, brushing them down or off to the side as she headed down the hall.

The second right turn found them in what could only be considered a lab. Nothing like a modern medical lab, but definitely a lab nonetheless.

"Alchemy, less I miss mah guess," Tryp said, stepping out of the way to let Farah through. "From a'fore da 400 years a Darkness too. Not much of worth to most people's standards left- pretty picked ovah. Buuuuuuuuuut, dat's not what were 'ere fer."

Tryp smiled, even if there was something tight at the edges. "We're 'ere fer da memries. So, see if anyting catches yer eye, eh?"

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Farah’s face flared in a bright flush as Tryp helped her regain her balance. Maybe it was the hand at her waist, or the fact that she’d tumbled into the woman, but it was probably a mix of both. The Zeltron was used to being hard and mean in order to gain respect (or what she thought was respect), but she was too far out of her element to feel completely comfortable.

“I’m good.” She muttered back, meeting Tryp’s congenial smile with a quick, tight pull of her lips. Begrudgingly, she had to rely on someone else for this. At least Tryp seemed like she knew what she was doing.

Thankfully the rest of their trek went uneventful—that didn’t stop the young doctor from looking at this and that, noting the arcane architecture along with the occasional bug skittering across the floor. Secretly she hoped that this dilapidated chamber would not crumble in on them.

“I’d say so,” Farah agreed distractedly, taking bolder steps now into the room. She ran a hand over one of the stone counters, once smooth but now bumpy from being eaten away by time. “How do you know how old—oh. Right.” She’d forgotten that this was Tryp’s thing, that and the whole psychometry ability. It certainly must come in handy, but she couldn’t help but wonder how much of a boon it was, if at all.

“What about this?” She’d placed both hands on another stone surface near one end of the room. It was a flat slab of rectangular rock with identical groves and ridges at each of its four corners. Though elevated off of the ground, it was not as high as many of the counters. “There were probably restraints here at one point.” Her fingers ran over the notches in the corner, figuring that the organic material comprising the restraints had degraded over time.

It wouldn’t be hard to guess what it had been used for and Farah turned to Tryp.

“What memories can you pull from this?”

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp watched as Farah looked over the room, seeing what caught the other woman's eye and what she glossed right over.

The Kiffar had no illusions. When she'd agreed to this job, contracted by [member="Darth Carnifex"], she had known it would not be a pleasant one. Oh sure, the chit chat was fine. She liked Farah well enough, and the early part had been chill and easy. But befriending this young woman wasn't what she had been hired for.

She had been hired to bring her into sith ruins and be the intermediary between the past and the present.

Tryp was careful how often she did stuff like this. Part of managing it was not to over do it. She had mental exercises, practices that let her keep the memories gleaned from things separate from her own. It was too easy, especially if done too frequently, for things to get muddled, confused. Tryp knew how not to over do it, how to protect her own self from the effects of memories like this, as long as she was careful.

That didn't make it easy or enjoyable.

This wasn't like a dig she had found where she could be assured of a mix of memories and emotions. These were Sith ruins, hand picked by Carnifex as a learning potential for Farah.

"Without e'en touchin' it, kin tell ya a lot o' people died der." Tryp said honestly.

Stepping over, she ran a gloved hand across the surface. "It's 'and carved stone. Someone put a lotta effort inta creatin' dis. See da marks? Dat's old fashioned chisel an' 'ammer right der. Not a master's work. Ya kin see 'ow da strokes smooth out from one side ta da other, yeh? Someone *learned* on dis piece. Which made it special ta dem. Or else dey woulda made a better one later. But dis saw a lotta use- da holes where da shackles woulda been are more worn dan da outta edges, ya dig?"

Tryp's voice, her words, were even and calm. She'd agreed and was here to do a job. But she wasn't smiling and relaxed any more either.

This never got easy.

"Now, psychometry's weird. Not an 'xact science, but kinda got rules. Kin be different between folks, but in mah experience, the first t'ing ya'll feel when ya touch something is gonna be da strongest mem'ry on it. More recent are easier ta pick up, but we're lookin' at 'undreds a years 'ere- der ain't much 'new' ta pick up, ya know? Dis kinda t'ing, dis old, only da strongest mem'ries stick ta dem. Minor, mild stuff? Dat fades away."

She peeled off the glove on her right hand. Starting at her finger tips and disappearing into her sleeve, Farah would be able to see the cybernetics inlaid along her skin. Tryp caught the look at waggled her fingers at her.

"Custom work. Let's me record da impulses. Both raw an' 'ow dey translate inta mental images." Digging into her satchel, she pulled out a small holoscreen and cord- banged up, an older model, but serviceable, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. Reaching up, she plugged one end of the cord up into her hair- a small jack behind her ear. There was another jack on the inside of her wrist, Farah could see when she shifted.

"Da raw impulses won't show ya anyt'ing," she said, by way of explanation. "It'll be grainy- probably jump 'round a bit. More like watchin' a dream dan a holodrama, ya know? If'n ya wanna try ta feel 'em t'roo me, we kin do dat too, but meybe start wit dis if'n ya ain't too good wit' dat force empathy stuff."

Handing the holoscreen to Farah, Tryp breathed in deeply before brushing her hand along the length of the altar.

She had guessed during her initial run through that it would be one of the worst things in the room.

She hadn't been wrong.

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

Farah hadn’t expected the history lesson in stone masonry. Well, come to think of it, maybe she should have. Tryp probably spent a good chunk of her time in places like these, so it made sense that she’d know a bit about how things came to be. Still, she appreciated the explanation. The Zeltron wasn’t one to shy away from knowledge no matter how mundane or disconcerting.

Which, uh, was probably a good thing? Maybe?

“Oh.” A small noise of surprise slipped from her lips as Tryp plugged the cord of the holoscreen into a jack behind her ear. It still took her some getting used to where implants and the like were concerned, but that did not dull her fascination with them in the least. In her room there were at least half a dozen unfinished subdermal devices stuffed into a drawer.

Blue eyes fixed intently on the screen in her hands, paying no mind to Tryp as she did what she needed to do. Images began to flicker on the screen, cut with static at first and altogether unintelligible but eventually they began to settle.

A young woman, human, was restrained by her limbs to the stone altar. Completely nude, she seemed sedated—not completely knocked out, but calm enough to be just out of it, lids drooping and eyes not really moving about. A figure clad in dark robes appeared next to her, knife clasped in its equally shrouded hand.

The blade pressed against the girl’s throat with practiced pressure and she began to thrash. A line of crimson would seep from her body as the knife moved, running from her thorax to her abdomen and beyond.

The woman cried out, begged, clawed at the straps that held her firmly in place as she realized what was happening to her.

Farah’s gaze remained fixed to the monitor, expression firm and unreadable as she was enthralled with the images.

[member="Tryp West"]

 

[Tryp West]

Everything on the screen was real- it was old, a long long time ago, but real. Everything that Farah saw-

Tryp felt.

She felt the heaviness and the lassitude. The way the ropes twisted against her skin. The chill of the stone on her back. The cold kiss of the air on her skin. She felt the panic as realization and understanding sunk in. The touch of the knife.

She could keep it separate. It was one of the things she'd had to learn to do, to keep her sanity. It was too easy to let a memory overwhelm you, even one this old. Have it subvert your own reality and make you not simply feel it, but live it. If she wasn't careful, if she were caught off guard by memories as strong as this one, or did too many like that in a row, well.

Tryp knew her limits.

The image on the screen faded as the kiffar withdrew her hand. The barest sheen of sweat was the only mark of how difficult that was- that and perhaps a certain tension around her jaw. She could do a couple like that, but she didn't enjoy it.

This was not the sort of job she was having a fun time with, but..... she needed the credits. Some days it was as simple as that. In truth, this wasn't the worst thing she'd read for the Sith. It just.... wasn't good either.

"Phew, dat was a doozy," she said with a chuckle- but there wasn't much actual humor in the tone. "Ya got an eye on ya, dat's fer sure."

[member="Farah"]

 

[Farah]

It really was a strange power. Strange, but Farah couldn’t help but appreciate it for what it was worth.

“It was fascinating for sure.” The Zeltron commented before pulling her gaze away from the screen. “Somehow, not surprising.” It wasn’t hard to guess what this altar had been used for and now they had actual visual confirmation of it. And in Try’s case, visceral confirmation.

It was only when she looked up at the other woman did she notice the slight clench of her jaw and the firmness of her face. Perhaps an empath should have felt something sooner, Farah had been too engrossed in the visuals and her racial empathy wasn’t as strong as a born-and-bred-Zeltros type.

Still didn’t mean that she couldn’t recognize tension in other people. For Tryp to have felt what was going on in the screen was very likely unpleasant.

“Are you alright?” There wasn’t much tenderness in her voice but there was something sincere in there. Farah may have been a clone brought up in the Zambrano household and routinely conduct unethical experiments, but that did not mean that she was a monster. Besides, she liked Tryp.

And the Kiffar was her ride out of here, so.

[member="Tryp West"]