Not About Angels

[Tydeus of Tion]

"And you shouldn't have been so trusting."


The eyes of a man well acquainted with violence watched her as she struggled against his telekinetic hold. Saw the tendons straining in her neck. Saw the cords of muscles flexing in her arms. Saw the offended fury in her eyes. The hurt of betrayal. You don't even know me. Yet that was the arrogance of a woman who looked upon Jedi and judged them all to be cut of the same cloth. Arrogance, pure and simple.

She broke his hold and moved, quick as a vine cat. Part of him wanted to indulge her. To let their bodies collide as they struggled in a contest of will and strength. A younger him might have done so. A younger him would have let emotions rule.

Ryan clamped down on those lusts with a cold, practiced implacability. Grand Masters of the Jedi Order do not roll upon the floor, scrapping with bounty hunters.

The serene, august gaze held nothing but iron resolve, well matched to her own.

Korr flicked his fingers and the shiv leapt from the sheath at her boot. The blade hovered in the air between them, glinting wickedly in the artificial light. Blade almost as razor sharp as the control he exerted over it. The stubby knife did not leap forth to gut her, but hung there, content to be the punctuation to his words.

"Don't do this. I'll go with you to the Rekalis. I will discuss with them ways to atone for any wrongs they feel they've suffered at my hands, or at the Order's. But I'll not go as a bounty."

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

Her surge would have made contact had it not been for his deft movement, the flash of silver of her shiv flying from her boot to mockingly point at her in the air. Had she'd not been quick, she'd have impaled herself at it. First blood to the Jai, wouldn't that have been nice? Anger crawled up her spine and settled itself against the back of her neck.

Yet it wasn't just ire at the Jedi. No, it was at herself. At her stupidity. Nostrils flaring, she felt her breath quickening.

Idiot.

Now he stood before her as if the personification of the perfect calm of a storm. All that righteous rage from before had simply dissipated. She wondered how he did that. Control his rage. She envied him the skill. He stood there like a tower of cool serenity. Of undeterred and unimaginable control.

Everything I am not.

It made her hate him then. Made her clench her fingers into tight fists, knuckles white against pressure points of red. That singular disc of silver darkened into slate. Slowly, she strode forward, her blazing gaze unwavering. One thing about a threat, is that you should be willing to go through with it.

The Hunter did not stop, no she closed that distance he held between them with slow, methodical purpose-filled strides. Until the tip of her shiv caught the cloth of her tank top. Until with her own willing pressure it began to indent the razor tip upon her skin. Until the Jai collected his First Blood, and the first bead of scarlet broke punctured skin.

[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Blood bubbled from broken skin, tiny red tears that beaded the shiv's tip. Still, she came on, slowly. Oh, so slowly. Defiance burned in her eye, a silver flame. Pain barely registered on those features.

"Stop."

He might as well have stood before a wildfire and sought to quench the flames with futile entreaties. She came on, a centimeter in. The white shirt bled, an expanding ring of crimson, like an artist's first brushstrokes on canvas. A canvas on which Korr had no wish to paint. His eyes widened. A numb sort of horror crawled through his system, as if he'd been submerged in ice water.

"Stop."

She came on, pushing herself further onto the blade. No signs of relenting, even as crimson rivulets spilled out. A fearlessness raged in her, as if daring him to end it. To end her. The battering ram of her resolve slammed against his calm veneer. Every push onto the blade another boom against the walls.

A web of cracks sprouted, slowly at first then spreading. Sown from the seeds of horror and quickly blossoming into full disgust. The mask splintered, features twisting into a dark frown of concern, worry and anger. The shiv fell, clattering to the floor.

Only the ruthless can keep their walls forever. And Korr found he had too much blood on his hands to trade lives so callously and for such a petty reason as self-preservation.

He stumbled forward, face a picture of abject dismay.

"Why?"

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

Blood flowed, the shiv had sliced through muscle and scraped at bone. Pain. Pain was good. Pain fed her anger. Pain kept her focus. Pain...

Pain leveled her in a way that would match the former cold, practical implacability Korr had so shown her before. It began to visibly affect her; her arms twitched, legs trembled. Pain blossomed in her very cells, pushed each particle of her being into hyperactive readiness. Her bones themselves seemed to harden, strengthened by her very will.

"Why?"

Skye didn't even let him finish. She was a blur, a Bha'lair lunging for her prey. Muscles contorted, stretched, twisted. Quickly, she strengthened fine, weak tendons and joints in her digits in preparation. Jeco quick despite the puncture, the brunette shoved her entire weight behind the lunge. Pure willpower hammered the sheer manipulation of her body and leg musculature to use the momentum to push her body onward.

Almond shaped eyes narrowed as that turbulent orb of silver blazed. She'd strike at him for the tackle; wild wicked locks of inky tendrils of hair flying into the air, swirling about her shoulders, trailing down her back and shoulders amidst the ribbons of blood. Her blood. It rained upon Korr, smearing crimson petals across his chest and arms. Bloodmarked.

A grunt erupted, a heavy pant as she gave a great heave, every intention of bringing the Grand Master down under her.

Why?

Her voice was a rasp that would scratch up the spine to settle upon the shell of his ear.

"Only start what you intend to finish."

[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

She slammed into him in a blink, arms hooking behind his legs, jerking up, head pushing against the outside of a thigh as she bore him to the ground. Korr slammed into the deck, wind rushing out of him. He gasped for breath like a landed fish. Pain seared through his chest, scabs stretching.

The woman straddled him, dark hair disheveled. Silver ire glinted in her eye the way a dagger might shine in starlight. Enrapturing and terrifying all at once. Threats of violence. For what? So she could finish a job she didn't really believe in? Ryan found his breath, but still groped for words. He settled for grinding his teeth and glaring back. Adrenaline coursed through his system without release. Jaw muscles writhed.

Ryan pushed up against her weight, struggling to rise. Damn this woman. Her stubbornness infuriated him. Pushing herself onto the blade. So she could make a point. So she could prove that she was willing to die. Or to prove that he wouldn't kill her. Korr wasn't sure where the anger came from, or at what it was directed. Himself? Her? Those blasted Mandalorians?

The scent of juniper and sweat mixed with hydraulic fluids as he pressed up with all his strength, glowering into that olive face. She'd broken that stone mask he hid behind. And why not. The Temple was in ruins. Sith held Coruscant. The Order was a pathetic mess of gibbering children who played at being heroes. Most of his friends were dead or turned to the Dark Side. Why not take this too? He clenched his jaw until it hurt, until it felt like his teeth might shatter.

Their noses nearly touched. Her curtain of dark hair tickled at his face. Her lips curled in a sneer. Disgust. Anger.

Is this what she wanted? To make a hypocrite of those who would claim to be above emotion?

Fine.

He'd clung to tradition the way a drowning man clung to a piece of wood in the ocean. What had it ever brought him but raw fingers and splinters? Misery. Korr let go with a snarl. Better to die a lion than live like a dog.

One hand came up, caught her wrist. Squeezed. A vice grip of steel. He glared into her eyes. Could feel each beat of his pounding heart. Then his lips pressed fiercely against her mouth with a firm tenacity that dared her to pull away. Dared her to show weakness.

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

Bastard, Skye's mind lanced out, her upper lip curled into a snarl as he locked her in place. Pain licked at her wrist, fingers curling and fisting impotently. A glint at her periphery caught her attention, coated in crimson, the metallic tang of her blood thick in the air.

Gone was that mask of stone. That veneer of stoic righteousness cracking under her battering ram. All that was left now was his rage; that simmering anger and frustration which now boiled down to a sort of nasty black pitch in the bottom of his soul. His eyes a turbulent mirror image of her own.

What came next left the Hunter blind and a creature of feral instinct.

He kissed her roughly, opening his mouth wide over hers and thrusting deep on the first stroke. The vice-like grip drew her to him, kissing her hard and daring her to meet it. In that instant he seemed to be everywhere, her mind playing tricks, her blood stained hands snaking up to shove him off. Ice licked at her spine, clawed at her mind and the scent of copper turned into a near nausea inducing cocktail.

Knives. He always had a penchant for knives.

The flash of a knife. The crack of bone. The searing pain of her shoulder and a bloom of fire at her cheek. Fingers caught her chin, pinching deep into the hollows under her cheekbones. A heavy breath, a perverse smile, and ---

Her breath came in short panic puffs. Let go of me! Her mind went wild. Her skin began to crawl, a bloom of fire over her collar bone, a dull ache on her wrist. Dry lips parted, a small whimper escaped only to be swallowed by the unsympathetic challenge. Memories bled into reality. Getoffofme! Everything was a blur. Blood. Pain. Laughter. DON'T TOUCH ME!!

Time meant nothing. Nothing but painful violent shadows interwoven. Memories blended -- pulled faster and faster like durasteel chain; bleeding from her mind. There was a weird sound. It was distressed, strained -- it was her. She was groaning in agony.

Darkness. Blackness...

... Blindness.

She tried to lift a hand, but her elbow ran into a bumpy wall. There was another wall at her back and in front of her and to the sides. She banged around in the small space, panicking, tears smarting her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. Opening her mouth until it gaped, she found she couldn’t breathe. There was no air, only the coppery smell of blood, clogging her nose -- She screamed. Then something above her moved. Light blinded her as she looked up.

“Ma'cherie...” a man’s voice cooed softly. Cultured, a faint accent. It all came back. Nar’Shadda, the slave pits, the blacking out. Dirty. Felt so -- "You shouldn't make me do such things..."

Anger, waves upon waves of dark anger shot through her body like white lighting, and her face contorted into a wild vicious mask of fury. Her bones felt like hot iron rods beneath her skin, glowing red hot with her rage. Her blood raced through her body, a liquid fire that seared her from scalp to heels. Every muscle and cell screamed for retribution -- screamed with a fury the bordered on nuclear meltdown. Off in the distance, there was a keening wail, growing rapidly into a chorus that threatened to draw blood from her ears.

It was only then that she realized the sound came from her throat.

"DON'TTOUCHME!" The growl spat out against his lips, a near unnatural strength driving the sudden surge to slam him back down onto the floor. She moved so fast, near akin to one with the Force. One second her hand was free, the next the flat blade of her shiv attempted to press to his throat.

As she gazed upon her prey, her features seemed to shift. Her iris seemed to briefly flickered from ordinary silver to a fiery, intense circlet of gold. Lips were swollen and bruised, a smear of blood a crimson stain over her cheek, that bright cherry ocular merciless. As though in a tempest, her black hair swirled all around her bloodied face, wild and savage as any feral Bha'lair ready to claim her due.

"Don't you ever touch me again."

[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

A wicked scream tore from her throat, pierced his ears like knives. Terror. Rage. Dragged kicking and screaming into the light from the blackest corners of her soul. His shoulder blades hit the floor as she slammed him away. Pushed him down. Fire spit from her gaze. The hot irons of the inquisitor, searing in their search for answers. But Korr had nothing left to hide.

The shiv bit into his throat, a thin line of blood seeping onto the blade, mixing with her own crimson tears. Korr heard the words rasping from a hoarse throat. The words of sheer outrage, of horror. He wondered what had been done to her. What nightmares she'd endured to loose such venom with every syllable. A brief, passing contemplation, hurled away by the storm inside.

What does it matter what she suffered? What pain she lived? Life is pain. Life is misery. And my cup runneth over.

Furies begged to be released, howling on the winds of his anger. Ryan's lips curled back, feral. Bloody. He could feel the Dark. So close. So much power. All he had to do was open himself up to the whirlwind and let the hatred flow. Korr's arms trembled. He stood at the precipice, looking down. Just a leap. And then the long fall.

Not like this. Not now. Not like this.

"So says my captor." Ryan snarled, heedless as the blade dug into his throat with every word, drawing more blood. "Take me to your friends, then. I've always heard beskads were famed for gentle touches."

After this, who would not say I deserve it?

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

Skye's chest surged, that taozin amulet sawing back and forth between them. Her throat felt tight. It wasn't lipid blue eyes that bore into her own. Instead, storm grey eyes stared up at her in defiance, chiseled lips curled up into a matching snarl of her own. Her breathing labored, and slowly the red mist cleared.

All she could see were the beads of red melding at his throat. Her blood. His. Her hand the cause of the birth of that crimson line.

You have to place yourself outside the realms of good and evil, right and wrong, light and dark...

She used to have a recurring nightmare when she was a child. A dream of four distinct, subtly varied tastes. Two of them weren’t entirely unpalatable. Two of them were so vile she would wake up choking on her own tongue. She tasted one of the vile ones now.

Its all in your head, love...

It saturated her cheeks and tongue, made her lips draw back from her teeth, and she finally understood why she’d never been able to put a name to it. It wasn’t the taste of a food or drink. It was the taste of an emotion: regret. A profound, exquisite sorrow that bubbles from the wellspring of the soul over the mistakes that were made, over the actions that should or shouldn’t have been taken, long after it’s too late and nothing can be done or undone.

The Force doesn't give a frak if you obliterate a sun, it doesn't care if you do so to save a billion lives or just for kicks.

This wasn't what she intended. Hadn't been from the beginning. Things never quite end that way. The road to the Nine Hells was paved with good intentions.

A fine trembling took her. For a brief moment, an expression of vulnerability shadowed her eyes, and his words made her visibly flinch.

For some women a flesh-and-blood man doesn’t pose near the threat as that of a memory. It wasn't Korr she was fighting then, but a ghost. Rearing back, the shiv clattered to the floor.

Its all up here, your perceptions of your actions and just how much you care about the perceptions of others. Thats what separates those who have fallen and returned to the land of the fraking sane and those who can never come back. They convinced themselves that their actions are so fraking diabolical that no matter what they did they could never possibly attone for those actions.

"Your word." her voice was hoarse, the Hunter rising as her eyes drew away from the crimson speckled image of the Grand Master at her feet. That knot in her throat grew thick with her sin and choked her with shame. Fingers curved tightly, her nails cutting bloody crescents into the flesh of her palms.

"Your word you'll come with me."

[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Hard eyes flicked to the shiv on the floor, then back up to the woman. Korr's feature's twisted, curled. A stone hurled into the magma, warped and twisted by the heat. Jaw clenched and unclenched. Muscles writhed. Blood leaked down his throat in tiny rivulets. Blood dripped on his bare chest from her wound. Drip. Drip. Drip. Steady droplets.

I did that. Me. For what? Self-preservation?

Anger at her for causing this situation. Anger at himself for contributing, for escalating. The point of it all seemed so far beyond either of them now.

Why?

What prompted this? The Dark Side's festering draw? No. He'd done it because he wanted to. Because he was tired of biting back emotion at every turn. Tired of listening to lectures from those who didn't understand war. Because when a mountain tortured by rain and wind breaks it does not go piece mail, but in an avalanche. Sweeping all before it.

Korr longed for that cathartic release. He'd gotten a taste. His head told him it was wrong, but his heart told him it was right.

And the Force?

As always, silent. A web of all-connecting energy, with a master plan, but not one that he could see, or hear, or feel. Leaving him to consult only the pain in his chest, the blood on his neck, and the hammering in his heart.

"My word then."

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

That cherry laser along with the silver disc bore their regard upon the Grand Master for a few more seconds. The adrenaline of anger would wane. In its place came the cresting wave of pain that would yell at her idiocy. Sanguine rivulets made her arm slick, the crimson stain of her blood a blooming flower of death that now spread across half of her chest.

They both were saturated in the stench of her lifesblood and his own. An amalgam of each other's sins and the bitter, jaded lot of their lives, either coasting along until oblivion came or desperately craving that cathartic release.

Skye studied the blood splattered angels and hard lines of Korr's face, the mirror clenching and tensing of his jaw that mimicked her own. They were like two Bha'lairs circling each other after pulling apart and landing critical strikes. Were the Captain here, he'd have cracked a joke that he could never take her anywhere. That there was no settling her into normal society. That, this is why they couldn't have nice things.

Swallowing hard, her head fell forward, the dark tresses veiling her stoic visage. Without another word, she rose onto her knees. A grimace of pain lanced as she dug into her pocket. Gorram it. Pain instantly shot through her shoulder even at the light motion, almost as if struck by lightning. Skye bit her tongue, enough to taste the tang of mettallic copper, her body tensing in reaction.

Pushing through it, she brought out the small key. Hilarious that this small silver piece of metal would release the Grand Master from his bindings. Not the Force. Not sheer strength. Just a key. A key that she held in her person all this time. Silence reigned, and with a flick of her head, she shoved the strands of her hair from her eyes.

Her good arm went reaching forward, taking claim of his bindings. A faint tremble shook the right, and she had to bite through the pain to wipe the excess red stain on her hand upon the fabric of her pants. Drawing the bindings close, she slipped in the key. A turn and a click, and Korr had his freedom.

"There is a water refresher in deck cee." She informed with a bit more bite than she intended, the pain waning but still enough to coat her voice. To others, it would sound like anger. To those that knew her, well, they would distinguish the difference. Taking the cuffs and the key into her palm, she then used the strength on her legs to draw herself up and off of him.

"Along with a set of fresh clothing." his to be precise, that she managed to nab. The ones he'd likely have stepped into after his bath back at the hotel. She hadn't intended on having him stay half naked the entire time.

"We'll be at the exchange point in three hours time." as she trudged on, the waning adrenaline keeping her going. However, her fingers were starting their tell tale twitch. She'll need to take her pills soon. Which meant that once she patched herself up, she wouldn't be able to take anything for the pain. Not the sort of drug cocktail she needed if she wanted to keep her mind focused with the Grand Master now free to roam.

"I'll clean up here."


[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

She inserted the key. Twisted.

Click.

Just like that, the shackles fell off. Her fingers trembled as they slipped the cuffs off his wrists. In fear? No. In pain. The wound hurt worse than she made out. Part of him wanted to help. The other thought it only fair turnabout. She'd cut him. Captured him. No one would be surprised if you were clawed while catching a tusk cat. Why should he regret that now?

Korr watched, features once more impassive. Retreating into the stone shell. My last refuge.

And yet, beneath that all he did feel a rain of guilt. It had been words that reached her after all. Not violence. Simple words. The Grand Master of the last remnants of the Jedi had not had the patience. Too proud. Too stubborn. Undeserving of such a title as Grand Master, but who else was left?

He was the last of his class. The last of those who watched the temple fall. Pain trickled in that had nothing to do with the scrape on his throat or the gashes on his chest.

Ryan rose to his feet, gray eyes weighty. "Thank you," he managed to say after a long moment.

Without further words, Ryan moved off in the direction of the refresher and fresh clothes, a slight limp in his step. But for all that, he stood proudly, back straight. Heavy shoulders strained against the invisible shame he wore like a cloak. Struggling to keep upright. To maintain the appearance of a stolid, text-book Jedi.

* * *

An hour later, Korr emerged, bandages fresh underneath his cream colored robes. His shin-length leather boots provided a reassuring sense of familiarity. In these boots he'd trod through kilometers of taiga, fought duels against Sith, led sorties from far off temples. And by tugging them on he remembered part of who he was and what he stood for. I am more than my blood stained hands.

Ryan found the woman after a short search. "I suppose it would be too much to ask for my lightsabers back?" All three of them. "Or failing that, your name?"

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

She knew he was there before he spoke.

Living in such small quarters and alone for so long made one excruciatingly aware when another filled the space. The Shadow Phoenix had been modified for long-term travel. Throughout its many owners, each had added their own flair and touch. The witch had been one. Ryori another. The one who took on the name of the Red Blade the last.

Different chapters. Different lives. All paths that lead to the present and the now.

She'd changed. Bloodied clothing removed. She made due with the sonic, a quicker method of cleaning up after oneself. All the more considering just how much of her own blood had stained the floor. A shade paler, the Hunter gave a pause, now sporting her own bandages. This one spread over her shoulder and smoothing over her clavicle.

"They are by the arms locker." she told him. "Secured." rising to her feet, she shut the lid to the medicine kit. Biting back the pain, she took the wooden box and ambled her way towards one of the wall lockers lining the right side of the main cabin.

"Red Blade." was the moniker she gave him. The name of the Hunter, not the woman. Coming to a halt in front of the locker, she stretched her hand out. Unlocking it with another scan of her palm, she waited the three seconds before it turned the red lights to green. A small hiss and it would unlatch, a mere press of the door automatically sliding it open.

Much like anyone would expect, the arms locker was a treasure trove of weaponry one would expect from a Mandalorian. Gorgon web rifles, Disruptor pistols, a Mun'beviin Anti-Material Rifle, Bolters and shatter guns. That wasn't even including the stack of varying grenades. It was a large collection of anti-force user weaponry. At least that detailed her specialty. Setting the box down upon a shelf, Skye turned towards the right. There, sitting upon the third shelf from the top, were the Grand Master's lightsabers.

She took them in hand with her good arm, then extended them out towards the Vahla. Yet perhaps what was more interesting was that the pair were not the only lightsabers stored there. Beside the empty area where Korr's own had been, lay a shoto hilt and beside it coiled neatly, a beskar whip. Closer inspection would determine it to be a lightweapon of sorts. Perhaps, a memento from one of her past bounties?

With the small armory she had, it was very much likely.



[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Red brows rose a millimeter as Korr surveyed her vast array of weaponry. Most of the arsenal he recognized. Equipment specifically developed to combat Force users like him. Accumulated and well-used over her lifetime, if the wear on them meant anything. She clearly resented those like him. People who could wield otherworldly powers. Monsters to some, angels to others. Always separated from the rest of society, whether by suspicion or awe. Every individual had their own private view of Force users, shaped by their experiences. Korr stood on the precipice of this great divide and stared back at the woman who called herself 'Red Blade'. Wondering what created this canyon between them. Wondering if there was really one at all.

Is it loathing of me, or loathing of self?

He could not yet discern, but he did know that the name she'd given him was likely only an alias. Red Blade. Like the shiv dripping with her blood. Few mothers name their daughters after crimson-soaked images of war. In truth, Korr scarcely knew why she had even trusted him with that, much less let him into the armory and given him back his lightsabers.

Korr's lips creased upward, a hollow, ghost of a smile. Gone in a blink.

Calloused fingers wrapped around the hilts. A shoto, a saber and a hilt longer than the other two combined. He clipped them to his belt. The long-handled lightsaber rested along his thigh, emitter bouncing against the side of the knee. Possessing those sabers, crafted with his own hands and instilled with a part of his identity, once more instilled a fresh sense of duty to the Jedi Order. Their traditions and temples might be tattered, but he would see that he honored them in conduct.

​Live for more than yourself. That was always my intention. Where did I go wrong? Why do I feel so empty?

His eyes looked past her, fell on the untouched whip and the shoto. The shoto's aura did not seem familiar to his senses. Not a trophy stripped from a dead friend. Korr left the subject for a later time.

"What changed your mind?"

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

The slide and hiss of the armory door being shut would resonate between them. Her lips drew thin, the tips of her fingers lightly rapping the console of the armory. She could feel the the bite of his gaze, the scrutiny.

A rock of her foot, a half spin and the Hunter rotated that cherry ocular to peer at him. Despite the coldness of the cybernetic, there was a weariness in her gaze, etched upon the angles of her heart-shaped visage. A grimace, and a thought came to her. A muscle in her jaw twitched, as if she fought an internal battle on just how much to divulge.

"You are not a bounty." she said simply, moving to walk past him. A pain in the ass, but not a bounty. If he had taken the time to wait, to be patient, then perhaps he would have noticed the lax manner. Or he had and simply ignored it. More than likely, too infuriated to really take that into account. Although he wasn't the only one to blame. Skye realized that herself.

Fingers twitching in more than pain, she added, "They spoke in Sith." out of context, but figured that would distract him from asking any more questions on the 'why.'

Figuring that it would confuse him, Skye elaborated as she ambled by, "The Trandoshans."

[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

Korr narrowed his eyes, recognizing a half-truth when it poked him in the eye. She moved past him, Ryan's head swiveled, tracking her. Her face gleamed, ruddy in the light, features hard as burnished bronze. Shielding emotions that she kept hidden within. Small wonder she'd chipped his own stony exterior. Yet, when such stubborn forces collided neither could come away unscarred. He had caught a glimpse of what lay beneath that surface and he would not be purchasing her spun yarn of 'not a bounty.' No doubt only woven to distract him.

Much like the probing questions about the Trandoshans.

"They did," he replied at last, voice even.

The T'doshok often collaborated with Sith and other unsavory organizations. Anyone who would give them a high body count. The more slain, the better. Such was their way. Korr had recognized the language, but not the phrase. Mind control was a possibility, but he had had little time to consider it in between the attempted assassination, the break-in and the kidnapping.

"You did not answer my question, Red."

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

She'd barely gotten more than a few feet away before she sensed him focus upon her with that cool granite stare. Ah, back to the back and forth. Eye and cherry ocular focused ahead, she kept moving. There was a slight twitch to her lips in displeasure, and she gave a roll of her shoulder that awoke the dull ache of her wound.

The thought of how to deflect came to mind. At least, until he called her Red. That prompted a pause. It was an unintended consequence of giving him the name 'Red Blade.' A little too close to the mark at a nickname she hadn't heard from another in a long while. There was a twitch at her jaw. Ayden had been the last one to call me that.

That bit of remembrance would prompt her to be more verbose than normal, her bronze heart-shaped face furrowing in slight frustration. "Would you rather I said your kiss was so convincing that it changed my mind?" The dark slash of her eyebrows rose high, that gray circlet of slate drifting with no certain lack of appraisal from the top of his broad shoulders, past the fitted Jai Robes, to the well worn hide boots on his feet.

"You surprise me Korr." she continued, the rasp of her accent containing a note of dry humor in her voice. One wondered if it was faked. "If you wanted to wrestle, you could have just asked."

Granted, all this was said to throw the focus back onto him. The crew of the Helm would be more familiar with her sense of sass, no one more than Patches. The Jai had his mental defenses; Skye had hers. Although it did beg the question on how the Grand Master of the Jedi Order was quick to steal kisses from random women who had him in cuffs. Her eye would spark with a daring flash of silver at what came next.

"Or did you just enjoy the rush you felt at doing it to spite me instead?"

[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

The first words from her lips left Korr with little doubts as to which direction this conversation would be heading. His brows drew together, a pair of thunderheads, beneath which flashed eyes of iron lightning. Another of her rabbit holes, down which he had no desire to follow.

"A mistake," Ryan said, words the cold, sure rasp of steel leaving its sheath. "No more of your ploys."

He might be thankful for her excusing of his indiscretions, but the fact still remained that it had been she who took him hostage and not the other way around. That she continued to dodge his questions left him less suspicious than it did tired. Tired of pressing people for answers when all he wanted to do was return home to the temple and meditate in some peace and quiet. To rest. But rest came even less for the righteous than the wicked.

Flirtation was not unusual. No Jedi could go to Zeltros without several prostitutes attempting to spear a white Herglic, so to speak. Korr was well used to shrugging off salacious behavior, yet he held no moral high ground here. Heady with anger and years of pent-up frustration, it had been his blunder. Even so...

"I know what you hide inside. I've felt it. Don't insult me by playing coy, or would you rather add it to injury?"

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

"A Sullust pot to the Giju kettle."

Came her curt quip, her jaw tensing as solid pewter met those storms. If he wanted to speak about what one hides inside...They could both glower at each other until one was blue. Great. She was being nitpicked by a Grand Master. Skye shot him a sideways glare, making a mental note that the next time she brought a Jai to her ship, she keep him in the cuffs and the Force cage.

"Does it really matter?" her fingers of her good arm rose to pinch the bridge of her nose. The frustration at his insistent query was growing. That dull ache on her shoulder increased, and the tiny twitches detailing the waning effectiveness of her pills made her just a little more short-tempered. Although with all that Korr saw, it wouldn't be much of a change from the typical.

A voice inside her head would try to be reasonable. What did it hurt to simply tell him? Would it not make this whole ordeal easier? Would it not cut the questions? It would; but being sensible when she was already irritated and with a shiv wound to deal with made it difficult to. The pink tip of her tongue went sweeping over her teeth, feeling the slickness as she clucked her tongue.

For star-forsakening sakes.

That mass of raven hair shook from side to side, and Mertaal took a step back to turn and walk away. It was as if she were to dismiss him again, were it not for the exasperated sound from the Hunter. "It was never my intention to keep you bound." Her eyes would glance up ahead towards the ladderwell that would lead to the cockpit.

"I'd have to be the most idiotic Bounty Hunter if I let my mark out of the Force cage, brought him out to check his wounds, " her hands would reach for the rungs, " And didn't keep him cut off from the Force through all of it." Her face was set into a burnished golden mask of irritation.

"I hunt Forcers, Korr. If I wanted to keep you bound in a cage, I've made bloody damn sure of it."



[member="Ryan Korr"]

 

[Tydeus of Tion]

He followed a step or two behind, still wary despite the recovered robes and sabers. The way the coarse fabric scraped against his chest as he moved reminded him of his purpose here, of the reason he would keep his word. Not simply because he believed promises should be kept, but because he represented an entire order of knights who sought to be guardians in a galaxy that had no place for heroes.

Ryan did not do this for the legacy, or for the glory, though he might have sought both. The low thread count of his garments attested to this. No one would think lesser of him if he purchased silk apparel, soft and smooth when it brushed across skin. Perhaps some even expected that a Grandmaster would take such liberties. Korr did not.

The impoverished of the galaxy, the weak and the hungry, if they could not afford such then why should he? He who claimed to serve the destitute and the helpless. They might be a pack of uneducated fools. They might be driven to hate him. His legacy might prove to be twisted by others. All inconsequential. A Jedi is not a political animal. We do what we believe to be right. That is all that matters.

Or was it?

Desires lurked within that swirling, oft-hidden storm. To be rid of those idiots, just as he'd severed ties with the Republic. Did they deserve to have their gardens littered with his blood? Korr grit his teeth, beat that side of him senseless and locked it somewhere deep.

The woman called Red seemed to have some measure of him, just as he did of her. They kept poking at each other's wounds, like children that had never seen such ugly scars before. Testing with prying, clumsy fingers.

Still, she seemed to be slowly easing into the truth. A recovering alcoholic tasting water again.

"Hmm," was all he said, glancing up as she ascended the rungs. A moment later, he began to follow, grimacing as the new wounds stretched.

"You hate us," a simple fact, made plain enough by her treatment of him and by the way she lived. "Why?"

[member="Skye Mertaal"]

 

[Skye Mertaal]

The Shadow Phoenix contained a unique stabilization system that allowed the cockpit to be always orientated in the 'up' position. Pushing herself up and out of the ladder well, Skye felt another shot of pain lancing through her shoulder. Anger had a way of sending her over the precipice and jumping with both feet without looking. More often than not it resulted in actions she'd regret.

Yet the pain was good. Pain was a focus. A handful of the masters she'd studied under in the past would be quick to chide of the temptation of the Dark Side. Further back would be the age old teachings of the elders. Of what to not do in hate and in anger. To avoid evil at all costs.

An idealistic endeavor had they'd known just what would come for them.

The dim glow of the piloting console would bathe the cockpit with a pale green glow amidst the elongated streams of the cerulean white of hyperspace. The Nav Computer had a singular holographic image of their planet destination: Maridun.

There were two chairs; one for the pilot and the other for the co-pilot. By the lack of well worn use of the latter, one could tell that the Hunter didn't typically fly with a companion. Comparably, the pilot's worn black leather had signs of age. It was cracked in a few places, but smooth to the touch. Pliant and comfortable in a manner that would invite one to sit upon it. The antithetical symbol of its raven maned, indomitable, and ornery owner.

One who stiffened at the probing query from the Grand Master. A faint exhale through the nose and a twitch provoked the corner of her full lips, pursing them as she would wet them anew.

"Who is asking, Korr?"

She sat herself down, swiveling her chair over towards the Nav Computer. All this time, she kept her golden visage averted.

"Is it the man behind the mask, or the mask in front of the man?" her throaty query would divert the focus to the steely eyed Jedi behind her. It was coated in challenge as much as simple fact. If he wanted to dig into her mind, then she would do the same to his. She could picture him in her mind then. The distinct slope of his cheekbones and the chiseled cut of his jaw as if crafted out of Velmorian Velmstone. The hard granite of his eyes below the puckered brows at her pointed deflection to do a bit of digging of her own.


[member="Ryan Korr"]