Not About Angels

[Tydeus of Tion]

Trade from the Parlemian flowed through the Wheel. Just as it had for thousands of years. Ships came and went. Regimes rose and fell. Still the Wheel spun, a two spoked ring in defiance of time. Some said the Wheel would always spin, too valuable to destroy. Others said that was precisely why it would be blown apart. Moralists despised the gambling habits. Criminals reveled in it. In the end, everyone still did business there.

"The Wheel straddles the Parlemian. Fly undone. Here the whole galaxy goes down on its knees."

Ryan's hard features winced.

"I see." Very vividly, I'm afraid. "And the Mandalorians?"

"Weel, they're a little too busy gagging 'round our sausage. Might not like it, but they have to respect us."

Wheezing laughter came from the Toydarian, who flapped along beside Ryan as they moved through a casino inside the Wheel.

"So, what you think Grandmaster, eh? A good place for a Jedi recruiting center?"

Korr's lips curled upward a millimeter. "No it won't and I regret coming to this den of iniquity." Instead he said, "I will confer with the High Council. Good day."

And then he abruptly broke away from the smirking Toydarian, who undoubtedly only wished to reap some sort of tourist fee from having a Jedi center located on the Wheel.

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

[member="Ryan Korr"]

​

Den of Iniquity indeed.

From behind the HUD of her helm, a crimson light would flash under the dark tee visor. One seemingly grey eye would narrow, the cybernetic patch ocular zoom in on a particular point of interest.

Fiery red hair. Burlap brigade. Light saber on the hip.

Jedi.

What in the gorram hell was a Jedi doing on the Wheel for? Mertaal exhaled a heavy breath from under her helm. Already she could feel a headache starting to build in between her eyes. On the exterior, she was stoic without any manner of a hint of what lay within.

Chatter had it that a Jedi Master decided to pay a little visit to the Wheel. Considering the rather strained relations between the Jedi, the laughable Republic, and the Clans, Mertaal knew this was just begging for trouble.

It only became worse when she discovered it was the stars forsaking interim Grand Master.

From her perch on the second story level. The Red Blade brought her right arm. A quick press of a few buttons revealed a small holoscreen. A small compartment slid open, revealing a miniature flying droid no larger than her thumbnail. She would use it to track him. In the meantime, she'll need to find a way to take him down.

If I know he's here, so would every Hunter in the bloody sector. If anything, Mertaal was certain that if anyone was going to cash in on his idiocy, it might as well be me.

At the very least, he'll have a fighting chance with the Rekali clans.

Maybe.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Sounds of impropriety drifted through the casino floor. The ringing of the machines, luring passersby with promises of riches. The crooning of a Zeltron courtesan on a stage, her pheromones adding to the siren's call. A thin haze of smoke drifted from cigarras, choking the air with nicotine and other heady drugs. A sea of neon lights glistened beneath the smog.

Ryan felt a prickling on his neck as he moved through the press of bodies, coarse robes marking him apart from the vanity fair. I'm being followed. He glanced to his left, to his right. The Jedi frowned, steps quickening.

As he emerged from the casino floor and rounded a corner, the feeling only grew. Ryan pushed past a Duros and glanced over his shoulder. About ten feet back a gaunt, leathery face stared back. Korr's eyes narrowed. He pivoted and moved toward the tail.

"You. Stop."

The Weequay broke out into a run, shoving people out of the way as it sprinted back onto the casino floor.

Why do they always run?

Ryan clenched his jaw and gave chase, drawing upon the Force to lend him speed and grace as he dodged deftly between the civilians of the Wheel, cloak flapping about him. A master of Ataru, Korr knew how to utilize the environment to his advantage. A leap carried him onto the top of aslot machines and he hopped from one to the other with sure feet, quickly gaining on the quarry.

Cries of protest rang out from the casino-goers. Shouts of anger and confusion.

One last bound and he came down from above onto the Weequay, robe billowing out behind. The falling kick caught the runner in the small of the back and sent him sprawling. Ryan landed, panting lightly. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, hair disheveled. Calloused fingers ran through that mop of dark red, pushing away from his face.

"I said stop."

The Weequay rolled over, scrabbling backward.

"Who are you?"

Ryan took a step forward.

Bwop!

The high whine stabbed through the noise-filled ambiance, demanding to be heard. The Weequay's head exploded, vaporized in a cloud of pink. Korr spun on a heel, head snapping in the direction of the blaster shot, hand moving toward his lightsaber. A Trandoshan stood, pistol leveled, smoke curling from the muzzle. Reptilian eyes glittered venomously at him, then it placed the barrel under its chin.

"No!"

"Kotsokshhâskatulnwit"

It squeezed the trigger. Someone screamed. The corpse thudded to the floor.

Ryan's outstretched fingers slowly curled closed, the casino's haze of smoke writhing around his arm. He grit his teeth and glared around, but it was all over. A small, horrified crowd gathered around the bodies. A woman began sobbing on the shoulder of her beau.

The local security arrived. Ryan answered their questions, complied with the usual directive of "don't leave town," and then found himself several hours later inside his rented room.

It was a small, quaint affair. Ryan stared in the mirror, hands grasping the sink. He could see speckles of the Weequay's blood on his face, on his robes. The stench of pheromones and cigar smoke clung to him, a foul odor. He grimaced.

"I need a bath."

* * *

He eased himself into the water, delighting in the purging heat. Sliding deep into the tub, Ryan closed his eyes and mulled over the days events. This was no place for a Jedi recruiting center, but clearly someone else did not want them around. He murmured the Trandoshan's last words to himself, rolling them around in his mouth. Sharp words. Harsh words. The language of the Sith.

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

[member="Ryan Korr"]

Kotsokshhâskatulnwit

The sharp, harsh words echoed within Mertaal's mind. Her lips grew thin.

The Grand Master had something to do with it. Had to. It was one thing to show up at the Wheel; another to make a spectacle of themselves and wave a giant star forsaking red flag that practically said 'come get me'. The Red Blade at first wondered if it had simply been another Hunter. However, when the Trandoshan had spat out that phrase then sent himself to the Scorekeeper, Mertaal knew there was something more beyond that.

What worried her, is that she didn't know exactly what.

Having the burlap brigade bring their war with the One Sith into Mandalorian Territory was not something Mertaal was keen on. They already had issues enough with the Republic after what happened at Roche to stir this kettle of Giju any further.

Why are you here, Korr?

That was his name. Grand Master Korr. Master Korr. There were few that would stand out as much as he. There was plenty on the man in Patches' databases to get a good profile. In the end, it only gave her a headache. She knew then that he was going to be a pain in her ass.

The drone tracker had managed to track the Jedi to a nondescript section of the wheel. It had managed to follow closely, allowing the tiny drone to sneak within the room. There it lightly flew, until it found a small nondescript perch by the side of the overhead lamp.

Across her HUD, the Red Blade merely took note of the situation. It was a small room. Sparse. There was one view-port that gave the occupant a modest view of space. Single bedroom with a separate refresher. A full water refresher at that. The Grand Master had paid the extra credits for that luxury. That told her that he was rather picky about cleanliness or full of himself. Odds were the latter, with what she could gather from psychological profiles based on commonly known information.

With him just entering the bath, she had a limited time. If one was aiming for a bath, then she was looking at anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour, depending on if Korr enjoyed reheating water or wasting it by adding fresh.

I need to get inside.

Being a Forcer meant that she had to do this carefully. The Taozin amulet under her armor helped her remain a bit fuzzy to other Forcers. The refined ixetal cilona pills she took cut her off from the Force. That was more of a precautionary measure and they had a timeframe. Beskar alloy armor and the cater coat made her appear... typical at least. Well to a degree. But folk here really don't question Mandos and their kin.

Not unless one wanted a crush gauntlet to the face.

[ Growe, I need the Grand Master's keylock combo.]

Mertaal was.. not quite known for her friendly disposition. Growe, the Neimoidian attendant with access to all the rooms in this sector of the Wheel knew this all too well. The last time she wanted a keylock combo resulted in the mottled grey green body getting slammed against the wall when he had said no.

He was so much more amicable now.

[ Catade Kalyr? Cad olyay nayc Catade Kalyr olar...] «The Grand Master? There is no Grand Master here...»

Or maybe he required a reminder.

[ Growe. Give. Me. The keylock combo.] the threat in her terse voice made no mistake she was losing her patience.

[Gedet'ye, ibic cuyir dush par acar-- biai yirhaou Ni-- ] «Please, this is bad for business -- how about I--»

The metallic crackle through her voice modulator left no doubt of her answer.

[ Be easy to tell Nemro you are here.]

There were a few bounties one didn't cash in due to the tit for a tat favors you could get. This was one of them. Nemro the Hutt would be very interested in finding Growe, along with the half a million of spice he'd smuggled from under the slug's nose.

[ Encrypted asas beyise?] «Encrypted as usual?»

From behind the dark tee of her visor, the Red Blade merely gave flat praise.

[ Good boy. ]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Ripples in the water. Ripples in the Force. Ripples in his mind. The tide of expanding thoughts, growing outward from a core of darkening skies. Gray clouds in his heart, brooding, threatening to turn into thunderheads, with bellies full of lightning and rain and defiant roars. A mutinous might with which to bend others, shape them to his will. Set the stars in the proper alignment and make the galaxy right again.

Ryan stared at trembling hands. Even now, without the impetus of vengeance or pain spurring him on, the Dark Side scrabbled for a hold on him. Is it in my nature? Am I cursed to struggle against a heritage I was born into? Or is the product of my life's actions, the fate of one whose seen too many friends dead or turned? The title of Grandmaster does not make the struggle easier. No indeed. My shoulders grow weary of its burden and the urge to give in has never been stronger. The curse of power.

He sighed and sunk beneath the water's surface. Red hair flowed out in a halo around him. Here, even though he held his breath, he felt at peace. The Force was in many ways like that water that surrounded him. Sometimes the currents ripped him in directions he did not wish to travel. Sometimes rocks jutting from the rapids tried to kill him. In the end, he was being led somewhere. This he had to believe.

Sighing, Korr rose and stepped out of the tub. Droplets cascaded from his form. Seizing a towel, he hurriedly dried himself off and wrapped it around his waist, then slid open the refresher door. He didn't see her at first. Not until he glanced to his left, where his robes lay on the bed, only to find a woman in armor and a coat standing between him and common decency.

Chestnut hair tumbled to her shoulders. Bronzed features had a stolid cast to them, made eerie by her eye. Eye singular, because a cybernetic eyepatch rested over the other.

Muscles writhed as Ryan clenched his jaw. Can't anyone ever just knock? But no, assassins and thieves had no cause to alert their prey. Ryan's gaze flicked to his shoto, where it lay inside the refresher. Before either of them could move, the door to the apartment clicked open.

A pair of surprised Trandoshans, blasters in hand, looked between the armored woman and near-naked man. No doubt they'd had the same idea as [member="Skye Mertaal"]. Unfortunately, their execution had come several minutes too late.

The room was small. The reptilians were not. Ryan barely had pull the shoto's hilt into his hand with the Force before the lizard-men boiled into the room.

The cold, familiar weight of the shoto smacked into his palm at the same moment the Trandoshan leveled a blaster. Ryan gestured, pushing the barrel a few inches to the left. The bolt punched through the wall instead of his chest. Eschewing the use of the blaster, the Trandoshan lumbered into him, knocking him backward into the refresher. His back slammed into the edge of the sink. A hot stab of pain and a sudden ache tore through him. The hilt slipped through stunned fingers, clattering to the tile floor. Cold-blooded eyes glittered with malice and the reptilian swiped at him with a clawed hand. Ryan raised a warding arm, pushing back against the reptile's wrist, slowing its strike, but not stopping it as those wicked claws powered through and raked across his chest. Skin and muscle parted, opening long furrows over his right pectoral that quickly filled with hot blood.

Ryan bit down to keep from crying out and extended his hand desperately. The hilt of the fallen shoto wiggled. The Trandoshan opened its fanged maw, jaws moving forward to take a bite out of the Jedi's face.

*Snap-hiss*

The short azure blade sheared through brown scales with a deadly sibilate. The head of the saurian landed on the ground with a sickeningly fleshy thunk. The body fell onto him and he gasped as ice cold agony flooded outward from his chest wounds.

The sounds of the scuffle in the apartment beyond had faded. Korr pushed the decapitated corpse off and rose, face twisted in pain. Rivulets of crimson ran from his lacerated chest, staining the white towel around his waist a bloody red. Korr stumbled out of the refresher, one hand propping him up against the doorway, the other clutched fast around his shoto.

 

[Skye Mertaal]

[member="Ryan Korr"]

Things always seemed to go from bad, to worse. Figures that it would happen with a star forsaking Jedi.

There was no time to think. Only to act. One Trandoshan headed straight for the Jedi, while the other came at Mertaal. She kicked a chair to him, blocking him from moving forward. However, that didn't halt volley of blaster fire shot through the length of the room, blasting a line of charred holes along the wall. Good thing that underneath that was durasteel, although that didn't do much with a few of the ricochets.

Twin Bryar pistols were unholstered from her hips, the cherry red cybernetic ocular patch zooming in for her aim and to perfect trajectory. Blaster fire erupted within the small living area, with the Red Blade moving from right to left. The tell tale snap hiss of a lightsaber echoed within the refresher, and for a moment Skye let out a savage curse.

If the bloody bastard died...

Her jaw tightened in determination. Another few pot shots went at the Trandoshan's direction, a few smacking right by his shoulder and thigh. The Trandoshan let out a savage scream, kicking the chair away. He charged at Skye, using the brute force of his body to grab her. A body slam had her knocked back against the wall, her head smacking and flashing stars in the back of her eyes. Yeah, those were bruised ribs. Maybe even a concussion. Pain ignited and she gave another grunt as hot, rancid Trandoshan breath breathed down upon her.

He moved back, thick trunk like arms shifting to grab at her beskar plated body and slam her back again. That movement provided all the space she needed. A switch and press of a button on her gauntlet released the wrist launcher. Five smartranq darts full of enough dope to knock out an adult Wookiee gleamed under the light.

"Feth off!" came her garbled snarl, upper lip baring in a hiss as she shot one dart right onto the Trandoshan's belly. He jerked against her, roaring at her with spittle and rage.

With a cold expression, Skye shot another dart into him again. The Trandoshan gave another jerk, this time, two vials of smartraq working rapidly through his system. He gave a sway to the left, prompting the Red Blade to lift up her boot and kick him back square on the chest. He fell back with a heavy, sickening thud, leaving the Hunter breathing heavily for a few moments as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights.

Gorram it!

With a grimace and a grunt, pushed herself off the wall just as the bloodied, stumbling form of the Grand Master made its appearance. He was coated in blood, a bulk of it his own, oozing from his chest in a series of savage lacerations from the Trandoshan's claws. He had a shoto lightsaber with him, and Skye knew she had to act quick.

Three vials of smartranq in her wrist launcher, she snapped her hand up. The dart went flying straight at the Grand Master, aimed to strike right along his upper chest. It had the widest mass for a higher potential of hitting him.

For a moment, Skye registered the expression of agony the Jedi Master was holding in. His eyes told a story. Of determination. Of focus despite the gravity of his wounds. It was admirable to say the least.

Too bad he was a Jedi.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

The second Trandoshan lay on the floor, body convulsing, saliva drooling from between tapering teeth. The hard gaze swept up, settled on the woman. One of her eyes gleamed red under a lock of chestnut hair. Her aura felt hazy, indistinct. Trying to focus on it was like trying to grab at a bar of wet soap. He couldn't sense her intentions, but those heterochromic eyes seemed hostile enough. Although, he must look a ghastly sight. Three gaping gashes in the chest, flaps of skin hanging open and exposed. Harsh, artificial light glistening on the sheen of bright red that coated an abdomen clenched in pain. Raised scars littered beneath. Beads of crimson tracking down the virgin white towel. Face twisted with pain, brows lowered in a fiery scowl.

Maybe she just wanted to talk. The Trandoshans had attacked her too after all. Her hand snapped up. Korr grit his teeth. ​They never want to talk.

The device on her wrist clicked, spit a flash of silver across the room. Precognition enhanced reflexes sent the shoto whipping up, guided by the Force. The dart sped into the humming azure blade and met a swift, molten end.

Ryan's left hand released the edge of the refresher door, arm moving across his body, two fingers extended. The mattress flipped upright on the bed frame with a creak. The Jedi gestured sharply, fingers cutting through the air. Without pause, the mattress followed his will and sailed toward the woman with the full intention of delivering a twin sized smothering against the wall behind her.

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

[member="Ryan Korr"]

Gorram it!

Tch! Came the frustrated cluck of her tongue. Bracing her back, she brought her right foot up just as the mattress came slamming at her. While it may have been a mattress, the force of it drove her knee back close to her chest. A grunt erupted from her lips, blowing out as she used the leverage of the wall to suddenly kick it right back out. It went flopping back, the Red Blade reaching back up to cycle another dart.

He was going to make this difficult. Figured. They always do. She still had her Bryer pistol on her right hand, but she didn't use it. That much was a tell.

Instead, she opted to drop the pistol. She used that time reach for one of her Forcebreaker grenades at her hip. Palm jerked it free, thumb flicking the ring off. She rolled it at his feet at the same time she shot her fourth smartraq dart at his chest.

Time to dance twinkletoes.

The gas would start to jet out, and would soon fill the room with its thick pale pink cloud. Oh, he could very well hold his breath. That was fine. But even the fine mist would settle on those bare open wounds and absorb into his system.

All she needed was to cut him off from the Force.

Then get him knocked out before he caused anymore trouble.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

"Footwork," Marcello had drilled him time and again. "Footwork is the foundation to any form of combat in the galaxy. Footwork and a focused mind."

Bare feet moved forward, steps light. Ready to dive into a roll, push off in a jump or improvise with the terrain in classic Form IV fashion. The enclosed space limited the options. A small room, with the clutter of the bed frame and the Trandoshan's twitching body between them. Cinched tight around his waist, the towel scattered droplets of blood and water onto the floor in a trail behind him.

Korr danced past the prone reptilian, motions fluid and graceful even in his wounded state. The mattress kicked out toward him, Ryan spun past and to his left, thigh grazing a low dresser, leaving the mattress to fall away. He could see her now, form no longer obscured by the hurled mattress. The pistol slipped through her fingers, clattered to the ground. The empty hand dived for her leg, unclipped an orb and tossed it toward him. The sphere thunked on the ground and rolled toward him. He gestured reflexively, off-hand seizing the grenade and sending it back toward her face.

Before it could reach her the orb exploded in a spray of pink gas. Korr's brows slashed downward into a tight scowl. Force breaker. He opened his mouth, air rushed in, lungs swelled. He did not exhale. The art of breath control, a lesson learned early and well.

The wrist launcher clicked again. The short bar of vibrant cerulean met the dart, seared it into non-existence.

Ryan's off-hand came up, palm flat. A brilliant flash of pure white shone forth in the pink haze, bright enough to temporarily blind and leave lingering afterimages.

He closed the distance, reaching out again with the empty hand, grabbing at her right wrist, aiming to pin it against the wall.

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

Bloody hell!

The bright light managed to blind her, sending bright circles across her coronea. Before she knew it, [member="Ryan Korr"] managed to capture her right wrist against the wall, prompting a grimace and a half snarl obscured by the thick waves of her hair. The bright cherry red of her cybernetic recycled through it's processes, having immediately reacted to the bright flash of light to adjust its ocular setting.

It was all she had to get a good visual of the half naked Grand Master now shoving himself against her. She took that brief moment of clarity to shoved forward with her free hand to grasp at the wrist holding the shoto, intending to twist his wrist to get him to drop it. The last thing she needed was to get her head sliced off.

It would have been really easy, to drive her knee up for the Grand Master's jewels, but even Mertaal had her lines. She wasn't trying to hurt Korr; she just wanted to knock him out. However, the more he struggled against her, the more she'd have to kick it up a notch to do what she needed to do.

In this case, it was to immediately jerk out her head to headbutt him. He was lucky she wasn't wearing her helm. That would have likely broken his nose with that Keldabe Kiss.

Patches would laugh over that until the end of days.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

A vicegrip latched onto his own wrist in turn, wrenching at his arm. He grimaced, lips tight as he loomed over her and stared down at that feral snarl. Suddenly, she pushed of the wall and into him, skull butting into his jaw with a solid crack that sent a stab of pain through his chin and left him reeling. The docking clamp on his wrist jerked again and the shoto fell from his stunned grasp. Thudded into the carpet with a deactivating whoosh.

Chest torn open, air filled with ixetal cilona and weaponless, Korr didn't like his odds, but he wouldn't give up this easy.

The mattress lay just behind them.

In the misting pink, he bent his now-empty right hand and clasped her wrist in turn, leaving the two arms intertwined, grip on grip. Ryan released her hand with his left, motions swift and sure as he pivoted on the balls of his feet, knees bending low. He aimed to put his left shoulder under her left armpit, while his right hand maintained a grip on her left wrist. His back turned into her. As the movement completed he rose, knees jerking up slightly, tailbone pushing out and into her. A good deal heavier than the woman and drawing on the Force for strength, Korr's forearm corded with straining muscles as he jerked down on her wrist, attempting to throw her up and over so that she'd land on her back.

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

[member="Ryan Korr"]

One blue haired Firrerreo would have said she let down her guard. That she literally had the Grand Master naked as the day he was born, and all she had to do was knock him out. Well, that's what happens when one isn't actually trying to kill their objective. However, as soon as the world spun and she landed with a crack half on and half on the mattress, Mertaal's patience had worn thin.

Pain lanced down her back, a grunt erupting from her lips. Her hair flew back from her heart-shaped face, revealing the blood splattered skin and the cybernetic eye patch. Teeth grit together, and her jaw clenched.

"GorramJedi." came the muttered curse. She was lucky she wasn't winded and that the mattress took the bulk of the hit. Taking advantage of her prone position, she turned to her side and swung a beskar plated leg and clip him right behind the ankles. If she went down, so would he.

If he went down; well she had one last dart.

And his towel covered arse was pretty hard to miss.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

He saw the jerk of her hips. The foot coming round. He tried move. Too slow. The beskar-armored shin cracked into his ankles and swept him off his feet. Ryan sprawled onto the mattress, smears of blood where he fell.

The Jedi rolled over, muscle-memory acute, training ingrained since the age of five. He came up on top of her, one fist raised to strike at her face, at her throat, at her lips. Fingers curled. Knuckles bare. Lungs begging for air. Body dripping blood and sweat. The mattress bowed beneath him, knees splayed on either side of her waist. The towel matted with his own gore slid dangerously around his hips.

Ryan's arm drew back a bit further, ready to bring it down. Ready to deliver swift-justice to the hotel assassin. He paused, arm unsteady. A sensation flooded him. The mist stung the gashes in his chest, an odd pain to focus on, given the wealth of them. He denied himself the pleasure of oxygen, despite the screaming of his capillaries. Not until he finished dispensing with this-... with this....

The Force, that powerful river of light that flowed around him and through him, began to fade. His connection dimmed. An ache formed in his heart, horribly familiar. The ache that came with the loss of an old friend. Only he'd had this one his entire life. Guiding him. Directing him. He relied on it for comfort, for support. And now he could feel it slipping away, no matter how hard he clutched.

A shuddering gasp escaped his lips.

Eyes filled with a mix of horror and confusion turned on [member="Skye Mertaal"]'s cruel expression.

"No," he whispered.

Click. Fffft.

The gleaming dart bit into his chest, a minor pain compared to the others. His limbs grew slack, arm drooping. His eyes rolled back and the world went dark. He fell forward, unconscious.

 

[Skye Mertaal]

It was coming. Right at her, a closed fist. Mertaal braced herself for the impact, intending to use her arm to block the strike. Yet the bloodied man above her staggered. A mask of horror and confusion raked across his face, deepening the lines under high cheekbones and straining the corners of those storm riddled eyes.

Those eyes. They reminded her of a tempest. Dark slate against the backdrop of a gray streaked sky.

His blood fell on her like rain, splattering upon her beskar. Crimson drops fell on her cheek, and before she knew it the heavy weight of the Jedi fell upon her. A heavy grunt fell from her lips, dead weight half on her. Lips twitched, and she gave a sudden exhale.

Nek take it.

He was knocked out. Took long enough, she'd chide herself in her mind. Now she had the problem of two Trandoshan bodies and the bleeding unconscious one of the Grand Master. With a slight shove, she rolled him onto his back, moving her body along with his until she came on top. For a moment she held her breath. The pink mist surrounded her. Reacted in her system. The length of her fingers began to twitch and tremble. She should have worn her helm.

Swallowing hard, the back of her hand slid across her face. A bright red petal of Korr's blood saturated her cheek.

Need him on the Phoenix.

A wince, and she brought up her wrist comm. If anything, she could get that sniveling Neimoidian to help her. A quick press of her wrist comm and she sent a transmission to the lucky bastard. Just like last time, she just needed him delivered. Preferably, alive.

Taking a moment, the Hunter lowered her grey eye to study the man under her. It was the first time Skye really got a chance to look at him. Really, see him. Feth, he was colossal. If the hotel was small to begin with, he turned it into a shoebox. Her head still stung from when she knocked her head against his chin. It was already starting to bruise, purple constellations blooming over her skin.

I need to do something about those wounds... Having him bleed to death was counterproductive. Those three gashes across his chest were not something to turn their nose against. He was covered with so much blood, it was hard to discern how much was it from him or from the Trandoshan from earlier.

With a grimace, Skye reached behind her back to get a small pouch attached to her belt. It was a med-kit. Unhooking it, she brought it up close to her face. Then she panned over to the Grand Master, then back to the Med-Kit.

Her lips drew thin. This was not going to be enough. Not to mention, as that bright cherry ocular appraised him from head to toe, he was missing far too much clothing to be decent. An ironic thought came to mind that any of the Dathomir witches would be pleased to take him just as he was.

The tranq would knock him out for a couple of hours, give or take someone of his size. It would be enough time for her to get him cleaned up, the most severe of his wounds tended, and cuffed with the AEL Terentatek cuffs in the Force cage at the ship.

"Alright Korr," she murmured, her voice a rasp in the small, chaotic mess of a hotel room. "We're going on a little trip."

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Bleary eyes fluttered open. Korr groaned, a soft, hoarse croak. Every inch of his body ached. The small of his back where the Trandoshan slammed him into the sink. The rope burn on his wrist where that woman had wrenched his shoto from his grasp. A black and blue bruise probably discolored the underside of his chin, where she'd head butted him. Those and a host of other pains came back as his body remembered the fight. Korr's mind struggled to catch up.

He lay on his back, bare flesh pressed to surface of the cold metal floor. Loose, cream colored pants shifted against his skin, the fabric coarse and thick. He recognized them, since they were his, but he hadn't put them on. He wore nothing else. Korr frowned, struggled to rise. Gasped at the pain in his chest, nearly the whole of which was covered in heavy gauze wraps. Fingers tested the wraps across his chest.

So, not an assassin after all. Why keep me alive?

The answer was, of course, horribly simple

A bounty.

Managing to prop himself into an upright position, Ryan blinked away the haze of sleep and found himself staring at a transparent, shimmering wall of red. He glanced around. Four walls. The Jedi closed his eyes. An energy cage. I'm beginning to regret waking.

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

"Don't move, Korr."

A low, feminine voice would float over to the groggy [member="Ryan Korr"]. It was spoken tersely, but without venom. The owner wasn't immediately visible, but the Grand Master would be able to ascertain that the Hunter was near. Were he to try to move, he would find his hands bound in AEL Terentatek cuffs. A precaution, considering she hadn't given him a pill to cut him off from the Force. When his vision would clear, he would find that beyond the shimmering wall of red of the Force Cage was a relatively small living area.

It held a bed at the far right corner. The spare to be precise. The interior was dim lit, but allowed one to still see well enough without strain. He was on a ship. If he had familiarity with the layout, then the Grand Master would realize he was aboard a Firespray Class Patrol and Attack Aircraft. A heavily modified one at that.

As Korr's vision would clear, he would finally be able to see a shadow of a woman sitting on a couch at the left side of the main deck. The bright cherry red of her cybernetic ocular patch would identify her as the on responsible for his current predicament. Gone was the armor, and in its stead dark brown pants, heavy boots, and a white tank top. Her hair was still a hot mess of dark brown waves that fell like a veil around her shoulders to mid back.

At her side, there lay an intricate wooden box. It was her medical supplies, with the lid swung open. "Painkiller?" she offered, aware that he very likely would not want it.

How hospitable of her.

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

The brows furrowed together a millimeter further at her words. He glanced down at the leather cuffs around his wrists. Tested them slightly, probed them with his mind. Hmm. AEL does good work. Gray eyes tracked back up, noted the simple apparel of the woman, slid past like sharpened steel. The structure of the bulwarks seemed familiar, a ship, obviously. A freighter? He couldn't recall the specs at the moment.

His attention shifted to the room's furnishings. An ascetic. Good. Somehow the idea of being captured by an opulent dandy didn't much appeal to him. Aside from which, Sith loved their ostentation. The lack of it was reassuring. Maybe someone he could reason with.

The Jedi sighed, rounded shoulders sagging forward. Part relief at the lack of interrogation tools in his field of vision, part utter exhaustion. Long, straight red hair hung disheveled, strands dragging across his face.

"Painkiller?"

Korr grunted. Deliberating for a moment, but seriously doubting a ruse. Poison in the pill? Unlikely. "Very well. I suppose if you wanted me dead we wouldn't be having this conversation."

A painkiller might give him a clearer head, bring the world into sharper focus. Allow him to formulate some sort of a plan.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage," ah, Grand Master of understatement, "Miss..."

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

One single ebon brow rose.

Well, so he could be sensible. That was a surprise. "Tch." came the cluck of her tongue. Instead of reaching for a pill, however, she stood. Her slow gait took her towards a very simple galley set up along the left wall. Tiny is as tiny does. The Phoenix was made to be her home, allowing enough space for her to live comfortably alone. It was heavily modified for long term space travel, with space for one more should she choose it.

"Not important, Korr." she replied simply. He could call her whatever he wished. It didn't matter. She would deliver him to Rekali and be done with it. A small pot sat on the singular range, the small funnel of steam rising a tell of the hot water within.

"You'll need to eat." she told him, "Allergic to anything?' came her subsequent question. It was an odd thing, for she spoke with the manner a medic would in asking a patient questions. Her hair would sway with every move she made. She took a mug from the secure cupboard, setting it down beside her. A small tin came next. A spoon.

Almost as if she were simply getting ready for a simple conversation over tea.


[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Korr snorted softly. A polite captor would be too much to ask for in this galaxy. No justice. But then, he supposed, the situation could always be worse. He might have lost an arm or a leg in the encounter. She might have been the sadistic kind, or a Sith. Yet, as things stood he was alive and mostly intact. Good enough for now.

"No allergies," he replied, voice still the cool and crisp professional cadence of a Coruscanti, despite what he'd been through. "You know my name. I don't know yours. Hardy fair, but life never is." His lips twitched upward by a grim centimeter.

Lack of enviable options. Dangerous situation. Multiple wounds. Unknown assailants. Cryptic languages.

In other words, the life of a Jedi.

Ryan grimaced, propping himself up a bit more, abdomen clenching in pain at the movements. He watched as she prepared the food. Swift and sure movements showed that she knew the location of every item on the vessel. Korr pondered his situation while she worked.

Terse delivery made it clear she didn't want to engage him in conversation. Ordinarily, Ryan would have been fine with that, but placid silence wouldn't get him out of this cage. And he wasn't the one to come quietly his fate, head bowed in defeat.

"Where are you taking me?"

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

Did he have to sound as if he had a stick up his ass? Or was that just standard for Jedi? The thought alone brought a noticeable grimace across Mertaal's face, a faint scowl replacing it a moment after.

"Somewhere less conspicuous." there was the slightest hint of an accent to her voice. Just enough of a rasp to make one wonder its origin. It wasn't Corsucanti, nor was it Mandalorian. Certainly wasn't Aldaraanian. Practiced motions filled a small empty tea sachet with the contents of the tin. It had an earthy smell to it, herbal with a hint of cloves. A twist and seal, she tossed the sachet into the mug. Hot water was soon poured into it, allowing the herbal remedy to seep.

"And where the Scorekeeper didn't have her sights on you." the last was said wryly with a twist of her lips, a low mutter that Korr likely wouldn't pick up unless he was listening.

Skye had few indulgences. What she kept as food was one of them. He couldn't have the remedy without something in his stomach; the solution would absorb quickly, and the last thing she needed was to have him hurl the contents of his stomach all over her deck. That wasn't even including opening those wounds again.

I'm not waiting an hour to take my pills again, she told herself. That had been an experience. At the very least, it had accelerated his healing. Not that he would notice.

However, she wasn't one to skimp. She took a fresh geldun sun apple from the food bin and a protein bar of sorts. This was no filling soup for him to eat. Just something basic. Taking the mug in hand and the apple and bar in the other, Skye turned on the ball of her foot and strode over to her captive.

"Don't move," she told him again, that grey eye and cherry ocular panning over to the Grand Master. "This is hot." it would be his only warning. The last thing she needed was to have him decide to try and use the Force to attempt to overtake her and escape.


[member="Ryan Korr"]