We Put the Grr in Guerrilla Warfare

[Aver Brand]

She observed the scene unfold like guts and blood were the most normal thing in the world. Hell, for those two, they probably were.

The Hutt babbled, like folk bleeding out all over the place often do. Aver tuned him out the second they had what they came for. She redirected her attention to the document on the screen, scanning its contents as she wiped away a smear of green on the upper left corner of the datapad. Finally, she added a thin scrawl to the line and watched with a cold satisfaction as the assets trickled back to their rightful owners.

Lifting her gaze off the device, the merc found the crimson strip of light in his visor. Eye contact wasn’t really necessary anymore for them to commune, but it put on a nice show for the shuddering Hutt.

“Mmm…” she tapped her bottom lip with her index finger and looked up to meet the glossy gaze of the Hutt. “No.”

“But you cooperated.” She smiled, raised the late Captain’s sidearm, and unloaded the whole clip into his skull.

She nudged his smoldering corpse with the muzzle even though she knew full well he was dead. Better safe than sorry, said the merc who lived.

“I think I saw an Anajjan fast food joint on the way here. You coming?” Aver was already halfway out the door, but stopped to glance back at [member="Loray Tares"].

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You can still play with the snipers.”

 

[Loray Tares]

His vision was illuminated with the chain reaction between pressing a trigger and delivering an obscene amount of deadly force. Might as well have poured the ocean on top of the slug, for all the excess it represented. But that was the point of their presence, delivering unprecedented levels of force for circumstances that hardly demanded it. Let the top floors bleed over from their hostility, drip down the walls and coat the station in fear of consequences far outshining any insult that might have warranted such a reaction. Let the rabble be warned, preemptively, that even the institution of power would be taken for what it was: a solemn and crumbling false idol, soon to be torn down by the willing.

No established recess would be safe while they found safe haven on Point Nadir. As safe as one could consider a place such as this, floating tree hollowed out with weakly developed hives and communities. All vulnerable to the lick of the flame. Just like this pile of chit Crime Lord, one of many queens that thought himself mighty. Only mighty in girth, in proportion, but fragile in every other sense. And as Loray stepped forward, pressing a hand against the voluminous body now absent any form of life, he simply shook his head. Still clammy, still shaking. Even in death, the bloated were pregnant with fear.

Turning towards Aver, he approached, placing Voxyn hand against the small of her back. Just where she felt that tingle, the invisible cord that connected them and bound them endlessly. The same sensation that drove her to the edge when everything else told her otherwise. And he could feel it all the same, the unspoken bond formed in this very station. Though, now that he thought about it, he suspected it was always destined to be. Ten years together didn't simply leave them unattached.

"Yes, I've worked up a bit of an appetite." Looking through the doors as they swung open with the sway of his hand, he sniffed. "We'll deal with the snipers another time. I'd like to speak to the local law enforcement." He turned his head to look at her, a wolfish smile hidden by the red slit of his helm and the phrik overlay. Of course, she'd likely assume he didn't have much to actually say to the whatever passed as law. But maybe he'd let his hands do the talking.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

An indignant snort left the woman, and she rolled her eyes.

“Talk.” A dry echo of his statement, spoken through a toothy grin. Sure, they would talk. Sing, even. The rhythm and melody they knew best, with screams as the backing vocals and the crack of gunfire as the bassline.

“Yes. Let’s go talk.”

They emerged out of the dead Hutt’s throne room to a corridor of barrels pointing straight at them. They were attached to whitened, shaking hands, and these to tense shoulders where taut necks jutted out, each with a sweat-slicked head on top. They didn’t seem very sure of their purpose in life, or, indeed, their source of income.

“He’s dead,” she spoke without a flinch, leveling the group with an eroding glare. A man in the back swallowed a strangled noise.
“Run along, before my partner here decides to throw you out the window.” She gestured to the towering metal knight at her side and smiled a placid smile.

The thugs at the front seemed like the more experienced sort, or perhaps they were simply more attuned to their baser instincts. Whatever the case, the lot lowered their blasters, and one by one, the rest of the company followed. “Say… you wouldn’t be able to point us to your headquarters, would you?”

Shuffling on the spot, the enforcers exchanged panicked looks. Nobody said a word.

“There might be a reward in it for you,” she continued, coating her timbre with honey. As far as she and [member="Loray Tares"] were concerned, the only reward would be their lives intact, but they didn’t know that.

 

[Loray Tares]

Loray wasn't paying attention. The edges of the gloves of his armor were bunching, just around the tips of his fingers. While Aver was busy passively threatening these meek men, Loray picked at the right hand of the gauntlet and weave that made the whole thing come together. Flexing the arm repeatedly, he could hear the Voxyn arm snarl angrily, as the nails retracted out through portions of the armor. Closing and opening the hand, he felt a bit better, as he raised his head to take in the view of all the pawns standing in close proximity.

And to hear the last bit, referencing a reward, drew an expression from nonchalance. There was a smile hidden somewhere beneath the armor, but it was nowhere to be seen. Lifting the hand to the mask, Loray dragged one of the razor sharp nails across the surface, scratching the metal. Down the slit, across the cheek. It made an eerily irritating noise, the sort one might expect hearing while walking down a dimly lit alleyway in the bowels of Coruscant. The sort of sound that turns drops of dew into the remnants of footsteps, manifested origins from the light-footedness of some villain hiding deep in the recesses of those very shadows. He could almost sense the unease brewing within this crew, a special note of sweat in the air.

One gave a nod as Loray dropped his hand, waving them on.

Down a different elevator, likely used for industrial purpose given its size, and they were heading along a metallic street within the depths of the station. The setup seemed nicer, by a decent degree, demarcating the difference between the slums and the prosperous portions of the station by a rather significant line. Loray simply lifted his head, taking in the view, as they walked behind the posse with their flak vest and shiny badges and new guns. Despite their appearance, they had novice written all over them.

He looked over to Aver, thumbnail picking at the index finger. Just then, the glass doors to the first floor of the headquarters kicked open, revealing the secretarial complex. Maps, directions, brochures, and an abundance of clean white interior. Far too clean for Lorays personal preference.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

The headquarters were indeed disgustingly sterile, even for Aver’s standards. The white-white color combinations were harsh on the eyes, for starters, and the furniture was downright abominable. The dress code would deserve a whole paragraph on its own, but neither the writer nor the merc herself have the heart to subject the gentle reader to such torture. It would be the first thing to go after they took over, that was for sure.

“Who the hell are you two freaks?”

“Your new bosses,” she replied and shoved the security guy aside. She repeated the same exact process on his two buddies that failed to stop her, until finally, the merc deposited Wususk’s datapad with all three signatures on the chief’s table.

“What’s this?” The broad Houk narrowed his beady eyes at the document. Then he narrowed his eyes even more, probably at the bloody handprints on the sides of the pad.
“Karking outsiders. Thinkin’ you can come in here and demand things from Nadir! Ha!”

A colorful array of species had come to surround them, weapons out and safeties off. They all laughed with the chief as the towering alien rose from his seat and to his full height, easily overshadowing even the two tall mercenaries.

“Nadir has no boss, little girl. No king, no leader, no-karkin’-one. This here shadowport rules itself.” He jabbed his meaty finger at Aver, who regarded him with an ominously level expression. Not a single eyelash was batted.

“And you,” he turned his attention to [member="Loray Tares"] now.
“This some kinda metal fetish wear? You gagged under there, huh, boy?” A deep, bellowing laugh erupted from his massive chest, and the chief threw his head back.

“You cannae own Nadir, you little chits. Nobody does.” His tone turned grim as he pulled his blaster on her companion. It was a genuine H&H model.

“Oh, sugar, you just gone and done the dumbest thing in your whole life.”

 

[Loray Tares]

Metal fetish wear, that was one he hadn't considered before. Turning his head towards Aver, the blaster was pulled from the large alien and drawn at point blank. For her, she might have seen the flash of black and dented phrik. Even as new as it was, Loray was quick to season it. His left hand leaped out, grabbing the wrist holding the blaster. Dragging it to the table before them, his right arm crashed down against the elbow. Would have thought it was made out of gelatin, the way it caved inward and gave into every demand. He may have been big, but everything succumbs with the right pressure.

And for good measure, Loray delivered another punch before looking over his shoulder. The first bolt released from a chamber seemed to freeze in the space between blaster and intended victim. And then another. It took all of two shots for the hint to be taken as the red visor turned back to the chief. Who was screaming bloody murder, commanding for shots to be fired and for the two to be killed. But as all things in life, power seemed to rule first and foremost.

"We can't own Nadir?" The dark voice emitted muffled tones from the helmet, raising just a pinch to invite the implication of the question. The truth was that it wasn't a question, but simply highlighting the nonsensical nature of the proclamation. "Odd. Because we own you."

"Ahhhh...no! You own nothing! Shoot them!"

Loray twisted his left hand and the joy of feeling the wrist crack in three different spots, it sent a shiver up his spine. And the howling was icing on the cake.

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch that." Feeling charitable, he placed his second hand on the wrist and yanked, dragging the alien from his seat and across the table. Spinning, he flung the man through the doors they entered in and prepared to stalk the wake. In his absence, the bolts lost suspension and smacked the table and wall, leaving burn holes and smoldering ash. For all the laughs they had, there was simply silence and the gawker effect. Like a train wreck, they stood in quiet awe of the display by such a small figure.

As he moved towards the door, he dragged his fingers across Aver's mid section, gingerly inviting her to take her seat. In the Chiefs chair. As he pushed through the doors that separated chief alcove from main facility, he felt a strike of a baton against his side. Sending him sliding to the left, he flicked his arm out and prepared to work. The others felt torn between watching the scene unfold, slowly dropping their weapons, and sorting out what to do with the female. The choice was easy, for those who were equipped with any sense of thought.

But just like everything else, transitioning was a chore when power was being usurped so rapidly. And so easily. As if frolicking through a field of daisies, Loray took to equipping himself with random objects and bludgeoning those who moved to defend the Chief. Aver, if unmolested, might view the scene unfold from the diminishing view of swinging doors, slowly coming to a close.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

The ruckus broke out, but slow-like, in a way that reminded her of Karta peak collapsing back on Selvaris. It was a lazy sort of destruction, lethargic for its inevitability. Aver strolled over to the desk to its rhythm, a soft sway to her hips. If she was putting on a show for anyone, the lucky party remained a mystery. Her fingers traipsed over the neat surface of the desk as she rounded it, paying little mind to the number of blasters leveled at her.

“You’ll note,” Aver spoke, “that I never said we own the station.”

The Houk wasn’t listening, of course. Judging by the sounds of primordial chaos rushing in from the outside, [member="Loray Tares"] was keeping him busy. But the others were all ears, and all weapons. She needed to convince them that pulling the trigger wasn’t in their best interest.

Trouble was, they were all more or less hardened criminals. Intimidating them wouldn’t be an easy task despite the carnage they had clearly wrought to get this far. A silver tongue would sooner persuade them to bend a knee. If it didn’t work out, she could always resort to violence later.

Aver sank into the chair. It was sinfully luxurious, with leather as soft as a newborn’s ass. She sighed in delight, tipping her chin upwards an arrogant inch.

“Me and my associate out there have gone to great lengths to remove the previous… shall we say, kingpin? of this station. We can all agree Nadir runs herself competently on her own.” A round of nods, but the many unblinking pairs of eyes still glared at her suspiciously.

Steepling her fingers, the merc tapped her bottom lip as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the desk. “Gentlemen. Thugs. Ladies. Whatever else you happen to be… what we intend to do here will benefit you all. This station is self-sufficient, yes, but to achieve greatness, Nadir requi—”

A loud crash interrupted her speech, and a wretched mass of limbs and blood burst through the wall, showering everyone with broken glass.

thump

The body slid to a wet stop on the spacious desktop, smearing what datapads remained with slick blackness weeping from its many wounds. An eerie silence followed, and the shocked circle of lowlifes around her realized that the offices had fallen completely quiet. They wore the distinct expression of a man who’d just come down with a vicious case of food poisoning.

“What Nadir needs, my good scum, is guidance.”

 

[Loray Tares]

The sound of bone cracking against bone, the spritz that followed. Like a can just opened, it wrought it's own refreshing impact. Rejuvenation brought to the fold through pain and exacerbation, Loray soaked in the sensation. The Houk was a man of conviction and stalwart stubborn resolve, but even the biggest walls fall. And when they do, they might make the biggest crash of all. And as Loray moved against oppressively sterilized white flooring, clicking with the sound of armor against well manicured tile, he wondered when this one might go.

It hadn't come with the arm.

Or the other.

Or the legs for that matter.

He was running out of big bones, might have to work his way down. And the thought of that irritated him, increasing effort for less of a pay off. Between dancing between those that got in the way and dodging the slobber of a wailing man beast, Loray had enough of this tepid insult of a response. There was no one in this place that could provide the sort of response for which he was searching. No one...except the certain individual sitting in plush leather.

Another attacker, another fling. This time, he launched the assailant through the glass of the office as he crashed in on whatever conversation might be had. The way Aver could put that mouth to use, he assumed everyone was just begging to fall in line.

Grabbing the Houk by the arm, he stepped in through the chasm of the office, dragging the man through broken glass. Each step provided a satisfying crunch beneath the weight of the warrior, a snarl from the nearly unconscious chief. The truth of the matter was that the Houk had asked for mercy some time ago. But Loray simply held illusions of grandeur, hope that there was more to this place than the sort of acquiescing he had seen so far. He arrived just in time to hear the word guidance, equipped with a heavy encumbrance of restlessness.

"The chief seeks guidance as well. He just needed convincing." He dropped the hand as the chiefs broken appendage landed like a limp noodle. "Is there anyone else who needs convincing?" His head swiveled among those still gathered in the office. As he spoke, he flicked his finger to the sound of a subtle sigh, presenting the exposed nail beds of the voxyn arm. His gesture might have come off derogatory or inviting, depending on the party.

He simply was expecting more.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

With perfect timing, [member="Loray Tares"] walked in to emphasize her words with a big, fat, broken underscore. The Houk groaned, bleeding helplessly onto the once-pristine white floor. Some of the thugs looked on in horror-stricken stupor. Others started looking for the nearest exit, panic written all across their body language. What with Loray’s recent renovations, finding a hole to escape through wouldn’t prove too difficult. A small fraction of the lot let their weapons clatter to the ground, followed immediately after by the protest of patella against ferrocrete.

And a few of them decided to be stupid.

Aver dropped out of the chair before they’d even fully turned. The bolts hissed through the lush seat like putty, ruining the expensive upholstery. She resented that more than the attempt on her life. The latter was an everyday occurrence; good spine support, on the other hand, was devilishly hard to come by.

With a heave the merc flexed against the desk and sent the heavy fixture – along with its new, if slightly tasteless paperweight – into the larger group of assailants. It turned them to flesh paste with the efficiency of a prehistoric meatgrinder, but the sound was similarly satisfying.

“Yes.” Aver Brand rose to her full height, eyes wild and alive. Apart from a slightly ruffled hairdo, she seemed entirely unperturbed by the situation.

This seemed to perturb the couple of thugs left uncrushed by the desk. If she squinted, she could almost see the streaks of sweat rolling down their foreheads.

“Guidance.”

In a flash, their blasters became hers, and the pair stumbled back through the only stretch of unbroken glass. With holes in their chests and hands grasping at nothing, the pair fell flat and didn’t move again.

She drew up to Loray, across ground bone and pulpy muscle, and hooked two fingers behind his chest plate, yanking him flush against her. Atop a pile of writhing, dying flesh, the Equalizers stood, looking down upon a world as reluctant to kneel as themselves.

Were it not for the helmet, she might have kissed him.

 

[Loray Tares]

The journey had taken more from him than he could have expected. Elevated, far beyond the realm of the living, he took to the field like it was the home he had always wanted. Needed. But as he was flung back into the world of the living, remorse and anguish filled him to the brim and he quickly found his cup overflowing. It wasn't the sort of torment for which he had yearned, it came with its form of lingering sensations. Pulling the Sith from their shallow graves, he had found something he had never wanted to know again. The feeling of weakness.

Drained and depleted, replete of the chaos of which he was so fond, he turned from the battlefield with only the joys of knowing that he had been victor. Whether that came in the dismay he wrought or simply surviving another venture, he couldn't say. But the fact that he cared, it seemed almost entirely out of character. As if the weight of accomplishment was simply something that had never impacted him until that very moment. It was a notion he left long in the past, never to desire its reflection. But as the view screen was lit with the stars that separated Ruusan and Nadir, he couldn't help but cling to the past and such an image. Feint of glow, but there, staring back at him.

Thoughts of the separation clouded his mind as he allowed the ship to take over, to guide him back to his new found home. Among the criminals and the brigands, it was the life they had chosen upon departure. And living in the moment, he thought that if he could just return to that place, his mind might cast away any doubt he had of himself. Though in his own way, he laid blame on everything besides himself. It must have been the field of blades. If not that, than the force nexus. He simply landed on the premise that he was overspent and like all things, required a recharge.

His meeting back with Aver was similar to every meeting they would ever have. Visceral, spontaneous, and the return to center he assumed he needed. Lifting his head from the pillow, he had slowly accepted that perhaps she enjoyed some of the finer things in life, more so than he might. Comfort wasn't what he needed, the bruises and slashes and scars across his body would prove testament to that. Some old, some as new and fresh as the night prior.

Placing feet on the cold floor, he stood without thought towards getting dressed. History had shown that there was nothing to hide between such like minded individuals. He recalled memories of a living building and a living armor as he looked towards the red hair resting atop pillow on the other half of the bed. And that pale skin and how the pain was just a few shades redder. Smiling, he looked out through the body length window and cast wayward glances down towards the city below. It was a slum more than a metropolis, but it had charm. The sort of character that he had once detested, for its pure encroachment. Like cockroaches, they spread outward and found space to be their boundary. Stardust and celestial bodies forming final guidance, a life grown in fear of the vacuum.

But now, such detesting sentiment was replaced with understanding. Maybe, between the rust color cogs in the sky, he had left a part of himself in that place. Perhaps what was left in the world of the living feared the reprisal that awaited him in the next life. He would have never guessed that such an act of resurrection would come at such cost, an act born out of no foresight. But it seemed that particular feature of this new life might change, for better or worse.

Lifting the holopad from the small table next to the window, he flicked through the notifications searching for payment from the Sith Triumvirate. But the way Darth Orcus had gone, feelings of his loss reverberating through the cosmos, Loray suspected that the payment he sought wouldn't be found in any recent invoice. He mentally shrugged and audibly sighed, knowing that no matter how much he tried, he couldn't really care. There was precious few things he did care about and the sudden upheaval was granting him an unnecessary appreciation of the deficit. What he could say of his long departed brother, beyond the lack of value in his personality, was the value he had imparted on certain acts. And without that, Loray was simply left with things few and far between. A chess board with thirty pawns and two queens.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEWdjtMmqGo​

​

If there were any justice in this galaxy, Aver would be walking through hell and all its fires every night. Haunting images, faces, frozen in time when her hands or blade or gun forever erased anything that may come after. Names, voices, battlefields. If there were any justice in this galaxy, she’d wake up from vicious nightmares eve after eve, drenched in sweat and regret.

If there were any justice in this galaxy, she would crack and wail under the weight of life she carried. She would break and spill and cry for the burden so heavy. Crawl with her bloody fingers, claw and kneel.

The galaxy wasn’t interested in justice.

Aver slept the sound sleep of champions. If there were restless souls screaming in her skull, she couldn’t hear them, or perhaps she’d learned to ignore them. There was no hint of distress on her features as she reasserted her control over the blankets. Maybe even a shadow of a smile.

The mattress didn’t creak when [member="Loray Tares"] got up. It was too expensive for something like that. No, what roused the beast from her slumber was the shift in weight. Muscle and metal. An icy eye opened in the darkness, then another. Her breathing remained unchanged, deep and calm. The firrerreo was content to observe her accomplice partner lover killer as he stood by the windowed wall. The soft blue light from the screen illuminated the cords of hatred and passion coiled just beneath the parchment skin. He was criss-crossed with the language they both spoke more fluently than Basic, with scars and tattoos and wounds never healed. Some, Force knew, she’d made herself.

In silence, sheets slid off of muscled contours. The whisper of silk was brief, perhaps lost in the hum of the station. Barefoot, Aver padded over to her companion wound sliver madness. Fingers that bore weapons better than human touch. Lips that peeled back over sharp teeth sooner than curled into a smile. A body that was more machine than flesh and bone.

And yet she placed a hand on his back, and pressed a kiss to his neck, and made no move to kill as she stood there beside him. Alone, they were each something else, not quite human, not quite animal, but a class completely of their own.

Together, they were… pacified. Enough to put on a person suit, and be able to fool near-on anyone.

“Can’t sleep?”

 

[Loray Tares]

Sleep.

He fell into a habit he hadn't known for some time. Thinking. Conjuring notions of what sleep truly was and in its own existence, the importance of dreams. He had surmised that life ended with death and never was a person so close to death as they were when they slept. Each day with time shaved away, simply for dying. He had always had trouble sleeping though it wasn't out of subconscious guilt or the disarray of a mind with thoughts of the future. No, the floorboards that laid beneath his thoughts were as tidy as one could be. He was purely restless, tired with thoughts that he didn't value. Thoughts like these, wondering on the value of dreams. To which he had no need, the state of his life far exceeded any fantastical concepts his imagination could birth without catalyzation.

An artist with a wet brush, he painted his thoughts with every action. Often in more coats than what was needed. But that was his way, to live a life that was ripe with excess. Just as those who dreamed of deaths and lingered against the edge, so did he in life. To the fullest, he had always made such manifestation of metaphor the embodiment of his time allotment. And if that were the case, then he wondered why he indeed had trouble sleeping. Could he not rest, despite knowing that his time was well spent? The hollow center of his mass gave him a disquiet feeling, a desire to amend with action, and an affliction of lethargy to prevent desired solution.

Can't sleep? The simple answer was an affirmation. The complex variant involved thoughts he didn't understand.

Fingers, agile and firm, wrapped around corded muscles, kissed with the indents and notches of a life well spent. The kiss on the neck was returned with a nuzzle, a slight give into the gesture, showing a subtle desire for the softness of the expression. Even wolves with manes coated in the still warm blood of the prey could show one another affection.

"I'm not sure I wanted to..." He let out a long breath, watching the windowed view of adolescent teens playing some form of kickball in the dark streets. And a vehicle nearly running them over. They screamed with vulgar hand gestures, the driver returned it in kind and sped off. Looked to be some form of delivery service. The noise through the glass was unsettling in its silence, like they were truly shut off from this world. A fortunate thing for him as in these moments, he enjoyed the filter. "I thought I might miss something..."

The statement came with the obvious question of what exactly he had missed, fulfilling work for the equalizers. His hand reached behind her and gripped flesh softly, pulling her to press against his back. He ran warm but he could stand to be warmer.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

The silence stretched out, and life continued below, uncaring. It was what she respected about this place. It had a rhythm of its own, pulsing to a beat no-one else could hear. Lives were born and ended in the span of a single day here on Nadir, burning bright before they were extinguished just as violently. A billion different souls, pushing and pulling and slaving away for their goals. Sometimes, a coincidental few efforts came together to catalyze a palpable change. More often than not, they simply died without a whisper. A few ripples on the oily black surface of its tar blood, consumed by the ebb and flow of the massive mechanical beast.

Rusted spires rose from the heavy smog like arthritic claws, reaching towards a sky that had long disappeared under layers of construction and expansion. The bottomless greed of Nadir bid it reach ever farther and ever deeper, eviscerating the comet to satisfy its breeding populace. Like ravenous termites feasting on the flesh of a tree until naught but a shell remains.

Between the stalactites of metal and ferrocrete, countless vessels sped towards their destination, heedless of the rest. Self-preservation and instinct had long ago established some kind of chaotic order in the dangerous traffic of Nadir, forming invisible arteries in the fog-clogged airspace inside the vast rock.

All of this, theirs to lead.

Aver smiled into his shoulder, devoid of teeth or malevolence. “Miss this?” She gestured outside with her chin, to the sprawling hive of vicious, deadly ants all around them.

“You’re here now, and Nadir is built on patterns. You see them once, you’ve seen them all.”

Many of these patterns were deeply familiar to both of them, who lived by the sword. No rules governed the station beyond the base truths of natural selection.

Freedom.

“A spicelord and one of the larger mercenary groups were loudmouthing.” Past tense.
“And there was a small issue with the transfer of Wususk’s shares. Paid with blood and credits.” Mostly blood.

“How was Ruusan?”

[member="Loray Tares"]

 

[Loray Tares]

Seeing something couldn't take away from the prospect of its appreciation. One could experience the same sensation a thousand times over and still take pause in its celebration. Case and point, the woman clinging to him as he clung to her. He couldn't recall, in this moment, the point in time where they met. But between her, the Atrisian, and the departure of his brother, Loray felt at odds with time in general. In truth, he couldn't arouse notions of his existence before their meeting at all. Perhaps that was for the value of that very moment he couldn't recall.

He turned as she gestured towards the world he was once viewing. But there was enough of the world, right there, for him to be content for the moment. He had had enough of the universe, and all it's parallel ventures. What he longed for stood now before him, ever present in shades of silver. His fingers moved idle along her hips, tracing the scars that would have been there if not for her ability to heal. Like stars hidden from view, he began to trace the constellations like some absent minded astrologist focused on the art of the horizons and the curvature of orbit.

"Yes. I did miss this."

He smiled, the sort of expression to which she may not have been accustomed. It wasn't one born of malice or hunger, not in the insatiable form it was often presented, and it did not find root in ill will. He was tired, more than he cared to admit, and even the tone of her voice reminded him that he was not back among the array of blades. He found her eyes, far removed from the dull drab he envisioned in that world of cogs and swords. A field of sun-bleached wolf's bane, overshadowed by the promise of an angry storm. Electricity in the air, but the hue was so much more vibrant then the comparison might offer. The sort of place that promises risk and for the weaker kind, promises death. A sort of chilly return that some might find intimidating, quickly associated with the shiver of the spine.

But he couldn't see it as anything other than captivating. And he was often so destitute of time and desire to simply stand and admire. But the more he stood, away from the Nether, the more he realized that he had changed in some form or fashion. There was a switch, once cemented in place, that seemed now flimsy and easily moved.

"It went well enough..." He recalled the rip in the world and the way he was sucked in. He remembered fighting the small Vahla, recalling her memories and yanking her free from the field. Along with all the others of her kind, once taken and then given back. But he didn't care for the energy of embellishment, for the reminder of the claims made by the One Sith. That was assuredly the past and not one he cared to recapitulate. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the nook of Aver's neck, letting out a long breath.

"Darth Orcus, our contact with the Triumvirate, fell on the field. After attempting to betray me." He would have liked to end that Herglic, himself. But a deed was deed, no matter the hand. "I don't suspect we will be paid for those services."

Not that they needed the payment. But it would have been nice.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c85rJhy7iOY​

Human touch. Human warmth.

They were both so, so cold, in every possible sense of the word. Features and hearts glazed over with frost, encased in ice until the end times. Or until time ended them. Despite the vicious, violent pace of their lives, they always survived. Perhaps it was the revenge of a cruel god. Perhaps there never was a god, and people like them were simply the next step.

Evolution.

She could feel it, pulsing, in both of them. An echo of his forced adaptation. The venture through Nether had transformed the metal and glacier that comprised [member="Loray Tares"]. Hellfires returned him back to that white-hot state of change, where anything and everything was possible. The sliver he’d once imparted to her, on this very spot, had morphed along with the knight.

His weight settled against her, solid. He wasn’t all here – he would never be – but it was enough. Aver reached up, running a soothing hand through his hair as he muttered against her clavicle. A grin, a kiss to the top of his head. To anyone but [member="Matsu Xiangu"], the scene would be absurd, a perversion of natural order. It was akin to watching a Krayt dragon and a Drexl nuzzle against one another, without showing the slightest inclination towards tearing out the throat of the other. By all rights, creatures like them should be incapable of coexistence.

Symbiosis.

Some beasts hunt alone. Some hunt in packs. And a scant few hunt with their mates, matched in their affinity for dealing death.

“The whale?” She hummed more than spoke, closing her eyes. Night fell over the field of wolf’s bane. “We don’t lack for credits. Nadir is…” Exhilarating. Wretched. Brilliant. Greedy. A thousand different things.

“Efficient.”

Her fingers drifted down, intertwining with his own. Slowly, she led his hand higher, to the deep gauge of silver flesh in her side. On this very spot, Reverance had driven a steel rod through the muscle, blinded by blood and desire. Rust red rippling rivers.

Even Aver scarred.

 

[Loray Tares]

Efficient. Unforgiving. Unyielding.

Everything an equalizer should be, characterized by the world around them. Everything Loray hoped he could, far beyond the sense of dread that seemed to cling to him. Each foot resting upon opposite sides of a chasm and where solid ground once stood unshaken, he now straddled a dark abyss. A hollow empty pit that taught him the value of looking deep into something, learning to fear what might look back. But it wasn't fear that gave him pause, not in the traditional sense. He held no fear in death, no fear in pain or the typical drives of the sane. Instead, he regretted the silence, far before its onset.

He had hoped the afterlife would be rife with the pain and torment he so eagerly endured in life. But for the sadistic and masochistic, hell was simply composed of dull silence and pointless action. The hue of the universe, coated in matte, and devoid of interest or return. One might think he would have found everything he needed in the field of blades. But in his disinterest upon exit, it occurred to him that it wasn't what he wanted. Sand and rusted soft masses, flecks of blood on the blade, and the reticent war cry of the enemy that never ended. Like fighting puddy, deflecting every attack and showing no pain despite the effort, it was everything he loathed.

Nothing was worse than inflicting horrid pain on the quiet. And perhaps, more than anything, he felt the weight of disappointment in this revelation.

His fingers found guidance in her movement, nails moving up past the curve of her hip. Stopping shortly on the raised edge, he open his eye to look down the length of her body. Like pressing tongue against sore in the mouth, he circled the imprint of the scar with mild curiosity. He wondered if this was the outward presentation of his impact on Aver, small and meager thing often hidden away. Only to be shown to the one who inflicted it. He recalled it, the way the floor was slick with blood and anger and relief. A past killed in a series of moments, ecstasy of the freedom following quickly behind. And how passion in that moment couldn't be denied. No, his impact was far greater than this small thing. As was hers, on him.

"Can I see it?" He said quietly as he moved his hand to the center of her abdomen. Pushing gently, he urged her back to the bed with smirk. "Show me the scar she left..." He rarely was given the opportunity to see [member="Matsu Xiangu"], a fleeting and fabled being. He couldn't deny that he missed the feeling of such a humbling presence. Like a large ocean framed with shores of black, he desired to see the wake of her presence against flesh. His scar was far less intricate to look upon, flesh cut and yanked free from the muscle of the stomach.

And tell me more of what has happened since I left.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Turning her back was against every instinct entrenched in her obdurate soul, and yet she did just that. Born of some twisted sense of trust, trust that they would kill each other last. They couldn’t understand. How could they? They didn’t live like they lived, didn’t give like they gave. The galaxy would never appreciate their contributions, however necessary they were. There was a truth hidden in all things. Everything boils down to sex and violence. Basic instinct, full circle.

Nobody liked to admit it, but everyone agreed. The silence was their admission of guilt. We need you, it said. We will never acknowledge you, but we need you. [member="Loray Tares"], [member="Matsu Xiangu"], Aver Brand, and others galaxy-wide that were like them. Natural selection incarnate. The complacent, bloated masses needed culling. Weed out the weak.

It was the way of the universe.

So she lay down on the bed, on the sheets that were still suffused with their heat. Strange, how melted ice could burn so hot.

“Three of the great clans have smart leaders. They know when to fold and buy into the bigger game.” Ever the sabacc player. “The other two are… less enlightened.” She frowned into the bed.

“Intel says they’re gearing up for war. In an urban jungle like Nadir, it’s gonna turn into guerrilla and attrition.” They could afford neither. It could drag on for years and years until everyone was weak and drained. There was nothing to be gained.

“I managed to convince Qosta, Begeren and Paus to arrange a meeting. We’ll have a chat with Koba and Meron. Maybe they’ll see the light.” Aver sighed and rubbed the exhaustion out of her eyes. “Neutral territory, of course. Place called Cosmic Relay. I’m sure you remember it.” It would be hard to forget the bloody firefight they started and ended in that club, even for them.

“You wanna come along?” Aver propped herself up on an elbow, twisting a bit to meet his eye. A slow grin split her face. “The might refuse to cooperate. It's nearly guaranteed, really.” She dangled the prospect of violence like a carrot in front of him. Except the carrot was a bloody chunk of meat, ripped out of a body that was still twitching.

“We need all five of the greats to start building the syndicate. Gregori Koba and Montserrat Meron are old and stubborn. If they want to die where they were born, I won’t deny them. We need their assets, not their outdated arrogance.”

 

[Loray Tares]

Once upon a time, they might have struggled over who claimed power in this moment or the next. For Matsu, he had always known his place, even from the very beginning. But with Aver, it took so much more time to develop and mature. And it was a realization that he didn't care so much for the power as he did the presentation of it. He had nothing to prove and neither did she. Power would flow from whomever it flowed, every moment a new and changing thing.

And in this moment, he was happy to see his request fulfilled. Power came in the form of trust, trust in the influence she had on him. Without any other motives, he leaned forward and followed as she sprawled across the sheets. Like a cathartic ralltiir tiger, content to bathe in the sun. His hand moved along her silver skin, darkened nails of the concealed Voxyn arm tracing edges along the flesh. Just enough to tease pressure, not enough to truly cause harm, as he moved from her calf upwards. Until the inevitable end, at the small of her back.

He heard the words she spoke and while he was sure he could comprehend it, he was captivated by the scars along her back as he laid parallel to her. Fingers gently moving over the raised edges, like soft water flowing through shallow ravines, he traced the exceptional paths as a child might run through a maze. Aimless, joyful, mystified. Like it was his first time seeing such a thing. A pebble caught in the rain, destined for whatever path erosion might take him and content to simply tumble. He knew that Aver had a number of nuanced markings upon her body but just as the Atrisian had changed him in all his entirety, the same could be said of Aver within the confines of this important mark. They weren't the same people from so long ago.

And the triangle between the three never felt so balanced as it did now.

Leaning against her body, felines curling about it each to achieve just the right amount of comfort, he kissed her, almost lovingly, on the shoulder.

"Koba and Meron..." He spoke with an exhale, flush against pale flesh. "...Stubborn and stupid. My favorite sort of criminals." Hand turned from tracing the edges of the mark to simply palming it, acknowledging it in all its intricacy. And simplicity. Fire was unique in that way. "Are you looking for a dance or for a show? I suppose I could cater for either."

He was more than happy to work alone, should the job require it. But he had fond memories of their time together in the Cosmic Relay, the way the lights and strobes highlighted their movements in still frames. He might appreciate an encore.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

The touch elicited a rare memory, white slopes marred with red roses. The drip-drop of brutalized flesh, weeping from a wagon suspended high above the ground. The imagery was hazy, disconnected, even tilted. Like looking through a two-color kaleidoscope. The figures and landscape shifted constantly, faces deformed and warped through no other force but that of the mind.

Ah, glitterstim.

He’d been gentle then. Not in touch, but in speech. Then again, the difference between the two was nominal for them. Like the Echani, they were more fluent in the language of violence than any other. If they were to ever fall mute, their communication wouldn’t suffer in the least.

A soft chuckle escaped her at his suggestion. She turned bodily to face him, now fully on her side, and scrutinized him with lidded eyes. If they weren’t already naked, the gaze would’ve surely stripped him bare.

“Depends on what image we want to paint, dear.”

With a sigh, the woman flopped down on the bed, burying her face into the nearest pillow. A low groan rumbled from her chest, borne of frustration rather than anger.

“I just… ugh. How can they be so frakking blind? They know they’ll lose.” A lone fist slammed down into the mattress with excessive force, nearly puncturing the thick material wrapped around the water inside. “Bah!”

“Let’s dance.”

She suspected it would be rather short as far as dances go, however.

[member="Loray Tares"]

 

[Loray Tares]

​Image painted, assuredly in blood. The only form of art he truly knew, whether the act be completed amid dance or standing idle with an objective and critiquing eye. He was one for the screams, one for the quick flick of the wrist that occurred between life and death. How fragile such a place was, like a teeter totter balanced on its fulcrum. A single weight on either side would plunge life into death and a transition would be made, as clumsily as a child falling to the ground. He'd like to think he was that weight, on Nadir, but he acknowledged the same sort of violent propensity in his lover. Particularly when given full view of her, sardonic expression and all.

Amidst palpable frustration, he mourned the loss of the scar for revelation of other prospects. He shared her irritation in the matter but for all the time they had spent together, he couldn't recall seeing her flustered. It was...refreshing. A side of her he rather enjoyed, it helped to remove the thoughts of his own predicament. The way she groaned into the pillow, punching the bed and feeling its movement in response, entertained him for the moment.

With a slow smile and crawl, he leaned over and rolled partially on his side. "Maybe they don't realize who they are dealing with. We'll show them the way..." He leaned forward, teasing nail placed just beneath her chin as he urged her forward. With a light kiss placed on her lips, he tilted his head, the lack of depth perception noticeable for just a moment. "You'll have someone to take your frustrations out on. Either way." Be it the mob bosses or him, both provided their own sense of satisfaction.

Perhaps he arrived back from Ruusan feeling depleted, replete with a sense of emptiness. But at the discussion of violence, and the soft way they were capable of discussing it, he seemed to feel a form of rejuvenation. The force nexus, in tandem with the soul saber, had drained him of the madness that seemed to always be spilling out. A rusted a pock marked cup, spilling blood from the brim, empty upon arrival. Rest and relaxation was what he needed, to hit some heads together and remind people of the ruling class of Nadir. Perhaps not in the open, but from the shadows, fear could be restored.

[member="Aver Brand"]​