You Can't Always Get What You Want

[Evelyn Roslin]

"Juma juice. Right."

Evelyn stepped past Nicair, and made her way to the bar. Despite the late hour (or early, depending on one's perspective), the establishment had a decent-sized crowd. Most were talking too loud in groups, or clutching their drinks and staring blearily ahead in the focused yet distant way of the very intoxicated.

A few gave the slender brunette some appraising and/or predatory looks, which she steadfastly ignored. Leaning against the counter, she placed her order with the bartender, collected the drinks, and turned to head back to the corner Nicair was currently occupying, and drawing a few more subtle looks of his own in the horned helmet and armor.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Evelyn's attention, and she glanced to her right as a group of young males banged their table with laughter at something one of them said. One of them, a sandy brown-haired youth who seemed to be in his early twenties, wearing a leather jacket with metal studs in the shoulders, switched from laughter to cursing as one of his buddies knocked over his beer.

"Frakkin' nerfherder!"

The voice made her freeze in her tracks, sparking her memory like a trail of flame towards a powder keg.

Begin flashback.

The blaster bolt caught Vier in the chest. In what felt like a long moment, he looked down at the smoking hole, puzzled. He looked up at her; their gaze locked, and he reached out his hand . . .then crumbled to his knees and slumped over, motionless.

Evelyn stared. Blinked once. This wasn't happening. She knelt beside him, tried to lift his shoulders.

"Oye! Frakkin' nerfherder got in the way of my blaster!"

A thug on a speeder came up on them, a similar-looking fellow on his left. They barely spared Evelyn or her fiance a second glance as they sped past.

End flashback.

Both glasses fell to the floor, landing with a crash that was audible even above the low din in the bar. A few patrons cursed as their lower legs splattered with the contents, but Evelyn barely heard them - her gaze was locked on the man who'd murdered her husband.

He turned towards her at the sound of glass breaking, and smirked at her without any recognition.

"Oye, that's a waste of good liquor! You had too much ta drink, sweetcheeks? We got a seat over 'ere for ya."

He shoved one of his friends out of a chair, and grinned widely and drunkenly as Evelyn took a step towards him. He didn't notice her fists clenched and trembling at her sides.

Her drunken sense of lazed relaxation dissipated near-instantly, replaced by the red haze that seemed to settle over her vision. Anger surged through her, filled her, nearly consumed her. The man who killed Vier was sitting here. With his friends. Having a good time.

Laughing.

While Vier's body lays on a slab in the morgue.

She took another step forward, eyes flashing.

[member="Nicair Claden"]

Flashback.

 

[Nicair Claden]

His gaze wandered through the crowd, large amounts of people spiked his hyper-vigilance. He always made sure his eyes settled on Evelyn for a half second longer than the rest. His mind told him to assign each person the same level of importance, the same level of threat, but he was here to watch and see what he could see. Right now, what he saw was far more interesting than the crowd. He heard a commotion off to the side, someone banging on a table and laughing, she heard it too. He saw her head turn to the sound, and then that look. He'd seen it before, experienced it before. Something was cutting through the haze of her thoughts and rearing its head, like an amnesiac suddenly remembering what they'd repressed. Her body tensed, she dropped the drinks in her hand. Her steps were calm, focused. Nicair smirked underneath his helmet, he was about to see what he'd been waiting for.

Only, he couldn't see, too many people. Rising from his seat he stalked through the crowd, it wasn't that hard, and it wasn't quite stalking. The people mostly dispersed, ode to his armor, he stuck out. He did what he could to blend into the crowd in a position he could finally see what he assumed to be her target spot. More of the table turned to the woman as she approached, she was certainly drawing their attention. He took a quick glance at her hands. They were balled into fists, his experiment was going to get some results.

She could die. The thought struck him in a half second of consideration. He didn't doubt these young men were armed, Evelyn wasn't. Being able to stop a mugger when he wasn't expecting such efficiency was one thing. Walking up with such aggression was another. What to do? His mind took off, thankful for a tactical situation to work on. He could stand and watch the situation unfold, there presented the option that she'd be faster than them and get the better, but she was just one person and unarmed. The technique she had used was simple yet effective, he didn't know if she'd have the skill to take them all on. Therein lied the option of intervention, or not. He could stop her but that'd be fairly boring, then again he could engage the men and see what she did. It'd ruin the moment, though. And lastly, he could form up behind her, if there was a fight he wanted to be involved, itched for it.

The Mandalorian combined a few options, he started walking forward, slow enough that he'd have to pass behind her, yet fast enough that he showed some intention.

"Pas jag! Me'vaar ti gar? Su cuy'gar!" He clapped a drunk man on the shoulder, needless to say he was slightly confused. Nicair positioned himself so that he had a direct line of sight to the table that Evelyn was approaching. His plan worked, he was closer, and to his knowledge the men were none the wise. To the drunk man's credit, he smiled dumbly and gave Nicair a clap in return.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

"Pas jag! Me'vaar ti gar? Su cuy'gar!"

The Mandalorian's greeting to the confused drunk was hearty and loud enough to momentarily draw the sandy-haired man's attention for a moment, but Evelyn barely noticed. Her focus was narrowed, tunnel-vision even as she felt her senses come alive in a strange, electric sort of way.

The analytic part of her brain warned her that this was a bad idea. He had three friends with him, and while they all seemed trashed and as-yet unaware of her intent, those were still rather heavy odds against the unarmed young woman.

The primal part of her, which was currently exerting more control, didn't care.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

The words came out quietly, a low tone she didn't remember using in the past.

"Can't even 'memba ya ladies now, Dendric?"

One of his friends laughed, while Dendric mistook her meaning along with the rest of them. After all, she hardly looked like the dangerous type.

"I'm sure I'da 'membered you, babe. Why doncha sit on my lap, help jog my memory?"

The crude come-on was clearly intended to rile up his friends, but he also seemed to half-believe it might work.

He doesn't care that he killed a man far better than he could ever hope to be. He's scum . . . and he deserves to die.

To her right, sitting two stools down from Vier, a Gran sat with his back to her, eye stalks drooping somewhat in drunken stupor. She could see the handle to a dagger at his belt, and angled slightly towards it.

He needs to die.


[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

Nicair didn't know this woman very well, if at all to be precise. But he knew when someone's sympathetic nervous system was activated. Her walk that had once been full of stumbles and wavers, was now focused and aggressive. He'd learned a long time ago how to tell when someone was moving for blood. In order for her fight or flight instinct to take over completely and change her body language in such a way as to override the effects of alcohol, she'd have one goal, and there wouldn't be many ways to go about it. Why then was she starting to veer from that goal? Her changing the angle of her approach even in the slightest meant she had noticed something that helped her attain that ultimate goal. She had found a weapon. Someone at that table, Nicair assumed it to be this Dendric fellow, was about to have an angry woman make some very dangerous actions towards him. Though the man's comment was rude and in fairly poor taste, it was hardly worth killing him over. If it was a cultural offense she probably would have done something about it instead of veer off. A Mandalorian woman would have had to been held back for a comment like that. This was hate. A hate so profound it wasn't rage, it was controllable. It easy to lose yourself in anger, it's an entirely different monster to plan through it.

He respected her control, but their eyes were on her. It could be worthwhile to see how her speed holds up from point A to point B, but if she really wanted the satisfaction of ending his life she needed to close that distance without them reacting in an unfavorable manor. He certainly didn't want to intrude on her moment, but then again she was an interesting thing. Then again, it wouldn't really be meddling if he aided in her getting to point B. Don't shoot the messenger kind of thing.

His decision was last minute and he applauded himself for making it so quick, maybe he hadn't gotten as soft as he thought he had. In a couple second window he pulled out a chair from a man about to sit down and dragged it toward Dendric's table, swinging it around so the back faced them. Informal, crossing a social norm for sitting in chairs, very cool.

"You boys ever fought a Sith? Let me tell you a little story."

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Nicair's sudden decision to insert himself into the center of the table's attention briefly broke the flow of the moment, and caused Evelyn to hesitate, hand starting to shift towards the Gran's knife. She paused though, as the group of gang members at the table gave Nicair incredulous looks, clearly at a momentary loss for how to respond to an armored Mandalorian seating himself so casually in their midst.

His actions provided just enough of a break for part of her analytic mind to break through the red haze.

Not here. Get him away from the others.

Her hand went back to her side, just as Dendric was turning his attention back to her. A half-formed plan presented itself in her mind, and still not quite in the most stable emotional state, she seized on the opportunity.

The smile she gave him was more predatory than seductive, but he was drunk and cocky enough that it didn't matter. She brought her hand up, brushing her hair back as her hazel eyes locked on his.

"Well . . . can't say I'm not interested."

Dendric looked somewhat shocked, but he recovered quickly with a grin, and elbowed one of his buddies. The group was alternating its attention between the Mandalorian and the woman chatting up their friend.

"But you know what they say . . . two's a party, more's a crowd. . .and I'm not interested in crowds."

She didn't have to work too hard to separate him from the pack; hormones did plenty of that work for her. He stood up, glancing at the Mandalorian and nodding to his friends.

"Lady wants some company, who'm I to resist? Have ta hear yer story later, bub."

He slapped Nicair on the shoulder, and seemed to wince slightly as his hand solidly contacted the armor.


[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

Isolate your prey. Intelligent. Nicair could try and distract them all he wanted with war stories but when it comes right down to it, the best way to get a man to part from his pack is to bat long eyelashes. He turned his head to Dendric whose face just stopped cringing.

"Just make sure you tell me this story when you get back, but do what you have to do." He spoke his words a little louder than was necessary. As he did so he turned his head slightly towards the woman, hoping she got his meaning. He could have simply followed them from the start, but that'd be suspicious. No, he'd keep this group entertained for awhile then pick up their trail after, provided there was a trail to follow. His helmet, despite the horns, was fairly standard, he didn't have the visual enhancers to track his tread in the tiniest film of dust and dirt that gathered on the street. He did, however, have something else. Bantha pheromones. When bantha's wish to reproduce they secrete a certain liquid from some of their pores. Naturally this would be picked up by a mate, or a predator. Nicair was usually after the latter. The hunter opened up the pouch that housed some of the liquid and dipped his finger in it. By now the two had started to turn away from the table.

"I got next round." Nicair told his listeners, taking the opportunity to momentarily have to walk behind Dendric to get to the bar. He patted the pursuing man a couple times on the shoulder in encouragement before breaking off. The bartender nodded to him upon his approach.

"Three shots of the hardest tihaar you've got, and a juma juice. Please."

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Evelyn heard Nicair's words, but didn't give any hint of registering them. The tunnel vision mimicked a fight-or-flight response, where the human mind automatically ignores anything not considered a threat. It wasn't fear that drove her actions though; a cousin to fear, yes, and likely built on a foundation of the fear of facing life without the man she loved. But there was no 'flight' consideration.

"C'mon babe, there's a private alley 'round back where we can get ta know each other better."

Dendric gave that grin again, and it took all of Evelyn's self-control to keep from punching him in the face. Instead, she followed him out the door, and around the left side of the building to a very dimly lit alleyway. The ground was strewn with bits of trash, puddles of unidentifiable liquids, and a few chunks of metal bars that looked like they'd been ripped out of someone's previously-secure window frame.

The drunk man immediately stepped in closer to her, close enough that she could smell the sour rank of his breath. Close enough that she fought the instinct to take a step back.

"Nobody else 'round now."

Evelyn nodded.

"I know."

As he leaned in with anticipation, she repeated the knee-to-the-groin maneuver that worked so well on the thief earlier that evening. This time, she pulled down on Dendric's shoulders as her knee drove up forcefully, adding to the leverage of the blow. It was a strike that would never win any points for creativity, but tended to be effective nonetheless, particularly when dealing with a human male opponent who wasn't expecting it.

"Oof! You frakkin' bit-"

She stepped back, putting space between the two of them as he bent over, cursing, and picked up one of the metal bars. It felt reassuringly solid.

"Let me jog your memory."

Dendric, still reeling from the groin blow, was straightening up and reaching for his blaster just as Evelyn swung the bar around, smashing it into his right kneecap. He howled and dropped to the ground. Her next blow was for the fingers still reaching for his blaster. She wasn't quite as accurate this time, hitting his wrist instead of fingers, but it seemed to have the intended effect; he clutched his wrist with the other, cursing up a blue streak at her. Inexperienced with combat as she was, Evelyn wasn't certain how to relieve him of the blaster, wary of stepping to close to the writhing form. It certainly appeared as though he wouldn't be drawing that blaster with a broken wrist, though.

"Three days ago, you shot my fiance."

Recognition finally sparked in Dendric's eyes, but he shook his head emphatically.

"Yer mad. I never shot nobody - but for crazy witches like you, maybe I'll make an exception -"

He reached for his blaster again, but her reactions were faster than they should've been for someone untrained in combat. It was as though time slowed down, the anger surging through her and lending her speed. The metal bar came down again; now both wrists were broken. For a moment, she wondered if she should feel sympaty, knew that she normally would feel pity for another being's pain.

He remembers. And he doesn't care. He's lying to my face.

Rage swallowed that empathetic impulse, and Evelyn brought her boot down on his wounded (perhaps broken) kneecap, grinding in the heel. Dendric howled, as Evelyn hissed through gritted teeth.

"Liar."

[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

The drink lived up to its reputation as a sleep aid. The three men started drooping after a minute or two of consuming the tihaar and in the bartender's favor, it was pretty strong, certainly cleared the nostrils. Nicair took the opportunity to remove his helmet and sip his juice, putting his feet up on one of the sleeping men. His scarred face drew some attention but he ignored most of it, shooing away the occasional onlooker by putting his hand on the blaster at his left hip. The juice was sweet and smooth, he relished it with a certain impatience. He was going to give Evelyn time to handle her business, might've even missed it all by this point, but he still didn't want to. The back alley was somewhat of house secret, people used it for less than noble purposes, granted the bartender liked it when people handle their business outside the bar, but any excess foot traffic and suddenly it loses its purpose, no more... promiscuous business. One to two people at a time going out the back door might not be noticed, but a steady stream draws some attention. Nicair didn't really care but his contact here did, he wasn't working at the moment, but he had high stakes.

One of the men asleep began the troublesome process of awaking. He groggily processed where was. Nicair grinned.

"Oh good, you're awake. See that group of guys over there? The guy in the blue? He and his buddies were talking bad about you three."

"R'ly? Less go get 'em man!"

"No no, you got this one man. Trust me, I know a fighter when I see one." The man pounded on the table to hype himself up, mumbling to himself and nodding haphazardly. Nicair raised his glass in a toast as the man began walking away. "To the dwindling intelligence of street criminals." He finished the drink and threw the glass at the nearest person. Upon the man turning around in an angry huff the Mandalorian pointed towards the now fight beginning to break out, raising his eyebrows as he did so. The man took this as fact and rounded up his own posse to join the fray. Nicair sighted and kicked the sleeping man/leg rest off the table into his companion and stood up. He deftly picked up his helmet and crisscrossed his way through the erupting bar fight. He used his helmet as a bludgeon before putting it on as someone made the mistake of approaching him in his walk for the rear exit.

He opened the door into the alleyway at around the time the man known as Dendric began his howl over a boot pressing into his kneecap. With as much subtlety as he could muster he closed the door and watched the events unfold, taking notes in his head.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

"His name was Vier. He was a good man. And it's your fault he's gone."

Evelyn's words came out short, clipped, and as something resembling more of a growl than normal human speech. Dendric was squirming on the ground now, trying to roll away from her as she applied pressure to the damaged joint. He seemed to have forgotten about the blaster still attached to his hip; while there was little doubt he and his group of friends were gang members, they didn't appear to be the most sophisticated bunch when it came to tactics.

"Get off, for the love of the gods get off, lemme go you crazy-"

His pleading and curses mixed with yelps as she pushed down harder. She should have felt pity, or at the very least, disgust for the way his bones were shifting under her foot. But all she felt was pain of her own, pain at what was lost - and anger at the man responsible.

"Shut up."

Without thinking, she brought the metal bar down him again, this time catching Dendric full in the mouth. His lip split and several teeth dislodged as his head snapped back against the ground. He lay still there for a long moment - then hacked to spit out the blood.

The momentary silence was enough for her to notice a shadow cast on the ground from behind, and Evelyn half-turned, improvised weapon still in hand, and met Nicair's helmeted gaze. Her own hazel eyes were blazing, full of raw emotion.
[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

"Don't stop on my account." The man broke from his lean and started slowly walking towards the two figures. He didn't search the area with his eyes like he usually would have, this time he kept them on Evelyn. He left most of the action inside.

"If you're looking for advice I say start grinding with the toes first. Start with the toes then work your way to your heel, nice and slow. People who give massages with their feet do it to stretch out client's vertebrae. Figure it transfers." Nicair cocked his head to the side as he walked out of curiosity. She hadn't killed him yet. Seemed like she most certainly wanted to. Maybe she wanted to savor the moment, killing out of revenge can be oh so much sweeter when blessed with a confession or apology. Torture can get that right out of someone. He didn't blame or judge her for it, he often did more than was necessary himself. He was simply surprised by this woman, who didn't overall look dangerous, acting out on her darker impulses with such efficiency.

When I do people expect it. Face it, you're a cliche. True that that might be, the woman looking at him with burning eyes wasn't. And that's just what he needed.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

"If you're looking for advice I say start grinding with the toes first. Start with the toes then work your way to your heel, nice and slow. People who give massages with their feet do it to stretch out client's vertebrae. Figure it transfers."

The Mandalorian's casual advice on inflicting pain made Evelyn blink, as though disorientated. The rage, and heightened senses that seemed to come with it, ebbed and flowed in a confusing emotional roller coaster that left her reeling.

"I . . . I'm not like that - "

As she started to speak, Dendric rolled to his side, unable to stand. Panic-fueled desire for survival could be a hell of a drug, and somehow, he managed to curl swelling fingers around the pistol grip of his blaster. As he drew it, Evelyn caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned rapidly, flinging out her arm and the metal bar; it caught the barrel of the blaster, knocking it to the side just as Dendric squeezed the trigger. The bolt scorched into the wall and ricocheted just past Nicair into the street, which was fortunately empty.

He just shot at me.

The semi-shocked realization lasted only a half-second, and unfortunately for Dendric, his last-ditch attack served to send a new wave of fear and anger coursing through the young woman's body. Her fight or flight reaction seemed to be glitched to register only one of the two options, and this time, there was no hesitation as she brought the bar down over his head, hard. The blaster dropped from his grip.

"Ugh . . . please . . ."

His eyes were unfocused as they met hers. Pleading.

Like Vier's. Confused, pleading for help . . . and I couldn't do anything but watch him fall.

Guilt, rage, and pain melded together, and Evelyn instinctively reached for the only outlet at hand for the emotions. She brought the blunt weapon down on Dendric's skull a second time. Then a third. And a fourth. For a few seconds, all she saw was red, all she felt was rage.

Then, as quickly as it consumed her, it dissipated, and she found herself staring at the sunken remains of Dendric's head. The bloody metal bar dropped to the ground with a clatter, and Evelyn turned away quickly, breathing hard, and fighting back nausea.

Her whole body was trembling.

What have I done?



[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

Nicair didn't really know what to think of the scene before him. On the one hand she had killed him, which would need to be addressed eventually. On the other she did it in a fairly spectacular way. He was never really the one to guide someone through the aftermath of their first kill; though, whenever he was around someone who got their first notch, it was usually in the middle of combat and everything was moving too fast to really register until later. By that time he was usually avoiding them, had already gone his own way, or was celebrating with the rest of the warriors. Even when all that didn't help the poor sod from thinking too hard about the day and Nicair was the one they turned to for whatever reason, getting a Mandalorian through it was fairly different than someone else. In a nutshell he didn't really know what to do in the area of her reaction. He did know that eventually someone was going to find the body and all the complications that went along with that.

His first thought became whether or not someone was going to come through the door as well as the fact that there really wasn't anything to stop that from happening. He groaned as he started his half jog towards the woman. One similarity that this situation had with combat was that he had to keep her moving and take her eyes off the body. It was doubtful she'd be forgetting this anytime soon so there was no reason to live it up now. Fortunately she had already turned away and shaking visibly was sort of like moving, it'd have to work while he wiped the pipe of any of her residual DNA. He put the pipe down gently to avoid making anymore noise, that blaster bolt was going to attract some attention even at this very late or very early hour. He could just leave, nothing was keeping him here. There was nothing to indicate she had done it. Nothing that wasn't circumstantial at least. Wasn't his problem, a lot of things die on Coruscant, thus, a lot of things kill. In the grand scheme of things this was no more important than the next one.

The Mandalorian almost turned and walked away when something glinted in the dim light. The ring he had noticed before. Only one that can incite such rage, and he knew it all too well. He gritted his teeth and circled around to where he was standing in front of Evelyn, he had to lower himself so that their heads were on the same level.

"Evelyn look at me. We need to go, now. Keep walking, if you're going to throw up do it away from me. Yes?"

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

"Evelyn look at me. We need to go, now. Keep walking, if you're going to throw up do it away from me. Yes?"

Hazel eyes stared somewhat dazedly into the eye-slits of his helmet. She knew he was talking her, but the words sounded muted, as though she were trying to hear underwater. Everything was muted, actually. She felt detached, disconnected.

He repeated something, and she nodded her head automatically. As he turned and started walking, her feet reciprocated by moving forward. The nausea was fading, but she was still shaking. She looked down and saw the blood spatter all over her hands - the diamond on her left hand still sparkling through the crimson. She shuddered and took a deep breath, a half-sob.

She'd murdered a man. Bludgeoned his head in until he barely resembled a human with a rage she scarcely recognized. But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that when she was giving in to that rage, channeling it into action, it felt . . . good.

And that terrified Evelyn. She didn't understand the Forces she was inadvertently tapping into, nor could she fathom their consequences.

They walked initially in silence; the forward momentum kept her from collapsing in on herself, from breaking down over what just occurred. Her mind went into a defensive cocoon, blanking out to protect itself from the self-inflicted trauma.

After a few minutes, however, that haze started to fade away.

"I killed him."

The words were soft, half-disbelieving, and she was disgusted at the barest hint of satisfaction that registered as well. The blood-spattered young woman spoke more to herself than Nicair, as though testing the idea aloud.

[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

"I killed him."

Nicair was only half paying attention as he weaved through the streets, crisscrossed, and doubled back a couple times. He didn't think they were being followed but it never hurt to play pretend. Fortunately the streets were mostly empty by now and the closer they got to their destination the more so they'd become, it was why he picked the location, filled with recluses. He kept his head moving, used the infrared setting of his helmet for more definition, a bright orange in a field of dark blue was easier to see when he didn't stop long enough to register what it was. Usually he liked to look with his own eyes, but in this case he just needed to see if anything was there. Mostly it was to make himself look busy and distracted, he didn't know what to say that would be appropriate to the situation. Didn't know why he cared about the social norms of conversation at the moment anyway. He generally knew, however, not to trust his first thought which was to say something along the lines of "Good for you." or "Yeah and it was a good one."

"Yes. You did."

His small apartment was just ahead. It wasn't so much an apartment as a living quarters, only really had the bare necessities. Yes, the simple bear necessities. He livened it up by getting a couch, stealing was more the correct term, or, confiscation of contraband. Somebody had died on it. He had killed them. It was clean though, relatively. He held out an arm to the side to slow Evelyn in case she was getting lost in the hustle. The door opened automatically at his approach, he had a slicer hack the door system to only open when it received a signal from his helmet so he knew it'd be clear. Wasn't sure what he was going to do when moved away. Did he have to pay the landlord for upgrading the nonexistent security?

"Go inside and take a minute. I'll be out here, make sure nobody tailed us. Bloody hands is kind of a tell."

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Wordlessly, Evelyn stepped past him into the small apartment. Mostly empty, a couch that looked as though it had seen better days. She glanced down at her hands again, at the blood still drying on them, and stepped over to the sink. What she really wanted was to get in the 'fresher and stay there forever . . . until she felt clean. But even as disconnected as she felt, stripping down in a stranger's apartment without knowing his intentions remained an instinctive red flag when it came to risky behavior.

Instead, she opted for turning the water in the sink as hot as it would go, and scrubbing her hands. A few more pumps of soap, and she repeated the process. Then a third time. The numbness was starting to wear off now, and in its place came exhaustion, both physical and mental. The young woman dried her hands, and half-collapsed onto the couch.

That wet crunch, as his skull gave way under the metal rod . . . blood everywhere, mixed with bits of bone and grey matter . . .

Abruptly, she stood up again, and lurched over to the toilet. As she was rinsing her mouth out after, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Hair greasy, smaller specks of red dotted here and there around her neck. Eyes haunted and starting to fill with a rising panic.

I murdered a man in cold blood, Vier's dead, everything is falling apart . . .

She took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled, still staring at herself in the mirror.

Hold it together, Evie. You can't lose it here, in a Mandalorian's apartment. Keep. It. Together.

She heard the door open again, and half-cocked her head to see Nicair re-enter. Realizing she'd been gripping the edges of the sink so hard that her knuckles were turning white, she released it and turned to face him.

Focus on evaluating the threat here first. Fall apart later.

"Why did you bring me here?"

[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

The hard question arrived. Why not try the truth?

"Your husband's dead isn't he? Don't answer, I know. That was revenge, pure and simple. The overkill, the fact that it tore you away from drinking, your sudden ability to manipulate the situation to get him alone. Yet you're no killer. The bar's supposed to be called battlefield for a reason, gangs like to meet there. To be more precise, they meet inside, get a little alcohol in them, then settle things outside. Hence the blaster marks. It's usually nothing big, a "peaceful" way to settle beef between individual members. The back alley is usually a neutral zone. You broke that. They don't normally exhibit large amounts of intellect but they can find you. You die, it's over. Boring. It might take them a little while to figure out you did it, but once they do you'll be a magnet. I'm willing to stand between them and you. Not boring."

Nicair ended his little speech by taking a seat on the couch, he wasn't wearing his jetpack so he was able to get a full lean into the cushion. In terms of comfort it left much to be desired but it was free at the time, and it reminded him of a happy event. He draped one arm over the top and kept his eyes on Evelyn. She looked like hell, but he knew better than to say that. Normally he wouldn't compromise his position with someone he just met, but she looked like she was headed straight for a crash, all he had to do was wait.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Evelyn was silent for several moments, slowly absorbing Nicair's answer. It was more detail than she'd expected given his previous reticence. Then again, she hadn't been particularly chatty either.

He's helping me because he doesn't like being bored?

It wasn't a particularly ringing endorsement, nor did it inspire confidence in his intentions. But exhaustion was setting deeper now, as Evelyn's body deciding that shutting down was preferable to sorting through the consequences of what just occurred. That, and even if she seemed strangely capable of reacting in spite of the amount of alcohol she'd ingested that evening, the chemical was a depressant nonetheless, and the buzz at this point was fading as the first rays of sunlight started creeping over the horizon.

Maybe the Mandalorian's dislike of boredom was enough - for now. The knowledge that 'they' (whoever 'they' were) might be tracking her was disconcerting, to say the least, but her emotional resources were sapped low enough that she couldn't quite muster enough energy to panic.

So she just nodded, as though sheltering murderer was a perfectly normal reaction to boredom.

"Fair enough . . ."

Evelyn eyed him carefully. Struggling against the urge to simply collapse onto the couch and let sleep take her away from reality for a few hours.

Maybe it's all just a nightmare anyways . . .

"I'm not a killer. I don't know . . .I don't really know what happened, back there. But thank you."

She avoided following that line of thought any further, unwilling to risk dipping her toe back into the deep sense of panic and confusion that accompanied it. A pause, then, feeling rather silly but needing some sign to let down her guard, she asked,

"Ok if I rest here? Just for a few hours."

OOC: Posted on my tablet, so no fun color options.


[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

OOC: No problem at all. I will admit I probably should have mention his weaponry before now, but oh well.

"Bed's all yours. Maybe they weren't aligned and all this will blow over." The words were distant, he didn't put much weight behind them, his worst case scenario, probably her best. He nodded his head to the small bed set in an adjacent niche in the wall. It was probably more along the lines of a cot, he had put some fur of something he couldn't remember down for some level of comfort. Nicair got up and walked to the mini fridge set on the counter. This was his own. Lightweight enough to carry, easy to transport in a hurry, keeps your food fresh. He had his hand on a tall and relatively slim metal can. It was stimcaf, he only drank it if it was necessary and nothing else was around, he didn't like being "on" something. He stopped as he looked over at Evelyn.

She probably won't kill me in my sleep. The man took his hand out and closed the door, walking back to the couch. The one thing he did like about the furniture was that the arms were sloped to conform to the bend of a neck, less sore when he woke up. He removed his helmet and placed it on the floor and placed his tomahawk and beskad underneath the cushion. He then laid down on the couch, his head at the far end facing the bed. He put his hands on his stomach and turned his head to the right, exposing the claw-like scars on the left side of his face. Scars are intimidating, mostly, or gross. He hoped the former would dissuade any attacks while he slept.

"You can stay so long as you don't try and kill me."

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]

 

[Evelyn Roslin]

Evelyn watched with equal wariness, as he settled down onto the couch, tucking weapons underneath his pillow. Hazel eyes focused on him, taking in his features without the helmet. The scars weren't going to win him any pretty-boy awards, but they inspired more empathy than fear or disgust in her. She'd been on enough convoys hit by explosive devices and ambushes that the sight of a few scars was far less disconcerting than missing limbs entirely. Even so - whatever clawed him, it looked like it had hurt.

Tired as she was, she couldn't keep back a laugh at his words.

"I doubt I'm much of a threat to anyone."

But you are. You killed a man tonight. Bashed his brains all over the ground. No wonder he's wary of you - what kind of person does that?

The smile disappeared from her face, and she turned away from him on the bed, curling into a half-fetal position.

I'm a good person.

But even in her own head, she sounded uncertain. Better to let sleep take hold, and pray that her exhaustion was deep enough to ward off any dreams. It didn't take long at all for her to pass out cold on the cot.

Several hours passed, before the young woman started to rouse. The first thing she became aware of was how thirsty she was. The second, was that it felt like someone had pounded the inside of her skull with a hammer. And the third, as she instinctively reached out her arm for Vier . . . the third was the weight of reality, and the memory of what happened the night before, crushing down on top of the hangover.

"Gods . . . "

She muttered, along with a few choice curses. All she really wanted to do was close her eyes again and try to avoid it all, but the sense of movement nearby, and Nicair's presence, prompted her to sit up. She felt like poodoo, and had a strong suspicion that she didn't look any better.

Well, I slept here without him assaulting me . . . may as well push my luck.

"Have a 'fresher I can use?"

If she was going to be killed by some kind of boredom-avoiding Mandalorian warrior, she'd rather at least resemble a human first.



[member="Nicair Claden"]

 

[Nicair Claden]

The man hadn't been up for very long before Evelyn woke up. He took the opportunity to clean himself and had trimmed his stubble into a goatee, it wasn't much by this point but as most people didn't see it he really didn't care. It seemed she had noticed his movements, he didn't like people seeing him without his armor, she'd really only get a look at his chest as he already had his legs back in his "skin". His armor did its purpose of protection, but it was made from eukar instead of the highly sought after beskar. It was fairly standard make, nothing really personalized, the horns had been added for self expression. Nicair could barely have been described as making it himself, he more pointed at what he wanted and received the armor later. He was here to find a criminal group to "donate" credits to the purchasing of materials for his forging interests. But that was neither here nor there at the moment.

His body had held up well for his origins, there weren't many scars adorning his chest or back, a couple on his forearms but nothing to brag about. He was putting on the rest of his "skin" when she rose from the bed. Upon his wrist was an ugly scar, he was quick to cover it.

"In the bathroom, put your foot down on the corner tile to your left. I had a false wall put in. Can't be too careful." The wall was partly there for privacy's sake. Even though he didn't ever have company, there still wasn't an actual door into the bathroom. There were lights and there was a mirror inside the "room" for almost 360 sight. He liked to be able to see what scars he did have, it reminded him why he was what he was. For others it could be used for personal admiration.

[member="Evelyn Roslin"]