Sweet Agony

[Alexander]

Location:Medical Bay, CIS Vessel​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

He made no attempt to move.

The Ghost of Endelaan did not intend for the woman to be put into an uncomfortable position when the fists started flying. Modesty and that sort of consideration flew out of the window when their blood began to boil. As a result, when the wrath settled to a manageable ember, the reality of the moment was not lost on Ephraim. Almost straightway, the surprisingly warm touch of [member="Shakti Sweet"] was wrenched away from his palm. Her fingers curled into a fish and launched anew at the man, colliding immediately with his shoulder. Ephraim didn't even move. After going toe-to-toe with him, she would have an idea of how he moved and how he responded to her blows. Even a vague clue. She'd know that he took the blow intentionally. Why? Because he kriffing earned it. And while his body wasn't sent flying off of the bed, the blow was enough to certainly cause him to double over for a second.

Ascension promptly gripped him thus and he departed from the room. Wordlessly. He made absolutely sure to keep his back to her the entire time, as to not further embarrass the young woman. It took a few minutes following the shutting of the door for him to locate something suitable out of a clean hamper. He had no idea who the clothes belonged to, but the fact that the scent of fresh detergent yet clung to the garments was evidence enough that they were not soiled. He...well, he didn't go as far as to hunt for anything undergarment related or anything like that. Force above knew that would just be pouring gasoline on an open flame. Instead, a pair of reasonably comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt had been procured from the hamper. One of the lessons Ephraim learned over the course of his life was to walk like you know what you're doing.

In doing so, few ever asked questions. And he employed this skill thusly upon his return to the room. This time, he opened the door and entered with his back turned to her. His stay was momentary, for the clothes were deposited on the edge of the bed and he left the room once more. But, as the door closed, he simply signed call me as if to signify letting him know when she was finished. He fully anticipated hearing her actual voice erupting into his mind at some point, or perhaps hearing a shoe being flung at the door. But, only once she was situated would he dare to enter her space once more.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Unknown Confederate Ship, Neutral Space
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

The disappointment as the slow blow didn't even cause him to budge was written across her face, even as she scrambled to try and cover as much of herself as may have been visible around or through the gown as possible. There was little in life that she hated more than being ineffective at the one thing she considered herself good at. He was infuriating in literally everything he did - and for a moment she wondered at what total lack of forethought had made her think agreeing to be an agent under the merc was anything but a mistake. Idiot. Why was she always such an idiot?

As he stood off the bed and made for the door she continued to sign angrily at his back, a stream of colourful curses and choice anecdotes about his mother. She stopped only once the door slid firmly closed behind him, still miffed even though he had been kind enough to keep his eyes ahead of him as he'd exited. The mute collected herself up and tucked her legs up under her on the bed, making herself into the smallest possible target and ensuring that all gaps or other issues were taken care of before Ephraim returned.

Her eyes were like two brilliant green pinpricks when the door recessed into the wall a second time. Her arms remained firmly crossed over her chest as he backed towards the bed... So trusting. She considered taking the chance to beat the back of his head in... But she allowed the man to deposit the clothing on the edge of the bed and immediately made to collect it up in her arms. Her eyes narrowed as he turned and motioned for her to call him. Making a motion to throw the entire bundle at him as he closed the door but pulling them back when he left. She huffed silently and moved herself to put her back to the door as she went about getting changed.

Once the freshly laundered pants and shirt were in place she tossed the medical gown into the trash along with what had been left of her pants and boots. It was still a loss, seeing the pile of her ruined clothing there, but it was foolish to worry about it... She needed to take care of something else. She struggled her way over to the door with her leg still splinted up and slid it open for him before she made her way back to the bed and sat with a wince.

The redhead played it up, the pain evident on her face as she slid a hand along the simple grey sweatpants, allowing the merc to make his way back into the room. With a new set of clothes and all the time in the world she waited for Ephraim to get himself nice and close before she leveled those green eyes at him, the anger plainly writ there as she launched herself off the bed, aiming to take another swing at that bruised mug of his.

 

[Alexander]

Location: Medical Bay, Confederate Ship​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

Ephraim was beginning to understand.

When it came to the woman of fiery hair, violence was...a default setting. If an offense was made, one blow would not satisfy the ire in her veins. Neither would two for that matter. Now, given the reality which had caused their spontaneous rematch, the Ghost of Endalaan felt as though her wrath was at least justified this time. Their initial duel was caused due to her refusal to comply aboard the Station - but this...well, he saw her in a compromising position. It wasn't intentional, but the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. As a result, once Ephraim was "welcomed" back into the room by the obviously wounded Shakti, his first steps forward were immediately met with an attack. Her pallid fist exploded forth and aimed for his face. Again.

He had already given her a free hit due to his crimes and was not about to hold a second L.

Though attempting to right the wrong of the uncomfortable position, Ephraim hardly lowered his guard. Sure, the Wildling had accepted his offer of meaningful employment and was "technically" his responsibility now, but that didn't mean that they were the closest of friends. Thus, when the fist came roaring forward, her knuckles would have the satisfaction of grazing the flesh of his cheek - only to find that his fingers now attempted to coil about her wrist and forearm. Shakti would find his hip thrust towards her in an attempt to use the momentum against her. If successful, he would tug her up and over his shoulder in a flip to the earth - all whilst maintaining control of her wrist.

Ideally, she would land stomach first upon the floor, where Ephraim would then keep a firm grasp on her arm and practically throw himself down upon her in a pin. "Are. You. Done?" he'd seethe through gritted teeth. At this point, knowing she could take a brawl and keep on coming, he wasn't above another round. But in a perfect world, she'd let it go. At least for a moment.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Unknown Confederate Ship, Neutral Space
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

She hardly expected him to be off guard - if she'd wanted to land a blow while he wasn't paying attention then she'd have done so while he was backing his way into the room with an armload of clothing. No. The mute had no need to be throwing punches at the merc while he was unsuspecting - there was no sport in it. She'd wait until he was ready for it, and as she sprung off the bed with murder in her eyes, she could see in his own gaze that it wasn't entirely a surprise to him.

The feeling of just the slightly graze of his cheek along her knuckles was hardly the satisfying impact she'd wanted, however. That brazen light in her eyes faded as it was replaced with a small amount of shock as he grabbed her over-extended swing and used the momentum to send her flying. For a moment she found herself airborne, the launch off the bed having pushed her momentum forward, and then the tug at her arm lifting her clear off her feet. Time slowed for an instant as she considered what choice she could have made differently... Perhaps next time she'd aim lower.

There came a solid thud as she collided with the floor, skipping forward an inch or two before the full weight of fruit basket came to rest against her back. The grip on her arm was painful, but she assumed that had more to do with him keeping her still than it did a desire to hurt her. She planted her other hand firmly on the floor and attempted to shove him off by sitting up - but found his weight formidable. Her teeth gritted as she flattened against the floor and forced herself to settle.

When her voice came, it was tinged with a rage that didn't seem present in her still form, "GET. OFF."

 

[Alexander]

Location: Medical Bay, Confederate Ship​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

Her wrath was fuel to the embers.

Ephraim was not as biologically gifted as the Wildling. When it came to their vicious exchange, her body restored itself at an alarming rate - thereby empowering her to keep on coming and coming. In fact, overall, the Ghost of Endelaan was much worse off than his newfound "charge." His muscles screamed in protest as he managed to vault her over his form - the bruises upon his ribs and torso crying out for mercy as he completed the motion. Yet, with true grit burning in his veins, Ephraim capitalized on the momentary advantage and maintained complete control of her arm. Beneath him, the fiery-haired woman stilled - and for a moment he deluded himself into thinking that the bout was over. His question, uttered through clenched teeth, seethed with a silent frustration.

As as her voice rumbled within his mind, that frustration bubbled over. Perhaps that blow she landed to his head earlier had rattled him, but as soon as the words erupted into being in his mind, Ephraim pushed on her arm. He did not over-extend the limb just yet, and as a result discomfort, not pain, would be the result. But all it took was one motion. One push to wreak havoc upon the bone. What's more, the Ghost was rather steadfast in his pin. He braced his feet upon the floor, as if to ensure that she wouldn't he squirming free despite any flailing that may come. "I asked you a goddamn question, Shakti. Are. You. Done."

From the way the venomous heat fell from his lips, it was clear what any answer he interpreted as no would entail. If she squirmed. If she fought. If she swore. If she so much as blinked swears via Morse code, he'd dislocate her shoulder so fast it'd make her head spin. Right now, he hungered for surrender - and he'd damn well have it for her sake.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Unknown Confederate Ship, Neutral Space
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

Though her form was still, there was a palpable rage that emanated from the redhead that was akin to the heat pouring off concrete left to bake in the summer sun for hours. She took slow, measured breaths to try and keep herself still as she waited for him to move off of her - because of course he would. There was no doubt in her that as she instructed him to get off that he would, but that illusion was shattered as she felt his weight lean in a touch, the tension on the arm he held increasing as it forced her further into the floor. Her eyes opened a touch wider as she realized that the man that lay across her back had every intention of doing a good deal more harm if she didn't settle down... Perhaps he wasn't aware of whose arm he was currently threatening.

As he demanded to know if she was quite done, the tension that she'd let settle over her was shattered. Her feet splayed wide as she attempted to thrust her shoulder and hips upwards and toss the man off, his grip on her arm be damned. She also swung her other arm back, feeling the pain in her shoulders as she did, intending to drive her elbow into his exposed ribs. Recognizing this would likely result in enough pain to incapacitate her if she didn't get him clear of the arm he held, she put as much force into the blow as she possibly could.

Her voice came roaring into his head now, the heat of her anger and the force with which for projected the thought making is sound like a roaring locomotive, thundering between his ears. "I SAID OFF!"

 

[Alexander]

Her voice crashed into his psyche.

The vicious cacophony of sounds cut into his thoughts as he battled to retain control over the woman beneath him. And, in that moment, his muscles tensed. The limb that he had threatened almost saw Ephraim follow through on the threats he made - but there was a momentary hesitation. He could break her arm and dislocate it clean out of the socket. He certainly could. But that would only solve to exaserbate her current predicament...and would ultimately affect the bottom line of their newfound "working relationship." No. He would have to do something more than mere punches or kicks. He would have to beat her - completely, until there was no fight left in her.

His teeth clenched together as the resolve seeped into his bones. Silently. Wordlessly. He called upon the Force to aide him as he struggled against the fiery-haired woman, sucking in a deep breath as her elbow drove into his side. He would not be denied this day. But rather, allowed her motion to re-adjust their position on the floor. She might have seen it as an opening, but when she drove the elbow in, he liberated the limb he threatened - and also rolled her over with a yank. Now, she would land flat upon her and Ephraim would scramble to capitalize.

But this hand, his offhand outstretched and bore the weight of the world. Telekinesis erupted into being, placing heaps of weight upon every limb. She thought that it was difficult when he was holding her down - now it would feel as if a large animal had seated itself upon each arm and leg. She could flail and gnash her teeth all she wanted, but there would be no escape. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. No way to batter her way free. Ephraim capitalized by straddling her and placing the dominating hand upon her brow.

"Give it up." he seethed. "You can't beat this Shakti, you're done. Now. Let. It. Go."

[member="Shakti Sweet"]

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Unknown Confederate Ship, Neutral Space
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

The moment her elbow collided with his side she felt the shift in his weight and knew she'd picked the spot well. Along with his pained grunt, she felt him release her captured arm and she attempted to use that momentum to shove him clear off... But as she swung to the side she felt the pressure of his hands on the arm she'd thrown, his grip guiding her onto her back before he settled over her again. Damn him!

She squirmed once, her mind working a mile a minute to find a way to get clear of him before she felt it. It was as though someone had applied weighted sandbags to every inch of her skin, save several specific areas. She felt as her wriggling limbs were almost immediately snapped down onto the floor, her legs were completely immobilized along with her arms. Even some small pressure was laid across her shoulders to keep her from tossing her torso, only her chest and head left unaffected. That warmth within her chest was a raging blaze as she glared up at the mercenary, her mind formulating exactly what she would scream at him next before his palm came up to press against her forehead.

Her eyes burned up at him around that hand, jeweled green orbs shining with the rage that was forced immobile as well. Her breathing was uneven though fast-paced, her chest rising and falling as the only form of movement she was allowed. His words didn't seem to change much of anything either, despite their reason and insistence. She couldn't escape this, but that didn't seem to be affecting the way she was reacting.

That voice came to him again, this time it was low, like the rumble of a distant storm, the promise of lightning and thunder below that ragged, shattered tone, "Get off me."

 

[Alexander]

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

The inferno raged.

There was a small part of the mercenary which knew there was going to be Hell to pay when he allowed the woman to stand. He knew that, even if he managed to get her to calm down, the moment the telekinetic sandbags upon her person were lifted, he would be subject to flying fists, fangs, and kicks until the next break in the violence. But, this reality only seemed to strengthen Ephraim's resolve, for his glare was unwavering despite Shakti's wrath. He could feel the fire burning within her chest. He could only imagine the wrathful things that she wanted to say - and braced himself for the telepathic backlash that was sure to occur.

But when she "spoke", it was low. Dangerously low. Like the rattle of a serpent who was cornered. The Ghost of Endalaan shook his head momentarily before leaning forward. Now, his hand was replaced by his brow upon hers - and he glared directly into his eyes. "Why are you always so furious?" he demanded, almost rhetorically. Though, if she decided to share, he would love to know what circumstances had placed Hell into the fists of the woman. But what mattered most was...

"I don't want to hurt you, Shakti. I don't. You can't get out of this. And I will not let up until I hear it from you. Tell me this is done."

The way he said it...denoted that they would be right back to this telekinetic square one if she did attempt to swing again. No, what he was looking for now was the same as moments ago. Tapping out. Ending this once and for all. And he didn't mind if he had to sit for a long while to get it.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Unknown Confederate Ship, Neutral Space
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

Despite her clear instructions, he remained, straddling her waist and palm pressed firmly to her forehead. The mute could feel the heat in her chest as it continued to build, his calm insistence that she yield falling on deaf ears. She shook her head once as he removed the palm from her forehead, falling almost instantly still as he pressed his forehead there in its place. Shakti could hear him speaking, but all she could concentrate on was the rushing in her ears, the blood boiling in her veins. Her breathing was becoming more and more uneven, her eyes closing tightly as he gazed at her from no distance at all.

When that voice came again it came booming, repeating the same word over and over, even as he tried to explain his stance, even as he attempted to reason with what was becoming a tsunami raging inside of her. "No! No no no!" As it continued, as the word started to bleed into a sort of mantra, the voice changed. That gathering storm seemed to ebb, the grating nature of her voice starting to drown down to that soft, feminine voice he'd heard before. And with the change came tears.

Her breathing had become broken, shuddering and hurried as her eyes, still squeezed painfully closed, welled with tears. She couldn't move, she couldn't stop it, she couldn't stop him. There was a trembling in her limbs as they strained, trying without success to free themselves, to try and shove him away, to try and hit or punch or hurt something. Her jaw clenched tightly enough that she could feel her teeth screaming in protest as she tried anything she could think of to move, but it wasn't up to her anymore. That heat in her chest that she fueled, that she used as a shield to wrap around herself hit a critical point, and with no outlet, it became cold. The inability to channel it, to use it, overwhelmed her completely.

The steady stream of no's in his head changed as those tears spilled from her eyes, cutting silvery trails into her hair as she kept her eyes closed as tightly as she could manage. Her tone was pleading, matching the urgent pace that her breathing had taken on. "Please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please... please, please." The last word was pathetic, barely a whisper in his mind as she turned her head to the side slowly, breaking the contact between his forehead and hers as her entire body shook, wracked with silent sobs as she lay under him.

 

[Alexander]

Location: Medical Bay, Confederate Ship​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

At first, he wanted her to tap.

At first, he expected her to simply be a vicious woman of some unspecified, warrior culture. He had become so accustomed to dealing with mercenaries, bounty hunters, and every other sordid type of character that Ephraim simply tossed her into the same mental bin. Their first few hours together had been spent making war - and thus it was easy to think she was just hardened for the sake of profession and nothing else. Thus, when he straddled her hips and exercised complete dominion over the woman, he had expected to find a wad of spit in his eye - but a grudging surrender to end the hostilities. Or, an unyielding cycle until one of the nurses came in and did something about the madness which had claimed the room. But. What transpired within the next few moments...they stung Ephraim's mind.

They pricked that box where he kept a plethora of memories locked and buried. Pricked and prodded at the lock where he had buried all the pain he had endured on Endelaan. He prided himself on the moniker Ghost, because for so long, he wanted to do nothing more than disappear into thin air. He...was in proximity to the madness which would have created such a ferocity in the fiery-haired woman. A warrior who could have prevented something terrible from occurring...but his failure to arrive in time left scars which ran deep. The one he loved then reclaimed her sovereignty, not through fire or anger, but through extinguishing the source of all her pain. And in the end, Ephraim was left alone. A failure. A broken failure who knew all too well what cultivated such tears. The response...was instant.

Shakti would find the weight lifted before the first please escaped her lips. The silver rivers which fell down the side of her face were wiped clean by the shaking hands of the mercenary. Gingerly, he brushed his mind against her own. Not invading - but to wrap his metaphorical arms around her in a protective embrace. "Goddamn it." he breathed. Moving off of her form as quickly as he could. He then, gingerly, took her hand in his own - but removed as much of himself from her as possible. Both verbally, and within her mind, he repeated the same mantra to counter the frantic words which greeted him. "You are safe. You are safe." He had repeated the same words to her all those years ago...and before the end, he truly believed that he could make her understand that.

He knew where this path could end. And he would never allow it. Not before his eyes.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Unknown Confederate Ship, Neutral Space
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

As the weight lifted and he scrambled to remove himself from atop her, the mute curled. First rolling to her side before her knees came up to her chest the hand he’d used to wipe away the first few tears moved roughly to the side as her own hands rose to cover her face, her elbows tucked into her side as she made herself as small as possible. Every inch of her shook, the shuddering like an earthquake that was shaking her to her foundations. As always, she was silent, but there was a sense that if she could have, she may have been screaming.

When his hands found one of hers, carefully prying it from her face and taking it between his own, her other hand moved to cover as much of her face as it could, the tears coming with a ferocity that they were causing her to nearly choke on them as she sobbed. It went on for minutes, that cold pit in her chest like some unfathomably deep pool that overflowed and threatened to consume her. The heel of her hands pushed against her eyes as she tried without success to stop the memories that the cold brought…

They’d lost her. They’d left her. They, who claimed to love her more than all the stars in the galaxy… They’d forgotten her – and when they did, others had come to claim what no one else wanted. She’d been a child; she’d been a child who healed unnaturally fast and who could take a beating and still be useful afterward. Those who followed had found many uses for her. Memories of violence and worse; years spent alone, and years that followed where she longed to be alone again. Finding that warmth insider of herself that allowed her to ignore the memories, a heat that she could wrap around herself like a blanket to protect her from all the things she’d seen and the things that had happened.

Her breathing was settling, and his voice in her head was like a soft, crooning melody that left her feeling calmer. Slowly she remembered where she was, she remembered herself and she remembered the man who knelt beside her, cradling her hand in his and giving her eyes that looked somehow more pained than her own. With a jerk of her arm, she retracted her hand from his, drawing them both down to rest against her chest, her eyes falling to focus pointedly at the wall directly ahead of her. The cold in her chest was still there, but she could feel the thaw, anticipate the return of that heat as she slowed her breathing and forced the shaking to still.

He couldn’t have known – but that didn’t change what he’d done. She lay there silently, staring at the wall, her mind blissfully blank for the moment as the cold receded and the warmth began to seep back in.

 

[Alexander]

Location: Medical Bay, Confederate Ship​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

They saw Fire…

There was a dualistic nature to flurries of dancing flames. When an ember is struck and caresses the dry, desirable kindling, it consumes. What was once a miniscule speck of heat elevates itself into a roaring inferno. Hungry. Ravenous. It will consume everything until there is nothing left but ash. However. There was also the loving nature of flame which made it essential to sustain life. The fire warmed and staved away the bite of winter. The fire cultivated the meat of the hunt into strength. The fire enabled every advancement known to mankind. Without the loving nature of fire, there would be no growth. And without the destructive nature of fire, there would be no change. Fire transcended the literal expression of heat that mankind had tamed for millennia. Fire resided within each and every being which drew the breath of life.

It resided within Shakti, as well as Ephraim deWinter.

deWinter. The thought of the surname infected the mercenary's mind as he held fast to the woman's hand. As he repeated the mantra of comfort, wordlessly attempting to stave away whatever Hell now plagued the Wildling's thoughts...his own agonies slipped through the cracks. He didn't realize. He had no way of knowing. Perhaps it was his own inexperience with forceful matters of the mind that had allowed such a sordid reality to take place. Yet, as the last vestiges of Shakti's chilling memories were pushed out of her mind, flashes of what once was flickered between them. A woman in a white dress, stained horrendously by the slashes upon her wrists. Flash. A wild-eyed Ephraim, plunging a sword into the pit of an older man. The pain of betrayal evident in his glare. Flash. The tears that were wept over her broken body. The emptiness. The hurt.

Shakti yanked her hand away and Ephraim blinked, realizing that a streak of warmth had erupted down the side of his face. He wiped it away with the hand that she had rejected. Marvelling at the fact that something he had buried so deep had managed to rise to the surface. Seeing the Wildling like this had...left him cold. And that cold allowed the agony to creep in. He had trusted them. Trusted them to leave his happiness be. Trusted them to keep her safe in his absence. And they…and they. They took her. They laughed at her low "status" of birth and used that an excuse to amuse themselves whilst Ephraim was away. He clenched his fingers into a fist. There were no words he could have said...nothing he could have done...no tears he could have wiped away that would have repaired the damage they did. And soon, she liberated herself.

The warmth kept the tears at bay. The loving nature of Fire enabled him to survive. Pushed the biting cold of the past into non-existence. And, the destructive nature of fire enabled him to change. It was his wrath which saw him abandon the deWinter name, the nobility, his family...even his tiny sister [member="Scherezade deWinter"]. All of it fell by the wayside in the face of Fire's ability to change. And change he did. He became a Ghost. The Ghost of Endelaan. Looking up, the man settled his pained eyes upon the Wildling. "I...understand why you're so…" he chose the next word very carefully. "Strong. Just know...we're similar you and I. You're not alone here." He pressed his palms flat upon the floor and pushed himself up to his feet, stepping closer so that he might offer his hand once more. "And all that shit you've gone through...it's done, you hear? Done. I've got your back now. Got it? Good." He wasn't asking. And she could uppercut him for all he cared right now.

"C'mon...let's get some food. They're serving Atrisian in the cafeteria."

There was nothing like the loving nature of fire's tendency to inspire amazing cuisine.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

[member="Ephraim"]

---

His words did little to warm her heart, and perhaps there would always be little that words could do. But the tone he used caught her attention. That same heat that was spilling in at the edges of her awareness, the one that would soon fill her again and make her feel human once more, she heard it in him. The redhead didn't lift her gaze, nor did she try and catch sight of him in her peripherals - the tones was enough. No one could ever truly know her pain, could ever hope to understand the depth of what had been done to her, but this man could speak from a place of his own pain; he offered her a fresh start despite all that he could never know. It was tempting, even if perhaps a little short-sighted. Just him getting the upper hand in their little wrestling match had nearly brought her back to that place, and there would come times in the future, she was sure of it, that he'd likely send her there again... But a chance at a life where this wasn't everything? How could she say no to that?

When he rose she flinched, and she could feel more than see what the reaction did to him. More to ease the strain than anything else she reached out and placed her hand in his, letting him help her to her feet. She was a little unsteady still, but she managed to get herself situated and followed him from the room. She'd never had Artisian before...

--- --- --- --- --- ---​

​

Golbah City was too much. Genosis came in a very close second. The Firrerreo had been a free agent, and literally homeless, for years. She'd drifted from system to system, hunting for the one thing she suspected could work as a balm to ease the cold in her chest - and she'd only ever visited placed like these. Brief, flitting stays in monolyth capitals where the people were always in a rush, and the crush of buildings and concrete made her feel like there was no room to stretch. How anyone managed to stay in places like this was a mystery to her - but often it was where she was sent to do her hunting also. People loved these places... Especially rich, powerful people. Her nose crinkled at the thought as she strode along the street, her fingers crushing the small bit of paper in her pocket as she hurried her pace.

Ephraim had given her an address and instructions to meet him there, and so she would. The last few days had been a blur, between her Handler attempting to find her a place in the city, and her turning down every boujie place he'd suggested. Granted, to most the last few places would have seemed quite plain, the man having picked up on her distaste for opulence quite quickly. However, even the small apartments he'd recommended were now getting him seething glares and a good view of her backside as she promptly left them behind. In truth, she just hated the city, and she doubted very much that there would be anything she'd agree to within its limits. Little time to consider it now, however - they had work to do.

The address the merc had provided led the redhead to a dingy little cafe in the core of the Sprawl. This particular sector of the city had been where Ephraim had kept her to for the last few days - something about the rougher quality of the area seemed to have her more at ease and he'd picked up on it immediately. She wasn't about to complain, but even this place was a bit much. A soft chime played in the interior of the cafe as the redhead stepped in, and despite it being close to the lunch hour, the place was empty. A smattering of small, round chairs and tables sat in a disorganized array around the simple, one-room establishment and none of them was filled with a single patron. A soft, silent sigh escaped the woman as she pulled the paper from her pocket and confirmed for the hundreth time the address, confirming she was indeed in the right place.

Quiet footsteps carried her to one of the low tables where she took a seat, able to hear in the rear of the restaurant some quiet chatter. Surely someone would be arround soon to either take her order or ask her to leave... And she'd wait for either.

 

[Alexander]

Over the next few days, they would never come close.

Despite how turbulent their "relationship" began, the Ghost of Endelaan and his Wildling "friend" never ventured that far into the deep again. While that had hardly been the last time the two had taken a swing on one another, it had been the last time that the past had been inadvertantly dragged to the surface. The moment had, for several hours thereafter, left Ephraim feeling...hollow. He could have only imagined what hell it put Shakti through. She had lived through the agonies that she did if he guessed. Lived to see the other side of the destruction of her sovereignty. In a way, both she and his lost love had something in common: they both freed themselves in one way or another. But...was Shakti truly free? Was he?

Golbah City had been a welcome distraction which returned things to...normal? Well, as normal as their initial fight had been at least. True to his word, the Ghost wasted no time in attempting to find the fiery-haired woman a place to call home. At first, he brought her back to his apartment (a move which earned him a kick straight to the stomach for no damn reason) just to gauge her response to how he lived. He was looking for any signs of being impressed. Any signs of wanting anything remotely similar. Nope. And he lived moderately well. So simple he went. And, for the next couple days, she declined everything he brought before her. Eventually, he simply put her up in a hotel in the Sprawl as that seemed to be the aesthetic that brought her ease. It was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the city proper and was much more akin to what Shakti to was used to by the looks of it.

Thus, for the better part of the morning, Ephraim busied himself in finding her a place to stay in the Sprawl. He found a couple options, but ultimately settled upon a studio apartment on the second floor. Tactically, it was a defendable spot. Aesthetically, it was rough. But it was clean, would have a bed, and had a roof. Those fulfilled the criteria she had given him when they spoke aboard the Confederate vessel at least. However, while he would have loved nothing more than to continue looking over his shoulder for the next several hours to arrange a decent - but not "boujie" bed for his "friend", duty called. There was a slaver cell which had begun to use the tactic of hiding in plain sight as their ability to exist within the southern systems. They gathered, in the karking Sprawl no less, and had begun the "art" of human trafficking right beneath the Confederacy's noses.

Admittedly, it was a small scale operation and got picked up nearly instantly by the Knights Obsidian. However, handling the issue was secured by the Ministry of Secrets, for no other reason than attempting to find just how deep the rabbit hole went. So, for this shindig, Ephraim had given Shakti the address to a rather seedy restaurant where the neer-do-wells were staging their operation out of the basement. And, shortly after her arrival, the Ghost entered the room with a cigar in hand. Lit. A plume of smoke escaped his lips before he strode over. He did not ask her, but rather gingerly took her hand and placed a few thoughts into her mind. The invasion was brief - and provided the key points she would need to know.

Anyone in chains? Don't kill.

He then led the way into the rear of the establishment, and in the process exposed the woman to the pair of vibroknives which had been tucked away. As if waiting for her. "Gentlemen, thank you so much for waiting. My colleague here has just arrived." he began, clasping his hands together. "Do you mind bringing in the inventory so she can make her assessment?" By his suggestion, a pair of Rodians rose from their card game and undid the chained padlock upon a trap door. The entrance was flipped open, revealing wailing cries from the basement below. Ephraim simply parted his arms, as if to embrace the opportunity. But Shakti would see it. She would see his left hand form the sign for G and the right O. And in that moment, a wall of telekinetic fury would blow the Rodians off their feet.

And the room full of slavers began to fire their blasters.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: The Sprawl, Genosis
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

The sound of the same soft chime sounding as the merc entered the cafe had the redhead instantly on edge. He was the only person she knew in the city, and as such, they'd spent nearly every spare moment together for the last few days. She'd seem his fancy AF apartment, she'd visited a host more after that. They'd taken meals together, he'd escorted her back to her hotel every evening, they'd met early more mornings to get in some simple workouts... It had been about as close to domestic bliss that the Firrerreo would ever allow herself - and never once had she seen him with a cigar. There had been none in his living space, no lingering sweet stench of it on any of his clothing. Her handler was in a disguise of sorts, and she was immediately on high alert as a result.

When he extended a hand to her, she took it without question and smoothly rose from the seat she'd taken at one of the small round tables. She released his hand almost immediately upon standing - but the contact had been enough. There would be civilians, there would be chains, and she needed to not murder any innocents... So be it. She moved smoothly to shadow Ephraim as he pushed into the back of the cafe, keeping her expression neutral, managing to keep the rising excitement from her features as she played the part of a silent partner, keeping it real casual. The subtle flash of metal at the small of his back when the door swung open was enough to tell her where she'd find the knives he'd brought along for her as well.

The assassin did her best to keep her eyes neutral as the Rook introduced her, offering the Rodians a cool smile. Keen green eyes dipped down to the padlock on the floor as they moved their table out of the way, feeling the tension slowly crawling up between her shoulder blades. When one of them knelt and flipped open the padlock, lifting the panel that exposed the basement, her breath stilled in her chest, eyes moving swiftly back to Ephraim. G.O.

As the wave of energy burst from the man before her, she took several quick steps forward, pausing only long enough to extract the blades from his waistband with one smooth movement of her left hand. She didn't bother to glance down the hole that led into the basement and instead immediately stepped into that yawning darkness. There was a sickening sense of nothingness as she fell the nearly 10 feet from the floor above into the basement. She landed with a soft thud, her form in a crouch as she tossed one of the blades into her right hand and set her gaze to scan the room.

Beings were crouched and huddled against all the earthen walls of the small basement. The sound of clinking metal was all around and it was enough to disorient the redhead for a moment, causing her to miss the sound of a clip loading behind her. The shot that the Rodian made took her squarely in the shoulder, sending her bodily to the ground. The sting was sharp and stole her breath, but not her focus. As her back hit the floor, her arm came up, throwing the knife in her right hand without taking the time to aim. Much as the shooter had missed his mark, her knife went higher than she'd intended - she'd been aiming for centre mass, but the inertia of her fall had her throwing high, and the blade sliced cleanly into the alien's throat.

There were startled screams from those huddled against the walls as Shakti rolled onto her side and glanced quickly around the small room. It seemed there had only been one in the basement to guard their precious collection. She pushed herself to her feet, the feeling of blood starting to run down her shoulder making her wince, but she refused to let it slow her. Quick steps brought her to the rudimentary ladder that assended from the basement back to the main floor and began to climb.

 

[Alexander]

Location: The Sprawl, Geonosis
Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]

---

They would look back on that night as the first of many like it.

Not in the sense that they were liberating slaves within Confederate space, mind. Not even in the sense that they were diving into basements and shooting them up. But, in the sense of what came after the slashing, smashing, and brawling. In the case of that night...the operation had gone as smoothly as it could. Together, Ephraim and Shakti made short work of the slavers and secured their ill-gotten gains without much further complications. However, during the fighting, Shakti had taken a hit. A nasty one at that. It wasn't at all fatal, but it was serious enough that it required attention. After the local Droid patrol came by to see the slaves into a better tomorrow, Ephraim had taken the time to convince his Wildling friend to let him take a look at that blow.

And in doing so, he handed her the keys to the bare-karking-bones apartment that he had procured for her. By her own tastes, the spot was the furthest thing from fancy or even normal - but it was exactly what she desired. And, that night, the Ghost spent quite a few minutes with her straddling a chair - back facing him so that he might take a look at what hell had been unleashed upon her. This time (the first time), she didn't require any stitches or anything like that. Just ointment for the burn, a pad, a bandage, and a solid few chugs of firewhiskey. But this wouldn't be the last time that the fiery-haired woman would find herself broken. Sure, her genetics would cut down on the recovery time...but in the moment?

Well, Ephraim was always there to patch her up.

In the days following that particular operation, Shakti had seen fit to throw her lot in with the Exarch himself. She became one of his apprentices, which most would see as a huge opportunity. Yet, Ephraim found himself frequenting the woman's apartment far more than usual as a result. Before, he would simply swing by in order to bring them grub before an operation - or to hand over details of the next job. But...after she became his apprentice, bandages and needles were always on hand. He'd find her worse for wear - but at the same time fired up all the same. She was growing in her strength, that was for certain; but in the moment, he found a surprising reality worming its way into his stomach.

Worry. It wasn't like him to worry. He had, was, and is the center of his world. But somehow, after evening after evening spent patching marred flesh, Ephraim came to fret over Shakti. Not in the sense that he would ever dare to voice his concern - and suffer the wrath of a backhand. But, rather, he made himself available whenever the message came through the datapad. This evening was one such night. This time, Shakti sat with her shoulder in front of him. A needle ran in and out of her flesh, sewing the wound closed whilst he muttered something about the New Republic. Idle chit chat to distract her from the job. Once finished, he dressed the wound and placed his lips there for but a second.

"Try to stay in one piece, will ya? If you don't, I won't have anyone to knock me around." He offered the Wildling a smile, before reaching down and handing over the firewhiskey.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: The Sprawl, Genosis
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

She'd never admit it to him, but they made a good team. His head for strategy and her talent for following orders while wreaking havoc, it made them formidable, and in a matter of weeks it had resulted in a large portion of the small-scale crime in the Sprawl either clear up or go deep enough under the radar that it would take more stringent intel work to route them out. It had meant that her schedule freed up, and it also meant that she'd run afoul of a strange man all dressed in purple who promised her the key to what she'd been waiting a lifetime for...

The redhead had gone dark for nearly a week, and when she showed up again she was shocked to find that her Rook was upset about it. He hadn't said as much, but when he'd shown up at her apartment to find her dead on her feet, a myriad of bruises colouring her flesh, her lip just starting to heel from a nasty split... He'd been way too angry for it to mean anything other than that he cared. It had been a bit of a shock - though as he'd pushed his way in and given her a proper dressing down about disappearing on him, she'd had time to consider why that might be... While totally ignoring him and his ranting.

It was hard to say that she wasn't also relieved to see him when he'd shown up. Days spent aboard the Exarch's ship having the snot kicked out of her under the pretense of 'training' had left her little time to consider much else. When she'd finally been allowed back home, it had been with a set of instructions for her training to continue, and also some very strict orders on how she was to present herself when interacting with anyone from the Confederate government. She'd been brow beaten, branded, and finally set free to get some rest in preparation for the next leg of her training... But as soon as she'd walked through her door and dropped off the duffel of items she'd been charged with maintaining... She'd started think about little else above him. Had he been alright without her for that time? Would he have assumed her dead?

Their interactions following had resulted in some more rules for the redhead - though these ones made more sense. If he was going to be her Rook, he needed to know where she was, and when she'd be away. He'd presented her with a wrist watch that seemed to do everything but tell time - and it would also alert him to her whereabouts, should she be unable to do so herself. It was shortly after that when she'd dropped off the grid for a much longer period of time. A month, all told. The locator had been able to tell him exactly where she was, and it had been clear that she was in one spot - still alive and kicking, but unmoving for that time. She'd been able to send a message from time to time, letting him know she was alive, but her communication beyond that was non-existent.

She'd come back in what was likely the best shape he'd ever seen her in, the matching twin blades across her back having been turned in for a single blade at her hip. Not dissimilar to what the Exarch favoured, though hers was of a very simple make. Her invite had come as soon as she'd landed in Genosis, and he'd known enough to show up with his first aid kit in hand.

He'd done as he always did, tidying her wounds, setting any small breaks, applying needle and thread where it was required - though this time he added a touch more. When his lips pressed against the fresh sutures she'd turned on him immediately, the soft sound of the chair legs against the bare floor of the room a sharp tear into the quiet that had surrounded them moments before. Her eyes were a touch wide as she regarded him, listening to him and hesitating as he offered up the firewhiskey.

She stared at the offered bottle for several long, silent moments before she gingerly raised a hand and took the neck of the bottle from his grasp. She leaned the bottle against her thigh as she returned her gaze to his, looking a touch confused. She reached out to him, not with her body, but with the invisible darkness that she could feel in the air around him, gently brushing all that shadow across his mind as she spoke to him. Her voice was as it had always been - harsh and painful, though below the broken sound there was a questioning tone, "What was that?"

 

[Alexander]

Location: The Sprawl, Geonosis
Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]

There was a sharp sound.

The din of wooden legs dragging over the apartment floor shattered the silence. Only moments prior, the sole sounds which entered the room were the occasional grunts from the Wildling as the stitches pierced her flesh. If one tried, they might be able to hear the slow movement of the bandages as they bound her flesh - but beyond that there was nothing. Over the course of their time apart, the Ghost of Endelaan had learned not to ask many questions. His priority was, quite simply, knowing that she was alive.

And knowing that she was in one piece. Relatively speaking.

Personally, Ephraim did not like the training that she was undertaking. That was not to say he did not see the value in her growing mighty in body and the Force; but he loathed what each venture did to her. Though he acted as her Rook, the frustration which bubbled into his mind should not have existed. They were a good team, ruthlessly effective. They had their moments where they did not throw punches but rather chomped down on questionable take out, or drank until passing out onto the floor. But overall, that the extent of things.

If asked, Ephraim wouldn't know what to call the fiery-haired woman. They were...sort of friends? Comrades certainly. But why did he feel annoyed when she came back broken? Why did his brow knit at the sight of her - and his eyes immediately wander to the tallest spire on Geonosis, as if cursing the man responsible. When did he start caring? The questions wormed their way into his skull as Shakti reacted to his momentary lapse in judgement. Based on the skidding of the chair upon the floor, he fully expected to feel her knuckles explode upon his brow.

They didn't. But instead, her voice entered his mind. Unlike before, there was no recoil when her presence brushed upon his psyche. Nor was there a flinch when the broken tone erupted into being. For Ephraim, her voice was the equivalent of listening to music at the highest volume - at first it was surprising, over time one became used to it. When she asked what that was, Ephraim honestly had to ask himself. She'd feel the introspection. Feel the questions of why he cared so much. Finally, he placed his gaze upon hers.

"Relief, mostly." he admitted. "That you're alive and in one piece. Despite your Master's efforts." He chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "And for some odd reason, I give a damn about you Shakti. More than the average Rook does the average Crow. Seeing you in one piece is nice. That's it." Was it? He wasn't sure. And she'd feel that very same uncertainty. "Just what the hell is he teaching you anyway? It didn't take getting my chit getting kicked in for me to learn the Force."

All the good it did him during the Forge Festival.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: The Sprawl, Genosis
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

---

It no longer came as a surprise to her that he didn't recoil from her voice. She'd been self conscious ever since she'd learned that it hurt people to her it, and as such she'd done her best to keep it to a minimum... But the Ghost had been her frequent partner in both work ventures as well as drink - and once she'd had a few, since her tolerance was insanely low, she'd been talking to him more often. He'd know, since he spoke a bit of GSL, that the language itself was different - the sentence structure was much less fluid, more direct; and as a result her own voice was that way. Often it came off as brisk, if not rude, but that was just a byproduct of her learning.

That softly cloying feeling of the darkness she wielded against his mind didn't leave after she'd spoken, her eyes remaining on his as she felt him consider his next words - felt him consider why it was he'd pressed his lips to her shoulder. When he responded, he would feel her still there, gauging the truth of what he was about to tell her.

She could feel that he was genuine, if not more than a little conflicted. Some of the tension that had gathered between her shoulder blades loosened, and the woman lifted the bottle of firewhiskey to her lips, wincing only a touch as the fresh stitches in her arm reminded her to slow down. After she'd taken a healthy portion for herself she used her free hand to plant against the back of the chair and pushed herself to her feet. The sudden lift made her sway a touch, the adrenaline from the rough n' tumble first aid, mixed with the liquor, made her head swim for a moment. As she found the strength to steady herself she shoved the bottle back into his hands and stepped over the chair, moving into the extremely bare bones kitchen that the apartment sported.

"Learning to fight. Learning to kill. Malphas has power I need." She turned the water on in the sink and began scrubbing the blood out from under her nails... Most of it her own. It was slow work, but she kept her connection to him open as she worked on cleaning herself off.