Worst Impressions

[Vittore Montegue]

Aww shit, buddy boy; you done screwed things up real good this time.

He tried real hard, but he couldn't quite stop the grunt that tumbled from his lungs as the blaster rifle stock collided with the side of his jaw. He followed it up with muttered laugh, teasing at the fresh coppery-tasting chasm the impact had opened in his cheek, mustering up just enough blood and saliva to launch a satisfyingly crimson spitball out onto the motel carpet.

Yeah, his mind muttered defiantly. You're gonna have to pay extra to get that cleaned, y' ungrateful bitch.

He turned his attention to the bulky rancor of a man attached by beefy arms to the rifle that kept getting way too friendly with his face, and flashed a set of blood-tinted teeth in a broad grin. "Listen, ladies," he said, with a flirtatious twitch of his eyebrows towards what he was assuming was a male Klatooinian, but then who the fuck could tell with a face like that?

His gaze shifted to the far prettier, and far more recognisably female occupant of the dull and dreary but surprisingly not grunge-infested motel room. On any other world, this would probably have seemed quite pleasant, were it not for the fact that one, this planet's atmosphere filtered out too much natural light for human eyes to register anything but dull and desaturated colours; and two, pretty much everything on this damned planet smelt vaguely of burned toast and ozone, which was really starting to get on his nerves.

"You have this all wrong. How about we start over, get rid a' the ugly stepsisters, an' you and I reintroduce ourselves over room service an' body shots?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie liked her getaways from the arse end of no where that was the Hoth's Brand system. Liked them so much that whenever something inevitability went wrong it sapped basically any hope of fun right out of the equation. She could ignore the guards that were imposed on her, could ignore the fact the nearest planet that wasn't an entire mining colony was really just a piece of dren, could even ignore the fact that Xavier had - once again - chosen to stay behind to keep their company running. What she couldn't forgive, was the fact security had caught an armed man wandering around in her supposedly secured area when she was trying to relax.

A soft sigh left her as she leaned against the table behind her, her hands gently drumming it's surface as a predatory smirk slowly formed. She had to admit that it had been fun to watch her two thugs drag the man in already bloody and throw him into the chair he now occupied. Not enough entertainment to really make up for the mishap, but amusing regardless.

"No no, I'm afraid the stepsisters aren't allowed to leave me alone in rooms with strange men anymore." Emelie paused to eye the man, a small shake of head let her brush away any lingering nostalgic feelings that came with hearing a loud mouth guy making the best of a bad situation. "It's one of those bad for business type things, you understand."

Her hands raised off the table's edge as one crossed over her chest, letting the other prop up so a fingertip could tap the side of her lips as she studied him. "So, how about you get to the introductions and explaining what the hell you were doing? Or, well really, going to do I guess would be the more helpful information at this point."

[Vittore Montegue]

That's one hell of a shame, he mused, allowing his inappropriate gaze to linger on Emelie plenty long enough for her to be aware of it. A whole swathe of inappropriate comments about the kind of business they could get up to together sprung readily to mind, but in a rare lapse into better judgement, he kept them at bay, for now.

Instead he laughed; not the same dismissive laugh as earlier, but the kind of half-embarrassed laughter of a man caught in an awkward situation. Appropriate really, all things considered.

"It's a funny story, actually," he assured, turning his attention to the second thug; equally ugly, though this time because of the bug eyes and the sucker face that belonged more on the critters he'd seen crawling on sewage heaps than on the head of a sentient being. He scrutinised it's features, trying to set aside his knee-jerk human interpretation to read the Rodian tells and facial ticks that his father had drilled into him as a child. Either it was sneering, or it was gassy; not quite what he was hoping to see.

He sighed theatrically, and turned his gaze back to Emelie; his eyeballs thanked him profusely for doing so, and he mustered what he hoped would translate as a charming smile. Truth is, I'm a bounty hunter... pretty famous one, actually." His head cocked smugly. "Name's Montegue. Vittore Montegue."

His eyes roamed the room again, searching for flickers of recognition. "No? Nothin'? You guys bin livin' under a rock or somethin'?"

His face shrugged into a mix or mild disappointment and general disinterest. "Well anyway, I'm here on a job. There's someone on this planet that my employer is willin' to pay a lot of money to have me kill -"

He trailed off, the mirth gone from his expression, stoic steel in his eyes instead. "- problem is, Miss Shadowstar, your goons here snagged me before I could work out who the hell it is. Which means you, especially, are royally screwed."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

It wasn't quite a heh, not quite a humph, more just a short amused sound that left from behind closed lips that was offered in reply to the whole thing. Emelie had never been one to hold back whatever was in her mind and the forethought comment came tumbling out.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Emelie had to admit the thought of a bounty hunter being around was less than desirable. Sure, she'd done her fair stint at one point with the gig but it always ended badly for someone and really at the end of the day smuggling had proven less hazardous to her health. All things considered it really had turned out for the best in the end. However, as fate would always have it, leaving the life didn't meant it left you. Vittore wasn't the first who had 'come a callin' over the years and Emelie was a damn fool if she believed he'd be the last. But really something with his explanation didn't make a bit of sense - sent on a job without knowing who you were there to collect with? Bad form...

"So tell me, Mr. Montegue." A small laugh left her as she took a step towards him. "Is that supposed to frighten me?"

[Vittore Montegue]

"Aww, lady," Vittore countered, reacting to her laugh with a grin. "I don't give a womprat's ass if y'frightened or not. I do, however, give a damn about whether you end up dead or not, 'cause y'see -"

He chuckled. The irony of this situation was beyond hilarious if you could manage to step back and appreciate it.

"- the guy I'm after? He's a hunter too. Only, you're his target -" He offered a flirty flick of his eyebrows. "- and my employer wants me to off him before he offs you."

He hesitated.

"Well, would prefer. Pretty sure I get paid either way."

He rolled his neck, cartilage popping and cracking in protest. Casually, he flexed the muscles in his forearms; tested the resilience of the restraints with which he'd been tied. Though ugly as all hell, Shadowstar's guards apparently knew what they were doing; odds were the chair would give out before the restraints did. O'course, that wasn't necessarily a problem; if the rest of the motel was anything to go by, the chair wouldn't need all that much punishment to smash his way out.

"So how about it?" he asked, attention back on Emelie. "You gonna let me outta this chair so I can save your ass and be on my merry, or am I gonna have t' just sit here and wait until the other hunter makes his move, an' bust my way out while your sweet ass is gettin' dead?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Always with the threats with these guys. If they weren't threatening to kill you they were threatening to fail to stop someone else from doing it. Not that she hadn't exactly been asking for it lately. You didn't get out of a casino job gone horribly wrong with your life and not expect someone to eventually come for repayment of some form - and that was only her most recent exploit. It wasn't exactly surprising to find out that someone had been hired to deal with the little problem that was Emelie Shadowstar, it was more of the kicker that Vittore was there to apparently stop it from happening. More to the point was the million credit question of Who The Frak Hired Him? That was what caught her most about the whole thing. If Xavier had known he would have just dealt with the problem himself, and really that was about the only guy Emelie could see giving any sort of care towards her well being. So what gives?

"Right... And I guess you aint giving up who it is that's trying to make you my little guardian angel?"

Emelie rolled her eyes as she took another step forward coming to a stop dangerously close to the self-proclaimed bounty hunter of the hunters. Well, dangerous if he hadn't been tied up.

"They didn't tell you a lot of good, either." She bent down so her eyes were on level with his, hand on her hip, the other lingering in the air as if ready to either hit him or reach for something if he tried anything. "See, I take care of myself. Your employer should know that if they've been keeping tabs enough to know someone's after me in the first place. But I do have to admit... you've got me curious."

She straightened up and took a step back once more, nodding to one of the guards to untie their guest.

[Vittore Montegue]

"Oh, they told me plenty," Vittore muttered, watching as the Klatooinian sawed clumsily through the bindings with a knife that didn't look all that hygienic. He shot him or her a tight-lipped smile, massaging at where the restraints had dug into his skin.

Slowly he stood; rather than advancing he kicked the chair out from behind him and retreated a cautious step. The guards were still enough to hurt him if they set their minds to it, but at least they were in front of him now; all the potential dangers in one nice neat little field of vision. He rolled his shoulders; let his arms fall to his sides.

"My employer told me exactly what I'm huntin'." A knowing look and knowing smile tugged at his expression. "Problem is, in my line a' work, what and who ain't always the same thing."

Another two steps backwards brought him to the wall; a bad place to be if you were planning on escaping, but not all that much of a problem if all you were looking to do was casually lean against something. Besides, every extra inch of space he could get between him and the goons made him feel a whole hell of a lot more comfortable.

"You must a' really pissed somebody off," he explained, with a tone that almost sounded impressed. "Hirin' a shapeshifter ain't exactly cheap."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"I do seem to have that effect on people. Well, some of them.Others, however..." She avoided the urge to make some sort of coquettish expression at the bounty hunter, for once deciding that it probably wasn't the best timing. It didn't stop her entirely, a wink escaped before she could reign back everything though.

The wink did however serve as just about the only warning before her hands dropped to her sides and the almost-too-short a dress she wore actually showed there was a genuine purpose to it's lack of length. Okay, so Emelie would be the first to admit it was an excuse more than a reason, but there really were only so many ways one could conceal a pair of blasters, having them at arm's reach was certainly a reassuring thing and damned if having a pistol - never the less two of them - strapped to your thigh didn't just make you walk like you were a slightly bit more of a badass.

Whatever the reasoning, their placement allowed Emelie easy access to the twin Relby-k23s that, while weren't nearly as pretty as her favored blasters, were definitely smaller and had that added fun of hurting like a son of a bitch when you got shot with one. All things considered the sane approach probably would have been to aim both barrels right at Vittore, him being the odd man out, but the word shapeshifter had gone and thrown a big wrench into the works. Which then left with one pointed squarely at the bounty hunter's chest while the other hovered somewhere between the two thugs. Times like this she almost wish she had a third arm.

"You know, nothing is worse than that feeling of needing a vacation from your vacation."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore mustered a smirk. "I know the feeling."

For a split second, Vittore remained propped up against the wall, casually disinterested at the fact that there was a gun aimed at him. If anything, he seemed to be contemplating the other things Emelie Shadowstar had lurking under her dress. And then everything changed.

With a sudden snap movement of his arms, the two thugs hurtled across the room towards each other, slamming together with an unpleasant crunch. Big and burly, the impact wasn't enough to do any damage, but it bought the hunter the time he needed; by the time they staggered backwards from each other, Vittore's arm was already sweeping forward for an invisible strike, the Force swelling up around him like a tidal wave that stampeded through the room and smashed straight into Emelie.

The hunter didn't hesitate for an instant; his hand grabbed the nearest thug's wrist, his other braced at the elbow, and with a precision wrench shattered the Klatooinian's forearm in half. The blaster rifle was ripped from his arm by pain, and the hunter caught it; a precision point-blank shot delivered into the skulls of Shadowstar's alleged protection.

The bodies crumpled to the ground; behind them he stood calmly, blaster rifle levelled square at his target's head. He cracked his neck, his skin rippling a sickly shade of green.

"Okay, so maybe I forgot to mention that the shapeshifter is also a Force user," he admitted, off hand. "And that he's me."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Okay...
So...
She hadn't been expecting that.

Emelie silently cursed herself as she tried to at least marginally pick herself up from where the Force user had seen fit to fling her to. Gods above did she hate these fucking guys. You get some sort of fancy bugs in your system and suddenly you're a god while everyone else has to go about doing things the hard way. It didn't help that her last memories of these bastards involved a hand around her throat and a vibroblade. Of course, that had been before Xavier had seen fit to give the guy some new cranial ventilation. This time, however...?

"You want some sort of award for that performance, I'm guessing?" Her eyes raised to see the blaster aimed at her and sure enough she glanced to the side to see that hers had been knocked in that realm of too damn far to do any good. "Oh sweetie, if you wanted me so bad you could have just said something. I'm afraid my days of giving in to the guy with the gun are long over."

[Vittore Montegue]

"Oh," the shifter replied, a predatory curl forming at the edges of his lips. "By all means -"

He kept the blaster trained on his prey with, but it was with the kind of reckless disregard of someone who knew he really didn't need it. His other hand stretched towards her in a slow, strained motion as if forcing it's way through water; his fingers curled into a claw and the Force followed suit, wrapping itself around Emelie's body. A sudden surge of motion and the Force shoved her backwards, pinning her against the wall. There was almost a hunger in the shifter's eyes as his fingers slowly spread, his powers insisting that Emelie's arms do the same.

"- struggle as much as you want."

His eyes changed, no longer the deep green of the man he'd impersonated, but instead a sickly shade of yellow. His gaze roamed up and down Emelie, studying what her clothes did very little to conceal. His tongue snaked idly across his bottom lip.

"It'll make things so much more fun."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

If there was one thing Emelie had learned growing up it was the ability to hide when she was downright terrified of something. Not that she didn't have a tell, everyone who knew her well enough knew what a hand tangled around a stand of hair meant or that face she pulled when she was biting the inside of her lip, but the worst of all was that she never really had learned how to keep her mouth shut.

"Been there, done that. Sorry hon but maybe if you hadn't decided to start showing your true colors." A soft sigh pass from her lips before they formed a pout. "I can't say I'm particularly looking forward to what you've currently got going being the last thing I'll ever see."

While her brain was managing to spit out her usual defensive rhetoric it also was in the process of trying to figure out exactly how the hell she was going to get out of this one. A sharp tug to one side produced absolutely zero results and she did have to admit the rather vulnerable position she was in wasn't nearly as entertaining as she might have found it if she wasn't being held in place by unseen Force hoodoo. Panic hadn't quite set in, but it was starting to gently whisper warnings about how this was going to end. Which really only left the question of how long it was going to take and if the shapeshifter's boss cared what sort of shape she was in when the job was done. And to think, she'd left Coruscant's underworld to get away from this sort of dren.

[Vittore Montegue]

"Then I'm afraid you'll be going to the afterlife disappointed," he sneered, stalking forward half a pace.

"Now," he continued; a flick of his wrist and the sound of a hem being slowly torn filled the motel room. "How about we get rid of that dr-"

However that sentence ended, Emelie didn't get a chance to hear it: the crash of the door being blasted off it's tracks and thrown half-way across the room did a pretty good job of drowning that out. The shifter turned, his concentration disrupted just enough to allow Emelie to slide back down the wall and onto her feet, the blaster slowly sweeping around towards the door.

His reaction was too slow though: haloed by smoke and dingy natural light, a figure strode through the door with a slugthrower in hand. His shot wasn't fancy, he didn't aim for a headshot, or for the gun, or anything wasteful like that: just three simple shots with a tight grouping, square in the shapeshifter's chest. It staggered, the twisted remnant of Vittore Montegue's face rippling and contorting in a sickening fashion as the neurotoxin in the custom rounds seeped into his bloodstream. Nerve endings fired, kicking off seizures; the blaster tumbled from his grip and, blue-green foam bubbling at the corner of his mouth, the shifter collapsed to the floor.

Vittore curled his nose at the unsettling sight of watching his face melt off some monstrous freak creature; he allowed himself a brief moment to collect his wits before sweeping the room, noting the two dead guards and the -

He hesitated. Blinked. Stunningly beautiful broad backed up against the wall, his brain finished helpfully. She seemed to be staring at him pretty intently, which under ordinary circumstances was something he more than welcomed form attractive women; but given the circumstances it probably wasn't the kind of signal he was hoping for.

His brow furrowed into a frown. "Well, this is awkward," he muttered, stepping over towards the downed shifter to hoof the blaster clear, just in case.

His frown deepened, the confusion more than evident. "I'm sorry... who are you?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

As with any time Emelie was faced with that particular question an entire dictionary's worth of aliases began springing to mind. What was different was the fact none of then wanted to stick with her long enough to force it's way to speech. It shouldn't have been a difficult thing, but the entire almost having all sorts of unpleasantness inflicted upon her by a damn face-stealing bounty hunter had rattled her enough that even the name she'd given to the hotel when she had checked in was now a complete loss to her.

"Emelie." She knew it was bad when her actual name sounded funny to her, and so she found herself starting to instead come up with a rather creative and colorful list of expletives to assign to the guy on the floor.

A hand absentmindedly ran along her other arm as she found herself torn between wanting to physically kick the shapeshifter or mentally kick herself for the complete frak up. Her instincts had told her to space the guy when he'd been in the chair but nooooo, she had to go and get all cocky about it. It wasn't that Emelie was really angry with herself, it was that other bit about the future decision she would have to make whether to omit this little story when she came back and was asked how her trip had been. It certainly was going to be a lot harder with her two guards having been turned into two corpses. Something about 'Oh yes dear, I had a wonderful time being assaulted by some Force-using piece of go-se that was hired to off me.' seemed like it would do little to ease the mind of her parter.

There really was only one way to react to a situation this druked up. Emelie crossed the room, retrieved one of her blasters, stepped over the two dead bodies, kept an eye on the live one and the questionable one, and immediately went for the rather pricy bottle of Membrosia and poured herself a glass. It was half downed before she could even stand to reacknowledge the guy who seemingly saved her life.

She gestured to the downed bounty hunter with the glass. "Don't suppose he was using your name as well as your likeness? Said he was Vittore Montegue or some dren. Let's get that squared away and then you can begin to enlighten me on what the frak is going on here?"

[Vittore Montegue]

"Yeah, that's m'name," Vittore muttered, his attention still mostly focused on the identity-stealing ass clown on the floor.

This was the part of the job he hated. Saving people, hunting things? That stuff was all fine and dandy. Fun, even; therapeutic. There was something deeply satisfying about being able to wrap all your rage and anger around yourself and use it to club the life out of the kinds of unnatural freaks and monsters that shattered your comprehension of the universe.

Take this guy, or girl, whatever; it was a Clawdite, some freaky-as-shit offshoot of the natives on Zolan. They'd been regular old reptile people back in antiquity, but something had gone screwy with their sun, and they'd experimented on themselves, tried to adapt to survive it. The result was lying on the floor in front of him: a race of people who could shift their faces to hide what they were. Most Clawdites weren't good enough to mimic anyone specific: most Clawdite crooks just used it to mask their race and throw off law enforcement during pursuits, to blend into crowds, and that sort of thing. With practice though, and maybe a few medical tweaks here and there, some of them could mimic real people with alarming accuracy.

Vittore's skin crawled as he wondered just how intimate the Clawdite had needed to get to him in order to manage such an eerie recreation. He shuddered. Probably wouldn't be getting any more lap dances any time soon.

He turned, attention returning to the girl. The wasn't always a girl, wasn't always a damsel in distress, but he usually enjoyed those jobs; particularly when the damsel had a decent set of perks. But something felt different about this one. The girl wasn't freaking out, screaming, clinging to him, or any of the usual stuff. Okay so sure, he looked like the guy that had just tried to... whatever. But even so, the door thing had been pretty badass, and chicks usually digged that stuff.

He gave her a scrutinising glance; weighed up the evidence, alongside the two wasted thugs decorating the carpet. She looked tough, and threw off a kinda kickass smuggler vibe, but the guards suggested that she probably pulled in more creds than the average spacer. That meant she was either pulling in a decent amount of creds on her own, or was related to someone who was - that made her either a gunrunner, a spice runner, or some kinda interstellar mobster's wife or daughter. He hoped one of the former; last time he'd got entangled with the mob, the guy hadn't been all that happy with the stuff he'd wound up doing to his wife.

Or to his daughter.

He looked down at the slugthrower in his hands, and after a moment of contemplation flipped it around, gripping the barrel so that he could extend it non-threateningly in Emelie's direction. "This thing's loaded with special rounds," he explained. "You saw what it did to the guy; fries their motor neurons, and disrupts the stuff that lets his skin go all changey. Won't kill a shifter, unless you leave 'em to bleed out long enough, but it'll subdue one long enough for you to think of something else."

He hesitated. "You ever get suspicious that I might be one, you pop a slug in me to prove I ain't." His brow tugged again, considering what he was suggesting now that he'd said it out loud. "Just... make sure it's in the leg, okay?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

An eyebrow raised as she reached out and slowly accepted the pistol, every nerve felt like it was ready to fire off some sort of retaliation just in case this one was conning her like the last and was just waiting for her to get close enough to make a play. It felt better to have at least something she supposedly saw work in one hand and the drink in the other. Another sip was taken from the glass before she let out a deep sigh and looked back at the two dead bodyguards.

"Vos, now I gotta cough up the final check to someone else. So many forms to fill out, not even my gorram idea." She took another drink before she eyed the apparently real Vittore. "Corporate Business. It's murder."

Emelie almost managed to keep the deadpan look but it cracked for one of those smiles that pretty much damned her to The Void, not that she hadn't done enough in her lifetime to earn herself a special place there already. There was no sense in dealing with the inevitable red tape now, though. There were far more pressing matters - Like the guy on the floor who wasn't dead for instance.

"Let me get this straight, some thing that stole your appearance that you've been tracking just happened to get hired to kill me while looking like you and you knew nothing about it?" The glass of alcohol was brought once more to her lips before she held it out in offering. "Hell of a day. So what happens now, you collect on him while I thank my lucky stars?"

[Vittore Montegue]

It was an oversimplification on her part. Just happened translated to weeks of solid hunting, chasing this asshole across half a dozen worlds. There'd been close calls on two separate occasions; Vittore was damn sure the shifter knew it was being chased, and face-stealing was a pretty standard tactic for one of their kind on the run. After all, what better way to shake pursuit than to commit crimes wearing the face of your pursuer, and let the local authorities slow them down for you.

The shifter got unlucky though; when your face flagged up as many fake aliases and criminal records as Vittore's did, you kinda got into the habit of ducking that kinda stuff as second nature.

"More or less," he replied, deciding there was no point going into intimate detail with Miss Corporate Business. Which was actually kind of a surprise: he didn't realise that legitimate businesswomen dressed quite so comfortably, or - based on the glimpse of strap he'd caught when he probably shouldn't have been looking - stashed blasters underneath their wonderfully short and revealing dresses. He guessed it was probably a euphemism, but whatever. He was a bounty hunter, not a spy: no bonus credits for information gathering. At least, not for information gathered from her, anyway.

A thought crossed his mind; a scrutinising look glimmered across his features. "He's not dead," he pointed out in case it wasn't already obvious, jerking his head in the shifter's direction. "Toxin shut him down, but as long as he don't dehydrate or starve, it ain't gonna kill him. Plan was to drag his ass back to my ship -" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. "- wake him up, cut on him a while, and see what he knows."

A glimmer of a smile tugged at his lips. "Don't suppose you're curious about who wants you whacked, are ya?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

She wasn't a fan of torture, never really had a mind for it, the sight of blood generally did all manner of unnerving things to her. But there was a difference between being a fan, and appreciating the way somethings just worked sometimes. Normally she may have objected but she really did have a special little black place in her heart for people who threatened to take something fun and turn it against her - the whole planning to killing her thing didn't help the case any.

"Oh you have no idea..." It wasn't often she was cruel, but damn if that venom in her voice didn't actually give her a chance to second guess herself on that factoid.

Given that she still had the mostly empty glass of alcohol, Emelie shrugged at his loss and quickly emptied the rest. Membrosia was known to be ridiculously strong but it barely took the edge off of the really annoying feeling like everything had just been too convenient. Of course considering she still was trying to shrug off mental images of what could have happened if the real deal hadn't shown up... Emelie shook her head slightly, knocking both negative images and evil thoughts from her mind.

"Sorry, been a rough day. Not normally that dark." A small laugh barely escaped as she avoided the urge to kick the guy on the ground again. Instead she placed the empty glass she was holding on a table and looked over the slugthrower she'd been handed again. "Thanks, by the way."

[Vittore Montegue]

If saving damsels was a perk of the job, this was it's downside: the awkward moment when they - or anyone else, for that matter - felt the need to get all sincere and thankful for what he'd done. Half the time he just wanted to grab them by the shoulders; shake sense into them until they shut up. This wasn't some great noble deed he was doing; this was a job, he was getting paid, and anyone who got saved along the way was all side effects and charity. It wasn't out of his way; it was just there, able to be done with minimal effort, and he wasn't enough of an asshole not to.

The whole gratitude feelings thing just didn't compute; he didn't know how to deal with it, process it, or react to it; and it all made him deeply uncomfortable.

The only reaction he could manage to muster was a shrug.

"Just doing m' job."

* * *

Vittore had done many things to the Crimson Tide after he'd acquired it from some unsuspecting sucker on Nar Shaddaa. It had been an insurance scam; not the first one that he and his brother had pulled, but certainly the most ambitious. The tactic was simple: find a modest but decently insured little courier, disable the transponder, jack it, mod it, then sell it for cheap on the black market; let the Hutts or the Toydarians or Black Sun or whoever worry about the fancy side of things. Aside from a little frustration and anguish, it was a victimless crime: the owners got a hefty payout from the insurance company, and the Montegues got a little splash of cast to help keep all this stuff affordable.

Sometimes though, a ship was just to beautiful to toss away like that, and for Vittore, ships didn't come much more beautiful than the Tide. She was a Baudo-class star yacht: a sleak, almost Mon Calamari looking little courier, designed mostly for flyboys who wanted speed and style more than they wanted function and practicality. She wasn't a freighter; couldn't haul the kind of cargo that most spacers and smugglers needed to remain solvent; at least, not straight off the shelf. As with most things in the galaxy though, enterprising individuals had come up with alternatives, and hen Vittore had decided to keep her rather than foist her off on their usual buyer, he'd made sure to cram every last little bit of function into her sleek, sexy, aquatic frame that he possibly could.

Most of the cargo space had been stripped out, converted into what amounted to a glorified garage for the little vintage BTL-B that was Vittore's pride and joy. Supplies, weapons, and all that good stuff had been crammed into repurposed passenger cabins; the Baudo had eight, and the Montegues had never needed nearly that many. It wasn't the armory or the store room that was important right now, though; it was the third repurposed room that was the focus of Vittore's attention today.

Ordinarily, a yacht like this focused on comfort; but this room didn't. It had been stripped down to the bulkheads, even the panelling on the walls removed in favour of cold, hard, durasteel. A force cage dominated the room, the most uncomfortable chair that money could buy bolted to the base plate in the centre. The cage was offline, but that didn't matter: the door was sealed, and not even a shifter could slip the chains and cuffs and other restraints that were holding him - it - so very secure. It's skin was a sickly pallid green under the room's intentionally dim and dingy lights.

Emelie Shadowstar lurked - or rather, loitered seductively - in one of the shadowed corners, which seemed pretty apt, considering. Vittore's attention wasn't on her, however.

The hypodermic jammed into the shifter's neck; it's eyes snapped open, pupils dilating from the cocktail of adrenaline and Force knows what else.

Vittore flashed a grin. "Mornin' sunshine."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

The day just kept getting weirder and weirder. Emelie was now thoroughly convinced this was the galaxy taking the piss out of her. First the guy and his shapeshifting doppelganger and now she was in the belly of her own ship's evil twin. She'd never gotten around to naming her star yacht, maybe this was some sort of cosmic payback for that? Either way it still made her feel entirely uncomfortable. Where was the lounge? The bar? The lighting that was just dim enough but bright enough so that you could feel comfortable and all the other completely unnecessarily and impractical items she'd insisted on her home-away-from-home be equipped with? Emelie had always wondered if one's ship was a strange reflection of the person who owned it and if that was the case she certainly had to wonder about the guy she was about to watch go to town on a person. She could understand her own gripes against the green skinned hunter but there must have been something personal here. Aside from the whole... wearing the guy's face thing.

She stepped forward just slightly as the shifter starting coming to and get a sense of the situation it now found itself in. There was a rather enjoyable little moment of anticipation before it spotted her and she played it up all the more with a coy smirk and a small flirtatious wave.

"Sorry, I'm afraid no happy endings this time."

[Vittore Montegue]

The Shifter sneered back, tilting his head and straining against his restraints with as much defiance as he could muster. The way his eyes restlessly roamed about the room sluggishly robbed him of any threat he might otherwise have presented: even with the chains, he barely looked able to stand, let alone put up a fight.

"Sorry to disappoint," he hissed, as playfully as he could muster with a frustratingly unhealed bullet hole in his chest, sapping his lung capacity and making uncomfortable damp noises each time he breathed a little too deep, "But you're not my type. I was only pretending to have such low standards when I wanted you to think I was him."

The Shifter's head jerk towards Vittore collided unexpectedly with the hunter's knuckles as the right cross pummelled into his jaw. The skin across Vittore's bones split with the impact, the fist balled more tightly than it should have been. Rookie mistake. Impulse reaction. It was worth it, though; even though the Shifter had mostly reverted to his natural appearance, there were little flickers, little twitches, little expressions and facial cues that belonged to Vittore; a grin here, an eye crinkle there. Maybe it was just reflex, some part of the Shifter's subconscious neural programming. Maybe it was intentional, trying to goad Vittore to rash actions, forcing the hunter to kill him before he gave any secrets away.

Vittore didn't care. Honestly, he'd done everything he was getting creds for; this was all curiosity and courtesy. If the Shifter ended up dead before Miss Shadowstar had the answers she was looking for, it'd be a shame, but Vittore wasn't going to lose any sleep over it.

"Emelie here," Vittore began, turning his back to the Shifter and focusing his attention on a small security locked cabinet at the side of the room, "Would kinda like t' know who hired ya to kill her. Frankly, I don't care," he admitted, with a quick glance over his shoulder and an accompanying facial shrug, "But she seems nice, and I'm a little pissed about th' whole face stealin' thing. So here's what's gonna happen."

A rag wiped clean the blade of a brightly reflective dagger; carefully, Vittore unscrewed the lit from a small fluid container, and dipped the first couple of inches of the blade into the slowly smoking liquid inside. With care, holding the knife safely out in front of him, he turned his attention back to the Shifter and then, without the slightest warning, jammed the blade into the flesh of his forearm. The sudden shout of pain and surprise almost drowned out the sound of searing flesh, but the acrid smell wisp of smoke made sure the effect didn't go unnoticed.

"That's tibannic acid," Vittore explained, holding the blade up for scrutiny, Shifter blood bubbling as it reacted with the acid residue left on the blade. "It's a byproduct a' refinin' tibanna gas. Nasty stuff: give it a little body heat and it'll go exothermic like crazy; cauterise the wound in a blink of an eye." The same smug smile that the Shifter seemed so fond of using formed on Vittore's face, where it belonged. "You'll heal, but you're gonna heal with holes."

He straightened; turned away again, the rag removing the worst of the Shifter juice from the blade before another coat of acid was applied.

"I'm just gonna cut on ya," Vittore continued, turning back. "Miss Shadowstar'll ask ya some questions. I'd answer if I were you. Or not."

The dagger sunk into the Shifter's shoulders. "Honestly, I don't really care either way."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie had to give some credit to the Shifter, it managed to not scream. Didn't look like it particular enjoyed the whole knife-in-acid routine but at least it had the decency to keep itself under control. Which, really, in combination from the fact the wounds were being cauterized immediately made her end of this whole thing a lot damn easier. Somewhat. Easier than if there had been blood all over the damn place, at least. Emelie would have been a damn liar if she said the whole thing didn't unnerve her somewhat. How long had it been since she'd been strapped down in that same position... years didn't really matter when it came to the sort of thing you saw every so often when you closed your eyes and weren't busy keeping your mind elsewhere.

This wasn't the time to go about showing weakness, though. Hell - with Emelie there never really was a time for that sort of dren. Not when you could find out all sorts of fun things first. There was always that bottle of Killik alcoholic death waiting to silence any uncomfortable memories this entire ordeal was going to try and burn into her.

A deep breath was taken, held in for an instant and then let out slowly through slightly pursed lips that came out an as a low annoyed whistle at the end.

"As much as I'm really tempted to ask you some vague useless questions just let let Mr. Montegue turn you into a pin cushion for a bit, let's say we skip the foreplay, shall we? Why don't you start by telling exactly what it was you were hired to do? Killing me obviously wasn't just the whole point, you could have done that with a proper rifle from a fair distance if that was all that needed to be done." A small pout formed on her lips. "It's a shame I can't just ask you who hired you or why they did it, but I'm guessing your pay didn't include either of those pieces of information. You don't seem quite cut for that level of detail."

[Vittore Montegue]

Breaths turned into snarls as the Shifter tried to keep his agony under control. He shot a scowl at his assailants in turn; a scowl that Vittore reacted to by plunging the knife into his arm again, twisting the blade beneath the bones of the Shifter's forearm. The hole that the knife tore open was jagged, and while the acid coating did a decent enough job stemming the worst of the blood flow, verdant ooze began to seep forth. Vittore poured a helpful glug of raw acid into the wound.

The Shifter didn't do such a great job of not screaming that time.

"I like it!" he shouted, the words ripped from his lungs on the back end of a shriek. He blinked furiously, struggling to focus his gaze on Emelie through the pain. "I like -" he struggled to explain, "- up close and personal. Using a rifle is easy. Boring. Getting your hands dirty is -"

His gaze strayed to Vittore, fairly confident all things considered that his fellow hunter would understand.

"- fun."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"That wasn't the question, you chuff-sucking yegg." There was venom in her tone and still the smile remained in place, though it did go a little sickly-sweet around the edges.

Green. The Shifter's blood was green. That made things easier. Not outright pleasant by any means but better. Which really was about as much as Emelie could hope for since even with a new crater in its arm it still didn't want to give up the information. Emelie had to admit she would have been marginally disappointed if it had gone her way right away, but people who were just hired help usually didn't let themselves take too much damage before they couldn't wait to practically offer you up their employer's home address. The key was just finding where the line was between what you were doing and what they believed would be done to them. Thankfully Vittore seemed perfectly at ease with finding that line and parading right across it. She smirked as she watched him for a moment... he would almost have been cute if not for the whole being in the middle of torturing someone thing. WRONG TIME, Em. Wrong place too. Wrong guy as well. They were all the wrong guys nowadays. First Sal had waltzed right back into her life providing a distinct reminder of what her life was missing and now here was another to remind her once again. He wasn't as devil-may-care as Sal, but then again, neither had D been. What in the nine hells was wrong with her? Life threatened and you go off thinking about all the screwed up men in your life rather than the honest to gods good one that made things oh so easy and simple.

But that was the problem wasn't it? He was exactly that... and it drove her up the walls. This, this was exciting. It made her feel alive to know that someone wanted her dead.

An annoyed huff left her as she realized it wasn't the time for any serious internal soul searching but she managed to look like she was waving off what the Shifter had said.

"So how about we try this again? What exactly were you hired to do? If it was just a simple assassination then say so. Supposed to bring back poof, admit it. Or was a message being sent here? Your threats earlier sure seemed to imply that your employer rather I wasn't exactly killed clean." Or maybe they just didn't give a shit what this guy did to you, Em. Maybe there was no bigger picture, no alternate plan. But if there was one thing she had learned to trust it was her instincts regarding other people. Empaths ran in the family after all.

"Or, you can not say anything and I ask Mr. Montegue here to show me just how many body parts you can remove from a person and still keep them alive."

[Vittore Montegue]

"You're pretty, but you ain't that smart, are you?"

The Shifter's words came out peppered with coughs and spurts, it's apparent difficulty in talking, breathing, and doing just about anything else giving Vittore probably more satisfaction than it was socially acceptable to be having. That bubble of satisfaction formed as the Shifter once again brought Vittore's smug smile to it's face; the hunter's fist clenched yet again in rage at the nuance-stealing son of a bitch.

"I'm Force sensitive. I'm a Clawdite. A shapeshifter. How the fuck else do you expect me to kill you, you half Zeltron skank?"

The sound of the Shifter's jaw bone crunching beneath Vittore's fist wasn't as satisfying as he'd hoped, but it was better than nothing. The force should have been enough to throw the Shifter from it's seat, or at least topple occupant and chair over, but bolts and chains and restraints prevented that. Instead, the Shifter merely sagged where it sat, a grunted wheeze of pain hissed from it's deflating lungs.

It adjusted his face into a pained sneer. "You can hit me all you want -"

The second blow collapsed the Shifter's nose - or at least, the flattened excuse for a nose that the Clawdite possessed - and slammed it's head into the metal seat back behind it. A third and fourth punch repeated the action; not enough force to knock unconscious, not enough force to cave in the Shifter's skull no matter how badly Vittore wanted to; but enough to make the Shifter's head sway a little, and enough to turn it glassy-eyed.

Vittore's hand grabbed the Shifter by the throat with one hand, pressure in just the right spot on the broken jaw to irresistibly compel the creature's mouth to open. The other hand wrapped around the flask of acid, holding it clearly aloft in the Shifter's line of sight. It's eyes widened, and it tried to flinch, recoil, anything to get away; Vittore smiled his smile himself this time.

"Gimmie one good reason why I shouldn't wash y' mouth out f' comments like that?"

Conflict flashed behind the Shifter's eyes; not only reluctance but fear, strong enough to outweigh it's instinctive desire for self-preservation.

"I can't," it replied, almost pleading. "They'll kill me."

"So am I, unless you start talking." His fingers tightened around the Shifter's windpipe, the acid edged a little closer. Vittore's voice became a predatory snarl. "Give me a name."

"I -" Something changed. Something shifted. The pretence of resistance, of arrogance, of resolve all tumbled away. The Shifter sagged, eyes rolling upwards to stare at the ceiling. "No." His voice was quiet. Eerily so. "I'm dead already."

The hunter's grip slackened slightly. A sigh escaped. His head turned, and apologetic look thrown in Emelie's direction.

"I'm sorry y' feel that way," he resigned. He offered Miss Shadowstar a shrug. "An' I'm sorry we didn't get the information y' were after."

Suddenly the flask was over the Shifter's mouth, acid dumped into it's jaw in slugs. Smoke streamed from his jaws as flesh was oxidised and cauterised; it's throat tried to close and failed, the liquid streaming down into it's lungs, windpipe rapidly becoming a singed and blistered mess.

Vittore backed away, stepping clear of the spluttering coughs that sprayed droplets of blood and chunks of inside from the Shifter's mouth. "A name!" he snarled, leaning close to the Shifter's ear. "They can't kill you, 'cause I already have. Gimmie a name, an' I can make the pain stop."

A wet wheeze erupted from what was left of the Shifter's lungs, every ounce of concentration and will dedicated to compelling his last words into being. "Sarlacc," it muttered. It's eyes turned on Vittore in desperation. "Sarlacc. Please."

The hunter straightened, and frowned. "Sarlacc," he repeated, underwhelmed and disappointed."

Another rattling breath. "Please."

Vittore's jaw clenched; the faintest nod was offered. "Okay."

One snap gesture, and a holdout blaster appeared in Vittore's hand. The sound of the single shot echoed inside the small chamber; the bolt of crimson lanced into the Shifter's skull and slumped it in an instant. A long, slow, final wheeze escaped the creature as it's death-relaxed muscles drew one final breath through it's obliterated lungs. A few drips of viridian tumbled from it's jaw, residual acid hissing where it fell.

Another sigh escaped Vittore's lungs, utterly disappointed. "Well," he muttered, turning his back on the fresh corpse. "Weren't that just a waste a' everyone's time?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

There wasn't a need to answer a question like that aside from maybe giving it a small disdainful scoff. It was better than trying to actually acknowledge just how much it bothered her that no good information had come from the Shifter. Emelie wasn't afraid to admit that she had looked away, that while she had talked up a big show the actual finale fell right into that a bit too much category. It wasn't one of those fully turn your back on the situation things, after all Emelie had found herself glancing at the dying Shifter several times as he'd pleaded for a swift end. It was more that something about the whole thing just seemed far out of her league of normal occurrences that she really couldn't get a grasp on the fact she was actually standing there watching it all happen. A little torture and some answers was one thing - witnessing someone's outright violent death was entirely another.

The bar was going to get hit hard that night, that was for sure.

"Sarlacc?" Emelie hadn't quite trusted her voice to work properly but she was pleasantly surprised it managed to sound remarkably unmoved by the whole ordeal. "What the hell does some giant spore spewing tentacled plant-bug have to do with me?"

A sigh left her, carrying the full weight of frustration, annoyance, and sobriety with it. She already knew the hunter didn't have the answer, there hadn't even been the hinting of recognition for the word from what she had seen. Not that she had been looking all that closely at the time, but his final statement on the matter seemed to prove the point.

"Sarlacc." She repeated softly as if he word itself was poison. "Great, now I'm going to have to get someone to look into that. Oh well, can't have it easy every time."

There wasn't quite defeatism in her voice, but it was venturing really quickly into that territory. Time to derail that particular train. "So, what exactly can I do for the guy who kept me from getting vaped? You have to at least let me buy you a drink."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore slid the holdout blaster back into his waistband, and frowned.

"All due, Miss... Shadowstar?"

His mouth drew into a thin line, and he found himself overcome with the powerful urge to fold his arms and lean against something, neither of which seemed particularly appropriate all things considered. He noticed, with a certain degree of objective detachment, that the Shifter had managed to splutter spray him a little before it had expired, if the tiny pockmarks of singed burn tissue on his forearm were anything to go by. He considered them for an instant before he turned his attention back to Emelie.

"Savin' people an' huntin' things ain't the same deal. Y're alive 'cause someone paid me t' kill that thing, an' I caught up to it 'fore it did y' in. Sure, y' seem nice enough for a criminal underworld type or whatever y' are, but y're alive 'cause of a fluke, not 'cause a' me. Hell, if it dint slip me on Junction, y'd never even a' met it, or me. Life would a' kept spinnin' on if I'd been just a little better at ma' job. Save the gratitude f' someone who did more 'n just get lucky."

He hesitated, his father's words playing out in his head. As a kid, and as a young hunter starting out under his wing, he'd played by Dad's rules, played by Dad's mentality and philosophy on how the world works. To Dad, they were soldiers. Sure, they didn't serve the way Dad had back in the Republic days, but that didn't matter: what mattered was that they were soldiers, and everyone else was either an enemy or a civilian. You were a good person or a bad person; a guilty person, or an innocent one.

On his own, Vittore had learned that the universe was a little different. Dad had been an obsessed bastard: a paranoid, xenophobic nutjob whose war against the unnatural had turned into a crusade. He'd brainwashed his boys, one more successfully than the other, and had robbed them of a childhood: made this work their life. Cammy had been the smart one; he'd got out while he could. Vittore on the other hand was stuck: a recovering fanatic trying to cope while his messiah wasn't around.

The hardest part of that was the hate. They called it phobia, is if you were afraid; but it went beyond that. Creatures like the Shifter made his skin crawl, and that was exactly how Dad had taught him to react; but he had to think past that, had to unlearn his prejudice. It wasn't easy, and honestly he hadn't really succeeded. He doubted there would ever come a day when he didn't react in some way to the sight of something not quite human. He doubted there would come a day where he'd be able to meet someone like Emelie Shadowstar and not pick up on the fact that there was a little something extra in her genome. He doubted there'd be a day when he wouldn't be instantly wary of anyone who could use the Force, suspicious of what they might try and do inside his head. But he was learning, more and more, that the knee-jerk first impression wasn't always the right impression. Not everything inhuman was an asshole about it.

So he had rules. He compartmentalised. He killed the things that others couldn't, because they couldn't. He went after the people who used their something extra as an unfair advantage. Take this Shifter for example: were he a different species, Vittore wouldn't have given a womp rat's ass. Some regular guy takes out two guards and offs Shadowstar with luck and skill alone? Fair play to the guy. Vittore didn't doubt for a second that Emelie had done something to earn the hit; people didn't hire bounty hunters for shits and giggles. If she had wound up dead under normal circumstances, it would have been her and her bodyguards at fault. Underworld justice.

A Shifter changed things, especially a gorram Force sensitive one. Get beaten in a fight because they were better, stronger, or smarter than you? Fault is on you. Get beaten in a fight because they're wearing someone else's face and can hurl you across the room with a thought? That was just plain unfair. Those were the people Vittore went after: an evil man hunting evil men; a wrong trying to find out just how many more wrongs it'd take to finally make a right.

Yeah, Vittore, the voice in his head muttered darkly. You're a freakin' hero.

He sighed, the tirade of thoughts flowing through his mind over and done in only a second or so. "I'm guessin' those alien mooks in y' room were guards? An' I'm guessin' they weren't just there f' show?"

The few scraps of conscience that he still retained slowly awakened from their usual dormancy. "Whoever wants y' dead paid top creds t' hire this guy. If we're lucky, they were cocky enough t' just hire one hunter. If we ain't, I can't exactly hang y' out t' dry without anyone t' cover y're ass. Clearly they made y' suite; better crash here until y' can ImpEx more guards y' trust from -" He shrugged vaguely. "- wherever y' from."

He'd made a determined effort to not look at her directly throughout the entire conversation; staring at her shoulder, the bulkhead behind her, random smudges on the wall, anything. Eyes were were the judgement was: eyes were the mirror that reminded Vittore he was just about as bad as what he hunted. He abandoned his efforts though, just for a fleeting moment.

"There's food an' booze in the galley, an' Cabin 3 is the furthest empty bed from Chuckles. I'll..." He shrugged. "Grab anything y' need from y' room or y' ship once I'm done cleanin' up."

He hesitated for just a moment longer.

"An' watch out f' Sleazy. He's..." His voice trailed off again as he searched for an adjective. "Well, he's cranky. You'll see."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie didn't like it. Not that the whole hiccup with her vacation was exactly going to be easy to cover up in the first place but the thought of calling in more guards was unnerving. Sure she could just have Serr or Sal come and get her, or you know, the guy who was actually hired to be her bodyguard - they all knew how to keep secrets well enough that most of it wouldn't get back to Xavier but she just seemed reluctant. Maybe it was the fact that she'd already cost two men their lives that day and while lackeys she barely knew the names of were one thing, friends were entirely different. She couldn't bring herself to get them mixed up in this mess. Not yet.

So why not bail now? Head home early and hope no one noticed that you were coming back without your escorts. Because that would raise even further questions. You couldn't exactly claim you got bored and decided to head home when everyone knew home was an even greater bore to her than just about anything else. There was only one reason she might return early and when he was the one that you were trying to keep in the dark about what you'd just gone through, it made things complicated.

"Okay..." She didn't feel like thanking the guy again; it didn't seem right and he seemed almost allergic to it. "Guess it's a good thing I pack light..." More just speaking to speak rather than anything else, she assumed.

A hand was brought up and fingertips felt out a stray strand of hair and twisted it around her finger as her brain muddled over all that had happened, trying not to focus on the sudden fact she was going to be sending a bit more time than she expected around the Bounty Hunter guy, and worse coming to focus on that same damn word that the Shifter had decided to speak. The trail was most likely already cold but if there was anyone out there who could find out if anyone else was speaking the same thing it was that damn girl that D'Kor had recommended to her in the first place. Piece of work that one... helped build up her side of the company's security only to occasionally find exploits and let Emelie know about them after she had already taken her pay out of Shadowstar's accounts. Emelie wanted to groan at the thought of it but held it in.

"Don't suppose you got a comm I can use?"

[Vittore Montegue]

"Cockpit (http://www.igeektrooper.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/startrekbridge03.jpg)," he replied, not even bothering to think or hesitate.

Granted, he probably should have. It was an unspoken rule of spacefaring that you didn't let passengers onto the bridge of your ship; especially not random broads you picked up in seedy motels, particularly if those random broads were apparently mixed up in enough criminal endeavours to require bodyguards and earn a bounty on her head.

On the other hand, this Emelie Shadowstar didn't strike him as the stupid type, and she had just watched him fry the insides of a Clawdite with a flask of acid, so there was that. Odds of her trying to steal his ship or do anything untoward were pretty slim.

And besides, Sleazy was hardwired to wirelessly monitor and archive all comm traffic. If she did anything dodgy, his droid would let him know.

"Aft console," he added for further explanation. "And make sure y' kick in Protocol -" He frowned momentarily, searching his mind for the right string of characters. "- 2235. Got a few lil' presets t' bounce comm signals through local grids. Don't want any hunter friends a' yours gettin' a geo-fix from y' transmission."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Right..."

Not that Emelie hadn't planned on bouncing the signal around as much as possible anyway. Mostly because it was a necessity to even attempt to get in touch with her contact. One simply did not call and hope the kid picked up, there was a series of steps you had to get through, send a signal, get one back, then wait for her to initiate actual contact through a signal so encoded it was a wonder it ever came through at all. At least, that was how it was supposed to go.

Leaving the, she supposed Captain of the ship, to his clean up Emelie figured it was best to get the damn game over with. The familiarity of the general layout of the ship had gotten her to the cockpit quickly enough, he console found and activated, Vittore's protocol was used, then a few of her own, then the game began of hunting down her favorite little slicer. Only...

Emelie let out a small huff of annoyance as the entire readout was just blank. It was like she was sending her signal out into dead space. Of course, she was going off of coordinates she was trying to recall from memory which may have been part of the problem but usually she was good with that sort of thing. A second set was tried with the same result. Okay, so one she could have excused as a fuck up but two? By the time the third and fourth ones returned the exact same amount of nothingness Emelie was downright dumbfounded. It was try number five that finally got a reply, just not the usual ping she was expecting. Nothing to actually register that she'd reached out and gotten anything except a line of random number and letters.

74 65 6e 65 62 72 61 65

"The frak is that supposed to mean, Maggie?"

[Sleazy]

CZ-41's ocular receptors flickered on; to the simple minded and naive it might have seemed like the blinking of an organic being opening their eyes after sleep, but in truth it had more to do with the questionable electronics skills of the Montegue that had installed them. The exposed servos in his neck whirred a little, hydraulics and motors that weren't as concealed by bodywork as they were supposed to be - another modification courtesy of Vittore Montegue - angling his photo-receptors towards the approximate location that his audio receptors had triangulated as the origin of speech.

He took a step forward from where he had been idling, tucked away in a corner of the cockpit that Emelie had not paid any particular attention to. Had he been wearing the garish white plastisteel shell with which he had been designed, he probably would have been spotted in an instant, but after months of enduring a cranial module that Vittore had described as looking like a thermal detonator had just gone off inside his face, modifications had ensued; and Sleazy's now skeletal frame had a knack for blending in with his bulkhead backdrop.

"If I may -" Sleazy interjected, hesitating momentarily as he searched his memory banks for identity information on the woman occupying what was supposed to be his chair. He found nothing, but that wasn't entirely a surprise: if Captain Montegue informed him of every woman he brought aboard, Sleazy would need a considerably larger hard drive. A subroutine kicked in, estimating the woman's physical parameters and dimensions based on visual information and frames of reference of known size, filing it away to be collated with the other data he'd gathered on Vittore's presumed sexual partners. It was not a task he had been specifically given, but rather one initiated out of preparedness, given Vittore's predilection for bypassing the courtship phase and ordering his coitus for delivery: a detailed set of criteria for Vittore's sexual preferences would allow him to impress his owner by reducing the candidates from local sexual distributors, vastly improving efficiency and reducing the amount of time wasted on frivolities between paying missions.

"- whoever you are," Sleazy settled upon; a self-programmed alarm triggered as he realised that his hydraulics had jammed again, suspending his arms in a pose that seemed better suited to the outdated Rakghoul horror movies that Vittore insisted on downloading. He pushed a troubleshooting command to his servos and they refired, his arms falling into a more hang by his waist.

"I could not help overhearing your apparent confusion at the message you just received. I am CZ-41, the communications droid for this vessel, and am wirelessly connected to the ship's transceiver array. Allow me to assist in your cryptography."

Sleazy's head cocked ever so slightly, and his photo receptors blinked out again for just a moment; once they were lit, his frame of vision refocused on Emelie. "It would appear to be a simple hexadecimal transcription of a pre-Aurebesh alphabet. The alphanumerics render as TENEBRAE; according to my cross-referencing, that word translates from old Coruscanti dialect as 'darkness' or 'shadow'." His head moved in a manner that could almost be described as an expressionless approximation of a frown. "As to the significance of that word, I am afraid I would require more data."

He paused, processing the situation for the moment. "In what way does this transmission relate to the sexual favours you will be providing to my owner?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Any thoughts as to the significance or lack of to yet another puzzle word was shoved right out of the airlock with the droid's last question. If she had been drinking something no doubt it would have spit out, but seeing as how she was sadly devoid of a drink at the moment about all she could do was gawk for a moment before the humor at the whole thing caught up with her.

"You have got to be kidding." The trouble with droids was that they didn't have the ability to react how others did. There was no small facial tick, no sensations that rolled over someone with slight empathic abilities, no nothing to judge how what you said went over. Maybe that was the reason Emelie didn't have any around.

"Look, I don't know what you take me for but I think you've got this all wrong. Your-" She hesitated over the word but, well, CZ-41 had used it first. "Owner just kinda saved my ass from being Clawdite bait. Or chow. Or whatever the frak term you'd use for those things."

With that cleared out of the way she returned her attention to the display in front of her. Sarlacc, Darkness. What in the nine Corellian hells was going on around here?

Emelie shook her head slightly and forced herself to clear out the channel. "I hate to say it, but I have a very bad feeling about this."

[Sleazy]

Sleazy slowly processed the information provided, reclassifying the biographical profile he'd begun to compile from transient floozy to damsel in distress. He did briefly append an annotation that suggested the woman's provocative and revealing choice of attire might have been responsible for his initial error, and set a reminder to review all available data on galactic fashion trends to see if it was his interpretations that were out of sync with the galactic norm, or if this individual had dressed herself as some sort of low-budget escort in error.

He also processed her odd choice of words, his software flagging an odd clash between the notion that the woman reportedly hated - by definition a bad feeling - the fact that she possessed a bad feeling. He puzzled over whether the two bad feelings were mutually exclusive, or if they were likely to cause some sort of feedback loop that might lead to an exponential increase in negativity. He made another annotation, this time to monitor her for any physical or behavioural signs of depression that she or a medical professional might need to be warned about.

"I would be happy to render assistance," he explained, the emotional adjective a complete fabrication, but one chosen to effect a more favourable reaction from the organic, "But will require more data to effectively do so. Perhaps it would be beneficial if you were to clarify who this 'Maggie' is. Also -" His cognitive processor whirred inside his not entirely solid skull, processing alternative interpretations of the woman's use of communications once any sexual factors of her presence were eliminated. "- does this relate in any way to the pit-dwelling omnivorous creature mentioned by the Clawdite captive in the recent security recordings from Cabin 9?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Not sure..." She replied before she even realized she had spoken and her attention shifted back to the droid. "I hope not, at least."

To be honest, Emelie wasn't sure what to expect from the ship's 'communications droid', as it had introduced itself, but it certainly wasn't the fact that it had overheard what was going on in the other room. She should have known better, of course it would have ears all over the place. Something to keep in mind so she didn't start talking to herself later on and have all sorts of fascinating little secrets get spilled to apparent Knight in Leather Jacket. It was half the reason was she was reluctant to answer the first question the droid had offered, even if it did make sense. She wasn't awesome with computers and communications relays - she hired someone else do to that dren. Maybe, just maybe, she'd get lucky and the droid and its owners were the type to keep a line out for interesting little bits of information and maybe someone out there knew where the frak her slicer went off to.

"Maggie is..." She had to stop herself. What exactly do you say when you don't really know a whole lot about a person aside from the fact they seemed female over communications and they seemed to use a different damn alias every time you spoke with them. Emelie had never met her contact in person, after all. "Abrax."

Emelie raised a hand and waved it away. "At least, I think that's her main identity when she does her slicing gig. I don't know, it's the regular one I was given at least. That and the name Maggie Danri."

She knew damn well it wasn't the girl's real name. If she had a real name, slicers were weird like that. Emelie had been tempted a few times to try and dig up information on the girl, but the fact that her skills had come at the suggestion of a friend made things all sorts of complicated and she'd chosen, probably stupidly, to trust them both on the matter. Besides, it seemed silly to go delving into someone's life who could probably pull up every record of your existence within the time it took to have a shot or two with them. Sometimes it was best just not to pry, though Emelie was starting to regret that decision big time.

[Sleazy]

Whatever planet this woman hailed from, clearly they had differing concepts of what constituted useful data. Most civilised beings might have explained who this 'Maggie Danri' was, how the woman knew her, why she was the one person in all the universe that the woman felt it was appropriate to contact after apparently having been saved from death. Not this particular individual though: it seemed that whatever data was needed, Sleazy would have to infer it for himself.

Fortunately, he was programmed for exactly that sort of thing; or at least, the after-market criminology module that had been grafted into his neural net was programmed for that sort of thing. Linguistical analysis pulled out a few key words. Sleazy's protocol unit identified Abrax as a kind of alcoholic beverage, but in context his criminology module inferred some sort of codename or alias, apparently for some kind of slicer. He uplinked to the ship's transceiver and pinged a query to the local law enforcement network, falsified idents that he'd already prepared granting him access to cross-reference that identity with cybercrime bulletins and Holonet reports. A few breadcrumbs here, a few priors there; Sleazy followed the trail through cyberspace to the Holonet News database, using the log-in details that his former owner had left lingering in his hard drives to pull up news stories and journalistic notes that were even vaguely connected. His biographical profile for Abrax gained a list of priors, suspected aliases, past employers, individuals who had profited indirectly from Abrax activities -

One particular news report was prioritised in his process queue: a news article entitled Imperial Profiteering From Illegal Activity. The work was unpublished, disallowed by Holonet News' editors for it's anti-Imperial sentiment, but such bureaucratic complications were irrelevant to Sleazy. Of more interest were the supporting notes, which charted stock market trends in the wake of criminal activity, focusing on Imperial contractors who turned a profit as the result of the underworld undermining their opposition. Several instances correlated with cyber attacks believed to be the work of Abrax or a probable alias. One Imperial contractor in particular, a mid-size private courier service called Silenus Corp, was suspected to have benefited from criminal activity on numerous occasions, three of which were potential Abrax crimes. Most interestingly, a footnote stated that the company's Chief Operations Officer had been investigated by the Imperial Security Bureau after a large quantity of spice had been discovered in a Coruscanti bar licensed in her name.

Sleazy accessed a copy of her records, and ran a facial recognition sweep. 93% probability match. A new string of search parameters reinforced the correlation between the woman and Abrax still further. He pulled open her biographical profile, updated it with his new research, and upgraded her categorisation from damsel in distress to underworld contact.

The flickering in his ocular receptors stopped, and he recentred the woman in his field of view. "I believe, Emelie Shadowstar, that I now understand the nature of your 'bad feeling'. Considering how lucrative your association with Abrax has been in the past, it would indeed seem prudent to take an interest in ensuring her welfare and wellbeing. Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to formally engage the services of Captain Montegue and myself in the location of your associate. We are bounty hunters, after all."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

The first thought that crossed her mind was that the droid must have overheard her name somewhere. She must have said it, right? The whole thing? Even so that didn't explain how this guy suddenly knew that her and Maggie had any sort of business dealings. You could guess that sort of thing, Emelie supposed, but it didn't seem like the kind of thing a droid could just pull out of no where.

Then it hit her. The last thing he'd said. Bounty Hunters. Paranoia set in as she regarded the droid and forced a smile. She'd been far too trusting, that was for sure. How convenient to do away with the competition all the while duping her into walking right onto the ship. You didn't have to capture a person if you just trapped them.

A long slow breath was taken as she leaned back in the seat. "Yeah, maybe I'll hire you boys... You know, if you and Captain Montegue aren't too busy getting payday all set up nice and pretty already. So, tell me, how much was the bounty on my head? Worth snuffing out the Clawdite bastard at least?"

[Sleazy]

Sleazy processed the woman's apparent non sequitur inquiry for signs of logical continuity. As far as his memory banks were concerned, all he and Captain Montegue had done since first encountering her was of net benefit to her situation and wellbeing, and yet her verbal intonation and body language suggested that suddenly she had begun to perceive them as some sort of threat.

"I do not believe we are aware of the marital status of the Clawdite's parents when he was born," Sleazy replied with a synthesised vocal inflection designed to convey his comprehension error to the organic.

To determine any possibility of error on his part, he ran a diagnostic on his logical subroutines, and at the same time probed the ship's communications logs, searching the transcripts of recent transmissions for mentions of Emelie Shadowstar's name or obvious code terms that might refer to her, as well as screening data downloads for files that might be mission details, hidden or otherwise. Alas, the only data downloads in the last seventeen days had either been initiated by Sleazy himself, or constituted part of the sizeable quantity of holo-footage purchased from a retailer records listed as Busty Ansion Beauties.

As a last resort, he connected directly the Imperial, Alliance, Hutt, and Bounty Hunters' Guild's mission servers, searching for any active or deleted bounties that might relate to Emelie Shadowstar. He found nothing, not even as a secondary or tertiary objective on other purchased hits. That, his criminology module concluded, was a detail worthy of note.

"I have just consulted every bounty database of which Captain Montegue is aware, as well as several of which he is not. There is no record, formal or otherwise, of any bounty being placed upon you through the standard channels. If your Clawdite assailant was indeed acting under contract, it can only have been one agreed with him directly. We do not, and could not, have had any knowledge of it prior to today."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie wasn't sure what to think now. Usually her instincts served her well, could be trusted on, and proved to be right most of the time. Of course, she had to reminder herself, that was when she was dealing with people that could be read, could be gauged. She would have tried to get something off of Vittore but he'd been too busy torturing a guy and like hell she was going to try and figure him out right then. It all left one giant question in her head - How the hell did you tell if a droid was lying?

Her options were weighed mentally, either she could believe everything she'd heard from the Captain and his robot crew member and stand a chance of finding out more about the person who had actually made his intentions known, or she could throw it all to hell and hope that there still was truth in what CZ had said so she'd make it out alive. A heavy sigh left her and she ran her fingertips through a front portion of her hair, watching the motion before letting both the strands and her arm fall.

"Fine." A simple word spoken in a rather childish manner that verged on more of a scoff than an actual formation that meant anything. "So let's say the Shifter dealt with the guy who wants me dead directly. That's just weird. Not exactly the best way to get the best deal or anything. So that leads us back to square one...finding out what the frak Sarlaac means."

Another annoyed huff left her. "Which means... Yeah, okay, do I talk to you or Mr. Montegue about getting you guys to hunt down my wayward slicer?"

[Vittore Montegue]

"Talk to me about what now?"

A lot of things had been automated and enteched in the galaxy, and not all of them seemed entirely necessary to Vittore. While yes, machines that automatically produced your food for you were convenient, they lacked the soul of a meal you had actually prepared for yourself. Droids that scrubbed the mud and blood out of your clothes after a hunt saved you a lot of hassle, but there was something almost ceremonial about having to soak your own gear; almost a penance for the life that you had taken.

Doors were not one of those things. Modern doors were amazing. Back on Cularin, back at the family cabin that his mother had grown up in but that Vittore had thankfully only visited a handful of times, technology was almost non-existent. The cabin had been built, he was told, by his mother's grandfather: a technophobe who had been utterly convinced that a crisis was on the way that would obliterate all technology and thrust the unprepared back to the dark ages. He was both certifiably insane and completely wrong; but he had also been one heck of a carpenter and builder, and had constructed the cabin from all-natural materials. Yes, that made it a pretty environmentally conscientious place to live; but it also meant that all the doors were manual. Granted, Vittore had been about waist high the last time he'd visited, but the act of trying to slide those gargantuan doors open, particularly when Cularin's frequent rain soaked and swelled the wood was an unnecessarily arduous task. In more civilized parts of the galaxy, like aboard the Crimson Tide, a push of a button was all it took for the door to swoosh aside with more swiftness than a skydiving Hutt.

Pressing down the control that would lock the door open and prevent it from swooshing back to sever him in half, Vittore propped himself casually against the door frame. His clothes had changed - shirt discarded, pants swapped out for a less bloodied pair, both dumped into a tank of cold water for good measure - and his hair still glistened with the moisture from the hydro-shower he'd taken to scrub off the chunks of fried Shifter. He tugged at the black tee he'd grabbed from the back of a chair, trying to discourage it from clinging to the moisture that hugged the contours of his torso.

His eyes flitted between Emelie and the droid.

"You two work out whose tryin' t' kill ya?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Now that just wasn't fair. Not the question, though admittedly Emelie decided that was pretty unfair too. She caught herself just shy of biting her lower lip, which really was an impressive feat that only the last few years had granted her the ability to do. Sure, it was odd to be ogling the guy who the Shifter had decided to look like, especially after what had been threatened and interrupted. Self control wasn't her strongest suits, neither was guilt, but both joined hands somewhere in her brain and brought a stop to the whole thing. It was mostly by flashing her mental images of Xavier looking rather annoyed with her, which was even more unfair.

"No." Emelie didn't bother to hide her annoyance. "Which is, admittedly, a little surprising considering how fast your droid here was able to pull up information on me."

Another one of those awful sighs left her as Emelie really began wishing she had something to drink.

"My contact apparently had decided to not take any calls. I'm not entirely convinced that it's a voluntary thing but even if it is... Well, you get the idea. So, why don't we get my stuff from my, apparently former, hotel room and we can start some bullshit negotiations about how much it'll cost me for you to hunt down a ghost?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore let out a smirk.

"Dunno what y've heard about me, Miss Shadowstar, but huntin' the undead ain't exactly my line a' work."

Instantly, he held a hand up to silence Sleazy; he knew exactly what that whirr of servos and that eye-flicker of pre-vocalisation meant. "I know, I know," he grunted, unleashing a sigh and rolling his eyes, imagining the tirade of over-explanation that the droid was no doubt preparing to assault him with. "Not literally a ghost."

The overly wordy speech patterns were tiresome; he'd done his best to modify the droid, swapping out a few key phrases in his vocabulary for more salty, familiar ones, but you had to catch the droid in the right mood - and operating mode - to trigger them. He'd have to work on that. Or, you know, wait until he found someone who actually knew what they were doing, and earned enough favours to hand the task off to them. He wasn't a slouch when it came to mechanics and electronics, which is how he kept his ship flying good and proper; but all that software garbage was like trying to understand the rules of a sport he didn't understand, being explained in a language he didn't speak, and being played by beings that his visual cortex wasn't able to perceive.

"I said I'd keep y' safe," Vittore said, settling his gaze on Emelie, "Until y' managed t' get more guards to cover that perky little ass a' yours. I ain't gonna be able to do that if I go galevantin' off across the galaxy lookin' for shadows or Sarlaccs or whatever kriff it is you wanna send me after. And I sure as hell ain't gonna be able to do that by lettin' you strut back in that hotel room."

His arms folded defiantly across his chest. "Y' stayin' here until I say otherwise."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Like hell I am."

Emelie wasn't entirely surprised to hear herself say such a thing, she never really was very good at doing as she was told, life was easier when you made your own rules. It was the fact that she was blatantly ignoring the possible danger of the situation that was slightly worrisome. Not that she was exactly a stranger to that sort of thing, either. For the first time that day the flirtatious glances and over dramatic acts were dropped as she narrowed her eyes on Vittore. It was like something had finally given way and her usual persona was stripped away to something... far less agreeable.

"Look," The same edge that had overtaken her earlier was back and she paused for a moment to let out a slow breath. "I'm fully aware of what you think I am. But here's the deal: I'm not some damn damsel in distress, got it? Someone's after me and I take that very personally and that is exactly how I intend to handle this. Sadly, I don't have the experience needed to figure out who or what the frak this Sarlacc nonsense is before the trail goes cold on my own. If I had all the damn time in the verse then it wouldn't exactly be an issue but I get this very distinct feeling that I don't. Something that vague doesn't just sit around waiting for you to figure it out like some damn puzzle box. I also don't exactly have the patience to track down some egotistical little girl who, annoyingly, will probably be able to suss it out faster than it takes for them to cover it back up and won't draw attention back my way - So that's where I'll need you to come in. Until then, I suggest you get used to he idea of working with me rather than for me. Because I'm not just about to sit back and relax while someone's got it out for me. I don't know if that Clawdite bastard of yours was the only one sent after me and right about now, I don't particularly care."

A breath was taken and she leaned back in the chair once more, bringing a hand up to press her thumb against the bridge of her nose in some poor attempt to stem the headache that this entire thing was causing.

"And I'm trying to do all this without exactly tipping off my business partner. Which is why backup isn't coming. I'm not due back for another three days, that gives me three days to set it up so that I can start figuring this all out. Or at least come up with some legitimate reason I'm not heading back towards Ruusan any damn time soon. So yeah, knock it off with the ordering me around. You saved my life - great. Now let's move on and get this show on the damn road."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore continued to lean with an expression of casual disinterest as Emelie vented whatever frustrations her mind and hormones and whatever-the-fuck had conjured up.

"You done?" he asked, somehow managing to frown and quirk an eyebrow at the same time.

He took a slow breath, and considered his words carefully. "You don't know shit about what I think y' are," was the opening he settled upon, which admittedly was not the most diplomatic or sympathetic ways of starting; but then, Vittore Montegue was neither a diplomat nor a sympathiser by any stretch of the imagination. His eyes fixed on her with a piercing and unwavering gaze: not the casual regard of a normal human being, but the piercing stare of someone whose eyes were judging your every move, and every aspect.

"This has nothin' to do with you being a damsel. Honestly, I couldn't care less. I ain't a hero: I'm a hunter. I do a job, I get paidl and you ain't part of that. You ain't an objective: if y' die, get y'self killed bein' reckless an' stupid an' emotionally invested, I still get paid just the same."

He sucked a short, squeaking breath between his tongue and teeth.

"Problem is, I don't get paid until the job's done. If this Shifter ain't workin' alone, if he's got more people who are gonna keep tryin' to take you out, then I got work to do, an' that makes you a problem. That makes you a variable. You leave this ship, an' I don't know what'll happen to ya. You walk back in that motel, y' could drag a whole shitstorm a' trouble down on ma head, and I ain't got time for that. I need y' safe, contained, outta trouble, and outta the way."

His hand tugged the blaster from the holster strapped to his hip, his thumb clicking the power setting across to stun.

"There ain't nothin' y' can say that'll make me let you leave this ship."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

He was infuriating. Which was troublesome, all things considered. She couldn't count the number of times she'd spent getting into an argument with someone that always ended up a bit more physical. It wasn't easy to pull her thoughts away from, which probably said a great deal about her that was ten shades of frakked up, but somehow she was determined to not let things go down that particular little path. Better judgement out of Emelie Shadowstar - Maybe it was true that miracles happened every day.

"Nothing, huh?" She weighed what he had said, about getting paid and finishing jobs and all. Finally - something they both could agree on. "Sixty-six hundred credits."

A small shrug left her as the rather cold demeanor she had faded to lifted and the typical coquettish mannerisms returned.

"You escort me back to the hotel room, keep me from dying on this arduous journey, I get my things, you get paid."

[Vittore Montegue]

Sixty-six hundred credits.

That wasn't bad, all things considered. Money for nothing; unexpected credits that Katie wouldn't already have budgeted for supplies and ammunition. She'd been getting cranky about the lateral stabilisers on the Y-Wing for almost two straight months now, and that was a good chunk out of a replacement unit; maybe enough to get the old one refurbed so they could minimise the amount of shiny new crap they were plugging into his baby. Vintage speeders and starfighters were seldom original: so many components swapped out, replaced, and upgraded that it was barely recognisable as the same ship. It was like the proverbial Corellian Jedi's lightsaber: seven new hilts and three new crystals, but the Jedi swore blind it was still the same weapon.

"Fine," Vittore muttered with a sigh. He decided it was probably best not to admit that he'd have taken the job for half as much, if she'd offered to throw in a bottle of whiskey and a few hours of shutting the hell up. He slid the blaster back into his holster. "Let's get this over with."

[Chir'daki]

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion."

The words of the Qotsisajak rumbled from Chir'daki's throat not as a threat, but as a gift: words of wisdom for the owner of this seedy, run-down hotel. It was a truth he hoped the Toydarian could understand: a truth that should his close to home for a creature whose dominion was visited not by those looking for tranquillity and respite, but rather by beings searching for discretion on such an out-of-the-way backwater to indulge their carnal and base desires.

"Through passion, you gain strength."

His vigil had revealed many insights into the hotel's guests and patrons. Two politicians in neighbouring rooms, one an elder statesman for the Empire falling into the arms and breasts of a young blonde seeking to separate him from his accrued wealth, the other a new Senator for the Alliance struggling and failing to turn his back on a misspent youth with a little help from an opportunistic Mirialan charging at least twice what she was worth for a night of mediocrity. At least six men thus far had arrest warrants and bounties on their heads, ranging from smuggling and theft to brutal murder, rape, and molestation. The sombre Wookiee and his skittish Rodian friend bore all the hallmarks of novice narcotics dealers, enough intelligence to cook their product but too much naivete to know how to distribute it, surrounded by hired thugs with oversized guns to compensate for their insecurities. But they weren't who he watched for; they weren't why he waited.

"Through strength, you gain power."

Chir'daki lifted the bronzium helmet from his head and placed it upon the reception desk, depriving himself of the ornate mouldings that alluded to the lekku of his name's racial origin. Corrupted by the Dark Side of the Force, his eyes shone with golden fire, his gaze piercing into the Toydarian's very soul. He studied the mottled pattern of bruising and sub-dermal bleeding from where Chir'daki had fractured the Toydarian's wings with his bare hands, torn the insolent creature from the air and deprived him of the advantage that set him apart from other species. It was an advantage that he did not exploit, of course: the armies of Toydaria were ceremonial, buckling and bowing to whatever power held sway in the region. They had sworn fealty to the Galactic Republic in the years before it fell; in those since they had made the Hutts their masters. Their cowardice and weakness was an affront and an offence: even virtual slavery was too good for a species whose very nature warranted their eradication from the galaxy.

"Through power, I gain victory."

A hint of threat crept into his voice, and curled his lips into a snarl. With a gesture, Chir'daki sent the Toydarian skimming across the grubby carpet, pressed against the duracrete wall by an unstoppable torrent of irresistible force. Anger and rage swam in formation with hate and hunger behind his eyes; the Toydarian rose so his head was level with Chir'daki, desperation in his eyes as he stared back into the hunter's, looking for sympathy or mercy that simply was not there. Chir'daki could feel the beating of the Toydarian's heart; he felt the delicious tang of fear infect his aura. The intensity of the force onslaught increased, squeezing the air from the Toydarian's lungs.

"Through victory, your bones are broken."

The sickening crunch of fracturing ribs rang dull in the noxious, stagnant air. The broken cage tore through the creature's skin and into his lungs, viscous wells of indigo blood oozing as his last breaths found new avenues to escape. The Toydarian's eyes glazed. A stray spear of ivory punctured his heart. Chir'daki felt the sweet satisfaction as the last glimmers of life seeped from his victim, and breathed in new strength as one more extinguished soul became one with the Force.

"The Force shall set you free."

The Toydarian dropped, plummeting to the rancid floor with not the slightest concession to respect or ceremony. Chir'daki's eyes fell to the key fob that granted access to the room he had rented; a flick of his hand threw it towards the Toydarian's corpse, to join the rest of the now useless garbage. His victim didn't even earn a second look as Chir'daki turned, retrieved his helmet, and strode for the door.

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie had a problem. Several, really, but if she focused too much on that sort of thing she probably would have ended up needing to talk to someone in a lab-coat who would give her little paper cups filled with happy pills. No thanks. Been there, done that. The problem she was coming to realize at the moment didn't have anything to do with Shifters and Bounty Hunters, and it only kind of hinted at character flaws. Most people would consider Getting Away From It All just that, a change from the usual, relaxing, down time; and it had been that. But there was more to it, there always was. The trouble was that Emelie could never just go somewhere, there was always another reason. Today's magic words were: Spice deal. One she was late for, at that.

She hadn't exactly lied to Vittore. It was almost funny how much you could bend the truth and not really feel anything for it.

The hotel was just like they left it, a complete shithole that Emelie still somehow found charming. It reminded her of the good old days before things had become so damn complicated. Except now everyone seemed on edge, nervous. Emelie figured it may have been on account of two dead bodies being discovered in one of the rooms. Not enough to bring down any sort of law enforcement, just enough to make the other patrons uneasy. Either way, it complicated things. She'd been told her contacts were nervous enough without some sort of other dren going on.

The smart thing would have been to bail on the deal and worry more about the people trying to kill her... but well, Greed was one hell of a persuader at times.

Rather than take the right hallway that lead back to the room she had been staying in, the left was chosen. Oh, there would be questions. Hopefully Vittore just had been paid enough to not ask them.

[Vittore Montegue]

Unfortunately for Emelie, no amount of credits was enough to stop Vittore Montegue from asking a stupid question, if his brain wanted it asked.

"Y' room's that way."

It was a simple statement of fact; no real question or accusation just yet. Making a wrong turn was easy to do if you weren't a paragon of navigational prowess such as he, and Emelie had been pretty rattled when they'd left, meandering casually out of the hotel complex with an unconscious Shifter tossed casually over Vittore's shoulder. Vittore had helpfully told the Toydarian at the lobby that the Shifter was a reluctant bridegroom and he was the best man; the Toydarian hadn't particularly seemed to care, but Vittore had enjoyed describing in vivid detail his terrifying fictional bride sister who in his head looked like a painted Cambrio in drag. The fact that he was lugging the Shifter back to the rental skiff on his own without his brother's assistance was a sore point; fortunately, he'd still managed to keep one arm free enough to retrieve the flash of Corellian brandy from his jacket pocket on a few essential emergency situations that cropped up every few dozen paces.

Vittore came to a halt in the hallway as Emelie continued walking, not seeming to deviate from her course. He frowned, and gestured down the left turn that they'd bypassed.

"I can tell, 'cause the door I heroically busted down is still pupped up against th' wall."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Thrilling heroics aside, we aren't headed back there. See, when I said I had to go get my stuff,I may have left out the part where the whole thing with your Shifter friend frakked that up a bit." Emelie looked over her shoulder and smirked in the most horribly wicked way she could muster, even going so far as to toss a wink in once it was fully formed. "Surprise."

That was odd. Flirty things she dolled out to just about anyone whom Emelie thought she could get a reaction out of but the actual attempt to aggravate was usually reserved for those she had developed some sort of rapport with. That sort of thing took time and certainly a lot more than just one day of rescuing and torture. She forced herself to look away from the hunter before her mind could try and reason out anything over it. It's a rough day, Em. That's all. Thing was, even if the spice deal went easy she still had a feeling that it was going to get a lot worse before it started getting better all thanks to cryptic bullshit she couldn't even begin to try and process.

Door numbers were counted and she came to a stop at the one marked 2.07. She would never get the hang of the damn system in this place, thankfully it would probably be her last visit all things considered. A quick knock was given and the low growl from the other side of the door made her roll her eyes.

"Yeah Heisen you bastard, who the frak else did you think it was going to be?" Emelie cast Vittore another amused look that faded as soon as she made eye contact with the Bounty Hunter.

The sound of shuffling behind the door precluded it opening a crack and a rather twitchy looking Rodian peered out, eyed Shadowstar first, then Montegue before letting out a small hunt and opened the door fully to grant them access. A large Wookiee stood against one of the walls, the rest of the room seemed populated by a crap assortment of thugs from various races who all together looked more like they did better at looking threatening than they'd be in any actual fight.

Emelie eyed everyone before letting her gaze slowly come to rest on the Wookiee. "Really? This is the greeting I get?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Spice deals. Of course, because after a speech about complications screwing things up and putting people in jeopardy of getting dead, a few bricks of illegal narcotics was exactly the right thing to be worrying about.

It did at least answer a few questions about Emelie though, and the kind of deviant she was. Honestly, Vittore was a little disappointed to find out that she was a drug pedalling bimbo, rather than any of the alternative life stories he'd absent-mindedly guessed at. The spice trade wasn't a crime, it was business; a hierarchy of distributors and dealers propped back on the barely conscious pallid and bloodshot husks of it's addicted customers, all so a few people in the upper echelons could bathe in credits, and the people in the middle could have a moderately safe and profitable gateway into more impressive crimes. Of course, the spice network was the infrastructure upon which most of the criminal underworld was built, and by which most of it was funded. There was plenty of contraband in both the Empire and the new Alliance to fill the cargo holds of smugglers, but more often than not it was spice that lined their crates and their pockets. Crime families exploited extortion and money laundering, nut drug trafficking was always there ensuring a reliable turnover, and it was that infrastructure that allowed them to need enforcers and thugs and gang-bangers to protect their interests and war against each other. Narcotics were so important, so integral to the criminal underworld, that trading them was practically boring.

Shame, Vittore mused quietly to himself. She was hotter when I thought screwin' her would piss off some mafia boss.

Of course, matters were made worse by the fact that this looked more like a high school drama portrayal of a spice deal than the actual real thing. Vittore had been hired to off people at get-togethers like this to know when it didn't look the part. For starters, the thugs were doing an absolutely terrible job of concealing their weapons. It wasn't a we don't care if you see them kind of situation, it was a we tried to conceal them but we're just shit at it situation, and that was just sad. The Rodian looked particularly pathetic, the chunky hold-out blaster shoved down the front waistband of his pants almost certainly twice the size of anything contained within. He looked even more skittish, and nervous, and flighty than the baseline for his species; and Vittore's extensive knowledge of alien physiology picked up on the tell tale clues that someone had been sampling.

Not that the Wookiee was much better. He stood around with slumped shoulders, clearly trying to live up to the formidable reputation of his species without any real understanding of how to do so. At a guess, he'd been snagged as a slave by Trandos, and had grown up against humans who acted as if he was a fearsome Wookiee berserker without him ever having to earn the reputation. Vittore wasn't entirely sure what had led him to that conclusion. Maybe it was the spectacles. Or the hat.

The Wookiee opened his mouth, rumbling out a few choice words in Shyriwook, which his Rodian friend helpfully translated into Huttese. Vittore's face soured, though he managed to avoid drawing attention to himself with any kind of derisive grunt. He turned away, concealed his mouth behind a pretend cough, and tapped the comlink tucked into his ear. "Sleaz?" he said quietly, pausing for a moment to offer a forced smile to the nearby thug who was looking at him all shifty. "Hook into my comms, I need a running translation from slug and furball."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie wanted to try and pretend she was used to this level of sloppiness but really, like the hotel itself, it was all more reminiscent of days gone by. While the hotel itself had verged on dredging up good memories, the pure frakery of the entire scene in front of her held no such position. She was used to dealing with professionals, not... this. The only thing going for them was the fact that Heisen had apparently come up with some sort of combination of Booster Blue and Nuetron Pixie that wouldn't entirely fry a person's brain inside of their skull. Better yet, apparently it was addictive as all hell, which meant repeat business. Spice deals weren't nearly as lucrative as gunrunning, but Emelie had this thing about never forgetting where you started from.

Thankfully most of the negotiating over price and quantity had been handled before she even set foot on the planet. She glanced casually at the Rodian as he turned the guttural grunts and growls coming from the Heisen into something more understandable. Not that Huttese was all that better, but at least she didn't have to worry about transposing words and trying to figure out why she just thought that the Wookiee had insulted her mother.

"Yes, yes, I know I'm late. I was delayed. You know how that goes." She tried to not roll her eyes and only moderately succeeded. Apparently over ten years in the business meant zilch in gaining any sort of respect. Not to mention the fact that she would be moving the product that could end up making the damn furball rich.

Another round of translation led to one of the thugs bringing over a small box containing a few vials of the goods for inspection. Given the day's earlier incidents she was damn near tempted to give it a proper test run. Maybe later. The Rodian was rambling off some nonsense assuring her of the quality, it was cliche but at least it felt like they were going through the proper motions at least. Maybe there would be hope for these two.

"You bring all fifteen cases or am I going to have to send someone to come get it later?"

The Wookiee started up again, explaining that half the shipment was still on their ship and other such excuses for not being well prepared that made Emelie want to ask Vittore if he'd be willing to shoot one of the goons in the leg just as a warning to shut Heisen up. This time she didn't bother hiding the eye roll that slowly drifted away and towards Montegue.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore wasn't paying attention.

More accurately, Vittore was paying attention to anything but the laughable sham of a spice deal going on behind him. He idly strolled the perimeter; sized up his opposition lest they try anything; idly found himself working out how he'd take them out single-handed if he was required to, reconsidering until he brought his shots fired down to an acceptable minimum. He exchanged a few tight smiles, casual nods, and other assorted and culturally appropriate gestures of greetings with the mercenaries who were paying enough attention to him to follow him around the room with their eyes. It was a rookie mistake on their part of course; he'd managed to make himself such an appealing target for observation that almost no one was keeping an eye on Shadowstar herself.

Vittore idly tugged at the kinda grimy swathe of lace hanging in front of the window, and peered out into the hotel courtyard below. The complex was roughly Qek shaped, apparently by design though to Vittore's eye it looked like someone had crashed a starship into the corner of a formerly rectangular building, and no one had bothered to repair or rebuild from the damage. He watched the people milling about outside: a pair of Bith children apparently enjoying the rancid and sludge-covered water of the neglected hotel swimming pool; an adolescent nervously edging his way towards what both he and Vittore suspected to be a Twi'lek hooker loitering by the speeder bays; a couple of very much in love and very much poor as hell young Cathars, grooming each other adoringly despite how unpleasant a greasy sheen this planet's air left on their fur; a blur of armoured gold stampeding across the courtyard, and hurling himself impossibly into the air.

That final individual required half a second of double-take before the look of confusion on Vittore's face melted into one of recognition and fear. He turned, wide-eyed, eyes meeting with the look that Emelie cast in his direction.

"Everybody out!" he yelled, legs already in motion. He charged across the room, tackling Emelie into a run of her own, aiming their combined momentum towards the door. Cries erupted from the mercenaries, and weapons were drawn; but everything else was consumed by the explosion of sight and sound as the Beast smashed his way through the window.

[Chir'daki]

Chir'daki could sense the souls in the crowded room before he saw them. He felt each one individually, tasting the tang of their essences on the ripples and waves of the Force. He drew them towards him, let the lust for their blood empower his rage, and unleashed a battering ram of invisible power that fractured the transparisteel window into shards of transparent death. He burst through the void he had created with all the grace and ferocity of a pouncing vornskyr; his armour-plated knuckles formed a fist and crunched the glass beneath him as he settled effortlessly into a crouch.

An intake of breath rumbled in his throat like a predatory snarl as he let the red blood haze of Juyo slip over him. The breath reversed, unleashed as an enraged shout. The Force flung outwards like the blast wave of a supernova, the room's occupants rapidly becoming acquainted with the most proximate wall. One mercenary with more sense and sobriety managed to ready his blaster enough for a shot in Chir'daki's direction; the darksider felt the intent to fire before the nerve impulse even reached his finger, the blood red blade of his Greatsaber bursting to life and arcing through the air to deprive the Sullustan of his weapon, and the hand that held it.

Blood and anger and hate pounded in Chir'daki's head and ears; with another roar he sprung, the oversized blade of his lightsaber cleaving it's way through anything without the good sense or opportunity to clear it's path. It shrieked and sang as flesh and blood were vaporised by it's crimson energy, the scent of cauterised meat assaulted his nostrils and flared his senses; his lip curled, teeth bared in a sickening smile.

The blade fell silent as quickly as it had ignited; panted breaths swelled inside his bronzium encased chest as he turned his smouldering sun-like eyes on the only beings still breathing beside himself. The Wookiee and the Rodian cowering in fear and their own byproducts were of no consequence; harmless and incidental. It was the the half-Zeltron who earned his gaze, whatever dignity and modesty her skant outfit had provided lost when his assault had strewn her across the floor; and the all too familiar bounty hunter oh so heroically using his body in a futile attempt to shield hers.

He let his grin broaden, a disconcerting mix of hunger and mirth displayed across it.

"Vittore Montegue," he spoke, his voice injecting so much added meaning and sentiment into those two words that they practically told a story unto themselves. "Can't say I'm surprised finding you rolling around in a sleazy frakhole like this with your arms around some cheap skank."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

The first thought running through her mind was not again. Followed in short order by a giant: What. The. Frak. It wasn't so much that suddenly someone had decided to barge in and kill everyone, nor that she had ended up on the floor - though the whole thing with Vittore shielding her was interesting, except when she realized that was what she was actually paying him for. No, the whole fact the new threat to her life seemed once again affiliated with her associate was starting to really draw concern.

Emelie chose to ignore the skank remark. It really wasn't the best idea to try and antagonize the guy with the big damn lightsaber. Which mean her little prodding was directed back at Vittore. "So, friend of yours?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore rolled, and snatched at the slugthrower pistol tucked down the back of his waistband: the weapon that lightsabers couldn't deflect, that he never parted with, that he slept with under his pillow just in case this moment, or any of the other possible moments where Force users walked back into his life, came back to haunt him. A lesser man might have shaken as he sighted down the barrel to the tiny unarmoured window that exposed Chir'daki's eyes, and that goddamn smile, but Vittore's arms were steady as a rock, his muscles to bunched with hate to even move. It took all the effort he could muster just to unclench his jaw enough to force out words; a knife-shaped knot of scar tissue that had never really healed ached inside his shoulder, mere inches above his heart.

"Friend," he finally forced out, "Ain't the word I'd use."

The moment stretched and dragged: Vittore's pistol a single nerve impulse from firing; Chir'daki staring back, unflinching. Voices screamed inside Vittore's head, memories flashing behind his narrowed eyes. He felt the cold durasteel of every slice; the taste of blood in his mouth; the scent of his own burning flesh; the searing pain as the cauterised and scarring wounds were sliced out of him; the bittersweet relief as the Force was used to knit his tissues back together so that they could begin all over again. He heard his own screams, distant and disconnected the way that they'd been heard through his pain-addled ears. He heard the laughter. He recalled the eyes that had watched: the burning pair he now stared into had been there more than once.

So had that smile.

"Lemmie guess." More words. More effort. His jaw demanded clamped closure with such intensity that it felt like it might slam shut and bite through his tongue at any second. "The Shifter I ganked, employee a' yours?"

[Chir'daki]

A laugh; jovial, knowing. The laugh a teacher gave when a student asked an idiot question. "More of an apprentice," Chir'daki countered, his voice thick with added meaning. His eyes pierced into Vittore; his mind reached out, wrapping around the oversized pistol that Vittore held before him. A single thought, and he could wrench it from the hunter's hands: deprive him of the object he thought of as a weapon, when it was really just a shield. But there was no need; Chir'daki's senses were too keen, too honed, especially with the weapon earning his almost undivided attention. The hunter was smart enough to know that the bullets propelled by his slugthrower could not be deflected by a lightsaber: his shots could not be turned against him, as Jedi and Sith a like were so often inclined to do. Even so, Chir'daki's greatsaber would still cave through the projectile as if it were air; and that was if he even bothered trying. His reflexes were more than fast enough: a simple nudge to deflect the bullet even the slightest degree, and his armour would take care of the rest.

"Speaking of which," Chir'daki taunted, his casual tone a mockery of the threat that Vittore no doubt thought he presented. "I see that your little apprentice is conspicuously absent. What happened? Was four months without you enough time for Cambrio to find a tramp of his own and decide to go it alone?"

Chir'daki grinned again. He'd get no answer from the Montegue, but that didn't matter. He didn't care about where Cambrio was; didn't care for the threats and snark that Vittore could muster. Predators had no interest in the cries of their dying prey.

"I am sorry about this though," he continued, though his tone didn't exactly convey sincerity. "I would have preferred if you hadn't got involved. I would've hoped you were smart enough to lie low and lick your wounds for a while." A dumbfounded look swept across Vittore's face; Chir'daki relished in it, sensing the emotions boiling away beneath Vittore's chest. The creature from your nightmares walks into a room, and he's not even there for you. Doesn't even care who you are.

How small you must feel, Vittore Montegue. How insignificant.

He forced his expression to recede, his eyes turning to the woman that Vittore had apparently taken under his protection. He let out a sigh, disappointed that fun must give way to business. This part was always so tiresome; he was in this line of business for the hunt, not for the often disappointing conclusion. "No, I'm afraid this isn't personal, my xenophobic friend. This is a business trip, and my business -"

The word lingered on the tip of his tongue, snaking between his teeth as his eyes appraised the half-Zeltron. The disappointment in his expression remained steadfastly in place.

"- is with Miss Shadowstar."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Frak me.." There was no doubt in the way she spoke that it was meant as a groan more than any sort of invitation. Could this day just get any better?

Not one but two Force users after her. Thankfully the one had been taken out but this one? This one seemed like a hell of a lot more than some fancy shooting would take down, especially since they didn't exactly have the element of surprise. A second hand been taken to glance at the blaster strapped to her thigh but in the same instant she knew it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Vittore already had a slugthrower trained on the guy and he didn't exactly seem concerned about it. What was with these guys? Maybe this was payback for the time when someone had casually asked a group of her friends what their favorite Jedi trick was and she had blurted out 'Order 66' at damn near the same time as one of her favored cohorts. They'd laughed then, drank it off and snickered about it until morning. It wasn't really so damn funny now. Maybe if they'd done a better job...

"Alright then." Slowly, so to make it damn clear she wasn't about to try anything stupid, she collected herself back together and sat up, staring this new armored hunter right in those creepy eyes. "What kind of business?"

Another glance was cast at Vittore out of the corner of her eye. He'd probably give her a complete ration of dren for not listening to him later... if they lived through this. When, Em. She corrected herself. No use thinking you were already dead.

[Chir'daki]

Chir'daki fixed Emelie with a sceptical look. "I'm a bounty hunter, Miss Shadowstar. Is that a question you really need to ask?"

He unleashed a sigh and reached out a hand, long tentacles of Force wrapping around one of the corpses he'd slain moments before, tugging him from his perch and tossing him casually aside before reeling in the chair that he'd previously obscured. Chir'daki caught it as it skidded across the carpet; flipped it backwards before perching on it, folded arms resting casually on the seat back.

"My employers," he explained slowly, evidently needing to pander towards an intellectually challenged audience, "Have a vested interest in the profitability of your company. Silenus Corp is reliable, and more importantly it is discrete: something essential to preserving the kind of anonymity that they desire."

His nose wrinkled, a disparaging new undercurrent added to his expression.

"Unfortunately, discretion and anonymity are not well served when the Chief Operations Officer decides to sideline in casino heists or -" He hesitated for just a moment, watching the stirrings of the Rodian and the Wookiee beneath their protective table, signalling wordlessly to each other as they tried to formulate a plan for escape. A casual gesture of his hand, and both their skulls cracked heavily on the wall behind them, unconsciousness subduing them within moments. "- poorly-planned spice deals. If your antics led to your capture and incarceration, the kind of scrutiny it would bring upon Silenus Corp, it's finances, and it's transactions would be -" He shrugged. "- undesirable."

Idly, he shifted his posture so that he could hold the greatsaber in his hand again, drumming it idly against the knuckles of his armoured hand. "My contract is simple: find Emelie Shadowstar, and kill her in the least suspicious way possible. Now -" A whiff of pride slipped into his voice. "- a lesser hunter might try and stage an accidental overdose, but such things are a little mundane, don't you think? My apprentice planned to make it look like you'd been killed resisting the advances of a violent individual. A little too crass for my taste, particularly since he apparently planned to wear Vittore's face while doing it." He considered the pair for a moment. "You'd probably have enjoyed it," he mused. "You don't seem like a woman with particularly discerning tastes."

His brow furrowed. "I on the other hand am not so fond of such domestic approaches. Fortunately for me, you brought us to a planet riddled with all manner of ferocious predators lurking in it's wilderness. Naive tourists stray off the safe paths all the time and meet an unfortunate end; and I would so enjoy the steps necessary to convincingly fabricate such a death." He leaned forward, a knowing shimmer dancing across his unnatural eyes. "Tell me, Miss Shadowstar: do you know what it feels like to be torn apart by a wild animal?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

A flicker, just barely perhaps, of recollection and the smugness that had been forced instantly dropped. A questioning, distant look formed in her eyes as she forced them to stay trained on those of the Force user. There was no way he could have known... Only three people in the entirety of the universe had known, only two of which had been witnesses, and one of which was long dead. Seemed the universe just wanted to dredge up all sorts of unpleasant memories. Virgil... that had been the damn thing's name. Why could she remember that out of all the miserable moments...

Her left hand drew into a fist, subconsciously locking away other memories before they could start leaking into the present. Already she could feel her heart beating faster as panic threatened to set in. No Em, keep it together. Mind readers, remember? Fraking bastards.

A forced swallow did nothing to bring about the sudden dryness in her throat that threatened to choke away all speech. Instead she forced out a small laugh and once more felt her lips tug to the side in a half-smile.

"I'm always up for trying new things, but I'm afraid someone has beaten you to the punch there. Think once was more than enough for me." A deep breath was taken as she sat up just a bit straighter. "I must say I'm not too keen on this business of yours. I hope you don't mind if I don't exactly wish to make your employers happy today. Come see me in a few years, maybe then we can renegotiate this whole me-dying thing."

[Chir'daki]

Chir'daki let out a grunt of laughter.

A moment later all signs of amusement had faded, his face a stoic mask as an offhand gesture wove the Force into vice that wrapped itself around Emelie's throat. Cold rage crawled through Chir'daki's veins like a glacier, each creeping inch of it's advance constricting the Force's grip on her tighter, his invisible grip slowly tugging her upwards despite her struggles of protest.

"This is not a negotiation," he growled. "This is notice. This is foreclosure. You can't talk, flirt, or frak your way out of this one, no matter how hard you -"

The bullet reverberated against the bronzium of Chir'daki's helmet like a bell, the momentum of impact jerking his head back before his muscles were able to tense and absorb it. His eyes rounded on Vittore, a whiff of chemical smoke rising slowly from the barrel of his slugthrower; he snarled and wrenched the weapon from Vittore's hand with his mind, throwing it out into the corridor beyond. Concentration shattered however, Emelie slumped back to the ground, a wheezed breath sucked into her lungs by reflex.

Rage boiled over; it would be so easy for Chir'daki to reach out and snap the Montegue in half. No one would look for him, there'd be no need to stage anything, and the satisfying crunch of his shattering spine would almost be worth depriving himself of the pleasure of killing him slow. Orders were orders, though. A deal was a deal.

"This doesn't concern you," he grunted. There was no point appealing to his sense of hunter's honour; no sense imploring his fellow to back down and not interfere with another man's hunt. Vittore's principles were too confused and corrupted for that; no rationality in the way the man thought. If a virtue could not be appealed to however, perhaps a sin could.

"I will pay you triple what she is," Chir'daki purred, "To stand up and walk away."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore cocked his head to the side, a contemplative expression creeping onto his features.

"Just one question for y', Chirful -"

Okay, so the slugthrower hadn't worked. Or at least, it had only half-worked. Breaking Chir'daki's concentration enough to stop him asphyxiating Emelie on the spot was a definite tally mark in the success column, but after all these years of keeping the pistol by his side at all times, finding out the sights were slightly off when you actually had the chance to shoot the frelling asshole in the face was more than a little disappointing. That said, he had learned something important about the darksider: he wasn't omniscient. It wasn't the Force that had saved him from the bullet, it was blind luck; and Chir'daki had been blind to it, so focused on his anger that Emelie that he failed to perceive something right next to her. That fact was, well, damned fortunate.

Vittore's expression tugged into a smile.

"- is that big ol' lightsaber a' yours good enough to deflect bolts from a laser cannon?"

He watched Chir'daki's eyes widen a split second before the darksider leapt from his feet, blade igniting as the first volley was unleashed by the Crimson Tide's main cannon, the ship looming over the hotel courtyard. Mighty swings of the greatsaber smashed the plasma blasts left and right, craters smashed into the walls with impunity as the ship's onslaught continued.

Vittore didn't stick around to watch. He found his feet, one hand scooping up his pistol on the way past, the other wrapping around Emelie to drag her into motion alongside her. Chunks of plaster dislodged from the corridor walls painfully close to their heads as they broke into a run, Chir'daki either evading or barely deflecting. Vittore kept his eyes on the corridor, but his ears on the blaster fire; the second the cannon fell silent, it either meant that Chir'daki was dead or, far more likely, in pursuit.

"Next time I say stay on th' ship," Vittore grunted, leading them around a corner and towards the access stairway to the roof, "You stay on th' kriffin' ship."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Noted!" It wasn't a promise to do as told, or even go along with what he'd said but at the moment it was the best he was going to get from her.

The stairs were taken as fast as possible, which Emelie had to admit wasn't nearly as fast as she'd have liked. Apparently a cushy desk job hadn't really done a whole lot for preparing you for running for your life. Pure adrenaline was working overtime today and she'd no doubt pay for it later. The door to the roof burst open with both of them quickly making their exit and while she knew it wouldn't be exactly helpful, Emelie had gone and pulled one of her blasters from its holster and kept it in hand, trained on the open doorway. If nothing else it could be used as a distraction, maybe enough to keep the Force using bastard from crushing her windpipe again.

"Things just keep getting better all the time." A nervous laugh left her as she looked back to Vittore. "Seems like you and I were destined to meet. You know, if you believe in that sort of shavit."

As she spoke Emelie put some distance between her and the door, fully aware at any moment their fellow acquaintance could make an appearance.

"So! Plan, Captain? Please tell me you have one because I don't really feel like dying to that Force using son of a bitch."

[Vittore Montegue]

Of course he had a plan. He was Vittore kriffing Montegue. There was always a plan.

It wasn't necessarily a good plan. It wasn't necessarily even a complete plan. In fact, more often than not it was more a sequence of flashcards with fragments of plan scribbled on them in crayon, which he shuffled up in his brain and grabbed at random. Sometimes he got lucky, and things like open comm channel feeding translations into his ear alerted Sleazy to the situation, who woke up Katie, who flew the ship over to be perfectly timed cavalry. Sometimes the plan didn't quite go to, well, plan, and he was forced to do stupid things like trying to shoot an angry darksider in the face with a slugthrower to stall for time while Katie worked out which window he was in. Sometimes, the plan didn't give him the opportunity to say things like Damn it Katie, it's the one with the gorram hole in it, forcing him to rely on the questionable common sense of his back-up.

And sometimes, the plan flashcards had IOU one plan scribbled on them, or worse, Just improvise you lazy ass.

Today was one of those times.

"Don't worry, Miss Shadowstar," he muttered, tugging the S-5 heavy blaster from the holster on his hip. He paid a little too much attention to the various bells and whistles bolted onto the side of it to be all that reassuring; realising this, he glanced up and offered Emelie his most cavalier smile. "Pretty sure y' ain't gonna like it, though."

The roar of the Crimson Tide's engines intensified as her repulsors raised her above the edge of the building, the down-draft kicking up a storm of dust and grit. Vittore winced against it, watching as the ship slowly turned to expose the open airlock. A moment of spontaneity swept over the Captain; he turned to Emelie, an arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her tight against him, his lips falling against hers in a sudden ambush kiss.

"F' luck," he muttered, turning away, "An' 'cause we're probably about to die anyway."

With that, Vittore raised the ascension gun, aimed through the open airlock of his ship, and fired.

[Emelie Shadowstar]

That was unexpected. The kiss, that was, not the whole heroic sudden grappling hook into the sky thing. Though that was new too.

Things moved quickly, far too quickly as far as she was concerned right in that moment but at least it was helping them get farther away from the damn Bounty Hunter. So when they basically crash landed on the ramp of his ship she needlessly was entirely enthused that it had happened without severe bodily harm. Well, for her at least. As best as she could tell the man laying under her wasn't exactly dying either so she let the adrenaline take over and smirked at him in probably what was an over the top wicked fashion that she would have avoided if everything wasn't so damn crazy at the moment.

"Nice trick. Don't suppose you have any others you'd be wanting to show me?" All sense of what was obscene or appropriate had been left behind on the roof, apparently.

All in all Emelie was just happy to be alive. Not that she was processing that at the moment. Right now the entire thrill of... well.. everything had taken over. She felt like she could have hopped up and spun about in a moment of pure glee... but that's not what happened. She was, after all, herself.

"Best bad plan that ever worked out as far as I'm concerned. Way to earn your credits, xìnggan."

[Vittore Montegue]

A wry smile formed on Vittore's expression as he comprehended the way that gravity had sprawled her on top of him. Okay so sure, the ascension gun had wrenched his shoulder and it had slammed pretty heavily into the deck, and there was the whole open hatch leading to a long fall and a sudden squishy stop; but all things considered he'd done worse in worse situations.

Of course, the voice in the back of his mind had to choose that moment to chime in: the gruff, disapproving voice that sounded unsettlingly like his father, telling him that he had a job to do, that he shouldn't mix business with pleasure, that there was a little too much pinkberry in her milkshake for dad's indoctrination to be entirely okay with any shenanigans that might ensue -

"If y' wouldn't mind dismountin' there, Miss Shadowstar," Vittore said as diplomatically as he could muster, trying to avoid as much not undesirable but certainly inappropriate jostling as he could, "There's a hatch that needs closin', a ship that needs flyin', an' -" He trailed off, still not entirely sure what it was that Emelie was wanting to engage his more specialised services to find, but fairly confident that Sleazy would have managed to pull together some sort of obvious plan of action that Vittore could say yes to and make it seem like he was completely on top the situation. "- a person that needs findin'."

He shrugged. "'sides, y' need to come meet Katie, the girl who just saved that pretty little ass a' yours."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Oh. Right. Leave it to her hero to go and remind her of all the reasons they found themselves there in the first place. A small nod of her head solidified the matter as she got to her feet and began the futile effort of tugging clothing back into more proper positioning. Yep, definitely wouldn't be telling Xavier about this one.

"You mean I have someone to thank other than you?" It seemed like with the immediate danger out of the way Emelie was just more comfortable going right back into the land of not-so-surreptitious glances.

The moment didn't last long enough and she let out a sudden deep breath. "Alright then, lead on. And you can tell me how you know my new bestest friend while you're at it. Rather know everything I can about the person hunting me since I doubt he'll just be going back home now that we're sailing off into the sunset."

One last glance was given back towards the planet before the hatch closed. While she somewhat mourned the loss of her shuttle, the drug deal, and the two guards... she sure as hell wouldn't miss that damn place.

[Vittore Montegue]

"Chir'daki's a relentless, bloodthirsty animal, who will kill ya if somethin' else don't get y' first. Won't be today. Probably won't even be tomorrow. But even if we get the bounty off your head, even if we unravel this whole... Sarlacc thing, one day between now an' when y' old an' grey, he'll show up an' he'll take y' out. He's -"

Vittore trailed off; shook his head. "He doesn't hunt for money, he hunts for the thrill. To him, a contract is just a promise, an' he sees himself as a man a' his word: he'll keep it, just on his own damn time scale."

He paused again, flashes of unpleasant and uninvited memories playing out in his mind. His hand triggered the door control for the cockpit before he spoke again. "The only reason he hasn't killed me yet is 'cause he promised he wouldn't."

Vittore left the sentiment hanging, stepping onto the bridge and watching wisps of cloud dance across the transparisteel viewport ahead of him. He probably should have found the empty pilot's seat unnerving, but it was something he'd grown accustomed to; this wasn't the first time Katie had pulled his ass out of the fire, and she seldom did it sitting down.

"Good job, Sleazy," he offered, with a curt nod as he entered. Intellectually, it made no sense for the half-naked biz/comm droid to be sat at a console, pushing buttons with his hands rather than plugging direct into the computer systems. It shouldn't have been reassuring either, but somehow it was: it was the little touches - the quirks of programming that twitched his head to the side when he talked, the dumb battered smashball cap that Vittore had shoved on his head one time as a joke which the droid now refused to ever take off - that made Sleazy more of a person to his mind than the Shifter.

And Katie? Well, her personification was even more extreme. Vittore turned, attention shifting to the other aft corner of the bridge where Katie rested, nestled into the astromech socket that the two of them had installed together. Her interface jack was plumbed into the dataport behind her, twitching periodically as she fed course corrections to the navigational computer. Beneath the relatively unassuming shell of an R4 series agromech droid was a veritable Sluis army knife of upgrades and accoutrements. If needed, Katie could fly them from here to Coruscant, land them effortlessly in some cramped docking port with only a few microns on each side to spare, and could probably fend off a pirate attack along the way.

Vittore dropped into a crouch, bringing himself level with her ocular receptor before he allowed the grin to flourish on his face. He rested a hand gently atop her truncated, conical head, and offered the kind of affectionate pat usually reserved for small children and puppies. "I guess you must be gettin' pretty tired of savin' my ass all the time, huh?"

Katie's reply was a series of whistles and bleats that was nonsensical to Vittore's ears; his eyes skimmed the text appearing on the small readout display mounted into the astromech socket.

"Oh, I see," he countered, with a wry smile. "Mine wasn't the ass you were interested in savin', huh?"

Katie's whistles sounded an odd mix of startled and embarrassed, which only made Vittore grin more. He ignored the droid's protest, twisting to look up at Emelie. "Miss Shadowstar, this is R4-K8. Not only is she the one who flew to the rescue and shot at our mutual friend back there -" He shot the droid a smirk. "- but apparently she's awful glad t' have someone pretty t' look at on the ship for a change."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

It didn't take empathy to know not to try and let any of the inappropriate comments regarding the armored bounty hunter leave her lips. She knew that tone of voice all too well, it was the same exact one she'd caught herself using anytime she had to talk about Xavier's former partner or the planet Vjun in general - both of which were thankfully a rarity. Given what Vittore described she could only begin to imagine exactly how well the two were acquainted. Lovely. Now to only hope that this Chir'daki was only after her skin. Fraking up and causing herself to be put on the block was one thing, if any of her associates were targeted as well... The thought of the little slicer girl brought a sudden knot in her throat that only barely managed to leave as they entered the cockpit.

Emelie couldn't help but smile as the astromech was addressed and introduced. A bemused "Huh..." escaped before she could put a stop to it. Katie... K8... another droid. It wasn't what she was expecting but all things considered it was a far sight better than finding out Katie was Vittore's psycho sister or worse.

"Well I'll be damned. Today's just determined to be full of firsts, admittedly the most pleasant being rescued by an R4." A small laugh left her as she forced herself to take another one of those calming breaths as things returned to - somewhat - normalcy.

"Nice to meet my newest hero." A wry smirk was cast at Vittore. "Seems I'm wracking up a list of them today as well."

[Sleazy]

A burst of static from a partially corrupted sound file that sounded decidedly like an awkward cough tumbled from Sleazy's vocabulator.

"If I might interrupt -" he said, with what most sentients would probably perceive as awkwardness. It wasn't entirely accidental: truth be told, the inability of his chassis to engage in the kind of heroics that Captain Montegue and even R4-K8 performed with regularity was one of the most common design flaws evaluated by his self-diagnostics, but unfortunately was not a trait that the Captain seemed eager to rectify with any kind of urgency. Captain Montegue always insisted that they each had a role to perform, and that Sleazy was the best there was at what he did; the droid found his analysis flawed, but found the erroneous compliment mildly reassuring, as far as his desire to not be replaced and usurped was concerned.

"I have consulted The List as per your request, Captain Montegue. I believe I have a possible lead."

The List was not a designation of Sleazy's invention, though he was grateful to have a designation for that particular user group with fewer characters than the default designator his processors had assigned. The List consisted of people known to Captain Montegue whom he considered useful, or trustworthy, and very occasionally both. Some were fellow hunters, others were preferred suppliers that the Captain frequented for supplies; some were informants, or experts; one was a physiotherapist and medical practitioner with whom Sleazy was 93.8% the Captain had engaged in intercourse. The List had an unfortunate rate of attrition, death or incarceration, or loss of contact being flagged. The names of Captain Montegue's father and brother were both conspicuously absent, having fallen both out of contact and out of the Captain's good graces.

The Captain configured his facial features into an expression that Sleazy had identified as a non-verbal instruction to continue with his explanation.

"I managed to reach Amaros Koine."

The individual in question was an old friend of the Captain's father, a former law enforcement employee from Naboo with undisclosed military experience and an alleged Mandalorian pedigree who had in recent years traded careers for one focused tracking down fugitives from legal and financial obligations. Objectively, Sleazy considered Sergeant Koine's career as a bail bondsman to be morally preferable to Captain Montegue's career as a bounty hunter; but then, he found the entire process by which organics determined their best-suited profession to be entirely unfathomable, and so chose not to dedicate too much of his memory core to processing it. Captain Montegue knew exactly who Sergeant Koine was of course; and while Miss Shadowstar presumably did not, the woman would simply have to find a way to cope without that data for now, as Sleazy was not particularly inclined to share it.

"While he personally has no knowledge concerning Abrax or any of her other known aliases, he has directed us to an information broker on Cloud City with whom he has frequent successful dealings. Sergeant Koine assures me that consulting this individual is our best option; however, it should be noted that said individual is Doctor Atton Kira." Sleazy allowed a moment for the significance of that name to sink in. "If you would prefer, I can continue to search for alternative avenues."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

The names meant nothing, which was only mildly annoying as far as Emelie was concerned. Given the rest of the day's new faces she figured at some point their contacts were bound to start overlapping, but sadly that didn't seem to be the case. It was a strange position to be in seeing as how the last few years it had been her with all the information that others wanted. This whole relying on other people that weren't technically on your payroll thing was just... strange. And not in the good way. Well, okay, so Emelie wasn't exactly opposed to dealing with Captain Montegue but this day had done nothing towards really endearing him towards her on a personal level. Sure saving your life was awesome but when you went about it with an air of don't you dare thank me for it, well, it just wasn't as fun in her opinion.

"Well, unless this one is going to try and kill us as well..." She let it hang, unsure if she really wanted the answer to the implied question.

[Vittore Montegue]

"Not us," Vittore assured. "Just me."

There was a strange awkwardness in his voice; not the kind of fear and darkness that had been there when he'd spoken about Chir'daki, but rather something closer to reluctant embarrassment. A cough struggled loose and cleared his throat.

"I may've stolen his ship."

Katie chimed in with a helpful whistle.

"...an' his droids."

Vittore dove enthusiastically into a hunch-shouldered frown, and focused very intently on the right hand of the two pilot's seats. He busied himself flipping switches, most of which didn't do anything of any real use or consequence, particularly once he realised that Katie had helpfully disabled the controls completely, allowing him to fake the act of flying and course corrections without actually having to do anything meaningful with the controls. He made a mental note to bump the new arc welder Katie kept asking for a little higher up his list of priorities; another mental note to look into that chassis-mounted blaster that Sleazy was always on about, when a helpful note about Amaros being on Bespin was bounced to his console screen through the ship's wireless. People looked at him a little weird when he explained that he rode around the galaxy alone with nothing but a pair of droids; but Vittore had never known an organic who had his back the way that Katie and Sleazy did.

"Might wanna grab y'self a bunk an' get comfy, Miss Shadowstar," Vittore offered helpfully over his shoulder. "It's a long way from here t' Cloud City."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Something was just on the tip of her tongue, some sort of implied comment about him helping her find one or finding one together or... Emelie sighed as her mind chose that exact second to recap the days events, ending with a greenish tinged vision of Vittore smirking at her as she was pinned against a wall. Reluctantly she was forced to admit that all other issues aside it was probably best to not try and shack up with the guy who the Shifter who had tried to kill her had been imitating only a few hours ago.

"Aye aye, Captain..."

Okay, so she couldn't help the wink...or that little thing she did where she bit her lower lip and looked at him in ways that probably were really inappropriate. A girl had to have some fun, after all.

One last shrug was taken before she left the cockpit. Maybe to go see about the alcohol in the galley he'd mentioned earlier, if for nothing else than to mourn the loss of her own bottle that she had been forced to leave behind. Oh well, can always buy another on Bespin.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Meanwhile...

Didn't go and matter how it was done or where it was, the first thing a body noticed when it went and decided now would be a grand 'ol time to go and return to the land of the livin' was the light. Was one of them subconscious jobs, even with eyes closed you were judgin' just how much of it there was. Dark usually went and gave permission to take your ticket back to Dreamland and run with it, various levels of brightness meant other stuff. So it was that the low, dingy sorta light that Sadie went and found herself all kinds of aware of went about lettin' her know that she hadn't moved since the last time she'd gone and tried to pull herself up from the pit - still in the gorram back storage room of the same gorram bar that was supposedly run by "friends".

Tryin' to grab onto some kinda awareness that wasn't filled with all kinds of discomfort was a foolish thing. No good came from it and Sadie should have known better. Not that she was ever gonna get out of this mess by bein' out like a punch drunk fighter but it sure as frak didn't hurt as bad as the wakin' world. Pain was one of them truths of life you couldn't avoid, especially if you were her, which she was at least the last time she'd bothered to check. Problem was she'd been overindulgin' - not her choice, o'course.

See, when Sadie had gone and decided now would be a great time to up and leave the band and it's bantha-crap side jobs, "now" had been on the tail end of a bank job that hadn't gone as planned but she'd still got out of with a chunk of creds anyhow - creds she kept to herself rather than givin' the boss his cut. Then had come the attempt at flyin' solo to Tatooine - stupid kid thought she had a real good chance of severin' ties with Bog and Co. Then that deal with the Prent guy had gone south real quick and she'd gotten pulled into some sort of Rebel dren that didn't pay worth a lick since apparently savin' the verse was one of them thankless acts that didn't go anywhere near helpin' make sure ya were fed and such if you weren't plannin' on stickin' abouts as part of the Alliiance proper. That weren't the kind of deal you stuck around for, not if you were her anyhow.

So when the band had gone and caught up with her on Nar Shaddaa livin' off the last bit of creds she had... Yeah, things hadn't gone so great. You didn't get to just up and poof away from the Zabrak ringleader without havin' some sort of way of payin' for it. First few months of it had been tough but she'd taken her licks just as always, bruises always healed, fractures always got better and you just kept livin' on, even you were spittin' up blood more often than not.

But then she'd gotten real brave or maybe just stupid and decided she'd had enough and one night had tried to creep up on the bastard with a vibroblade since they’d taken her blasters away. For some gorram reason Sadie hesitated and that right there… that was a big damn mistake. Bog had woken up just in time, caught her in the act. The first bout of retaliation had come mean and swift. She'd gotten hurled into the storage room of the bar they were crashing in the upstairs loft at and she was left wonderin' if that was all he was plannin' but not two beats later had Bog reappeared with her quetarra in hand. Not the one she sometimes borrowed from Ronan, nor the bass that was more band property than any if her own. Nope, this one was hers - the single thing she'd managed to hold onto since she had first scraped enough creds together to buy it. It was a piece of her just as much as any body part... And she couldn't do anythin' but watch in that sickly kinda mute horror as he'd smashed it to pieces. It had it's desired effect as she'd felt like he'd gone and torn a big meaty chunk o' her soul outta her. It'd been awful, devastatin'' but she had gone and figured that would be the end of it. Ha, if only.

It was the next mornin' when Sadie knew she was in a right proper peck of trouble when the other two guys had been shuffled off real quick like on a job. If that hadn't been enough to raise alarms the damn look Rex had given her had been - ugh, frakkin' sap! Sadie could have gone the rest of her life without seein' the big cowardly blond human give her that look like he weren't ever gonna see her again, like he was about to start belly achin' and pitchin' a fit. And then the giant of a baby had gone and said "Goodbye". He never said that sorta dren. She'd watched him cast one last mournful look at her before him and Ronan went off to the starry black. And that's when she'd found herself on the ground for the first time that day, feelin' like she went and got run over by some sort of commercial speeder.

[Atton Kira]

Cloud City, Bespin

It was quiet. He wouldn't have gone as far as to say too quiet: that was the kind of ungrateful thinking that got you assaulted with a shipment of loud and unruly patrons who made your nice peaceful early afternoon considerably less nice and peaceful. The bar wasn't deserted by any stretch, but everyone currently within was scattered and dispersed, and not creating the kind of ruckus that could be expected in later hours. The bulk of last night's drunkards had already either staggered away or been stretchered off to holding by the local constabulary; tonight's drunkards had yet to arrive; with the exception of Greve of course, who was pretty much permanently welded to his bar stool from what Atton could tell.

He sighed, and idly polished a glass. There were machines for that, and technically there was even a droid out back to do it for him, though he was loathed to switch the blasted thing on while he was on shift. Atton wasn't intolerant of droids per se; he just had a problem with other people's droids, and the level of idiocy that went into the way they customised them. Most people neglected the kind of periodic memory wipes that were the norm in military circles; without them, droids would start developing programming flaws and personality quirks, either of their own or by design or inheritance from their owner. Atton found the majority of people insufferable and irritating, so any automaton that adopted the traits of such a person usually earned his ire with considerable swiftness. And of course, the damned waitress droid wasn't his, so there was very little he could to do make the blasted thing less annoying.

Atton glanced up as a light concealed behind the counter flickered; a proximity indicator to warn him of patrons entering the bar. During peak hours the light essentially strobed; but at times such as these, it was a useful way to avoid being caught unawares.

The three figures his eyes settled upon might have been a surprise, if he had not been Atton Kira. He played the part of the friendly barman, but it was an act: smoke and mirrors to cover for and facilitate his main line of work, and to provide something to do to plug in the voids of inactivity that made his days so otherwise dull. The second a Baudo-class Yacht had established contact with landing control, various channels and secreted software packets fired off messages that alerted him. The instant Vittore Montegue had used a known alias while passing through customs screening, he'd been notified. When one of his informants had spotted Montegue arriving at the apartment of Amaros Koine, one of his known associates, Atton had known about it. Very little happened on Cloud City without Atton's awareness; particularly when the people involved were ones he was deliberately keeping tabs on.

That accounted for two of the figures that entered: the stocky xenophobic bounty hunter who liked to call himself "Captain", and had enough daddy issues to fill a bulk freighter; and the towering Mandalorian Sergeant who'd trained Clone Commandos during the War before hiding himself away on Naboo for a few decades, to sire a son who'd abandoned the Empire in favour of playing Jedi with the Rebellion. Atton had studied and investigated both intensely, dredging up every secret he could find: Amaros because he was a client; Vittore because he'd pissed Atton off. But the third, the blonde with the lilac highlights, was not someone he recognised. The only woman in Amaros' life was several years dead; and while Vittore wasn't particularly close to anyone outside his family - which he wasn't particularly close to either - the list of women he'd fraternised or fornicated with was too long for any rational sentient to even attempt to memorise.

Atton studied the way she looked, the way she moved, burying his scrutiny beneath the illusion of a barman eyeing up prospective customers. He noted the dash of Zeltron in her heritage; the hint of confidence in her swagger that seemed somehow less than it should have been. He noted her attire; the blasters that weren't really all that well concealed if you knew what to look for; the way she studied the room, and the way that her eyes were drawn to things that Amaros and Vittore's were not. Conclusions were drawn: clearly someone accustomed to dealing with and working within the criminal underworld, who'd climbed out and made something good of herself, only to get bored enough to dip her toes back in. Something had gone wrong, recently; Atton noted the discolouration around her throat, all the hallmarks of being strangled but with a bruise pattern that didn't match any hand or garotte that Atton had ever seen. In fact, the only time he'd seen patterns like this had been on the corpses of people strangled to death with the Force. Add to that the fact that she was side by side with Vittore Montegue, and there was really only one conclusion that could be drawn.

"Of all the Juma joints, on all the planets, in all the galaxy, and he walks into mine." He offered a carefully measured smile. "Vittore Montegue. I do hope that, whichever darksider strangled your pretty friend here, you did a decent enough job making sure they didn't follow you here. Last think I need is some pissed-off Force user scaring off all my customers."

He turned to Emelie, and allowed a smidge of concern to creep onto his features. "Did he save you from your Forceful assailant, or is it his fault that they attacked you in the first place?" His eyes narrowed, though he couldn't quite keep the flicker of a smug, impish smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It wasn't his brother, was it?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Well that was news. Emelie only gave the slightest glances towards Vittore, despite the wanting to do the over dramatic mouthing of the words your brother to go along with all the questions that they brought along. Funny how he'd failed to mentioned he had a frakking force using sibling. Of course, the way that Kira had just slipped that information let her wonder just what sort of reaction he was looking for. There really was nothing worse than being between two people who couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other. You know... except for nearly dying several times. The question of how he knew exactly what had happened was lingering, but she was pretty sure the strange bruising around her neck had something to do with it. It was impressive regardless, she just didn't want to admit it.

"Well, unless his brother is a very large angry man in a bunch of golden armor with an ego the size of Coruscant..." She looked away as if trying to find the humor in relating Chir'daki to Vittore. It didn't work. "As for your other question while he did save me, I haven't quite ruled out that other bit yet."

This time she practically beamed sarcasm in Vittore's direction for a few moments before returning her attention to the man behind the bar.

"Though I'll leave you to figure that out later... I've been told you might be able to help me find someone. And it seems we might be on a bit of a tight schedule about that."

[Atton Kira]

"I certainly can help you find someone," Atton countered, sucking in a hesitant breath through the side of his teeth. "Whether or not I will is something of a grey area."

Hit attention shifted to Amaros, eyes focusing with intense scrutiny. The Mandalorian was, to all intents and purposes, the closest thing Atton Kira had to a friend: a discrete and reliable repeat customer. What made Amaros so valuable was his obedience: not the kind of dim-witted obedience of a droid, or a clone, or a weak minded subordinate; but the obedience of someone who understood that there were rules and procedures for a reason, and had the decency and wisdom to follow them. That was what made this situation so perturbing. Being confronted by two strangers - worse, one stranger and one disliked passing acquaintance - was most definitely not the way that things were supposed to work; Atton's trade spread by word of mouth, but the premise was that any prospective new customer was brought to him with his prior knowledge and prior consent. Atton needed to know who he was meeting before he met them: not just so he could scrutinise their identity in search of any unwanted Imperial entanglements, but also to collect enough fodder for his mind games. How was he supposed to show off how robust his information gathering network was, if he wasn't provided with the opportunity to gather information in advance?

Ordinarily Atton would have reacted with anger, but the fact that it was Amaros converted that sentiment to intrigue. There weren't many people who could call in favours from the big man, and yet apparently Vittore Montegue had called one in. Whether the favour had been earned by Vittore or merely inherited from the past association between his father and Amaros was an interesting question in and of itself; but in the underworld, particularly amongst hunters, favours were not a commodity spent lightly. Yet, Vittore seemed to be spending one not on himself, but rather on the behalf of the woman whose name Atton still didn't even know. Whoever this woman was to Vittore, and whoever was missing, the story here was far larger than it appeared to be at face value, and Atton hungered to uncover it's entirety. Was Vittore under contract, or acting under the influence of a favour of his own; and did this woman understand the collateral expense that Vittore was spending to find whomever was lost?

"Can you vouch for her?" he asked the Mandalorian, jerking a head towards Emelie.

[Amaros Koine]

The stare that Amaros replied with was so unwavering in it's determination that it could have made a charging rancor reconsider what it was doing and decide to give him a wide birth. It was not an unpractised expression, but not one that he overused either: just every now and again as a reminder that people should stow the unwanted questions, and break out the fast-paced efficiency that he expected from the dealers and contractors that earned his repeat patronage.

In truth, part of him felt guilty at the situation that he had placed Atton Kira in. The small man talked too much, schemed too much, and enjoyed toying with and manipulating people a little too much to be entirely acceptable to his code of honour, but he was not a bad person. He pedalled secrets for a profit, buy Amaros had learned it was almost from some misguidedly idealistic lust for truth; not because of greed or malice. Despite the lucrative nature of his business, Atton's lifestyle was surprisingly modest: his apartment was not in a lavish part of town, he didn't drive an expensive speeder, he worked a real job that required real effort and real hours; what happened to his proceeds was a mystery, but unless Amaros had completely misjudged the man - something he was very seldom guilty of - he suspected that Atton was a frugal hoarder at worst; a secret philanthropist at best.

That was the motivation behind this moment: a meeting between two secretly good men who hid their benevolence behind sour reputations. He knew their was animosity between them, and he knew the cause; he also knew that Atton had profited quite nicely from the insurance pay-outs from the theft of his ship, and that the root of his dislike towards Vittore was born out of irritation and insult, not genuine anger. Annoyance was a far easier emotion to overcome; Amaros had faith that in due time the two would find a way to move past their point of tension and begin to work together, perhaps for their mutual benefit.

Amaros clapped a hefty hand onto Vittore's shoulder, his eyes not deviating from Atton for even an instant. "If Vittore says she's good people -" He tried to inject as much pride and sincerity into his voice as possible. It wasn't hard: his ancestry on Mandalore all but burned into nothing, the Montegue family was almost the closest thing he had to a Clan. "- then rest assured, she's good people."

[Vittore Montegue]

"She's also a businesswoman," Vittore offered, helpfully.

Atton Kira's reputation for deduction had proceeded him, and the fact that he had yet to determine anything of any real use or consequence about Emelie had not gone unnoticed; nor had the slight flicker of frustration that sparkled in his eyes with every sentence that didn't inadvertently provide him with a name or some other clue to her identity. It felt like the time that he'd seen the resolution of the Republic Rangers: Intergalactic Rescue season finale cliffhanger a full two days before Cambrio, and had left clues and references littered everywhere to see how long it would take for his brother to actually guess what had happened. The fact that every single one of those clues had been an elaborate hoax, and that every answer he gave was either an outright lie or a deliberately chosen truth to throw him off in completely the wrong direction made it all the more enjoyable. Cambrio had cried at one point, after Vittore had tricked him into believing that his crush had been brutally and tragically killed.

Fun times.

He flashed Kira a tight smile: he wasn't quite as fun a mark as his brother, and there wasn't nearly the same personal investment for him, but Atton was a rare opportunity to screw with someone who already disliked him intensely, without really suffering any sort of long-term ramifications for it. At least, that was the operating mentality he was currently working with.

Gently, he elbowed Emelie in the shoulder. "Offer him money," he grunted. "An' offer him more than y' offered me. Doesn't seem like the kinda guy that'd let y' get away with lowballin' offers just because a' how short y' skirt was at the time."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"And you are?" It wasn't quite whispered as she spoke the words aimed only at the Captain, speaking while keeping the downright devilish smirk fully placed.

A small moment was taken to regard him. It was frustrating just how little he gave her. Xavier was wonderful that way, every little comment she made, every bat of an eye or flirtatious glance got under his skin and no matter how he was able to hide it from the world, she always knew. There'd been others that had been the same way... but Vittore? He seemed as if he were a rock that had learned how to hide everything unless he wanted to reveal it. Maybe she should have tried something on board the Crimson Tide.

A small roll of her eyes redirected her attention back at the broker. "See? I'm all kinds of trustworthy, Doctor."

The breath that left her wasn't exactly an annoyed sigh but was certainly verging on it. There was a certain give and take expected among those that dealt with the underworld. Names were important... real names that was. Aliases were everywhere, some you used once and threw away, others got recycled from time to time. She had half considered falling on the often used 'Rebecca Poe' or 'Vivica Isley' that had become almost as typical as her real name but there really was no point in it. It would all lead back to the source eventually if you looked hard enough.

"Name's Shadowstar. Emelie if you prefer if that makes things more agreeable. And as my less that subtle colleague here is trying to tell me to do... I'm willing to toss enough credits your way to sweeten the deal." As she spoke she caught herself and suddenly the entire situation seemed strange to her just then.

Emelie had been struggling internally with why the hell was she going out of her way to try and get in contact with some flighty slicer who tended to annoy her more often than not... but the answer had already smacked her in the face. It was a friend of a friend. More than that when you got down to it really. The fact of who the friend had been to Emelie in the first place along with the simple fact that he had never given her the girl's proper name. D'Kor had been protecting the girl then, Emelie had known that. But even that had seemed odd at the time given the guy's normal way of handling things. So it had been embedded in her mind despite any attempts to not think about it - "Maggie" had been in some way important to a good friend. She didn't care the hows or whys but that had been enough so that when they had started working together "Maggie" had become part of Emelie's crew and anyone who had earned that right in her head certainly deserved at least the tiniest concern when it came to them blanking out their communications suddenly.

[Atton Kira]

"And what exactly," Atton asked, "Is it that you're trying to sweeten?"

His frustration was veiled, coming across as mild when in fact it was raging with the intensity of about two dozen suns. He was frustrated that the name Emelie Shadowstar meant absolutely nothing to him: not even the faintest whiff of recognition. Deciphering her was like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle, only to stumble a piece that was a different shape, size, colour, and material to the rest. Her name, if it was indeed genuine, was of absolutely no use to him whatever: he could have sighed at how disappointingly mediocre she had turned out to be.

He was also frustrated at their piecemeal approach to providing him with the task that they had in mind for him. It was irritatingly clear that they did not have the kind of respect for his abilities and his results that was due; and that fact left him in a position where he could do absolutely nothing to rectify the state of affairs. People came to him, ordered a drink, told him what they wanted, and then went on their merry, letting his network do it's thing. But not these people, apparently; which, as an added source of frustration, made the conversation between a barman and three non-drinking people look extremely suspicious. Hopefully, everyone else in the bar was either too drunk or tired to care.

[Emelie Shadowstar]

She wasn't about to shout across the bar the reason they were there, never knew who was listening in and today's stream of seemingly connected events was enough to let her avoid any possibilities for more strange "coincidental happenings". A few short strides were enough to bring her to the bar which she leaned against, somehow feeling better for standing than choosing a seat in the moment. A glance was cast towards the early patrons and another round of nostalgia brought upon a small smile.

"Look, I'm not used to this whole having to ask people for help thing but today's forcing it on me in all sorts of awful ways. So why don't you pour me a glass of your best claret and we can get down to business, hmm?"

Recent months had made things complicated. She'd gotten far too used to just snapping her fingers and having some one already on payroll do whatever needed to be done. Negotiating prices was reserved for goods, not services to be rendered - Either they signed the contact or they didn't. Thankfully it wouldn't take a weighty explanation for this one, she had taken the travel time to prepare a datapad with almost everything she knew about her missing associate. She placed the device on the bar and slid it towards Kira, keeping her finger on the edge of it.

"I need this person found as discretely as possible. Fifteen thousand for a lead or two..." She paused as if picturing her bank account, mentally figuring out the budget she had for fun and winced a bit as she realized this entire vacation was becoming far too costly. "Fourty if you can get an exact pinpoint."

[Atton Kira]

Atton fought back the urge to sigh yet again as Shadowstar's amateur approach continued. At least she wanted a drink, which gave him something to occupy himself with, and allowed him to slip effortlessly into the persona of the long-suffering barman.

"Numbers," Atton muttered dismissively, as the wine Emelie had asked for glugged it's way into a glass he'd retrieved from beneath the counter. He shot a glance towards her two companions, but decided they would be too entangled in their archaic perceptions of masculinity to be comfortable standing at a bar drinking wine. Besides, Vittore was almost certainly a whiskey man, and someone with the stature and resilience of Amaros Koine probably drunk neat ethanol by the pint without it affecting him in the slightest. Not having any of the latter on hand, he grabbed a bottle of the bar's second least expensive whiskey and a pair of glasses, and left them for the men to occupy themselves.

"I don't need numbers," Atton explained, "I need names. You could offer me all the credits in the 'verse, and I wouldn't know if it was a good deal until you told me who you were going after. You could be sending me after the Empress for all I know: I never agree a price until I know the specifics of the job."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

The fingertips that had been lingering on the datapad left and instead busied themselves with wrapping delicately around the class. She nodded towards the pad before taking a slow drink. She eyed the wine afterwards, contemplating how it held up against the last one she'd tried. Better, somehow, but maybe that was still on account of everything feeling a little more lively since they'd left the Force using bounty hunter behind.

"The girl's name is Maggie Danri. Which, naturally, may or may not be her real name. No one fancy, just a business associate of mine. Details are on the pad. Don't really feel like speaking all the details out for the galaxy to pick up, you understand how that goes."

Why couldn't this have been done on her grounds? Then she could have simply come out with it all as opposed to talking in circles. She normally had far more confidence than what she was currently mustering. Unfamiliar surroundings aside, it left Emelie wondering just how bad had the hunters gotten to her.

"Nice thing for you, I suppose, is that I only want the information. As you can see, I already have those capable of whole retrieval thing."

[Atton Kira]

Maggie Danri.

There was something familiar about that name, something just on the edge of his consciousness. He rummaged for it, pushing aside the stray thoughts as he glanced idly over the datapad. He knew thousands of names; heard hundreds of new ones every day. Most were filtered and flushed as unimportant, which meant that if his mind had retained this one, there was some significance. He thumbed through the list of aliases Emelie had provided. Why did this slicer seem so -

Sadie.

Atton felt the bottom fall out of his stomach as his eyes settled on that alias; on Abrax. There were only a handful of people in the galaxy that knew the face of the woman that name belonged to; fewer still knew the real name that went along with that face. Abrax was always careful to avoid her image being captured, for while the obscurity of her true identity was enough to avoid instant recognition on looks alone, even a single stray photograph would be enough, with the right facial recognition software. Sadie was careful, but not always careful enough; fortunately for her, there was a man watching out for her, sweeping up the blurry security footage and the snatches of recorded speech, all without her ever knowing.

"Her name is Sadie K'Vesh," Atton said carefully; it wasn't a whole truth, but it was the truest identity that anyone was ever likely to find. "She's on Nar Shaddaa."

An awkward silence descended; a knot twisted tighter in Atton's gut that he wasn't sure what to do with. He felt a promise slowly, agonisingly being broken; guilt wracked his conscience as he felt an oath he'd neglected starting to come undone. He slid the datapad back across the bar to Emelie. "No charge."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore's eyes narrowed; he had learned a long time ago to regard all free information with the deepest suspicion. People seldom said anything without some sort of motivation or agenda; people even more rarely turned down the prospect of personal or financial gain from sharing it. Anyone who refused money had a reason to; and honestly, Vittore was having a hard time crediting a sleazy information broker with all that much moral fortitude.

"Y' know her."

It was the only logical conclusion, and it tumbled from his lips like an accusation. A dozen possibilities flooded his mind, but he resisted the urge to jump to any of those conclusions. Whether this Sadie K'Vesh was a lover, sister, daughter, or any of a myriad other things didn't seem to matter at that point.

"An' y' keepin' tabs. This is personal."

[Atton Kira]

Reluctance crushed so tightly on his insides that it threatened to shatter his soul; the answer wasn't strictly relevant, and yet the question was valid and a response was deserved. The datapad had explained that Sadie's network had gone dark; deliberately so, if Atton's hunch was correct. That could have meant anything, even something as mundane as maintenance or retirement; but his gut said otherwise. If these people - if Montegue, the those capable to whom Shadowstar had no doubt alluded - were to set off in search of her and a worst case were to have transpired, Sadie's safety might somehow be compromised if they did not have all the necessary information. The fact that he could not think of a reason for them to know the specifics of his connection to her was far from proof that there would never be one.

"I know her mother," Atton explained. His face creased into a wince. "She does not."

That was a whole new wave of guilt, but it was one he sidestepped, to be contended with later.

"The specifics are complicated, but the short version is that after I helped her mother set her adoption into motion, I kept an eye on things. If circumstances changed, if her mother had a change of heart, or if Sadie ever reached the point in her life where she needed to know where she came from, I wanted to be sure I had that information at my disposal."

He frowned. "When she started falling in with the wrong types, there wasn't a whole lot I could do. Mystery man watching you since childhood isn't exactly the sort of person who can swing around for a casual chat. So I tried a more subtle approach; a nudge here, a job there, a few connections to help set her up in as little trouble as I could muster. She's damn good at what she does, too; pretty soon, throwing work her way was in my best interests as well as hers."

Another silence settled into place, Atton studying an empty glass and seriously considering changing it's status with a drink of his own.

"Whatever happened, it didn't set off any of my flags, and that's a bad sign. I have a man on Nar Shaddaa I can trust for information, but not someone who'd be of any use if she's -"

That sentiment went unfinished. His eyes rose to focus on Vittore. A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him, accusing insanity, reminding him of everything he knew about the hunter. He silenced the voice with a thought. The simple fact was, of all the people Atton knew of to engage in this sort of task, Vittore was the sort of man to get it done; and if the worst case transpired and someone had caused her harm, Vittore was exactly the kind of man to make them suffer for it. That shouldn't have come as a comfort, but it did.

"You owe me a ship and two droids, Mr Montegue," Atton said with a clenched jaw. "Save this girl, and I'll owe you."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

She wasn't sure what to say. How exactly did you follow up such information. More to the point, how did you reconcile the fact that they were all connected somehow and none of it in any particularly good way. Emelie wasn't one for conspiracy theories but the whole situation seemed to be wrapped up upon itself in so many different ways she wasn't sure what to expect next: Finding out that this Atton guy somehow had known one of her parents? Finding out that Xavier had once done a mercenary gig for whoever was now sending the hunters after her? Or maybe Amaros and Chir'daki were secretly brothers and at any moment the big Mandalorian would suddenly put Vittore in a headlock and pull a blaster on her.

Emelie shook her head and grabbed one of the glasses that were near the bottle of whiskey, quickly poured herself a double and downed it. A small nod was given to the information broker, trying to convey both thanks and understanding though probably falling somewhere horribly aside from either one.

A slightly, not entirely amused laugh left her as she looked to Vittore. "So, guess we're headed to Nar Shaddaa then?"

[Amaros Koine]

Amaros knew that look, though the features of the Montegue that now wore it was unfamiliar territory. He was more accustomed to seeing it waltz across the grizzled plains of Vittore's father's face, and while that determination and resolve had always been an ominous foreshadow of often unwise activity, Hugo's features always had a softness lurking in the background, a paternal flicker that was only ever a single sight or sound of his children away. While Amaros could see plenty of his father in Vittore's face however, there was none of that warmth; and there was something different, something dark and damaged lurking behind his eyes. Amaros wondered how long it had been since Vittore had born a genuine smile.

"I think," Amaros said carefully, a hint of reluctance and unease in his words as he intercepted Emelie's query before Vittore had a chance to speak. "It would be wise if you were to stay here."

He could already see the flicker of defiance in her own expression, and spoke quickly to quash it before it had the chance to take hold.

"From what you've told me, Chir'daki is out for your blood, not Vittore's. This is not a guy you should underestimate; not a threat you should take lightly. Chir'daki is a colo, he's a -" He searched his mind for an analogue not native to his adopted homeworld, Naboo. "- claw fish. An ambush predator. He is patient to a terrifying extreme, and will have no qualms lurking about the galaxy waiting for his perfect opportunity to strike. He will not hunt you, or stalk you: he will not do a single thing until false security sets in. When you reach the point when you stop looking over your shoulder - and you will - that will be when he comes for you. He will lurk in hyperspace until your shields are down, and you will be dead before you even know he's there."

Foreboding yes, and theatrically sold, but a very long way from exaggeration. He watched Emelie's features carefully as she processed his pantomime warning. "Right now, the safest place for you is here on Cloud City. With this many witnesses, any attempt on your life would have to be rushed, and noticed; Chir'daki has far too much pride for something so crass."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

She didn't want to admit it but the big guy had a point and worst still was the fact that everything he had said held little in the way of her being able to argue. There were worst placed to be stuck than Cloud City, but that didn't mean she had to like it. The real trouble was that she was starting to feel very helpless in a situation that she rather she was in complete control of.

"So, what? You expect me to just sit here and drink and pretend everything's okay while..." Emelie's gaze shifted from Vittore back to Amaros. A moment passed as she eyed them both, grumpily surrendering to logic for once.

"Fine." She couldn't just agree to it normally, of course.

Everything was becoming far too personal for her not to want to see to it herself. She couldn't shake the image in her head of her little slicer girl being rather petulant as Vittore showed up to haul her off of that crap-hole of a planet and Emelie receiving an earful from at least one of them upon returning - and that was best case scenario. Kira's little comment about the lack of uproar being a bad sign however... Well, Emelie had to admit that was downright ominous. Which brought on the worst case scenario... finding out that the kid was dead and it was somehow linked back to her and whoever had hired Chir'daki to go after her. Either way Emelie would have been happier to be there in person instead of trusting someone she had just met to deal with things. She wasn't about to drag any of her usuals into it, though.

"Well, Captain. Looks like you'll be flying solo again. I suppose I'll see if the good Doctor here has heard any mutterings about giant pit beasties while you're off... rescuing the fair damsel or whatnot... again."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore let out a grunt. Flying solo again; when was he ever not these days? Though necessity forced Vittore to surround himself with associates, he always kept them at the greatest distance possible. The tidal stresses of people who orbited too close had inflicted far too much damage on him already, particularly when they inevitably departed. With associates orbiting at a distance, even those on a collision course were far enough away for him to shoot them down before they caused any harm.

Emelie's talk of damsels grated on a nerve, too. When it came down to a choice between saving people and hunting things, Vittore was most definitely skewed towards the latter. People didn't hire him to save someone: they hired him to kill whoever was responsible for causing the danger in the first place: rescues were a side effect, not the primary objective. At any other time, with any other person, he might have walked away; but Emelie's crisis was something he'd blundered into, and whatever business was going on, he couldn't bring himself to leave it unfinished.

"Buy some clothes while I'm gone," he muttered with a laboured sigh. "Don't want people thinkin' Amaros is hangin' around with some cheap whore."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

On Nar Shaddaa

The past was a funny sort of thin’. Could go an get lost in it for days at a time when your brain was tryin’ to figure out if it wanted to keep runnin’ it’s course of workin’ out if it wanted to keep… well… workin’. No use lingerin’ though.

Back to the here and now and the hell she was wakin’ up to

First thing Sadie noticed, right - like she had forgotten any of it, was the gods awful pain that was shooting down the right side of her. All thanks goin' to Bog havin’ once again seen fit to dislocate her shoulder. She woulda gone and forced it back into place just like always but the slight scrapin' of metal on metal reminded her of the too-tight set of bracers that were keepin' that arm locked to the miserable excuse for a cot she was layin' on. Funny enough where the metal was bitin' into her wrist wasn't all that bad, at least where feelin' was concerned. Looked damn awful. Probably no worse than most of the rest of her that was covered in bruises and scrapes of all shapes and sizes that left a body wonderin' if there were more multicolored mess about her than actual skin tone. There wasn't a gig set up any time soon, Bog hadn't cared about appearances or anythin’ caused by a limited range of motion. Next thing realized was that breathin' anythin' deeper than a tiny bit was causin' her to sneak suspect that a rib or two were cracked.

And that was the happy lil’ moment when Sadie’s brain went and reminded her about the real damn problem. Funny how it was already tryin’ not to think on it. Little hard to do in the long run, though. The reality came back to her like it was happenin’ all over again.

See, all the breaks, bruises, and usual dren couldn't keep a stubborn kid like Sadie down. She woulda picked the lock and gotten the frak out of there even if she had to take a few days to get about doin' it. Sadie knew it. Bog knew it. Trouble was Bog also either couldn't go and afford real sedatives to keep her all manageable or just didn’t feel like botherin’ with ‘em. So he went for the next best thing - at least as far as the damn sadist was concerned. Sadie had always known the Zabrak had a right proper dark side to him - she just didn't know how bad.

Another small attempt at sittin' up was cut short before it even began on account of the fact her body just flat out frakin refused. Probably for the best as it would have gone and put strain on some hasty stitch jobs she knew was gonna have to get redone at some point or some right nasty scars were gonna form. The reddish stained beddin' on the cot squished a bit as she fell back on it and the sudden stabbin' - literally - pain in her side and just about everywhere else in the general core region took all notice away from her shoulder. The fact she was layin on a mattress that was actin' like a sponge for stuff that really would better be suited on the inside of her than outside didn’t even even really come into the equation except that she did feel some strange mixture of bein’ cold and very warm all at the same time. Shirt had soaked through long ago and was probably actin' as some sort of wet bandage to help keep her together a bit more than any sort of actual insulation.

See, Bog had apparently gone and done a smidge of research on some downright horrific kind of dren that most sane folks couldn’t even bring themselves to think of without feelin’ like they were earnin’ themselves a one-way-ticket to one of Corellia’s nine Hells. And the thing was, he was rather proud and a bit too over willin’ to show off just how much he’d learned about how deep and just where into a person you could cut so you didn’t nick nothin’ too important, how to handle a blade so you could really drag out a person’s sufferin’, how long an incision could be made before it became problematic, and of course the icing on the top - just how much blood a body could miss and not end up all corpse-ified. There’d been a moment Sadie hadn’t been so proud of that she’d let slip somethin’ about how she was scared to die an’ Bog had reassured her that she wouldn’t… but that she damn well would wish she had. Nice to know she’d gotten to him enough that it was worth a bit of actual brain work on his part for a change. And if nothin’ else, the Zabrak was always true to his word when it came to stuff he felt was a personal accomplishment.

So after a time that probably wasn’t as long as it felt like it was but long enough and Bog was well and done with seein’ what pretty designs could be carved into her and got to a point where she really just didn’t have the strength to keep screamin’, he’d apparently saw it best to let her keep one final souvenir - the blade with it’s handle busted off jammed into a wound in her side so it would keep leakin' slow like. Even went so far about gettin' the girl on whatever types of meds would keep her from goin' septic or really fadin' out away from the pain that the Zabrak was right keen on keepin’ her feelin’. He hadn’t really counted on the whole bit about losin’ consciousness from the earlier beatin’, but well, no one was perfect. It was rectifyin’ itself now though as the girl was comin’ to complete awareness of...well… everythin’. Still too weak to actually make more than a slight whimper though and even that was too much in her opinion.

All in all it left Sadie pretty sure this was one of them final warnin’ deals. Trouble was she couldn't quite make out just how long this had been goin' on for. Maybe it weren't really a warnin' after all. As much as she wasn’t keen on the thought of passin’ into the great beyond she did have to admit that part of her would have loved to just know that Bog had frakked up somewhere in his plan. Dyin’ would probably put him in a sour mood and would serve the bastard right. She’d never been that lucky though - Which meant all of this wasn’t gonna go away any time soon.

[Vittore Montegue]

This was the place. Shitty bar in some shitty corner of a shitty planet. Name didn't matter; this was definitely the place. The contact that Atton had recommended, some way-too-peppy probably older than he looked jackass called Nen Lev'i had turned out to be considerably more competent than he'd assumed. Surveillance slices had tracked Sadie's known associates to this place; owned by a friend of a friend, seedy enough that they could to whatever they damn well wanted without anyone really batting an eye. Turned out that the chick he was searching for played in some band or other that Lev'i was big into; the info he'd dredged up had been surprisingly in-depth. The ringleader, lead singer, whatever, some Zabrak frakhole called Bog'el, had been coming and going from this place over and over since Abrax' network had gone off line; hours too strange to be there just for drinking, and the spike in grocery deliveries over the last several months suggested that there were bonus mouths to feed. Starport records showed two members of the band leaving; but the Zabrak and his target were still on Nar Shaddaa, and still at large.

The electrobinoculars fell away from his eyes, real colours replacing the faux thermal image he'd been staring at. In upmarket facilities, heat shielding and insulation made low tech tricks like this problematic, but the residents of this particular district were either too poor or too skinflint to spend credits on those sorts of things. In the building's largest room, three presumably patrons lingered on stools; one paced around casually attending to the process of closing up shop; one floating around - Toydarian, maybe - in what Vittore guessed was the kitchen; and and a sixth in some kind of storage back room, heat signature a little dimmer than the rest. There were all kinds of species that output lower thermal signatures than baseline humans; either Vittore's sights were settled on a sleeping Rodian, or something far worse was going on.

Vittore tossed the electrobinoculars into the passenger seat of his rental speeder, and tugged a nondescript cylinder from his belt. A twist gauge at one end was adjusted to the perfect timing; the fingers responsible strayed to his belt and tugged out his blaster. A note of reluctance stayed his hand before he flipped the blaster to stun; the mood he was in, killing people would have been preferable, but dead people weren't always that open to interrogation, and if this place turned out to be a bust there'd be plenty of that in store for the people inside.

With a magnetic clunk, Vittore slammed the cylinder against the bar's door, pressed down on the inviting red activation stud, and ducked around the corner.

Fragments of durasteel blasted out into the street as the door shattered, caved in by the force of the concussion charge. Vittore didn't even wait for the sound of the blast to subside; precisely calculated strides retraced his path to the doorway and beyond into the smoke and debris-filled interior. His boots crunched against the shrapnel; he didn't even need to see through the haze to fire his blaster at the three seated targets; a slight recalculation was needed before the Twi'lek barman also lapsed into a stun-induced coma. With a tiny shred of satisfaction, Vittore's memory matched the tattoo patterns on it's lekku with those in the dossier Lev'i had pulled together on the owner. If Vittore had questions, he knew where to come.

The bar was vaulted, and keeping low Vittore progressed into the kitchen. A knife raced through the air, colliding with the wall plating behind him before clattering to the ground. Vittore's eyes scanned his surroundings; grabbed hold of a pan from the heating rings and hurled it towards the hovering Toydarian. The winged creature dodged, his strafe moving him into perfect position to be felled by a quick fire pair of stun shots. The noise made when his amply padded backside hit the floor would normally have made Vittore smile; but right now, the grim mask on his features was unflinching.

The blaster was already trained on the makeshift cot when Vittore surged into the final room; for the first time in the last few minutes, he hesitated. What he found definitely wasn't Rodian; but it wasn't entirely recognisable as the woman he was looking for either, not with the amount of damage that she'd obviously suffered. Dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, an angrily leaking wound in her side; Vittore was hard pressed to find a part of her that hadn't been beaten or broken. Emotions were not something he usually engaged in, unless they were either anger or disdain, but something new and unfamiliar stirred in his chest.

His blaster instantly returned to his holster and, as non-threatening as he could possibly make himself, he dropped himself into a crouch beside Sadie's cot.

"Sadie," he said, trying to drain as much gravel from his voice as possible. "My name's Vittore; a friend sent me t' get y' out of here. Before I can do that though, I need y' t' tell me everywhere y' hurt. Can y' do that for me?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

A fun sort of game went and played out in Sadie's head just then. Most folks would have went and thought this was their knight in gorram shinin' armor but she knew damn well and better. Lips cracked open slowly as she went and said about her peace.

“Look, I dunno... what sorta deal Bogsie made with ya... to indulge any sick fantasies or nothin'...But I got myself a right sharp lil piece of somethin’... So you best be turnin’ aroun’ an’ goin’.... righ’ back outta tha’ there door…. or it aint your face I’ll be lookin’ to cut into… savy?"

Of course that was what Sadie went and thought she was sayin'. Brain played all sorts of tricks when ya didn't want it to. What really came out was nothin' short of a sudden painful pull away from the guy who somehow knew her name followed by a slight whimper.

She didn't know what to say in reply. Who the frak would have come lookin' for her? Friends didn't exist.

He was playin' her. Had to be it.

So why was she actually mutterin' stuff that was the real deal?

"Don't wanna know. Not really." Each of the words was fought for, filled with pain and tasin' of iron. "No where n' every which way."

[Vittore Montegue]

Watch a holomovie, and they tell you that bravery, sass, humour in the face of adversity and suffering is commendable. They tell you it's heroic. See it first hand though and you find out they're wrong. There's nothing inspirational about a broken, beaten, barely alive barely more than a girl trying to talk tough because her body won't let her act it any other way.

What it is though is heartbreaking, and as Vittore watched Sadie struggle out those words, the contents of his chest turned to shrapnel.

"Yes I do," he countered, his words as much a struggle as hers, fighting past his rage-clenched jaw. "I need t' know exactly what he did so I can make him suffer for it."

He forced the most sincere expression onto his face. "But first, we need t' get this knife outta you, an' patch up the hole."

He slid the blaster pack from his pistol, still scalding hot from the discharges moments before. He fought the urge to wince at the memory of the sensations he was about to inflict, all too familiar. "Hold still," he muttered, wrapping his fingers around the stub of blade still protruding from her skin. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Instict was ragin' for her to get away, especially when the guy took it upon himself to try and fix what Bog'd done. It weren't his place and more to the fact was she couldn't shake the feelin' he was more likely to twist the damn blade than make it go away. He had to be workin' for the boss. Had to be.

The bracers keepin' her tethered to the cot weren't necessary to keep her from jerkin' away. Whatever strength she had had been sapped when she'd done it the first time 'round. All that was left was to let happen what was gonna happen.

There was no shortage on distrust in her as she forced herself to meet the eyes of the guy. A hard swallow that did nothing to ease tensions was taken before she nodded her head - or at least managed the barest approximation of the motion.

"Go on then."

Whether he was gonna make good or do her one worse... Well, there wasn't a whole lot Sadie could do about it.

[Vittore Montegue]

The jagged scar the knife had torn through her shirt was soaked in crimson, little more than a half-hearted effort and a grubby rag to stop her from bleeding out. Carefully, Vittore eased the partly crusted fabric free, and lifted her shirt as little as possible to preserve as much of the dregs of modesty and dignity that the Zabrak had left her with.

What he found underneath sent a glacier through his core, chilling his fiery anger into something much more intense. What he'd assumed from the bloodstains on her clothes were the cuts and wounds of violent acts were in fact something much more grim. A knife point had carved into Sadie's flesh, scribing a mess of patterns and symbols like a child's notepad scribbles. Many were familiar to Vittore, occult symbols mostly, but jumbled as if chosen for aesthetics rather than the deeper meaning. For what it was worth, the person responsible had managed to keep his inscriptions shallow enough to avoid anything vital; Vittore had to wonder if malice was the motivation, or if the Zabrak's work was some sick attempt at the latest fashions. Vittore had seen people do stranger things to themselves to comply with the newest trends.

Vittore considered counting, but decided against it. The blade was wrenched from Sadie's side and the hot blaster pack applied with practiced swiftness, sparing her from as much prolonged suffering as he could. Her scream was more of a weakened grunt; in Vittore's mind he rehearsed what the Zabrak would suffer as soon as Vittore got his hands on him.

Vittore wiped the blood from the power cell on his shirt before returning it to his blaster and turning his attention to the restraints binding Sadie's wrist.

"How're y' legs?" he asked as he worked. "Did he hurt 'em? Can y' walk?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

She had thought her mind had long ago blended pain just into the way of livin', but those few moments of the blade being ripped outta her followed with the burning of skin to at least attempt to close up the wound brought on a whole new wave that made her wonder if she might have just been better off fadin' away.

Breaths were taken in short stabbin' succession before Sadie could even begin to try and figure out an answer to this new round of questions. At least her mind had settled on the fact that maybe this was actually real help rather than some fake dren Bog had set up just to go and give her some fake hope that'd be shattered with another bout of carvin'.

Briefly she realized he'd seen far more than she'd expected, probably more than she knew about herself. At least that would stop some of the what happened.

"Mostly fine." She hated the sound of her own voice. It was weak and far too pitiful to be any good. It was betrayin' things she didn't even want to go and admit to herself. "Cut up a bit prolly a few bruises... Dunno 'bout walkin'... Not cause I don't wanna... Jus'..."

Sadie couldn't figure out why she was still talkin'. Every word took far more effort than was worth and he had to see it and to be honest she was damn surprised he could even hear her. "Ain't real proud o' this... But ain't quite sure I got it in me. Haven't exactly moved in...dunno."

[Vittore Montegue]

Words. Slurred a little, struggled a little, but words of any kind were good. Vittore'd give his left arm and both nuts for a medical droid right about now; without that, and with his ship's makeshift infirmary a lot of limping and driving away, his only diagnostic tool.

"Then I guess I'll be carryin' y' out," he uttered with as reassuring a tone as he could muster. Emelie's jab about damsels floated through his mind; he shoved it to the side.

"I'm gonna get y' outta here, Sadie. The friends that sent me are on Cloud City; I'm gonna get y' off this rock, get y' safe, an' we'll get y' all patched up." He tried to offer a smile; it didn't really work out. "But I ain't leavin' this hole until I break the guy that did this t' ya at least twice as bad as he hurt you."

The muscles in his jaw bunched. "Any idea how I can find him?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Didn't make no sense. Weren't no one on Cloud City who would do this for her. Maybe there'd been a time when there was someone who would do something... But now?? Maybe this... Frak she wished she could remember his name. He'd gone and said it, hadn't he?... No matter, either way she'd have to ask eventually. But maybe he would make things right. Bugged her somewhat. Bog was her target. This last bout hadn't been the only time Bog'el had felt it necessary to take his cut outta her. Her shoulder was the biggest reminder of the fact. It hadn't even hurt when he'd done it this time...

Problem was was she weren't in no shape to go along on some hunt for the damn Zabrak bastard. Unconsciously she was rubbin' at the spot where the bracer had bit into her... Was better than acknowledin' the mess that had been cut into her or thinkin' 'bout the prospect of bein' carried out because her body wasn't gonna let her do it on her onesies.

With internal thinkin' shoved off to a corner to force it to be done and over with she let out a breath that was as deep as she could manage.

"Give 'im time. Comes back every few hours t' make sure I ain't dead." She would have laughed if she could have. "Y'know 'n fix where he's left blank spots. Runnin' outta room 'm thinkin'. Guess you could tell me better than I know though, yeah?"

Whispers, that was all that she could force out but it was enough. The sarcasm she wanted only partially came through. And as if on cue a deep voice suddenly sounded out from the bar proper. It didn't sound none too happy, somethin' Sadie found down right amusin'.

"Speak of th' rodder..."

[Vittore Montegue]

The string of profanities that Vittore's ears picked up from two rooms away would normally have amused him: he didn't speak many alien languages all that well, but he always managed to pick up a few cuss words here and there, and these ones were most definitely Iridonian. From the sound of it, the Zabrak was wandering around, swearing up a storm, either too dumb or too compromised by some sort of illicit substance to realise that there might actually still be a danger lurking. It would be all too easy for Vittore to simply step out into the main room and handle Bog'el with a few well-placed shots.

His eyes glanced back to Sadie. Too easy.

He scrutinised his surroundings and evaluated his options; a few bottles and food packets here and there, but nothing that could be considered much of a weapon, unless you planned to bludgeon someone to death with a tin of Adha beans. That wasn't much of a surprise, really: apparently Bog'el had enough common sense to trap his victim in a room where she couldn't do too much harm even if she did manage to escape.

Shifting his weight, his knee brushed against something half-tucked beneath Sadie's cot. A quick glance and a careful tug pulled free a broken length of machined wood, varnished, metal inlays; it took a few seconds to realise that it was a fragment of some sort of musical instrument, broken almost beyond recognition by what looked like brute force. It was strange to see the dark stained wood of a fret board without being obscured by metal strings; stranger still to see fingerprints of what looked like blood across it's surface, not positioned as if playing chords or riffs but rather as if they had gripped or clutched.

Realisation dawned, and the already shattered fragments of Vittore's heart fractured a little further. It was psychological warfare at it's most basic and visceral: break their will by destroying what they love.

"He broke this?" he asked, not that he really needed an answer.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

There'd been an honest, if not awful, attempt at sittin' up in the works when the question had gone and been asked. Sadie was still all kinds of sure her brain was some sort of mush in the back of her skull since she couldn't quite figure out what he'd meant. One of those full body cringes took hold as she managed the last bit, only to find that her body was insistin' on slumping against the wall for support. 'Least it was better than layin' down waitin' for the world to end. A hand slowly raised and worked its way across her cheek and into a few strands of hair that had been blocking her vision moreso than the bruising around her eye. With bearin's managed to be gotten about as good as they were gonna she finally took a second to try and suss out exactly was bein' pointed out that Bog had broken - aside from the painfully obvious.

At first the object in the guys' hands had no meanin', no real form or shape to it, just a jagged shard of wood. Then it came on slowly, like puzzle pieces being crammed into places they didn't quite go by an overachievin' dimwit. Memories limped by in rapid succession as she looked over familiar scuff marks and discolorin' that she knew better than her own body most days. It ended with an under-dramatic replay of a younger self suddenly turnin' around as she was interrupted on breakin' into a closed up warehouse on some crap backwater planet. The door behind her had wooshed open just as expected but the guys who had stumbled upon her little excursion and were starin' her down didn't seem too impressed, well, at least not the Zabrak who was makin' his presence be the important most imposin' one... the guy with the green hair though, he'd broken into a grin before noddin' at the slightly battered but well loved quetarra strapped to her back. "You any good with that?" First damn words out of Ronan's mouth to her and they still managed to bring the slightest smile to her lips. Was more bittersweet than anythin' else in the moment, though.

A sudden tightenin' in her chest battled for the right to be felt first and foremost over the continual throbbin' stabbin' pains from her midsection. Sadie didn't trust herself to speak in that moment, she'd sounded plenty weak enough without crackin' over the reminder of how her current stay in the storage room had started. Her lower lip was drawn in and another small flinch gave excuse enough to look away and back down at nothin' in particular. She finally forced her head to nod a smidge, anythin' more and she was worried about makin' the brain goo slosh around too much.

"Yeah." The word went and escaped anyway and the instant it did she regretted it since it tried to open floodgates. Another small nod was given and a laugh was attempted but ended in a painful cough instead that annoyed more than anythin else. Sadie forced a shakey breath to be drawn in as she went about collectin' herself enough to trust she wouldn't become a downright wreck if she spoke again. "Guess he figured the spirit was a grand place 't kick off first."

It sounded stupid sayin' it like that, but she weren't quite in the mood to come up with somethin' less kitsch. No matter, from the sound of it Bog'el was doin' enough colorful phrasin' for the both of 'em. He was drawin' to a close though which brought a really downright unexpected sensation. Eyes flitted to the doorway as she forced herself to stop the process of tryin' to shrink against the wall that her subconscious had set about doin'. Probably better to worry 'bout what the sudden spike in heartrate was doin' to her than why it was happenin' or how she was gonna try and brush this off later.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore's knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around the quetarra fretboard. Torture was not something he shied away from, nor something he frowned upon. It was a tool, same as anything else: use it right, and it could very easily be the most expedient way towards information. There were times when it was even enjoyable; but it was always with a purpose, always with an objective. This though was something else: not torture for information, but torture towards compliance. Bog'el was not trying to pry some secret from Sadie. If and when her resolve broke, there was no revelation she could surrender that would end what she was being put through.

Crossing lines was something that Vittore Montegue did for a living, but even he had his limits.

He pressed his blaster into Sadie's hand, fixing his gaze onto her eyes with steely determination. "If somethin' that ain't me comes through that door, blast it t' Korriban an' back. Don't do nothin' fancy, and don't hesitate: just aim for the chest an' don't stop shootin' until it stops movin'."

He straightened, fretboard still held in his hand like a club as his hand ducked beneath the back of his shirt, tugging out his trusty chromium-plated slugthrower. He squared his shoulders, a crunch rippling it's way down his spine as the cartilage protested; but the usual slump to his shoulders, weighed down by the shattered remnants of what had once been his conscience, disappeared in the face of determination. He cast one last look at Sadie, struggling to even sit upright, and yet trying all the same. Broken, but not defeated. Under different circumstances he might have smiled at how unexpectedly tough she was; but not today.

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

He didn't bother with concealment, but as expected Bog'el wasn't nearly observant enough to represent much of a threat. He was out in the open and unarmed when Vittore emerged from the kitchen; the first slugthrower round impacted the Zabrak's knee before he even knew what was happening. Specially designed interlocking fragments scattered on contact with the Zabrak's flesh, tiny shards of razor sharp metal tearing through skin and bone as if they were nothing, leaving little more than a liquefied pulp in their wake. What had once been a knee collapsed and the Zabrak stumbled; only a nearby table helped him catch himself before he tumbled to the ground. Pain so intense that it took a few instants for his brain to process finally registered on his features; he grabbed for a blaster and tried to aim, but a second slug tore through his forearm, the limb twisting in all the wrong directions as the blaster tumbled from his grip. Half a yelp escaped him, but not fast enough to fully form before the advancing Vittore swung the quitarra fretboard across Bog'el's jaw with enough force to shatter the both of them. Tumbling backwards, the Zabrak hit the floor, hard.

Blood stained his teeth as Bog'el tried to fight out some profanity-laden plea for explanation. Vittore offered none; just another slug, repaying the dislocated shoulder that the Zabrak had inflicted with considerable more permanency. The hunter dropped to his knees atop his victim's chest, intentional pressure applied to the damaged shoulder while his weight drove the breaths, and the ability to protest, from Bog'el's lungs.

"Y' think y' some kind a' tough guy," Vittore muttered, not an aggressive growl but rather the eerie calm of someone who had transcended far beyond. "Some kind a' master torturer, beatin' on that kid back there, screwin' with her head and her emotions." He reached for a pocket, pulling free a set of hefty pliers. "Problem is," he continued, taking a firm grasp of the Zabrak's broken jaw as he tried to flinch away, "Y' an amateur at best. I'm the real deal, an' I'm gonna make sure y' regret what y' done."

With a sharp twist of his wrist, the pliers torqued the cranial horn they'd clenched around, fracturing the bony protrusion clean off Bog'el's skull. His scream was muffled and panted through a blood-filled mouth and from half-empty lungs; Vittore ignored it, settling the pliers in place on the next. "I ain't got the time t' torture y' slow the way y' did Sadie," he explained as he worked, depriving the Zabrak of his distinguishing racial features one by one, "So I ain't gonna be as elegant as y' were with y' symbols, an' leavin' y' in the sweet spot between bleedin' out an' bein' okay, but lets see how close we can get, huh?"

Another pocket; the broken shard of knife blade this time. He gripped it tight between the pliers, adjusting his grip as if the two components had formed a legitimate knife. The blade tip tore through Bog'el's shirt, revealing the canvas Vittore had to work on. He kept it simple: one simple symbol carved into the flesh above where, assuming this alien freak had his organs in the right places, his heart should be. "M' grandfather, on m' mother's side," he explained, "Was a herder back on Cularin. Used t' brand this symbol on his beasts. Means y' life is mine now." Brand complete, he stabbed the now unnecessary fragment into Bog'el's side for emphasis, pushing and twisting with the pliers to embed the metal fragment deep enough that the wound would close up over it. Vittore regarded his subject with a grim stare. "I plan t' make you suffer f' the rest of it."

The Zabrak mustered enough breath and wherewithal to launch a spit of blood in Vittore's direction. "She had it coming," he managed to grunt. "She shouldn't have -"

"Shut up," Vittore interrupted, a hand shoving Bog'el's jaw upwards for emphasis, tilting his head back and exposing his throat. The other hand grabbed his own knife this time, a serrated and angry-looking vibroblade carved with sigils in a language Vittore couldn't even name let alone read, which he allowed the Zabrak to glimpse before he put it to work. "You smashed her instrument," he explained as the blade carved a line down the singer's vocal chords, just enough pressure applied to damage the working parts without puncturing the throat itself. Blood pooled, especially as Vittore eased the wound wider with his fingers; setting the knife aside he returned to the slugthrower, pulled out the magazine, and pried the slug free from the cartridge. The chemical propellant was sprinkled into the bloody ravine he had carved; next came a lighter, held lit for a few contemplated seconds. "I'm just returnin' the favour," he finished, touching the flame to the powder, and forcing himself not to shy away from the bright plume of fire that erupted, converting the Zabrak's vocal chords into an irrevocable mess of scar tissue.

Overwhelmed by pain at last, consciousness slipped away from Bog'el, but not life: Vittore was determined to be sure of that. Death was death, and whether it came from a single gunshot, ten minutes of torture, or the slow and agonising sensation of bleeding out, it still all came to an end. That was insufficient. Vittore didn't want Bog'el to die from his wounds; he wanted him to live with them, for as many long and miserable years as were possible.

He crossed the bar; grabbed the conscious-but-paralysed form of the barman, and dragged him into a seat. From yet another pocket he grabbed a stim injector, and drove it into the Twi'lek's thigh. "Five minutes," he growled, "An' that dose'll counter the effects a' the stun blast. Y'll be able t' move, an' stop him from bleedin' out." His eyes narrowed. "Y' let him die, an' I will hunt y' down an' do the same t' you. Clear?"

The Twi'lek didn't acknowledge; he couldn't, but he didn't need to. The fear in his eyes was all Vittore needed to see. "Y' let this happen. Let him do what he did t' her, an' didn't lift a finger."

The accusation hung in the air. "Y' turned a blind eye."

The knife reappeared in a flash; paralysed, the Twi'lek could do nothing but watch through his drying eyes. His overloaded nervous system was unable to perceive the pain or sensation, but he was all too aware of the blade carving through his face, depriving him of fifty percent of his vision. Vittore abandoned him, unceremoniously propped, a stream of blood slowly tricking it's way down his cheek like an unstoppable trail of tears. "See you around," Vittore grunted, and walked away.

Back in Sadie's makeshift cell, Vittore dropped into a crouch beside her bed once again. The edge had fallen from his voice, and the determination from his shoulders; now all he felt was tired and deflated, as the anger and adrenaline drained from his system and left nothing but void in their wake.

He hesitated; drew his knife again; contemplated the drying blood that still lingered on the blade. A decision was made, and it flipped in his fingers, hilt presented towards Sadie. "That's his blood on there," he explained, leaving it to her imagination to conclude how it got there. "Y' might wanna keep that."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

The blaster had weighed mightily heavily in her hand as she had heard the beginnin's of what Sadie guessed was more than just a scuffle in the bar proper. Despite wantin' to at least watch the proceedin's the fact she'd been told to stay put actually registered somewhere with her. Well that and the fact she wasn't about to jump off the cot and go runnin' to see. Sadie'd barely managed to actually move away from the wall and force her legs over the side of the cot so she was actually sitting on the damn thing rather than half layin' in her own blood, it probably hadn't been a necessary thing but it made her feel better and sure as hell put her one small movement closer to walkin' out of the joint rather than the alternative.

Sounds were muffled through walls if not open doors so it was hard to get a read on what had actually gone down, but it wasn't really a surprise to see who returned, even if there was a sense of relief in it, a breath let go of that she hadn't quite realized that she'd been holdin' in. If things had gone wrong again, if Bog had somehow gotten the better of this guy... Sadie pushed those thoughts right out, never to be heard from again, there was no purpose in mullin' over the what could have beens when the actual result was in your favor. It took a bit to process though for some reason, even when the bloodied vibroblade was offered to her. The blaster she'd been holdin' was placed to the side for lack of two workable hands. It wasn't that the other was numb, she just had learned not to trust it until her shoulder was back in its right proper place. There wasn't any sort of care or feelin' of awe that made her move slowly as she finally took the blade from him, but it did cause an awful lot of conflicting emotions to suddenly come to a head.

Years. It'd been damn near at least ten now that she'd been workin for Bog'el, wonderin' if and when he'd get fed up enough to take the routine random hit to higher levels. It'd been a few months since the gig she'd fallen into with the Rebellion and each day since the Zabrak had caught up with her had been a new hell of its own. But this last bout...it'd been days, maybe even a week or two, she couldn't quite remember or piece it all together to make real sense of time anymore. But it was done now. Over. It still didn't make no sense to her why someone would have given any sort of care for her well bein' and at that exact moment she didn't quite care neither. It didn't go and matter who had sent the guy who had actually done the deed, or even if endin' Bog had been on his to-do list, fact was he had done it and apparently had one-upped it with the favor of not makin' it all clean and easy.

Normally this sort of thing was just taken for what it was, a quick nod of a head in thanks in place of anythin' verbal but Sadie had to go and admit her head wasn't quite where it normally was. Aside from the mountain of pain she was feelin', it was like a final crack had formed in the wall that was her usual apathy and sent other cracks runnin' everywhere that brought the whole damn thing down in one giant fraking explosion that obliterated any sort of resolve she was holdin' on to. It wasn't like her to suddenly find her breath catching in her throat, certainly not normal to feel that sudden pressure reform back in her chest that was horribly constrictin', and it definitely wasn't like her to suddenly ignore just about every objection her body was makin' at movin' as she found herself actually slipping off the cot enough to wrap her good arm around the guy. Sadie knew somewhere in the back of her thoughts that she'd have to get ahold of herself real soon like, return back to that comfy line of thinkin' where you could aford to be aloof since most of ya genuinely didn't give a crap... but for that moment she didn't want to go that way. She actually felt somethin' for a damn change... For just one second she actually let herself be what she was - a girl. One that was downright thankful that for the moment the 'verse was done fraking her over. If that went along with huggin' the guy who had a hand in fixin' a big problem in her life then so be it. She could claim the probably bad decision was on account of blood loss later anyhow.

[Vittore Montegue]

Seven years.

That was how long it had been since someone had hugged him, and meant it. Oh sure, there were bear hugs with his brother. Manly greeting hugs from Uncle Elroy and dad's cohort of old acquaintances who felt that handshakes were way too formal. There'd been the occasional girl who'd done it involuntarily when they'd fallen asleep post-coital. But those didn't count. Those were just wrapping your arms around people; just gestures, not meaning. That wasn't the same as the real deal: the hugs you make tighter to make sure they feel it, the hugs you throw yourself into, the hugs that aren't for a purpose, just a matter of impulse. Seven years, and a half-dead Zabrak was what earned it. Vittore was at a loss.

"It's okay, Sadie." It was all he could think of to say; all he could think of to do save for the autopilot motion of his arms falling into the expected place. He'd never really understood this process, how proximity could be somehow reassuring regardless of who it was, how a few pounds of pressure was all that made the difference between comforting embrace and disconcerting restraint. That didn't seem to matter; understanding or no, it always seemed to work.

He pulled away, and the reluctance wasn't entirely one-sided. A hand brushed more stray hair away from Sadie's features; with gentle insistence he forced her to meet his gaze, no more patience left for her evasive half-answers. "Lets get you out of here," he said quietly. His mind fell back to an earlier question that Sadie had partially dodged. "Can you stand?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

As far as unexpected happenin's go, Sadie could make about a million excuses and reasons for what she had done. All of 'em sounded strange and were partial lies, but when she only had to go and fool herself it made things a whole heap of a lot easier. That sort of gentle pressure she had felt as suddenly the guys' arms had gone around her though? That had, well first and foremost hurt which she really should have known it was gonna to some extent, but more jaw droppin' was the fact that she didn't mind that pain one damn bit all other things considered and when it ended she almost felt worse off for it. Sadie didn't just let random strangers go and do a thing like that. Hell, she got uncomfortable when someone accidentally bumped into her at a bar and the fact she was takin' some sort of comfort, even in just the way he was makin' her look at him... well, it was that kind of thing that let her realize just how bad Bog had gotten to her. Yeah she knew her body was a bit close to bein' a goner but she hadn't expected him to actually make it through to slicin' into her brain as well. Scars were gonna form in more than just the expected places. A shift of the blade in her weak grip let her at least give some hope towards Bog havin' paid his dues...and then some. Not that it was really enough to her, she went and figured that at the end of it all she wasn't ever gonna be sure he had ever really paid enough.

The question went a bit unanswered for a beat or two as she tried to pull everythin' back together, still tryin' to not focus on what kind of angle was bein' worked since she just couldn't let herself go and believe anyone would do this sorta thing outta the goodness of their heart. Eventually she found that she'd let her eyes fall again and a small nod accompanied a halfhearted and not entirely convinced. "Think so."

Well, now was the time to either prove to herself she could make it out on her own or not. She knew everythin' felt heavy and that she'd end up leanin' on the guy a bit as they were takin' their leave but damn if that weren't preferable to being carried out like some gorram invalid. It took a bit of time, a hell of a lot more willpower than she had been expectin', and a great deal of cringin' as fabric and skin was tugged in places it just didn't want to go. She could tell a few of the meaner cuts had reopened in the process but damn if little by little she hadn't managed to actually get to her feet. Yeah sure the cot had been used to help brace herself and the entire damn time she was worried she'd find everythin' just givin' out and the guy would have to catch her, but it never came to that. Sadie couldn't say she was entirely steady, and that feelin' like she was gonna lose balance was damn persistent but seein' as how that weren't going to end anytime soon she figured she could learn to deal with it.

The whole process had reminded her of one damn thing she could fix in the here and now though.

Sadie went and gave a small nod in the direction of her dislocated shoulder. "Don't s'ppose...I'd normally go 'bout doin' it m'self..." At least talkin' was comin' a bit easier. Still sounded far quieter than she was used to but at least the sound of her voice wasn't exactly scarin' her anymore. "It's jus' that, it kinda takes a bit a coordination an'... Look, it'll jus' save some time if y' do it."

It probably could have waited until they were free of the damn bar considerin' how long it had probably been that way anyhow, but havin' two workin' limbs was far preferable in helpin' her not feel so damn, well, helpless.

[Vittore Montegue]

It took a second for Vittore to realise where her words were rambling to. He half wondered if it was an effect of circumstances, or if she was always like this; and fully wondered why the hell it had him scrabbling around in the back of his mind trying to remember what a genuine smile actually looked like. He killed any efforts in that direction by reminding himself about her shoulder, and pointing out to himself what a jackass move it was hugging back. Oh sure, the condescending voice from the back of his mind muttered, sounding alarmingly like his jackass brother. Squeeze the barely still in one piece girl, why don't ya?

Ordinarily, this is gonna hurt would have been his lead-in, but there was something about the off-hand doin' it m'self that suggested the preamble wouldn't be necessary. Of course, that didn't necessarily help matters: some recurrent pains you grew accustomed to, but some you couldn't help but clench and flinch and do everything you could to subconsciously avoid feeling something so intense. That brace, tensing the muscles in a reflex to try and prevent the impending painful movement was about the worst thing you could possibly do, and while Vittore didn't doubt he had the strength to reset her shoulder whether she was resisting or not, especially in her current condition, that wasn't really the point.

Instead he just nodded, taking hold of her arm as gently as he could get away with, bearing in mind what he needed to do. His eyes asked if she was ready, and she nodded back, but he didn't buy it: no one was ever ready, no matter how much they thought they were. "One," he began slowly. "Two -"

His lips met with hers before either of them even knew what was happening. It was an impulse, sudden and unexpected; one of those moments you fell into, found yourself stuck in, and weren't exactly sure that you wanted to climb out the other side. Reflex and willpower were the only things that ensured he remembered the swift jerk and twist that made sure Sadie's bones situated themselves where they were supposed to. Her pain translated through her lips and into his, and he pulled away, looked away, the sudden realisation spreading hot through his body like diving feet feet first into Mustafar.

"I -" he started, beginning an explanation before he'd even found one for himself. His shoulders sagged a little, the realisation of the unforgivable liberty his reflexes had taken weighing them down. His words tumbled out as a pathetic mumble. "Only way I could distract y' from flinchin' an' not make it hurt worse."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie couldn't quite go and make any sort of s'okay or anythin' else come out of her. The fresh pain in her shoulder that was radiatin' down her arm as she flexed her fingers and slowly began testin' out how much mobility was impaired this time around was bringin' a decent enough distraction from what had just happened. It was sound reasonin', some people would start countin' and do what needed doin' before they ever finished the countdown, others did other things to get your mind off of what was about to happen. The fact he'd gone and kissed her wasn't unpleasant that was for sure, it just seemed all sorts of out of place and did nothin' for that naggin' feelin' like she was bein' played somehow. All he'd done so far and she sill couldn't bring herself to actually trust the guy. Fair deal though, she'd sprung the whole physical contact thing on him first after all.

Yet another mute nod of her head was finally given, once again feelin' like she really should stop doin' that because it always ended up with a brief moment of vertigo which was made all the worse by not layin' down anymore. She didn't want to thank him, most of that sort of thing always sounded just like you were sayin' it because it was expected of you. Another sharp stab that sent one of them awful shudders went through her and she found her hand drifting to the fresh patch of blood that was seepin' through the old ones in her shirt. Knife in one hand and the other now havin' a decent coatin' of crimson she found herself once more lookin' to the guy and cursin' herself for not bein' with it enough to have caught his name when he'd said it.

"Should pro'ly head out." It was her turn to mumble, though she did manage to at least try for a small smile before she forcin' herself into talkin' again. "Pretty sure 'm runnin' on the last bit a adrenaline in th' tank. Rather not still be lookin' at these walls when it decides to go an' hit empty." She paid for the quip right quick as another sharp wave crashed into her senses and brought about another bout of closin' her eyes for a second until it decided to head back out into the sea of hurts.

[Vittore Montegue]

As he watched her display of struggling to cope with pain and injury, Vittore silently cursed himself for lacking the foresight to have brought medical supplies. He contemplated searching the cantina for drugs or spice - someone here was bound to be indulging in something illicit - but as he watched her body making a half-hearted effort to bleed out through the wounds that had already been inflicted, he knew there wasn't time to hang around.<br><br>He knew she was the kind of person who'd try and refuse help; he ignored that conclusion and stepped around to her less injured arm, hooking himself underneath to provide all the lift and balance required; all she'd need to do was stagger. Of course, that did put the knife he'd just armed her with in a position to do some pretty nasty damage to his spine if she set her mind to it; considering the sheer amount of effort it seemed to be taking to keep her upright however, he decided he probably wasn't in too much danger.<br><br>Vittore led them forward, weaving carefully through the maze of workspaces in the kitchen, and out into the main cantina. A breeze eased it's way through the blasted open door, confronting them with a welcome wave of fresh air; or at least, as fresh as Nar Shaddaa could provide. A wary glance was cast towards the barkeep, but the only thing that had changed about the Twi'lek was the progress that the tear of blood from his mutilated eye had made down his cheek.<br><br>Bog'el was similarly unchanged. As they limped past, he felt Sadie hesitate, and did the same. "He's still alive," he explained, answering the question that he presumed she was contemplating. "He'll survive, even. More or less."<br><br>His gaze settled on the blaster that he'd given Sadie to protect herself. "Y' can always change that, if y' want. Can always put him down."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It weren't the sight of what the guy had done to Bog that caused Sadie to take a hard swallow and for her jaw to clench as she eyed the mess that was left. It was the fact the gorram damn bastard was still breathin', his two damn hearts still pumpin' away and there he was, sleepin' off pain he should have rightfully been feelin' until the end of his days. If she'd been stronger, in a better state than just barely hangin' on to her own version of the wakin' world, Sadie knew right well that she'd have handed the blaster back to it's proper owner before descendin' upon Bog'el with the vibroblade. She wanted to hack away at him, to cut and rip and shred away until there was nothin' left but a pile of chunky red jelly. She could see it somewhere lurkin' in her minds eye, playin' itself out as she completely and totally lost any semblance of bein' more than just an animal as she tore into the Zabrak with not even an ounce of pity left.

But where the mind was willin' the body simply refused. As it were she knew she'd get maybe one good stab in on him before whatever reserves she had found to keep goin' were gone. Even the more reasonable side of her was sayin' that she'd probably end up finishin' bleedin' out herself if she went through with that sort of activity. Then what? They'd both be dead and she wouldn't even have begun to feel like a debt had been settled. All this thought didn't stop that blaster in her hand from shakin' slightly as her arm was gainin' a mind of its own to plug the piece of shit. Sadie would have been lyin' if she said she didn't want him dead. She did, with every core and fiber of her bein'. But she wanted him to suffer more, she wanted to cut off limbs while he was screamin' at her to stop.

It was the slightly defeated sigh that broke from her that put an end to the internal ragin'. No, there weren't no point in musin' over things you just couldn't do right at that moment. If she'd known the guy who was helpin' her better she'd just have sat down and asked him to do it as it was all sorts of obvious that he didn't exactly have an issue with necessary violence. But no, even that couldn't be done. Shootin' him in all sorts of non lethal places wouldn't have done any good either, even if he'd woken up she figured all the things that'd been done to him already would make a blaster bolt seem like an annoyin' pinch.

It just wasn't fair.

With the decision bein' met it was the fractures in various bones that decided to chime in with their want to get the frak out of the place, makin' her grit her teeth all over again before she forced out the reluctant verdict: "Leave 'im."

With any luck some sort of infection would go and seep into one of those new holes that Bog'el had earned himself. It was gonna have to be that thought that would satisfy her for now, barely enough to force herself to make a small nudge towards the exit.

[Vittore Montegue]

It wasn't what she wanted: didn't take someone who knew her intimately, or an expert on body language to pick up on the little flutter of hesitation and disappointment in her voice. Vittore had done his best to tear him up as bad as he'd hurt her, but seeing it finished wasn't the same as watching it happen, or doing it yourself. He felt more than a little guilt depriving her of the opportunity; but Sadie was in no condition to do it herself, and all Vittore had really done was level the playing field. When she recovered, when she was back in fighting shape, he'd move entire star systems to give her the chance to seek out justice.

Part of him questioned why he was doing this, all for some almost-kid he'd known for all of five minutes. There was nothing untoward though, there was no agenda. This was taking down that krayt dragon back on Tatooine that kept rampaging through the villages. This was stopping to help stop that fire out on Ord Varee rather than just chasing down the Force-using son of a bitch who'd set it ablaze in the first place. It wasn't always the best thing. Wasn't always the smart thing. But it was sure as hell the right thing.

Still, the gnawing feeling that it wasn't enough cloyed at Vittore's mind. A matter of minutes from now, he'd be in a speeder on his way to the nearest emergency clinic. They'd patch up what they could, hack off what they couldn't, bolt on replacements. It'd be an adjustment, but eventually he'd walk again; he'd talk again; and in a galaxy like this, he wouldn't even seem all that out of place. There was a life he'd continue to have.

Impulse pulled the slugthrower from the back of his pants, one last shot embedded into Bog'el's groin. It wasn't about his manhood, though the galaxy would probably thank him for sparing them the potential of any offspring; it was about indignity, about walking into a 'fresher and finding a metal plate when you unbuckled your pants. It was about kidneys that drained into a canister that you emptied rather than into a bladder like everyone else in the galaxy. One more humiliation for Bog'el to face.

Vittore tucked the pistol away again, and shook his head. "I hate that guy," he muttered, easing the two of them back into motion, and navigating a path that avoided most of the debris from the shattered doorway.

It was dark outside, but the brightness of Nar Shaddaa's neon skyline assaulted his eyes regardless. With a grimace he steered them towards the speeder; halted as they reached the passenger side. A lack of doors was all well and good for sleekness and style, but it made for lousy accessibility. Another curse directed at himself for not having the magical foresight to have stolen a more suitable ride. Even a swoop would have been better than this, though with the mix of stumbling and swaying that they'd barely managed to avoid, he wasn't sure whether or not Sadie would have had the strength to cling on to the back of a speeder bike; especially not with a busted arm, and particularly not when he'd gone and made things awkward for reasons he didn't entirely fathom.

He considered asking, giving her the chance to ask for help rather than having it forced upon her; but he got the distinct impression that Sadie was the sort of person who could be getting dragged into the maw of a sarlacc and not want to inconvenience anyone by asking for help. In a fluid motion he turned and swept her legs out from under her, scooping her into his arms so he could hoist her up into the speeder and set her down gently in the passenger seat.

"Sorry," he found himself muttering yet again as he skirted the speeder and vaulted into the driver's side. Apparently, it was just that sort of day.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Y' keep usin' that word and 'm gonna have t' start askin' what you think you've done t' me that needs it." The strength was lackin' in her words, drained as soon as she was settled in the speeder, not a moment too soon, really as far as Sadie was concerned.

It was like the moment she stopped movin' the rest of the galaxy was still goin' - which she didn't even want to get into the details regardin' the facts that made that feelin' all kinds of truthful and yet not. Truth was though, she'd been holdin' on to somethin', some sort of inner strength that people always seemed to manage gettin' in touch with when things got mighty ugly and as much as she was downright determined to keep herself runnin', little things like blood loss weren't really keen on goin' along with the program. The fact the seat in the speeder was just about the most comfortable place she'd found herself in recent times wasn't helpin' any in the stay awake department neither. Lightheadedness was comin' in fast and a slight cough brought back up the taste of blood.

"Look," It was barely mumbled and accompanied a slight shake of her head as she slumped in the seat, "figure you aint the kind to want t' hear it... Know this was pro'ly jus' some sorta job and I aint sayin' you're a hero or nothin' like that, I get th' fact y're just someone who gets things done when it's needed... but..." She paused, cringing as it felt like some last lil' wall was bein' let go of that was keepin' her separate from fully realizin' what state she was really in. Pains aside she felt like she was fightin' a losin' battle with emotions that she really didn't like goin' and let take the controls. "Jus'... thanks."

Was a weird damn word to say, worse still was that she meant it. Even still, Sadie was half hopin' he hadn't heard a word of what she'd gone off ramblin' about. Things were easier that way in the end sometimes.

Not really wantin' to give any more focus on that type of conversation she looked away, watchin' the passin' of other speeders and blur of lights. Was hypnotic in a way, the pulsing of colors echoin' the throbbing and occasional stabs that were threatenin' to take over all sense of reality again. Problem was she didn't quite have the will to keep fightin' it, not this time around. Another wave, worse than the rest, came up fast and mean, causin muscles to tighten in reply that only made things worse. Last thing she could recall of that ride was that feelin', the sudden fact she knew she wasn't breathin' real even anymore, and a slight curse leavin' her before the world went all black in a big hurry.

[Nen Lev'i]

* * *


"Oh my gods."

It wasn't a helpful thing to say in the least, but he still felt compelled to mutter repetitions of increasing pace under his breath as he hovered uselessly at the top of the boarding ramp. This was just about the worst thing that could possibly have happened today. A perfectly innocent, mind-your-business day of sitting around his apartment and not having to put pants on, feeling smug about the fact that a bounty hunter had swung by and he'd helped her find the person he was looking for. He knew that Vittore Montegue was a bounty hunter because, well, who didn't? But when the guy had shown up, Nen had done his thing, and the guy had left, he'd thought that would be the end of it. Job done. File it away as an anecdote for your grandkids, or, someone else's grandkids more likely. So when the guy had called up all growls and shout, barking at him to go to a place and to do a thing and to do it fast, Nen had been understandably confused, stressed, and bad at finding his shoes and trousers.

And now this: an alien-slaying bounty hunter striding up the ramp of his ship with some bleeding and beaten broad draped over his arms. Clearly Nen was missing something, because he didn't understand what was going on at all, and usually he was really good with that sort of thing. The way it was supposed to work, in his head at least, was that a bounty hunter went and found someone, and either they came willingly or they died. That was sort of the point: dead of alive, those were the options. Half-dead and, from the looks of it, tortured far beyond what should have been a normal person's tolerance for pain was not one of the options. When Vittore Montegue had demanded that he go to his ship and switch on the medical droid, Nen had believed he was swooping in heroically to save the life of some gorram legend; whatever this was it was not straight forward, was incredibly stressful, and he was not coping at all well.

"I don't know how to fix people," Nen offered, bleak desperation in his voice. "I only know how to fix things!"

[Vittore Montegue]

"Shut up," Vittore grunted as he shoved by, weaving through the ship with more care to avoid bashing Sadie against things than should have been possible given the speed he was moving. He picked an empty passenger cabin and opened it with a boot, surging in only to lay Sadie onto the sheetless bed with sudden grace.

A few different curses from a few different languages tumbled out from under his breath as he shrugged off his jacket and shirt, depriving himself of the problematic sleeves that would only wind up getting in the way. Another concealed knife appeared from about his person, and after a moment of hesitation he began tearing his way through Sadie's bloody and ragged shirt.

"Starboard side," he instructed as he worked, his voice clear and a precariously calm, floating on the surface of the lake of anger beneath. "Second door from th' back. Cabin Seven. I need saline, kolto, G/P plasma -"

The stubborn hemmed collar of Sadie's shirt protested; Vittore paused to grimace as extra effort was needed to cut his way through. A sudden surge and the knife did it's work; he tucked it away and peeled back the fabric, another grimace forming as he saw the true extent of Sadie's sluggishly bleeding and almost certainly infected wounds. His jaw clenched, a sundry list of new injuries to inflict upon the Zabrak if he ever got his hands on him again. He forced those thoughts aside.

"- plus ethanol, adrenaline, and a sedative."

Silence followed; Vittore's fingers snapped a few inches in front of Nen's suddenly mesmerised eyes, distracting his gaze from their somewhat exposed patient.

"Now, Nen." A snarl of encouragement was added for emphasis. "An' where th' hell is Bumblebee?"

[Nen Lev'i]

Nen half stumbled over himself in his haste to leave the room, the muttered mantra of medical supplies the only thing keeping his head even remotely clear.

Insistent prodding didn't make the cabin door open any faster, but he tried it anyway. The delay was intolerable, because that let about ten different kinds of flustered embarrassment set in, and right now he didn't really want to have to wrestle with his apparent inadequacy as part of a rescue team, his ineptitude at keeping his shit together, and his apparent ability to stay focused on the highly urgent and pressing task at hand just because some dude cut some girl's shirt off and his brain decided that might be a thing worth lingering over.

The door whipped back to reveal the startling visage of a medical droid loitering ominously just beyond. Nen had known it was there, having switched the damn thing on not five minutes ago, but back then it has been parked casually in a corner minding it's own business, not right up in his face with it's dead and creepy skull eyes.

[Bumblebee]

Bumblebee's ocular receptors confirmed the facial parameters of the individual who had initiated his start-up protocols. The unit's cognitive processor queried his software for a course of action; it responded by cycling through the standard greeting procedure of for it's diagnostic program.

"I am two-two, one, bee."

Iffy wiring and packet loss turned the message into a stammer, static from the unit's damaged vocabulator marring the words it tried to convey.

"P-please state the n-nature of the medical em-m-mergency."

[Nen Lev'i]

Confusion slammed into the mile-a-minute chaos of Nen's brain, and sent his pinballing thoughts clattering across the floor. A dumbfounded expression swept his features as he frantically crawled around inside his head, fumbling with the thought-marbles in search of an answer to the droid's question.

"Ask him?" was the best he could muster, gesturing behind him to the cabin where Doctor Montegue was at work. That seemed enough to satiate Bumblebee; carefully sidestepping to avoid collision with the organic, it whirred it's way across the ship with an oddly graceful shuffling gait.

Distracted yet again, Nen's fists balled and a growl of frustration escaped him, willpower sending him diving into the room, boxes frantically opened, contents searched, unwanted supplies discarded. Barely organized quickly became chaos, plastic-sealed injectors and synth-wrapped gel pouches tossed haphazard into his taken off jacket in lieu of a less makeshift way to carry them.

Supplies collected, he barrelled back across the ship, nearly tripping, letting the momentum empty what he'd retrieved onto the foot of the bed.

Thoughts suddenly began to catch up with him like train cars colliding with those in front when the locomotive suddenly stops. "What's the sedative for?" he asked, staring at the labelled packet. "Isn't she already unconscious enough?"

[Vittore Montegue]

"Sedatives for you," Vittore grunted back simply; his eyes climbed to Bumblebee. "2 mils," he instructed, "Need him calm, not comatose."

Nen tossed an expression of disbelief, outrage, and protest at Vittore, his lungs too locked from slack-jawed, indignant aghast to muster any kind of response. Before he had a chance to, the surprisingly stealthy Bumblebee drove an injector into his arm; the kid swayed a little, but stayed on his feet.

"In the speeder outside," the calm-voiced Vittore urged, "There's a knife; edge like teeth, weird writin', covered in blood. Need you to grab it, don't clean it, an' when y' done I need y' to look down the ship. Seal the doors; nothin' in, nothin' out. Then find Katie, the little orange astro droid, an' tell her we've got a Code Ten. Y' got that? Code. Ten."

Nen nodded silently, his eyes a little too glazed for Vittore's liking, but a second later he wandered away, moving slow but with purpose, turning the right directions at the right times as he disappeared from view. The hunter let out a sigh, attention shifting to the droid.

"Need a triage an' treatment diagnostic, 'bee," he requested, arms folding across his chest for lack of anything more constructive to do in the meantime. "Tell me what to patch first."

[Bumblebee]

Bumblebee's eyes flickered, a momentary interruption of power to the light fittings within the eyepieces as the unit's built in medical scanners came online.

Though slow by comparison to other units of it's type, it still only took a few seconds for the requested evaluation to come through. Struggling to overcome the obstacle if it's faulty comms, Bumblebee began his report.

"L-left side, d-deep abdominal laceration. Min-nor in-t-ternal haemorrhaging. Probable infection. Wound cauterised. Sug-g-gest surgery t-to remove sc-sc-scar tissue, halt bleeding, a-and re-cauterise. Dislocated sh-shoulder. J-joint reset. Suggest pain r-relief; no immediate action. Fractured ribs. Low priority; n-no immediate a-action."

The unit's cranial module shifted, adjusting it's focus to each new area of injury.

"Heart rate low. Blood p-pressure low. Blood volume l-low. Suggest-t-t of abdominal wound first; intraveinous transfusion of g-general p-purpose plasma; adrenaline to increase h-heart rate. Surface lacera-a-ations. Suggest wound d-disinf-fection, application bacta p-patches to prevent sc-scarring."

Another twitch.

"Error: bacta not f-found in medical inventory. Update: suggest wound disinfect-t-tion, application of k-kolto patches. Patient will suffer r-r-residual scarring."

Bumblebee's focus changed, aiming his features towards his Captain and owner.

"Should the unit proceed w-with treatment as indic-cated?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Residual scarring.

The words were like a punch to the gut. Carved to hell, and forced to live with the reminders because of him. Damn him for not being prepared. Damn him for not bringing a medikit; just in case. Damn him for thinking an ambulance, a hospital wouldn't be safe. Damn him for wanting her off-planet as fast as he could. Damn his lack of bacta. Damn the Tyferrans and their hiked-up prices. Damn the Zabrak. Damn the band. Damn gorram Nar Shaddaa. Damn it all. Damn -

The duraplast plating on the wall cracked beneath his knuckles; his knuckles cracked too under the force of the impact. All Vittore's rage, the anger coiling around his chest, unwound itself and slithered down his arm in pursuit of the new point of pain, snaking it's way into the wall.

Vittore released a breath; it would have been a calming one, only it didn't really do the job. His shoulders sagged.

"Yeah," he muttered, feeling the shudder in his knees as the ship's repulsorlifts spooled up. "Go ahead, 'bee. Patch her up."

[Nen Lev'i]

"Ohmygods."

There it was again, slurred this time, still helpful as ever. As ship shuddered, his eyes turned to the ceiling, as if somehow that was the place where an explanation obviously lay. It took a few moments before his mind fought through the sedative haze enough to realise that his accusing eyes should be directed at the astro droid.

"You," he hissed, with a glare that might have been menacing, were it not interrupted by a startled glance out of the viewport and a frantic grab for the nearest seat as the starport outside the window began to fall away beneath them. "You, you -" he tried, begging his brain to find something, anything to vocalise his ire and frustration. "- are poorly maintained."

It was the best he could muster; his body gave way, depositing him theatrically into the seat he'd taken hold of. He slumped, head lolling to one side to gaze out of the window as Nar Shaddaa, his home, the planet he'd never left during as much of his life as he could remember, slowly slipped from view. A sullen look dominated his features, a mournful whisper replacing his voice as the sedative made it steadily harder to do anything other than sit and surrender.

"I don't even know where we're going."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

***


Wakin' up was slow and for one split second she was downright convinced that she was still in that gorram storage room, that moment was replaced right quick with a different sort of discomfort when she realized the ceiling wasn't familiar at all. Strange she didn't feel panicked by it, though truth was she wasn't feelin' much of anythin'. A slow breath was taken, testin' everythin' and found that only a tiny twinge was felt under a mass of pressure that was keepin' her from takin' anythin' too deep. Sadie didn't want to move at first until she finally went about rememberin' everythin'. Came on in flashes, some images not so great, and then a row of ones that seemed downright impossible. Someone had come and ended the hell her life had become, done a number on Bog for good measure, and then...

If comin' round to some semblance of consciousness was slow in happenin', sittin' up was way worse. The situation not real helped out by the fact she only had use of one of her arms, the other in a sling that was keepin it close to her on account of the fact it was under an oversided green shirt she was downright sure wasn't hers. The movin' about didn't hurt like she was expectin, not really anyway, but it was joined in by a feelin' like her head was not quite all there. At least that was a slight familiar thing when she went and actually thought 'bout it. Narcotics of some sort weren't new to her and she was sincerely hopin' they probably were of the good kind rather than some cheap shit that'd end up doin' ya more harm than good. Disturbin' thing was all things considered she felt more aware than she had in, well, she didn't really want to try and think on that number too hard.

More self explorin' left her not real pleased about just how much bandagin' seemed to be on her. Meant it was bad, probably real bad, or at least had been. Least she couldnt' feel it. Sadie thought about readjustin' the whole shirt situation but given that she'd have to take her arm outta the sling she figured it was best left alone. Time to figure all that out later, she supposed. Gettin' to her feet wasn't as bad as expected, though walkin' the first few steps was like tryin' to figure out how to go about doin' it all over again.

So Sadie went about realizin' real fast that she weren't on the shithole Hutt-run planet no more, which was a blessin'. Ships were good, but the fact she didn't recognize the bloke crashed out on the couch in what she guessed was the main livin' area didn't settle things as far as feelin' like she was in the clear. Every lil bit of the darkened ship she figured was gonna have Bog'el sittin in a chair smirkin' at her and provin' this was just a new settin' and the patch job was a mean joke.

It didn't take a genius to figure out where the cockpit was, but the fact it was all dark didn't ease tensions none. Deep breath was taken, well, about as deep as she was gonna manage. Brain was wracked as to tryin' to remember bits and pieces of a conversation she wasn't all that aware of in the first place. Pilot's chair was occupied, though. Time to take a gamble and hope it was the guy she could remember had helped her out and not someone on her former boss' payroll.

"Don't s'pose y' can tell me why 'm here and not dyin' back on that rock...?" Great, so the strength she wanted to speak with weren't back in business yet. Whatever, it'd do.

[Vittore Montegue]

The sound of speaking caught Vittore by surprise.

His mind had been elsewhere, lightyears behind in a windowless room on Nar Shaddaa, nothing but a sharpened knife and a rickety chair to help him carve off little pieces of that horn-crowned son of a bitch. He could feel it: the urge, the need, the rush of inflicting that kind of suffering upon someone who truly deserved it. Again and again he cut and sliced, his mind resetting the wounds so he could relive the satisfaction of peeling that smug smile off what remained of the Zabrak's face. If there were screams, he'd stopped hearing them; it didn't matter, it wasn't even about the thought of inflicting the pain any more. This wasn't a vengeance fantasy; it was about justice. Sadie didn't deserve what she had been put through; the Zabrak more than did.

He pried his eyes away from the hypnotic swirl of subspace; contemplated a smile, contemplated a platitude, contemplated all manner of things that social convention told him would put her at ease. He followed through on none of them. Sadie had been screwed with, manipulated, and mistreated enough already. Her simple question deserved a simple answer.

"Emelie Shadowstar sent me," he explained, his voice as level as he could muster it, a little ragged and hoarse as the ordeals of the day weighed down in him. "She's a former employer a' yours. Tried contactin' you, but found y' network was dark. We did a little diggin'; information broker name a' Atton Kira had a lead on y' true identity, an' so we were able t' track y' down." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Sleepin' beauty back there is Nen Lev'i; helped me find out where on Nar Shaddaa those sons a' bitches had you stashed."

He shrugged. "Y' know the rest."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Shadowstar, now that was a name Sadie hadn't expected to be thrown into the mix. Of all the people she'd pulled jobs she never figured it'd be Emelie who would do anythin' good for her. Course to hear the way it was said it sounded more like a happy accident had gone and occurred. Guess she'd have some lucky stars to thank... not that Sadie believed in that sort of shit. The other names were filed away somewhere upstairs, especially the one who apparently could go about putting two and two together when it came to matchin' her up to the alias she'd used on those jobs. That'd take some lookin' in to since anybody who took any sort of interest in her was a bit of a point of contention as far as she was concerned.

"Yeah, mostly. Kin'a patchy in places. Death's door an' all..." Sadie let herself look away from where the guy sat and out at the swirlin' mess. She knew folks who said they found that sort of thing comfortin', soothin' in a way. Personally she found it downright unnervin' to think of just how fast or what kinda physics were goin' on that she was movin' through.

She found herself swallowin' for the sake of nothin' other than it was the kind of nervous tick a person just found themselves takin' part of when they wanted to pull their mind away from the edge of a hole it was staggerin' a little too close to.

"Can't recall some a' it. Y'know... like th' name a' the guy whose ship 'm on." Sadie couldn't quite get out the bit of laugh that wanted to come from findin' some sort of amusement in that fact. Instead it came out soundin' less like what she wanted and more like some sorta forlorn admission - guilt over the fact she could remember exactly what Bog'el had looked like on her way out but couldn't be ass bothered to remember the name of the guy who'd put him in that sorry state and then had gone and apparently patched her up afterwards.

[Vittore Montegue]

She took it all in her stride, shrugging it off with a quip and a smile, but Vittore has seen the same thing reflected back at him in the mirror far too many times to be fooled. The illusion didn't fool him: the girl he'd rescued was still under there, and the few bandages and stimpaks he'd pumped into her weren't going to make her right as rain in an instant, no matter how heard she pretended they would. Vittore had seen the scars that riddled her on the outside; he couldn't even begin to guess the extent of the the tangled emotional mess that went with it.

"Vittore Montegue," he answered, by way of introduction. Normally his name would have been followed with swagger and finesse, some display of ego to impress or intimidate as required; but watching the amount of effort it seemed to be taking Sadie to stay on her feet, he knew she was in no condition for that kind of dance.

Who we was, what he was, would have to wait for later.

His brow dropped into a frown, eyes settling on the loose, empty sleeve that should have contained the arm currently slung to her chest. His mind drew on the spiderwebs of cuts and scars that he knew were under there; all the effort he could muster was needed to make his hands anything but fists. He tried to meet her gaze but couldn't. An embarrassed breath of laughter escaped him.

"Sorry I couldn't patch y' up better," he muttered, every apology he wanted to make compressed down into the only seven words he could bring himself to utter on the subject: now was hardly the time to broach the matter of the permanency of certain injuries. "Truth is I'm much more used t' pullin' people apart than I am t' puttin' them back together."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

This time the halfhearted laugh actually manged to go and escape, her mind dodgin' around the subject of herself, playin' a game of keep-away with the ugly possibility she didn't even want to begin to consider. Instead she forced herself to steer right on towards what else he had said.

"Yeah, noticed that bit..." She finally made herself look away from the viewport and back to Vittore, findin' herself tryin' on a smile that was about as enthusiastic as her laugh had been. Felt downright out of place, really.

She'd seen what the guy was capable of first hand, had that image burned into her mind and still found she wished he'd done a whole hell of a lot more. That whole image jarred mighty violently with the guy she was seein' now though. He looked like he'd done enough in his life to have regrets big enough to weigh a person down, but Sadie wasn't about to go makin' assumptions as to the truth of that or not. It had been a downright rough day for everyone after all.

"Can I ask y' somethin'?" She let a moment of quiet pass between them. The lack of protest or any negative reply wasn't exactly a go-ahead but she ran with it anyway. "Back there, I mean, y' said Shadowstar jus' kinda sent y' to fetch me, yeah? I mean, it's like I was sayin' b'fore...this was just a job t' ya. Guessin' not exactly on the top a' th' list a' stuff y' normally do..."

Sadie wasn't quite sure when she had said something to that effect to him, only vaguely remembered it went along with a thank you that she wasn't about to start spoutin' off again.

"Guessin' rippin' Boggsie t' shreds aint exactly somethin' you're gonna get paid extra for... Not that 'm complainin'."

That was the thing of it, really. Gettin' her off Nar Shaddaa, makin' it so she wasn't bleedin' all over the damn place anymore, keepin' her from dyin', that all made sense when you went and put the fact someone else was to blame for kickin' it off but it was that extra bit that didn't sit right. She weren't disgusted, not even scared by the fact she was standin' right near someone capable of doin' such a thing, it just didn't add up. Maybe he was the kind of guy who did that sort of thing for fun but Sadie had a feelin' it weren't nothin' like that. There was somethin' almost personal 'bout that sort of thing, bout the way the damage that was done had echoed her own. It couldn't have been about revenge either, not on her account at least.

"Don't wanna pry, really. Jus' kinda wonderin' why y' did it...? Like I said, aint complainin', far from it. Seein' him like that..." She trailed off before she started back in with the thank yous that were threatenin' to creep on up. Instead she went for the other side of the credit chit that she was always relyin' on but didn't want to go and say but wasn't left with much else. "I aint worth that sort a' trouble."

[Vittore Montegue]

"Huntin' monsters is what I do."

The words tumbled from Vittore's mouth automatically, a practised defensive reply that he'd given so many times. He'd been called to account for his life choices, and his career choices, oh so many times: and each time he'd felt the need to defend himself, justify the calling, tradition, family business that he'd inherited. It seemed simple when you spelt it out: Dad the Senate Commando, Dad the post-war Jedi Hunter, Dad with his weird sense of duty and honour when the Empire had taken the job away from him and given it to their shady Inquisitors. You didn't have to mention the vengeance. Didn't have to go mentioning Mom. Most species in the galaxy could get behind family tradition and following in footsteps.

But that wasn't what was being asked this time; and Vittore knew it. Sadie didn't want to know why he did what he did; she wanted to know why he'd done what he'd done. The other thing. The other reason.

A grimace flinched onto his features as he felt, clear as day, the unnatural pressure crushing him against the wall. He felt the knives, the needles, the acids, chewing and clawing and slicing away at his flesh. He saw the cold detachment in the eyes of the man responsible; relived the wide-eyed stare as the dagger floating ten feet above; felt the restraints bite into his wrists as he tried to flinch away; felt the horror and the pain as unnatural power let the dagger fall, gravity plunging it through his heart. He relived his body tearing itself apart; relived the last few seconds of existence.

Then he felt it: the warmth, the relief; the gentle hands and gentle fingers as the Force crept inside him, knitting his heart and his body back together so his conditioning could rinse and repeat.

That was what Sadie wanted to know. That was even what Sadie needed to know: that Vittore was the one person who knew what she'd gone through, who knew what it was like to be unmade. That was the answer he had to give, the truth he had to tell; and the only one he couldn't.

"I've been there," he managed to force out; a half-truth, then. "Been the one on the receivin' end of the knives an' the scars. Know what it's like to have someone come at you who don't want you dead, just broke. I know how powerless that can make a person feel."

He felt a hint of a tremble try and creep it's way into his voice; fought it down, maintained his composure.

"I ain't just a bounty hunter," he continued, slowly so that he could take the time to polish the other stuff out of his words, keep them clear and plain and focused. "I don't just go after whatever pays. I go after the stuff that ain't fair. Somethin' comes along an' kills y' in a fair fight? That's on you, be tougher. But a baseline human up against a Shifter, or an Anzat? Up against a freakin' Jedi?"

He shook his head, the sentiment trailing off. "I don't like bullies. Don't care where they're from."

An uncomfortable shuffle managed to manifest itself; that was the easy half of the half-truth, the part that was all about other people, and not the damndest bit about him. With all the effort he could muster, he forced himself to meet Sadie's gaze.

"What that Zabrak did? The way he abused the power he had over you? Same thing. Not fair. You didn't deserve any of that."

His jaw clenched. "He did."

His eyes fell away; suddenly the utterly unchanging navigational data about their progress through hyperspace became the most interesting set of numbers that Vittore had ever witnessed. Didn't distract him the way he wanted it to though; didn't put the memories back to sleep. As much for himself as for Sadie, he repeated his earlier sentiment; uttered his mantra.

"Huntin' monsters is what I do."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Listenin' to him was like some new form of torture. Nah, that weren't quite right. But it certainly didn't seem like two people just sharin' stories either. Was more like watchin' someone relive somethin', like some part of 'em never left the place where it had happened. Sadie wanted to find some sort of comfort in the fact that someone knew what it had been like, to have another being have complete control over you, to take away what fight you had, to feel like the blade they were usin' wasn't just tearin' through skin but was snaggin' and cuttin' into pieces of your soul as well... but findin' out someone else had been there was anythin' but. Made her go and wonder what she'd be like in a year, when her mind stopped tryin' to build up the wall it was desperately doin' to block everythin' out, and what would happen when that wall would inevitably crumble. Would she end up like Vittore? Or would she end up bein' one of those things he hunted?

She knew damn well the pain killers hadn't gone and worn off but she was feelin' the shadow pains that memory brought on just the same. Sadie was no stranger to takin' a beatin' at the Zabrak's hands, had been that way since she'd been little more than a kid and he'd pulled her off the streets in some shit overpopulated city. But that first cut, that feelin' of the vibroblade sinkin' into her... A shudder ran through her and she forced another bit of mental plaster to help keep a brick up in place over that particular sensation. She was almost reluctant since that bit had kept her from focusin' on the discomfort that somethin' else he'd said had brought on. She weren't ready to tackle that.

As he finished up she watched him look away she found herself echoin' the motion, lookin' down at a hand that was all kinds of used to doin' meanin'less fidgetin' with the other in times like this. Now it was only worth noticin' the way the sleeve of the shirt was long enough that it hid her fingers from view. Seemed appropriate for some reason.

"Someone's gotta." Was about the clearest thing she'd said to him so far and somehow she'd managed to make nuances work again, lettin' it carry the unspoken bit of shame it's 'pparently gotta be you.

[Amaros Koine]

* * *

Amaros couldn't remember ever encountering as much aggressive restlessness as he had these last few days spent guarding Emelie Shadowstar. Considering his Mandalorian heritage and the identity of his son, that was a remarkably impressive feat. The aggression had been passive, unleashed in sarcastic remarks and upon the poor unsuspecting hotel staff burdened with responding to their calls for room service. He couldn't place blame, and didn't consider it particularly unjustified either: caged within the confines of the Holiday Towers hotel and casino at the gentle but firm insistence of her protectors, and as yet utterly powerless to take any steps to ensure her continued safety in the galaxy at large, Emelie had every right to be all manner of frustrated.

But, as Amaros watched the Crimson Tide swoop gracefully into what was apparently a private hangar that Atton Kira owned for reasons not volunteered nor queried, he had to admit one thing: it'd be a relief when Vittore Montegue stepped off that ship to relieve him.

He cast a sidelong glance in Emelie's direction, fighting a tiny smile at the little flourishes and eruptions of body language that exposed her inner agitation. "Might wanna try standing still for a minute there," he casually teased. "I don't think Mister Kira would be all too pleased at you wearing a hole in his deck plates."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"I can pay to fix it." A cheeky smirk and knowing look were flashed at Amaros before she let out a small sigh.

Despite the comment Emelie did force herself to stop the slight fidgets and ticks she found herself doing. Feeling edgy from being holed up in a hotel room for several days was all well and good but the last thing she wanted to look like was some nervous broad anxiously awaiting the return of some guy. Even if Vittore's arrival was expected to be anything but alone there still were appearances to keep. Sad thing was Emelie knew she would be lying entirely if she said that she wasn't actually nervous. It all boiled down on not knowing what to expect. The girl, Sadie as apparently her name was, wasn't someone Emelie actually knew; not really anyway. Oh sure she could take a bunch of educated guesses based upon their over-comm interactions and the way the slicer seemed to handle herself but all that compared to what a person actually was when they were standing in front of you could be as different as...well... any number of cliche sayings that compared opposites.

There was that little voice in the back of her head that really knew the answer. Well, answers. One had to do with Kira's ominous turn of phrase that made it sound like the girl was in trouble and the end result of that was never a good thing. The other... well, that got a bit more complicated. Emelie had the distinct impression there would be an uncomfortable conversation between them involving their mutual friend and his whereabouts at some point. And that? That was going to have to happen over a bottle of Whyren's Reserve if ever.

All that she could do now though was force herself to try and look professional, which admittedly was a lot easier when you were wearing a decent pant suit rather than a short dress made more for a holiday on a tropical resort. Whatever state the two were going to be in, she'd have to take it in stride - even if she was secretly hoping for the hunter and the hacker to be obviously irritated with the very thought of having to be near each other for one second more. It was petty, of course. But at least then she could get some satisfaction out of the fact that although she'd been caged and had felt it at least her company had been pleasant.

[Amaros Koine]

Amaros Koine was too much of a gentleman to call bullshit to a woman's face - a lesson it had taken a great deal of effort and insistence for his dearly departed wife to teach - but that code of manners didn't extend to the inside of his own skull.

Emelie Shadowstar had been intentionally frugal about the specific facts of herself, which was understandable if woefully naive, what with the self-proclaimed most effective information broker in the galaxy chilling out behind the bar downstairs for most of her de facto incarceration. Amaros knew that she was at least of reasonable means, what with being able to afford to bankroll a man like Vittore Montegue off the back of a shrug, and with the way she'd been exploiting the surprisingly good value room service at Holiday Towers. Even so, from what his instincts told him about her, it seemed like her finances were hard-earned; that every credit she wasted away undid some fraction of a struggle, or a challenge, or a life's work. She hid behind the mask of the carefree degenerate, but Amaros could see in her eyes and the way that she stood that her cares were in fact numerous.

He also didn't by all the I'm fine crap that she'd been spouting. When she spoke about her circumstance, about the notion of being hunted by this Chir'daki guy and being forced to hide in sight so plain that he wouldn't dare expose himself to do anything, about the idea that she was so powerless to act that she had to rely on some barely known quantity she'd only just met to do all her acting for her, she focused on the frustration and inconvenience of it all. She threw her ire up as a smokescreen, to distract from the thoughts dancing around her head in the background. There was fear and anger there, and in the few instances she stopped shying away from conversational intimacy enough to let Amaros see a glimpse, the terrified little girl furious at her helplessness that lurked beneath her performance of confidence was all too plain to see.

He could speak to Atton Kira, and find out the story behind the woman he was protecting in exchange for a few credits and a few favours; but he wouldn't. It wasn't Cheyenne Hidatsa's imposed morals and manners that stopped him this time though; it was Amaros Koine's sense of Mandalorian honour.

"We have a saying back home."

Subtlety was not something one would have expected from such a hulking individual, and nor was grace; but as he stealthily moved himself within reach of Emelie Shadowstar, he displayed both. A vast and battle-scarred warrior's hand settled between her shoulders, a gently insistent reassurance rolling into her like a wave through his fingertips. His voice took on a sombre tone as he prepared to impart the wisdom of the Mandalores.

"Chill the fuck out before you break something."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Chill out?" A sly smile spread across her lips as she turned to face the Mandalorian and a small saddened pout overtook her. "But, Amaros... We just watched R'Cardo off himself. I think I'm allowed to be a little upset."

Tears almost seemed to well up her eyes as all joy was drained away for the briefest of instances before another smirk forced its way through and was pursued by an uncontrollable laugh at the absurdity of her statement. Emelie hadn't expected to actually form any sort of bond with the man during her confinement but apparently a bunch of awful yet engrossing day-time holodramas, the mini bar, and enough room service to feed an army had created enough of a spark between them that she'd easily fallen into the familiar steps that practically placed Koine in the same realm as some of her oldest and most endeared friends.

The sudden sound of the Tide's boarding ramp descending left unsaid words stranded on the tip of her tongue and forced new ones to form in their wake. Emelie mentally began preparing herself for the over-the-top And so the Mighty Hunter has returned with his prey that would probably result in another round of flirtatious and inappropriate gazes being aimed directly at Captain Montegue...but everything was brought to a sudden violent crashing halt as the two individuals came into her line of sight.

Whatever Emelie had been expecting, it wasn't this. Vittore hadn't exactly been a ray of sunshine since they had first met but the hardened look he now wore seemed very very wrong. And then there was the girl with him that he was actually helping exit the ship. Of all the mental pictures she had created of Sadie, never had she figured it would be the frail looking creature she couldn't take her eyes off of. Emelie didn't know where to begin processing. The black eye the girl was sporting was noticed first, then the fact the rest of her visible skin seemed discolored in one way or another, followed almost immediately by the fact that she seemed to be wearing one of Vittore's shirts with one of her arms tucked away for a reason Emelie could only begin to guess at. But it was the girl's posture, unsteady movements, and overall demeanor that hinted there was far more lurking beyond what was instantly apparent and created a complete upwelling of discomfort.

And then their eyes met and Emelie felt the bottom drop out of her resolve. She knew that look. Had seen it reflected in her own vision once that wasn't nearly long enough ago.

Even if it only lasted a split second it was still far too long for her liking before Emelie tore herself away and found herself looking back to Amaros. It wasn't a request for help, more of just biding her time until her mind could catch up and actually think of something to say when it managed to get over being completely dumbstruck and marginally horrified.

[Vittore Montegue]

He was holding her up. It seemed like the thing to do, and yet, that didn't make it seem like enough.

Were he anybody else, there'd have been reassuring words. There'd have been proper hugs that actually made things better instead of just spur of the moment impulses. There would have been something, at any rate; and the fact that he couldn't even fathom what that might be just went to show how badly he was the wrong man for this sort of thing. He wasn't the one who understood people, knew how to handle their crap; that had always been Cambrio's job, his role in the dynamic sibling duo. Cammy had been the one who saved people, so that Vittore could focus on hunting things; that was how their family business worked. Two roles; two sides of a coin. Simple. Effective.

Gone.

it wasn't that Vittore didn't care. The way that the last vestiges of his emotions had been chewing at him ever since he first set eyes on Sadie, he gave one hell of a damn about her being okay. He'd just never learned how to come off as caring. He knew how to protect people, physically at least; he could fight off just about anything, and patch up all kinds of holes they might tear in you. But when what you needed protecting from were emotions, when the wounds you were suffering were on your heart and soul? Vittore couldn't even manage to look after himself that kind of way, let alone anyone else.

And so, he was holding her up, arm hooked around her, taking as much of the not all that much to begin with weight off her aching body. He had no idea how to do anything else.

"Easy," he said gently, helping Sadie transition from the boarding ramp to the deck plates of the hangar. He'd tweaked the gravity en route - well, asked Katie to, anyhow - so that the downward pull of the gas giant Bespin wouldn't be such a shock to the system versus the pull of the comparatively tiny Smuggler's Moon. Of course, up here in the clouds was a little different from lower down; but Katie knew what she was doing. That little droid's biggest talent was taking what Vittore asked for, and translating it into what he actually wanted.

Even so she still stumbled; spend long enough living on one planet and it'd take you a while to find your feet on another; for your legs to relearn how much effort it took to actually land your feet on the deck plates instead of the about two inches below that your mind automatically compensated for.

"That's it," he assured, trying to sound as little like a face-smashing, throat-slashing brute as he possibly could. "Few steps more, an' then that big-ass guy over there is gonna scoop y' up, put y' in a speeder, and get y' to someone who can patch y' up a little better than me an' Bumblebee managed."

He mustered a smile, hoping the expression would carry over into his words even though Sadie wouldn't be able to see it. "He looks scary, but trust me: he's gentle as an Ewok when y' get to know him."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

All things aside Sadie was downright surprised when she managed to let a small, though actually genuine, smile form and the smallest of laughs leave her that unfortunately had to go and be all kinds of ruined by the flinch that followed it up. Usin' the word 'Ewok' probably weren't the first thing she could have come up with when tryin' to describe the guy Vittore was talkin' 'bout but it did bring all manner of amusin' imagery 'round in a mind that was downright thankful for the distraction.

"Don' make me laugh. Kinda enjoyin' bein' in one piece f' th' now. Gods know with my kinna luck I'll end up rupturin' somethin'." Talkin' wasn't hurtin' as bad as the sudden spasm that always came with unexpected laughter so she'd let herself go on a bit. Figured it might make the both of them feel better if she weren't actin' quite like she felt, or looked for that matter. "An' I didn't come all this way jus' to have y're handiwork go t' waste, savvy?"

Sadie was blamin' the pain killers on the barely-there smirk she couldn't seem to make itself completely get. She probably shouldn't have been able to find anythin' 'bout the moment that was even a bit entertainin' but really if y' couldn't find some sort of comfort at the fact that some guy was tryin' his damn well hardest at makin' you feel better despite not really seemin' to know how and you were walkin' like you'd never been off-world before... well, sometimes humor was what you got and at that exact time and place Sadie was might glad it was that that was tryin' its damnedest to be the dominant thing. Lot worst stuff could have been goin' on that was for sure and at least the fact she wasn't mopin' about might at least let Vittore know his efforts were appreciated.

When they came to a stop b'fore the other two people, Sadie eyed the lady she knew damn well was the one responsible for the whole thing if Vittore had been tellin' true. Was funny in a way that everythin' else wasn't. Shadowstar was one of them people that always seemed confident when they were dealin' with a person, didn't matter how antagonistic you got on her she just kept actin' like she was holdin' all the cards. Now though? Well, if watchin' Vittore tryin' to hide the fact he was kinda frettin' 'bout her didn't clue her in on just how bad she must seem to everybody else, the downright stupefied and meek look plastered on Emelie's face was the last nail in the coffin on that. Sadie gave her a small nod, didn't figure words were gonna do a whole lot of good on the bosslady at the moment.

Which left her to give Vittore one last glance before she directed herself towards the big guy. Ewok. She had to stop that bout of gigglin' before it started; mostly managed it too.

"So Vittore here tells me that y're gonna be takin' me t' see a right proper doc." A bit of effort made that lurkin' smile come back on full. "Think he's over complicatin' things if y' ask me. B and him patched me up an' since I aint dead I'd say it was a pretty good job. Though, s'pose it can't hurt t'get a second opinion..."

With words trailin' off so did the bit of happiness that had been genuine. The fake bit that was left should cover for her well enough but it did go and bring up two things she hadn't quite thought of until she went and said somethin'. First was the fact that someone else she didn't know was gonna have to give her a once over, which meant she was probably gonna have to endure a few more horrified looks that people tried to cover but didn't quite manage. Vittore had been damn close though, but then again, she had a sneakin' suspicion he'd seen enough shit in his life that things like what'd been done to her only phased him on a slight level. Maybe she was wrong. Realization number two was somethin' else she weren't quite sure how to go 'bout handlin'. See, the problem was simple, Vittore had been the only person in quite some time that'd done a damn bit of good for her that probably didn't result in some sort of end profit for 'em and some part of her had felt that maybe, yeah, bonus results of a job he was given or not, he'd gone and earned a bit of her trust to come through. Not many people did that on a first meet and that was the kicker. Guy had managed to do it and she was downright certain that once she left this hanger she weren't ever gonna see his like around again. It weren't that she had gotten attached to him, more that Sadie was just a bit downed by the fact that once again it seemed like the good people were the ones that up and came and went faster in her life than anybody else. Damn shame the hunter was gonna become just another hashmark on a list that was too damn short for the length of time she'd been makin' it.

[Amaros Koine]

Amaros heard the fake confidence, the practised banter; saw the forced smile, and watched it falter. Barely more than a kid at a guess, beaten to shit and god knows what else; still playing out that instinctive urge to hide behind a curtain of falsehoods and pretence, just so she wouldn't accidentally provoke people into caring. It didn't matter that the curtain was made of glass through, see-through as day and oh so easy to shatter; habits were hard to break, and reflexes were nigh impossible.

The Mandalorian's eyes strayed to Vittore; saw the way that the Captain's gaze lingered on Sadie as she limped away, even more full of sadness now than he'd ever seen them. He was an enigma, that Vittore boy: his curtain was a haze of rage and hate, all bundled up in some delusion of obligation to adhere to some archetype he mistakenly believed he was. He was a killer, sure, but so was half the galaxy these days it seemed; and his morals might have been more of a suspension bridge than something clad in stone; but he was one of the good guys, whether Vittore or anyone else believed it or not. The only problem was that he wasn't much more than a kid either, deep down, the way his damned father had gone and hit the pause button on his childhood like that. Underneath everything he felt he needed to be, Vittore was just a lonely big brother, searching for someone to protect, and to stick around.

There were no words with the look that Amaros cast at Vittore, but his expression spoke volumes. At ease, Soldier. She's safe.

His gaze fell back to Sadie and, with absolutely no effort at all he conjured a smile of his own. "Not being dead is one hell of a low bar," he observed, momentarily mustering a frown. "Kinda makes me want to reconsider thinking that today was gonna be a bad day." His eyes narrowed, a conspiratorial edge creeping into his voice. "And I wouldn't put too much stock in the skills of Doctor Montegue over there; guy can barely patch his socks back together, let alone a pretty young thing like you."

There was no flirt in his voice, just charm; the same as in the wink he flashed, before letting his grin reassert itself.

"Come on, kid. Lets go find me some nurses-- I mean, find you a doctor."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie just couldn't figure it out. As much as she liked to consider herself a people person, sometimes things were just beyond the realm of understanding. Today's guilty party was the lack of being able to wrap her head around how it was that while Amaros immediately seemed to find the right words that had even made the girl laugh, she was still standing there as if the entire 'verse had just come and slapped her upside the head. If watching Vittore's work on the shifter had reminded her old wounds of her own, and the bounty hunter's threats had threatened to reopen them, then watching the exchange between Sadie and Amaros followed by him leading her away definitely had begun to pull things apart. The look she caught briefly on Vittore's face didn't help matters.

"She'll be okay." Emelie had to wonder if she had finally spoken to reassure herself more than Montegue. Her head bobbed as she forced the words to repeat a few times internally. "Tougher than I figured..."

Conviction had taken a holiday, it seemed. In its place was a nasty weight of guilt that was settling that even now she still could only think of how this was throwing a giant damn wrench in the gears of progress in terms of finding out what the frak was actually going on. Girl gets beaten to the very edge of the void and all she could think about was her own damn skin. Frak sake, Em, what the hell is wrong with you?

She pulled her fingertips free from the strand of hair they had been twisting and Emelie forced herself to take a deep breath before she settled her focus on the only person left.

"You found the bastards that did this, right?" There was an implied and made them dead that didn't need saying.

[Vittore Montegue]

That was more of a question than Emelie realised; short answer yes, long answer no. The Zabrak had born the brunt of it, as he deserved to; but accountability didn't end with one man. The Twi'lek who'd looked the other way; he'd received his eye for an eye. There were more, though, whose actions or inactions had paved the road that led to this. There was the rest of the band, supposed friends who'd sat by and tolerated her abuse. There were nurses in her medical records, whose lack of integrity or lack of interest had left her obvious past abuses go unreported. There was the adopted family Vittore had read about in her file; reread on the trip home; people who'd exploited an innocent young girl, forced her into a life of crime, and condemned her to the bad choices that had lured her to that store room. There were the parents who'd abandoned her; whose sheer effort to remain anonymous had guaranteed that Sadie would grow up alone.

Found the bastard who did this? Yeah, he'd done that. Found the bastards who'd let it happen? Not by a long shot. Not yet.

"I took care of him."

The words tumbled from his throat as a growl; not one of anger, but of bitterness and resolve. He concentrated on his breathing; kept himself calm; forced himself to meet Emelie's gaze. Something flickered behind his eyes; something left unsaid in the words that followed, but not left unseen.

"I went easy on that Shifter."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

If Emelie was shocked by the admission, she managed to not show it. The ease with which she'd watched Vittore torture the bastard spoke that he was more than capable of meaner things. Part of her wanted to find that alluring, another frightening, and yet another wanted it to be comforting in a way. None of those parts got what they wanted. What she was left with was some distanced feeling of respect for the guy that she didn't even begin to know how to convey.

A small sigh left her. "C'mon, I'll buy you a drink."

It always came back around to that, the coping mechanism that she knew best and pawned off on others as best she could. She wasn't quite sure if Vittore would take her up on the offer. Drinks often let on to talking which got complicated if you weren't careful and she was pretty sure neither of them wanted that. Still, there was the overall situation to still deal with. Someone had still threatened her life and Montegue knew far more about her would-be-hired-murderer than anyone else it seemed.

"I didn't know, by the way."

Where in the nine Corellian hells did THAT come from? What did she care if he thought she had been ignoring Sadie's situation or not? She let a moment pass, feeling weird for opening her mouth for a change. It ended with a huff that reflected every ounce of frustration she was feeling before she turned away from the ship and it's Captain and began the less than triumphant return to the Holiday Towers. Only a few steps were taken before she cast another apologetic glance over her shoulder at him. So much for easy answers.

[Vittore Montegue]

"Yeah."

There was something non committal in his answer. He didn't blame Emelie for her obvious ignorance towards the situation; it wasn't something that she could ever realistically have been expected to be aware of. Sadie had gone to obvious great lengths to disguise her identity, and the instant Emelie had received even the slightest indication of a crisis she'd gone to every length available to her. The concept of her culpability hadn't even crossed Vittore's mind; her apology seemed like unwarranted guilt talking, more than anything else. He probably should have said something reassuring to dissuade her of that delusion, but he opted not to; best he avoid that kind of hypocrisy, what with his own lead mantle of self-blame already weighing him down.

Ordinarily, Vittore wouldn't mind the silence that fell as they wove their way through Cloud City's corridors. He wasn't much for small talk; didn't really pay enough attention to those asinine moments and experiences that life threw your way to ever strike up a conversation about them. He didn't give a damn about the weather, about the local sports team, about the economy or politics or any of that other crap that people wasted all their time flapping gums about. Ordinarily, he couldn't care less.

Right now, Vittore wished that he did. He wished there was something he could say, some subject he could latch onto that could run interference and keep his thoughts off the one thing he didn't want to think about; the one person, and the worries that went along with it. Normally after a job, it was booze, brooding, and rental broads that helped him decompress; right now there was too much of the middle, and the alternatives had lost their appeal.

Only one stray thought offered even a flicker of a chance.

"Anythin' turn up on y' Sarlacc hunt?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

She tried to fight back the groan that wanted to leave her with the open mention of the problem that seemed insignificant somehow when pitted against what she'd just seen. What she hadn't seen. It took a moment of clarity now that they were on their own for Emelie to fully understand all tumult of emotions she had been picking up on only moments ago. Emelie wasn't sure she wanted to really sort through them and thankfully Vittore had given her the necessary distraction.

"No." At least the word stopped the horrible sound, even if it did translate through it somewhat.

"Kira wasn't able to find any loose info, at least nothing that he was willing to share or part with." Emelie didn't particularly think that Atton had been holding back on her, but information was valuable. Sometimes too valuable to let go to even those who could use it most.

Another annoyed sigh left her and she pushed back a few stray strands of hair that had fallen in front of her eye. "Apparently he thinks it'd be a good idea for me to bail of my company, though. Can't say I don't see the reasoning. It's just..."

Thoughts wandered back in history, replaying events that had lead up to the creation of Silenus, the reasons behind it hadn't been purely for monetary means. Oh sure, credits were to be had and it was a perfect cover for things she and her partner had been up to... but to think it had all started as a lowly little gunrunning gig that had stemmed from a bad idea from a friendship that had started off as a worse idea. Then there was the little matter of her partner. She wouldn't even know where to begin explaining all this. Explaining why it was she couldn't come back. Having to explain that to herself first and foremost...

"...difficult."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore knew those kinds of hesitations; those, it's a long story, please don't ask kind of pauses. Some people didn't pick up on the subtle differences between those kinds of silences and the ones where you were feigning reluctance and needed a probing query as an excuse to spill; people who didn't interpret that were assholes, and Vittore had very little patience for them. Vittore had a different approach; if someone acted like they didn't want him to know something, then odds were that he didn't want to know, whether they were actually willing to divulge or not. Putting up with people's junk required a level of patience - any - that he just didn't have, and his policy of not asking tended to result in his fist connecting with fewer annoying people's faces.

Not that he needed to ask to work out the gist of it. He had no particular notion of what exactly Emelie's company involved, but cashing out of that sort of thing usually came with a welcome windfall; reluctance to have cash in hand meant the investment was personal as much as financial, and that usually meant feelings; baggage; people. Those were three other topics of conversation that Vittore had no interest or expertise in.

"Whoever Sarlacc is, they want y' dead 'cause of y' ties to Silenus, right?"

He mustered a shrug.

"Seems like y' choice is between bein' dead and bein' alive. Ain't any amount a' difficult that changes which one y' should be pickin'."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie laughed slightly at how easy Vittore made it sound. It was refreshing really to have such an opinion offered. Black or white, no gray, no messy entanglements, no worries about how to go about doing things. Do it or don't. Live or die. Gets out or bring down gods knew what on the heads of the people you actually gave a damn about. Of all the things she'd ever thought she might some day end up saying to Xavier, I'm leaving because otherwise you might die was not one of them. Then again, she'd said an awful lot of things to him that she never thought she would. It was those things that lingered in her thoughts now. Simple words she hadn't said to anyone except Xi. Words and reasons all wrapped up in one that had changed her life for the better while making it about a million times more complicated.

She could feel the bemused smirk on her lips falter for just a second but a deep breath was taken to stem the tide and she felt her resolve harden.

The hardest choices were sometimes the right ones, after all. He'd argue, that was a known. But she also knew that at the end of the day he always let her get her way.

Emelie just hopes Xavier would understand. She hoped he wouldn't hate her for it all. For forcing herself into this corner in the first place.

Great. Now she really could use that drink.

As they entered The Ison Lounge she gave a small wave to the bowler hat wearing barkeep that had become more of a familiar face to her than her own family and nudged Vittore slightly with her elbow.

"Give me a bit and I'll join you. Just... get me one of whatever you're having, okay?"

No way in hell was she going to get any closer to Atton with her emotions in a damn knot so close to the surface. Man seemed to read her like she was a frakkin book and she didn't need to go letting her personal business affairs float about in the realm of actual personal business. A few quick moments alone would be enough to bury everything deep enough even she'd have trouble finding it all until it inevitably decided to rear its ugly head again. Hopefully it would wait until her conversation with Xavier.

[Atton Kira]

As another group of patrons wandered away from the bar with drinks in hand, Atton retrieved the datapad he'd stashed in concealed but easy reach, and risked another glance at the tracking data on Amaros Koine's speeder. They were making good progress, but had not yet made it to the medical center; Atton doubted that the knot in his stomach would untwist even when they did. He'd watched the security feed from the cameras in the private landing bay that he was allowing Vittore Montegue to make use of; he'd seen the way that Sadie had struggled, every step only seeming possible because of the support that those around her were providing.

He blamed himself; not in a passive, sorrowful way, but rather overt aggressive blame. His surveillance had been there, the infrastructure in place. Of all the people in the galaxy, he was the one in the perfect position to have tracked her movements, overseen her wellbeing. He could have made arrangements for her protection; could have had this issue taken care of before it had become one. But he hadn't seen; hadn't paid enough attention to notice the warning signs; and it had taken the blundering of some murder-obsessed xenophobe hunter, an ethically ambiguous half-drunk and half-Zeltron business woman, and more coincidences than the galaxy should have been capable of mustering to point out what was staring him square in the face.

He caught a glimpse of the beings in question as they entered; watched Vittore trudge his way across the lounge as Emelie disappeared towards one of the few rooms on Cloud City that Atton didn't have access to a security feed for. He read the gist of their conversation snippet off Emelie's lips; easier than normal actually, her usual smirk not quite as pronounced.

He responded to Vittore's grunt of greeting without even lifting his eyes, grabbing two glasses and setting them in front of the hunter.

"She will have what you're having," he said, before Vittore even managed to squeeze enough active neurons out of his skull to form a sentence. "And you will have a double of the second most alcoholic whiskey on the menu, because you don't want to give the mistaken impression that you're an alcoholic by ordering the first."

[Vittore Montegue]

It wasn't a laugh, but it was the closest approximation his lungs were going to manage any time soon. His expression put in as much effort as it could muster to sell the huffed sound as what it was intended to be; but the attempted smile collapsed in on itself in less than a second. A hand ran over his tired features, smoothing his expression back into something a little more comfortably grin.

Every time he'd met the man - which wasn't often, and yet was still too many times for his liking - he'd pulled this stunt; this showy display of knowledge that he couldn't possibly have but did. The smug showmanship who pulled secrets and insights out of nothingness the way a magician pulled handkerchiefs from his sleeve. When he'd been around, Vittore's father had tolerated it with stony, passive indifference; but Vittore himself always struggled to keep his ire in check; always struggled to talk his fist out of breaking the smug look off his arrogant jaw.

Today though, the back of Vittore's mind reminded him, Atton Kira had earned himself an indulgence. He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but Atton had come through for Sadie K'Vesh; Vittore refused to let himself consider what might have happened to her if Atton's information hadn't led him to her as expediently as it did.

He cast the barman a remarkably non-aggressive glance.

"It annoys the hell out a' me when y' do that, y' know," he grunted.

[Atton Kira]

Why do you think I do it? Atton countered, wisely keeping the thought and most of the grin that accompanied it internal, though a little did manage to leak out onto his face.

A thought swept across his mind as his hand reached towards the array of bottles behind him. He hadn't had the opportunity to speak to his - operative wasn't quite the right term, but it was the closest his mind could muster - on Nar Shaddaa since initial contact, so all he knew of Sadie's condition was from what Vittore had communicated, what he had witnessed through his cameras, and what medical data he had convinced Vittore to, reluctantly, allow his surgical droid to transmit. He knew about as much as he needed to - more than he wanted to - about Sadie herself. But that wasn't the only question in need of an answer.

His hand faltered away from the bottles, attention turning back to the hunter.

"The man who did it."

That was the grim beauty of situations such as this. So much complexity, so much to say, and yet a few words and a hanging implication were all that was needed to convey everything. All of Atton's emotions towards the situation squirmed beneath the surface of his meticulously calibrated expression, nothing showing as more than the faintest twitch for the slightest instant. His eyes narrowed; one word was all he needed to extract the answer he sought.

"Dead?"

[Vittore Montegue]

That it was phrased as a question was more polite than Atton usually was towards anyone in the Montegue bloodline; usually there'd be an assumption, an accusation that they didn't know how to handle situations any other way. Under normal circumstances, Kira would probably have been right. This time was different: Kira wasn't assuming his prediction was right; he was hoping.

"No."

The response came out simply, and Vittore watched Kira struggle to keep what he guessed was surprise and anger in check. He fixed the information broker with an unflinching gaze, but his focus was elsewhere, delving into his memory, tapping into the speckle of blood spray landing on his cheek; the cloying scent of ozone as flesh cauterised inches away; the feel of liquefied joints as he applied painful pressure; the look in the Zabrak's eyes as he realised the fate that was being thrust upon him - so much fear and yet so little guilt.

Vittore's jaw bunched, his teeth involuntarily clenching.

"Worse."

[Atton Kira]

Atton had read enough law enforcement records, seen enough crime scene images, and witnessed enough aftermath first-hand to have a pretty shrewd understanding of what Vittore Montegue's definition of worse was. It should have turned his stomach, should have unsettled his morals, should have agitated the parts of his mind that took opposition to such things. It didn't.

"In that case -"

His hand resumed it's course towards the shelf, straying from it's intended target to the most expensive liquor he could find that wasn't an unsettling shade of green or blue. He turned back to the bar, charging both glasses; the bottle was put to rest beside them with a resounding thunk.

"- for the rest of the night, mi bar tab es su bar tab."

There was a subtle shift in Atton's expression, the restrained benevolence and gratitude slipping enough to allow a restrained glimmer of curiosity to creep in. His head cocked to one side, scrutinising Vittore's features, easing past the obvious conflicting thoughts that were dancing across the surface. What had happened to Sadie? The memories and implications of that were something that a man like Vittore Montegue would brood over. That accounted for the knot of tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw. But there was something else there; some thought that furrowed his brow, that narrowed his eyes in contemplation rather than memory. There was something that had him on edge, not because of what he'd done but because of something he expected; and something he was reluctant to do.

Atton did his best to keep the smugness from his voice, but only succeeded a small fraction.

"Unless there's something else I can help you with, Mister Montegue."

[Vittore Montegue]

Knowing drinks orders, knowing things that he shouldn't know; that was unsettling. But it was carnival games, some cheap trick, an exploitation of surveillance or logic or something that was quantifiable, and could be explained. Insights like this were something different however; observations based on details that Atton Kira couldn't possibly know, because they'd never been expressed, never really been dwelt upon.

Kira's intuition was right on the money. Saving Sadie and getting her back here, safe, had been his single priority, the single subject of his focus. Everything else had been pushed to the back of his mind; certain things lingered, and festered. Some were frustrations, some were observations; one in particular had survived far longer than it should have, and had hardened into a kernel of ill ease.

Shadowstar. There was something about that name that unsettled him; something familiar that he couldn't quite place. He'd searched the holonet on the trip back from Nar Shaddaa, indulging the nagging sensation in the hopes that it would distract him from his precious cargo; he'd found nothing, save for a few references to her business career so thick with dry details an business terminology that it had made his eyes glaze over in seconds. He'd abandoned that search and turned to dad's journal, his father's record of their family hunting career, in the hopes that some mention of a past acquaintance or former target might have been there. Not a hint. Not a mention.

It was probably nothing. It was probably a stray thought, a fragment of memory that sounded similar and his mind didn't quite have a firm enough grasp of recollection, so was blurring the edges. It was probably some actor or producer from some holovid show, some name he'd seen in passing a hundred times over as a kid but never with enough attention paid to let it sink in. It was probably perfectly innocent.

But what if it wasn't?

Grabbing the nearest of the two glasses, he brought the booze to his lips; hesitated to let the aroma roll over his senses. It was from Alderaan: an irreplaceable piece of history. There were people who would rather have seen a bottle like this in a museum, not in the hands of some hunter who gave almost no damn at all about the significance. Somehow, as Vittore indulged in a first sip, knowing how many people it would piss off made the brandy taste better.

"I need everything y' got," he said, holding the glass suspended as the brandy warmth rolled it's way through his body, "On Emelie Shadowstar."

[Nen Lev'i]

* * *

Nen's head swam. His body ached, every joint weighed down as if it was encased in carbonite. It was a familiar sensation, but an old one; reminded him of the time he'd dabbled in spice before he'd had the good sense to know what a stupid idea that was. He almost wondered if he'd gone and got himself ridiculously drunk again, like the time when he'd stupidly allowed himself to get lured into an accidental drinking contest with a Zeltron, and had woken up with a hangover the size of a planet. Only, this wasn't a hangover; and he wasn't still drunk either. This didn't feel like his skull was shrinking and crushing his brain. This didn't feel like the world was all faint and woozy. This felt like someone had wrapped a giant fluffy blanket around his head and had then hit him with an enormous dose of -

Sedatives. Right, yes, that kind of made a lot of sense. The whole, medical droid and the sedatives, the calm the fuck down injection, the falling asleep in the cockpit as they flew away from Nar Shaddaa with absolutely no idea of where they were going. Seriously, no one had told him a damn thing, just, come here and freak out quietly in the corner while I patch up some girl who has been tortured all to hell. Nen didn't even understand why he was here, why he hadn't been on the outside of the ship when the doors had closed, why he was kriff knows where on kriff knows what side of the galaxy, stuck on a ship with kriff knows who and just -

Dana was going to kill him. She was going to murder him, slowly and painfully. He'd mysteriously disappeared, and she was going to show up, get worried, assume the worst, think that he was dead, and then when she found out that he wasn't and that he was okay, she was going to kill him. Logical thought would probably have had a field day trying to decipher that little conundrum, but Nen had given up a long time ago on trying to apply logical thought to Dana. Women in general, for that matter. Hell, people. Knowing his luck, he'd probably been dragged to the one planet in the galaxy where the people were even more -

The engines. The engines that had been making the floor rumble when he was all stress panicked and before the robot stung him with drugs, weren't doing the one thing that he remembered them doing. There was no faint hum of resonance from the deck plates as the feedback from the repulsorlifts or the power flow to the hyperdrive sent vibrations through the ship. There wasn't the whine of power conduits either; he didn't get that odd feeling he always had when he was around anything that was drawing crazy amounts of power, which Dana kept telling him was probably nothing but that he was utterly convinced was some sort of proof that he wasn't quite as entirely human as his medical records claimed he was. Maybe he was part fish or part bird or something, and he had one of those awesome natural abilities to orient himself to a planet's magnetic field, and the electromagnetism from intense electric flows was screwing with his internal compass and -

Right, the engines. Powered down. That meant that either they'd landed, or that they were drifting. The former was no big deal, but the latter could be a real emergency; and the kind of mechanical emergency that he was completely equipped to actually be constructively helpful with, rather than the kind of medical emergency where he just stood around being all confused and useless until someone came and drugged him into bleary compliance, apparently.

Nen mustered all the energy he could, and hurled himself from the bed - he was on a bed, apparently; didn't remember how he got here from the bridge, but the fact that his clothes all seemed to still be on the right parts of his body and all fastened and such made him confident enough that nothing bad had happened to relegate it to the worry later directory of things in his brain - onto his feet. He missed, his legs clearly unprepared for such activity on such short notice, and crumpled unceremoniously to the floor.

It took several stumbling attempts and lots of frantically grasped furniture to successfully achieve standing; he allowed himself a moment to restore his composure before heroically striding out of the door.

He was definitely still on the same ship, which was something. He wasn't sure if it was a reassuring something, necessarily, but it was the kind of something that didn't require bonus explanations, and frankly he already had too much disparity between wanted answers and available answers, and was kinda coasting around the accretion disc of a freak-out black hole that he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to muster enough sanity or velocity to escape from before the gravity dragged him across the event horizon into panic. Unfortunately, while he was still on the same ship, the name of which no one had as yet bothered to tell him, no one else seemed to be. Sadie, the injured girl, wasn't in the room that she'd been in when they'd drugged him: and he knew it was the right room, because of the patches of blood on the bedsheets. At least, that was what he assumed, based on the logic that multiple beds with bleeding people was an unlikely thing to find on a ship like this; stumbling into a cabin that turned out to be a grimy torture chamber made him revise that notion slightly.

Regardless of where the girl had or hadn't been past tense, he couldn't find a sign of her now, or Captain gung-ho rescue hunter. In fact, he couldn't even find any droids left on the ship, and he was pretty sure he remembered there being a whole buttload of those. It was all starting to feel like a bit of a nightmare situation, and he was sorely tempted to start bashing his head against things to see if that would wake him up.

And then he'd walked into the cockpit.

Okay so, the fact that there was a wall outside didn't mean all that much. All kinds of situations meant that you might have a wall in front of you. Being captured by Imperials and drawn into the bowels of a Star Destroyer via tractor beam would probably mean there was a wall in front of you. Being impounded by Nar Shaddaa authorities while trying to flee from whatever Vittore Montegue had done would probably put a wall in front of you. Being captured by pirates and everybody else on the ship being sold into slavery but for some reason not you, and then the ship being put in some sort of giant cargo container to be shipped off to some starship scrapyard where it would be sliced up and melted down by robots who didn't even know you were aboard and you were going to die in fiery melty agony would probably put a wall in front of you, in the short term at least.

Nen tried to force his frantic, shallow breaths to calm down. He didn't really do a great job of it, and the blanket-head wooziness was starting to get worse.

There was only one thing for it: the hatch. The boarding ramp. The way that he'd come onto the ship in the first place. Okay, so if there was no atmosphere he'd suffocate and die, but he was pretty sure that ship hatches had little blinky indicator warning lights that'd tell you if the atmosphere outside was likely to make you all dead or suck your eyeballs out of your skull or whatever it was that happened. And okay, so if there was an atmosphere, but there was also a contingent of Stormtroopers or cannibals or rapey pirates outside then exposing himself to capture or, well, stuff probably wasn't the best idea in the world. It was either that, or stay on the ship and freak out.

Nen wanted off this boat more than he could possibly express.

He hit the ramp control numerous times. It didn't make it descend any faster, but it made him feel like he was doing something constructive to expediate his escape. He didn't even let it descend all the way; started stumbling down all drunk-legged and practically fell the foot that still separated the end of the ramp from the ground when he got there. He staggered from beneath the sweeping wing of the ship's elegant design; clocked onto a vast rectangle sliced through the side of whatever superstructure he was in, and saw the myriad colours of a whispy cloud-filled sky, some sort of platform or abbreviated runway waiting on the far side of what he guessed was a mag shield to keep the inside air in, and the outside air out. He ran for it, and ran through it, which probably wasn't a smart plan if he thought about it, but it wasn't like there was a giant warning sign saying don't go outside else you will die, which was pretty much the only thing that would have given him pause at that point. Well, or maybe if there had been a rancor in the way or something.

The wind buffeted him the instant he broke through the service of the mag shield; not an acid wind that flayed the skin off his bones, or a toxic wind that brought with it instant death, but just the kind of relentless wind that blasted the air away from your face so fast that breathing became a little tricky. He staggered his way forward, part of him practically screaming at how stupid an idea it was, and soldiered his way through the elements to the end of the runway platform or whatever it was.

He stared out at the endless sky that extended beneath him, nothing but clouds all the way down to where any self respecting planet should have had a surface, but this one apparently did not. Things moved in the clouds, and other things didn't; tiny airspeeders, floating platforms, stuff he couldn't name. He watched some strange legless bird creature swoop down and pluck a giant floaty balloon creature from the sky; watched as it strayed too close to a cluster of dense clouds and was quickly devoured by what appeared to be a flying squid.

The colour drained from Nen's face; his brain stalled, three simple words the only thing that it could muster.

"What. The. Hell?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

***


Sadie coulda sworn she'd been at a hospital only a bit ago. Would have been damn willin' to put creds down on the fact that she'd felt her guts all knot up as she'd finally been able t' see what Bog had done to her. Had felt numb as the doc re-bandaged her after she got an eyeful of all the unfamiliar lines and symbols and gouges and... well, the kolto had done its job on closin' most things up but there weren't a whole lot to fix the knowledge that everythin' below the ribcage looked like some planet where th' water ran out and left nothin' but empty stream beds. Sadie was even mighty sure that she'd managed to keep a mostly straight face instead of screamin' and had held onto that flat stoic look even as the big ewok guy, whose named she learned was Amaros, had taken her to some place called the Holiday Towers where Shadowstar had gotten her a space at. Hells, she even was convinced of the fact that the room had been about five types of nicer than any place she'd ever been in before but that all she'd wanted to do was drop and lay about on the sofa after cleanin' up to feel more like a person because the thought of that comfy a bed creeped her out and she certainly didn't want to get used to somethin' nice that you'd never get again.

Yep. Whole lot of certainties and stuff that Sadie was sure had happened.

That was, until she'd opened her eyes again.

Nothin' had changed.

There'd been no hospital. No hotel. No Mandalorian guy who really did seem to be exactly as described. No hunter that seemed to struggle with his own inner demons while tryin' to let her know she'd get over hers. No seein' Bog'el in a state that seemed mighty deservin. No knife coated in the Zabrak's blood that she'd refused to let out of her sight.

She was still there. Still layin on a cot, seepin' out her own death. What was worse though? Worse was what had been waitin' on her when she's lifted her head from where it'd been restin' with no small bout of effort. Bog'el sat in a chair in the damn storage room like he'd taken up watchin' her dyin' as a new form of entertainment. Wearin' a smug grin and shakin' his head.

"Thought we'd lost you there for a bit." Clear words, ones Sadie couldn't quite figure out why he was sayin' until he laughed and started goin' on about how she'd been talkin' as she'd been goin' into some sort of shock-induced seizure. Mumblin' 'bout some guy named Vittore and somethin' 'bout Cloud City and really Sadie started tunin' him out right quick when he'd asked her just what kind of dream she'd been tryin' to escape to. Mocked and told her maybe she'd seen a bit of an afterlife she was hopin' for. Said he'd been thinkin' about experimentin' on hallucinogens to see what they'd do to her in her state but that apparently now there weren't no need since her own brain was comin' up with rather vivid things that he couldn't even have hoped for.

Apparently Bog'el found it downright funny to think that her head was makin' some sort of alternate reality she was tryin' to escape into. Assured her there was no escape. Just like she'd always figured. Then the bastard stood up, walked over and let out another belt of laughter that sounded all sorts of real. Then he said the punch line.

"Think I like this. Hope it keeps up. It'll be worth watching your reaction every time you wake up and find yourself still here. Serves you right."

Just like that her little bubble of certainty regardin' everythin' she thought had happened was burst and went all to hell. Then, just to make his point Bog'el waved the vibroblade that she'd been plannin' on endin' him with and he'd been usin' on her in front of her vision.

"Now, I think it's time we expanded my canvas a bit, don't you? An artist just can't limit himself."

The arm that hadn't been yanked from its socket and cuffed to the cot was pulled out from where she'd been layin' on it slightly and Sadie couldn't help but watch with that same sickly horror she thought she'd felt in the hospital in the dream as Bog started slowly slicin' down her forearm.

Lucky she passed out before she started screamin'.

Only to either wake up or drift back into the dream in the hotel room. To be downright honest Sadie wasn't sure which it was.

She ran a hand through hair still wet from when she'd cleaned her own blood out of it and noticed that there was a knock on the door that sounded an awful lot like the one she thought she'd heard when she... well, when she came back to this. Dream or the real world it didn't matter. It was beter than seein' what Bog'el was probably doin' to her elsewhere.

Was more hard to stop herself from shakin', litterally and figuratively regardin' what she was feelin' in that moment than it was actually standin' up an' goin' through the motions of openin' the door just enough to peek out.

The damn fact it was Vittore did nothin' to shake the feelin' that Bog had been right and this was the damn dream.

"Gotta say, weren't expectin' any visitors."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore shuffled, uncomfortably. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable seeing her; hell, there was a splash more colour and a splash less blood than the last time he had, and a hell of a lot more disparity from the pallid and blood-stained image burned into the back of his eyelids. It was good to see her looking a little further away from death's door; though the haunted look in her eyes stopped him from feeling too much hope and relief.

It was being here that was uncomfortable; not just the where, or the why. Right or wrong, Vittore had the notion in his head that he was probably one of the last people in the universe that she wanted to see right now; a little ahead of the Zabrak for sure, but not by much. His fleeting contact with her life had only been during her suffering; there was no way she could look at him and not be reminded of the terrors that were probably streaming through her mind non-stop. She was away from there, new surroundings, new faces save for one; the best thing he could do for her was to stay as far out of sight and out of mind as he could muster. Give her the chance to move on, free of as many reminders as possible.

And yet he was here, loitering in her doorway, the strap of the oddly shaped canvas carry bag slung across his shoulders weighing him down in an oddly familiar way. That was about the only thing familiar about this situation though; at least, the only think that his memory permitted him to find familiar. He didn't do this; didn't knock on people's doors, didn't make social visits, didn't try to muster small-talk. He opened doors with his boots or with explosives, not with patience and with the occupant's consent.

This was what normal folks did; something he was a very long way from ever being.

"Listen, I -"

A nervous smile and a nervous laugh cut him off before he could finish the sentence. He wasn't even responding to what she'd said; his mind was too busy working it's way through the lines he'd rehearsed on his way over here. They'd seemed stupid then; even more stupid now. Wordlessly, he unslung the carry bag from his shoulder, and let it's base rest against the floor. A slight tug of reluctance sparked in his mind, but the rest of his thoughts smothered it; forced his arms to offer it in Sadie's direction.

He could still remember the day his dad had bought it; one of the few fatherly actions of Hugo Montegue that Vittore was still able to remember with a smile. The quetarra had seemed so big back then, the teenage Vittore not yet done growing his scrawny shoulders and arms. His fingers struggled to stretch between the frets, hands struggling to reach enough to form the chords; but Dad had been insistent about the symbolism. Sure, he could have bought Vittore a child-sized quetarra, let him learn in miniature before progressing to the real thing; but to Hugo, his son wasn't a child any more. He was as much a soldier as any other man that he had fought alongside; a rookie, yes, but no less a man. He'd learn the quetarra full size. He'd adapt. He'd grow. And when he did, Vittore would be ready: prepared for the real thing the same way as with everything else.

Vittore hated that obsessed bastard, more drill sergeant than father; but he loved that quetarra, the one last reminder of those few fleeting times when Hugo Montegue had just been Dad.

"We left Nar Shaddaa so quick that I know you ain't got nothin' that's yours. And I know you ain't gonna have much luck findin' a new one a' y' own on Cloud City, 'cause I already tried -"

He frowned; wasn't even sure what the emotion wreaking havoc with his innards was called.

Don't stop playin'." The words were uttered with sombre insistence, a strange tremble tugging at their edges. "Don't give up somethin' y' love because a' what he did. He tried t' take that from you. Don't let him."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Why was the first reaction and even though it went unsaid it did bring on a quizzical look that she couldn't shake for a few seconds. Instead she just kinda stared at him, head tilted just slightly to the side before she managed to at least make eyes move and look from canvas bag to Vittore and back again a few times as it sunk into her slightly bashed up skull a bit. She didn't need to ask what it was, though given the fact that his comment made it seem like he hadn't gotten it where they were brought on all sorts of odd questions. She got the feelin' the instrument would have a good worn look about it. Maybe not too much, but the kind that let you know someone had cared for it. It was the kind of realization and dawnin' that made you feel like someone went and sucker punched you in the stomach. The act itself was somethin' else... but then he had to go and add words that were just right for the moment on top of 'em? Well that was just too much. He tried t' take that from you. Don't let him.

All Vittore could have known 'bout was the quetarra and sure he could have made some connection to how she must have felt watchin' bog smash it. But there was no way he knew that Bog was still tryin' to take somethin' from her. He was doin' his damnedest to take this reality away from her too. Whether it actually was reality or not...

There'd been care in the way she accepted what was offered and gently propped it up against the side of the door inside the room. Oh sure, she wanted to give it a try, wanted to plunk herself down and do somethin' that made her feel like she was actually alive for a bit. The docs had seemed fit to relieve her of the sling so she had both arms in mostly full workin' order now and it'd be good to work some stiffness out of her fingers... but there was something else that had to be done first. First time had been impulse, brought on by one too many emotions breakin' through a damn that had been blasted to hell. Now though? Well, Sadie knew damn well what she was doin' and for the first time in a long damn time she actually had to fight to settle emotions so she didn't end up cryin'. At least it wasn't because she was sad or afraid though, she'd learned how to stop that sort of thing. But this was somethin' entirely different and she hadn't felt it enough times to even start gettin' a handle on it.

A quick breath was taken before she finally talked herself into sayin' to hell with it and suddenly flung her arms around Vittore and pulled herself tightly against him. Act was simple enough but this was one of them one in a lifetime deals. Truth was she hadn't really done the whole thing before so when the timid "Thank you." came half whispered from her she wasn't quite sure she was even really herself anymore. Sadie didn't know if there was any possible way to actually let on just how much she meant it, but she damn well hoped he'd know it weren't some fake conjured thing. "For everythin'."

[Vittore Montegue]

You needed a heart for it to shatter. That seemed like a pretty fundamental premise. It should have made Vittore immune to the swell of emotions that crashed into him in that moment, but it didn't. Second time in two days that Sadie K'Vesh had helped prove that there actually was a heart lurking in there somewhere, buried beneath all the blackness and anger; proven that maybe, just maybe, there was still the tiniest ember of hope left.

For a moment, he felt extremely glad that she was so tiny; head buried in his chest the way that it was, she couldn't see what his eyes were struggling to blink back.

More carefully this time, Vittore settled his arms around her; and began to wrestle, not with Sadie but with the thoughts cascading around his head. He should have left; should have cut and run; should have given her the space and the fresh start that he knew she needed. He could've left the quetarra at the bar; left Atton with a note, or Amaros with a message. He could've just ordered, had something brand new shipped in and delivered. He could have turned this into something that meant nothing to him; could have played the part of the heartless man that he seemed to do so well. He hadn't. He'd listened to that little voice in the back of his head that he usually ignored; and now this had happened, and he knew that he wouldn't leave. Couldn't leave. Not for her, but for him.

The realisation hit like a hammer, and dread overcame him for what he planned to do. Vittore pushed the world away, not because he enjoyed the loneliness but because he hated it, and needed it at the same time. There'd been a time when he'd lived and loved surrounded by people he cared about. There'd been a time when he'd had a family; when that word had meant something, other than a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Now though, every one of them was gone from his life. Some had left with haste and intent; some had been forcibly ripped away; some had drifted, more distant over time; and some had fallen from his orbit with such force that the impact they left sheared off chunks of his soul. The why didn't seem to matter any more: the only logical cause was the who they all had in common. Vittore was better off alone; that was what the universe wanted.

But here was Sadie: not quite in the same boat, but certainly a ship of the same class. Abandoned and betrayed time and again by the people she was supposed to be able to trust. Here he was, just the next person in line to do the same thing. He was about to become everyone who he hated for having left him behind; no matter how right a choice it seemed to be, it was a line he couldn't bring itself to cross.

He fumbled for words, something other than the knee-jerk platitudes that were springing to mind. He found something; another dusty memory he'd forgotten he even had. Another memory of the worst offender of all, somehow being the opposite of everything Vittore normally remembered. Dad had towered over him, arms around the lost and confused child that clung to his waist, resolute like some great pillar of strength. Vittore felt those words, the reassurances of a heartbroken man to the tiny motherless thing who didn't know how to process what they'd just experienced, tumbling from his lips.

"It's okay." It was strange hearing those words; hearing how similar to Dad's his voice had become. "I ain't goin' anywhere."