We Put the Grr in Guerrilla Warfare

[Aver Brand]

A soft, pleasant warmth blossomed in her breast, right where the three stripes crossed her heart. Aver smiled into the kiss, reaching up with one hand to bury it in his hair. With a sharp tug she knew he’ll enjoy, the firrerreo rolled them around. HIs weight settled against her, familiar and soothing, like the heft of a lightsaber in the hand.

“You know me so well,” she whispered against his lips, eyes still closed. Her body, like his, was tired. Different reasons on the surface, but flay the skin and beneath lay strife, ever-constant to the two Equalizers. Take anybody else, and they’d have long gone mad under the sort of pressure and duress she and [member="Loray Tares"] lived with every day. Hell, maybe they had gone insane, and their shattered minds just couldn’t cope with it.

Not like it mattered.

Aver chuckled at her meandering thoughts as her fingers left the unruly black strands, drawing idle patterns across his back. In the busy silence of Nadir, she traced the paths etched into memory over countless hours of duels and duels.

“The meeting’s in five hours. Now sleep.” She smiled at the ceiling and patted his shoulder. “I want you hale and hearty for this.”

 

[Loray Tares]

Sleep wasn't exactly the first thing to come to mind. Particularly now, as she moved him with a roll and ran fingers through lines of salt and pepper. Nails tracing the divots of scars and a former life, enticing a reaction of raised goose bumps across his flesh. Squinting as she made her request, he picked at bits of red hair fanned out across the pillow. "What if I don't want sleep?" From the changes made, the fall from position to the life of violence and ease, he had learned to live in the moment. Nearly remiss of any notions of foresight, he lived his life like an animal. In the here and now. And in the here and now, he was perfectly placed to enjoy the moment.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss against the sharp edge of her jawline. Lingering for just a taste, he smiled. "Fine. We can pick this up later." Feigning some form of defeat, only to acknowledge his desire to yield to her command, he slowly rolled off of her to the sound of his head hitting the pillow. He'd imagined that her silvery skin would coil against his, clinging to the tanned leather that remained from years of war and conflict. That she'd wrap herself around him, foregoing the need for sheets in the face of flesh to flesh comfort. But for all his talk about being restless, he was quick to plummet into slumber.

~~~​

​

He arose quickly to the mentioned time frame, picking up pieces of armor from the floor that had been enthusiastically removed. The armor came in several components and while he had considered going in a different garb, he wasn't inclined to show his face around Nadir. There was an elegance to the mask, the mystery of the danger that hid beneath it, and the finality of its arrival. It was the sort of message he wanted to maintain, a consistent display of violence and willingness to do harm. The undersuit came on first and then each piece followed quickly after, the voxyn arm giving its typical whine before being encased in metal and fiber.

Standing before a long mirror, he inspected the suit and all the dings and scratches. He appreciated the character growing on the surface, despite the living breathing thing he once wore in his former life. There was a certain connection there, the sort that could never be re-established. But in the absence of its presence, he was learning to connect in other ways. He could still feel the pulse of the sword in his arm, like a deep ache that showed in the knees from lack of sleep. The sort of ache that keeps children up at night, to be soothed by a warm cloth and return quickly after removal. But within the flesh of the arm, the whispers were contained for instances like these, where he could wield it.

Slipping the helmet over, he locked it in place and looked over his shoulder.

I'm ready. Whenever you are.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DGtzQekebs​

While her longtime dance partner was putting on his work clothes, Aver was still luxuriating in the shower. If her gut was right – and it was almost always right – the day ahead would be a long one. The hour alone was enough to confirm the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Granted, Point Nadir didn’t know night and day like planets did; the cycle was closely regulated by the life support systems up in the UW. It was slightly longer than the galactic average with thirty hours per ‘day’, split neatly at the half-point where it crossed over into ‘night’.

The mercenary slipped out of the cabin and left her idle ruminations to wash down the drain. Where they were going, she needed all the focus she could give. Every word, every motion, every action had to be precise and calculated. Nothing left to chance.

“Sure hope Koba and Meron brought their brown pants.” A mischievous smile flashed across her face as she entered the room and took in the imposing figure of her associate. Against the technicolor lights pouring out through the window, [member="Loray Tares"] was like a patch of darkness cut out of the tapestry of Nadirian night.

In no time at all, Aver too was dressed and ready to go. Apart from the small cosmetic differences in the helmet, the two might have been clones. All the more unnerving for the pair of stubborn crimelords they were set to intimidate in half an hour.

“Madame?” she asked as she drew up to his side, elbow held out.

 

[Loray Tares]

Looking at her, with the tilt of his head, he felt the odd disorientation that came with déjà vu. Threatening to pull his legs out from underneath him, he shook the feeling loose in wonderment of just how similar they were. The analogy of two sides of the same coin came to mind, but it didn't fit. It would have been a square peg forced into a triangular hole. No, they were the same side of the same coin. Otherwise, the coin flip was simply a trick that revealed the misprint. Heads or tails, it didn't matter.

Reaching down, he feigned moving upwards to push arm through provided elbow. Instead, he kept going, placing a firm grip on the haunch. As the door slid open, he urged her out with a hidden smile and forceful nature. Joke or not, there was a balance to be had. And perhaps he was ready to lead. At the very least, he enjoyed the prospect of it.

There room may have been somewhat lavish but the exterior was far removed from the draw of the interior. Nestled within a nameless and deep alley, the outer edges of the door were coated in fresh raised edges of iron deposits and pock marks. Some even had the appearance of burns resulting from blaster fire. They would have never fit in with the more sophisticated rabble of Point Nadir, despite their inclinations to move the pawns to their will. Might as well try bunking with the bovine in their grassy well lit pastures. No matter the scenery, cattle was cattle. Instead, they had taken to finding a home within the Nest regions of the shadowport. Home to the more brutal elements of the region, it was as good a place as any to feel the welcoming chill of a cold stare and violent intentions.

And for Loray, it meant causing harm came with less of a show. When he was feeling more up to the task, the Arcade was but a few dark glances away. There, he could find all the savagery he needed. But he had taken to the Nest, just as Aver predicted. The symphony of firefights and territorial disputes were the rhythms that would rock them to sleep, the flash of a muzzle like any lamp to light the way. Encumbered with its own charm and character.

Like a wet rag, perpetually moist and dripping, it always seemed primed to go. A powder keg on it's side, wick quickly chasing the burning edge. A simple step out of ones room was an invitation for interaction. Except for The Equalizers, who had made a name almost solely on appearance. Dark armor, red visor, silver tongue. Uncompromising. The rats scurried for the flood that slowly stepped out from the shadows because they knew the simple truth of the thing. That when they flipped this particular coin, they knew what they were getting.

Cosmic relay...

Soon enough and they might be in the thick of it. If not, he might find a way to push it in the proper direction. After all, what good was a dance club if he couldn't have some fun?

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Despite the ungodly hour, the station was alive and buzzing as always. Life rushed on by, every second, every breath well-spent. Respite was a rare commodity on Nadir, where lagging behind for but a few moments could mean the difference between survival and death. Their metal-clad figures melted into this race to the unattainable finish line, just another pair of black specks in the morbid hues of the Nest. The prevailing colors were flesh and blood, with some ferrocrete and blaster scorch thrown in. Closest to the black, beating heart of Nadir, some would say. Aver was inclined to agree.

Like everyone else, the two mercenaries took the main transport barge out of the war-torn district and to the neighboring Arcade. It was like stumbling from a bleak addict’s reality back into the wild colors and shapes of his favorite trip. Neon signs and parlors sprouted left and right like parasites, growing out and above each other as they competed for clientele and their red-stained credits. Foot traffic was just as thick here, though with far fewer weapons out on display. The violence was subtler here, more subdued. Confined, almost, to the rings and arenas sprawling in the bigger buildings of the region.

She enjoyed a good round of deathmatch as much as the next Nadirian, but today their path took them straight past the betting courts and racing tracks to the clubs and the discos. Less people now, with more money. As if they’d passed an invisible barrier for the rabble and into a section reserved only for the wealthiest of the fat cats. With each step they took closer, the streets became more deserted, until finally only the decidedly un-subtle security personnel remained. Some patrolled about in pairs and threes, others kept keen watch in fixed positions. Their stealthier counterparts lurked on the roofs and in the dark side-alleys, ready to shoot or cleave at the first sign of trouble. They all proudly bore the markings of Paus, Qosta, and Begeren, which meant that Koba and Meron had taken their forces inside.

Aver stopped when a Qosta patrol approached them. Her hand lingered on the shoulder of her partner for a moment, a soothing gesture. Not yet.

“Morning, gents. If you’ll let us through, we have a meeting with your bosses.”

“Cut the crap. Password?”

“Been out here a while, haven’t you?” She shook her head with sympathy she didn’t feel. “Today we earn our future.”

The taller of the two criminals eyed her critically, then let the muzzle of his automatic blaster drop. “They’re inside.”

The layers of security parted like the sea as they passed, distrustful glances trailing all the way. And they were right to keep their fingers on the triggers, and their safeties off. The Equalizers never played a straight game.

Today, for example, they were but the First Lieutenants of a Boss that didn’t exist. Today, they were the terrifying vanguard of horror unfathomable. Rabid, bridleless hounds of the Final Beast.

And before artificial light dawned on Point Nadir, they would have Koba and Meron praying that She never, ever come.

[member="Loray Tares"]

 

[Loray Tares]

The Arcade.

The Great Escape. The place for all the sins, bottled up together. Wrapped in a ribbon, toned in red, tied with a blood soaked tether. He could recall just how with the right perspective, it appeared a throbbing thing lassoed with a bow. Living, pulsing, thriving like some gift provided from below. A treasure trove, pulled from the mud, and offered on a speckled platter for all that would take it. Fat cats, criminals, beggars with a modest run of luck. All sordid affairs and array of patrons frequented the hidden alcove, nested within Point Nadir, to form a coven that grew with each passing day. A group affair that swelled with every contribution and sacrifice, a wondrous thing for those who took the time to consider.

But that wasn't for this Loray. It was something for the other, the one sitting back in the pale arms of another, feeling the pulse of her heart with ear pressed against breast. For the other, who thought on the meaning of actions and the purpose of his own self. For the other, who saw merit in the preservation of anything. That wasn't this Loray, one called to action and donning that impenetrable armor. Swearing that it would one day become his coffin, he grew restless within it. Not because of that shift he once felt, but instead because his hands stood dry, moving from transport to shelter. The wayward glance of any stranger provided not speculation but instead invitation, overture for the violence he knew would soon be delivered.

The change in the streets was as visceral as it was surreal, a vein bled dry. Where he once stepped through puddles of blood and the sound of squirming maggots feasting on the decay, he now received the fresh air of stillness and sterility. Character wiped clean from the street in the name of civilization and sophistication. Not that he minded, wealth changed very little in regard to how one bruised. But the facade of the ivory tower, nestled deep with the caverns of immorality, could only be applauded with a silent smile. There was action that would cause upheaval of such illusion, but it wasn't a priority. For now, his red visor was fixed on the Cosmic Relay.

Her hand rested on his shoulder as they were approached, an indication for restraint. Something he didn't have but for her. And her. The hidden persona, lingering in the dark, for which they both longed. Aver spoke words that Loray didn't understand, largely because of the seeping miasma of the saber pouring through his arm. Penetrating the flesh and fibers, once stifled by an abrupt sense of love and loss, he now felt the indication of loss in a wholly different fashion. One of control. The instability of his life would soon be put on a display, an electron once released from its orbital to simply be allowed to frolic. But not for that touch, that gentle yet stern grip, that anchored him to this reality. And to his sense of self.

They walked in, unfortunately unmolested, to that same throbbing beat he recalled so long ago. Like a heart pumping through his temple and his feet, he wondered if they would pray here as they did before. The guards outside belonged to the three gangs that seemed cooperative but as he glanced around, the flash of muzzles indicated something quite different. A sense of pause, that slow wait for the adder, as all stood still. Above the lights and speakers, clinging to the rafters, guards stood at the ready. If Loray concentrated, he was sure he could smell their fear. Over pheromones and desire and lust, yes it was there! FEAR. A delicate texture, silk for the senses, and it was almost all he could feel.

Bouncers moved aside. Dancers paid no mind. Patrons of the Cosmic Relay had no idea towards the machinations of their betters. But who were they, these armored figures, if not another pair of Lieutenants for another gang that clung for control. Another day, another credit, and the comet continued to spin all the same.

I'll...I'll provide support.

It was all he could do to not lash out in their moment of action, amidst the sudden stimulation of the Cosmic Relay. The place he had such enamored memories. Of her, her would be captor, and the actions that preceded and followed his death.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

[member="Loray Tares"]​

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WM6YevemuaQ​

The light touch turned into a squeeze. Hard to tell for whose benefit it was. The memories tied to this place were strong, like the scent that bound them. Liquid fire.

She inhaled deeply as they stalked deeper into the club, past the undulating shadows of drunken patrons; past the sinuous curves of the dancers; past the watchful eyes of the guards and the nosy leers of the barkeeps; through the blast door in the back, then down a long, narrow corridor. Claustrophobic walls pressed in from both sides, pulsating with the muted music from the floor. Felt like they were strolling down the artery of a giant, drained of all blood. The stench and color remained, and so did the warmth.

At the end, another burly bodyguard stepped into their path. Aver’s grip grew even tighter.

“Move,” she said, not unkindly. The man sneered, unused to looking up at his prey.
Tough luck. In armor, the mercenaries grinned down from their two-metre perch. He scowled up, head and a half shorter. Aver grinned more.

“Move,” she repeated. Hostility leaked into her voice.

“You’re late.”

“An Equalizer arrives precisely when she means to.”

“Whatever. Not my problem if they shoot you for disrespect.” He snorted and shoved the door open. “Wel-frakking-come, greenhorns.”

The atmosphere inside the sound-, blaster-, Force-, and fool-proof room was… chilly. There was only one table, subject of frequent abuse throughout the years. A couple of dingy chairs were scattered around it, forgotten by the five people staring daggers at each other.

“I knew it!”

Koba. His scream was as severe as his appearance. A thin man with sunken eyes, more skeleton than Duros. He was leaning on the wall, favoring his left leg as he jabbed an accusing finger at the Equalizers. “This was a frakking setup!”

“At last, the farce comes to an end,” Meron announced, turning her pale eyes to the new arrivals. If it weren’t for her generous circumference, the matron might have been a porcelain doll. Her skin was without blemish, her lips and eyes pronounced with strokes of a master’s brush. Even her clothing complemented the impression, comically out of place in the cesspools of Nadir.

Except nobody was laughing.

“Your sycophancy is downright repugnant, Valere. And you, Begeren! I would have thought you had more spine than this. Pitiful.” At last, her glare fell to the third clan kingpin. “Boss Qosta. The greatest. The strongest. The weal—”

“Oh, shut up.”

All eyes fixed on Valere Paus. Rather, on the bright red tip of the cigarette dancing in the darkness around Valere Paus. Her hoarse timbre piped up again after a blue plume of smoke.

“You talk too much, Meron. Always did.” Pushing off the ferrocrete, the Trandoshan stepped into the light. Amber scales lit up like embers in the red gloom, but her keen green eyes remained the same.

“Those two have the right idea.” They also had the right amount of firepower, but she didn’t mention that. Didn’t have to. “We’ve all been sittin’ on our asses too long. Now, if you’ve got your head too far up yours to see that, ‘Serrat, that ain’t my problem.” She flicked her laserbrain at the sizable crimelord in question.

“But if you don’t pull it out soon,” Paus gave a lazy shrug, then leaned forward, teeth-first. “Maybe you won’t have one to pull out no more.”

“You dare—! Koba! We cannot stand for this! This— this is outrageous!”

The Duros shifted, licked his chapped lips. “Yeah. Outrageous.”

“Since when are profits outrageous?” Aver stepped in for the first time, moving bodily between the two bickering clan heads. “If you don’t want in, your loss. But we will expand, and we will take. And if you’re not with us…”

“...you’re against us.”

You could hear a chip drop in the silence that followed.

 

[Loray Tares]

A silver tongue...to go with that silver body.

The passage into the room was just as he expected, an ample dose of belligerence mixed with undue pride standing solemn at the front gates. Not his problem, if they were shot for the disrespect. It was fortunate for all those present, except Loray, that Aver's stern grip was as much soothing comfort as it was spiked leash. He cherished her sense of control in the absence of his own, for the time being. Though he would invariably be aggravated by the lack of stimulation. Such was his way, something her tightening grip only confirmed.

A levee swelling with the flood, it would hold for only so long.

They entered the room as five crime bosses glared at one another, and back towards the Equalizers. The table was round, tarnished green, and a lamp hung over with a transparent yellow dome. One didn't need to be force sensitive to feel the tone of the place, the anxiety and fear. But for the hungry, it was a moment of nourishment amidst a buffet in the Cosmic Relay.

Quiet, as he almost always was, Loray crossed his arms as the cretins spoke their words. Falling in line or falling out, the muffled expressions all seemed to run together. He couldn't help but feel bored, the presence of restraint wasn't something he longed for. At least, not in this arena. No, this felt reminiscent of bureaucracy and for someone who lived his life without compromise, red tape wasn't something often sought. It was political, this conversation, and Loray felt a boiling point cascade over the lid, catalyzed through the back and forth squabbling.

Pacing quietly around as Qosta spoke the final words and the silence echoed through, vibrant as the sun was bright, Loray pulled up a chair and sat at the table. Scooting forward with multiple attempts, entirely unabashed towards the noise of metal against ferrocrete, he cupped his hands on the table. Thumb over thumb, he began rotating them, as his head craned from Koba to Meron. If they listened, they might have heard the armor whine in response. Like rusty metal pipes scraping against one another.

"A farce." The red visor seemed to almost narrow, the imprint of his force signature ever present. Leaning back, he padded at the front of his armor, as if flattening a non existent tie. "A farce?" He shook his head and laughed, muffled as it was through the helmet. It was only then that he realized that Aver was no longer holding his shoulder. "No...the farce lies in front of me. On the pedestals you have erected, in testament to yourselves."

He looked over to Aver, Meron suddenly very red in the face. Porcelain white taking on the hue of cold fire. Loray inspected his voxyn nails, picking at the cuticles, as he took in a long breath. "You don't have a choice in the matter. Benefit from the offering or cease to exist."

Koba released a slur of hushed vulgarities, favoring his left side as he reached for his hip. A weapon of sorts, holstered pistol if Loray could make it out in the dim light.

"...that's a bad idea."

The flame flickers most violently before it's blown out. Loray proceeded with his lackadaisical demeanor, turning his visor towards the Duros and his impressively chapped lips.

"How many rounds does that fire?"
"Enough!" Koba licked at his lips once more. The cornered beast desired to lash out, in his own defense. "Stop this!"

"No Koba, don't listen to them. They're bought and paid for!"

"Yeah."

Loray scooted back from his chair, the heave of his chest indicative of a scoff. "You cradle that holster like a nervous child. Not very becoming, considering your position."

"No, it's not. An insult, is what it is."

"OH, you're one to talk of insults, Valere!"

"Like a boy!?!"

"That's what he said! It's what we're all thinking!"

"Koba, we can't be persuaded into this deal. It will be our ruin!"

Even in the force nulling room, it seemed the Soul Saber was having it's way with the tempo. At least on those three. Loray reached across the table and dragged his nails against the metal, squealing all the way through. Paus reached for her ears, Koba seemed to clench his jaws and eyes shut, and Meron fanned at her face - as if that would help.

"Ruin is yours to claim, which you seem so intent on..." He pointed a finger towards Meron, just as she moved to talk. "So help me, if you say another word." Loray looked around, despite the look of flabbergast upon the woman's face. "You all have grown content and have stagnated because of it. This isn't an insult. Simply the truth. And for all the talk here, there remains one more truth: We wont allow it to continue."

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

[member="Loray Tares"]​

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

Indeed, she had relinquished her grip on Loray’s shoulder. Let slip the dogs of war. The silence, while deafening, didn’t last.

It was the other Equalizer who filled it with words this time, measured and heavy. Marching to the distant beat of the bass, the throbbing heart of the station. Aver let her eyes drift closed behind the safe barrier of her helmet. His timbre carried an earthly quality, like ash on the wind. Slightly warped by the rebreather, tinged with iron.

Rust red rippling rivers

She winced as multiple angry voices exploded around her, devolving into petty arguments again. The bosses were like petulant children squabbling over the new pet. If only they knew what sharp teeth it had, and what long claws.

“What my associate wants to say is, we don’t like stagnation.”

Nether, they’d betrayed a Dark Lord of the Sith over stagnation. ‘Dislike’ was an understatement of the decade.

“We’re not here to negotiate. That ship has sailed and sunk.” Thankless karks.

“This is your last chance.”

Parasites grown swollen on the spoils of their ancestors, the lot of them. All except Qosta were the offspring of old and powerful lines of criminals, whether through blood or sword. None of them had to build their empires out of sweat and bullets, none of them had given pounds upon pounds of flesh for every scrap of territory. None of them had toiled, nor wept, nor begged.

Aver reached down and caressed the sliver in her spine, breath atremble.

Hope you’re ready to dance, lover.

Because Koba was inching towards his pistol, and Meron was still stuttering her indignation at the deaf. Qosta, tasting the air, had begun sidling to the back. Paus and Begeren stood statue-still, but their muscles were all lax.

Sure enough, everyone else was. Might as well open the floor.

Madame?

 

[Loray Tares]

He felt the tremble down the length of his back, the caress of a lover. She might as well have begged him for interaction with provided instigation, doe eyed and persuasive. It was the sort of request he couldn't deny, nor would he want to. For all the people that filled the room, his sight was fixed upon two. And with that touch and urge, he vision honed in on one. Who fixed their grip on the leather holster. The way it looked, rigid and light brown, it hadn't seen all that much action. Too bad, he thought, hoping he would have seen more from Koba.

Standing, Loray kicked his chair across the floor. Was it enough, as Koba had claimed?

Meron flailed her arms as he walked past her, he fingers strafed clumsily across his armor without ever finding true purchase. Boots tantalized by the graze of grass, but never truly impacted beyond the dew, he stepped beyond her and her area of affect. How minimal it might be, for the weaker mind, one might find distraction in the way her jowls moved with persistence.

Koba, finally, unlatched the top hook and pulled the pistol from its grip. Leveling it at the armored figure, the Duros' aim, shook absent any form of steady aim. Loray continued forward on his path as he walked with an air of nonchalance. The Duros fired one shot. Then another. Then another. All shots seemed to hit Loray at dead center yet it did nothing, not even a pause in gait.

"Why...why wont you die!"

Another three rounds, right towards the stomach. Until there was nothing left, the chamber turning with each click. Loray pushed forward and grabbed the offending wrist, cracking it with a jerk. The sound echoed through the small room as he grabbed Koba by the throat. The revolver dropped to the ground with a clink and for all the support that Meron gave to her comrade, it was obvious now that such camaraderie was temporary and based on convenience.

"I know...I'm disappointed as well."
"Arrrrrgh, let go of me." The sound came through struggling breath, strife to simply exist.
"You said you had enough."

No response that time, just hands clawing at the voxyn arm to let go. All but one of the bullets had deflected off the armor. One landed deep in his left shoulder, a lingering dull pain coursing through his entire body. Too much wear and tear, even for phrik, was leaving him vulnerable. Or, in his opinion, left him properly suited for measured levels of damage.

"Disappointing."

Twisting his hand, the struggling stopped and legs went limp. Letting go of the grip, Koba fell to the floor. Landing on his feet first, he crumpled into a pile of flesh and bone and dull expression. Dark eyes looking up towards the yellow lamp, final breath escaping him.

Loray turned his head, body still fixed towards the corpse of the crime lord, as he looked towards Meron. And Paus. And Qosta. His vision turned back towards Meron, the major cause of conflict in this circumstance. "Have you changed your mind?"

Hopefully not.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

[member="Loray Tares"]​

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mDQNRs5JCs​

The long-awaited crescendo finally erupted, the symphony of strings and percussion swelling in an instant. The chorus – yells of frustration and fear – so much FEAR – and the rapping of bullets against phrik. Six clicks, six screams of metal and fire in tight space, five cracks of armor that wouldn’t give.

Aver felt that last one sink through adrenaline and excitement, shoot up her spine. The taste of iron in her mouth, an old friend. His delight at the weeping injury followed a breath later, and Aver grinned like the skull plastered on her visor. Striking in white, those teeth.

The color of annihilation.

Koba danced the gallows jig in Loray’s firm grasp, clawing at the fingers digging into his neck. Taut string, ready to snap. He died without a whimper. The last sound he made was flesh slapping ferrocrete, and lay still.

A shrill laugh pierced the quiet this time, and Begeren finally showed his face. “You’re a frakking joke, Meron.” He wheezed, stamped out an expensive cigarra. Replaced it with the gleam of a thin knife, looked ceremonial in make. “Had a soft spot for you— your thighs. I won’t lie, ‘Serrat, that fat ass of yours…. mmmHm.”

The quivering lump of lard – a Hutt caught in a woman’s body – backed away, showing the white of her eyes. Her fat fingers grasped at nothing, bejeweled sausages on thickset arms. She shuddered with choked sobs, jowls and double chin and all.

“Don’t often experience violence firsthand, do you?” Aver cooed, looking down as the woman backed up into her. End of the line. Her bottom lip trembled, and the Equalizer made a noise of strangled disgust.

“Do we really need her?” It wasn’t a question.

She jerked her knee upwards like a spring, and something snapped in the pig’s spine. Meron keeled over, gasping for air, looking up at Aver and seeing nothing at all. The baton came alive in her grip, buzzing like a swarm of bees, and she lifted it high enough so the woman could see. A sweet distraction, one last trick to fill that heart with fear ‘till it burst.

With closed eyes and lips parted, Aver listened as time trickled past her ears like the viscose drip of bone marrow. That heart rammed again and again at Meron’s fat-padded chest, so out of sync with the beat of their dance. An offense that warranted removal.

When it skipped its thrum next time, the merc brought down her phrik fist, hard. Bones cracked like dry sticks, and then she could feel the bump of her knee against her palm. Pancaked.

No ribs from this piggy.

 

[Loray Tares]

She had a way with words...

And a way with her hands...

And just a way...

A question went unanswered in a room where all knew the response. Meron wouldn't be afforded opportunity to recant, step taking just a bit too far over the ledge. A line drawn in the sand before they had even entered the room. The Equalizers had no time for the antagonistic, for those who wouldn't tow the line. So they had to get their hands dirty, once more, just like every time before. Blood caked on the fingers, beneath the nails, a thousand souls clinging to their shadows. He was sure if there was a stain for all the sins they had committed, it assuredly couldn't be wiped away. Like a rag against wet paint, nothing but a smear and tireless effort.

Just like Koba in his slump, Meron beaten to death - all to the wheezing as bronchioles were popped, pleural space was filled with blood, and the diaphragm was ruptured. Like bacon, slow cooked on a cast iron, the sound of sizzling and crackling and popping faded away.

No matter the time, the occasion, or how often he saw it, he never got tired of that feeling. That sensation. The uplifted, plummeting to the ground, hitting every rung and beam on the way down. The way Koba died, foot tapping against the ground and fingers plucking and prying at metal - Meron eating her own stomach and spine with gags and the atrophic decline of elation - all at her hands. He could have stood to view it for a bit longer, tantalized by the small amount of effort it took to flatten such a wide being. But for all good things, they must come to and end, only to reappear at another date. The universe wasn't running out of egos any time soon.

Dragging a nail across the chin of his helmet, he scratched the phantom feelings of a scar hidden deep away. Leaning over, he picked up the pistol from the dead Duros. One hand on the barrel, one hand on the hilt, he folded it over and crushed it into something resembling metal origami. Tossing it to the table, it bounced to the sound of iron against tin, as he pulled a chair over and sat down. Taking a deep breath, he scratched at the dinged coat of the table, flaking and chipping it away. Sweeping it from the table, he cupped his hands together and exhaled.

"Well. I feel better. May we proceed with plans?"
"By all means."
"Yes, by all means." The Ithorian took a seat with a scoot, stabbing the knife through the table. "Let us discuss this new arrangement."

"Of course."

Would you be a dear?

He could stand to see her work, just a bit more.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Slickness slipped through her fingers, down the front of dull phrik. Vanity had long since been stripped away from her, much like everything else that comprised her humanity. The runny yellow goop coated her armor with a fine lacquer of white trash, finally given a purpose. At least now that waste of flesh and space would serve as warning to everyone in the room.

Aver turned to the quieted, tame congregation of crime lords. There was violence, and there was violence. These new players refused to play by any rules, barreling straight through. You couldn’t say stop, couldn’t hold anything over their heads, because they came bearing nothing. Nothing but skill and terrible ambition to succeed or subsume anything that stood in their way.

Again she placed a hand on his shoulder, not to chain him, but to share in his delight. Stroking a lazy finger through the wound, the mercenary tipped her chin upwards to face the remaining kingpins.

“We value collaboration,” she said, just to drive the point home. “We also prefer simpler solutions to this,” with her free hand, Aver gestured to the gruesome remains of the uncooperative.

“Violence is tiresome and subpar in the long run. Efficiency, my friends, is what will uplift Nadir to new heights.” The woman paused, leveling a keen gaze at each of the three. Despite the helmet, she was sure they could feel it.

“No amount of achievement gives you the right to grow complacent. You will always improve, or you will be replaced.”

“If that is clear, I believe we have a long and prosperous relationship ahead of us. You have knowledge of the black market and connections. We have firepower and structure. Together, we will lead this station into its Golden age.”

Say what you will about military service, but yelling at soldiers before battle had taught her some valuable lessons on speeches. Moreso on their delivery.

[member="Loray Tares"]

 

[Loray Tares]

What was a downward look, with the expectation of her speaking, turned into a perk upwards. Tilting his head towards the woman standing next to him, he didn't focus so much on what she was saying as what she was doing. The feeling of his pain, running through her and back into him. An infinity mirror of sensation, looping over and over upon itself. He so rarely had this moment of peace to truly appreciate that complexity of the relationship. Where stimulation wasn't as abundant as their normal circumstance, their bond was filling the gap.

"Together, we will lead the station into it's golden age."

He diverted his attention from her, for the moment, as he looked back towards the three that were left. Happy little ducks, all in a row, being spoon fed. It was good that they were so cooperative but he couldn't help but feel...disappointed. Biggest and baddest crime bosses, going down without a fight. When she said we, it didn't include anyone but the Equalizers.

"What about income? Meron and Koba, despite all their numerous flaws, brought in a good deal. Koba, through smuggling, and Meron through an extensive network of...philanthropists."

"That wont be an issue."

"Explain."

The others agreed and Loray couldn't help but feel a bit of appreciation. For the curtness that Qosta carried. Shifting in his seat, the three showed a bit of discomfort, as Loray pulled up an information panel on his wrist. Sending it across the encrypted holonet, the personal datapad of each crime boss dinged. Lifting it, as if in formation, they all began reading.

"Funeral and flower company, you say?"
"It says the Coruscant Rotary Club."
"Both are fronts for a crime organization, similar to what you have here. Though they have a bit more expertise in drug distribution and smuggling."

He felt just the slightest tinge of nostalgia, remembering Mandalorian Oranges. And a ride through the snow.

"Far from home."
"Far from home, indeed."
"Inconsequential."
"Yes. The numbers speak for themselves."
"Are they already in place?"
"They will be, soon enough."

The three looked over one another, making facial gestures of compromise. A front, in and of itself, as they smelled of satisfaction and glee. The numbers were on point for the company, which had remained hidden throughout its tenure. Disguised as a service company for all forms of life, one couldn't argue with the product.

"So..." Loray stated, lifted his hand upwards. "Are the terms agreeable? Should we proceed with your resurrection?"

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Slicking an armored finger through his wound one final time, Aver moved to the side and leaned on the blood-spattered wall behind Meron. Or what remained of her, at any rate.

Seeing Loray put his incisive wit to use every now and again always brought a smile to her face. Beneath all the layers of roiling madness and shades of red, she often thought it buried forever. Just to prove her wrong, she suspected, the keen intellect resurfaced when she needed a fine scalpel to drive that final nail in the coffin.

Aver glanced down at her hands – hammers –, palms still smeared with the gooey strings of adipose tissue. She spread her fingers in quiet contemplation as the bosses looked over the information.

Looked like spiderwebs.

A small sigh brushed her lips, the gentle kiss of a lover. The merc swallowed it as she closed her eyes, smothering the tremor in her chest. She would return, one day. Of that she was sure. Just had to wonder if she was still going to be alive when she did. The Final Beast moved strangely between strands of time, these days.

“To expansion, then,” Paus said, and the other two nodded.

She pushed off the ferrocrete, phrik scraping against the wall. “We can decide how to distribute the assets of those two over drinks,” Aver said and gestured over her shoulder to the two corpses.

As they filed out of the room, she paused at one of the Qosta guards. “Throw the meat back there to the dogs, would you?”

At least they’d serve a purpose in death, if they couldn’t in life.

[member="Loray Tares"]

 

[Loray Tares]

Blackened arm, hidden beneath the tanned tones of an ooglith, reached up to the scarred remains of a face. The impression of an expression, something reminiscent of a soul entirely twisted, looked back from across the mirror. He had long remove the plates of metal, coated in the remains of the One Sith Soldiers, leaving them sprawled in the entrance room of their apartment. Sargeant Demitri Ortan. Comms Officer Aaron Baskovick. General Zerde. He didn't mean it, the way the words just came out of his mouth, like speaking might once more bring the dead to life. Maybe it could be like Ruusan, he could relive those moments in the darkened corridors and red tinted rooms. But when the names moved from lips to air, silence followed. And more silence, all except for the noise of the bathroom fan whirling in the background.

Running his hands beneath the faucet, streams of rose tinted water ran from his fingers and nail beds. Rubbing them together, the fluid darkened and lightened in a breath. Steam rising from the bowl, he splashed water on his face before inspecting the prize on the porcelain of the sink. The dog tags, the ribbons and awards, and the ranking often worn along the shoulder. He spoke the name again. General Zerde. And just like that, desire to recollect upon fond memory was entirely removed. Put to rest and buried deep beneath Point Nadir and the weight of the Equalizers. He would retain the ornaments, just in case someone was smart enough to come looking for information about Directive 12.

Walking back into the bedroom, the room felt empty and quiet. The bed was made and Aver was nowhere to be found. He knew she was still alive, he could feel it, and he got the slightest impression that she was getting closer and closer with each passing moment. The excursion had been rejuvenating but the trip back had been far too quiet. For all his brooding silence, he had her sounds to fill the void. Breathing, sassy commentary, or the occasional step through a hallway. The promise of pain wasn't constant between them, but only when she was gone, was it entirely removed. And he felt oddly...alone.

Sitting down at the desk, overlooking the under dwellings of Point Nadir, he turned on the datapad. Confirmation from a particular contact. They were making moves to push shipments and distribution networks into Nadir, following the loss of Coruscant to the Galactic Alliance. Loray immediately assumed it was because of their involvement that that had occurred. After all, without the Equalizers, the Centax Memorial may have stood against the onslaught. Instead, the General tried to turn tail and in doing so, killed most of the civilians and destroyed most of the structures in attempted escape. Not only could they claim victory in this instance, but they catalyzed such utter and unneeded annihilation. Innocent people, beneath the foot of the One Sith, and crushed in their tap dance to exit the stage. Delightful.

Closing the datapad, making mental notes to develop a schedule tomorrow, he stretched and raked nails across his bare chest. Moving from his chair, he succumbed to exhaustion and feel asleep within the folds of the sheets. Alone.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Pissed and hurting, Aver sat on a ship.

Alone.

A grimace of displeasure and pain had taken up permanent residence on her face. Somewhere between Coruscant and her far-flung home on the Outer rim, their transport – a very public transit barge – had swelled with passengers. Their numbers were so great now that sleeping solo was a luxury nobody could really afford.

Except this one brooding mercenary who carried enough firepower to arm a small insurgence and still have weapons to spare. Combined with her seething scowls, it was enough to drive even the bravest of souls away.

One of the shipmates had tried to talk to her the other day, about relinquishing part of her bunk to another traveller. She explained to him in no uncertain terms what fate would befall the poor sod. The shipmate backed away.

After that, nobody else tried to bother her. Not at the mess table, not at her bunk, and certainly not in the shared bathrooms.

For some reason, one of the other mercs on the vessel had come to believe Aver’s cold behavior really meant that she fancied him. With a shet-gobbling grin plastered on his rugged face, he had approached her under the shower. His mouth, full of teeth and horrid Huttese pick-up lines, was duly introduced to the nearest wall. The only reason the bastard avoided slow dismemberment was because they were still a week out from Mandalorian space.

Having to catch another ride would be a fate worse than death.

The Equalizer expelled another impatient breath. She was never, ever flying economy class again. Ever.

The nightmare was over. Covered in dirt and grime, spacer stink, and a very fine layer of blood, Aver Brand stepped out onto the familiar docks of the Tethers. The sights and sounds of Nadir washed over her like the smell of mother’s cooking. Or what she imagined mother’s cooking would smell like, anyway. With a sudden spring in her step, the firrerreo disappeared into the sprawling metal heart of the station, any lingering pains forgotten.

 

[Roger Kranos]

"Thhhhhhheeeee Staaaaartripper..."

"Yes sir, that's the name of the shi-"

"Thhhhhhhheeee Staaaaaartripper..." Fingers frolicked through the plush groves of his manbeard, flicking in and 0ut as he looked towards the dash. A vivid assortment of colors, array in stereo, as if the world was entirely in 3-D. Let that sink in. "You must appreciate the irony of this ship housing a notorious drug dealer." He looked towards the pilot, deep oceans of blue cast adrift against an occasionally manic expression. Feigning surprise, his voice increased in pitch as he covered his mouth. "Oh my, you didn't know that. I wonder who it could be?"

He looked over his shoulder. He looked over the other. Satisfied that no one was listening, he knelt towards the pilot and formed a wind tunnel with his hands. "Its me..." Leaning back, he dusted off his suit of red and white and took in a long drawn out breath. "Deal with it."

"Of course, sir."

"Bart...you mind if I call you Bart?" Kranos sat in the co-pilots seat, taking out a vile of dust. Opening the cap, he dibbled a bit of dab on the dash before pocketing the glass. "Don't look, Bart. I can't do it when people look." Dragging his nose across the metal, all in tandem with the drawn out breath of life, he leaned back in the chair, catatonic and expressly happy with himself. After all, who wouldn't be if they were him?

"Do you recall that time, back at the Casino, Bart? Oh, what times we had."
"Not much for gambling, sir."
"I didn't ask for your life story, BART." He narrowed his eyes, placing a firm hand on the dash. "People like you, trying to bring everyone down with their morals and conundrums." He waved his hand about, dismissively. "The only people who don't like gambling are the ones who suck at it."

Standing up, he twirled the seat and smashed his hands against all sorts of buttons. Nothing happened and he just looked around, absentmindedly. "Think on that, Bart. Think on it."

Striding out of the cockpit, he felt the ship adjust momentum as it took to Point Nadir seamlessly. They had made it quicker than he expected, though time was always a bit funny on minimal sleep and an abundance of drugs. Wiping his nose and mustache, he walked towards the exit ramp and waited patiently for it to open. As if by magic, by mere mental command, the steam released and the ramp descended as the door opened.

"This place...looks like chit in a burning bag...in a pit of burning bags filled with chit." He said, sudden wave of melancholy overwhelming him. Stepping down the ramp, he looked left and right. Squinting, he spotted the most awful assemblage of metal and gears he had ever witnessed. People flooding from it like a tide of mediocrity. It was then that he noticed something, words escaping his lips in the form of a whisper.

"Devil...demon. Woman. Evil...shiny suit of shiny!" He took in another hard breath as he scurried through the port, avoiding eye contact or contact at all. "Can't be seen...can't be seen." Groping a pillar, he shimmied around it, keeping view of her as she moved about. Like she knew the place or the place knew her. The ephemeral feeling of a mutual relationship wafted over him, as if this place benefited from her presence. And over and over again, until he turned to cut off connection. Pressing a hand against his chest, he shook his head. "My God, these drugs...Gotta get out of here." Running full force back to his ship, he collected his things like armfuls of un-potted plants. "Gotta roll."

Running out of the luxury yacht and down the ramp, he plowed full steam into Point Nadir. He had a date and needed to prepare.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

The streets seemed to morph around her, channels and grooves forming where there were none before. Her step remained light, as if she weren’t trodding grime and sentient refuse. Peddlers and street vendors shied away from her presence, instinct trampling their entrepreneurial itch to yell their offers at her. Pickpockets and muggers slipped aside, heads hung. Mercenaries and guards gave her nods of deference instead, recognizing the quiet air of authority for what it was.

Aver didn’t care for such a transparent welcome, however. Anonymity had always been her best friend, shielding her from unwanted attention. Nadir knew her now. The disquiet that brought overshadowed any pleasure she might have felt. Leading the armies of the One Sith had been enough limelight to last her a lifetime.

A scowl pulled at her face as she stopped on her way through the Souk. Felt like eyes crawling on her back.

Fast as a whip, the woman turned around on the spot, ice scouring the milling crowd behind her. Was someone following her? Couldn’t tell. Better safe than sorry, though.

All the joy she’d felt returning home was gone now. Replaced by the usual paranoia – well, not really paranoia, when they’re out to get you. Aver hadn’t survived this long thanks to dumb luck and combat skill.

Her tall figure disappeared into a side alley, and she was reminded of her first stroll down these streets, all those months ago. How quickly things had changed. How many wars they had fought in, since. A shiver ran down her spine, pulsing in time with her stride. Coruscant had been a close cut, for all its entertainment value. And that woman, Avalore Eden.

Her wounds tingled at the memory. The shadows of the wounds, anyway. Nature and enhancements had done their work, helped along with some space magic by the Jedi.

She sneered, pushing away the unbidden memory. Irony had never tasted well on her tongue.

Not like blood. Never like blood.

[member="Roger Kranos"] | [member="Loray Tares"]​

 

[Roger Kranos]

"Mmm, yeah..." He walked one step. Then another. "Mmm, yeah, that's it." He took a step back, then two steps forward. Moving with hustle and flamboyance, all married together in a suit -perfect complexion, and man mane like no other - he was a sight beyond sights. And he knew it. More than the effects of drugs or the way carsanum dispersed in whiskey or the way a cactus popper sometimes really had a pop. This was everything, style and grace.

"What...what are you doing?"

"Shh..." He held up a finger, cool and cocky. "You're gonna mess up the groove." He moved another step. Knelt down, looked through the window. Crouched down further, running his hand along the linoleum tile or whatever material it might have been. Checkered in black and white with that spattering of browns throughout. Like a developer decided that this might actually look good. A hospital floor styling stuck in what might have once been a small corner deli or cafe. No wonder the place went out of business.

"What..."

Hand lifted towards the low ceiling, the lamp on the street shined through the window and then his fingers, like twirly ribbons. Just there, just before the end, a dangling wind chime made of some faux metallic substance. Shiny foil peeling from the spirals, knocking about occasionally, and Kranos found himself strumming each on like a chord on a string instrument. The room, the very world, was his fret board, as notes sung from the chirp and pang of chimes suspended from the perforated tiling and thin metal beams. Colors flowed out, rainbows reflected from the sickly yellow input, with each chiiiiing.

"Serious question." Kranos dropped his hand and approached the salesman or whatever he was. Looked like a door to door cookie distributor, hard on his luck. Mug was a mixture between the tone and texture of an elephant and the shape of a shovel head. Ugly figure, if Kranos had every seen one, and absent entirely of any notion of charm. Kranos lifted his fist to the mans face. With a pause, his thumb ejected and pointed over his own shoulder. "Does the chime come with the building?" The cookie man sighed and opened the datapad. "Cause if it doesn't, I'm out." Just as Kranos lifted his hands to complete the delivery, the salesman shoved the datapad into his chest.

"Like you have a choice."

Kranos narrowed his eyes as he turned the datapad over. In the blink of an eye, the bell rung, the door was open, and the shadowy figure was gone. But not before Kranos could stick his head out and yell down the street. "Yeah...well. Maybe!"

Out of nowhere, he was hit with a wave of negative energy. Like someone had pissed in his mandalorian orange juice. Feeling the downer come along, he looked up into the sky - as much as there could be one in a space station. Wincing, he could have sworn he saw him. A figure, standing nude and corded in muscle, with a lone red eye staring down towards him. Rubbing his eyes, he looked back up and the window was empty of all but blue. Shaking his head, he closed the door behind him and locked the bolt. "Need a pick me up."

[member="Aver Brand"]​