The Sequel
Quinn Varanin's Residence,
Jutrand.
"The Servant will step onto the raised platform and place their clothing on the marked square."
The room was small and quiet. Dark quadanium walls with a strip of lights in the roof that bathed the small square space with grey light. The voice emanated from an illuminated red symbol etched into the wall. Like the room, it was cold and metallic. Every now and again, it would bounce or sway, the only indication Kirie was in some sort of transport.
Kirie did as the voice commanded. She stepped onto a circular platform at the room's centre, and after a moment's hesitation, stripped down, throwing her dusty, mudstained jumpsuit into the corner. The air was cold, and her skin prickled, her pale flesh rioe with goosebumps. Kirie heard sudden whirring that made her flinch and step backwards instinctively. A pair of sharp-looking metallic arms had descended from a panel in the ceiling, holding a grey bundle.
"Return to the platform." The voice said coolly. Again, Kirie hesitated, but she knew she didn't have a choice. "The Servant will don their uniform."
Kirie looked down at the clothes. They were simple, but nicer than anything she had been given since the crash. She slipped the simple, soft underclothes, followed by a comfortable pair of pleated trousers and a crisply pressed button up, both in the same charcoal grey. The clothes were devoid of detail, but the sleeves of the shirt were short enough that her chain code tattoo and brand were visible, and here, that was all the identity she would need.
While she dressed, the emotionless announcer detailed Kirie's assignment: she had been placed into domestic service detail and would be attending to the estate of Lady Varanin until a suitable replacement could be selected. Kirie was pretty sure that meant she was some sort of stand-in, and would be shuffled along somewhere else in a few days. That would probably be for the best.
"Prepare to disembark." said the voice. Kirie felt the transport stop suddenly, jerking her forward. Luckily, she kept her balance on the small platform.
A moment later, the far wall opened seamlessly, revealing a darkened street. She didn't know where she was, only that the buildings were large and well appointed. In front of her, a trio wearing an identical uniform to Kirie had already lined up. Were they slaves? It didn't seem so, their arms were bare of the symbols that marked Kirie, and they said nothing when she filed into place behind them. Kirie didn't open her mouth either. She had scarcely said a word since the crash, and never to her captors. Several times already she had been punished for refusing to speak. She had been shoved into the dirt, scolded, and beaten, but still she refused. It had started as just shock and numbness, but somewhere along the way, Kirie's silence had turned into silence. If the Sith never heard a single syllable leave her lips, that would be a small victory. Whatever the case, it was something she could control in the hopeless situation she found herself in.
The other servants stepped forward, and Kirie followed them inside. She didn't know who this Varanin was. Kirie had grown up far from Sith space, but by the look of it she was a lady of wealth and influence. The entrance hall was grand, with almost-black timber floors and a rich red runner that run up to the first landing. Aside from the new arrivals, the house looked empty. Kirie found herself relieved. She had never seen a true Sith, but she had heard the stories. They were gods here, cruel deities. With luck, the master of the house would be away.
Without looking her in the eye, one of the other house staff handed her a duster. Time to get working.
