The Star Orchid

[Blackthorne]

"The latter," replied Blackthorne, "...alive." For posterity.

"I don't imagine she's strayed from the Kuat system, shouldn't be hard to find if she is indeed still living. Former Senator from Kuat's residency with the Republic, then Governess under the One Sith Regime, to personal assistant of the Sovereign herself after the Empire fell. I imagine she's likely retired herself to some luxury estate," green eyes turned to stray over her shoulder at the site of that beautiful, glistening bald scalp coming out of its shell for some fresh air. The woman bit her lower lip, smirking to herself.

"I'd look myself but I can't lift my pinky high enough to gain passage to the Aristocracy."

 

[Catalys Maijora]

"They're called the free worlds, sounds like you can get by just fine if you wanted." He shrugs.

Catalys lounges now and sinks into the seat as if he were melting in it. "Unless they're not that free, of course, I wouldn't know. I don't set foot on Kuat." In fact he had once, but that was when he first helped salvage K-D-Y from the hands of One Sith dissidents. Now that Kuat had firmly cemented itself within the Free Worlds Coalition, and Hadleigh declared the company's prefect, it was only a matter of time before he had to hunker down and hide within the shadows of dirty dealings.

"I'll find her for you, as a favour." He says.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Small though my reputation for the indecent may be, I have some doubts that I'd receive a warm welcome at the gates," the Harrowbane wasn't exactly nondescript and there were ... enough warrants out for its apprehension that it wouldn't take long to track down in that particular part of the galaxy.

A glance about, "Favor?" brow raised, Dahl turned fully to face the man reclining on the sofa with all the casual comfort of a terentatek taking up residence on a farmer's home after a good afternoon of rampant savagery. Not that he looked the type for that sort of thing, but there was certainly an edge to the armored man that dulled any delusion of him being high-brow. No, a half smirk pressed into her expression, he had plenty of dirt and blood on his hands. Instincts told her so. The K'paur hybrid stalked over, boots deftly tapping against the floor, green eyes burning like acid over his metallic form, "are we on friendly terms now?" She leaned over him, encroaching on that personal bubble unabashed, "Shall I repay you now or later?"

 

[Catalys Maijora]

"I'm hurt," he feigns emotion. "Here I thought we've been good friends the day I built you that ship of yours... But if you don't like it I'll take it back," he didn't mind her advance--not at all. At this point he had no sense of personal security, if she wished to lash a blade to his throat he wouldn't stop it from slicing through his flesh.

For the most part, though, his body happened to be covered in metal with very little skin exposed and that might contradict his apathy for death.

"What kind of pirate offers payment first?"

Catalys did not know her to be anything but a dangerous and greedy woman, but of course he took the hint.

 

[Blackthorne]

Tsk, putting words in her mouth. How rude. She'd never give the Harrowbane back - that ship was far too happy fulfilling the role it had now.

"What kind of Pirate, indeed," Blackthorne replied, fangs flashing through a broad grin. Cool and fluid like smoke billowing in she set upon the man where he lounged, green gaze holding his own, "but I never said this was the payment, luv," she was slowly removing leather gloves one finger at a time as she spoke, the first pulling free to be tossed over her shoulder, "Favor is just another word for IOU," the second followed shortly after. Warm hands found his neck and jawline, pushing his chin up to expose his neck into which she pressed, inhaling his scent and tracing the beat of his carotid with her lips.

"What does Catalys Maijora want, hm?"

 

[Catalys Maijora]

His chin moved effortless with the command of her touch.

As for his scent, the man smelled of burnt tibanna and rifle grease, like a man spent locked away in his workshop, of course Catalys' workshop often involved far more dismemberment. He remains motionless for the most part, and if she hadn't felt the pulse of his bloodflow one might suggest he died right there, everything below the neck cold and lifeless. Powered by Sith alchemy. Truth-be-told, with all the efforts of his past the Umbaran had the joints of a sixty-year-old man, and shortened his lifespan considerably because of it.

Memory loss, insomnia, and a lack for appetite soon followed... But with the power of dark lords flowing through his veins he felt more alive than ever before, more complete.

 

[Blackthorne]

The scent may have turned away many a suitor but Blackthorne didn't mind it at all, pungent as it was. Reminded her of home, in a way; more specifically it reminded her of Irontown - the first and largest prison encampment facility on Onderon. A hive and culture all on its own, Irontown played a strong role in the foundation of her upbringing. It was the place where the vicious nature of technology met the beast of the wilds. Where she learned to shoot a blaster and fly a ship, among many other life lessons.

The hybridization of her life extended much, much father than just her bloodlines.

Silence from the man beneath her - but not of that born out of indecision. Dahl knew that stillness - the very same offered by a warrior waiting to die from grievous wounds, or a beast given up and ready to pass after a life of battle and loss. A pitying smile briefly touched her lips, "You can't have Oblivion yet, luv," fingers of her left hand stroked upwards along the opposite side of his face, running across cheek, eye, and brow and then across the smooth surface of his scalp. The gesture might have been mistaken as loving or comforting by someone less aware of what was coming.

"You still have to build me a new ship."

That same hand clasped at his crown, nails digging in as she sank her teeth into his neck with a hideous crunch.

 

[Catalys Maijora]

The bite pierced him, but not even a sword could reach the blackened depths of his soul. The world fades around him, numbed and pitiful, and right now Dahl proved the only thing that lived. Catalys exhales stolen breath, breath that had long been claimed by death. In some ways the two of them were the same, stealing things that certainly did not belong to either.

"You'll have your ship, I promise." A promise from a man who did nothing but betray. Promises broken so many times that they left a trail of shards from the world that bore him to the stars he bled upon. A cold hand grasps for the back of the pirate's hair, tugging harshly to pry her teeth from his neck if she did nothing to stop him.

"I'll give you a taste but nothing more. I have little to offer, truth be told."

 

[Blackthorne]

A taste was all she was after, though that did not make the separation any less unpleasant to bear for either party. Fangs tore the flesh of his neck as he jerked her away and the woman greeted him with a keening grimace, eyes rolling back at the sensation of rough metal fingers in her hair.

"Hnnnn - you've tampered with dark powers for this body, haven't you..." she could taste it in his blood. Sense it. Alchemy wasn't one of her skills, no, but she was intimately familiar with the sensation and essence of darkside corruption. Blackthorne grabbed at his offending arm with her right hand, and with the glove gone he'd see the black mar of her own skin taking over from within the sleeve of her jacket along the back of her hand, just reaching her knuckles. She didn't pull his hand away, the Pirate simply wanted him to see.

"Tell me, Maijora," eyes slit open to look at him, she managed a grin through the blood dripping from her fangs and the lust urging her to continue feeding, "how long have you worn this armor?"

 

[Catalys Maijora]

He keeps his hand where it was, "why do you ask?" A question for her question.

Catalys had been wearing his armour for several years now since it became alchemized to his flesh. It had made him stronger, faster, and considerably more durable. Originally it had been just an impressive suit of armour, forged to give him an edge against Jedi and other force users; his primary foe.

Now it is less of a shell and more of an exoskeleton, it was as much part of him as he was part of it.

"... Long enough," he finally says so.

 

[Blackthorne]

Fascinating.

Blackthorne calmly gave the man a look over, as much of him as she could really see from her position, and withdrew her right hand from his arm. It moved to his chestplate where it rested momentarily while she attempted to piece together this strange new discovery. So the armor was ... permanent, for lack of a better word. So many questions bubbled up but only the most relevant for the present situation made it through the filter.

"Do you not..." that same hand slid down, lingering, pressing, her gaze following it for a moment before returning to his face, "...feel?"

 

[Catalys Maijora]

"Not like you do," of course he only assumed she was more properly flesh and blood.

Catalys had been modified to feel, but only the necessary sensory data that assisted him. Pain--along with most senses of mortality--were heavily dulled to allow him to choose whether to move forward or not. He could subject his body to extreme conditions without skipping a beat, even if they might devastate him in the long run. Of course that had never been tested on his part, but half of his survival instinct was robbed in the procedure.

"Though I suppose in some ways I feel more than I ever have..." An extra sense or two, really, that he could not properly explain. It created a new experience and right now he was experiencing something far different than another man might in his place. "Does this bother you?" He inquires, for it did mean he might not be able to perceive the euphoria of their moment if it existed.

 

[Blackthorne]

Dark brows swept upwards in consideration of everything presented. He felt, but didn't feel. It was briefly disconcerting for a woman whose culture, upbringing, and hybrid DNA revolved around instinct and the primal drive of physical contact with others. What would she do for a life without feeling?

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Dahldesa Shamalain pitied someone. This didn't show, but the emotion was there behind the glint of her green eyes.

A blink, a hand smoothed over the molded chestplate, nails ringing across the metallic surface.

"No," the reply was quiet and snuck out through wry, smirking lips, "no it doesn't."

Blackthorne leaned forward, a cool gaze pooling over his face at the challenge presented to her. Make the Tinman feel.

"There's more to feeling than just flesh and bone," the mind, for instance. All manner of emotion, sensations, and feelings could be produced there alone. The body could not live without the mind. A little empathy could often go a long way if an individual was open and susceptible to it. She brushed her fingers across his temple, instilling through the physical contact a current of empathic energies - a slow, deliberate leak of desire to test this theory.

 

[Catalys Maijora]

Though he could not command the force, it still flowed through him like any other. He felt the energies trickle into his mind, a cool liquid running down and wetting the dry surface; it made him thirsty for more. His pale eyes widen in sensation and stare directly into those primal green orbs leaning over him. The arm that gripped her fell limp, as if severed from the rest of his nervous system. Suddenly all that he felt sent sparks throughout the death-stopped body of his, fueled only by dark powers and Sith sorcery.

A gasp, all he could muster. A lengthy breath cascading from his peeled lips and rising to the skin of her neck. He regained whatever control he lost, stiffening in place and moved to pull the pirate witch towards him with sudden strength. A commanding pull mustered by the sudden desire to understand, to comprehend the feeling she just offered him on a whim, and to satiate his newfound lust to expand its potency. Just a drop of what she offered was all it took to remind the wolf of how it starved, how it hungered for the taste of hot blood on its tongue.

Yet there was something more. A subtle feeling that compelled him to question the reality of such desires, a rational impulse designed to safeguard him against the manipulation of Jedi should he encounter it. Ethereal programming sewn into his brain and spirit by the same woman who made him into the monster he is. A cold, ruthless killing machine destined to die alone and forgotten, leaving a wake of corpses behind him.

 

[Blackthorne]

That's it...

A saccharine smile appraised the moony eyes beneath her gaze, growing broader at the flush of breath across her neck.

let me warm your weathered soul.

Blackthorne's figure resisted not against the strength that pulled her in, obligingly coiling against the armored man to warm that cold metallic surface with a body heat that was decidedly not human. Face pressed against his own, nuzzling against the cold skin of the Umbaran, she drew her lips across the flesh of his temple while further sewing seeds of empathic lust and pleasure through the contact. It trickled in through the fingertips raking across his scalp, the skin of exposed shoulder curled around his jaw, the lips now expelling hot breath along his ear - like the teasing of a light rain across a parched desert.

And warmth. Her skin radiated it, pressing flush along his cool countenance to offer radiant fire and life where his own had none, enveloping the man of chrome and steel in the aroma of spice, earth, blood, and the heady scent of menthe tabac.

 

[Catalys Maijora]

For a moment he drowned in the spell, unable to think of anything else. Then he recalled himself to reality, blanketed by the unusual warmth pressed into him.

"I think you will find yourself most unsatisfied," he said. His empty eyes glancing around the room, if only to remind himself of where he was. "I can offer a lot to many people, but pleasure--perhaps--is not among them." How cruel, he thought to himself, to be stripped of one power to bolster another. A power that he hadn't considered until now as a most unusual woman enveloped him like wood catching fire.

His thoughts continued until he reached a conclusion.

"Where will you be taking me?" He asked.

Catalys tilted his head upwards, pressing himself further back into the sofa to bring them lower.

He didn't seek any particular resolution, but he did wonder what she expected to gain from all this.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Oh but it's not all about my pleasure," the woman crooned into his ear, "pleasure is a galactic commodity but I'm certain we could find creative ways to work around your ... physical limitations ... were you so inclined."

There was no lack of work-arounds for just such an issue and she was not disinclined to try new things, but that wasn't what presently drove her. Presently [member="Catalys Maijora"] was a big shiny puzzle trinket in the clutches of a particularly curious cat. He reeked of Darkside Corruption - an eau that was unusually attractive to her for more reasons than one. In fact the more she learned about him the more she wanted to pick him apart piece by metal-coated piece.

Blackthorne sat up just enough to look him in those pale, hollowed eyes. Her arms rested across his chestplate, weight leaned into him as he sunk deeper into the couch; it was devouring him whole and she was not without an iota of jealousy. The Pirate gave a faint smirk at his question, "Where do you want to go?"

 

[Catalys Maijora]

Her arms pressed against him, and he felt the sensation of pressure weigh him down into the couch. Although she may have been jealous, he could not feel the comfort she perhaps imagined he felt. Or imagined herself feeling at least.

"Anywhere I haven't been," he answered.

Catalys wandered the stars in search of nothing. Doing jobs when asked, or when he became bored. Without purpose it all seemed rather dull and the constant meandering only served to distract rather than satiate. Still, he managed to get through the years since his last betrayal and now found himself in a rather peculiar state of thought...

How did the once champion of the Primeval, a former agent of the Dark Lord, and warlord in Sith Space become entangled in a mess of shadow organisations, pirates, and raunchy escapades?

His answer was truthful. His only want is to experience something new.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Mmm," a murmuring response drawing the smirk into a shallow smile. A Pirate could appreciate such a request, deeply and intrinsically. It was at the core of their spirit, or at the very least the core of her own. If she couldn't have what her heart truly desired then she would search the galaxy for something better. The Captain liked to believe she was on the trail to something big and perhaps she could include a hollow, soulless, corrupted Umbaran.

Perhaps.

"Build me my ship, get me that woman and I'll test out your little project and find some uncharted or forgotten stars to explore for your existential crisis." Something immediately came to mind, a little region she'd heard about during passing conversation at the Cove, but not one she'd had a chance to verify yet.

"Though I think I'm getting the better part of the bargain here, Maijora."