Private Some Nights

[Drifter]

A heavy snort and a roll of Drifter's eyes. [ Oh, does that mean all Chiss are Sith? No wonder, they always seem to have a stick up their ass. ] came his sardonic quip, boots sloshing through the sewer water before setting the cart down. Job done, he went back to his swaggering, moving up ahead with all the purpose of a man on a mission. Or just to show off.

Maybe both.

Either way, her probing question about meeting one struck a nerve. Well, how does one explain that his family tree is a little Dark and a little Light? A grimace grew over his lips and he brought up the map on his wrist to appear nonchalant.

[ Have to be out on a backwater world to not come face to face with one. The wars the Republic, Sith Empire, First Order, Alliance, One Sith, and the Confederacy made it so. ]

A snap of his fingers and he continued his amble, that short cloak of his swaying with his step. [ But thinking red eyes are an instant Sith indicator is the wrong train of thought, Pittin. The Force is dark and light but also several shades of gray. It isn't absolute. ]

Panning over towards her, [ Think about it, besides the red eyes. What made you think you were facing a Sith when you formed that opinion? ]

 

[Rhea]

She didn't realize the gradual dropping of her guard, but sure enough there was something more lively to each response he garnered from her. Still, that didn't prevent the sudden drop in her expression as he asked her to reflect back. If there were lines he shouldn't cross, maybe she didn't even know them, her fingers still tingling from the shot she had fired just to show off.

He reminded her of Til.

She gave him a noncommunal shrug, part of her wanting to say the words that caught in her mouth. The other part remained wary.

"It hardly matters. We should be focusing on this." A mile was a long walk-- more than enough time to mull over the tidbits he had revealed about the force. Not the she cared to do anything with them.

"Pull up your map again. Overlay it with the blue print your droids made."

 

[Drifter]

[ Ah, ah, ah. ] Now that prompted a swing of his right leg to come down mid-walk and twist his torso over to Rhea. That gloved pointer finger again, right at her, swinging left to right as if in chiding. [ Your game. Your rules. Answer. ]

He was being smartass again.

None the less, Drifter proceeded as instructed and brought up his map. It allowed for a closer look. The system had been jerry-rigged to allow specific pressure points of thumb and fingers to activate the different controls. Likely due to only being able to use one arm.

Within short order, the two maps instructed, providing a heat map, topography, and life sensor. It lit up like a life day tree.

[ Welp -- looks like there are a few northwest of us. Seems to be a clearing here. Maybe the best place to set up -- not that many Squibs. A good place to start. ] another twitch of his hand and it deactivated. That polarized helm seemed to bore Rhea's reflection at her.

[ Well? ] he asked, going back to his question. He wasn't going to drop it. The man was stubborn. Tippity tap of his right toe on the sewer water, sending ripples of it across its surface.

 

[Rhea]

She frowned at him, the question more personal than he might realized. For a moment, she did consider answering it. But there had been a lot of questions of hers he dodged. Fair play. Her turn.

"I will tell you about my encounters with Sith the day you take off your helmet," she snubbed

Which in truth, she didn't think would occur. He clung to that mask like she clung to present. She wasn't cognizant of the fact that she was setting standards for what it took to earn her vulnerability, but she drew the lines all the same. It wasn't entirely his hypocrisy that earned her resistance, or the unmet human desire to be able to resonate face to face with others.

It was that damn reflection.

She didn't like it.

 

[Drifter]

You ever had anyone tell you that it is hard to read someone's internal thoughts or emotions by their expressions? Yeah well, that's bullshit. Nevermind having the ability to read body language like the spoken word. Sure, it can be useful and sneaky, but when one was raised by their parents to, you know, be kind to people, seeing anyone in distress and reading every single swing, yaw, and the pendulum of emotions was a pain in the ass. And conscious.

He struck a nerve with his banter, prompting an arch of an eyebrow. Oh, so it went a little deeper than that. A shrug of his shoulders -- err shoulder and shoulder stub - and Drifter swung back around to continue his meander.

[ Well then, guess I now have a question I don't have to answer if you ask it, Pitten! ] fair was only fair, and he was making sure he was keeping count. Of course, this didn't pause his lighthearted attempt to lessen the tension his question had elicited from Rhea.

Up came his hand, pressing two fingers to where his lips would be. A sound of smacking lips and a dramatic arch of his arm would follow as if blowing a kiss to the ether. [ And too bad... I am ever so pretty!]

 

[Rhea]

"I wouldn't know,' she grumbled, less bite to her 'tutde as she sloshed along besides him. "And you already do." The tension melted off, neither willing to sit in chit like that.

Though somehow they kept circling back to it.

He really did like to dig into people, huh? She would have dug into him back on that, but the more they walked the more her stress began to creep up in her shoulders. She use to handle jobs so smoothly, back when it was one job and she hadn't fucked it all up. He kept making her take a good look at herself. It really was inconvenient.

She took a deep breath, rolling out her shoulders to ground her thoughts. The smell of the place didn't help.

"Alright. Looks like we're coming up on the clearing-- right after that turn." She nudged him, trying to get him to take over the cart as her hand already slipped towards her gun.

 

[Drifter]

[ Doing what? I'm playin' fair and square. ] he responded, turning to look over to Rhea. Noticing her going for her blaster, he gestured at her to lead the fray.

[ Well go on now ] he encouraged her with a wave of his fingers, before taking the cart. [ Someone has to make sure we don't blow ourselves up. ]

A pause, then a slight lean over in her direction.

[Try to get your sneak on.]

 

[Rhea]

She shot him a dry look, trying to be serious yet finding it hard when he phrased her next moves as 'get your sneak on'. The eye roll was visible just as she turned away.

He definitely never served in the military.

She crept forward, her footsteps going quiet despite the water she tread through, every movement that brought her around the corner meticulous and intentional. She turned the corner in a fluid motion, her gun drawn to find nothing but the opening steps to the door that served as the place's trash compactor.

She relaxed her arm, slooshing towards it.

"Clear," she called out, her steps light on the steps that brought her to the first keypad. Her fingers pried it open, skipping any programming attempts and going straight for the wires. She pulled her knife, holding it between her lips as she fussed for the right color to slice.

Literally.

"You gonna be ok getting that up here?" She asked over the blade, not pausing in her efforts.

 

[Drifter]

[ Oh, for bloody Aatrox's sake! Please don't tell me when you meant you could slice into things... you meant literally? ] He said it with amused incredulity, but it was still a bad idea. Not what Rhea was doing, but mentioning him.

It began with a seemingly cold draft along Drifter's skin. The icy tendrils darting along his spine, etching themselves to the brand of a tattoo spread across the right side of his chest and along his arm. He stirred, coiling, writhing, rising to the surface.

Draith.

[ Oh fuck, ] he cursed, voice low, mumbled, but not directed at Rhea but to himself. He did his best to gesture for her to continue, [ Ignore me, just do it. ]

He brought a hand up to his helm, a sudden throb of pressure lancing through his head. He tried to shake it, to push Lord Ashmedai at bay. It was getting a bit more difficult to do.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea ignored his comment, focused on her task of fussing out the right wire. She pulled the knife from her mouth and held it to the wires in hand. A question froze her over, a snippet of knowledge lost to a lack of use. ... First red or second back? She let out a slow breath, closing her eyes as she looked deep within-- Past the mission, past his swears in the background. Past her hunger, her situation, all the way back to her school days. What felt right here?

The answer came unbidden, more of an inkling than a solid fact. Both. Her fingers slices through them in one solid swoop, deftly switching their place and twisted the reds into the black.

The door hissed open, letting in a wave of fresh rancid air. She grinned, flicking her knife closed as she turn to he- A sense of unease filled her as she found Drifter frozen at the bottom of the steps.

"Are you o....kay?" Her hand moved turned her blaster as her eyes snapped to the space behind him, scanning for what had tripped him up.

 

[Drifter]

The pain persisted, right between his eyes. Growing, throbbing. A dull ache akin to a migraine. He tried to wave it off, gesturing for her to forget about it and continue.

[ I'm fine. On with the plan. We're on a time limit ] he told her, dropping his hand to pan that polarized, reflective visor back towards her. No other cues other than the slight tension running along the length of his body to indicate there was something more underlying.

[ Oh, good. You didn't manage to set off an alarm. ] he praised, attempting a joke, but there was a slight edge to it. As if strained. Was that the modulator?

Grabbing the cart, he sauntered his way forward towards the steps. This would require them both to carry the cart up the stairs towards their objective.

[ Come on. More boom boom, less standy standy. ]

 

[Rhea]

She didn't buy it. Not cause he looked pained, the visor hid that. Not cause he sounded off, the modulator masked that. There was really nothing to justify the degree to which things felt off, her mind already running wild for answers.

"Hey." She grabbed his arm as he tried to pass her, the grip firm but not hostile as stopped him. Her lips parted as she reached for words, concern creeping into the gaze that tried to puzzle him out. Was he sick? ...Communicating with others? Hesitating on an assassination order while her back was turned??

His earlier words over her paranoia echoed back to her, leaving her unconfident as she faced down her own reflection.

The words never came, her hand releasing his arm with no explanation. She made a noise of discomfort, conflicted over both herself and him, then brushed past to take the other end of the cart.

"Maybe I'm the one to set up these fireworks..."

 

[Drifter]

Her sudden flush of concern was a bit unsettling, if amusing. Especially when she took to grabbing his arm out of her own volition. Under the helm, Drifter would peer down inquiringly at her, that helm canting to the side as if uncertain what to make of her.

There was so much noise in her expression; dilation of pupils in concern that bled into anxiety, panic. Fight or flight. Whatever was going on in her mind had more to do with her own dealings than his own pounding headache. Nevermind trying to shove a Sith Lord to the recesses of his mind.

[ Ever get a migraine, Pitten? Sucks. That's about it. Don't worry your pretty little head. ] he bopped the crown of Rhea 's own with his closed fist lightly, the boop translating to every bit as much of a, hey thanks for the concern to don't worry your head any.

Even still, he gave a wince, his skin getting a slight prickling sensation. As if too close to a fire. Warmth. Heat. Was he getting the sweats? Who knew.

[ Fine, only if you know how to set them up. Unless you want me to boss you around and tell you how -- ] pause, a wag of his finger as if liking that idea, [ actually let's do that. You do, I boss. Works out. ] he was trying to make jokes to work through his own dull ache in his head and press on with what they had to do.

[ Come on. Grab the cart. We gotta climb up. ]

 

[Rhea]

There was actually some comfort to his jokes, something she couldn't place as the feeling didn't leave.

Just a headache. Right. Of course. A headache wasn't dangerous to her. Or to him. Wow, she needed more socializing. She grabbed the edge of the cart, shooting him another glance as he continued his playful banter. "Sure," she said simply, instinctively leaning into this side of him. She wasn't conscious of the fact that she felt the confliction-- the sith lord battling against the broken boy for dominance at her side. There was no saying what would happen for either of them if the headache grew into something more, but she didn't leave any chance to find out.

"Ten credits I can light them off faster than you," she teased back, her tone almost like reading off a script. But hey she tried.

Over the lip and into the trash room they went, Rhae placing down the cart and leaving him to close the sewer door behind them. The feeble light of the singular over head flickered on at the movement. She brushed past him, moving to repeat her process at the final door to compound.

"Your droids got any vision on this hall?"

 

[Drifter]

She managed to trigger his competitive side. A heavy snort. [ Please. I'll win hands down. Make your bet. ]

At least she moved on - awkwardly - but it was something. Choosing to not press his luck, Drifter drew up the scan. [ We are well past dusk now. ] he murmured, perfect for lighting fireworks.

As it was, he gave a frown. [ I show that to the right there should be a way to head to the surface. The droids can't go through doors, only map out openings. Maaaaaaaaaaaaybe there is a door around here? ] he gave a spin left and right, trying to discern.

[ Look for a door? ] once they managed to get into the open air, they'd be able to set up. Honestly, odds were they would only end up in another trash heap.

 

[Rhea]

Rhea frowned, pointing to the paneling against the far wall. "Door." At head level was an dirt outline of a four by four square-- the shoot itself. Down below it, a two by two panel for emergency procedures. Because clearly enough people had gotten caught in trash shoots before for this to be deemed a necessary safety precaution.

She was more disturbed that she recognized that so quickly over him.

Did she really spend the much time in trash chutes?


She pried open the panel with her knife, repeating the same process and slicing the wires beneath the key panel. The lights flickered. The door overhead hissed open, revealing a slime covered shoot.

Rhea stared at it, then the cart in disbelief. Chit.

"...I'll go first."

She jumped up, catching the lip with her finger tips and hefting herself up in a chin up.

 

[Drifter]

So, she didn't take the bait for wager a bet. Hah, clearly she knew he'd win, even with one arm. The ache behind the back of his eyes was dwindling, and he could feel the presence of his uncle slip back under the din. Good. Explaining a sudden shift of personality would be... troublesome.

In any event, they now had the very nasty and unpleasant task of tackling the overhead door. [ Fantastic. Glad you're going up first. ] he told her, no shame at all whatsoever. One could practically imagine the shit-eating grin the man had.

[ Tell me how it looks like up there and we can figure out if I can ... send these up one by one or if we could somehow manage to get the cart in. ]

 

[Rhea]

She wiggled her way in, wedging her body into the shaft, grim be damned.

"Should be big enough for the cart," she grunted, shimming her way up piece by piece. Wedging herself once more at the top, she wiggled out her life and pried the final set of doors open. They moved easily, granting her a wash of sweet, fresh blessed air. Her nostril's flared as she peered around the hallway, greeted by dark silence.

"We're clear," she whispered back, throwing her knife in. "Give me a second." She yanked herself out, splatting into the floor and heaving a few breaths.

You know it would be so easy to leave him trapped down there, said a small voice in her mind.

No.

It's safer.

He's only helped us.

And he can still hurt you.

Her stomach twisted, a glance leveled at the trash shoot opening.

Or he can help us again.

She yanked off her belt, her motions quick and decisive as she strapped it around the shoots handle. After some awkward jerry rigging, she secured it around her foot and lowered herself back in, face first.

"Hand it to me, the whole thing. Quickly." There was something insanely vulnerable about hanging ass first out of the hall.

 

[Drifter]

Well, if she ever wanted to see a bit more of what he could do, this was it. There was no way he was going to be able to lift up the cart with his own strength with just one arm. However, he had other options.

His right hand drew up, fingers twisting as the man would summon the Force. Intangible energy would reach out to encapsulate the cart, covering it with telekinetic threads as his fingers went curling in. Effortlessly, the cart would rise from the pool of sewer water, dripping muddy liquids as the man would guide the cart up in the air towards Rhea 's waiting hands.

[ You know... it would be a little bit funny if you fell right now. ] sure, crack a joke while the woman was hanging half through the ceiling. What? It would be funny!

 

[Rhea]

Rhea stared at the floating cart.

She had known he could do that.

I mean theoretically the saber-- the siblings. She had felt him use the force on her speeder. It was-- and he-...

"What did you have me do this for?" She exclaimed, grabbing the handle and yanking herself back. "Don't let it go!" Too heavy, not enough grip. The view of her was blocked by the cart, but the sudden tug on the object was enough sign that she was ready to take over. She heaved, slipping on the ground as she and the 50 kilos of fireworks landed ass over.

"Ow."

He would be greeted by a series of soft curses as she picked up what split out, her gaze traveling over her shoulder to make sure they remained unnoticed.

After a moment, her face appeared back down the shoot.

"Float your damn self up."