One Big Ol' Rescue - Again.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Routine is one hell of a bastard thing. Kinda sets on a person and hovers over them and makes time become a not-real thing. Days are either kept track of or not, depending on how it goes. Time spent earning a keep as a hunter, spent keeping watch for the Boss of all things Cloud City even if no one figured it out yet, bits and pieces of trying to become something a bit better than a rogue force user son of a bitch (or daughter as was the proper case with this particular once-lost soul), even long sessions of trying to decipher some infuriating data chip given by an uncle so a girl could go and properly track down her wayward mum.

All in all, same ol' dren - different days.

Not that it got a gal like Sadie's spirits all down, probably exact opposite really. Funny how having folks that well and truly give a damn about you could change an outlook. Oh, not that all days were sunshine and rainbows or none of that - and truth be told a fair lot more of them than should started the day off with a bottle of something that weren't exactly caffeinated and left a body more inebriated than they were when they first cracked eyes open. Still, things were, better, you reckon? Far might better than they had been.

Maybe that was why Sadie didn't go and get herself worked up over the fact that life had gotten a touch on the boring side as of late. The verse kept turning whether you did your darndest at trying to stay stationary or no.

Course it was when you went and got comfortable with that blasted routine that life always decides to come round and frak things up sideways. Least that's how some of the sayings go and how Sadie really thought things worked if genuinely asked about such a thing.

She'd been doing one of the usual things: sitting down in the Underworld part of Elysium, boots propped up alongside a console as her head took in more than her sight did as she watched the idle little lives of folks about Bespin. Bottle of something better than terrible courtesy of Boss and Uncle in hand, swigs downed as she gave the occasional look over to the data stream that was working overtime on tracking down one Ms Captain Elira Asael. As infuriating as an enigma the woman had been when Sadie knew nothing about her, she'd become downright a pain in the back of the head that refused to go away now that Sid knew more about the broad that she was supposed to call Mum. Somehow at some point in her life the good Captain had seen fit to up and vanish like the dust of an asteroid after it collided with something far bigger. That particular metaphor didn't exactly make her feel none the better as Sadie had started guessing that it might have been a bit too spot on. Info she got she kept to herself, no need to get Atton riled up over his sister or see that weird look on Inyos' face whenever the dame was mentioned. Not without no real info anyhow.

Was the beep from the console with the stream that went and threw a big ol error code into her humdrum life. Weren't the normal "yeah bitch, 'm processin' over here" beeps that went on from time to time, but rather one of them big 'ol "I'd be an alarm klaxon 'cept that might make Nen wet his pants if he were here" bleeps that got right under your skin. Enough of a difference for Sadie to half-choke on the illicit Corellian booze she was swilling.

"Kriffin' sonoffa..." Curse was more on account of the unexpected burning going down her throat and the slight waste that was having to be wiped from her chin.

"Got y' now, Ms. Oh So Sneaky." Sadie mumbled with a half smirk of victory forming on her lips that died before it fully came into being.

Course that would have been too damned easy. Nope, naturally it weren't that easy. Though, if Sadie were honest, if it'd been as simple as a Oh hi, here I am, hidin' in plain sight situation she would have found Captain Asael quite some time ago. Instead, she got stuck staring down a prisoner transfer order that would have made her blood run cold if it'd made any sense. Looked Imperial, but not any sort of Imperial she was used to. That was never a good thing. Hells, if one were to look at it on it's lonesome they wouldn't even probably be able to guess who it was for and Sadie guessed there was a bit of Force-Damned Luck to thank for her system to even catch it. Then again... way her life was, weren't The Force she had to thank for a lot of things so much as a skeevy sort that was a far better man than he'd like to let the verse know about.

Sadie eyed the comm button that she knew would connect her straight to the man himself. She didn't like making too much use of it, but it was there. One way hotline to Atton Kira with all his too-much-wisdom. She weren't positive it was his doing that this little tidbit had come her way, but either way, if there was anyone who was gonna be able to make heads or tails of political dren of this sort... well... sometimes you went with the devil y' knew... and were related to.

First thing was first though. A quick message was sent off elsewhere, to the person she was probably most comfortable with having her back out of the lot that had appeared willing to do so. After all, partners didn't keep things from each other and if anyone would understand the significance of the short I found something she whisked away, it would be Vittore Montegue.

[Vittore Montegue]

Routine was one hell of a bastard thing. Routine was the kind of thing that Vittore was hard-coded to pick up on, the kind of habits and patterns that made a target easy to stalk, and a hit easy to pull off. Sure, there were a few common sense routines like preflights and weapons care that made life go a mite smoother, but for the most part they were a noose that you wore around your neck like a tie, waiting for some opportunistic bastard to grab hold and hang you with them.

That was why Vittore had always lived the way he had: not on the run, but near enough. Constantly moving. Never overstaying his welcome. Never falling into the habit of ordering take-out from the same diners, or landing at the same familiar starports when the job circled him back to a world he'd seen before. Vittore told himself that it was good practice. A lot of bounty targets knew that danger might be coming their way, so the harder you were to predict and notice, the less likely they were to see them coming. Deep down though, Vittore knew something else - someone else - was to blame. This was the life he'd grown up with: the way of existing drilled into him by a father who was always looking over his shoulder. A lack of routine had become a habit; constantly running from nothing had become a noose all of it's own.

Maybe this was good, then. Maybe this new routine was breaking that bad habit. Unpredictably predictable. Avoiding notice by acting like a regular member of society. He was employed now. Regular wages. A proper, normal person job. Well, ish. A familiar set of voices feeding him the details of each new bounty. Reliable sources of intel. Okay sure, so some of the jobs that Shadowstar threw his way weren't exactly standard bounty hunter fare. Despite her assertions to the contrary, it didn't really count as a bounty if you were hunting down stuff and things instead of people and monsters. Hell, some of the jobs hadn't been illegal, which would have been boring as hell if it hadn't wound up turning into a glorified romantic get-away with Sadie.

And then there was Sadie. To call her a routine... well, Vittore had started bar brawls over that sort of insult. She was definitely a pattern, though. A beautiful, intricate, complicated pattern that he was absolutely tangled up in. Someone whose presence he'd come to depend on. Someone whose absense hurt like a wound. Someone who he could come home to. Home. When had that happened? When had he become someone who had not a base, or a lair, but a home to come back to - one where his heart was, to boot, living up to all the sayings and stereotypes.

So okay, maybe routines weren't so terrible. Maybe it wasn't so bad that he'd spent enough time here on Cloud City to know exactly where in the down-below parts of the city you could get the best breakfast tacos. Maybe it wasn't so bad that the teller at the store on the corner back there said Hi to him every time he passed, ever since he'd stopped those two dumb Rodian kids trying to rob the place with a cargeless blaster. Maybe it wasn't so bad that he could autopilot his way from place to place, getting where he needed to be without needing to look where he was going. Hell, if nothing else, it made it a damn sight easier to eat a tasty tac-fast - trademark pending - before the cheese and the pulled nerf had cooled and congealed into a stodgy lump of -

A curse snuck from Vittore's lips as the comlink in his pocket buzzed, and an overzealous bite squeezed a globule of greeze into a kamakaze plunge onto his clean - well, ish - shirt. A thumb scooped up the errant gelatinous deliciousness and deposited it into his mouth, before being sucked clean and making a few futile efforts to scrub the stain into invisibility. Twisting his wrist awkwardly to hold the breakfast taco aloft, he fished around in his pants pocket for the comlink, fumbling a little longer to flip the device into a non upsidedown position, and unlock the screen. Miss Shadowstar had insisted her new employee needed one of the gizmos so she could stay in contact - and keep tabs on him, most likely - and Sadie found it endlessly amusing how much he struggled. He didn't get it, though. What was wrong with a regular comlink that just played people's spoken words instead of all this data messaging and calendar reminders and weird little 'fresher games? The galaxy had survived just fine with pretty much the same technology for ten thousand years. Why was he the one that had to embrace all this damn change?

Whatever mental tirade had begun, it stopped in an instant as soon as the gizmo informed him that the message was from Sadie. A smile tried to sneak it's way onto his features, but he managed to kill it before it caught the attention of any witnesses. There was only one person allowed to know that sort of thing happened every time Sadie popped into his mind, and she wasn't here. She was in the -

Vittore was moving before his eyes had even finished their next blink. His legs kicked into autopilot - a little faster this time - weaving him through the largely non-human crowds on the familiar path to Shadowstar's nightclub, Elysium. At the last minute he deviated slightly, ducking down an access corridor and punching in his employee code to a keypad that was considerably newer and more sophisticated than the surrounding rusted pipework. He wasn't a club employee per se, but Shadowstar's businesses had something of a one-staff-fits-all policy. On the downside, it meant that Vittore had to work security shifts at the club from time to time; on the up, it made it far easier for her employees to explain why they were in the places she wanted them to be without too much undue scrutiny.

Vittore was through the stock room, past the several layers of covert security, and half way down the stairs into the Underworld before he realised just how hasty his pace was. It had started off as urgency to respond to the summons from his hunting partner - something that cryptic could have been anything from an Anzati in need of shooting to an adorable video about lothcats - but somewhere along the way it had morphed into a chest-clenching desire to hurry the hell up and be in the same room as her. That was bad. Deadly exploitable weakness bad. Right now though, surrounded by all this safety, with a rich broad, a spymaster, a few Jedi, a Mandalorian, and Force knows what else watching his back? It was a risk that felt worth it; and he sure as hell wasn't planning on bailing, not when Sadie still hadn't grown tired of him yet.

Slowing from an eager scamper into something a little more befitting a bounty hunter of his suaveness and composure, Vittore descended the rest of the way into the intel network's central hub, pacing across the shadowy space to where Sadie was sitting. An urge to lean down and wrap his arms around her overtook him, but he stopped himself midway. Things were complicated between them for obvious reasons, and he'd been adopting a strict follow-her-lead policy when it came to things that were physical and/or affectionate. Instead, he brandished his taco in her direction, wincing slightly at the conspicuous bite missing from the corner.

"Bought y' breakfast," he muttered as casually as he could manage, stretching out behind him to hook a chair with his foot and scootch it over. "Y' got somethin' to show me on those fancy screens a' yours?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Damned fool she was, having that grin take shape the second Sadie'd heard those familiar footfalls coming down the stairway. Oh, she'd managed to get it under order a bit before Vitt actually made his apperance, but it didn't hush the part of her that was scolding for acting like some drunk heart-eyed idiot. She figured it would stop on it's own accord in time, when things weren't so... whatever they were.

The questionable food choice he offered was waved off with a halfhearted "Nah, 'm good", leaving the liquid breakfast unmentioned. No reason to give worry when there weren't cause for none.

That left only the real questions and reasons behind and as much as Sadie wanted to just shoot the breeze with Vitt and act like her world weren't suddenly upset once again, sometimes you just had to go and face reality head on and get the frak over it.

A few quick movements of fingertips brought up the guilty parties on one of the larger screens. The prisoner document first and foremost with it's secretive dren and rather nondescript descriptions. Sadie nodded a head towards it with a hand waving a bit to follow suit.

"It's her. At least, 'm thinkin' it is. My..." Word was harder to say out loud and made her face scrunch up in a mix of one of them looks like there was a bad smell or she was thinking too hard. "Atton's sister."

Not the best, but it got the point across without her actually having to claim direct linkage to the individual.

"Doc itself don't give much as y' can tell. Not that I'd expect it t' have her name all plastered on it or nothin' but the little bit statin' it's a female and such matches right. By it's lonesome it ain't much, 'cept there was another thing linked to this one. Well, not direct like. Kinda more footnote or reference hidden in the background of the actual file that I had to dig for but that..."

Another quick motion and the prisoner transfer paperwork was pushed back in favor of another bland looking, though far more typical Imperial sort of datasheet.

"Impound and destruction order for a ship. VCX-100... which was what she was flyin' accordin' t' the data Atton gave me, and somethin' Inyos mentioned. Ain't a rare bird, but th' two t'gether..."

Sadie let her voice fade off as she leaned back in her seat and cast a glance at the bottle she'd been nursing earlier. When you went and looked at it with fresh eyes, as Vitt was, the lead seemed downright nonexistent. They wouldn't go after anything with this pittance. The ship could have belonged to any broad in the verse who got on the wrong side of the Empire, but as Sadie changed the view so both docs were side by side, the flat weirdness of the prisoner data and it's non-Imperial Imperialness stuck out and practically shouted at her in ways she couldn't pin.

A sigh that told of her frustration was let loose as Sadie went and dragged her hand down the right side of her face as if wiping it down would somehow make more sense of what was in front of her. Course, she weren't all that versed in things like this, neither. People didn't exactly pay her to save folks or look for 'em most days. She was getting more experience with that sort of thing since teaming up with Vitt, but Sadie weren't even closed to the seasoned hunter he was.

"Kriffin waste of time..." she muttered in some form of apology for dragging Vitt down here, but the damned thing refused to lie.

Another gesture was given to the prisoner transport log. Weren't exactly with hope that she asked, more of please don't let me look like a ruttin' incompetent dumbskrag. "Don't s'pose y've seen somethin' like this b'fore?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Atton's sister. Of all the things Vittore might have guessed the mystery summons was about, Sadie's mother barely made the list. Okay sure, it was no secret - not between the two of them, at least - that their frustrating data broker benefactor had garnered Sadie with a few scraps that she was using to rummage around the holonet for momma dearest. But it was a seemingly futile search, and not a wholeheartedly eager one, either. Vittore could understand that. He knew what it was like to have a mother you'd dread finding; and when it came to reluctant searches for asshole parents, Hugo Montegue made sure that base was firmly covered for him as well. Dad had a habit of dropping off the radar without a word, and by this point Vittore had given up even trying to look. Sadie wasn't there yet, though. What might happen when she actually found her mother was an unanswered - maybe even undecided - mystery, but there were still plenty of steps before that even needed considering.

Vittore's impulse was to admit he knew nothing. Sure, he'd seen a few Imperial format prison transfers in his time, but all this fancy analysis reading stuff wasn't exactly his area of expertise. Cambrio had always been the one with the flair for nerd stuff between them, and since his paternal-style vanishment, Vittore had been relying pretty heavily on Sleazy for that sort of thing. If there was some hidden correlation, some snippet of code or hidden data to be gleaned, some reference number who identified a specific shady Imperial officer that they could hunt down and extract information from at acid-coated knife-point, Vittore was most definitely not the person that would -

"Huh."

Vittore cocked his head to the side, squinting slightly, as if the effort would somehow bring the vague incling in his gut into sharper focus. He took a step closer, peering at the faint twinges of recognition within the bland and generic Imperial prose. A finger reached out, wafting towards a standard format set of spatial coordinates, and the rather dull-sounding name of the prison transport designated for the rendezvous. There was something familiar about them, and yet not. Something in the back of his head; one of those one of these things is not like the others feelings. He'd come to rely on those sorts of instincts over the years; although in his line of work, it usually meant that someone was about to start shooting at him.

"Can y' plug into th' mainframe on th' Tide?" he asked, already knowing it was a stupid question. He was sure there were a bunch of things that Sadie couldn't do, but as yet he hadn't managed to stumble across any of them. Hell, Sadie was already complying before his thoughts had even finished fully forming and tumbling out of his mouth. "Find the' research that Sleazy has been compilin' for me on -" Vittore grimaced as he felt the word brewing at the back of his throat: the shadowy entity or kabal that he'd stumbled across trying to have Emelie Shadowstar killed, landing them all in this weird set of circumstances in the first place. "- Sarlacc. Run the name of that prisoner transport, see if it..."

He didn't get to finish his sentence before results started blinking on the screen. Anathema. He knew that weird-ass name looked familiar. There it was, popping up in a transit report they'd dredged up after their visit to Ubrikkia to find the man who'd hired the psycho to kill Emelie, apparently on someone else's behalf. There though it was listed as a Bulk Cruiser, not a prisoner transport, and not one of Imperial origin either. And there it was again - or at least, an Imperial shuttle registered to the Anathema - showing up in the dock manifest at the resort where Chir'daki's shapeshifter minion had tried to kill Emelie wearing Vittore's face. The way things felt, Vittore wouldn't be surprised to find it there on Nar Shaddaa when he'd rescued Sadie from her former bandmates, or on any of the worlds where he and Sadie had worked together since.

"Same name," Vittore mused, watching as Sadie squeezed all the information she could out of her uncle's spy network. Civilian registries for bulk cruisers named Anathema. Three different Imperial ships of that name. A Dreadnaught Heavy Cruiser from the old Republic Navy records. A disparate assortment of like-named ships. Different classes, different specifications, different owners and deployments. And yet, as Vittore watched, correlations began to be flagged. The same listed dimensions. The same manufacturing date. Matching values for benign criteria like cargo capacity, crew capacity, and hyperdrive speed. Routine servicing conducted at the same third party shipyards. A flicker of a triumphant smile graced Vittore's lips. "Same ship."

Nothing on those coordinates though. That realisation dragged his brow into a frown. A non-descript area of deep space on the rimward side of Hutt territory, a few parsecs from Kessel. Why did that area feel so familiar? More importantly, why the hell was a supposedly Imperial prison transport shipping a seemingly non-descript female smuggler to Kessel? Ever since the Starkiller Treaty had cut the galaxy in half, the Empire had been driven out of that side of the galaxy. The new Alliance of Free Planets blocked their avenues to the region, and a mix of Hutts and other underworld types had swarmed in to reclaim what had once been theirs. Kessel still operated as a prison world, it's new owners buying and selling prisoners to and from every gangster, corrupt politician, and dysfunctional sicko they could find. Kessel was not a place a sane person sent their worst enemy, let alone sat back and let their lady's mother wind up there.

But then, it wasn't his call, was it? Vittore had plenty of parental resentment, sure, but Elira Asael was in a league of her own. At least his father had been there to teach him the skills he needed to survive, instead of just abandoning him in the deadly crime-infested depths of Nar Shaddaa to fend for himself. For all Hugo's flaws and failings, at least he'd been there. At least he'd tried. Maybe being left to rot on Kessel for a lifetime was exactly what Sadie's mother deserved. What goes around comes around, and all that.

Still not his call though; not his decision to make. He placed a hand gently on Sadie's shoulder - a breach of his rules about not forcing her into physical contact, but it felt appropriate given the circumstances. "Looks like maybe you found her," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice as balanced and neutral as he could. "We gonna sit back an' let her get what's comin' to her, or did Elysian just find itself with a new target to acquire?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

What's comin' to her. There were times when Sadie thought that way, when bitterness replaced the usual mild curiosity mixed with apathy that she felt regarding her parents. All in all though, she'd long since decided that everything that'd gone down weren't their fault, not really. Kids were left behind by their folks all the time in this mixed up verse, sometimes with good reason, sometimes not; either way not a whole lot of them ended up like she had. True, a fair amount, but not all. If she wanted to start getting mad at that sort of thing, she'd have to look at herself and a fair amount of questionable decisions she'd gone and made throughout history first and Sadie'd had about enough self-loathing for a time to go down that road.

Besides, her curiosity had been poked at near enough that it was raw now and only ending all this skag was gonna mend it back to typical indifference. Then there was the matter of putting the effort in the first place towards finding the lady - what was the point if there was no follow through? It weren't like this was a hobby of hers or nothing.

"Well, if it's all blue skies and starlight with you, Cap'n, I'd say we should probably get Sleazy to start preppin' th' Tide."

The small bit of a smile that had gone and made an appearance faded a twinge as Sadie looked back at some of the specifications of the ship they were gonna be hunting down.

"Think I'm gonna let th' others know what we're on, see if they got any sorta words of wisdom or such." She tapped at a few of the entries Vitt had pulled off the Tide for emphasis. "Feelin' like this is gonna concern more than just me an' you an' the lady we're fixin' t' pull outta there."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Usually he would have already planned seven steps ahead, but when it came to Sadie, waiting for her decisions had become a sort of impasse. It wasn't that Sadie was ever problematic. It wasn't that he couldn't necessarily guess what she might want to do in a given situation, or at least have contingencies in place based on a few likely options. It just felt wrong somehow. It felt wrong to expect, or assume, or hope one way or another. So it was only now, when Sadie gave the go ahead for this entire situation, that the ramifications began to shift into focus in Vittore's mind.

Raiding an Imperial prison transport was no small thing. True, it wasn't as dangerous as saving a pink-haired damsel from a murderous shapeshifter and his psychotic Force-wielding back up. It wasn't as dangerous as storming the seedier districts of Nar Shaddaa based on sketchy intel to rescue a total stranger. It wasn't fighting Anzati, or krayt dragons, or howlrunners, or Jedi fugitives, or any of the other crazy things that he'd been paid to do over the years. It wasn't even the first time that Vittore had gone and deliberately swiped someone from under the Empire's nose. But that didn't exactly make this trivial. In a galaxy full of people having bad feelings about things, apparently it was Vittore's turn to take center stage.

He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, pondering the possibilities. "Yeah," he muttered, in quiet agreement with Sadie's sentiment. "I've got a feelin' your uncle is gonna have a thing or two t' say about this."

[Atton Kira]

"Absolutely bloody not!"

It hadn't taken long for Atton Kira to reach the Underworld from his modest but comfortable apartment. It was hardly the lap of luxury, but the situation necessitated it: Atton's cover here on Cloud City was as the manager of the Elysium nightclub on Miss Shadowstar's behalf. That justified something considerably less seedy than some of the places his lifestyle had led him to live over the years, but it was a far cry from the kind of comfort that a man of his means - his true means, rather than the carefully constructed fabrication he presented to the rest of the galaxy - should have been able to obtain. It was comfortable enough at least that being awoken by Sadie's message had been met with a certain amount of short-lived annoyance; but as soon as his mind had processed the sender, and the subject, he'd left for the Underworld with as much urgency as he could muster.

Now that he was here, the urgency had deepened, transforming into a sense of panic that Atton carefully disguised as anger.

"You're telling me that you suspect that my sister might - might! - have got herself snatched up by the very same shadowy cabal that has tried to kill members of our cosy little business arrangement on several occasions, and your plan is to rush in blindly and, what, ask the crew of an alleged Imperial prison transport if they'd kindly hand her over?"

There was more to say, clawing at the back of Atton's throat, begging to springboard off his tongue if he was willing to give it even half a chance. Most of it was selfish, and he bitterly resented himself for that, but there was at least a little validity to it. After a lifetime forced to watch his sister's daughter from a far, finally she was here, finally he could forge some kind of relationship with her without all the deception and subterfuge; and here she was, all too willing to throw away the family she'd found on a pipe dream to locate the mother who had abandoned her. If Elira really was in danger, then Atton perhaps more than anyone would do everything in his power to ensure her liberation and safety - but did the prospect of an absent mother outweigh a caring uncle to such an extent that she'd risk everything on a suicidal one-in-a-billion chance? Let me handle it, is what he wanted to say. Or at least, Let your expendable boyfriend handle it - that was what they paid Captain Montegue for, after all.

But he couldn't say such things. He didn't know how to, and hadn't earned the right to. He was the brother of Sadie's mother, but the debt he owed to her for the life he'd allowed her to live was too far in deficit for him to presume to treat her as an uncle would treat a niece. Not now; perhaps not ever. But that was not all he was. Familial connection or not, he was still her employer of a sort, and that opened up an alternative path for him to express his objection to her poorly conceived notions. Even so, he chose to aim his ire mostly at the bounty hunter rather than the slicer: it was just easier that way.

"Is madness contagious with you two, or has convergent evolution just coincidentally turned you both into the pinnacle of human stupidity?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

This was the part of having family and a steady employer that Sadie still hadn't gotten the full grip of. Sure, maybe Atton had been running the brunt of her life all secret from the shadows, but Sadie had felt damn sure that she had made most of the choices in what she did, where she went, and other such dren. Folks didn't tell Sadie what she couldn't do, they got the hell out of her way and let her do her damn job and paid her credits and that was the end. This new deal was starting to remind her of them Rebellion types she'd attached to for a spell. They hadn't exactly commanded her to help save the verse and all, but their rhetoric was enough for an entire lifetime and she had no desire to let other people start calling the shots on her life then and certainly wasn't too keen on it now. Never mind that she was conveniently forgetting the fact she'd let Bog tell her no plenty, but that was more on account of what could happen if you told him to go frak himself otherwise, a phantom twinge around her midsection was enough of a reminder to bring her back to senses before she spouted off some obscenity at Atton.

"That ain't fair." She managed to make it sound more accusatory than petulant. "Don't go thinkin' y' kin just call this all off on account that you don't like th' situation. Yeah, it's bad but we ain't stupid, Uncle."

Sadie had started learning how to use the familial title as a weapon, it seemed. She was right sure none would be proud of that particular pickup.

"Ain't gonna go flyin' in blind, th' jump t' Kessel is more than 'nuff time f' me t' get more info on the place and it ain't like Vitt don't know how to do this proper like. Yeah, sure, we could use ourselves a sort that's good in covert dren, but pretty sure Vitt and I can manage to not set off every alarm in the entire system. I've done my fair share o' breakin' in an' gettin' outta places an' this ain't no diff'rent, 'cept nabbin' a person instead of a thing."

Her arms crossed as Sadie didn't exactly glare at Atton, but she was standing her ground, sure as anything.

"This weren't askin' for permission. This was me tellin' y' what was goin' down so nobody goes an' has a fit when me an' Vitt head off and maybe get some gorram help from folks I figured would be all for givin' it. She's your frakkin, sister, Atton, my mum. All maybe bad blood aside, y' can't just expect me t' go an' leave her to a fate that might end up all similar t' m' own. I went through all th' hells an' only came back 'cause of you an' Vitt an' Em. Don't you dare ask me t' let m' mum go without that sort of savin'."

[Atton Kira]

The muscles bunched along Atton's jawline, teeth clenched hard against each other. It was good to focus on anger and annoyance; made it easier to hide just how much it stung to have those kinds of accusations hurled in his direction. Perhaps this was the real reason he'd watched from a distance for so long. He told himself, and her, that it had all been for her safety, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was himself that he was shielding, from having a vulnerability that could be so effortlessly exploited.

"Don't you dare."

His voice was quiet, little more than a whisper. His eyes moved slowly to hers, purposefully, as if the utmost concentration and restraint was required to constrain his actions to only that.

"Don't you dare."

There was a faint quiver in his voice as a sliver of anger crept through, but something all together different had painted itself across his eyes and brow. His arms stayed by his sides, muscles clenched tight to prevent him from mirroring Sadie's stance. There was something all to familiar about this, and about her: something at the genetic level, some resemblances that couldn't be scrubbed away no matter what environmental factors were involved. If this were Elira, there'd be roughly three seconds before the shouting match began, accusation countered with accusation, until they had strayed so far from how it began that neither could remember what they were fighting about, and nothing worthwhile or truthful had been said. It's how siblings were supposed to be, allegedly, but in all the years since Atton had regretted nothing more: regretted never saying what needed to be said, and needed to be heard. Not now, though. That mistake would not be repeated for another generation.

"You think I don't care?" There was a hiss of bitterness in Atton's words, a scrunched up frown on his features as he picked apart Sadie's accusations. "You think a woman you've never met, never known, would never even recognise if you walked past her on the street, somehow means more to you than she does to her own flesh and blood? You think that after all the years I spent trying to watch over you, it doesn't tear my heart in half to think that she's about to spend the short remainder of her days in a hell hole like Kessel? You think that I wont do anything, and everything, to find her and keep her safe? You think that data chit of information, everything I've ever learned from keeping tabs on her your entire life, you think I have that because she's meaningless and I don't give a damn?"

He took a lurching step closer, but any sense of threat quickly morphed and faded. Tense shoulders slumped, clenched muscles slackened, eyes that had been trying to glare through Saidra finally coming into focus on her gaze. A single hand reached out, a faint fleeting contact taking hold of Sadie just above her elbow.

"After all these years, I finally got to meet you. I finally get to know you."

His eyes and his hand fell away.

"I don't want to lose that. Please. There must be another way."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

His little tirade wanted to be ignored, brushed off like it rightly should have been not all that long ago; instead it stuck in like a badly thrown dart across a bar. He had her on some points, like how it was wrong to go acting like Atton didn't care none, or even that Sadie cared more. She did care, though, 'bout some woman she'd never even met save once in her life when she was just entering it; and Atton had a point there too - maybe not entirely one he meant to make, but it was there all the same. Elira Asael didn't have a damn thing to do with her kid, she wouldn't know Sadie from any other girl in the verse and in a way that kinda made her the anonymous sort that most people didn't give a dren about. No matter how hard the rational side of her was saying that that wasn't how it really was, there was still that nagging voice in the back of her head now asking why it was that Sadie gave a damn about a mother who didn't give a damn about her.

The irksome line of thinking was only slightly hushed as Atton went on and rounded out the truth of it. He didn't want her to go because he was... well... being selfish. Maybe not in an undeserving way but the man had a point, if Sadie were to run off on her onsies to go save her mum there was no guarantees that Atton would get either one of them back. Kira wasn't a gambler, it seemed. Not wanting to risk what he had in favour of the possibility of more. Sadie couldn't blame him none for that. Couldn't blame him on pointing that obvious fact out none either.

"Y' really have such lil faith in me an' Vitt?" The question came out soft like, not really expecting an answer. "I ain't plannin' on not comin' back. I ain't plannin' on not spendin' time with y' if she's around. I mean, 'm s'posed t' gripe about my mum bein' a hardass at times t' someone, yeah? Pro'ly best t' do that with someone who knows how it is."

The downcast visage that had taken hold lightened just enough as Sadie tried to crack a smile, tried to revert back to being all surefire and firm in her decision - even if it was wavering a bit.

"I know y' don't wanna risk nothin', I know y' care - 'bout me an' her. But... Y'know me. The stuff I've helped do... the stuff I ain't proud of. People I've gone an' hurt, lives I've gone an' undone... Even if she weren't my mum... Even if she was jus' someone this family knows... I gotta do somethin'. I can't just sit back an' let somethin' bad happen if I know I can fix it. I've gone into worse than this, you should know that and if y' don't, then when this is over me an' you are gonna have one long talk about big ugly lizards, savy?" Another one of them smiles was attempted but failed as Sadie got the feelin' she was getting downright nowhere with this line of argument.

"An' it ain't just gonna be me. I've got Vitt..."

A brief pause was taken to cast an uncertain smile towards her partner. Being around him made her feel damn near invincible somedays, but Sadie knew that effect was only for her benefit and she couldn't go and expect anyone else to buy into the whole feeling like the two of them could take on the entire galaxy. Sobering thought in a way, and it made her turn back to Atton.

"I asked th' others for help too... But I asked you first. You're sayin' there's gotta be another way... so, offer somethin' up. If we've got options we're damn blind to, make 'em known. If there's favours you can call in..."

The sigh that left her weren't quite defeated like, but it was edging close.

"Look, I ain't asked you for nothin' - not that y've exactly left me wantin' none since I got here but... This is me, askin' y'. Please. We gotta do somethin'."

[Atton Kira]

I asked you first.

What reaction could their possibly be to that, other than surrender? The context didn't help, either: not a reckless, self-destructive urge, but a desperate desire to act, to help, to somehow have done something. Atton knew the burden of inaction, knew the weight of that kind of guilt and regret, knew the sleeplessness of wondering how things might have been if you'd made even a single choice differently. It was the one notion that united every sentient being in the galaxy, the one emotion that every form of life could feel. If there had been no other reason, wanting to act to avoid the regret of not acting might almost have been enough.

Atton was prepared to throw every resource he had at Elira's rescue. Enough time, enough money, and enough lubricated palms could solve almost any problem, in his experience. A little effort on a false identity, and he could strut into Kessel as a potential buyer, taking Elira off their hands the quasi-legitimate way. There were enough disenfranchised former Rebels floating around the galaxy that a strike team for hire wasn't out of the question, if it came down to a full raid on the prison complex. But there was an urgency in Saidra's eyes, a desire to act now - and perhaps that was not unfounded. If this source indeed pointed to Elira, and if their suspicions of Sarlacc's involvement were correct, then Elira's capture was hardly trivial. This was not one of the myriad times that Atton had bailed her out of lock up, or worked his legal finesse to exonerate her from whatever trouble she'd found herself in. This was serious. This was dubious. This was a prison where captives went to die. This was at the behest of a group who had made a habit of endangering Atton's associates. Was this the next step? Was this a trap, a lure, a sign that they had uncovered Atton's hidden involvement, or Saidra's true identity, and planned to use Elira's capture - real or fake - to draw them out?

That thought alone was unnerving. That thought alone should have been enough to discourage rash action. But this was Sadie K'Vesh, multiplied to the power of Vittore Montegue. Patience and strategy was not their forte: action and improvisation was. And, like it or not: this was his niece, and she'd said please.

"Of course there's favours I can call in," he countered, surprised to find a slight hint of a smile on his lips. It might even have been pride, aimed in Saidra's direction. An odd feeling, that. One he had very little experience with. "I'm Atton bloody Kira, I'm made of favours."

Atton shook his head.

"Faith though? That's something I don't deal in. You and Captain Montegue are perfectly competant at what you do, but this is not that. The two of you, alone, against opposition we only have the sketchiest of information about? A ship we don't know, forces we have no data on, motives we can't discern - those are bad odds. It's a bad bet. You might not plan on dying, but that seldom stops it from happening."

He let out a faint sigh of his own, almost a perfect mirror of Sadie's.

"But you are very much your mother's daughter, and if you've made your mind up about this, I'd have better luck winning an argument with a black hole. Which I suppose means I have no choice but to help you, if I have any desire to see you survive past the end of the week."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It wasn't the first time someone had done gone and compared Sadie to her mother - maybe that was another reason she had some actual interest in meeting her - and Sadie weren't quite sure if it was to be considered a compliment or not. Still she had the answer she rightly wanted and if Sadie had been any girl but her there probably would have been some sort of gleeful reaction at gettin' her way that might end with some squealing and hugging.

As it just so happened though, Sadie was still herself and while she did feel a might bit of satisfaction at having talked Atton out of his flat refusal, she still held stuff close enough that the most Atton got was a seriously heartfelt "Thank you," that came with some uncomfortable shuffling and a slight reach out as if she weren't sure if she should shake his hand orwhatnot. Though, if the man claimed to know her half as well as he said he did, he'd figure out how sincere she was; something about the way her features softened and her eyes didn't leave his for a tick or two.

That same appreciation was turned on Vittore next, on account of him letting her fight this one on her own, trusting her to do so. There had been no doubt that if push came to shove that Vitt could have gotten Kira involved whether he liked it or not. Thankfully it hadn't come to that.

"Right then..." Sadie snagged a datapad from where it was sitting and nodded to herself as she looked it over. "Well, Boss Lady already said that she'd help however she can, though not sure what all that means. Nen I think will be down, even if he's probably gonna hate us all a bit for it on th' temp'rary, an' Vhi said he's willin' to come if we need him - though called us a buncha suicidal morons for our trouble, an' Inyos... well... I haven't heard back yet."

[Inyos Aamoran]

The security doorway at the top of the stairs to the Underworld swung open, a beige jacketed shoulder in hot pursuit, dragging a lurching figure behind it. A quick stumbled series of steps was taken before Inyos Aamoran managed to catch himself, brushing a hand down the front of his outfit in an attempt to restore his composure. From the way that attention in the room had shifted, it was clear that his not exactly stealthy entrance had not gone unnoticed; Inyos didn't let the attention phase him, descending the stairway as casually as he could manage given the circumstances, and also pretty much everything about him as a person.

"I believe the security door may be in need of some maintenance," he explained, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb in case there was any confusion as to which security door he might be referring. His head cocked slightly to one side by a fraction of a degree, a beat of silence following before he explained further. "It required a little more encouragement to open than is usual."

Satisfied that he had provided an appropriate amount of explanation, he let his words hang in the air for a moment of quiet consideration, before turning his attention to Saidra directly.

"I recieved your message, and came as quickly as I could. From the lack of punctuation and the spelling errors, it seemed quite urgent."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Like I kriffin know how t' spell Padawan..." Sadie grumbled quietly in defense. Girl could code and slice just about anything but personal correspondence could get... messy. Especially when you sent out varied messages to different people because one big blanket Found Mom, Need Help seemed cold and disgenuine. A person could only be expected to explain the situation so many ways so many times and keep composure and by the time she'd gotten to Inyos it had been rather vague and more like one of those infuriating one lined Spacebook posts if Sadie were honest with herself... Frak it.

Well, there was no sugar coating anything from the Jedi, that was for damn sure and the other two knew the full score so trying to make it sound nice just wasn't gonna happen - he'd know better.

"Guessin' y' got no objections t' helpin' th' lot of us free m' mum from an Imperial Prisoner Transport that may or may not actually be run by Imperials b'fore it actually gets itself to Kessel and we gotta then try an' plan a proper prison break into one of th' bleakest places in th' verse?"

[Inyos Aamoran]

"You are my Padawan, and Elira was -"

He trailed off, feeling an uncomfortable twist in his gut. Elira was from his past, back before the dark side had reached out across the stars, lured him into it's inescapable embrace, and used his psyche as a plaything for a decade. She had been there, back when Inyos still clung to the notion that the Jedi were something that might survive and endure. She had been there when Inyos had still been the man he once was, back when to save and protect had been his driving impulse instead of the mere hidden survival that had taken hold these past years. Elira had been his Captain. She had plucked Inyos and Mandan from their fugitive flight across the galaxy. She had been there as Inyos broke, wounded by the loss of his first Padawan. He did not know the correct adjective, but she and her ship had been home once. Undeniably, she had saved Inyos from the fate that had befallen so many of his fellow Jedi, and now the opportunity presented to repay that long overdue debt.

"- a friend," he settled upon, an appropriately simple descriptor given the circumstances. "If she requires rescuing, and you wish for my assistance, I will not stray from your side until she is safe."

[Vittore Montegue]

"Well then."

Vittore rocked a little on his feet, smiling with his eyebrows at the group. Well, at Atton and Sadie, at least. Things were still a little wonky and weird having the Jedi guy around. Being around any kind of Jedi was a pretty odd experience, with all his dad's rhetoric and hatred still rattling around in his head, not to mention all the Force User bounties he'd cashed in over the years - not exactly a proud moment, especially not nowadays. It was weirder still that it was this Jedi, the same one that he, and Dad, and Cambrio had accidentally-on-purpose freed from some creepy ghost-infested nightmare planet a few years back. That was a long, weird story; one that Vittore preferred not to talk about, think about, accidentally dream about after eating too much junk food - y'know, the usual best left forgotten sort of thing.

Still, Sadie was this guy's Padawhatsit or something now. That was an important part of who she was now, and Vittore respected that - and by virtue of secondary transfer, he respected this Inyos guy. Or at least, he was trying to. Struggling to. But trying. That seemed like a pretty appropriately Jedi thing to do, right? Even if you don't succeed, it's best to at least try?

Vittore shrugged the thoughts off, and reinforced his smile, fixing Atton Kira with a look. A hand clapped their co-benefactor enthusiastically on the shoulder. "Ain't just the two of us, now there's -" Vittore hesitated for a moment, silently counting up the names that Sadie had already mentioned he gave up at five, and embraced vagueness instead. "- a whole buttload a' folks involved. Odds are already startin' to look up, huh?"

[Atton Kira]

"Oh yes," Atton replied, a liberal dose of sarcasm injected into his words. "Two amoral reprobates, a day-drunk floozy, Cloud City's foremost slicer and her idiot sidekick, and this washed-up excuse for a Jedi."

A slight swell of anger and frustration surfaced out of nowhere, a frustrated gesture of his arm thrown in Inyos' direction. He struggled hard to bury it down, not to dwell on the fact that he resented the Jedi for being the only other would-be rescuer to have ever actually known Elira Asael. There was more to it than that, but it twisted like a knife in his gut, the value of his participation slowly diminishing. It was a petty, selfish thought, and one he hated having: the more people involved, the more diluted his contribution would become, and the further he would get from being the one who reunited parent and child. As soon as Elira and Saidra met, one of two things would happen, as far as he could foresee; and both involved his sister's anger and ire for breaking his promise to leave her daughter well enough alone.

Their odds of survival might have increased, albeit slightly, but Atton's expectations of a happy outcome at the end of all this faded moment by moment.

"Far be it from me to place a damper on all this self-sacrificial enthusiasm, but before we all march off to our deaths, I don't suppose we could pause for a moment and try to conceive an actual bloody plan?"

[Inyos Aamoran]

A few Parsecs from Kessel

The blunted, bulbous spear of a Dreadnaught Heavy Cruiser pierced into the inky blackness of space. Normally, a field of pinprick stars would have acted as a backdrop for the aging vessel, but out here so close to the galaxy's outer edge, that familiar sight was all but absent. Instead, the rimward view was an eerie vacant void; and towards the core, countless thousands of stars formed together into a bulging, pale golden cloud. It was a strange spectacle, and one that many often found haunting. For those out here on the galactic rim, the civilized segments of space were something distant, and other; something to be stared at, slicing across the horizon on cold clear nights, a gentle reminder of just how far removed they were from any one or anything that mattered.

Against that swirling curtain of coreward stars, three tiny pinpricks shimmered into being - unnoticed - as hyperspace rippled and catapulted three starships back into reality. Such a sight might have been graceful, even majestic under certain circumstances, but not today. The instant their sublights bit against hard, familiar vacuum, the three modest-style craft surged into life. At the forefront, a Delta-7 peeled away from the triad, it's hull juddering and shuddering as magnetic clamps liberated it from the hyperspace ring that had conveyed it thus far. A few quick bursts of thrust, and the antique Jedi Starfighter surged out from within the ring's embrace, leaving it tumbling slowly in it's ion wake. A Baudo yacht chased after, slower but no less majestic, sweeping through the stellar void like some graceful creature from the depths of an alien ocean. It loomed over the Syliure-31, a glowing rectangular maw opening on the craft's ventral surface, the gravitational influence of a tractor beam reaching out to snare the hyperspace ring and draw it in tight. Last of the three crimson-hulled vessels came the stocky form of a BTL-B Y-Wing; smaller than the Baudo, but not by much, her hull still clad in the pristine hull plating of last generation's war, not stripped and laid bare like the derelict cousins flown by the Rebel Alliance. Her progress was slow and steady, banking out from her ruddy-skinned counterparts, the threesome loosening their formation as they advanced upon the Dreadnaught.

Behind the controls of the Delta-7, Inyos spurred a little more speed from the ion drives, pulling out ahead of the other ships. Once, a Jedi Starfighter such as this would have been one of the fastest ships in the Republic, and without the excess weight of hyperdrive systems and fuel there to slow it down, it certainly outstripped the star bomber and the pleasure yacht. How it would fare against whatever defenses the Dreadnaught Anathema could muster was another question entirely; but it was a familiar question, one faced by the Jedi Knights when they'd first clashed with the Confederacy's droid fighters. Inyos took some comfort in that, and in this. Racing across the stars, towards a starship once used by Republic and Separatists alike, in a starship that was as much of an antique as he was? For the first time in a long time, Inyos felt like a familiar person. A clear mission. A clear purpose. Someone to save. Safely tucked away from the observing eyes of anyone that might witness his uncharacteristic display of emotion, Inyos couldn't help but smile.

He only permitted his enjoyment to last a few seconds however, flipping off the distracting emotions with the same simple effort it took to charge the fighter's blasters. P-Thirteen did his part, modifying the fighter's tactical display with a simplified view of the Dreadnaught ahead, and the Elysian advance towards it. Inyos watched as a dozen pinpricks of red bled from beneath the Anathema's holographic representation, forming themselves into a jagged line lancing ominously in his direction.

"Dreadnaught has launched fighters," Inyos announced aloud, knowing that his words would be snatched up by the fighter's communications array, and beamed to the other ships via a complex encryption that Saidra had explained in words he understood roughly three percent of. Fortunately, that three percent was the most important part: something about a compression algorithm that could only be decrypted if you had one of the only three droids in the cosmos fitted with the appropriate decoder. Given that those three droids all shared the perilous trait of being on a ship that had a high likelihood of exploding before capture, that all added up to a reassuring level of privacy on comms.

Not that Inyos Aamoran was capable of relaxing his cautious, war-trained radio habits, of course.

"Deploying countermeasures."

A heartbeat after he uttered those words, Inyos' fingers depressed the trigger on the fighter's control yoke, two projectiles lurching forth from the Delta-7's torpedo tubes in response. Rather than the trailing glow of a proton torpedo however, the missiles glinted with odd surfaces and non-standard additions. Half a second and a few hundred meters out, the projectiles veered sharply off course as P-Thirteen seized control of their guidance systems. Jammers and transponders sparked into life, the tactical display flickering as the unseen missiles magically transformed into a pair of pirate starfighters. Inyos watched as the other ships deployed countermeasures of their own, three insignificant craft suddenly transformed into an imposing force of raiders, approaching from all directions as the decoys moved into their intended positions.

A crunch of static preceded a faintly distorted voice over the comms. "The Dreadnaught just tried to send a distress call," the voice explained; exactly as Atton had predicted, between bouts of complaints and criticisms that Inyos saw for what they were - deflections to hide how important this rescue was. "We're jamming, for now, but you can bet it won't take long before they spool up the hyperdrives and jump out of here."

Inyos' mouth narrowed into a thin line; a hand reached out to siphon a little power from his aft shields and inject it into his engines, adding a few micro-units of much needed expediency.

"Moving into position to draw their fire," Inyos replied, hauling back hard on the stick, his fighter tumbling into an elegant spiral that aligned it along the Dreadnaught's longitudinal axis. It didn't take long for the Imperial crew - Atton's efforts and contacts had managed to uncover frustratingly little about the ship and it's operators, but they had at least been able to confirm that they were indeed Imperial; or at least had been, before the galaxy split in half - to confirm that Inyos' efforts were working as intended, viridian javelins of turbolaser fire spewing from the Dreadnaught in his direction, dodged thanks to a mix of inherent inaccuracy and the Force's precognitive input on Inyos' flying. "Now would be a good time to begin your attack run, Captain."

A moment of hesitation drifted through Inyos' mind. He almost didn't say it.

"May the Force be with you."

[Vittore Montegue]

Force damn it. The asshat just had to go and say it, didn't he?

"Way to jinx us," Vittore muttered, safe in the knowledge that Katie had learned to screen his messages before transmitting, and filter out the ones that weren't actually meant to be sent. It was one of the unsung services that made the little ginger-topped droid such a valuable companion; little actions that spoke of familiarity and insight that had earned her Vittore's total trust.

Vittore's manoeuvre into position was less graceful than the one Inyos had performed, but was no less effective. While Inyos in his nimble Jedi Starfighter - which frankly was cool as hell, and when this was all over Vittore was determined to get the thing in a hanger and run his hands all over that sleek and sexy little minx of a thing - had swung around to approach the Dreadnaught from her bow, Vittore and Sadie had banked out wide, coming at the heavy cruiser from below and behind. There were probably a hundred different inappropriate jokes Vittore could have drawn on in that moment; but the simple fact was that, whether you were hunting a Dreadnaught, a krayt dragon, or just about anything else, behind and below was a pretty damned effective place to be.

"Force my ass," Vittore continued to grumble, leaning forward to reach the stabilizer controls, body straining against the safety harness that held him secure into the pilot's seat. "Only thing I need with me is raw talent and awesomeness."

A fraction of a second passed before Vittore leaned back in his seat, cocking his head over his shoulder slightly to aim his voice at his gunner. It didn't make a damned bit of difference - on this breed of Y-Wing, the pilot and the gunner were safe and snug in their own airtight private little bubbles, and the ship's intercom relayed speech from one to the other no matter which way you were facing, but it was one of those weird habits, y'know? Felt like the right thing to do, so you did.

"An' you as well, o'course, babe," he added, just in case Sadie had been listening in on his mutterings.

He drew in a slow breath, fidgeting slightly in his seat as the Dreadnaught's engine array loomed ahead, letting the gas seep gradually from his lungs as the range to target indicator slowly ticked down. "Might wanna hold on t' your lunch back there," he warned, fingers stretching out one after the other as he adjusted his grip on the controls. "Stuff's about to get fun."

With a rapid snap of the control stick, and a finger jammed down hard on a pre-programmed string of thrust commands for the manoeuvering jets, the Y-Wing suddenly lurched into a rapid, jerking roll, inverting itself in a split second to reorientate the Dreadnaught beneath them. Vittore jerked the opposite way on the stick, a quick surge of opposite inertia compensating for the roll that had turned out slightly more zealous than intended. Another minor course correction aimed the Y-Wing's nose guns a little further down towards the Dreadnaught's hull. "Light 'em up, Katie," Vittore instructed, and in an instant a series of slowly twitching target reticules appeared on the heads up display, the waving line of a projected course connecting a path through each of the Dreadnaught hyperdrive's external vulnerabilities.

An anxious warble from Katie immediately grabbed Vittore's attention. "Balls," he hissed with a wince, watching as two angry-looking dots appeared at the edge of the Y-Wing's targeting range. "Looks like our decoys ain't decoyin' so good," he mused, making a mental note to give Nen an earful about his fancy little useless gizmos later. "Got three TIEs inbound, Sadie; five o'clock high. Ain't got time t' do this the easy way, though. Keep our ass covered. I'm takin' us in."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

Aboard the Dreadnaught Anathema

"You know, I have never prided myself on foresight, not in the literal sense, but still one can't help but attempt to predict the outcome of things - sentient nature, I suppose. Still, out of everything I have mused regarding this... this I did not expect."

There was an almost wistful manner in which Mal'achi spoke, and perhaps it wasn't entirely false as he watched the antiquated Jedi Starfighter in particular. For being aboard a ship that was currently under assault though, he seemed calm, comfortable almost; hands clasped behind is back as he watched the proceedings as if simply gazing out at the diminished starlight. His head turned, just enough to address the individual behind him, a fleeting look of sympathy crossing his face at their current situation.

"They say the former Emperor was gifted with such things, that he would assure his underlings that everything was proceeding according to his visions." Mal'achi paused as his eyes left the other person and returned to the scene unfolding before them outside the viewport. "I wonder then, did he see his own demise? Was that part of his great plan?"

The end sounded almost mocking, verging on contempt but filled with the haughty sureness that nothing ill would come of such a statement that was once taboo.

"Ah, but here I am rambling on when clearly we must prepare you for your..." Mal'achi spun on his heel slowly, his mouth curving into a cruel smile as he stepped towards the dark haired woman strapped to the torture chair. "Do you even have any friends anymore? I would have figured you would have alienated them all long ago, Lady Asael."

If a look alone could convey a swift biting retort, then surely it would look akin to the way the woman's features changed just then. Mal'achi could only answer with another grin, satisfied that he at least had the mind to take away the woman's ability to actually voice her scathing remarks. Captain Elira Asael was known for her usage of words as weapons, and there was no way that he would let her continue to be armed for the duration of her stay. Besides, he wasn't exactly attempting to retrieve information from her. Not yet anyway, someone else was going to have that pleasure.

"Asael," he repeated, treating the word as if it carrying a displeasing taste. "I'll never understand why you chose that ridiculous surname as your own when you had access to a fair more respectable one. After all, it's not as if you and father were exactly close, now is it?"

[Vittore Montegue]

* * *

The polished chromite of Vittore's FWG-5 glinted in the unusually subdued lighting of the Anathema, as he panned it back and forth to sweep each direction of the auxiliary corridor they'd just descended into. Satisfied that the immediate vicinity was clear, he wrenched the respirator mask from his face with violent eagerness, and sucked in a deep breath of Imperial brand atmosphere. He hated those damned things, about as much as he hated being outside in hard vacuum wearing one of them. Any day other than today, if you asked Vittore to step outside of a spacecraft without it being landed on a planet, he was doing it inside a full pressure suit with multiple redundancies, and several hours of back-up air. Sure, he wasn't exactly a safety conscious sort of guy about most things, but the continued ability to breathe was a pretty fundamental consideration for him; right up there with making sure your blasters were actually charged, and not making cavalier blind jumps into hyperspace.

Today though, that hadn't been an option. The Anathema may have been a formerly Republic ship - according to Kira's data profile, at least - but she'd been refit by the Empire, and that meant standardized Imperial docking rings on the external airlocks. Those were great if you happened to have a TIE Fighter, or an Imperial shuttle, or pretty much any other kind of craft constructed in the last couple of decades. Show up in a Y-Wing, though? Particularly a first generation Y-Wing like his girl outside? The stuff just didn't want to jive together, parts not wanting to plug into other parts, on account of the Y-Wing having lumps, and gunner turrets, and that sort of thing in all the wrong places. That meant that, after their playful little bombing run had been completed, Vittore and Sadie had needed to mag-lock onto the Anathema's hull, and then hop out for a quick stroll to the nearest utility airlock hatch, wearing nothing but breather masks and a few tight-fitting starfighter jock smocks. It was safe, in the way that gear designed to preserve the life of a pilot ejected into hard vacuum in the heat of a space battle was safe. In other words: safer than you'd probably think, but way less safe than Vittore was comfortable with.

Vittore heard the soft clunk of Sadie's boots on the ladder rungs behind him, and fought the powerful urge to glance behind and check out the view as she descended. Instead he urged himself to advance a few paces into the corridor, eyes narrowing a little to peer through the dimness. The ion bomb targets that Atton Kira had marked out were very specific. Disabling power to the hyperdrive was an important start, but there had been other systems carefully positioned within the blast radius of each detonation; disabilities to the ship that would hopefully give the insertion team a slight edge, without it seeming as if the attackers had deliberately set out to cause them. Forcing the Anathema onto emergency lighting was one of them. Silently, Vittore hoped that his flying had been good enough to succeed with the others.

He felt a silent tap on his shoulder, Sadie wordlessly informing him that her boots were on the deck plates, and she was ready to roll. The hunter side of Vittore's psyche was ready to move off in an instant, but something else tugging at the back of his mind gave him pause. One last tactical glance was thrown either way down the corridor before he turned towards her, gun falling towards his side as the freed hand settled itself gently against Sadie's arm.

"You ready for this?" he asked, with just enough of a concerned note in his words for Sadie to know it wasn't the danger or the objectives that he was asking about.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Nope. Maybe. "As 'm ever gonna be."

At least it were an honest answer, even if Sadie weren't quite sure if it registered more in the positive than the negative. They were here though, no real turning back allowed, she figured. Not that she would; Sadie'd had just about enough of turning blind eyes to things where action should have been made. She weren't quite sure when that feeling started in her, maybe it was back when them Rebellion types, maybe it was on account of the Savin' People part of her and Vitt's job description sometimes, or maybe it were just a part of growing up that Sadie done sprouted into. Weren't a bad thing, though; trying to do the right thing when need called for it rarely was something to look down on. Unless you were doing something really really stupid - so maybe this all fell into a semi grey area. Whatever, still too late to call it all off.

Sadie followed Vitt's lead, just like they usually did 'cept them necessary times when she'd run point. Truth was, she weren't real sure how handy she was gonna be in all this. Yeah sure, she could make use of a blaster and even had in recent times but that had been against scummy types that maybe were good but weren't to Imperial Academy Graduate good. Not that military training auto made a body good at shooting and defending positions and all, but it sure as frak didn't hurt none either.

"Guess we should be all kinds of glad it ain't some city-sized ship she's on," Sadie half mumbled her herself, just under a whisper, one of them voices that was fully prepped to stop yapping any time now.

The Dreadnought class ship weren't small, and Sadie and her cohorts didn't exactly have no x-ray vision to see where Elira was being held, but there were a few educated guesses floating about and well... was like she said, could have been worse, could'a been one of them damned Star Destroyers where a body had a better chance of getting lost and starving to death than rescuing anybody from anything.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore paused at the corner of a corridor junction, closing his eyes for a brief moment so he could listen out for footsteps and such like beyond. Moderately satisfied that it was clear, he risked a covert glance; nothing. Another stretch of empty corridor.

Something prickled at the back of his neck, some uncomfortable sensation that could just as easily have been instinct or impatience. Sadie was right: this wasn't a big ship, but it was an uncomfortably empty one. Sure, he supposed it made sense that Black Ops, or Remnants, or whoever the hell these people were might not have the manpower to stuff a ship like this to the gills. And sure, Kira's report talked about automation and what-not slashing the crew requirements of these old Dreanaughts by a factor of eight. There were even stories floating about certain parts that the Republic had built a whole fleet of these ugly tubs, slaved them together, and launched them off into hyperspace for some ass backwards idiot reason. Vittore wasn't sure if he believed it or not; but yeah, okay, so maybe a few miles of empty twisting corridor was normal for a bucket like this. Something just felt off, though. Something weird. One of those I know something deadly is in here, but I don't know where it is, and it hasn't noticed me yet sort of feelings.

"I dunno," Vittore countered, in a voice that matched Sadie's cautious tone. "Snatchin' someone from a Star Destroyer might work out easier. Sure, they're covered in guns, an' filled with a bunch a' people carryin' guns -"

He advanced slowly down the corridor, falling silent before each blind spot, waiting until he was confident no one was within earshot before he made another sound.

"- but at least the damned things all have their kriffin' detention cells in the same Force damned place."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Yeah, but where's th' fun in that?"

It had gotten like this between them on jobs: stress relief via sarcastic banter. Worse a situation got, the more the sarcasm came out. Right now they were only about on a scale of 4 outta 10, so that weren't so bad. Vitt had gone up to about a 7 when they'd suited up and gotten ready to make the outside trek to the Dreadnought's innards so their current was something to say at least. Hallways continued to be all ominously empty like this, though and Sadie might just try and outdo him yet, however.

The small bag she always seemed to have strapped across her body that hung close to her hip was yanked open, full trust placed that Vitt would nail whatever - if ever - came at them while she was occupied. Trusty datapadd was retrieved - Not THE trusty datapadd that had served her well for oh so many years, that was deader than dust. One of the first order of operations had been to wipe that damn thing clean remotely when she'd gotten access to everything again thanks to Atton. Couldn't pull nothing from it, just clear it out and scramble the remains as a fail safe. Damn shame that, but this new one was starting to work out nice - if nothing else, the newer model was appreciated.

"If we can find an access panel, I might be able to mail heads or tails of where they might be stashin' such a joint on this heap."

Didn't take long, that was the nice thing about ships like these, always had ways for the crew to do things and communicate and all that. Bigger crews meant more spots - even if the crew were currently missing or never there in the first place or whatnot.

A small flat object was pulled from the bag next, bent at just enough of a small angle to help get the necessary type of leverage to pry the cover of the panel off. Next a small cable and without further ado datapadd and console were connected and Sadie set about trying to pull down the info without altering the entire damn ship she was doing so.

She didn't want to curse their progress so far - since it weren't all that much, really - but a thought came to her while she was lookin' 'bout for a diagram of the layout of the ship. This is too kriffin' easy. By now she'd expected them to meet at least some resistance - even the Anathema's computer weren't putting up much offa battle in giving up the goods.

"Got it. Ain't too far from where we are if I'm lookin' at this correct." The cable was tugged out and Sadie looked at the removed cover, wondering if it was even worth putting it back in place. Instinct was saying to do it - leave no trace, but Sadie werne't all that sure it'd be found all that quick, neither. "Gimme a sec to send th' info t' Inyos an' we can be on our merry."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos glanced down as his data device silently informed him of the floorplan his Padawan had transmitted. Their plan called for the two starfighters to breech the Anathema through different auxiliary maintenance hatches, converge upon wherever Elira was being held, and then make their way to the hangar where they would either liberate an escape route from Imperial custody, or pry the doors open so the Crimson Tide could perform a speedy extraction. Alternatives had been suggested, like breaching via the hangar directly and attempting to hold it; but even the prospect of a Mandalorian comrade with a preposterously large repeating blaster had not been enough to make that strategy seem sane. At least this way, there was less risk of drawing the ship's entire troop compliment down upon their heads.

The faint pressure against his mind of another presence nearby snapped Inyos' attention away from the data device. Swift and fluid motions grabbed the Imperial technician by his lapel, dragging him off balance and towards Inyos, right into the path of a quick elbow strike to the temple. The impact wasn't quite enough, but it dazed the mechanic enough for a thrust of Force to send him slamming into the adjacent wall, slumping downwards into an unconscious heap.

Inyos reached out with his senses, searching the path ahead for further company. The corners of his eyes scrunched in a faint grimace. He felt something, but his perceptions felt clouded, and the specific details were hard to identify. It was something familiar, something from his past; but not Elira, he was sure of that. He felt her too, present but not in focus enough to discern a specific location; each time his mind brushed against the faint edges of her aura, his gut twisted with anger and pain. The other sensatoon though, that was something else. Something older, even, like a faint whisper of a childhood memory, something from when Padawan Aamoran had been little more than a mere child. He slowed his breathing and reached out towards it, like someone blindly fumbling in the dark, trying to discern the edges, the shape -

Suddenly, whatever it was reacted, its attention turning on Inyos like the piercing beam of a searchlight. Inyos stumbled, recoiling at the intensity of the familiar presence, barely managing to catch himself against the corridor wall. It wasn't possible. He was supposed to be dead. The same was true of Inyos as well, of course; and yet apparently here they both were. The will of the Force working in mysterious ways.

Inyos reached for the comm unit tucked into his ear. Their operating protocols called for silence where possible - just because their transmissions were jammed didn't mean the Empire wouldn't notice that they were coming from inside the ship - but now seemed like the most mitigating of circumstances.

"We have a problem," he offered enigmatically. No time for undue explanation. "You need to find Elira, and leave."

The Knight's fingers wrapped around the spartan hilt of his lightsaber.

"I will handle it."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie wanted to protest, she was just that kind of person sometimes, but this was stemming from some strange nobody gets left behind deal. That weren't in the game plan and as much as helping to save her mum might mean at the end of the day, she weren't really willing to risk the friends - family - she had now.

There was something in the way that Inyos had spoken though that left no room for griping, no way to say frak no, we're heading t' you. She cast an uncomfortable look at Vittore, knowing he'd get the gist of her thoughts and the conflict that they were heaving up. A breath was taken, one of them long drawn out ones that let your head settle and tll your heart off for trying to make bad decisions.

"Y'heard him. Let's get movin' b'fore more trouble shows up."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?"

Mal'achi was starting to utterly loathe surprises and he let it be known through every syllable that was spoken. Although the man standing before him wasn't the very definition of familiar, the aura that surrounded him was. A Jedi, how quaint; and not just any Jedi at that but one he had met oh so long ago back when he could have been considered respectable. Not that Mal'achi wasn't respectable now, mind you, he just very much doubted that his associates from back then would appreciate him fully now - Not that there were many, if any alive; Order 66 had seen to that. Though, as fate would always have it, some had slipped through the cracks. Inyos Aamoran was proof of that.

"Shouldn't you be dead? Emperor's orders aside, you don't exactly have the biological factors that allow for such..." Mal'achi waved his hand, not in any sort of conjuration except maybe that of thought. "Longevity."

He eyed the way that the Jedi readied his lightsaber with distaste. Saying that Mal'achi wasn't in the mood for such nonsense was a gross understatement.

"Please tell me you haven't come for that wretch of a woman; I'd hate to ruin your day."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Shouldn't you be dead? Apparently that sentiment was mutual. Inyos had been barely ten years old, barely a Padawan when the two of them had encountered each other. That should not have been memorable, but it was: not long after, Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban had been slain by ruthless assassins on Baltizaar. Not only had his death left a lasting mark upon Andor Tyree, the Jedi Master that the two shared: the loss of many Jedi lives that Mal'achi had been part of had also included the Padawan of one Count Dooku. As the former Jedi had dragged the galaxy into the turmoil of the Clone Wars, Mal'achi's face, and the adjacency of his death to the war's alleged root cause, had been a personal connection that Tyree did not allow him to forget.

But Mal'achi had not died, clearly. The weight that Andor Tyree had carried on his shoulders was for nought. And now here he was, the familiar stench of darkness clinging to him. Inyos had questions, and craved their answers; but only one thing mattered now. This ghost stood between him and Elira; between him and restoring a sense of family to his Padawan. No amount of curiosity could be allowed to supercede that.

"Apparently the Bando Gora are not quite as good at killing Jedi as their reputation suggests."

Thoughts tried to nag at Inyos. If Mal'achi had survived, where had he been all these years? What was he doing here, amongst the Empire? One of their new Imperial Knights? A relic of the Inquisition? And what was he doing here, embroilled with Sarlacc, and the arrest of Elira Asael? Inyos noted the way he had spoken of her. Scathing. Dismissive. Personal. What animosity existed between the two? What the blazes had Elira gotten herself into this time?

Inyos tightened the grip on his lightsaber, ready to react when needed, but not prepared to make the first move.

"Elira Asael will be leaving with me. I am taking her home to her family." His eyes narrowed, a growl of threat creeping into his voice. "I suggest you not stand in my way."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

"Home. Family." The words were repeated thoughtfully, though far too much to be taken seriously. "And what family is that, exactly?"

Before Inyos could answer, Mal'achi tutted loudly, the clicking made seem to echo in the corridor. It almost sounded like laughter from afar.

"Mother dead. Father..." His head tilted from side to side as a shoulder shrugged. "Well, lets just say 'Dead' to keep things simple, yes? Surely you don't mean the younger brother, err - half brother." As he continued, Mal'achi's tone wasn't entirely derisive, but it was certainly there in hints and unspoken whispers.

"You know, I've never met the man but I have heard numerous stories. Another shame, I think. If things were different we probably would have gotten along splendidly. Another universe, another time, perhaps."

The almost jovial attitude fell away as his gaze narrowed shrewdly upon Inyos. Yes, from stories told it wouldn't be hard to think at all that the one named Atton Kira was behind some of this. But that couldn't be all.

The Jedi knew then. What exactly did that mean, though? Surely not Ossus; that could complicate matters in ways that Mal'achi wasn't prepared for and he didn't exactly feel like hearing or dealing with bad news of that sort. The only thing now was to see if he could garner the necessary information from a man taught by his former Master. Oh, how the universe does love it's games.

"You're mistaken, Master Jedi. You and I both know there is no where that Elira truly calls home and as for family... Well, who better to look after her best interests than her elder brother, hmm?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore could feel the protrusions and sharp edges of the corridor wall digging into his back as he counted backwards from three. As zero arrived he stepped out, spinning to bring his slugthrower to bear, two shots snapped off with expert precision. Each one found its mark, piercing a vulnerability in his targets' Imperial issue armour, hollow point flechettes shredding and shattering the knee caps they carved through. The two Troopers crumpled, the muffled cries of agony from within their helmets cut short as the fast acting sedative coating took effect.

Perhaps a stun blast would have been more effective; but one had to presume that Imperial armour had to be good for something, and they didn't have the time to risk each guard encounter turning into a protracted scuffle. Armour piercing rounds, and a mix of pain and the right chems could take down a stampeding acklay if you knew what you were doing. Besides, if modern cybernetics could replace whole limbs, a new knee cap was a mere triviality.

Something was weird about these Troopers. Black armour. Strange helmets. They didn't really have the time to dwell, though. Confirming the next stretch of corridor was clear, Vittore tucked his pistol away, and quickly patted down the nearest Trooper's pockets and pouches. A second or two later, and he found what he was searching for. "Here," he called, holding up the code cylinder for Sadie to see, before tossing it towards her.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Why thank'ee kindly." If it had been any softer of a situation, Sadie might have given Vitt a bit of one of them mock girlie bows; probably weren't the time though.

Code cylinder sure made her life easier though. Not that she couldn't rig the doors open, but that sort of dren usually took a bit of time and Inyos' warning served as more than enough motivation to not dally. As the duo moved on, Sadie realized what it was about these damn military ships that she hated - they were gorram borin' - Halls all the same color, corridors all mirror images of each other. Was a damn near miracle that anyone could ever find their way through these things. She was used to picking out the tiny differences in stuff, and sure as skrag you'd get used to it all eventually but frak what a miserable damn existence.

One thing was for damn clear sure to her, though. If Sadie were gonna die, it sure as dren weren't gonna go and be in no place like this. Not without making some adjustments, at least; some big gaping hole to the blackness outside adjustments. Still, thanks to a little map and navigation system she'd worked up on her padd they were heading in the right direction. Opposition was getting a might bit more as thy went along, only further proving the point. Sadie left that stuff for Vitt, not that she didn't have the stomach for the work he was doing to the troopers - she just had other bits on mind and her own damn jobs to do.

"Jus' a bit further, if this thing's on th' honest. No word on how many guards might be waitin' for us, though."

[Vittore Montegue]

The guard that Vittore had swiped the code cylinder from stirred a little. Vittore helped him back to unconsciousness with a boot to the side of the helmet. It might not have worked ordinarily, with the shock padding and all, and might even have backfired, but Vittore was no rookie in danger of breaking his toes, and the durasteel caps in his boots got the job done just fine.

He was weary as Sadie provided her update. This wasn't the first time he'd had to fight his way to an objective: every bounty hunter faced that kind of a job from time to time, and even the freaks and monsters Vittore was contracted for could occasionally afford a little muscle. That was one of the myriad things that made Sadie so invaluable on the job. Data mining, false credentials, locked doors - all had faded into insignificance as obstacles. Maybe one day, her sessions with the Jedi guy would lead to more invaluable skills, and maybe even save his ass a few times. He was still coming to terms with that; still wrapping his head around the idea that the Force wasn't a defining trait. Because it wasn't, not with Sadie at least; and he couldn't help wondering just how many of the targets he'd put bullets and blaster bolts in had been nothing more than Sadies too.

Vittore flipped the latch on the side of his pistol, and slid out the magazine to check its contents. "Luckily," he said aloud, sliding the ammo back into place with a satisfying click, "I've got enough bullets f' everyone."

"Stay close," he added, pistol ready as he stepped through the door. "Hopefully these guys stuck to the theme, an' we're lookin' for one of those dumb hexagon prison corridors."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Aye Aye," The reply came with a bit of a forced smile.

Truth was, the closer they were getting to the belly of the beast, the more nervous Sadie was starting to feel. Not on account of raised danger or none of that, though she'd be lying if she said that weren't at least some concern. Nah, it all came down to what the frak was she supposed to say or not say when they got in the same room as Elira and pulled her out of whatever mess the Imps had her in. Sadie knew damn well how bad it might be, horror tales and all that; but the fact remained that they'd have to explain themselves somehow. Hey, I'm th' kid y' up an' abandoned an' 'm here t' rescue y', just didn't seem proper. Couldn't exactly go and say that they were sent by Atton neither, not with the fuss he'd put up and the fact this whole force-damned thing was her idea in the first place.

Sadie was starting to wish that their team had at least some familiar face to Elira, let one of them do the talking, her the slicing, and Vitt the badassery. But no, it was just the two hunters and Sadie was gonna have to think of something to go and say otherwise it was gonna end up being the first thing out of her mouth and the last thing she wanted to do was call the lady mum right from the start. Frakkin hells, should'a got some suggestions or somethin'. Aw well, was too late now and she sure as hells wasn't gonna go asking over the intercoms.

Well, it weren't no hexagonal mess, but the detention area - prison - brig - whatever you wanted to go and call it were a pretty obvious sight when it came up. Little help from a placard that identified it as such not withstanding. The two guards on either side of the door were one of them dead giveaways and Sadie waited not quite so patiently while Vitt took 'em out. Sealed door beyond was taken care of thanks to the cylinder, though Sadie figured the actual cells and such beyond might take a bit more.

Another round fired off by Vitt took care of whoever was in charge of keepin' watched on locked doors within. Easy job on a normal day, Sadie suspected; not so much today when the guy woke up and was gonna have to explain himself. She almost felt bad for the guy, almost suggested offing him now to save the pain of whatever would come later but that was a might too close to murder for her liking.

One of them big breaths was taken as she nudged the unconscious dupe out of the way and took over the console he was at. Few prisoners, it seemed, not just one. Shiny. Last thing Sadie needed to do was let out some angry Chevin or Swokes Swokes or other ugly bastard. Only identifying thing was prisoner numbers and none of them matched anything she'd seen on the doc that lead them on this journey in the first place.

"Frakkin Krolp... Well, let's go an' see what's behind door number one, yeah? I'm hopin'... a brand new landspeeder." Jokes aside, she made damn sure Vitt had his slug thrower ready before she keyed in the go-ahead for the cell to open.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore didn't know what he was expecting when those doors slid open. Or maybe he did. He'd seen this moment in holomovies a thousand times over, after all. Lady prisoner lying impatiently on the bunk. Door opens. Hero walks in. Pulls off a helmet. Says something suave. Not that Vittore was planning on sweeping Sadie's mother off her feet or nothing, but still. A little hero moment would have been nice, y'know?

What he saw was a different kind of familiar. His eyes had a split second to drink it in. The bed. The restraints. The rack of tools. The bloodstained hands and bloodsmeared smock of the man in the corner with the scalpel. Images flooded his mind. Sadie, chained to that cot back on Nar Shaddaa, runes and symbols and slices of all kinds carved into her flesh. The pain in his shoulder of a knife being jammed in and twisted, the ache in his wrists as he'd tried to struggle free from the cuffs that held him to the chair. The smell of burning person, burning monster, burning freak as he'd carved and burned and corroded his way to information in the past. And something else, lurking in the background of his mind. The redhead, with the hands that burned. The golden monster with the smile that gleamed and the eyes that glowed. The satisfied chuckles. The excruciating pain. The blackness that always followed.

The darkness crept out of the back of his mind, and wrapped itself around the edges of his vision. His pistol had fired before he even knew what was happening, flechettes puncturing the torturer's chest cavity, shredding the contents to shrapnel. Vittore had spent his life hunting aliens, Force users, targets that his employers called monsters. Right now, the galaxy saw fit to remind him that monsters weren't things. Monsters were actions. Monstrous choices. Monstrous deeds. Half the people he knew these days were Force users; half the others were non-humans of some sort; but Vittore had only seen one monster today. There was only one monster in that room.

He took a step forward, across the threshold. Now there were two.

The torturer, interrogator, medic, whatever he called himself, had slumped against a wall, tracking a bloody trail down the durasteel as he'd slid to the ground. Vittore could see the blood seeping from the hole in his chest; could taste the coppery scent on the air as he approached. Eyes stared straight at him, desperate. A mouth worked, only able to muster futile gasps rather than words. Monster or otherwise, pretty much everyone wanted the same thing at the end. To be spared. To be saved. Mercy.

Vittore raised his pistol again, three rounds discharged squarely at the Imperial officer's head. "Sorry, bud," he offered softly, allowing himself one last look before stashing his pistol away. "Fresh outta mercy today."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"So... not even speeder bike then."

One last half-hearted attempt at humor was made, even if it went and tasted a might bit bitter. Vitt's lower toned voice coming after that rather overkill of shooting meant it probably wasn't good whatever had been there. The fact he wasn't back peddling out to move on to the next was another bad sign. That's a bingo, then.

Took a bit to get Sadie to actually pry herself off the console and start making her way towards the cell. Then came those thoughts of what the frak to say. Sad thing was Sadie knew it didn't matter what she came up with, it was all gonna fall outta her skull the second she saw anything, even if it weren't bad. Still, she found herself hesitating on the edge of the cell, just out of view from those inside and keeping those inside from her own view. Weren't like she was waiting on any kind of invite from Vitt or nothing, but this was it. Time to face a woman she couldn't remember ever meeting who'd done gone and brought her into this messed up Galaxy.

Well, as bad as Sadie was thinking it might be it weren't that. She already knew what Elira Asael would look like thanks to the data from Atton, but here was seeing and then there was seeing. Especially when a person was restrained to a bed in an all uncomfortably familiar sort of way. She wasn't bad though, at least not as bad as Sadie's worst nightmares had gone and pictured. Yeah, she wasn't good, neither, but nothing a few bacta patches and some pain killers couldn't fix near as far as Sadie could tell. That was good, well about as good as it could be with someone still having been on the edge of an Imperial whackjob's blade. She didn't seem all that with it, though. Eyes were open but no body seemed frakking home.

"Frakkers drugged her," Sadie tossed the obvious at Vitt, softer than usual though, no bite and - force dammit - was that concern?

She quickly went to the side of the bed and started making with the undoing of the restraints.

"Looks like we'll be havin' to help her out, literally."

[Vittore Montegue]

Sadie was right; and that was a problem.

Not the her being right part, but the fact that Elira Asael didn't look like she was in a state to walk out of here on her own power. They'd had a plan to compensate for that: that's why their little extraction team had three bodies, not two. Except that number three was off being secretive somewhere, probably stealing all of Vittore's damned hero thunder. Which meant that either Vittore or Sadie was gonna have to carry her solo; or they'd do it tandem, and have a hell of a time keeping themselves alive while doing it.

Vittore tucked his pistol a little more securely into the back of his pants, reaching inside his jacket instead for a more convenient weapon. Lighter, and enough stopping power to take someone down in a single easy shot; but only about twelve hits before the thing overheated and needed a new cell. The MSD-32 disruptor wasn't strictly legal either, nor was it the sort of weapon that you could shoot someone with and expect them to live, but frankly? To hell with these sithspit bastards. Vittore was done playing nice. Or at least, nice-adjacent.

Crouching a little to bring himself down to the right level, he guided a clammy and unresponsive arm to drape itself across his shoulders. The height difference was going to make this a pain in the ass, but at long as Vittore was able to hold up most of her weight, Sadie should be able to manage just fine with keeping her upright and on course. Hopefully Elira was the kind of drugs that left you vacantly on autopilot, rather than the kind that left you utterly immobile - he knew from experience that the whole feet dragging along the deck plates while people heave you around the place thing wasn't pleasant in the aftermath. Better than the alternative though, he supposed.

"I've only got one hand free," he pointed out, wrapping the other around Elira's back to hitch up her other armpit. "Gonna need you t' keep us alive until we get to our exit. You ready babe? We got this."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Damn right we do." Maybe. Hopefully if th' verse ain't in a mind t' frak us royally.

Truth was, up until this point Sadie had been downright confident, cocky even that this was gonna go smooth as anything. She hadn't really considered what was gonna happen if she and Vitt were forced into a situation like the one they were now arse-deep in. Elira wasn't heavy, not with the both of them supporting her - even if it were at odd angles - and apparently her head was having some sort of bare consciousness that let her kinda stumble along, but this was a far sight shy of ideal, that was for damned sure.

Important thing to keep in all kinds of perspective was that they had her. Which meant this whole operation could turn from findin' to gettin' th' frak outta here. Right then, on to stage two or whatever fraking stage this was at this point - Sadie figured a more organized and proper group of folks would actually keep track of that sort of thing but that certainly weren't them.

She would have felt a might bit better having a blaster in her free hand, but instead it was busy getting with finding a comm in her bag. Thank frak she weren't like some girls whose bags were somehow magical portals that contained every last bit of necessity and a damn sight more of stuff that weren't. Only the serious essentials were crammed into the small thing that was barely big enough for her datapadd and it's little tidbits. That made it easier to find what she needed on the hurry and before you could say could this get any worse and doom 'em all, she was radioing the Tide.

"Unc, we got what we came for, time t' make with th' gettaway. Sendin' y' our whereabouts now - layout should already be ready for ya. Don't suppose y' can make it nice an' easy an' get t' th' closest bay? Figure they gotta have somethin' nearby t' keep 'em from havin' t' haul bad-folks throughout th' whole damned ship."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Brother.

With every passing moment, that concept sank deeper into Aamoran's mind, the intricate woven web of the Force slowly revealing itself. His life as a Jedi had begun in the shadow of Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban, the student his Master had proudly trained before him, whose tragic death in some small part had helped spark the Clone Wars that saw Inyos become a Knight himself. When the Jedi had fallen, it had been Mal'achi's sister who had helped smuggle him to safety, and come to terms with his life beneath the Purge. Years later, he encountered Elira's daughter by chance; and now she was his Padawan, the two of them liberated from personal suffering by the hands of Vittore Montegue. What purpose did the Force have, entangling him with this family so? What other segments of his fate were woven together with theirs?

Inyos pried an arm from where the crushing pressure of Mal'achi's Force abilities had pinned him, and lashed out with his own; enough to break his opponent's concentration for the split second it took to stumble free. His shoulders sagged from exhaustion, every ounce of effort invested in keeping Mal'achi focused on him, buying time for Saidra and her companion to complete their task. Fortunately for them, this unrecognisable shadow of a once Jedi was not lacking for ego.

"You betrayed the Jedi."

Inyos advanced, punctuating that statement with another thrust of Force; another shove to compromise Mal'achi's balance.

"You betrayed our Master. You betrayed your own family."

Reaching out with another arm, Inyos wrenched a maintenance panel from the wall, hurling it towards Mal'achi; something else for him to focus on for a moment. With each advancing step he mustered his energy, readied himself, focused on the lightsaber at his hip. One strike was all it would take. Guilt would follow, but for now Inyos saw a clear path ahead. An already dead brother, traded for a mother spared and a daughter reunited. It was an easy choice. A good bargain. The others on Cloud City would understand: after all, they called themselves the Exchange.

"To think," Inyos uttered, feeling the cool metal of his lightsaber in his fingers, almost ready to strike. "I once looked up to the legacy you left behind."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

"Well the way I see it, that's a bit your problem; not mine, now isn't it?" The general calm in his voice was bound to irritate Inyos - if a Jedi could get irritated, that was.

True, Mal'achi hadn't had any need for exertion of this nature in ages, but it undeniably felt good. There was something so utterly genuine about reaching out to The Force, of using it to deflect the Jedi's attacks and to launch his own in return. He had known the taste of this back when he himself had been misguided, but since embracing the true power that The Force had to offer, there was nothing that Mal'achi could truly compare it to. To think that Jedi denied themselves the full scope of what could be achieved was almost heartbreaking save for the fact that in a way it meantthere was simply more for those that were enlightened.

"Legacy..." It was hard not to laugh at the thought. Oh yes, once he would have been considered one of Andor Tyree's star pupils, a Knight worthy of praise if ever the Jedi could deem fit to offer such things. But now? Now he was so much greater than he ever was and barely a single soul knew his name. A name that was passed down from one of the great heroes of the Old Republic no less. Legacy indeed. Maybe Elira wasn't so mad for choosing to ignore it.

This entire clash was taking far too long to resolve, however. No doubt the Jedi had colleagues that were sniffing about and as much fun as toying with Inyos was proving to be, he did have better things to be seeing to.

"You know, I've always believed that Jedi were fools, and well, given who you came here to 'rescue' I haven't exactly seen any argument against it but truly... truly... now I know you are simply all irredeemable."

There was no denying how the surge that welled up behind him as he called upon The Darkside made him feel almost invincible, but only a true idiot would honestly perceive themselves that way. Still, Mal'achi couldn't help but grin as he brought down the full power he had called upon the Jedi. The pressure wave he envisioned wasn't simply pleased with crushing Inyos into the deck, it would hurl him down the corridor, willing bones to shatter upon every impact as he tumbled. In truth, the actual energy that was released wasn't quite so impressive, but it certainly got the point across. There was satisfaction in watching his enemy hurled away as if nothing more than a leaf caught up in a torrent of wind.

"Such a pitty. From what I heard you showed such promise on Ord Ithil."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Ord Ithil.

It wasn't easy to get a rise out of the wayward Jedi; and certainly not an emotional one. He felt of course, like everyone did: but his emotions were distant, and muted, kept out of reach behind stasis fields that let only the occasional fraction bleed through. A relic of a Jedi life was the easiest explanation, but in truth it had always been that way for Inyos, as long as he could remember, at least. Emotions slow to form, slow to boil, never really achieving anything more dramatic than a simmer. But that name? The name sparked in him, like the first ignition that set off a gas fire.

A hand lashed out, Force augmented muscles snatching hold of a protrusion from the bulkhead, arresting his ballistic trajectory at Mal'achi's impulse. His shoulder wrenched, but adrenaline and the Force prevented him from feeling the resultant pain. Instead he strained, planting his boots on the ground. Ord Ithil. The world pulsed in him, pounding in his ears like an angry heartbeat. Pinpricks of electricity prickled at his fingertips as his hands became fists. His eyes locked on Mal'achi across the length of the corridor. Ord Ithil. How did he know that name? How could he so casually mention the world that had consumed Inyos so totally; the black prison that had sustained him on an endless diet of sorrow and darkness? The world where Mandan Hidatsa had died by Inyos' own hands, and where he had succumbed to the same vile and bitter corruption that he sensed tainting Mal'achi's every word?

The anger clawed at him, like a persistent whisper inside his head, urging him to close the distance; unleash the full Force of his fury; to pound answers out of Mal'achi with relentless violence until Inyos' knuckles were cracked and bleeding. It urged him to tear the man limb from limb, to punish him not only for his knowledge, but for whatever this was: this threat to Sadie's mother, to Mal'achi's own sister, to the family - the crew - that had chosen to harbour him in these dark times. He knew where to strike, and longed to smell the sickly scent of lightsaber burning into expendable flesh, searing into shoulders, and thighs, burning fingers into stumps one tiny bone at a time -

The crackle of comms sliced through his anger: a familiar voice, a message waited for, and an equally familiar response. His Padawan, successful. Extraction inbound. Mission all but accomplished. Elira, safe.

Inyos' lips curled into an emotionless smile, eyes locked onto Mal'achi with a piercing stare that could freeze the blood. "Don't worry, Mal'achi," he called, a hand delving into the pocket of his jacket for the gift that Captain Montegue had insisted he bring with him. "I promise that next time, I'll show you exactly what Ord Ithil left me capable of."

The blaster was drawn in an instant, but it didn't train itself upon the Dark Jedi in the distance. Such an action would have been futile: any blast that it could have unleashed would certainly have been dodged, deflected, or otherwise shrugged off. Instead Inyos aimed for the small panel on the wall, affixed to the ridge that separated this section of corridor from the next. Energy sliced through the panel's circuitry, triggering the failsafe that caused the blast doors to close in the event of tampering, emergency, or battle damage. The diamond center point of the Imperial blast door shrank like a frame around Inyos' vision. It might have been a relief, or at the very least offered a sense of finality, were it not for the smug smile still affixed to Mal'achi's face.

Inyos refused to let himself dwell upon it. Fumbling Saidra's gifted data device, he tugged around the graphic of the Anathema's guestimated internal layout on the screen, zeroing in on his position, judging his options. The route to the hangar bay was through that freshly closed blast door. Of course it was. Behind him lay the path back to the fighter he had arrived by, but the danger of that choice clawed at his mind: even if the Imperials had not already determined his path well enough to be waiting for him if he doubled back, he couldn't risk the possibility that Mal'achi and his henchmen would conclude that the hangar was everyone's most likely destination. Formidable as Captain Montegue was, and grudgingly trustful as Inyos was of his ability to keep his Padawan safe, he couldn't risk the possibility of Mal'achi reaching the bay before them, and making this entire endeavour for naught. Idly, he recalled accounts read in his youth of Master Jinn's last mission as a Jedi, and Master Kenobi's chilling description of the dark threat that had awaited them in Naboo's royal hangar. That was not an occurrence he would allow to repeat.

There. An option. Instincts left to gather dust since the Clone Wars and the Purge stirred to life, the Force helping inspire him to a solution shown on the approximated schematics. He reached a hand to his ear, triggering the comlink that Saidra had calibrated for the Exchange's private use. "The danger is delayed, but only by a little. I am on my way to you. I have found a -" What was it Mandan always called it, moments before he did this very same thing? "- short cut."

Leaving the channel open, Inyos reached for his lightsaber and tugged it free, thumbing the azure blade into life and thrusting it into the floor, the superenergised plasma carving through the deck plates like a knife through butter.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Of course this would be the hard part. It weren't exactly some epic scramble for an exit, not with how they were helping the near unconscious reason they were there in the first place along, but it sure as dren weren't no stroll down one of Cloud City's boardwalks neither. Not with the fact that whatever small force was actually manning the ship now seemed to be coming out of the damn walls at the trio. Not in earnest though, which seemed a bit off, was almost like the entire ship was waiting on something and Sadie was pretty damn sure it weren't for their little group to be getting gone.

Was a bit of a refreshing feeling as they reached the hangar bay and found it mostly empty. The few folks inside were dispatched pretty easy now that they weren't all on the move, Vitt saw to that in short order after him and Sadie made sure Elira was propped somewhere she wouldn't exactly be in danger of no stray fire or falling over. Sadie hung back while the heat was dropped off, keeping watch and guard and feeling a bit ill at ease thanks to Inyos' not-quite optimistic sounding report in. Short Cut sounded an awful lot like I'm about to do something incredibly stupid - Well, if her experience with that sort of thing was anything to go by.

One thing was downright perturbing, though. Sadie'd told Atton where to meet them and she'd figured they wouldn't exactly be waiting on him. This was one of them quick run into the ship deals as far as she had been concerned but with no Tide in the hangar waiting on them, this had a chance to get way too ugly far too fast. Weren't gonna take much before some sort of reinforcements showed up.

"Yo Unc," Sadie voiced into the communicator - not exactly frantic, but her tone wasn't exactly all on the calm either. "Be real nice if y' could hurry the frak up an' get us outta here anytime now."

[Sleazy]

Left to fend for itself alone outside the ship, the Crimson Tide swooped and tumbled through the stars, dodging fire from the weapons systems that Vittore Montegue's bombing run hadn't fully disabled, and dodging the last few TIE Fighters that Inyos Aamoran's display of piloting prowess hadn't as yet dispatched. The Tide's purpose had been to function as a distraction, drawing the focus away from the Anathema while the rescue party snuck aboard. Message from Sadie K'Vesh received however, an unexpected turn of the tables had turned the last few chasing TIEs into debris and vapour, and now the Tide screamed like an arrow through the stars.

Swearing echoed through the ship, as the remainder of the rescue party fought to complete the final steps. A data spike planted as soon as Vittore and Sadie snuck aboard had granted access to the Anathema's systems, Nen Lev'i tapping away furiously as Atton Kira ducked and dodged a path towards the Dreadnaught, brute forcing his way through security systems to scramble targetting systems and ensure the hangar bay was wedged firmly open. Communications channel now left open, everyone aboard the Tide could hear the blaster fire as an apparent other wave of Stormtroopers descended upon the hangar bay.

Seconds later, the Tide pierced the atmosphere shield, slamming to an abrupt halt a few meters short of the far wall, that would have rattled Sleazy's bones if he'd had any. Fortunately, the comms droid was firmly secured, strapped to the open boarding ramp by cargo webbing welded in place. His ocular implants settled upon the encroaching precession of soldiers as they funnelled out from one of the adjoining corridors.

"Eat blaster, you miserable sons of bitches!" Sleazy vocabulated loudly, mechanical fingers closing around the controls of the heavy repeating blaster bolted to the ramp in front of him, spraying a torrent of deadly read energy backwards and forwards across the arriving reinforcements.

[Nen Lev'i]

Nen almost fell over as the Crimson Tide came to it's abrupt stop; fortunately he managed to catch himself before losing his balance completely. He offered a self-satisfied smile to Atton Kira, standing a few paces away; but the man seemed anything but impressed. Nen decided to assume he was simply focused on the mission at hand, and that underneath all the scowling and bitter words, Atton - and everyone else - was definitely super impressed by how well he was handling all of this.

He felt Sleazy begin to unload upon the bad guys more than he heard it. There was a good reason for that: the door separating them from the boarding ramp airlock thing was still firmly closed, keeping precious atmosphere inside the ship instead of it cascading out of the hatch that had been hanging open for the last minute or two. That quickly changed, Atton thumping the door control with considerable zeal and, with a nod and some sort of grunted shout that Nen couldn't hear over the E-Web, charged out and into the fray.

Nen had been rehearsing this next part in his mind for pretty much the entire way since Cloud City, so he knew exactly what to do. As soon as his boots landed on the ramp, he and Atton ducked under the Tide's hull and dismounted the ramp from the sides, staying safely behind Sleazy's line of fire. The ramp was aft-facing, vermilion fury spraying out in an arc beneath the Tide's engines; Atton began to stalk forward over on the starboard side, and Nen followed suit on the port, both keeping their eyes open for where Vittore, Sadie, Inyos, and Elira Asael were pinned down. Nen spotted them first, taking cover behind a few convenient cargo containers. A stab of excitement surged through him and, barely remembering to keep low and avoid getting shot, he set off towards them with a sprint.

Three meters away from the edge of the containers, Nen threw himself to the ground, skidding the last stretch on his knees until his shoulder thumped against the side of the container. Utterly unable to contain himself, he turned to Sadie with a grin.

"Come wi'mme, if y' want t' live."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

When they'd gone over the plans back home, nothing like this had really been imagined by the likes of Sadie, even if it had been mentioned. There was a awful lot of that meeting she didn't recall if it didn't directly relate to her; not that escaping weren't on the list of stuff that she needed to know about, but Sadie had a way of focusing on her parts and only thinly listening to everyone else's bits. Trust had to be placed in others for that sort of dren to work but so far, when it really came down to it in the few times in her life she'd been in something this heavy, it always worked out so far. And if anybodies were worthy of that sort of trust in the here and know it was these fine folks.

Even if she did feel like thumping Nen a good one for his smartass holo-film quotes.

Sadie managed to avoid that, too much on mind regarding the mess that was around them. Sure, Sleazy was setting down a damn good cover, sure their ride was here and Atton and Nen could more than help with making sure that Elira got on board all safe and sound... but one member of their little party was still plain missing and the thought of moving or leaving him behind didn't sit right.

She looked towards the trio of men around her and back at Elira whose eyes were still far too glassy to let on that she had no clue what was taking place around her. "You guys get her on board, savy? I ain't leavin' without Inyos."

[Atton Kira]

Atton Kira was not built for this. Perhaps he never had been. In his youth you might have described him as scrappy, prone to playfully provoking bar fights, but he'd grown out of that decades ago. The aura he had cultivated since was of a man who had people in his employ for anything physical or fighting related. His task was merely to stand there, reinforce his air of superiority, and ensure that everyone else felt suitably inadequate.

Not today, though. Today the suit jacket was traded a deflector vest worn beneath his overcoat. Today he wore a focused scowl instead of a smug smile. Today he was armed with a twin-barrel carbine instead of a silvered tongue. Today he marched in front of the shadows, rather than lurking within them. Striding through a firefight with calm purpose wasn't part of the routinr. It was stupid. It was foolish. It was the very opposite extreme of what Atton Kira was supposed to do. And yet -

A blaster bolt grazed the edge of Atton's deflector field, the inertia shoving his shoulder back a little. Unphased, he primed the carbine's lever action charge handle, and unleashed both barrels squarely into the trooper's chest with barely even a glance. The carbine let out a satisfying flurry of clunks and clicks as he primed the handle again.

These assclowns had his sister. There was hell to pay.

Atton had seen that Nen Lev'i had found Sadie, the Captain, and his wayward sister. That was good. Between Sleazy's heavy repeating distraction, Nen's well meaning actions, and Vittore Montegue's reluctantly acknowledged death dealing talent, Elira was surely safely on her way yo the makeshift infirmary aboard the Crimson Tide, and the waiying attention of Montague's medical droid. With Vhiran Antilles waiting at the helm - a Force sensitive get-away pilot had seemed like an immensely wise choice - Atton had every confidence that his family would escape the Anathema as unscathed as was realistically fesible. But this was more than a rescue. This was Sarlacc, once again, messing with people in whom Atton had invested a mixture of affection and tolerance. This was not a flee and count yourself lucky sort of situation. This was a stand; or at least it needed to be.

Reaching one of the corridors that departed the bay, Atton shrugged the duffel bag from his shoulders, and delved into a pocket, pulling out a small tool to begin prying off the cover on the blast door controls. Sadie may have been by far the superior slicer, but Atton Kira was hardly a novice; and this simple task required a particulqr kind of malicious conviction that his niece - he desperately hoped - did not have. Fire suppression systems. Vent controls. Emergency protocols. Tweaked. Deleted. Replaced -

"Step away from the panel!" Atton heard from behind him, and froze. The trooper loomed, a turn of Atton's head glimpsing the blaster aimed at his head. He ran the calculations quickly: distance, weapon intensity, the charge left in his shield vest. Not enough. Not for a direct shot. Perhaps if he -

Before another thought could form, a streak of blue sailed through the air, the trooper's blaster clattering to the deck with a third of his arm still attached. The mask hid the shock on the trooper's face, but didn't stifle the gurgled gasp as a lightsaber blade erupted from the center of his chest before instantly extinguishing, a gaping hole left in its wake. As the fresh corpse collapsed to the ground, Atton sighed in relief at the Jedi standing behind them. A moment later relief became confusion; he leaned to the side, peering down the adjacent corridor, the superheated edges of a lightsaber-carved path through the walls still glowing in the distance.

His eyes returned to Inyos, gratitude firmly stifled behind sarcasm. "What took you so long?"

[Inyos Aamoran]

"Your brother is here, apparently."

The bluntness of the statement was not accidental. Inyos probed into Atton's reaction with eyes and mind, wondering just how many important secrets the man was hiding from him, and everyone. Once, Atton Kira had been a friend; but much had changed fot both of them since then. Now he was little more than an enigma in the shape of a man, whose horde of knowledge and aversion to transparency represented a clear danger to everyone he professed to care for.

But Atton's reaction felt genuine. The confusion, and then the shock, was real. A deeper conversation was required; but for once, Inyos found that he was the one with the unshared knowledge, an uncomfortable reversal of roles.

His demeanour softened, slightly.

"Also, your brother is still alive. I perhaps should have led with that."

Inyos turned, surveying the scene, reaching out with the Force to feel his surroundings. His companions, off across the hangar, waiting for their opportunity to fall back to the ship. More soldiers, moving through the labyrinth of corridors, trying to converge on their position from all sides. The malevolent presence of Mal'achi, lurking somewhere in the distance. Sadie's stubborn concern, piercing through it all like a floodlight in the dark.

"I am here."

Inyos spoke through the comlink, but also the Force, pouring a cascade of reassurance into his words. From across the bay, beneath the curved hull of the Crimson Tide, Inyos found his Padawan's attention, and met her gaze.

"Get everyone aboard. We are right behind you."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie's head went and nodded on it's own accord before she could speak out. "Right."

All heads accounted for, then. And while Inyos and Atton were now a bit too far off for her proper liking, she didn't feel all anxious about them all getting on board the Tide, not as much as she had just a tick or two ago - probably a trick thanks to Jedi stuff, but Sadie weren't even considering complaining 'bout it. Job weren't over yet and level heads all around seemed like a mighty fine thing.

Didn't seem like directions were needed as the herd of troopers were thinned out, just one moment of clear was all they'd need and a mad dash, stumble, whathaveyou would get everyone to the finish line. Plan revision, then.

"Nen, y' help me. Vitt's gonna be th' one we want with hands free if things get hot again while we're makin' a move."

Sadie looked back to the ship before she began easing Elira up from where she'd been let to rest, this round she addressed her partner.

"Hope you boys got a good goin' away present for these bastards or this might be a real quick trip now that they're on t' us."

[Vittore Montegue]

"That's a good question."

Despite their situation, Vittore had to fight to suppress a grin as he deflected the question to Nen.

"You got it?"

Wordlessly, Nen shrugged off the canvas carry bag that had been slung over his shoulder, letting the strap slide down his arm and into his hand. Vittore took it from him with the eagerness of a teenager on Life Day - which was much the same as a young child on Life Day, except you had to do that teenage asshole thing of trying to not let anyone see that you had an emotion other than moody - and flipped the bag open, tugging out his beloved Z50 (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Z50_grenade_launcher). Slinging the now empty bag across his body, and making the grenade launcher nice and comfortable in his hands, Vittore let out a low chuckle.

"Oh, yeah. We're about t' give these Stormies one hell of a send off."

Careful to keep himself low, Vittore moved from his perch into a low crouch, progressing past Sadie and Nen to the end of their temporary barricade. In the back of his mind came a shuffle, people squabbling and changing places, and when he spoke the eerie voice of his father was what came tumbling out. "You're carryin' Elira, so there ain't much chance of stayin' fast and low. Don't try anythin' fancy. No serpentine, firin' back, no Force powers, no nothin'. You set your sights on that ramp, an' you trust in me an' Sleazy t' keep those Troopers shootin' at somethin' that ain't you. We clear?"

Vittore didn't wait on acknowledgements; didn't need to. It was a weird situation that he found himself in from time to time: part and parcel of being "Captain" he supposed, even though Captain of your own personal ship didn't exactly count for much. There were times when Sadie, or Nen, or Kira, of that deathstick-smoking ass that Emelie was shacking up with would talk back, or disagree, or offer some sort of alternative ideas. Most of the time, Vittore was onboard with that; or at least, most of the time he tried to be. But other times, there was nothing. Vittore would call the shots, and everyone would follow along: not because they felt they shouldn't disagree; but because of some weird trust scenario where they all figured that Vittore knew what he was talking about. It was strange, and nice, and confusing all at once. Now though didn't much seem like a moment to dwell on it, though.

"Okay then. On three, two -"

Before the count had finished, Vittore rose from his crouch, finger pulling back on the trigger and unleashing the first of the thermal charges from the Z50's revolving magazine. The projectile spat forth with a resounding thunk that he felt reverberate through his entire body; a little over a second later it made contact with the ground, impact trigger detonating the thermal explosives in an explosion that rattled the very atoms of everything in the comparatively enclosed space. Vittore felt the air shift in response to the pressure wave; saw the Crimson Tide sway slightly out of his peripheral vision. His hand pulled back on the pump, mechanisms rotating the drum to line up the next charge.

"Go, go, go!" he shouted over the ringing in his ears, slowly beginning to move sideways himself, shielding Sadie and Nen as they staggered forwards with Elira draped between them. Another grenade surged forward, catching one of the Stormtroopers in the shoulder and taking half his torso in the process. Vittore clenched his teeth, unsure of what emotion might present itself on his face if he didn't. The smell of ozone and burning flesh clawed at the back of his throat, wisps of smoke beginning to fill the hangar. Vittore's sideways translation continued, grenades launched at intervals as he and his charges progressed across the hangar and into the shadow of the Crimson Tide.

Vittore stopped as his shin clunked against the edge of the Tide's boarding ramp, bobbing a foot or two above the deck. A click followed from the launcher, and a curse followed; out of ammo. Well damn. Options were contemplated for a split second, before he sprung into action, setting the launcher down beside Sleazy and his big frakking gun and grabbing hold of the Tide above him and hauling his way up onto the ramp. He crouched down, waving Nen and Sadie over, hoisting Elira out of their grip and over his shoulder, jogging up the ramp and into the bowels of the ship as fast as he could.

"Bee!" he called, addressing the second hand but frustratingly useful medical droid that Emelie had insisting on acquiring for him - protecting her assets, she said. The droid was already where he was supposed to be: a cabin that had officially become the Crimson Tide's unofficial medical bay. Crates of supplies, a stockpile of medical equipment, bacta shots, kolto patches; pretty much anything medical on Cloud City that hadn't been nailed down was stashed up against one wall, and the 21-B medical droid loitered beside them, ready to provide - hopefully - whatever attention Elira would need, for the next few hours at least.

"She's drugged, but I've no idea what else," Vittore explained in his father's clipped, military-sounding voice, as he carefully lowered Elira onto the bed in the closest approximation of comfortable he could manage. "Get her triaged; get her stable; and I'll -"

He trailed off, already half way through the door.

"- get us the hell out of here."

[Vhiran Antilles]

Vhiran sensed the rescue party clambering aboard one by one. It was bloody inconvenient, frankly. Feeling the Force pressing on the edges of his consciousness was a pain in the arse, and was exactly the sort of distraction that he didn't need while trying to keep an unfamiliar ship somewhat stable in the middle of an Imperial hangar bay full of people shooting at him. Right now he'd kill for a deathstick - even one of the odd-tasting new brand that Emelie had helped arrange access to; kolto infused into the something or other to undo some of the damage he'd been doing to himself by smoking them for so long - but that was hardly an option. Stylish as it might have been to sit here at the helm with a deathstick hanging out of the corner of his mouth, the need for his wits to be sharp and sober outweighed the need to stave off the headaches, the whispers, and the cravings.

He felt the angry, and yet oddly satisfied presence of Vittore Montegue growing gradually louder as he stalked his way onto the bridge. He felt the knot of worry dancing around inside Sid's gut, and the way it abated ever so slightly when Vittore's aura brushed against hers. They might as well have been rolling around on the deck making out for all difference it would have made to Vhiran's senses; wasn't any less distracting, but he supposed that was his cross to bear rather than theirs. People felt what they felt; weren't much good trying to insist they do otherwise, because they'd still go and do it anyway.

"Nose gun, if y' don't mind, mate."

A hand reached over his shoulder to snap his fingers, and then point towards the ramp that led down between the pilot and copilot's seats, for emphasis. Blessedly, the Captain acquiesced to the insubordinate order aboard his own ship. Part of Vhiran supposed he should probably apologise for that later, when he wasn't quite so on edge; the rest of him knew that he definitely wouldn't ever actually bother. Still, the thought was what counts, right?

Lovebirds crowbarred apart, Vhiran felt the tiniest mote of relief: enough to fixate and capitalise on. He reached through the gap forming between the two of them; felt Atton and Inyos clamber onto the ramp about three seconds before he felt and heard the heavy repeater cease and the ramp mechanisms began to judder their way closed. Off beside him, he felt Sadie settle herself into the navigator's chair. Her usual seat, if he was to guess, by the tiny bubble of almost imperceptibly faint comfort that settled around her.

"She's gonna be alright, love," he offered quietly, feeling the ramp clunk closed. A hand reached out and flipped the controls that had been limiting repulsorlift intensity; the Tide bounced a little, noticeable to those within it's artificial gravity only thanks to a slight flutter of vertical inertia. "Soon as we're off in t' those stars, she'll be free an' clear."

[Atton Kira]

"Last thing's first," Atton interjected, in not quite his usual commanding tone. There was something a little off about it. Something colder, harsher, and more subdued. His normally wide and mirthful eyes had narrowed, fixated on the view beyond the Tide's viewport as if the hangar's bulkhead were itself entirely responsible for what had transpired here.

Vhiran Antilles glanced in his direction; bit it was Vittore Montegue that Atton addressed.

"Port side of our exit. Two meters up, three meters left. A single concussion missile should do it."

The tone in the cockpit shifted. That tended to happen when you pulled a stunt like this at the last minute. Atton didn't care. If he'd brought it up earlier, if he'd shared the notion with the group, they wouldn't have gone along with it. They'd have talked him out of it. Moral considerations, or restraint perhaps. Don't anger the dragon that you're stealing from. But this wasn't about anger. This wasn't about something as petty as retaliation. It was about changing the narrative. For now, these Sarlacc people - whoever they were - had pushed, and poked, and prodded at this group of people; the Exchange, as Miss Shadowstar and he had decided they should be known. They had been there at every step, hissing and biting every time the Exchange tried to peel back a new layer of mystery, like snakes hiding beneath a rock. It was defensive encounter after defensive encounter; even now, all they were doing was rescuing someone who was, by association, one of their own. Sarlacc acted, and the Exchange reacted. Things needed to change. For better or worse, Sarlacc needed to see that the Exchange was just as capable of acting; that they wouldn't just respond, but would escalate if needed. Perhaps it would be their undoing; or perhaps it was the single punch to the face that every school yard bully needed to receive. That was the way the universe worked; and that was something that the others weren't yet ready to understand.

Aside from one of them, of course. Fortunately for Atton, Mister Montegue happened to be the one with his finger on the trigger.

The explosive impact of the missile shook the Tide furiously, a large portion of the detonation translated back into the hangar itself instead of being absorbed by the hull. Now contained within the pressurised hull of the yacht, Atton was deprived of the cries and panic of the Troopers who still remained in the bay; he was forced to let his imagination superimpose those sounds as the atmosphere shield flickered, the main power conduit leading to it transformed into a smoking crater of twisted metal. Atmosphere suddenly began to boil off into space, a typhoon of flowing air carrying the Tide, debris, and a dozen or so unfortunate Stormtroopers out into the frigid void of space. The Tide was buffeted mercilessly, but Vhiran Antilles was quick to react and a natural with the controls, twisting and ducking their speedy way out of the bay and towards freedom.

For those inside the Tide, that was where the effect ended. For Atton Kira though, and for those still aboard the ship, it continued much longer. The few subtle modifications that he had snuck into the emergency protocols convinced the main computer that fires raged in certain parts of the ship, while elsewhere blast doors were tricked into jamming open. The violent suction that had already torn the atmosphere from the hangar surged down corridors and through vents, and howled through the lightsaber-hewn path that Inyos had carved right into the heart of the ship. The effect would last only seconds perhaps, until someone in a position of control managed to seal blast doors, lock off compartments, and preserve bubbles of atmosphere in the important parts of the ship. Anyone who managed to wrap their hands around something bolted down would likely survive the ordeal with little more than sore lungs and a few harrowing memories.

Those in charge, though? Those responsible? They'd learn how the folks from Cloud City did business. None of this eye for an eye restraint; instead a sense of compensation for anguish rendered.

To Atton Kira, that seemed like a fair exchange.

[Elira Asael]

***


You knew it was a bad start to the day when you woke up and things were bright. Not bright as if someone had one of those infuriating interrogation lamp techniques going on; but bright as in sterile, bright as in too clean. That generally meant a hospital sort of setting and while the exact details on the last bits and bobs she could remember were blurry at best, Captain - thank you very much - Asael was fairly certain she had been stuck on some Imperial ship being asked one too many questions about things she didn't have the slightest clue of, or maybe did and would rather have forgotten.

"Vos..." Oh yes, because clearly cursing solves everything and will bring clarity on the situation.

Once the ringing in her head decided to calm down a little and her eyes began to unblur, Elira still wasn't too certain she wasn't in some sort of Imperial facility - all hospitals had that obnoxious factoid of looking far too like each other; seriously, use some damn different colored paint for once! - though she was keenly aware she wasn't alone. Not that that was much different than the last moments she could remember anyway.

The strangest thing was, it wasn't Mal's stupid smug face that was looking at her, nor was it one of his blade-happy subordinates that she had met so far. No, this guy sure as hell carried himself in that self-satisfied way that her older brother did but somehow was even worse. Elira didn't know who the hell he was or what sort of cliche inhuman horrors he was going to inflict on her, but she knew she wanted to punch him. Now... if only she had the strength to do so.

[Justin Dechen]

"Oh good, you're awake."

Justin certainly didn't make it sound like it was good. His voice walked a fine line between irritated and disinterested, and he spoke into his left pectoral, fumbling through the corresponding pocket of his lab coat for his pen light. Pulling it out and clicking it on, he grabbed a hold of his patient by the cheekbone and eyebrow, tugging her eyelid open for a quick blast of radiance before switching to the other. Satisfied - not because he'd noticed anything useful about his patient that the computer readouts weren't already telling him; it was just one of those small perks of the job that got him through the day - he clicked off the light and tucked it back away.

"Yep. Definitely awake."

As every medical professional in the galaxy knew they were supposed to, Justin grabbed the chart from the foot of his patient's bed - he hadn't bothered paying attention to the name that Emelie Shadowstar and her associates had provided, assuming it was almost certainly some sort of alias or fake identity; and also not caring enough to bother - and pretended to read her latest results. Pretended, because he'd done the exact same thing only a couple of minutes ago, and his presence was almost certainly responsible for the patient's current awakened state; though in fairness, the chair that he'd tripped over deserved at least some of the blame for being in the wrong place. Even if he hadn't read her chart moments before however, things would have been pretty memorable: it wasn't every day that a doctor down here in the bowels of Cloud City found himself treating a recipient of Imperial torture; and come to think of it, that was probably a pretty strong source for optimism, given how screwed up the rest of the galaxy seemed to be.

"There's good news and bad news," he said, continuing the trend of talking to anything but his patient - a suspicious looking smudge on her chart of what was hopefully chocolate, this time.

He let out a sigh, sliding the chart back into the specially designed holder at the foot of the bed which, despite being specially designed, was still far bigger than it needed to be. One of these days, Justin would figure out how to put a chart in there without it rattling and clanking around; but today was not that day.

"The good news is that you're going to be fine. Wherever you were, whoever they were, and whatever they flooded your system with, we've pretty much flushed it out of you at this point. It took a blood transfusion, and we've got you on a cocktail of meds to help stabilize things... and also a little something to take the edge off after your ordeal. Which, actually -"

He stopped mid-sentence, brow furrowing in thought.

"- one of the side effects is mild photosensitivity. Probably should have considered that before shining a light in your face."

No apology was offered, but Justin did at least take a step or two to the side and reach out to drop the overhead lights down to about half their previous intensity.

"More good news: we've got a genetic next of kin sitting out there in the waiting room, so if we find you needing a few extra reds or whites in the ol' veins there, we can just grab another pint or so and squirt it right in. Great news for you, and great news for your next of kin, assuming they like being rewarded for needle intrusions and discomfort with a couple mediocre day-old cookies."

Justin let out another little sigh, shoulders sagging a little. The slump in his posture however inadvertently revealed something that almost resembled a smile, and for a brief fleeting moment, he almost seemed like someone who actually had some sort of genuine investment in his patient's wellbeing for a change.

"On the bad news front... you've got a genetic next of kin sitting out there in the waiting room, as well as a whole bunch of other people; and since you're awake now, I can't really go tell them all that they should scram because you'll be unconscious for the foreseeable. Well, I could tell them that, but I'm not going to." He hesitated for a moment, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Well, more like I don't want to, if I'm honest."

Justin seemed to contemplate that notion for a minute, perhaps wondering of he owed his patient a brief moment of something vaguely resembling the care part of healthcare. He mustered the closest approximation he could manage, without having had several hours to script it out and rehearse.

"Or, if you'd rather not have visitors, I can always stop your heart for a few minutes, and then fire you up again once they leave?"

[Elira Asael]

"Any of your patients ever hit you?" Her voice sounded harsh, the kind that either came from little use or too much.

The doc probably only went through with his pokes and prods so far as knowing there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. He had that sort of air about him that meant her question was more rhetorical than needing a proper answer. Yep - Elira hated the guy. Though apparently she owed him one, or owed whoever had brought her here rather than where Mal had seen fit to keep her. Genetic next of kin. So either this was a big joke being played on her by good 'ol supposed dead big bro or that meant someone else. There weren't many left in the galaxy that Elira could claim that sort of relationship with.

Atton. Half-brother he may have been, but he was the one that fit the bill. It wouldn't be the first time he had pulled her ass out of the fire, which meant the doctor's offer was mighty tempting. It wound save her from some probably overdue "Told You So"s that he often felt entitled to. Elira loved her little brother, truly did, but she was also downright sure she didn't have the mental wherewithal to deal with his particular brand of nagging. It was an interesting thought, one that was taking far too much brain power than she was currently capable of to try and sort out. Estranged wasn't quite the right word when it came to the younger two children of Contessa Ath-Thu'ban, but it did border awful close to truth. They hadn't spoken in... too long.

As she was sorting through the muddled thoughts and weighing the options presented to her alongside the actual possibility of sneaking out of here, Elira found her mind replaying something else the doc had said: "As well as a whole bunch of other people." What was that about? Did he drag along people she owed money to? Frak was THAT the reason she'd saved her? Seemed like a suitably shifty asshole thing to do that Atton might consider payback for some sort of wrong she no doubt did to prove a point she'd never learn.

The Captain found herself slumping down into the sparse blankets of the bed, willing the soft white fabrics to hide or consume her - whichever they felt like. Yeah, okay, so sneaking out wasn't going to be an option. Not with how the slightest movement still made the room seem to want to spin. Probably more side effects of whatever fun she had been on. Or whatever fun she was currently on. She didn't seem too bandaged up, which as far as she reckoned meant either good things or bad things. All to find out in due time, she supposed.

A groan left her, not out of any sort of discomfort aside from mental perhaps.

"Yeah," A bandaged hand raised up to her forehead and put pressure above her eye of the same side. Worst. Hangover. Ever. "Send 'im in. Just try to keep them from mobbing me, okay? One at a damn time. Two max, got it?"

[Justin Dechen]

Doctor Dechen let out a sigh. Two at a time? That meant his waiting room would be free and clear in approximately... well, some amount of time. He hadn't paid attention enough to be sure just how many visitors were part of the Miss Shadowstar waiting room convention, he just knew that their presence was encroaching upon his ability to stand around playing puttball for the rest of the afternoon, and that frustrated him greatly.

"Sure, okay," he sighed, with an ample helping of theatre.

A hand dug into one of the deep pockets of his lab coat, rummaging around through the assortment of debris that collected there over the course of the day. His fingers closed around his prize: pulling it free, he tore open the candy bar, and shoved an enthusiastic bite into his mouth, chomping away through the chocolate covered crispy rice cluster things. He wasn't entirely sure how someone took rice grains and puffed them up into bubbly shells of satisfying crunch, but if he had to guess it was probably something similar to all those slow motion vids of corn kernels frying and turning inside out that he kept watching on the Holonet while he was bored.

Still chewing, he muttered out a few muffled words of advice for his patience.

"Don't let the cables come unplugged, k? Don't wanna have to rush in here thinking you're dying, when instead you've just clumsied out the wires."

With that, Justin wandered back out into the waiting area, and was immediately struck with an assortment of mixed emotions. On the one hand, the population of the seating space had depleted drastically, reducing from many people down to just three. On the one hand, that was fantastic news for his puttball aspirations; but on the other, it made his statement to his patient a falsehood, and that felt like it was one of those ethics violations or something. Wasn't misleading a patient the kind of thing that got people fired from this kind of job? Regardless, there didn't seem to be much he could do about it right now.

Where the friends and family - he presumed that's what they were - had gone, he wasn't quite sure. Well, that wasn't entirely true. One of them he knew fairly well: Vhiran Antilles, an on-and-off patience of his; lungs screwed to hell and back by a lifelong deathstick problem. Things were turning around, thanks to a new brand of medicinal sticks that Justin himself had conceived and provided: a little kolto, a few metabolic stimulators to boost the healing, a dash of spice to take the edge off; quite the success story, actually. Vhiran's latest scans showed that the respiratory damage was most definitely not getting worse, and there were even early signs of mild reversal. The scar tissue was a lost cause of course - short of a transplant or cybernetic replacement, Vhiran Antilles wasn't exactly going to be running marathons or climbing mountains - but this particular stupid lifestyle choice had dropped down from the #1 spot of reasons why Vhiran Antilles was probably going to die.

The other missing people were a bit more of a conundrum. The youngest one, with the dark unkempt hair; Justin got the distinct impression that maybe he wasn't here because of any kind of interest in the patient herself, more of a moral support for the other people sort of deal. That was Justin's theory at least, owing to the fact that the last time he'd seen him, the kid had been asleep with a hat balanced half-way across his face, and a cup of lukewarm caf still loosely held in his hand. If he'd been one of the kid's associates, he'd have nudged him awake just enough so that the caf wound up across the kid's lap. Maybe that was what had happened, and he was off hunting for a fresh pair of slacks or something.

Then there was the old guy. Not that any of the people here seemed young particularly, but the guy in the fancy coat looked to be the token grumpy old guy of the ensemble. He was the one asking the annoying questions, the one nagging, the one constantly expressing his concern that maybe Doctor Dechen didn't know what he was doing - not by stating it out right of course, but with the kinds of are you sure that's best questions that people always aimed at doctors they, for some misguided reason, presumed they knew better than. Their entire time had been spent here alternating between pacing, hushed comlink calls, and fetching more caf; maybe he'd just got fed up and gone, or maybe something regarding the very important business that he seemed to think he was involved in had come up, requiring his attention.

Whatever. That just left the kid, the stoic guy, and the guy who was probably going to shoot up the place if anything bad happened.

More candy was shovelled into Justin's mouth.

"She's awake; you can go in. Don't kill her before I get back."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It was good news, Sadie reckoned by way of facts alone, maybe not-so-good when it came to emotional factors, though. Awake meant that whatever drugs they'd gone and pumped into Elira's system were mostly gone which meant she was well and clear of the danger zone. Awake also meant that the woman they'd all saved was probably capable of talking and was wondering who it was she had to thank for that.

Things would have been easier if her uncle hadn't chosen about right then and there to make himself scarce. Out of everyone in the room, he was probably the only one that Elira might have guessed were present. If nothing else, he was bound to at least be a familiar face and could go with the making of explanations in the way that Atton did that connected all the dots. Would save her the trouble of having to make an introduction at least.

Sadie weren't scared of it all, not really. Just a belly full of butterflies and thoughts darting away like meteorites. After all, this was her mum, the lady who'd done gone and brought her into this galaxy and then decided she didn't want nothing to do with her kid. Weren't no real judgement on that part, not with the type of life that Sadie had gone and lived and things she'd seen and all. People had their reasons for doing that sort of thing and while yeah, they were often some sort of selfish dren, they were also done with that sort of tryin' t' do th' right thing mind that made things hard to go and hate a person for.

She was kinda glad that it was just Inyos and Vittore now in the waiting room with her. Not that Atton wouldn't understand what she was about to say, but he might have tried to talk her into a different sort of mindset. Vitt, though? He was always understanding, knew that steps just had to be taken in your own time when you were damn good and ready for them. Inyos seemed to get that about her too, probably some sort of respect for his pupil sort of deal, but he weren't exactly the pushy sort, neither.

"I ain't ready f' this..." Sadie went on confessing as muscled bunched up in some effort to make her seem smaller in the chair without actually drawing limbs inward. "I just... ain't. Thought I was but..."

Her voice trailed off and she slumped to the side of the chair that Vitt was nearest. Weren't like she was clinging to him or nothing of that sort, just meant she could lean against him and look towards Inyos at the same time.

"You said y' knew her, yeah? I dunno... maybe..." She went and trailed off again.

Was a stupid idea, but sometimes an old friend was just what the situation needed. Family could be confusing and infuriating, Sadie was finding. But a friend? Yeah, there could be complications involved there too but they seemed a might bit easier to get over in her small experiences. At least it could buy her time to get her head on straight and do what she ought to.

[Inyos Aamoran]

The request struck Inyos like a hammer. No - like a dozen hammers, all swung towards him by different emotions for different reasons. That Saidra was asking at all, that she was admitting her discomfort, speaking openly about it? Even that was a flurry of hammers. A request from his Padawan. Trust in being open about her feelings. The twist of regret at not quite comprehending her emotions: enough for sympathy, but not for empathy.

While growing up without parents was an experience that he and Saidra both shared, Inyos had done so as a member of the Jedi Order, where orphan status was a consistent norm. Before the Purge he had never felt any curiosity to learn about their identities; and since the Purge it had become an impossibility, a fact that he had no emotions on whatsoever. For Sadie, the context of her youth made her absent parents unorthodox. She had been forced to adapt, to care for herself, and all without the kind of support and kinship that Inyos' childhood had been blessed with. He had not needed to cope with that kind of struggle until he was already a full Knight; and even then he'd done so with the likes of Mandan Hidatsa and Elira Asael at his side. Saidra's situation, even with the Force there to aid his perceptions, was somewhere beyond the scope of his understanding.

For Inyos, the closest concept to family that he could comprehend was belonging. If that came anywhere even close, then Inyos was lucky to have found that sense of belonging at a handful of times in his life: the Jedi Order, the Maelibus, and now. If that were true, if that approximation was close, then that made Saidra part of his family. It made Elira and Atton part of his family. That realisation sharpened the situation into focus, and everything else - his own anxieties, his reluctance, his confusion, his sense of propriety - all faded away like static filtered from a comm frequency.

A hand was placed gently on Saidra's shoulder, and Inyos offered the kind of knowing look and gently reassuring smile that his own Master would have given.

"You should wait for your Uncle," Inyos quietly agreed, supplying a simple choice for Saidra to latch onto. Of course she should wait for Atton Kira: as Inyos understood it, the man had a lot of explaining to do, and that responsibility should not fall upon Saidra's shoulders. "I will speak with your mother. If I remember correctly -"

He leaned in closer, pretending to glance furtively around him as if about to convey some closely guarded secret.

"- she dislikes being in hospitals almost as much as I do."

Saidra's response was a simple nod, but his Jedi senses comprehended all the meaning that he needed. He allowed his hand to linger on her shoulder for a moment longer, willing a fragment of his more stable and restrained emotions to wash over Saidra like a calming wave. Never having felt such emotions himself, he had no idea how much help his efforts would be; but it was all he had, and the grip clenched around his chest prevented him from being comfortable doing nothing.

Finally he stood; as his back turned to Saidra and Vittore, the smile faded from his face, adjusting into something more subtly pensive. Each pace between the waiting area and the doorway of Elira's private room transformed into a parsec, a gauntlet of thoughts and feelings making the journey an increasing challenge. Elira Asael lay beyond that door. Yes, he had seen her aboard the Anathema. He had watched over her during the voyage back to Cloud City. He had helped carry her here, watched and worried as doctors and droids attended to her condition. But now she was awake. Conscious. Now she would see him, after all these years.

What should he say? How did that conversation begin? Did he apologise for leaving? Did he apologise for coming back into her life? Would she even remember him, or had the complexities of their friendship flown both ways? He thought of the oaths he had broken. He thought of the unexpected struggle when he and Mandan had fled the Maelibus for the sake of the crew's safety, leaving their Imperial pursuers astray. He thought of the strange emotion, envy perhaps, that he had felt when Mandan had found happiness in the arms of another during their long exodus; thought of the times he had wondered if that smile might have been his own, had they only stayed with the ship. He thought of Ord Ithil, and the times her face had crept into his mind amid the dark side's torment; the sick pleasure the darkness had taken in reminding him of her eyes.

For a moment he felt unsteady on his feet. What if she didn't remember him? Or what if she did, but her reaction was merely indifference? How did one cope? How did one ready themselves for that kind of emotion? How -

His hand caught the edge of the doorway. Too late. Far, far too late. His shoulders sagged. His eyes struggled to climb their way up from the floor and look at the hospital bed's occupant. He forced his parched throat to swallow, the voice that emerged a strained, tormented, and feeble echo of the soft words that normally escaped.

"Hello, Elira."

[Elira Asael]

"Okay, now I know either I'm dreaming," Elira began, forcing herself to sit up just a bit despite her body's urgent protests against such a notion. "Or the doc put me on some good stuff. Because there is no way in the galaxy that you just stepped back into my life looking like that, Ra's."

It was only with the slightest hint of meanness that she teased him, echoes of days gone by. Years, really. But it - and the rather coy look she actually managed - were as genuine as they were there to stave off the pure shock at seeing Inyos Aamoran of all people. She wasn't kidding exactly about how he looked, either. It had been what... over twenty years since they had last seen one another? And while there were things about the Jedi that remained a mystery to her even when they were closest, she was fairly certain he didn't carry the same bits and pieces of non-entirely-human DNA that allowed her to look quite shy of her actual age as far as most people were concerned.

She considered following it up with an offhand question about where the hell her brother was, but thought better of it. Elira wasn't entirely sure who out of the both of them should have been following up their greetings immediately by way of apology, but it was doomed to happen. Inyos, she bet would do it out of a sense of righting a wrong he saw when there wasn't really any need in the first place; the galaxy hadn't exactly been kind to Jedi back then - still wasn't if word was right - so Elira had never really blamed him and Mandan for leaving the ship when they had. In a way they had saved the rest of the crew then, she knew that.

It was her fault for letting them go, or so Atton had berated her about a million times afterwards. It was her fault for keeping secrets and it was probably her damn fault as to why this was going to get awkward real fast.

"Guess I should rewind a bit and say thank you first, huh? How is it that you always seem to show up right when you are needed most?"

Bit more truth to that than Elira wanted to really say, but if anyone was deserving some bit of it, she figured it was Inyos.

[Inyos Aamoran]

There it was. How did Atton describe it? Snark? Barely two sentences into the conversation, and it was as if they were back on the Maelibus, and nothing had changed. It had infuriated him back then, or at least as close to it as he'd been able to feel. Elira had always possessed a remarkable talent for getting under his skin, and she seemed to relish in doing so, every tab offered with a playful smile, as if making the Jedi feel something, anything, were the objective of some elaborate contest.

Now though? The words didn't cut and burn the way they used to. It was as if something had been missing; a familiar weight resting against his chest that had been unknowingly absent all these years. Maybe it was her situation that softened the blow, her condition taking the edge off his words. Or maybe he just missed it. Missed her.

He ventured further into the room, contemplating her words. They were kind. Grateful. Lies.

A hand rested against the railing at the foot of her best.

"If that were true," he said quietly, eyes focused on the blanket draped across her; and most definitely not on the face that, the odd injury aside, hadn't changed a molecule from the one etched into his memories. "I would have found you soon enough to stop this from happening."

[Elira Asael]

Elira let out a small huff of laughter and looked away from him. So, this was how it was going to be? Neither one of them wanting to really let the other take the blame for everything that had been left unsaid or undone. And while two decades had passed since she had last seen Inyos, it hadn't been nearly so long since the last time she'd thought about him. Him, not the other members of the crew that had left or gone missing over the years. There were reasons for that, painfully obvious ones when she let herself really think about it, but it was one of those things she hadn't tried to dwell on. He had been gone after all.

It felt wrong to be having this conversation here and now, rather than on the Maelibus' bridge; her feet propped up on the consoles with a beer in hand while the two of them watched hyperspace stream by on the view port, casting the occasional glance his way whenever Elira figured Inyos wasn't really paying attention.

If here had to be the place and now had to be the time, however, then so be it. The Force worked in strange ways, as she was reminded by the writings of her ancestor and the Jedi who loved quoting them.

Elira had questions, though, too many to really be of any good use. Her attention returned to Inyos, another sweep of her eyes cast over him.

"I'm guessing that wasn't exactly an option for you. You're here now, though which is... surprising. I figured you and Mandan would have found some cozy corner of the galaxy and taken up a regular life. Wives, kids..." She wrinkled her nose a bit at the last word as if the thought was distasteful - not in that Jedi shouldn't have children, just in that it was far too telling of their ages. "I know Atton keeps tabs on people, but I figured you were long lost, Ra's."

[Inyos Aamoran]

It was like being hit by a cannon. Mandan.

It wasn't as if Mandan Hidatsa had been forgotten. How could he be? If family was about belonging, then Mandan had undeniably been his brother. Through the Clone Wars, and the Purge, his fellow Jedi had barely strayed from his side. They were equals, and opposite, two halves of a whole. Inyos had a head for scripture, for old wisdom and proverbs, for teachings, techniques, tenets, and all the ancient lore that a hundred thousand years of Jedi Knights. Mandan had a heart for people, for nature, for the living Force. Mandan was the smile that Inyos had been incapable of mustering on his own. Mandan was the empathy that so often illuded Inyos. Everything good about Inyos, everything human, everything warm, had been carved into him by his kinship with Mandan Hidatsa; and perhaps he had left a mark upon the man as well.

Had.

"Mandan died."

The admission was worse than the feeling; worse because it was a lie. Mandan hadn't died. Mandan had been murdered, and it was Inyos whose hands had been on the lightsaber; Inyos whose hands were irrevocably stained with his brother's blood. There had been factors. Circumstances. Darkness. Corruption. Shadows that twisted their mind and turned them against each other. It didn't change the fact of it. Didn't change the memory of it. There was no forgiveness; no absolution. There was no one left to offer it.

Inyos' shoulders sank lower, the hand resting against the bed suddenly being called on to help hold him on his feet.

"But not before he had a son." A faint ghost of a deeply conflicted smile tugged at Inyos' features. "A boy named Wyl. He became a Jedi, and -"

Inyos trailed off. His eyes had strayed, and inadvertently found themselves gazing upon Elira's face again. Something drastic had gone wrong with gravity: with each passing moment, and each heartbeat that began to thunder in his chest, it became harder and harder to stand.

"- I think he would have made Mandan proud."

[Elira Asael]

Dead.

Elira had always known it was a possibility, the Empire had been hunting the Jedi to extinction when she knew the two peacekeepers. Dead, though? She had taken a certain amount of responsibility for them when she had chosen to give them save harbour and while Elira was fairly certain there was nothing that could have prevented the death of the man, she still felt it's bitterness despite the ages of separation. A son, though? That meant there must have been good years somewhere between. Good for him. Mandan deserved that sort of happiness granted to him after all the infectious optimism he had spread around the Maelibus' crew.

"I'm... well, I'm not glad to hear it, but it's good to know he had someone. For a time at least."

The Captain found her view drifting again, away from Inyos who seemed pained by the loss of his friend. How long ago had this happened? Did that have something to do with Inyos' agelessness?

"What about you?" Her head remained determined to keep her attention elsewhere but her eyes had other ideas as they slowly moved to lock back to the Jedi. "You ever... settle down like that?"

[Inyos Aamoran]

"No."

The statement was immediate. Stern. Absolute. The reason was less definitive; or less easy to articulate, at least. There were so many factors, so many reasons why Inyos had never felt safe enough or at home enough to ever let himself get close enough to anyone; to ever let anyone in. Anyone else, that is. Because there it was, the real underlying reason. Just once, in all his years, Inyos might have found it. Might have. But he'd left. Walked away. Run away, even; perhaps that had been what it was. Back then, the prospect of feeling, or falling, had scared him: and that fear scared him further. Not very Jedi-like. Against the Code.

A Jedi shall not know anger, nor hate, nor love.

Since then, he had changed. The old ways were further in the past, and they held less sway over him. The very nature of the Jedi had changed. The Knights of yore had shunned all attachments, rejected all possessions; those of now clung furiously to them, cherishing every relic, clawing for every scrap of what they needed to survive. Among them, on the Wheel and on Ossus, Inyos had realised that his ways were obsolete - that he was obsolete. He was learning, trying, struggling to change. Struggling to achieve what Mandan had found: peace; attachment; happiness; love. But a simple fact hampered him, even after all these years:

There was only one Elira Asael in the galaxy; and she'd moved on without him.

"I never -"

He shook his head, struggling to look at her again. A second hand joined the first on the bed frame. Why not tell her? All this time spent nursing the regret of leaving, entertaining the possibility of different choices; but now, here, the very same fear as before gripped him, multiplied a hundred fold. A hand wrenched itself free, the other anchoring him to the railing as he moved one step closer; two; fear's grip around his chest squeezing tighter. His eyes fixated on her hand, resting on the sheets, just one more footstep away.

He stopped.

Saidra.

His eyes found hers, without restraint this time. They peered in, searching, questioning, reaching for an answer to the agonizing: why? Just beyond this room, Elira's daughter was waiting. She had spent a lifetime waiting: for a mother who wasn't there, for an explanation that was never given. Family had found her again, whether through blind luck or the will of the Force, or something else entirely; and here Inyos was, selfishly standing in the way of those answers. Sadness tugged at his brow, or perhaps it was just envy. The faintest whisper of an accusation danced on his lips.

"I was never lucky enough to have a family of my own."

[Elira Asael]

A flicker of confusion ran across her features, not so much at what he said, but how it came out. Surly he wasn't chiding her forher avoidance of Atton all these years, though that very well could have been it - not appreciating something you had and...

Oh you son of a bitch.

The thought wasn't meant for the man in front of her but rather the obvious culprit in question. Atton. He was behind this rescue, of that she was certain what with that whole next of kin thing the doctor had said. That meant Atton had told Inyos. Or maybe she was just jumping to conclusions. Either way, there was no denying it now, but how exactly could she tell Inyos? They had been close back in the day, too close, really, but even then she hadn't wanted to tell him about the spark of life she was responsible for abandoning.

A breath was taken long and slow, shaky on the intake.

If she was wrong about Atton revealing her secret to the Jedi, this would be the ruin of a perfectly good omission that was doing just fine being kept in the dark. On the other hand, if Inyos knew and she acted like she didn't...

"Inyos, about that..."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos wasn't sure where it came from: the swell of anger; indignation. Perhaps his encounter with Mal'achi - more mysteries surrounding the star-thief that had robbed him of his affections all those years ago - had shaken something loose, or perhaps Elira suddenly transformed in his mind, past memories set aside for a conversation between a Jedi Knight and the absentee mother of his Padawan.

"About that?" he echoed, his voice conveying all the impact of a shout despite remaining at the same barely above a whisper volume.

His hand abandoned the bed completely. The final places were closed in angry strides. Fingers dug into his palms, fists trying to retreat into the sleeves of his jacket. His head shook, seeking to dismiss as much of the ire as he could manage.

"About Saidra, you mean?"

Emotions tripped over themselves, derailing his tongue into a stuttering tumble of words, each vying to be uttered first.

"You, you, -"

He drew a breath; reached out for every scrap of calm from around him, hugging it closely to his chest with the Force. Why was he so angry? Why was he so eager to fight the battle that he knew - or feared - that Saidra would not fight for herself? He willed his voice back to it's usual tone, save for the odd sharpened edge of the odd cutting word.

"You had a daughter. Have a daughter. A daughter who, for the record, is beautiful and brilliant. Despite everything that you put her through, that you abandoned her to, she still smiles. She sings. She laughs. She loves. She is one hell of a slicer, I'm told; and she's formidable too. Bright. Quick. We've only trained together for a few months, but she is a natural. She has so much potential, and you would be proud of her. Should be proud of her. Except you can't be, because you handed her off to your Force-damned brother because, what, she was the result of some spacer hook-up in a seedy starport somewhere, and you just didn't give a damn?"

Inyos' jaw clenched, the anger beginning to rear it's head once more.

"She wound up on Nar Shaddaa, Elira. Living on the streets. I don't even know half of what she got caught up in. But what I do know is that she needed rescuing, by the same people who rescued you; and from what I've glimpsed of the scars, she was treated a hell of a lot worse than you were. But then, I guess that's what happened when you're tortured by Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban, is not only still alive, but is also apparently your Jedi Knight elder brother who you never mentioned in all the time I knew you."

Fatigue set in. Inyos' fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"Force sakes, Elira. You had a daughter all that time, and I never even knew. You're worse than Atton. What else did you never tell me?"

[Elira Asael]

There had only been one other time in her remembrance of Inyos that she had seen him lose control like this. The word Padawan stuck out then like it did now, only then it had been on the eve of Inyos losing one. The normally stoic Jedi had been visibly upset then as well and she had invited him back to her quarters for a few drinks. Comforting and over due emotions had taken over then, but Elira doubted very much this would end in the same way.

His accusations twisted into her far more than the blades of an Imperial minion had and she continually found herself trying desperately to bring voice to rebuttals to what he was saying. Her brother for instance; Elira hadn't even known he was still alive until a few days ago and as for Inyos not knowing about him being an ex-Jedi Knight... well, she had made mention of a Jedi sibling once hadn't she? True it had come with a "I don't really want to talk about it" catch, but it was there. Everything else? Well, if he had bothered staying he would have known! They would have talked about it eventually, would have had to!

To hear him speak of her daughter - Saidra - though? The decision to leave her daughter behind had been difficult, one of the absolute hardest to make in her life. But with the girl's father out of the picture and Elira still doing smuggling runs in the early stages of the Empire's reign? Nar Shaddaa or not, she was better off. The Maelibus was no place for an infant!

What else she was hiding from him? How about the fact that it had hurt to let him and Mandan leave? How about the fact that she had spent way too many nights afterwards with too many drinks mourning the loss of the only man she'd actually felt any damn feelings for. How about...

"She's YOURS, Inyos."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It weren't the loud voices that had drawn her in, that had started after she'd been lingering just outside the doorway for a spell. The soft tones of Elira and Inyos talking wasn't something she wanted to go and muck up, but apparently fate had deemed it necessary for it to go and happen anyhow. Not so much fate, really, as apparently the Jedi getting right ornery 'bout decisions that the smuggler had made when it came to her kid. Sadie should have known that was gonna happen eventually, though she'd pegged Atton to be the one to lay out the guilt trip itinerary.

At first she kinda smiled a bit, not a whole lot, but hearing her Jedi - Master was it? - talk about her, come to her aid sort of thing; well... was hard not to go and feel appreciated for that. But things kept going and voices got heated and then...

Well then Elira had set off a damn bomb just as Sadie had gone to lean against the door jam and wait for a moment to tell Inyos to go and let it rest a bit.

Yours.

As in...

Sadie went and made her presence known by not exactly leaning against the jam like she'd expected but rather drew in a sharp intake a breath and lost her gorram balance. It went and sent her stumbling into the room like fate itself was damn near shoving her and she found herself staring wide-eyed at the both of them, lingering from one to the next. Her parents. Both of 'em.

"Y...y're m' dad...?"

She knew the news was probably as downright shocking to him as it was to her but that's how it came out. Was said quiet like too, as if there was something she'd gone and missed and what she actually heard was the end of something else and there weren't no way that the verse was doing this to her.

[Inyos Aamoran]

Apparently the cannon had a second salvo, potent enough to blast his heart clean out of his chest and onto the wall behind him.

She's yours, Inyos.

It didn't make sense. Surely it didn't make sense? Surely Sadie was not young enough. Surely he and Elira had not been that long ago. How long had he spent on Ord Ithil? How many years lost? Had so much time really passed? Was he really that old? And yet the more Inyos stood and contemplated, the more things began to make sense. The more he searched his feelings, the more he knew it to be true. The Force had as much as told him, if he'd been receptive enough to listen: it had guided him to her on Nar Shaddaa all these years ago; and then lured him clear across the galaxy to reunite them once again. Master and Padawan. Father and Daughter.

"I -"

Elira was forgotten. Cloud City was forgotten. The entire cosmos was forgotten. Inyos turned, the shining beacon of his own child the only thing upon which he could focus. He could see it now: the resemblance, written all over her face. Elira's brows, but his eyes. The same sadness behind them, and the same glimmer of hope. Something cracked within him, the opaque barrier that held his humanity at bay pierced by a spiderweb of emotion and feeling - too much. Too many to process. Too many to name. In stunned silence he stood, and so too did Saidra - Sadie; she prefers being called Sadie - waiting for him to utter some kind of response. The only words he could muster came forth.

"Sadie, I am so sorry."

A lump formed in his throat. Moisture glistened across his eyes.

"I didn't know."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Instinct was telling - no, outright frakking screaming it's bloody head off - her to run. To turn right around and just go find her bunk on the Tide and tug the covers so over her that she'd be nothing but a ball of blankets and whatever sort of human she was. Maybe Vitt could come pry her out in a few days if he brought junk food. That was, if she didn't go straight on past the ship and head to the farthest star cluster one could think of. She'd tried that before though, many a time, though it'd only taken once for her to learn that sort of dren wasn't gonna stick round these parts. Bunk might still work, though.

That weren't her anymore, though. Or, at least, it weren't the her that Sadie had kinda vowed to herself she wasn't gonna go and be no mores.

Elira - her mother - weren't exactly forgotten or ignored, but she hadn't even met the lady, really. Inyos though? She'd only thought of him as the Jedi who had once stumbled across her path only to go and have it happen again - well, at first that's what she thought of him as. Nowadays he was her mentor, but more than that, she'd gone and trusted him fully for all sorts of inexplicable reasons.

Guess they weren't so inexplicable no mores. It weren't like Sadie really believed that this sort of thing could be known without knowing or anything of that sort, but she was coming to realize that The Force really did kinda have a will of it's own sort of deal.

"I know," was all Sadie could offer by means of relating. "A-ain't y'r fault, yeah? Jus' one o' them things..."

Saying the steps she took that further tucked her into the room were reluctant was one giant frakking understatement and Sadie weren't quite sure where she got the willpower to go and do it. She weren't the type for all sorts of emotional public displays of affection sort of stuff, Vitt was about the only one that she got away with that with and even that was on the barest when others were about. Felt awkward just standing about, though, even if she shoved her hands in her pockets and tried not to go and look like a nerf trapped in a spotlight.

"It's..." Sadie wanted to say okay or something else comforting of that sort but it just weren't coming.

Truth was, she wasn't sure it was okay. She may have been holding it all right on the outside but on the inside she was a damn near tempest. Slowly one of the hands left the not-really-comforting space of her pocket and reached out and gently placed itself on Inyos' arm. It weren't enough though, Sadie knew that. A hard swallow was followed by her closing her eyes as she went and tried her damnedest to get everything up there to shut the frak up. Inyos hadn't really had a whole lot of time to go and teach her much with the whole Force thing, but they'd been spending a bit of time on giving her the go on quieting things down when it got crazy up there. That came first, then came another lesson he'd gone and taught her. She weren't sure how good it was but as she reopened her eyes and looked back at him she tried that whole intention of sendin' calm to another person thing. Inyos did it almost pretty damn effortlessly on her all the time, now seemed like it might be a good time to go and return the favor.

[Inyos Aamoran]

He felt her mind brush against his. Not the first time; but it was different. This wasn't his Padawan reaching out. This wasn't a practice attempt or a training session. This was his daughter, reaching out to convey what words could not.

To Inyos, it was everything. A split second of clarity, and understanding. Emotions had always been such a mystery, even with the Force to help him sense them; but not now. They whispered from Sadie's mind, by accident more than likely; and Inyos knew. Not a guess. Not an estimation. He knew how she felt. He felt it too: not just borrowed emotions, but feelings mirrored in himself as well. The confusion. The shock. The worry, that things might now change. The desperate need for them not to; the comfort that came from things as they were. The flicker of anger and hurt, paired with the guild for feeling it even when their minds told them they shouldn't. The two of them, so different and yet so alike.

Silently, Inyos reached out as well, placing a hand on Sadie's shoulder, completing the link and sharing wilfully what Sadie had accidentally shared.

I feel the same.

He showed her. Let his emotions leak - gently - into her mind. He added a few of his own specific fears; a flicker of the guilt he had been feeling these last months, for not rescuing her from Nar Shaddaa so long ago; but quickly they faded, evaporated like a puddle in Chandrilan sun, the deep and intense happiness that radiated from his core taking it's place. It spread from his mind to his lips, a subtle but genuine smile taking the grim edge from his features. To Sadie he conveyed memories of their training sessions together; a sense of how pleased he had been with her progress; a sense of how that was suddenly deepened by the knowledge of who she truly was.

You are my daughter.

His hand strayed from her shoulder, reaching hesitantly to brush a strand of hair away from her face, encouraging her gaze to meet his. His eyes softened, all the same emotions that he had shared playing out across his brow. The embrace of minds continued a moment longer however, and the smile grew a little more.

I could not be more proud.

With that, the connection faded; not gone completely, but diminishing to a background warmth. Nothing would be shared between them, save for the exact sense of calm that Sadie had set out to convey; although perhaps with a new kind of warmth that had been there before. Inyos knew there was more to say, a longer conversation to be had; but there was a more pressing one, not urgent per se, but Inyos had felt the anxious curiosity in Sadie's mind. He took a step backwards, his hand once again finding Sadie's shoulder, guiding her a little closer to where Elira lay, no doubt deeply confused about what unspoken moment had just transpired.

"Saidra, this -"

This is your mother, was the statement that immediately came to mind, but then Inyos made the fateful mistake of letting himself see Elira's eyes again. The guilt intensified itself, a fresh layer from mere moments ago adorning the surface. Of course Elira had not told him: he had been gone before she had even known. He'd never given her the chance. Nor had he given her the choice: he had left for his own reasons, and Elira had respected them. Nar Shaddaa then had been, what, a place for Saidra to hide? Sacrificing her child - their child - because of the dangers that Inyos' nature tracked in his wake? He may not have agreed with what Elira had done, but he could not fault it; had no right to. He should have been there. More than that: he should have been honest, instead of contributing to the endless cycle of truths withheld under the false pretence of protection.

Honestly then. He mustered his resolve. His eyes stayed firmly focused on Elira's.

"- the only woman I have ever loved."

[Elira Asael]

Elira felt like she was falling, an overwhelming shock of vertigo that almost was too much to handle. Her admission had been near enough to cause the medical sensors to start protesting but the kid being there? Her kid? Even if the girl hadn't said anything there would have been no mistaking who she was, not with Inyos standing right there to where the Captain could take a good hard look at the both of them. Hot on the trail of surprise came an overwhelming sense of guilt as the scene played out before her and all she could do was remain a stunned mute.

This happening, the three of them being in the same room, was something that Elira had never ever even in her wildest daydreams thought of. It was so outside of the scope of possibility that she never saw the purpose in bludgeoning herself with the what-ifs and all that would have made all of their lives dramatically different. There wasn't exactly tension in the room, but rather it felt like she was baring witness to two people shuffling around in the aftermath of a war zone - one she had caused; all in the name of The Greater Good.

She should have had more faith in them, though. Resilience was one of the traits that Elira had learned Inyos had an abundance of, herself too to some extent; and if Saidra's life had been half as difficult as Inyos had made it sound, apparently that was something that got passed along. A quiet exchange happened, some sort of mutual understanding between Padawan and Master, Daughter and Father, and just like that the galaxy wasn't spinning out of control anymore. Oh, it certainly wasn't exactly right, and Elira knew they all had a lot of steps to make to make it so but then...

"...I have ever loved."

The bottom fell out of her stomach and a casual brush off of Inyos just being a bit too sweet on her and not knowing what he was saying was toyed with but he had never been the kind to overstate things. By way of introduction and admittance it was certainly unconventional but it suited him so well, suited them.

What was there that she could say, though? The matching pairs of waiting blue eyes looking expectantly to her were wonderful and awful to see at the same time.

"I..." She began, wishing the doc had left behind a glass of water or something that could have taken the dryness from her throat. "I'm so sorry. Both of you."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie was really starting to wish the two of them would stop apologizing. Perk of being on her own for so long meant she had long ago come to terms with her lack of parents and all the possible reasons for it. Sure, there was always a might bit of curiosity surrounding their identities and all but that was just downright human nature, weren't it? Either way, she didn't feel like either one of them really had stuff to go and be all sorry for, but Sadie also knew that weren't the way the galaxy worked and guilt was one hell of a thing that could go and downright ruin a life if let to fester. Like it or not, she was gonna have to let her 'rents work this out on their own time and come along for the ride.

At least they weren't yelling at one another no more. Truth was, thanks to what Inyos said and the way that Elira was obviously attempting to ignore the fact her face had gone all sorts of shades of red, Sadie was feeling like she might have to let them have some sort of alone time. Good, meant she could go find her Uncle and smack him upside the head - there was no way in the verse that Atton didn't know 'bout her and Inyos.

"It's-it's fine, really." Lack of knowing exactly what to say her was edging on her nerves a bit.

That whole trick with The Force with Inyos had gone and settled things on their end but weren't like she could probably do the same with Elira. This weren't gonna get fixed all nice and easy but well... it had been Sadie's idea to go get her in the first place.

"Got time t' figure this all out. Y'know, when we're not all... here."

[Inyos Aamoran]

There was something about Sadie, whispering at the edges of Inyos' mind. An urge to leave, perhaps. A sense that there were things that needed to happen without her.

No.

Inyos had never felt anything so resolute in his life. It wasn't an urge to run away like those he knew Sadie had felt before; or at least, not an urge to run far. Even so, Inyos would sooner have torn off a limb than let her leave. Not yet. Not when the reality had barely even set in. Not when a family - a real family; not some approximation or similarity - had sprung itself upon him. Not when that family was Saidra. Not when it was Elira. No. Stay.

Please.

Inyos glanced behind him, barely even taking note of the two chairs pushed against the wall before the Force began to draw them silently across the room towards Elira's bed. The one for Sadie arrived first. His Padawan. His daughter. He gently encouraged her into it, easing his own chair a fraction closer, trying to manoeuvre his new family into as small a space as possible, perhaps hoping that they might compress into a singularity that could never be untangled. A hand settled on Sadie's shoulder again: not the one closest, but the one further away; a strange, vague, awkward approximation of a hug from a man who'd never had to convey such a sentiment before. A moment passed before he realised the other hand had settled atop Elira's; he didn't remember doing that, but even the gravitational force of a black hole would not be enough to compel him to move.

"I -"

What did he say? He was the father of this family. That was how it worked, wasn't it? He should say something. He should do something. Bring them together. Start a conversation. Something. Anything. But there was nothing. Inyos delved into his mind, and all he found was an empty void where understanding should have been. He was not built for this. He did not understand this. He had never experienced anything remotely like this.

But then, which of them had? Inyos had no experience of being a father; but Elira had none of being a mother; and Saidra had never been a daughter. They were all lost, all equally lost, all equally knew to this strange and confusing concept that none of them had been able to prepare for. But they would do what they always did. They would adapt, and survive: a trait that Inyos knew the three of them all shared. They would muddle through, find a way, forge a version that worked best for them; just as he and Sadie had done as Padawan and Knight.

He let out a breath; it might almost have been a laugh, but such things were rare from Inyos Aamoran which made a frame of reference illusive.

"Did I ever tell you about the time your mother got me arrested?"

[Atton Kira]

* * *

Atton was in hiding.

Frustration had driven him from the clinic's waiting area the first time. Frustration he could cope with. That was an emotion he understood well. You could channel it, focus it, wield it like a lightsaber to carve through the problems in your path. Atton flourished in the face of frustration. Relished in it. It had essentially become his default setting: with a life like his, frustration was always eagerly awaiting you, close at hand.

Something else had driven him away the second time, though. Caf in hand, he'd returned to the clinic; and he'd heard it. Three familiar voices. Together. Talking. He'd watched it from across the waiting area for a moment, framed by the doorway into Elira's room. Saidra K'Vesh and her parents. Elira and Inyos, hand in hand, only a lifetime late. Perhaps he should have waited. Lurked in the doorway. Took a chance at the possibility of being invited in. They were, after all, his family. But he knew better. He knew the galaxy well enough to know that unity required an equation to be balanced; for people to be pushed together, something had to push them away. Sometimes unity was found in the face of adversity; but Atton was not naive enough to hope for that here. He knew his role in all this: the man with the secrets, the man who nudged and misguided people onto the paths he felt was right.

And so he left, driven away by a cocktail of emotions that left a bitter aftertaste. A few shots of happiness, a cup of remorse, a single pump of regret, and about half a litre of assorted guilt. He'd tried to walk it off; clear his head; leave those feelings in his wake. Instead, he found himself here.

Slumped over the bar at Elysium, Atton popped the seal on the whiskey he'd retrieved from behind it. A few hours had passed, and evening was approaching. As yet, Elysium's doors remained closed, but preparations were underway, the army of employees - well, more of a modest platoon; no need to go overboard with staff costs - going through the practised motions of rearranging furniture, refilling water dispensers, recharging light sources, and generally preparing the venue for it's impending influx of patrons. He'd have to move soon, and he would - retreat down to the Underworld, most likely. He smiled a bitter smile at that nickname, and how apt it felt. The dichotomy was like something out of a thousand myths from a thousand different worlds: Emelie Shadowstar, Queen of the Clouds, ruling the cosmos from on high; and Atton Kira, Lord of the Underworld, ensuring that the mechanisms of destiny continued to operate the way that was intended.

He downed his first shot in a single mouthful, wincing a little as the alcohol burned gently across his throat. The next few were downed more slowly, but not by much. Counting quickly fell by the wayside. A recharged class was held in his fingers for intense consideration, before he reached across the bar for a cocktail umbrella, adding a whimsical splash of colour to what he hoped would be his mind's antidote. The glass proved too large, paper parasol falling awkwardly into the whiskey. Atton fished it free, and tossed it away behind the bar with a grunt.

"To family," he muttered, to no one in particular, before tipping the drink awkwardly down his throat.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Right proper pain in the arse, ain't they?"

The voice had started behind Atton and moved to the side as Sadie had leaned against the bar and reached for the bottle Atton had been slowly emptying. Unlike her uncle, though, Sadie took a drink straight from the bottle - Whatever, it weren't like this one were for clients anyhow. A few beats were let to fall before she looked over at him from where she'd gone and fixed her stare firmly on the weird gear mural back behind the bar.

"Y' knew." Weren't a question, they both were better than that. "An' y' still let us go an' get 'er knowin' we was gonna find out. Not sure if y're suicidal, Unc or jus' crazy. Think Inyos is too gorram happy t' go an' realize y' could'a said somethin' all this time."

Sadie went and took another drink from the whiskey. She was probably committing some sort of atrocity by not putting it in a glass but she'd never been one to put on such airs. Instead she took a pause and refilled Atton's glass, just about enough for a double.

"Me though? I put things t'gether all right quick. Guessin' I get that from you a bit." Her voice weren't exactly angry, not even really frustrated, just tired. Been a long damn day, after all.

"Part of th' secrets y' promised 'er though, yeah?" The bottle of hooch was raised in mock toast. "Good on y'. Don't know many that could'a held on t' somethin' that was probably eatin' 'em alive."

Before Atton could respond Sadie went on, not really accusatory, but just one of them things that had to be asked.

"Was eatin' at y', yeah? Don't go an' tell me keepin' us from knowin' was all easy for y'. I know y' ain't heartless."

[Atton Kira]

Atton huffed out a near silent laugh, brandishing his whiskey glass in her direction.

"Does it look like it was easy?"

He sighed. She was right, he'd known that rescuing Elira would be the final impact that shattered the carefully constructed house of other people's secrets that he had built. The structure had been crumbling for a while now, but Atton had managed to reap at least a few benefits from it; the most notable of them was sitting right beside him. That had been part of his fear and reluctance in letting the Exchange rescue Elira: fear that he might lose Sadie if anything went wrong; and fear that he might lose her anyway even if they succeeded. All this time, he had worked so hard to keep things compartmentalised. He was careful to ensure that the strands and streams of people's lives didn't cross with each other; careful not to let one set of secrets contaminate another. He had other assets he could have called upon to rescue Elira, given time: but as soon as Saidra and Inyos had known, he'd known the end was coming. A shame he hadn't prepared for it better.

"Your parents are idiots, by the way."

He plucked the bottle from Sadie's hand, dumping enough whiskey in his glass to keep him going for a good long while. It swilled around as he thought, staring off into the gear mechanisms behind the bar as if they were a portal into the past.

"When your father came aboard the Maelibus, he had a partner, and a Padawan. Mandan Hidatsa, and Lúka Jibral. They'd been on the run for a while and, well -" Another faint, slightly bittersweet breath of laughter escaped. "- your mother and I, we had a brother, Mal'achi, who was a Jedi. He'd died, or so we thought, and it left us with a soft spot. We saw three Jedi in need, and took them in. Harboured them in exchange for their help."

The words came easily; easier than Atton had expected they ever could. He'd spent so long guarding secrets, so long resisting the urge to be open and honest, that he hadn't realised he was even still capable.

"Your father was an uptight ass back then," he said with a chuckle, "And your mother had a field day. He used to quote all these dusty old Jedi proverbs, and one day he made the mistake of quoting something that had been written by one of our distant Alderaani ancestors." He gestured with his glass, making it clear that our included Saidra: a tiny flicker of the long legacy she now found herself part of. "Count Ra's Ath-Thu'ban. Smart guy, but not all that wise: made a name for himself recording the wisdom of others, rather than possessing any of his own. Elira thought it fit your father to a tee, so every time he opened his mouth and she wanted it shut, she called him Ra's."

Atton grunted, a sip of whiskey taken.

"She probably could've just kissed him and had the same effect. Your father was sweet on her long before he ever realised it, and your mother worked hard at convincing herself that she wasn't capable of getting attached."

A larger gulp of booze was taken, and Atton let silence fall, steeling himself for the sombre turn his recounted events were about to take.

"I don't remember how long the Jedi were with us, but I do remember how it ended. We followed up on a lead: refugees that supposedly escaped from one of the Jedi's other temples; the ones not on Coruscant. Younglings, mostly. A few sympathisers who were struggling to keep them safe. Turned out to be a trap, of course: a hunter squad of Senate Commandos, letting the refugees stay one step ahead of the Empire to lure any surviving Jedi out of the woodwork. It seems like a terrible plan, but if there's one thing you can rely on a Jedi to do, it's risk their lives trying to save people."

For a moment Atton hesitated, picking through the rubble of his house of secrets carefully. While most revelations were deserved, there were still some fragments of secrets that had value; mostly the bad kind, where the truth made this worse rather than better. But Atton was tired; too tired to hold back; too tired to withhold from Saidra any more. He could evade, conceal, keep the last few facts close to his chest; but how many more of these revelations could Saidra withstand? How many more could he survive? Better she know; better to demolish it all and rebuild on flat foundations than try to balance a precarious life atop unexploded mines.

"Your father's first Padawan, Lúka Jibral, was killed trying to buy time for us and the refugees to escape. I found the mission report years later. A man named Hugo Montegue took the shot; though I'm sure his son has no idea. Your father doesn't either; though considering that Hugo Montegue helped rescue him from Ord Ithil, I imagine he'd feel quite conflicted if he knew the truth."

Atton trailed off, setting the already three-quarters-empty glass on the bar with a soft thud. He turned on his stool, no longer hunching over his drink, or staring at the wall, but instead speaking to Saidra directly. There was something earnest in his eyes: an eagerness to confess, paired with a sadness, and a subtle desperation for forgiveness. On some worlds, it was believed that confessing your sins was the only path to redemption. Saidra would be old and grey and he'd be dead if he tried to list all of them; but his sins against her, and the secrets that he had withheld, at least he could earn some divine forgiveness by admitting those.

"Lúka's death broke your father. That mask he wears, the stoic Jedi who keeps his emotions at bay? That's all armour. It's all protection. After Lúka died, all the anger, fear, and sorrow shattered it completely. Elira was there for him, and, well -" A shrug. "That's when he became your father."

More sadness began to tug at Atton's features, a vestige of everything he'd felt back then, feelings he'd merely buried and never come to terms with, slowly rising back to the surface.

"But the fear didn't go away. Not for your father, and not for your mother. Inyos was afraid that the Empire had caught our scent; so the Jedi ran one way, and we ran the other. Inyos was long gone before your mother learned that she was pregnant, but the running never stopped, and the fear of what might happen to you if they somehow found out whose child you were?"

Atton shook his head, a sad smile forming.

"I didn't agree with it, but it was your mother's choice. She wanted you hidden; felt that was the safest thing for you. She thought that if you had no connection to her, to us, to Inyos, then the Empire might never find you. It was a terrible choice, but it was the best one she could make at the time. And so she asked me to hide you: from her, and from everyone. Made me promise to bury you beneath secrets so deep that no one would ever find you. But I -"

That sentence tripped him. It had been an important moment for Atton Kira. It had been the moment when he'd changed, and when he'd woven the first strands of what became an intricate web of secrets and information dealing. A whole empire of clandestine knowledge, grown from the seed of a niece he couldn't bear to lose track of, and a promise he couldn't bear to keep.

"I always hoped that things would change. I always hoped that your mother would one day want to find you. I always hoped that your father would resurface. I always hoped that somehow we'd find our way here. So I watched. I nudged. Not just you, but everyone. I scoured the galaxy for signs of your father, and when I learned he'd last been seen on Ord Ithil, I fed Hugo Montegue information about his wayward wife, in the hopes that they'd find him. I fed work to you, and to your mother in secret. I even tried to have you meet, tried to have your paths cross, hoping that you might recognise each other and it would seem like an accident. But it wasn't -" He grimaced. "It wasn't good enough. It didn't work."

He sighed, his eyes falling away.

"I lied about the data device I gave you. I didn't need to search for your mother, I knew exactly where she was: sitting at the helm of the same ship she's been flying since before you were born. But it felt wrong to just tell you. So I made the device. I gave you the means to find her, but only if you chose to; only if you worked at it. I'd hoped it would happen on your terms and not on -"

He waved a hand vaguely, not entirely sure who or what was calling the shots these days. Fate? The Force? Sarlacc, whoever the dren they were?

"I'm not good at honesty, Saidra." Sadness had driven every other emotion from Atton's features. "But honestly? I tried to do the best I could."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It was one thing to go and hear bits and pieces of the whole thing, but there'd always been parts that bugged her, the missing tidbits that tied it all in and made it make proper sense. Now, though, even with the alcohol warming her up and making her feel a little fuzzy, Sadie got the full picture. There was something might impressive about the whole thing, about how Atton had done gone and coordinated everything, navigating through whatever random dren the verse decided to upchuck his way to keep things on the edge. Made things a bit more comfortable in her head too, yeah sure so The Force had a dirty hand in moving things along probably, but there was actually something comforting about a lot of the so-called coincidences they were all coming on being the results of some sort of machinations of a person trying to do something good rather than chalking it up to fate or some dren. Meant the bad stuff that happened was just accidents or unavoidable mishaps rather than the verse completely frakking with you and that was a lot more palatable as far as Sadie was concerned.

She could have gone and gotten right mad then, all things considered Sadie figured she had more than the right to, but she wasn't.

"Thanks," Sadie spoke softly after what seemed like far too long a silence between them. "For trying. Maybe not th' most sound or sensible way o' doin' stuff, y'know but... well, yeah took some time an' a whole heap of skrag but looks like y' did okay in th' end."

The near empty bottle of whiskey was snagged once again and Sadie brought it to her lips, pausing before taking another swig.

"Might even be how it's supposed t', y' know? Don't rightly know what kind of person I'd be like if things had been differen'. Yeah, maybe things wouldn't be so messed up but I wouldn't be me, savvy? Not th' same no how. Even jus' a year or so ago I weren't th' same I am now. An' yeah, there's stuff I'd sure as dren go an' change in m' past if I could but there's a whole heap more I think I'd want t' keep just th' same... scars 'n all."

Finally the drink came and the bottle was put back down, probably on the temporary given the way this was going. Sadie's face had gone through a whole heap of emotions and the showing of them, now though they softened from the look of troubled not-quite-confusion that'd been stuck for the better part of the day.

"Y' did good, Unc. May not seem that way right now, but... thing'll chill an' then I guess we all jus' see what happens next. Do mean all of us. Y' didn't get t' go an' pull strings all over th' place then not deal with th' end result."

[Atton Kira]

A man like Atton Kira didn't feel pride often. Satisfaction, perhaps, at a job well done or a galaxy-sprawling spy network well constructed; but not pride. It was odd that so many cultures branded the emotion a sin. Self pride perhaps; but this feeling? Pride towards another? The pride of an uncle, hearing wisdom tumble from the lips of his niece? There was nothing dark or shameful about that. Or perhaps there was: shame on him, for sitting here wallowing in the choices and actions of the past, when Sadie had gone and walked a far bleaker and more painful path and was sitting there, seemingly at peace with the valley of darkness she'd journeyed through. Here he was, bathing in his guilt as if it was all about him, and not the people whose lives he had affected.

Deal with the end result, she said. See what happens next, she said.

The smile that formed on Atton's features, though small, was utterly impossible to resist; even as the proudness and sadness tugged at his brows. The question Atton asked came out different than he expected: the paint on the jovial quip had not yet dried, the attempt to deflect away Atton's feelings cracking the surface, and letting something deeper and more sincere creep through?

"When did you go and get so wise?"

Retreating from it, fleeing from the accidental glimmer of emotional honesty, Atton arched a brow and looked away, grabbing for his drink again.

"You sure as hell didn't get it from the Ath-Thu'ban side of the family."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie caught that little bit of honest emotion that Atton let slip and she cracked a smile in return. This was the sort of thing she liked, cracking jokes and shooting the dren with someone at a bar. Been a while since that'd gone and happened and even if there was quite a lot more weight to what they was discussing than just whatever random crap decided to pour outta their heads, seemed like the right way to go and end a day too; at least this part of it. Fact it was with Atton also worked out shiny in her head. She weren't sure if this was the sort of normal thing that family of their type went and did but since when was anything about her damn family turning out to be normal?

With a bit of resignation she went and leaned over the bar, fingertips precariously snatching up a glass identical to the one in front of Atton and poured some of the remaining whiskey into it. As much as part of her wanted to go and get all three sheets and forget about this entire thing, it weren't for the best and Sadie knew it. Moderation, then. Sorta.

As she settled onto the bar stool next to Atton, the half upturn of her lips faded a bit. There was a thought that'd gone and occurred to her while he was telling her the entirety of the mess they'd all been involved in. Names in particular that were sticking out like sore bits where you'd gone and bit your tongue. Her dad's other Padawan, the one that died; more to the point - the one that killed him. The guy that'd then saved her dad from the planet that Inyos had sketched out the horrors about. Well, it weren't him that her thoughts were lingering on, nor was it how Hugo and her dad were associated but more their aftermaths, the ones that came next. A son and a daughter, apparently.

"Y' good if I ask y' somethin'?" She waited for her uncle to look her way before continuing, taking it for the go-ahead. "Vitt an' me..."

Sadie hated kinda putting them into any terms. They both knew how they felt 'bout one another and it sure as dren was genuine but still.

"That... us bein' us, I mean... that part of y're doin'?"

[Atton Kira]

Atton blinked, momentarily stunned by the question.

His face contorted, trying to hold something back; but it was impossible, irresistible. It began as a deep, almost wheezing chuckle, seeping in and out of his lungs, rolling it's way up his vocal chords until it finally found it's way within the threshold of human hearing. His modest smile had become a broad grin, brows knit together, shoulders shaking, face slowly turning read as the laughter continued on.

"You think -"

Atton struggled for breath, a wrist rising to his face, wiping the moisture that had begun to leak from his eyes. A deep, gasping, sighing breath was drawn into his lungs as he tried to bring his body back under control. He chanced another sip of whiskey, but his body wasn't quite ready for it; the warmth hit his throat and his lungs coughed and choked in momentary protest.

"You think that I, the master of overprotective meddling, would engineer things so you wound up with a man like him?"

He shook his head, the laughter still not fully subsiding, drowning his voice in mirth. It was unfair, he knew. He could see in Sadie's eyes that the concern was genuine; could see that his answer mattered; and here he was laughing it off like it was the best punchline he'd heard all century.

"Sadie, Sadie -"

He struggled his way back under control. Normalcy didn't resume, the mask of propriety didn't settle back into place. Perhaps for the first time, Sadie K'Vesh got the opportunity to glimpse her uncle as he truly was, rather than the carefully cultivated image that he put so much work into conveying.

"I promise you, Saidra Ath-Thu'ban, hand on heart -" He tried to pair a physical gesture with that statement, but ended up tapping himself in the chest with a whiskey glass instead. "- if I ever try to set you up with anyone, they will be: rich; harmless; and feeble enough that I'd be able to kick their ass in a fight if they ever did anything to hurt you."

The mirth faded: not gone, just settling down to a more subdued level, like a hound getting comfortable in front of a fireplace. He set the glass down once more, and turned on his stool to face Sadie fully. With no prompting at all, sincerity took control of his voice: it became soft, and kind, clearly meant for her and her alone to hear.

"Vittore Montegue is the sort of man that I wouldn't let within twelve parsecs of you. Every time he takes you away on one of his bounty adventures, I worry, and I wait here on Cloud City plotting the excruciating ways that I will make him suffer if he ever lets anything happen to you. But he has done right by this family, and right by you, countless times over. If that look in your eyes means what it surely means? He is a lucky man, and I am happy for the both of you."

Atton's warm smile faltered ever so slightly.

And if I'm being honest? Probably a little jealous of you both as well.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Saidra didn't personally think it was all that funny, but she had asked. Kinda felt rightly foolish about it now when he went and put it that way. After all, thinking that Atton had seen fit to play matchmaker betwitx her and the guy who stole his frakkin' ship an' droid was a bit of a stretch. Still, it had to be in the clear for her own peace of mind. Not that it probably would have changed stuff even if her uncle had admitted to nudging the two of them together for some reason; it was comments like the whole look in your eyes dren that pointed out how damn near obvious it had been to everyone in The Exchange except for the two idiots who were actually stupid for one another. Aw well, it was all out now and at least Atton hadn't used his wiles to try and pry them apart or nothing.

The way Atton's demeanor went and slumped a little there at the end caught her. She didn't feel bad for the guy, but there was something kinda melancholy about his situation. Inyos had Elira back - for whatever that was worth, but his little proclamation of love wasn't a loss on anyone. Sadie had Vittore, Em and Vhiran were whatever they were, and yeah sure it wasn't like Atton was the only non-paired folk of the bunch, but he was older. Guess keeping secrets and making deals all them years didn't exactly go in the way of making any sort of genuine friends or companions. Or maybe it had. For all the info that her uncle had on her, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot that Sadie actually knew 'bout him on the reverse. Maybe there had been people in the past.

That was just it though, if there were, Sadie was sure there wasn't in the nowadays. She'd never really considered how much of a lonely sort Atton may actually have been and right then and there it kinda got to her. Yeah, he got on folks' nerves and all but didn't mean he deserved to feel that way. It was a small attempt at amends, she supposed, when she went and reached out and kinda placed a hand on his.

"I know Family ain't much consolation for some things, but... y're not on your own anymore, y'know? Not really anyhow. Know it ain't th' same but jus' wanted t' kinda reiterate that. My 'rents actually bein' here don't change who y' are an' what y've done f' me. Don't change th' fact that I'd actually like t' know more about alla th' stuff y've got under y're wing an' all. Still pretty sure y' could teach me a thing or two."

[Atton Kira]

It was a sweet sentiment, and a touching one. Perhaps it was even one that Atton desperately needed to hear: an outreach from the people he expected to have chased away with secrets revealed. It reminded him that there was still something: still something that he shared with Sadie that none of the others did. Her father might have the monopoly on widening her mind to the ways of the Force. Vittore and Amaros helped hone her ability to look after herself, and with Emelie they provided her with a sense of purpose. Her mother would, well, there would surely be something that would get stumbled upon at some point. History, perhaps? The Ath-Thu'ban legacy had always been more his half-siblings' purview than his. But even in the face of all that, there'd still only be one part of her family who shared her passion for sneaking into computer systems where she wasn't wanted, and fleeing with an armful of liberated secrets.

Yet, even though it was entirely true, Atton still felt something akin to a lie lurking within it.

You're not on your own any more.

Yes he was. It wasn't a petulant disagreement. It wasn't grief or guilt talking. Nor was it ignorance. It was mere, simple fact. Being alone, being solitary, firewalling himself from the rest of the cosmos; that was how Atton lived. That was how he functioned. A few select individuals, a few familiar holonet protocol addresses: they had access to password protected ports. They could breach the firewalls; or at least, the first levels of them. Sadie and Elira, they had access to his vulnerability; but even then, it wasn't all the way. Even then they only saw what he allowed them to see, the deeper truth of Atton Kira buried between too many layers of security and encryption for even Atton himself to decipher. He'd long since forgotten who he was; long since committed to the roles within roles that he'd constructed for himself, lost in a performance that had become the reality of his life.

He offered Sadie a smile regardless.

"Maybe even three," he agreed, voice returned to the softness and sincerity that Sadie had previously unlocked. "And when I run out, I'll keep searching for new things, right up until I'm too old and feeble to speak."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Well, it's good t' know at least some stuff's gonna stay th' same." The point was highlighted by a slight raise of her glass, another mock-toast since she weren't really sure if the sentiment warranted that sort of thing.

Was good to know that her and Atton were on the ups still, and Sadie figured that for most folks within The Exchange that nothing was gonna be upset by her 'rents being around. Vittore was another matter, but she had plans on checking in with him; he'd heard after all and while he'd told her to take care of what she needed to, she still weren't exactly sure how things were on that front. The two of them were pretty solid, but there was a might bit of a difference between So, apparently I'm a Force user an' y' ain't keen on them but I don't think I fall completely in th' category of folks y' hunt and all that complicated mess they were dealing with and So, my dad's a kriffin Jedi. Okay, so maybe it weren't that big of a deal when put that way but it weren't just any Jedi and while Atton had said that there was stuff that Vitt didn't know 'bout how his family and apparently hers were all tangled up, there was some history that Vitt had been personally there for and that made things messy.

Then of course there was the Jedi himself. Sadie couldn't even begin to guess what was going on there. She'd had a lifetime to get used to the thought of being someone's kid - yeah, absentee parents and all, but she knew they'd been out there somewhere in some way. Elira probably had the same feeling about being a mum and Atton had at least the knowing of him being an uncle. Inyos, though? Guy went and just became a dad and found out he missed out on all the cute stages and was dealing with an adult; meant he got to skip the teenage bantha dren too though - trade offs. Guy had just gone and opened himself back up to taking on a proper Padawan too, which Sadie had found out was kinda a big deal. But now this? If she was having a rough time of it, she couldn't even properly imagine what he was doing.

[Inyos Aamoran]

* * *

"- I am being entirely truthful," Inyos insisted. There was something strange about this, some technique that he had not yet learned for how to form words when your mouth insisted on being a smile constantly. It contorted back and forth between the two if he didn't proactively do something; and so he had allowed one side of his mouth to wedge itself permanently in mid smile, focusing mostly on speaking out of the other. "The blast doors were closed, and my clothes were all still on the other side."

The chuckle in his throat wasn't his. It was Elira's, and Inyos was merely fortunate enough to be borrowing it. It fell silent for a moment but didn't leave, as Inyos found his eyes lingering on hers yet again. He'd noticed them, but yet somehow hadn't, all those years ago. Ask him to imagine Elira Asael - and he had, so many times in the years since then - and he knew every detail; could recreate every molecule, every quirking eyebrow, every sparkle of mischief from every teasing smile. Yet for all that recall, he couldn't possibly have noticed her eyes; not really. If he had, then he would still be sat there back on the Maelibus, inescapably captured by them for every day since.

He tore his gaze agonisingly away, and this time the note of laughter that escaped was his own: a faint breath squeezed from his lungs by bashful embarrassment, dislodged by the squirming tirade of twisting feelings and organs that had become the inside of his torso. Inyos couldn't define it, and couldn't understand it. He was a Jedi Knight. More than that, he was Inyos Aamoran. He did not feel; not like this, at least. Not this intensely. Not this much all at once. He wrestled through them, trying to compartmentalise what he felt into terms he could understand and process, but it was like wrestling a stampede back into separate cages: by the time he achieved even a single success, the rest of the herd was long gone, leaving chaos in it's wake. It was everything Inyos was not. It was everything Inyos abhorred. Confusion. Disorder. Disarray. Yet he clung to it desperately. He had missed this, missed this way that Elira made him feel; and after all this time it was more intense than ever, more impossible than ever to even imagine losing. He'd made that mistake once already. Never again.

"I should not have left."

His brow furrowed, eyes struggling as they mountaineered their way back to Elira's face. His voice caught in his throat, gripping white knuckled as if it were the frame of an open airlock threatening to rip the words out into space. With steady breaths to steel himself, he pried the words free one by one.

"Not because of Saidra. Not because of today. I have wished -"

He trailed off. He reached for her hand, with both of his this time, encasing her fingers in a hold that would never want to let go.

"I should have stayed with you."

[Elira Asael]

"You did what you had to," Elira argued, even if it came out in an usually understanding tone rather than her typical antagonistic ones. "We all did."

She would have been lying if she said that having Inyos around suddenly was unpleasant - it just wasn't - but it was complicated. She'd hardened herself to the whole thing, had convinced herself that it had been a meaningless fling between a hurting friend and someone who should have known better but let lust get in the way of common sense. It could be compartmentalized that way and was a wonderful way into fooling herself that she only was missing her crew when the Jedi had left. Elira had known better, though; so had the other members of the crew who remained then and her pain and refusal to deal with it had alienated them all eventually.

Inyos' acceptance of their reunion, of the child they'd both never known, of the sheer joy he seemed to be experiencing was downright infectious, though. Elira had wanted to sulk for some reason. Maybe it was the fact that there had been so much time between then and now, though in truth... had it really? Not in the grand scheme of things, she supposed. Yes, they were both older now and had gained enough stories to occupy and fill the quiet hours, but it felt like it had only been a handful of months with how they sat now, picking up almost exactly where they had left off. Only... it was better somehow. The sadness and weight that Inyos had carried wasn't gone, not completely and Elira never expected it truly would be, but he was different. And damn if that doofy smile of his still work like damn magic to melt away whatever icy exterior she wanted to portray.

It felt wrong, though. Wrong to just suddenly jump back in like this. That wasn't exactly what they were doing - though she had wondered just how much maneuvering they could get away with without pulling out any of the tubes and needles still stuck in her. After all, might as well have some fun before life somehow came and booted her back to harsh reality where this couldn't possibly last. But no, aside from the way that Inyos held her hands and had professed his feelings, they hadn't exactly turned into a pair of lovesick idiots. They were just talking, catching up, the sort of thing that friends were supposed to do after all this time.

Friends. Elira knew the description of them was wrong. Even if part of her did want to hold back for some stubborn reason, she couldn't exactly fully deny how just seeing him again made her feel more... and Force Sake she hated to even think of it is such pathetically sappy terms but... complete. Inyos Aamoran had taken part of her with him when he had left and it sure as hell felt like it may have been a chunk of her heart. Now it was back though, he was back; and even her stubbornness couldn't compete with seemingly endless nights wishing for this exact thing.

"I don't blame you, you know? Never did. I tried to get angry about it sometimes but... the truth was, I just missed having you around." A slight laugh left her and Elira's gaze moved from Inyos to the small machine responsible for pumping painkillers into her system, wondering if she could crank it up in lieu of having anything to drink. There probably was enough, though if the fact she was talking and laughing like told times was anything to go by. "Feels stupid in a way. Like I should be too old for that nonsense, like that sort of thing couldn't touch me. But what can I say, you got to me."

[Inyos Aamoran]

You got to me.

Wasn't that it in a nutshell? Wasn't that them, distilled down to a few simple words? It was a struggle to remember how things had once been, hard to remember Elira making him feel anything other than how he did now; but to begin with, Inyos had found her abrasive. She grated on his every nerve, seeming to relish in every opportunity to tweak, and jab, in some futile attempt to aggravate him. Seldom did she manage to provoke a reaction from Inyos that went beyond irked or irritated; more than anything she was relentless. Perhaps that abrasiveness had simply worn him down. Perhaps that was how she had carved out the groove in his soul that only she seemed to correctly nestle into.

She offered an excuse. A justification. Forgiveness. Inyos wanted to take it, but knew he didn't deserve it.

"I still -"

He caught himself before he restarted the cycle. Another apology, another forgiving dismissal, round and round without it feeling as if the truth of the matter had been addressed. If she forgave him so easily, then he hadn't apologised for the right thing; his remorse was rooted too deeply for that.

A sigh slowly escaped him.

"I was afraid, Elira. Not just of being hunted, not just of being in harm's way. I was afraid of staying. I was afraid because you got to me, too."

His brow furrowed a little, not with sadness, but with focus, trying to arrange the right words in the right order, in the hope that Elira would understand; in the hope that she'd forgive him for the right thing, and that perhaps then he might be able to believe it.

"The Jedi Code says that a Knight should not love. Back then, a Jedi was all I had ever been. All I ever knew. I was afraid that if I loved you, if I let myself love you, then that must mean I wasn't a Jedi. I didn't know what else to be. Didn't want to find out where that path would lead."

A hollow breath of laughter slipped out.

"Ironic really. Fear is not exactly Jedi-like either, and the path I ran down, well -"

His smile had slipped; he made an effort to restore it a little.

"I ended up not being much of a Jedi after all. Though I'm... trying."

The last word was delivered hesitantly. Perhaps the irony of that word would be lost on Elira, but it was not on Inyos. Do or do not. That was the Jedi way. No half measures. Act, don't overthink. Inyos had lived his life that way: leaping before he looked, and trusting the Force to guide him in the right direction. But look what that did. Look what affect that had on the people around him, when he didn't take the time to think about then. The right mentality for a Jedi Knight, perhaps, but if this was the aftermath it left behind, then perhaps that was not what Inyos wanted to be any longer. Perhaps it was time to try being something else, and hope for the best.

"I am still afraid," he admitted. "But I want to try not to be. I want -"

Did he have the right to end that sentence? Did what he wanted matter? It felt greedy. Unfair. Asking for that which he did not deserve. Perhaps he shouldn't do; but then what action did he take? The feelings rushing through him did not feel optional; they did not feel like the sort of thing you could choose to do not. So what was the between? How did you try to love, when in your heart you already did?

The smile flickered into life a little more, Inyos' hands shifting just enough to lift her fingers towards his bowed head. The kiss was gentle, and tentative, and over too soon. His eyes followed her arm back upwards, and the smile nervously tugged a little wider.

"Elira Asael, would you have dinner with me?"

[Elira Asael]

The breath of a laugh that left her just couldn't be helped. She had thought the galaxy's biggest joke played on her was when Mal'achi had stepped into the room she had been hauled in after the Empire had seen fit to seize both herself and her ship. This though? Inyos Aamoran asking her out on a... a date? That won by far. Elira had always known he had this sweet sentimental side to him, maybe that's what had drawn her to him in the first place... well, aside from pure physical attraction.

"What's next, Ra's? Passing notes during class and sneaking off behind the bleachers in the auditorium?" A hint of her usual sarcasm came through, though it was still softened by... well... everything that had happened in the last day or so.

She gave his hand the slightest squeeze, another small amusement-tinted exhale leaving her as she did so.

"Of course I will."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

***


Saying it had been several hells worth of a long day just didn't cut it. She may have been okay if she'd done gone and called it quits after the whole hospital show but that addon at the Elysium had taken all the wind left her sails and just left Sadie on nothing but her own slow willpower to make it back to the Tide. Her feet were practically dragging as she made the ascent up the walk and while the drinks she'd gone and shared with her uncle had a mighty big hand in how she was kinda stumbling along, Sadie was pretty sure she'd done gone and run out of gas long before they'd finished the bottle together.

Times likes these she was glad she didn't wear a chrono, the girl didn't even want to guess at what gorram time it was. Lights were still on when she finally got up the ramp of the ship though. Felt good coming back to the Tide, having her be home rather than some apartment on Cloud City proper. Making her way into the living area weren't no big deal and Sadie figured it was one of them walks she probably could have made blind by now. Even the shape on the couch was familiar in a way that added just a tinge more life to her. Only took a few more steps before she realized Vitt wasn't exactly conscious, though; guy must of fallen asleep waiting up on her. That alone was like a cup of caff, not exactly a remedy for the level of exhaustion running through her but it did help some.

Rather than just plunk herself down in her usual spot, Sadie took the effort to ease herself, trying not to startle her partner from what she was hoping was a well earned rest after the stunts he'd pulled helping out. She could have joined him there she supposed, wouldn't have been the first time they both crashed out on the sofa after binge watching some holofilms, though that usually left them both waking up with various aches from sleeping at far-from-ideal angles. Given the fact he hadn't gone and had a fit over the whole kid of a Jedi thing, she figured he'd rightly deserved a night in bed instead.

She nudged Vitt gently, pushing on his shoulder in an effort to go and wake him up gentle like rather than something meaner.

"Ey, no couch, Cap'n. Don't wanna hear 'bout your back hurtin' in th' mornin'" Was a tease but her heart weren't really in it, Sadie was just too damn tired.

[Vittore Montegue]

"Gah. Whu?"

Vittore blinked a few times, reluctantly catapulted into consciousness. It took a moment for his surroundings to resolve themselves into something comprehensible. Ship. Lounge. Sadie.

Sadie.

"Heyyy," he managed blearily, stretching his eyelids as open as the muscles would take them, hoping the extra whiff of air against eyeball would coax full consciousness back a little faster. He stretched, arms hunched up like some kind of dactyl, one stretching out to drape across the back of the sofa in an almost but not quite embrace in the approximate vicinity of Saidra's shoulders. Things were still - what was the word? Vittore wasn't sure he'd even know the word if he was awake, but things were still definitely something between them. Go through an ordeal like Sadie had, and the prospect of letting anyone even brush against you without your say-so could be pretty damn overwhelming. It was something Vittore had his own painfully earned empathy for; and if Sadie needed time to get a handle on things, she'd get it. Didn't change a thing about how the two felt about each other, and the way Vittore saw it, the patience was worth it if they were gonna do this thing between them right.

The sleepiness made it powerful difficult to keep up that stance though: everything in him wanted him to just wrap an arm around her, rest his head against hers, and go on back to sleep. But no. Not now. No sleep today, he was trying to stay awake. Trying to wait up.

Sadie.

That snapped things into focus, pushing Vittore close enough to sleep-sober that he could function. He shuffled on the couch, sprawled arm turning into a propped elbow, leg hitching up so that he could aim his undivided attention at Sadie.

"You find your uncle?" he asked gently; rhetorical question, but it seemed like the right thing to ask.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Mmmhmm." Well, at least it weren't some sort of noncommittal grunt that left her. "Found him drownin' his sorrows back at Elysium."

Weren't really the answer needing to be said, she knew what Vitt was asking her but there was trouble making it all right and simple. Information overload, kinda, as she was busy piecing together what Atton had told her along with bits and things that Inyos had. Mucky story indeed. Best she could figure there were some pretty big tangles between them now. One she knew Vitt knew about... the whole, Inyos kinda offing Vitt's mum thing. Was the main reason that neither one had been too pleased to see the other when the Jedi had gone and shown up on Bespin. That other bit, though? 'Bout Vitt's dad, Hugo, being the one who offed the Padawan she was kinda following in the footsteps of? Never mind the fact that it was that loss that apparently were to blame for her parents shacking up in the first place. Was more than enough to make her head hurt, 'course that might have also been stress, or the smidge of a hangover that was no doubt creeping up on her since she stopped drinking.

"He told me th' whole thing, an' I do think th' whole thing this time 'round best as he knew it." She felt her voice trailing off as she spoke.

So this is what it felt like to be Atton, hanging on to secrets you weren't sure you should tell someone. Thing was, she didn't like having secrets, not from Vitt at least. Though him all half asleep and her feeling half dead probably weren't the best time to go make a point of it. Maybe over morning tacos - or mid afternoon tacos - or early evening spring rolls. Frak when was the last time she had eaten?? She really should have thought that one out on the way back home.

"It's just... overwhelmin', y'know? Not... gonna run again or nothin'. Just..." A hand worked it's way up into her hair as she sat forward on the sofa. "I ain't one t' go cryin' 'why me', but damn if it don't feel like I have the kriffin' right t'."

[Vittore Montegue]

It was times like these when Vittore wished he was more of a words person. Being the stoic type who'd rather use two words than twenty was great in the kind of crisis were things were going boom, and pew pew, and all that sort of stuff, but it wasn't so great when the tiny slice of perfection whose life you'd stumbled into had sad eyes and a confused frown.

Vittore's first instinct was a distraction. That was how he dealt with problems like this. Drink 'til you can't think straight, bang until you can't stand, and then pass out in a heap hoping that by the morning you'd have either forgotten, or drempt up some new perspective on the situation. While the Tide's cooler was definitely good for that first part, step two wasn't exactly in the sphere of possibility right now, and that limited his options. Besides, crisis avoidance was more of an Old Vittore sort of thing to do: the guy who'd spent the last few years never staying in one place long enough for problems to take root. Old Vittore had learned that problems had this asshole habit of catching up on you eventually though, and they seemed to gang up in packs to take you down too; something Sadie seemed to be in the middle of a learn by living experience with. New Vittore was something different: so different the paint wasn't even dry just yet. New Vittore has a place to come back to. New Vittore had people to rely on, and care about. New Vittore was the kind of guy who burst into a starport trying to stop the people who mattered from leaving, instead of just waving them off and diving into a bottle the way Old Vittore would have.

Working out what not to do wasn't exactly a great plan, though. Sure, it spared you from doing the sort of thing that made stuff worse, but it was kinda like trying to close a cargo catch in the middle of a hurricane as far as narrowing down your choices went: you'd probably manage eventually, but odds were stuff was gonna go wrong, and you'd end up falling on your ass or getting smacked in the head by something uncomfortable.

There was only one thing Vittore could think of: the one action that seemed better than nothing. Just be there.

Vittore reached out, slowly, letting his fingertips brush against the edge of Sadie's forehead as he snagged her fidgeting hand and led it away from her hair. Carefully he fixed the slight disarray she'd created, coaxing Sadie's eyes to meet his before he spoke.

"None of what y' found out makes a damn difference. Y' still the same Sadie y' were yesterday, an' no amount of knowin' who stuck what in who is gonna make y' any different from what y' are."

A faint flicker of a smile crossed his lips.

"But if y' feelin' the need to do any sort of cryin', y' know I've got a shoulder right here waitin'."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

He made a right fool out of her sometimes and Sadie was fairly sure that her share of the bottle back at Elysium weren't helping none in that regards. Not that it much mattered, after the kinda sudden blurting admissions of how they felt that'd happened a while back she didn't make much effort in hiding those kind of things no more. Whatever the reason, Vitt had done gone and made one of those stupid feeling little half smiles appear on her lips, the kind that only wanted to go full blown rather than vanish.

"Nah, funny bit is I don't feel much like cryin'. Guess I kinda ran myself dry in recent times; over quota."

Only took a few moments of closing her eyes and actually liking the feeling of his hand against her forehead before she said frak it and slumped against his shoulder. Yeah, this was a grand way of telling someone to go to bed and getting yourself to follow the same advice, alright.

"Think 'm just gonna need time t' go an' process it all. Thank frak it just ain't me this time."

She went from being on the verge of nuzzling in all cozy like against him before she kinda went and remembered what had been worrying her in the back of her mind this whole time. Her head went and raised, not fully away, but more in some effort that was doomed to fail to kinda look up and meet Vitt's eyes.

"I... I know this ain't exactly easy on you, neither. I mean... I know y' just kinda tolerate me an' Inyos what with him teaching me an' all. But... Jedi father? I know they ain't exactly y' favorite people an... I know it don't change us, not... really. Right?" She didn't wait for the reply before barging on. "Y' jus' keep takin' my dren in stride, Vitt. Y' sure y're okay with alla this? Startin' t' feel like 'm th' last person y' should be right here like this with."

[Vittore Montegue]

"Don't y' dare think of goin' anywhere."

It came out with a little more force than Vittore might have wanted it to. Not the controlling kind of force, not the overbearing telling her what to do kind; more the hint of panic, splash of fear, reluctant desperation of force. Y'know. The worse kind. The kind that a guy like Vittore shouldn't even have in his vocabulary. What was it Dad always used to say? Every monster has a weakness, son. You've just gotta find it. Yeah. Seemed like Vittore as sure as hell gone and found his own.

Part of him wanted to apologise, or at least to spin it a little; throw in a joke or a deflection to back pedal what it might have seemed like it meant. That was something he was trying not to do, though. Treating every conversation like a battle was a bad habit he'd fallen into. Great if your only objective was getting some floozy blonde drunk enough that both of you would barely remember it in the morning; not so great when you felt like you wanted to etch every single moment together into permacrete in your brain.

Besides, it was a good question. The kind of question that made you think; and about the sort of thing that Vittore had been trying real hard not to think about lately. Sadie was right. Force users had never been his favourite people. He'd never trusted them. Had good reason for that, on account of his mother, the whole Ord Ithil business, and everything else. There was his own uncomfortable parallel of the situation they'd found Elira in as well. The floating knives. The piercing yellow eyes. The chick with the healing hands. Pain, and lightning, and memories grinding him down one session at a time. He'd spent a childhood with his father telling him how evil force users were, how much better off the galaxy was after Palpatine and his jackboots stomping them into near extinction; and every Jedi he'd met since had lived right on up to that expectation, best he could tell.

But it was more complicated than that. He knew that. He'd seen that. Force people talked about all their light side, dark side, hokey religion crap, but Vittore didn't buy it. Good emotions? Bad emotions? And love was supposed to be one of the bad ones? Sure it could make you do crazy things. Sure it would make him do all kinds of stupid if that's what it took to keep Sadie safe. But it was more than that. It was strength. Safety. When you could fall asleep on the couch leaned against each other like this, and wake up having it be the best night's sleep in living memory, that sure as hell wasn't a bad thing. It was all a bunch of crap.

People, on the other hand? Sure, they were good, and bad, and things in between. That was how the galaxy worked, and Vittore knew it. Problem was, his Dad had made pretty damn sure that he wasn't going to go thinking of Force folks as actual people. That was the obstacle. That was the shattered reality that Vittore was trying hard to dissolve away with copious applications of whiskey. You met a girl like Sadie, who didn't even know she had that in her, and sure: she was a person, she'd become one before the Force went and came into the picture. But someone like Inyos? Tangled up with the junk on Ord Ithil, the thing responsible for taking out the thing his mother had become; all possessed by that freakish darkness that the glowy blue-green guy had tackled out of him and through the airlock? That was the kind of thing you put in a box, sealed up with mesh tape, and chucked into the deepest abyss in your mind that you could find.

But then Vittore had met the guy. Properly. Seen how haunted his eyes were, a sight Vittore found in mirrors all the damn time. And there was the way he was with Sadie, the history he had with her, and the snippets of this and that he'd heard from her and managed to prize out of Kira. Finding out that he was Sadie's father? It fit, and hearing a shred of how that had gone down... Inyos Aamoran wasn't some monster, doing freakish things and breaking all the laws of physics. He was just a guy. A lost, confused, struggling screw-up just trying to muddle his way through the 'verse, same as the rest of them.

"Tolerant ain't exactly a word I'm used t' hearin' aimed in my direction," he admitted quietly, trying to ensure that he sounded like he'd given the question all the due consideration it deserved. "But with Inyos? With your dad? It's -"

The right word didn't offer itself up. Vittore screwed his face up in a shrug.

"He's good people, far as I can tell. He's done right by you lately, an' when y' needed him, it kinda sounds like he mystical voodoo tracked you down from clean across the cosmos. Got a lot a' respect for a guy who goes out of his way t' be there for my girl when it matters."

My girl. Was kinda hard not to smile, hearing a phrase like that coming out of his own mouth, and knowing it meant Sadie. He shifted a little, adjusting his posture just enough to make Sadie's head extra comfortable against his shoulder. A quick, gentle kiss was stolen against the top of her head.

"But you let him know from me: if he hurts you, or walks out y' again or whatever the hell happened, their ain't a single corner a' this galaxy or any other were he'll be safe from me. They may be the gene donors who made you happen in the first place, but I'm your -"

He faltered, hesitated, tripping over the end of that sentence. Her what? He could think of a few words to throw on there, but they all felt crap; some of them underselling, some of them maybe overselling in a way that might send Sadie running for the hills. Wasn't really a consideration he had to deal with all that often; only times he had, he'd coasted through on carefully phrased sentences until he heard the word the lady had gone and picked out. A mix of anxious and curious started squirming in his stomach, wondering just how the hell Sadie would go and introduce him to someone new.

Vittore went and picked the only word that felt right.

"- yours."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie couldn't help but laugh a bit, not in any mean sort of way, just in the pure kind of amusement that came with listening to Vitt making the same struggle for a word that she found herself doing quite a bit of these days. They'd probably have to settle on something some day, that weren't now though.

Hell, none of what they'd talked about really was supposed to be now and the yawn she went and stifled 'gainst the back of her hand was a solid reminder of that.

"'M pretty sure he knows. Kinda thinkin' they all know now." Yeah, so the booze and the tiredness were definitely conspiring against her as far as making sense was starting to head. "Got a partner that's got m' back no matter what th' verse goes and lobs at me."

Sadie pushed herself up gently, common sense going and reminding her 'bout the whole stop sleeping on th' couch thing.

"Y'know that's not exactly why I went and woke y' up. Was gonna try an' shoo y' off t' y're cabin. Think we both could go an' use a better night sleep after all this dren."

Something went and twisted in her, in thinking about them both just parting ways and going off to their own spaces like it weren't no big deal. Sure, she liked having her own space, it was something new and kinda exciting really, but when things were falling into that too much category... well, then it felt mighty huge and kinda lonesome. She usually went and retreated off to the cockpit then and slumped into the navigator seat, not that that was exactly more kind to a spine than a sofa were. That was usually when they were out in hyperspace, though, not docked and such.

Stupid thought occurred to her and while on a normal basis she would have kinda shoved it aside instead of bothering Vitt with it, Sadie just couldn't find the effort to go and stop it from being blurted out. "Hey, y' think I could... crash with y' tonight? Not... out here."

Effort to stop it or no, the fact it was sounding so ridiculous brought it to a swift and merciful kind of death before she could go and embarrass herself more. Half formed apologies for the suggestion struggled to be made but for once, rather than giving Vitt an obvious it's cool if no out, she let it lie. Worst he was gonna say was no, yeah? Okay that weren't the worst but no need to go and get all kinds of fatalistic.

[Vittore Montegue]

If this was his subconscious trying to play some sort of cruel joke on him, then well played. He'd been pretty certain that he was awake for a few minutes there, but a question like that made him not quite so sure.

"Uh -"

The noise started coming out of his mouth, thoughts scrambling over each other like a horde of Dathomiri undead from one of those trashy horror movies, all groaning and reaching and crawling with the spooky green smoke eyes and all that business. His mind scrambled backwards, back-stepping like the floor was Mustafar, avoiding every grasping attempt to paw at his ankles with their slimy necrotic hands. Groaning, moaning words began to form in his head. Saaaaay yeeessss, the zombified thoughts urged. Saaay yeesss you idioooot...

Vittore blinked, equal parts dazed and confused. He forced a faint well duh frown onto his face, just in case his mental hiccup was interpreted as anything sinister.

"That would be, uh, totally -"

He'd almost made it through a whole quasi-coherent sentence before his mind stumbled off down a frustrating side street. What happened when he said yes? How did this go down, when things were, y'know, the way they were? Obviously there weren't going to be any legs around waists, or clothes on the floor, or bodily fluids swapping places or nothing like that. So, what then? Was he supposed to sweep her up like some sort of princess movie? Walk over there hand in hand like some sort of horny teen drama? Just shuffle along kinda awkward, like that person you'd just said goodbye to before realising you were both gonna leave by the same corridor? Some sort of made up excuse to meet her there -

He was overthinking it, clearly. Over-worrying as well. Didn't feel much like him at all, but around Sadie he always felt like a different person, and for the most part it felt like an improvement. This time though, a dash of Old Vittore was what the situation needed.

Leaning forward, slowly but intently, Vittore let his hand find it's way back to the side of Sadie's cheek, gently placing a soft and tender kiss against her lips.

"If by that y' mean, do I wanna wake up next t' you tomorrow?"

His voice was only a little above a whisper, an irrepressible smile tugging at his lips.

"Then hell yes I do."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

***


It just had to be this hangar that was selected, wasn't it? Mal'achi let out an annoyed breath of air even as he tried to tune out the done of the efforts that droids were making as they set about preforming only the most critical of repairs. More extensive work would be necessary if the Anathema was going to return to proper functioning capacity, but it would have to wait until a proper return to base. Still, at least the hangar wasn't a total loss, it still served it's primary function; even if it was a bit... Singed.

Mal'achi let out another breath and decided it was time to square his shoulders as the Lambda-class shuttle pierced the atmospheric shield. From his vantage he could just make out the edge of the Star Destroyer the shuttle had departed from and all it took was that view for his posture to relax a little. Such unnecessary spectacle, just who was the show of force for? Their prey had long since fled and Mal'achi was not one to be intimidated. Though, he did suppose it might be a bit difficult to turn around such a craft in mid hyperspace. Oh well. It would have been a delightful little surprise if only it had managed to actually show up before the merry little band of misfits had fled.

He waited with decreasing patience for the shuttle to land, it's wings to fold up, and the boarding ramp to descend. Thankfully only one figure emerged, rather than the ostentatious and entirely unnecessary accompanying guard detail that most preferred to make an entrance with.

The once Jedi Knight crossed his arms and let out what was perhaps an over-dramatic display of his own in the form of a sigh. "Well, it certainly took you long enough."

[Azrin Shadowstar]

Mirth.

Azrin's scowl deepened. Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban was the antithesis of the atmosphere Azrin carefully cultivated aboard his ship. An intimidated crew was a crew whose emotions were kept in check: a soft, rumbling baseline of fear and anxiety that he found deeply soothing at times. Mal'achi's wit, sarcasm, and dry humour were like water onto hot coals, a seething, hissing frustration rising from the pit of Azrin's soul as a snarl.

He had made preparations for his arrival, of course. Nothing as pedestrian as physical needs or security requirements: just a simple instruction to the helmsman of his Star Destroyer regarding their course as the ship exited hyperspace. They were to remain high, and force the Anathema to gaze up upon the Star Destroyer looming above them. It was a rudimentary intimidation tactic, but one that Azrin enjoyed; and one he had prepared for, drawing inspiration from one of the Empire's more innovative thinkers, a stylised depiction of a duinogwuin adorned across the ventral hull of his Ophion.

The effect was minimal, but enough. Like the Ophion, the Anathema made use of droids wherever its organic crew was lacking: a necessary preservation of resources in these frugal times. Another source of bleakness and frustration. Azrin grabbed hold of it equally, wrapping the faint whisper of bridge crew intimidation around it, holding the sensations close to his heart like a hot rock to stave off the frigid winter that crawled at him from Mal'achi, leeching the warm rage from his bones.

Azrin Shadowstar stalked down the ramp, unfurling the anger from his shoulders to stand at his full height. A faint predatory smile curled at the corner of his mouth, as he leered down; and yet when his voice escaped it was not a snarl, but a hoarse sing-song half-whisper, as if every fibre of his being found fulfilment in this opportunity to relish Mal'achi's failure.

"I warned you of this, did I not?"

The subtle broadening of Azrin's style flashed a glimpse of teeth.

"Surely, the Rancor knows better than to toy with it's prey."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

If this was Azrin's way of being cheeky, it certainly wasn't appreciated. Oh, surely Mal'achi could appreciate the attempt at humor at other times but now? When he was still in the process of calculating his losses? That was just downright inconsiderate. Not that Shadowstar was exactly known for having even the briefest hint of a sympathetic nature; but it would be nice if he could simply try and not gloat. No matter, Mal'achi still had a few tricks of his own that would surely knock the man down a peg or two again; or at the very least put a stop to this I told you so nonsense.

"But where's the fun in that?"

He half expected something to fall or spark behind him to either emphasize his point or heighten this not-quite embarrassment. Thankfully it never came.

"As picturesque as this may seem, perhaps we should make our way elsewhere? I'm afraid I do have evidence that this wasn't a total loss."

If Mal'achi had thought ahead just a bit, he would have come with holo-projector in hand and displayed the security footage before Azrin could get a word out. It would have been satisfying, though a bit overhanded.

[Azrin Shadowstar]

Azrin's expression faltered, but only by a micron. His brows shifted, the faintest hint of a frown as he probed into Mal'achi, studying his features and intentions. It was such a him thing to say: some consolation, some excuse, to soften the blow of his failure. It irked Azrin to his core, watching Mal'achi learn to survive failure and defeat rather than learning from it; but such was his way, all charm and obfuscation rather than cold, hard, bloody results.

The hungry smile remained on Azrin's lips, a soft chuckle emerging from deep within his core.

"Very well."

He held out an arm in invitation, gesturing towards the bowels of the ship where Mal'achi's evidence waited. Azrin began to imagine how pitiful it would be; how threadbare this curtain of solace must be with so few potential positives to weave into it. Perhaps this would be the time; the opportunity to watch Mal'achi hang himself with his own rope. Oh how Azrin would enjoy it when that day came: when Mal'achi gave him just enough of a reason to run him through and watch the smugness fade from his eyes along with his life. Azrin's heart fluttered at the mere thought of it, the succulent possibility of feeling Mal'achi's spark extinguish in his hands.

Not yet, his mind whispered. Perhaps soon, but not yet.

"Regale me with wonderful tales of how you are not quite the abject failure you appear to be."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

"Must you always think in such binary terms?" Mal'achi called back over his shoulder.

Attention shifting forward once more he knew his stride had more of a spring to it than it should have, but he simply could not tone it down. Failure, Shadowstar had called him. Failure. What a wretch to put things in such simplistic ways. As if Elira Asael was actually important to their needs and losing her was an utterly unforgivable offense. If nothing else, it reduced the number of sharp tongues that could be aimed at him.

It took considerably less time than would have been preferable before they reached the bridge of the Anathema. If Mal'achi had thought better of it he would have chosen a more roundabout route, something to prolong and hopefully irritate Azrin with every step. Another time, perhaps.

Pulling up the security footage from the ship was relatively simple, there were multiple angles available to choose from and it was here that Mal'achi again dragged out the procedure longer than was necessary. When he would sense that Shadowstar's patience was just about at it's limit he brought it to a halt to an image he had already flagged and had ready.

A simple frozen frame appeared in the pre-destroyed hangar. There were several faces of the culprits involves but Mal'achi had narrowed the field of vision to include just three: The Semi unconscious form of Elira Asael, a young woman with strikingly similar features, and a man whose facial characteristics were also echoed in the girl. If only one of the adults and the young woman had been present it perhaps wouldn't have appeared as obvious, even to a trained eye. But with all three?

"I believe that should set things right?"

[Azrin Shadowstar]

Indignation settled on Azrin's brow as he leaned forward, hands still clasped behind him, peering at the faces frozen on the screen. His eyes drank in the details, and the expression slowly faded, melting into a deep, contemplative frown. Mal'achi's sister was easy to recognise; but then there was her rescuer. Azrin knew those features, knew the name they belonged to. Inyos Aamoran. And what was this? Mother's jaw, and father's eyes?

A hint of wonder crept into Azrin's expression. "A child of shadow; a child of light," he uttered softly, a hand rising to his mouth, fingers stroking through whiskers.

But there was more. Something beyond the frame, not quite caught at the moment that Mal'achi had frozen the image, but glimpsed by Azrin's subconscious as it had scrolled past. He reached out, depriving Mal'achi of the controls, winding back the recording in search of a better angle. There: as the Daughter carried Elira Asael towards the vessel of their escape, another figure stood beside her, helping her shoulder the burden. Not Vittore Montegue, though his presence stoked the smouldering embers of ire in the pit of Azrin's soul; no, someone far more important. Far more valuable.

Nen.

The smile that formed on Azrin's lips was not joy, but satisfaction of the deepest kind. He rose back to his full height, turning to face Mal'achi once again. "It appears I owe you an apology," he said, without a hint of hesitation or reluctance; though the curling mirth at the edges of his words made it sound nothing like the sorry it attested to be. "Rather than failure, it appears you have blundered your way into not one success, but two. Not only have you found us our Key -"

He trailed off, words suddenly hardening, a serpentine viscousness oozing into the words like venom.

"- but apparently, our wayward son as well."