Private The First Shall Be Last

[Cedric Grayson]

The thin cyan light emanating off the blade forced him to squint as he tried to peer through the din of the alley. The weapon felt foreign in his hands, and he had little doubt that his uncertainty was obvious in his body language. It hummed with barely contained violence, occasionally sparking off in tiny bouts of energy that could not be corralled by its experimental emitter. The sound was less akin to the gentle buzz of a lightsaber, and more like the hollow wail of a wind storm washing over an open plain. Quiet, foreboding, and all together hostile.

Sweat beaded at his brow as he tried to focus his footing and stand up straight. The world around him was spinning, whirling about as if he were in a kaleidoscopic tunnel, but one sole thing remained stationary: the massive man staring him down at the end of the alley. The stranger was two heads taller than the Reuigen, and clad in jet black plate that the exile's addled mind vaguely connected with the Sith Empire's dark trooper projects.

There was no way of knowing whether the thing that stood before him was truly flesh, or machine. Normally the Reuigen would have known instantly, but his ties to the empyrean were tattered and broken of his own volition. All he could pick up was an impending sense of terror, and unchecked malice seething off the black clad man-thing.

"You've fallen on hard times," the machine-thing's voice rumbled, a hint of spiteful humor lacing its heavily modulated words. "You will be coming with me back to Dromund Kass, Imperator," the machine-thing shook with bitter laughter, "Whether you do so as a corpse or not is your choice."

The Reuigen instinctively grit his teeth at the mocking title. "I've heard the same before sycophant," he spat, "And I'm certain I'll hear it again after you're dealt with."

"I'll allow you to entertain your own delusions if they bring you some kind of comfort before the end. Die well, Jedi." The machine-man's arms bolted forward faster than the Reiugen's eyes could properly process. Twin streams of crimson energy spat toward him from the end of the alley, and the thunderclaps of their arrival was near deafening.

Unable to block the bolts, the Reuigen doused his weapon and promptly dived behind the cover of a large dumpster adjacent to the alley wall. The machine-man chuckled. "How far the mighty have fallen."

The thunderclaps of the machine-man's wrist mounted rifles were replaced by the slow, rhythmic echo of footfalls approaching down the alley. The Reuigen's mind darted for solutions, but the tihaar that his brain was currently swimming in made such processes slow and pointless. He would die here as a forgotten wretch, a shadow of the man he had once been. The thought stirred him, cut through the drunken miasma that clouded his senses.

Then, for a brief, infinitesimal moment, he felt it again. The great ocean was splayed out before him as his eyes drifted shut, and he felt himself stride across its surface. Its rivers flowed into the channel that was his very body, filling him with a quiet resolve, and sparking his twitching limbs to life once more. The lightsaber hissed to life as he sprung up over the dumpster, blade angled toward the machine-man's skull as he fell forward like a raptor sweeping down for the kill.

The blade sliced through metal, cloth, flesh, and bone as the machine-man raised an arm to halt its advance. His adversary roared as its arm fell free from its body, and brought its second limb to bare, rifle-mount spitting red hot plasma in the Reiugen's face. His limbs twisted on instinct, blocking two of the bolts aside, and reflecting the third into the chest of his attacker. The forth went unnoticed.

The machine-thing clutched at the gaping hole in its chest, and stared down at the Reiugen through red photoreceptors welded into the sides of its helmet. The silence was near deafening, and the Reiugen heard the blood thundering through his veins more so than anything else - well, aside from the quiet beeping coming from his assailant's helmet. Realization dawned on him near immediately, and he reached out with invisible tendrils that felt both unfamiliar and clumsy toward the dumpster, wrenching it between himself and the machine-man.

The explosion that followed was near deafening, and even behind the dumpster, threw the exile clear off his feet. His lightsaber clattered across the ground uselessly, and he rolled along with it, the familiar warm spiking sensation of pain, adrenaline, and liquor dulling his senses.

It took several minutes for the Reiugen to find the strength to stand. He wavered as he rose to his feet, and reached out toward the lightsaber to call it to his hand. The blade did not respond, instead rolling about near the gutter, glinting brightly in the amber lights of the adjacent road as if to taunt him.

"Shab," he cursed to himself. once more, the Great Ocean was shut to him. He stumbled slowly toward the blade, clipped the weapon to his belt, and looked to the sky. The authorities didn't much care about these slums, but someone would be here to scavenge soon enough.

He needed to move on again. Clearly he had lingered too long, but the question remained: where should you go when you had reached the end of the galaxy?

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

The walls of the bar rattled gently. The glasses clinked a little beneath the countertop. The people inside stopped their conversations for a moment, just looking at each other. Then, just as quickly as it happened, it ended. Just the vaguely distant sound of an explosion, deep in the twisted mass of streets.

Sat right at the end was Juniper. Officially too young to be in the bar, but it was the kind of place that nobody asked questions so long as you had the credits to splash. Which she kinda did... for now. The explosion had been enough to stir her from her thoughts, sitting up properly and looking around the place she was in for the first time. The kind of place that heard an explosion a few blocks over and didn't do anything. The kind of place that everyone just rolled their eyes and carried on drinking. The kind of place that overcharged for a glass of whatever fermented slop she was nursing.

The hell am I doing here? she asked herself, frowning at her own sudden rush of self-contemplation. Surely she was too young to be nursing regrets in some forsaken bar at the edge of the Galaxy? There were whole worlds of riches and freedom out there, maybe.

The stool scraped as she stood from it, drawing a couple of looks. She stared back, stubbornly refusing to let them intimidate her. The old her would've been nice and backed down, but she knew in her head that Juniper Jett wouldn't let anyone walk over her. Her hand lingered close to her belt, fingers brushing over the blaster pistol clipped there. With that, she marched confidently out of the bar and into the streets.

It wasn't a long walk back to the spaceport. She'd initially planned on booking a room somewhere when she'd arrived, but it only took one look at the assorted slums there to decide it was a bad idea. She'd stay on the ship. With the blast doors sealed, security on and her blaster very close to her bunk.

Hopefully by then, she might have work. She'd already put out a notice that she was looking for passengers. Good way to get a little more credits for fuel. Hopefully then she could make her way to a less scum-filled corner of the Galaxy. One that had a few more credits to spare, at the very least.

She clutched her stomach a little as she made her way back to the port.

Eugh I shouldn't have had that drink, holy moly.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

It only took a moment or so of walking for the Reugin to start feeling his wound. The euphoria of survival was quickly eclipsed by a white hot agony that emanated from his arm, and worse so, the lack of sensation entirely at its center. He pinned himself back against one of the alley walls, drew in a deep breath, and forced himself to examine the damage.

His robes had always been tattered and worn, but now there was a large singed whole just below his left shoulder. The skin beneath had evaporated entirely: he was greeted by a singed mass of muscle and little bits of bone that poked out from where the meat had simply burned away. The first thought that came to mind upon examination of the wound was that it was a simple miracle he could even move his arm at all, let alone have utilized his lightsaber as he had.

Suddenly that forth uneventful shot had become far more relevant.

"Shab!" He hissed as the pain seemed to exacerbate itself. It always did when one looked actually examined the damage. Under normal circumstances, he would have found a corner to hide in, and got to work on rejuvenating the cells in his flesh to restore himself. The process would have taken several hours, but it was nearly always more effective than anything mortal science had to offer.

Unfortunately, his choice to disconnect himself from the empyrean rendered such options moot. Even if he wanted to, he could not simply connect to it. The Great Ocean came to him in rare moments, sometimes when it was needed, other times when it was not. Up until recently, he had lived his entire life immersed within its ethereal realm, but now he walked the plane of physicality, and found himself to be terribly mortal.

"Part of the test. I deserve this," he hissed to himself as he tried to center himself. Even without the living Force, meditation was still a powerful tool, and he had suffered a great many wounds in his lifetime. This would just be another scar to add to his ever growing collection. That was, of course, if he could find his way to some kind of medical center before infection set in.

"There is no emotion, there is peace," he muttered to himself quietly as he jarringly drew his cowl up over his face. The liquor was beginning to fade, and with it the pain grew much more intense. Eager to stave off the terrors of sobriety, the Reugin reached for the flask hanging at his belt with his good arm, unscrewed the metal cap with his teeth, and drank deeply of its contents. The Balmoraan Bluesky was sweet and sharp, and he welcomed the burning sensation is provided him. Anything to focus on something other than his arm.

"How did I end up here?" He quietly asked himself, his face scrunching up like an angry kath hound pup as he stumbled out onto the main road. He brought the flask back up to his lips, and paid little heed to the girl that was walking with a purpose alongside him. Indeed, he paid so little attention that he only noticed her when he walked straight into her, splashing his precious drink all over himself.


"Feth!" He cursed, at first glaring at the girl, then allowing his features to soften. "Shhoorry. Not watching where I'm goin'. Drinky-poo gets me a bit out of it," he wiggled his now empty flask toward her. The drink hit him rather quickly - it was why he adored Balmorran Bluesky so fervently - and the pain in his arm went from an immediate agony to more of a dull ache that he could ignore, at least for the time being. The fact that muscle and bone were visible, and the wound was quite obviously bleeding, did not occur to him as being of particular note.

He jerked his relatively limp arm back toward the alley he'd come from. "Bad machine causing ssshome trouble." He slurred, then waved the damaged limb about just to make sure she was aware of what he was talking about. "Took care of him. Yyyou sshould go. Maybe more," he paused, a brief gloomy clarity falling over him as he looked back toward the alley, "Definitely more."

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

Juniper was a little too consumed in her own thoughts, and her own stomach, to really notice who was walking beside her. It wasn't like the streets were usually clear here, she'd been milling in and out of other people since she'd arrived. She'd barely noticed the guy before he walked straight into her. She looked over just to get shoved by his shoulder, stumbling back a little bit.

Her boots scuffed on the ground as she caught an overwhelming whiff of booze. Eugh... that's heavy. It lingered around him in a cloying, persistent way. Half-rotten, like he and the stench had been friends for an awful long time and just couldn't bring themselves to part. Her face screwed up instantly in distaste. What. A. Wretch.

"Yeah thanks, I'll keep it in mind when you watch where you're goi..." she started to snark, the frustration falling from her face as her eyes focused on the wound. The robes he was wearing had singed and burned away, revealing actual muscle and... is that bone?!

"How in the f... hey, mister, you really need to get to a hospital or something," she said quickly, a little more concerned. "I don't know what in the heck you've been doing but it obviously ain't that good for you." She looked around, hoping beyond hope that some wonderful, kind and charitable doctor would appear serendipitously from the crowd and free her from this burden.

Alas, not. Damn.

"You need to get that treated or you're gonna lose your arm," she said firmly, looking right at him. "You hear me? Lose. Your. Arm. Y'know, the think you drink with," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

Why am I even bothering?

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

"My eyes don't work," was his reflexive response. There wasn't any real wit behind it, or anything really aside for a sorry excuse for his clumsiness. He'd come to adopt the mold of the common old drunkard, and evidently wore it well enough given how the woman reacted to him. He felt a slight twinge in the air, like a momentary nostalgic scent that might take you back to childhood, and then it was gone. His face scrunched up in response to the sensation, though it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Oh," he half-shrugged as he stared down at the gaping hole in his arm. "Yeah. Wass gonna look for that." He'd known a doctor once. She was a good woman, had a loving heart beneath her icy exterior, more than he'd deserved. The memory was one that he'd buried along with the past, and in his drunken and quite likely shock induced state, it was almost intoxicating. What had happened to her in the end? Did she and that Viceroy guy end up settling down and having the kids she'd been talking about?

Was - "Oh, yeah, m'arm." He mumbled, willing himself out of his momentary reverie. It took more willpower than he'd thought it might, which was both frightening and a bit exciting. Perhaps later, if he survived, and if his arm did not in fact have to be removed from his body, he could wile away in a corner somewhere, drink his Bluesky, and live in the memories.

But that would have to be later.

"Well," he forced back a burp, which resulted in his cheeks expanding rapidly, and deep exhalation of sickly sweet liquor breath pouring right into the poor woman's face. "Eh, I gotsh shot. Itt'sh cool. Happened a couple times 'fore."

Once again, he gestured emphatically toward his wound, which was now registering as something of a dull ache. He went to take another swig of his flask, which had all its contents emptied entirely on his robe, and muttered a curse at the devilish piece of metal. How dare it betray him in his moment of need?

"Uh," the color in his vision shifted slightly - as if he were staring out through a pane of fogged glass. "I got - eh, I got creds if you - Oh! Oh!" The drunkard rumbled with delirious laughter as he dug into one of the utility pouches at his belt. He produced a thin strip of of what looked to be parchment paper. He then attempted to apply it to the open wound: the piece of pseudo-paper did not stick, unfortunately, and fell harmlessly to the ground.

"Shit." A rare proper curse. He reached down to nab the the cloth-paper-thing, and promptly fell rolling onto the ground. "Feth, shab, kark, fuck!" He tried to stand, found the process far too difficult, and settled down on the ground, utterly defeated. "That uh, the paper, it'sh uh, can ya tear it apart for me. S'bacta patch. Won't fix, but stop blood, stabilize. Justch put it on the 'ol spot 'n I'll be good." He gesture dtoward the supposed bacta patch. "Shall pay ye good."

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

What sympathy she had for the drunkard was draining rapidly, helped along by the sudden burp right into her face. She turned her face away and coughed, overwhelmed by the near-toxic combination of second-hand, sickly-sweet booze and the general state of a drunkard's mouth.

Why? Why? Why me? Who did I mess with to deserve all this? What awful crime did I commit?

Oh yeah, I stole a ship and ran away from home, broke my engagement, probably ruined my family's reputation. This is just cosmic revenge for me wanting my own life.

She wafted her hand in front of her, hoping to dispel a little of the 'vapour' that shifted around her when she watched him collapse. Right onto the ground. Juniper rolled her eyes and wondered what the crime'd be if she just left him there. Left him to rot in the gutter like he so clearly wanted to. It'd just be so easy.

Ugh, think about the bigger picture. You'll feel better for helping him.

Besides, he said something about credits.

She knelt down to pick up the patch, taking it in her fingers. She tore it open, seeing the patch within. Now came the worst part. Trying to hold her breath as much as she could, she leaned over towards his shoulder.

Don't look don'tlook don'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlook

Wincing as she did, Juniper carefully pressed the bacta side of the patch to his wound. Her slim fingers gently massaged it in, hoping that the bacta would make contact with the blasted flesh and start a bit of healing. At the very least, it should numb the pain some more. With that, she stood up quickly and wiped her hands on her coat.

"You need some real help," she told him firmly. Her eyes went to that flask. They narrowed.

Suddenly, she stepped over and kicked the flask, her heavy boot coming into contact with the metal, hoping she'd send it spinning off down the alleyway. "What do you think you're doing, huh? Screwing your life up in an alleyway, pouring booze all over yourself. What kind've person are you?"

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The relief was near instantaneous.

There was a reason bacta had replaced kolto as the galaxy's primary form of in-the-field patch ups. It wasn't so much that bacta was more effective - kolto had far greater long term effects - but because bacta had a tendency to make pain negligible at worst, and entirely unnoticed at its best. The wretch breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he ran a hand over the patch in some vain attempt to check the woman's work.

Seemed well enough attached.

He was parting his lips to speak just as the flask was kicked out away from him. His mouth dropped, eyes narrowing as he watched the metal trinket bounce across the mucky street and go tumbling down a sewer drain.

His second most valuable possession was gone.

He tried to jump up to his feet, which did not entirely work given the level of his inebriation, and instead stumbled about like the fool that he was, just barely managing to keep himself from falling over once again. His initial reaction was to yell at the woman, but that wouldn't quite do. He couldn't have gotten the patch on properly himself, not in his current state. It would still need treatment, of course, but he wasn't bleeding anymore and it certainly wasn't going to get infected.

The exile owed her, whether he wished to or not.

"Well," he grunted, standing up a bit straighter as he fought for some sense of meaning in the miasma of uncertainty that was his mind. He found it, somewhat, at least enough to articulate his sentences in a way that wasn't idiotic.

"I was getting a drink," he pointed out, hands drifting into his pockets as he looked toward the sewer drain that had become his flask's new home. "And getting shot. Dark trooper, I think, not shhure." He privately cursed himself as the slurring of his words wormed its way into his speech.

"And now I gotta find a good way out of here before more of them come. Where there's one a platoon is sure to follow." Such had been the story of his life over these past few months. He'd jumped from world to world doing odd jobs for drinking money and food, sleeping in gutters and forests when it suited him, and establishing himself as a fixture in whatever the busiest local taverns were. Eventually a bounty hunter would find him, sometimes a Sith looking to prove himself, and occasionally he simply angered the wrong people. Either way, once he was found, he always had to move.

It was time to leave this place behind.

"They'll never let me be." He huffed as he fumbled about in his pockets for a credit chit. He didn't pay much mind to the denomination - most of the chips he carried ran around a thousand in value - and offered it to the girl. "Thank you," he offered her a tired smile, and for a moment, the haze that lingered over his eyes gave way to a sharpness: a quiet intelligence that hid itself away behind the booze. He spoke evenly for the first time since their meeting, his voice low and steady, like a river flowing over a lakebed of gravel. It brooked no argument. "Now you should go. I'd rather no one else suffer for my choices. I appreciate your kindness, it does you credit."

The brief moment of sobriety within the chaos of his intoxication faded with his last spoken syllable. The intelligence flickered out, the haze retuned, and he wiggled the credit chit out toward her so that he could return to his self-imposed exile.

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

He didn't seem to like that, but Juniper didn't care. Whatever pity she might've felt for him had dissolved with the assault of booze-ridden breath. Even watching him flounder around, trying to get himself up off the ground, it felt faintly pathetic. Like she was watching the last ebbs of someone who had something, once upon a time. Now washed away in regrets and drink. And drink. And so much more drink.

Dark Trooper.

The words turned her blood cold. She'd heard of them. Who hadn't? The relentless, endless drones and legions of the Sith. She looked around, as if a bunch of them would materialise out of the thin air. As if the chubby Rodian or the grouchy Twi'lek just down the street would suddenly flash with dark metal and begin their attack.

The biggest surprise though? Aside from getting a bunch of credits pressed into her hand? The voice. That all-too-brief moment of lucidity and respect that came from him. Juniper stared at him, slightly open mouthed, as he spoke clearly and calmly. She felt like she was brushing against something distant, buried in the past, the embers of something or someone great. Someone who'd done things and made impact.

Then it seemed to be gone... and Juniper looked at her hand.

Holy moly that's some creds.

She sighed as she held out her free hand.

"Look, I've got a ship and I'm leaving now. You need to get away? You can come with me. There's a passenger room you can take while we get away. I'll drop you off wherever you need to go, so long as it's not off my usual routes or anything. Or too close to Bryn-space. Where'd you wanna go? Core? Silver Space? I've got some contacts in the Confederacy?"

Leaving him there didn't seem like an option anymore. A drunken wretch he may be, but there was something else in there. That, and leaving someone to be taken by the Sith was just not done. Her eyes flicked to his bacta-bandaged-wound.

"Come on. We need to go now, then."

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He had already taken the first step when she spoke up. Her words felt far away now that he was not focused on her, and he nearly had to strain to make them over. The Reuigen turned about with all the finesse of a two legged bantha.. His lips pressed into a thin line as he turned his gaze up toward the sky, his brow furrowing as he debated his options.

It wouldn't be difficult to find transport, but it would likely be of the public variety. Public manifests had a bad tendency of being easily accessed, and it was likely his pursuers would be able to track him down without much trouble. The other option was a private means offworld, which posed many of its own risks, least of which being the lack of trustworthiness in the dregs that called this city home. They were just as likely to check on his bounty status as they were to get him to some kind of sanctuary.

It would be foolish to deny her offer, and yet something felt off in the pit of his stomach. It was difficult to tell whether that was simply a natural inclination, a warning given to him by the empyrean, or a worry for the girl's safety. Either way, it was better left ignored.

"Hmm," the momentary thought that he would not be able to access anymore booze on her ship surfaced, but he quickly quelled it. Survival was more important than a buzz, at least for now.

"You lead on then." He muttered, gaze darting from one alley to the next just to make sure no one was paying them much mind. It was difficult to come up with a destination truth be told he'd -- ah, yes, he HAD agreed to meet with someone already. Perhaps the Force was working in his favor, for once.

"Ruusan. That's home. I can get you outfitted with whatever shhupplies you may need there." Another slurring of the words. The Reiugen privately cursed himself. "The Shhilvers shouldn't provide us with any trouble. If they stop us I'll get us around any tax posts," a pause. "What do I call you?"

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

"Fine. Good. Come on then."

Taking on a drunkard wasn't the Galaxy's greatest work but he'd paid, at least. She couldn't in good conscience leave him there if he was being hunted by someone, especially Sith. Even if that meant putting herself in harm's way. Suddenly, the shadows and lurking darkness in the alleyways seemed a whole lot more dangerous than it'd been a few moments before.

She lead the way, deeper into the mess of streets and alleyways. Past thinning crowds of people, spilling out of cantinas or huddling around stalls to barter and bargain. Heading towards the spaceport nearly. As she moved, she kept looking back over her shoulder to check he was following. To check he was still okay. That he hadn't been snatched... or he hadn't snuck off to find more booze.

"Juniper. Juniper Jett," she said to him, as he revealed his destination. She did a quick calculation in her head. Silver Space. Ruusan. Hm. Not the most convenient place but she could do it. She doubted he actually could get them round any tax posts but they were always a little hit and miss. Especially with the Sith and Bryn fighting at the borders.

"Ruusan. Right. Fine, I can do that. Might take a bit of time though," she agreed as she lead him inside the spaceport. "What do I call you then?" she asked, without stopping. The pad she'd left her ship on wasn't far, which turned out to be a good thing. Lingering paranoia about Sith dark troopers can really make every moment feel stretched out like an hour. She flashed her datapad and credentials to the doors and they opened up slowly, the metal grunting and rusting as it revealed her ship on the pad.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

"Time is one thing I have in spades." The Reiugen muttered as they reached the spaceport, or whatever this rust laden local equivalent qualified as. He had no duties anymore, no true responsibilities. They had either fallen to the senate that had replaced him, or had been cast off after his choice to live in exile. Time had ceased to be a concern.

"Juniper," he mused over the name. Not one he'd heard before, though names had a way of finding their uniqueness in a galaxy as large as theirs. "Good to meet you," he offered her a slight nod as the rusty doors slowly creaked open.

Though he would not say it, the ship was far nicer than he'd initially expected. The vessels you often found in the backwaters of the galaxy were often dingy at best, and barely flyable at worst. Poverty bred predatory behavior and apathy in its people; very few of them would have offered to help him as she had.

Juniper didn't seem like the usual type of person to call a place like this home. He could only conclude that she did not hail from such, or that she was simply a diamond amidst the rhinestone

"Decent ship." he mumbled as he circled the vessel, his lips pressing into a thin smile as he ran a gloved hand over its underside. The movement caused a bolt of pain to shoot through his wounded arm, and he quickly recoiled the mangled limb.

"Me?" He turned to face her, furrowed his brow in thought, and gave an honest answer. "Most folks call me Reiugen as of late," a quiet sigh escaped his lips as he glanced back toward the ship one more time. "But I trust you." Perhaps unwise, given his inability to read her within the Great Ocean, but his intuition told him it was the right call.

"You may call me Cedric."

Screaming voices rose above the cacophony of city life from the way they had come. The crowds behind them parted in a panic, making a metaphorical bridge for the source of their fear. Two black clad man-machine-things slowly marched toward the hanger, red photoreceptors glowing menacingly in the darkness.

The Reiugen whispered a curse as his eyes locked with those of his pursuers. He half jogged-half stumbled over toward the control panel of the doors, a nd hastily ordered them to close.

"More tin cans! How long until you can get this thing spooled up?" He reflexively snapped at Juniper, a hand falling toward the scabbard that hung at his side. Bogan's Lament roared as it came to life, casting the entire hanger bay in its eerie cyan glow. "They'll get through those doors in seconds, but I can buy us some time." Possibly true. In his current state: without the touch of the Force, his intoxication, and his wounded arm, he had little chance against two of the automatons. Unfortunately he didn't see many other options available.

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

He complimented her ship, which was the most endearing thing he coulda done. Well, after dropping her a bunch of credits too. She winced as she watched him clutch his wounded arm, barely able to imagine the pain that he was feeling.

"Thanks. It's nice to meet you, Cedric." She gave him a warmer, more honest smile. Not honest enough to start dropped her own real name yet, but it'd been nearly six months since she'd even so much as thought about it. But whoever she was before was gone, lost to the churn of the Galaxy. All that remained was Juniper Jett, starship captain and supposed friend of drunken targets.

The screams caught her off guard and she looked over to the hanger doors. She saw them with her own eyes, the fabled troopers, with their dark armour and piercing red eyes. She felt rooted to the spot. Her jaw dropped. They were real. And they were there. And they were heading. Right. For. Them.

Cedric moved quicker than she'd realised, barely even able to process anything as she saw the blade light up, bathing everything in that light. A lightsaber. An actual lightsaber?!!? She hadn't seen one in years, not since she was a kid. She blinked some more then felt his words tug her back into reality.

"I... I can... a minute. Two, tops," she replied quickly, shaking her head as she brought herself round. She could hear the muffled screams beyond the doors and the horrid hiss of something trying to burn through metal. "Get ready!" she told him, turning and running towards the ramp.

Her boots thudded on the metal as she dashed through the confines of her ship. Up inside, past the cargo bay and engine rooms, down the hallways and past the mess, towards the bridge. Throwing herself in the chair, she flicked switches and smacked on screens hard, frantically trying to power the thing up. Lights blinked to life as engines churned, starting to spool up. Every second felt like a lifetime, though.

"Come on... come on... you can be faster than this!!" she yelled at her equipment, smacking the side of one of the monitors. The engines worked through their warm-up as she desperately queued up the order to leave. As she did, she heard the screech of twisted, broken metal and the screams became just a bit louder.

They're through.

She hoped he was alright. Grabbing the radio-mic by the console, she yelled out through the speakers on the top of her ship.

"ONE MINUTE!"

Slowly, the engines of the Snicket pulsed into actual life.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He could only stare at the rapidly expanding line of plasma and molten steel that was slowly extending the entire lenght of the doors. The dark troopers would be through in seconds, and as far as the exile knew, he was the only thing that could slow them down. Truth be told, if he had not accosted Juniper for a ride, she wouldn't have had to deal with them in the first place. Now he was certain that if he were to fall, they would kill her too simply for trying to provide him with some kind of assistance.

That wouldn't do. Wouldn't do at all.

"Ashla, lend me your strength," he muttered quietly to himself as h tried to will his connection to the empyrean back into being. The Force only responded with a deafening silence, and the steady whir of plasma cutters slicing their way through sheet metal.

One minute. or at least that was what Juniper had said. That was all the time he needed to buy. Even in his reduced state he could pull that off, or at least he thought he could.

Two metal hands thrust through the plasma soaked metal, and the doors fell inwards upon themselves in response. The exile wasted little time in taking advantage of the situation as he brought his lightsaber down like a guillotine upon the outstretched limbs. One of the machine-things roared as its arms were sheered off at the elbows, the forelimbs clattering noisily onto the ground below.

"You still want to come through?" The Reiugen snapped as he drew his blade toward himself. The armless automaton charged through the open entryway, while the second fired two streams of crimson death his way. Even without the touch of the empyrean, he could still intuit where the bolts were meant to go, and blocked several harmlessly into the nearby walls. Unfortunately his deflection did not give him time to respond to the charging brute, and he felt the wind being knocked out of his lungs as the beast caught him square in the chest with its shoulder. The blow sent him clear off his feet, and sent him flying several meters before hitting the ground in a violent roll.

Pain wracked his body as he forced himself back onto his feet, sheer adrenaline driving him forward. His saber snap hissed back to life just as another burst was sent his way - three bolts were batted aside, the forth ducked beneath, and the first side stepped. The armless dark trooper made for another charge, but the exile was ready this time. He stepped aside the beast at the last second, extended his blade, and allowed himself a small triumphant grin as it cut clean through the man-thing's chest. The trooper fell to the floor of the spaceport with a loud thud, its limbs twitching violently in its final death throes.

His triumph was short lived as another stream of bolts flew toward him. He blocked the first volley on instinct alone, but instinct would not be enough to save them. With his form broken as it was, it was inevitable that one of the bolts knock the exile's blade from his hands. The weapon clattered away uselessly, and plasma bit at his gloves as he pitched a roll to avoid the killing shot.

"I surrender!" He thrust his hands into the air, "I surrender."

The Dark Trooper peered at him, its eyes glowing with barely contained malice. "Contact made. No longer acceptable." It raised its rifle-arms once more.

The exile drew a deep breath, dug deep within himself, and made one last desperate call to the empyrean. It responded, for once, in kind. The limbs of his assailant suddenly twisted in on themselves violently, the metal and bone cracking loudly as its hands crumpled onto its forearms. The machine- thing could only scream as the empyrean's telekinetic will made sure it would never fire a weapon again.

The threat eliminated, the exile drew upon the power as best he could, allowing it to coalesce in his palm before expelling outward like a shotgun blast, one that sent the remaining trooper clear off his feet and flying down the road it had come from. Better to maim than to kill if it could be helped.

Wasting little time, the Reiugen collected his fallen lightsaber and charged up the loading ramp of the ship, his chest rising and falling violently from the exertion. "Gonna be more here shortly!" He snapped as the ramp hissed up behind him. "Ready to bolt?'

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

Juniper's mind raced as she rushed through the engine start-ups, doing the bare minimum she needed to ensure that the engines wouldn't blow up. The guy with the booze breath, the drunkard she'd had to drag out of the gutter, standing there with a lightsaber whilst he fended off Sith dark-troopers.

Does that make him a Jedi?

It was a sharp contrast from the stories she'd heard about them. It was a very sharp contrast compared to the Jedi she'd seen as a kid. But there wasn't time to properly digest those thoughts. She could see part of the fight from the windows in the bridge. Flashes of plasma, swishes and sparks. Catching a quick sight of Reiugen, or Cedric or whatever his name was, confidently slicing through a trooper. Almost like a completely different person.

Come on! We need to move!!!

Her ship seemed sluggish, unwilling, petulantly running through the checks like it needed to teach her a lesson about rushing. Juniper slapped the console again, glaring at it.

"I am gonna rip your board out and soak it in acid if you don't..." she yelled, cut off as the checks turned green. Instantly, the lights in the bridge turned from red to white, as she took hold of the controls.

"READY!" she called through the mic as she pulled them back, the Snicket lifting off the pad. Now the ramp was shut, she didn't have to wait any more. With a couple of taps, they rose quickly up from the space-port below. The remnants of the battle, including the half-melted door and the scrunched-up, sliced-up remains of the dark troopers, quickly shrunk from view as they took to the skies.

Once they were clear of any skyline, Juniper gunned the engine and the ship leaped ahead. The planet below them turned into a glittering smear of lights as the Snicket rushed them from the atmosphere, into orbit. As the sky faded into the familiar, comfortable blackness of space, Juniper relaxed. Sagged in her seat. Took a breath.

Silver space. Right.

Punching the directions into the navicomp, the ship prepared to jump into hyperspace. As it did, Juniper took her belt off and stood up, moving into the hallways of the ship itself.

"Hey! You okay?" she called out, wondering where in the ship he'd ended up.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The jump from combat to drunken meandering was sharp, and wholly unwelcome. The Reiugen's heightened senses faded the moment the Dark Trooper's feet left the ground. His connection to the empyrean was shut, just as before, and there was no way he could wrench it back open. He muttered a quiet curse as his lightsaber died. If these things were going to keep following him, he would have to reestablish his bonds with the empyrean. The alternative was death.

That was much easier said than done, however. The fact that it still came to him in times of need was heartening to a degree, but it had been many months since the Reiugen had managed to call upon the immaterial simply when he wished to. Musings about the Force and his relationship to it aside, Juniper's ship was leaving, and without him if he didn't move his shebs.

He caught a hand around the rail of the gangplank just as the ship touched off the ground. A strong yank of the arm brought him into the heart of the ship, and immediately left him with a sickening feeling in his gut. He was lucky enough to turn over the side just before emptying the contents of his lunch, his dinner, and the night's worth of drinking down onto the screaming crowd below.

"Shab," the exile hissed as the ramp closed beneath him. His whole body ached, and the wound on his arm was only making itself more noticeable with his exertions. Utterly overwhelmed, Cedric allowed himself to slide down the wall he was leaning against and onto the floor. He remained there for sometime, until the hyperspace drive engaged, and Juniper came down hunting for him.

"Okay is relative," he huffed, "But I'm alive, and not hit as far as I can tell. Not again anyway," he offered the pilot a tired smile. "Good flying there. Was worried we'd hit a skyscraper on the way out. Glad you surprised me." He offered her a wavering thumbs-up.

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

She found him near the exit ramp, close to the cargo bay, slumped over by the wall. Obviously in a fair bit of pain. It was hard to hide the wince on her face as she took him in. He looked spent. Like, way worse than just drunk.

"Thanks," she replied as he complimented her flying. Truthfully, they might've nearly took the tip off something as she jetted out to orbit, but she wasn't going to admit that if she didn't have to. Her mind had been a little bit too focused on the Sith Dark Troopers that'd been shooting at her and y'know, the lightsaber and everything.

"You look like a mess. Come on, here," she told him, holding out her hand. "You can't stay there forever." If he took her hand, she'd try to raise him up, using her as support. If she could. She was a lot skinnier than he was, admittedly. "My medbay is round down here, I've got some bacta you can use."

Juniper's mind played the moment over and over again. Seeing the cyan light wash over everything. The snap-hiss of the lightsaber. The change from booze-soaked, wounded tool into something much more serene and focused. Something, or someone, that was a damn sight more impressive than the man that she'd stumbled into on the planet.

"There's a cabin you can have. A single one, lucky you, just for yourself," she told him, wondering if she should bring up what she was thinking. "You're welcome to it for the trip. Food too, there's some stuff in the mess."

Finally, she worked up the courage to ask him as she tapped the keypad into her small, half-stocked medbay.

"Are you a Jedi?"

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The floor was an awfully comfortable place. He was more than keen to just lay there and waste away if the gods allowed, but then his wounded needed treatment, and his back would probably make him suffer accordingly the next day. He stared at the outstretched hand through hazy eyes for a moment, allowed himself one long, loud sigh, and took it.

"I could have stayed there forever. Just...probably shouldn't," he protested just as he elected not to protest letting the girl guide him to the medbay. He could stitch himself up well enough with the supplies within, he'd just need to sober up a bit first. He wasn't wholly drunk anymore anyway - adrenaline had a way of purging the liquor from one's system, or at least it seemed that way to him.

"A cabin? Fancy. I've been camping out these past few weeks - well, months I suppose." How long had it been since he'd taken to his exile? Only the Force truly knew. "It'll be nice to have four walls around me again. You'd think spending a night out in the rain might be refreshing, but it's really just cold." An unfortunate truth to fly in the face of all the romantic thoughts city folk had about living off the land.

The light smile he wore faded involuntarily as she asked the question he'd been waiting to hear from her. There wasn't much use in lying now, or trying to hide his lightsaber given how much he'd used it in the past few hours. Another quiet sigh left his lips as he stepped through the open door into the medbay, and made a point of taking extra time to examine the room before answering her question.

"I am," he turned to face her, "I have served the Jedi Order for all my life until now. I was a Jedi Master, and a well respected one at that. A warrior of the Ashla," the thought brought a fleeting, nostalgic smile to his face, "I've spent the majority of my life fighting in wars, be they my own or others'. The Jedi Path is the only one I have ever known, and I've taken an exile from it. A Barash Vow." The smile faded as he sat down on one of the operating tables. "I...broke the Jedi Code. Went back on my vows to the order, and to the people it serves. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement and guide my actions. " He glanced up toward the ceiling, and to the heavens beyond it, speaking more to himself than to Juniper now. "I don't trust myself to wield the Force any longer. I don't trust that my ambitions could be kept in check, that I could let go of my grievances, or that I ever even was the man they wanted me to be."

The exile paused, lips parted mid-speech as he caught himself. She hadn't asked for his life story, and certainly hadn't asked to share in his burdens. Better they be left to rot in the dark corners of his mind, unspoken and unheard.

"But, that is beside the point. I no longer touch the Force if I can help it, and I keep myself far away from the conflict. Can't cause any damage if you aren't present in the first place."

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

The answer didn't surprise her. She'd just seen him fire up a lightsaber and slice some dark troopers into dust, it'd be more surprising if he just came out and said nope, no idea, never done this stuff in my life before. The details, though, they shocked her. A Jedi Master. That sounded important. That sounded respected. That sounded... old. He spoke about the Jedi and the Code, almost drifting away into pleasant, smiling nostalgia.

As he laid back on the table and spoke, Juniper stepped around to the other side and rifled through her stocks. A couple more bandages, much like the one he had on before. She pulled out an injector, loading up a mild sedative and painkiller. It'd make him feel better, at least. Not enough to knock him out, but enough to dull the pain and exhaustion running through him. She stepped back to his side as he stared up at the metal ceiling. The dull hum of the engines echoing around them as Juniper took his arm, placed the injector against it and...

"There," she said, putting it aside. "You just need rest. Like, a lot of it. And no drinking either. I don't keep booze aboard the ship. Not to drink, anyway, sometimes I transport it." She conveniently left off the part where she was clearly quite young and probably would get kicked out of most bars on most decent planets.

"So, why are you heading to Silver space, then? Seems like it'd be the place you'd wanna avoid? Or is that the part they don't get involved with?" she asked, more questioning than admonishing. She understood the role of the Jedi in the Core, what'd become the Galactic Alliance, but the precise role of the Order in the Silver Concord had always confused her.

"I'm not looking for conflict. I'm just looking for work. Find my own way, make my own credits, live my own life," she said, each one said more like a vow to some unknown presence than a statement. "And I'm certainly not doing anything I don't wanna do. If someone wants me involved, they can pay me good creds and I'll do some work for them, sure. Then I leave it." There were mild ambitions in her, true. But they revolved around upgrades to the ship, continued freedom and maybe, one day, a house of her own on some nice world.

Naboo. Maybe Naboo. I heard that was nice.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Despite spending a good portion of his life locked up in med bays and undergoing the healing process, the Reiugen had a strong distaste for needles. Getting shot and getting stabbed in the heat of combat was one thing, but a cold blade-like thing going into your skin while you watched it do so? Certainly not his cup of tea.

It was fortunate that he wasn't paying much attention when she jabbed it into his arm. He blinked down at the insertion point with hazy confusion, offered a small shrug, and turned his attentions back to Juniper. What you didn't see didn't bother you, as far as he was concerned.

"I'm good on the drinking anyway. I'm all washed out after the past few days," he mumbled, a hand rising to hold his brow as the drugs began to take effect. His senses were already dulled as they were, and he quickly found himself amidst a haze that made it feel more like he was simply observing the world as a third party rather than living in it.

That suited him just fine.

His mild intoxication aside, he couldn't help but stare at her with a mix of amusement and silent accusation as she remarked on transporting alcohol. She couldn't be much older than twenty from what he could tell, but then again that wasn't really his business, was it?

"Well, Ruusan is home, or at least the closest I can get to it." He admitted, "The Silvers and I have always had a decent working relationship. I don't necessarily agree with their doctrine, their government's means of organization, or their choices in recent years...well, really ever, but everything they do comes from a good place. Not really my place to judge." It was an opinion he normally would have kept to himself, but secrecy was a bit beyond him at the moment.

"I told a friend I'd meet him there too if I ever found a ship. Funny how things just tend to work out, eh?" A pause, "I have...old ties to the Galactic Alliance. Several of the young knights leading the New Jedi Order are my former padawans. I couldn't be prouder of them, but it isn't home. I don't feel..." his brow furrowed as he fought for the right word. "...welcome there. Not many places these days, really."

A brow was lofted as she gave her mantra, or rather what seemed like one at the very least. "Not a bad way to live when you're young. The galaxy is in a state of near unprecedented chaos. Plenty of money to be made if you have an opportunistic nose for things. Just make sure you don't find yourself working for the wrong people."

Juniper Jett

 

[Juniper Jett]

Again, the familiar chill went down Juniper's spine as he mentioned the Core. The Galactic Alliance. No matter what, she couldn't seem to ever really get away from the Core Worlds. Eternally doomed to have some link back there, clinging and tugging and trying to pull her back into that raging maw of propriety, family and duty. Though she doubted that Cedric himself would be involved in that. He was a Jedi, supposedly, and they had very little to do with aristocratic families that were almost pornographically rich.

A moment of empathy then. She understood not feeling welcome where she'd been before. Running from what you'd known, running from your past. A sad half-smile on her pale face as she nodded, not really sure what she could add. Feeling a little solidarity with someone looking to see what their life could be now. Even if there were a good couple of decades between them, from what it seemed. And, y'know, Cedric's sounded a little more... important than her family drama.

"Lots of creds for a smart girl with a fast ship," she boasted, winking at him. Pulling on that mask of the cocky, confident captain that she desperately wanted to be. "You don't need to worry about me, I know what I'm doing." Never a good sign when someone has to affirm that, but hey. "Speaking of which... well, like I said, consider this your ride for Ruusan. Temporarily, I mean. You're not keeping her," she said, wagging a finger towards him with a jokey smirk.

She moved to leave the med-bay, her hand clinging onto the doorway before she looked back at him, over her shoulder. "I'm sorry I kicked your flask away. It looked nice. But that stuff'll kill you if you keep at it. You'll end up too out of it to stop the next creepy droid that comes for you, if they don't find you keeled over in a gutter first."

Her fingers tapped on the side of the door, drumming out a gentle, nervous rhythm. Trying to think of what she should say. What she might say... or rather, what Juniper Jett, starship captain and trader-extrodinaire would say at a time like this.

"You need to eat something."

Wow, very bold and confident. Mother the old man, why don't you?

Cedric Grayson