Something Wicked This Way Comes

[Azrin Shadowstar]

It was dark, by design, illumination distributed to create isolated pools of light within the vast subterranian space. Though this space hardly seemed like the proper surroundings for scientific advancement and inquiry, it was a vast improvement over the dank and cloying artificial lights of the grimy abandoned motel on Terminus that he had liberated them from. The surroundings belied the extent of technology and sophistication that conspired to fill the air with a persistent hum: relics and artefacts from countless Imperial projects, each lost, forgotten, or abandoned as the result of death, defeat, or regime change within the Imperial ranks. Binring, Death-Hunter, Hidden Eye, the Cylo Directive - strands of wasted potential now woven together into a garotte to wrap around the throats of the Empire's enemies.

Azrin appreciated the darkness - in general yes, but especially here. It was a reminder of what had come before, and of what the Grand Inquisitor and his guardians had overcome decades ago when they had been lured to this barren rock, floating in the remnants of what had once been the planet Anaxes. Jedi had lured them to PM-1203, but it had been the shadows and their occupants that had provided the Inquisition with their challenge. The Grand Inquisitor had been alone, surrounded by sundered fyrnocks when reinforcements had arrived to retrieve him, but rather than abandon the facility, the Inquisitorious had taken Fort Anaxes as a trophy, exterminating the worst of the fyrnock infestation, and enslaving the rest for testing, protection, and the satisfaction of asserting dominance over such a potent force of nature.

"Excuse me, Krayt, sir?"

The ininvited voice salvaged Azrin from his thoughts, the use of his covert alias - the only name these scientists knew him by - wrenching him back into the mindset that was required. The man who spoke was small and feeble: physically average for a man from Hays Minor perhaps, but his presence shrank beneath the weight of anxiety and cowardice, an odd trait for a man whose chosen field was the ruthless and unfeeling theft of humanity and free will from those whose blood currently coated the sleeves of his medical scrubs. Fortunately, that weakness of character was offset by insatiable greed, and it was those aspects of his nature combined that allowed him to be bent so freely to Azrin's will.

Azrin allowed his silence to stretch for an agonising moment before slowly turning away from his vantage, looming above the scientist who approached him. Everything the Haysian man was not, Azrin Shadowstar was: towering, imposing, unnervingly calm, and fixated on objectives far above the petty acquisition of wealth and power.

"Speak."

The air seemed to resonate with his words, the dark side seeping eagerly from the surrounding shadows to provide a sinister escort to Azrin's voice. The Haysian shrank further, and though to his credit he did not retreat even a single step, he visibly recoiled a little deeper into the protective folds of his clothing.

"Subject Five is conscious and responding. We have completed our initial phase of testing, and it seems to be adapting to the new cybernetics well. Should we contact Rancor, and inform him that this batch is ready for collection and transport?"

It. The faintest curl of a smile tugged at the corner of Azrin's mouth. The Haysian had reached within the innards of the creature of whom he spoke, and yet after all that intimacy, Subject Five was merely an it. He, Azrin's thoughts gleefully insisted. Perhaps the Haysian felt compelled to shy away from the fact that Subject Five had once been a person, but Azrin had no such qualms. This was another fyrnock, another ruthless creature shackled and collared, ready to be bent to Azrin's will. He would be willful, stubborn, resistant to commands; but that was to be expected. The man Subject Five had once been was a beast, and Azrin knew all about motivating such creatures. When one broke an animal such as this, one did not seek to tame and declaw it: one merely learned how to convince the beast that his desires aligned with yours. In this instance, Azrin knew it would be almost effortless.

"No," he replied, stern and certain. He let the following silence linger, peering off towards the island of light that surrounded Subject Five and his attending medics, watching as his new pet flexed the new technological limbs and muscles that they had graciously provided, testing the weight of his body on his new metallic bones. "Prepare him and the others for deployment. I have a task for them that is too urgent to wait for Rancor's attention."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

If there was a feeling of godhood, if anyone came close to knowing what it was like to be worshiped, loved and awed, it was this. The undulating crowd, just a few feet below where they stood but for all respects folks could have been on another planet, watched from above from their idols. It were power, true and well and even if it only lasted for a fraction of a day, these precious two hours were the embodiment of damn near all. Sadie felt herself pouring into the crowd, emptying of woe and misery and filling back up with light and sound and everything a body needed to reach divine. Yet she weren't the control. Weren't the focus. Her and the boys, they were just there to help direct it all, feed the source to their leader, their head of this little pantheon. He could start a damn war with the snap of a finger, give his new followers orders to snuff out the lives of others and their own.

And Bog'el Xcreth loved it.

The Zabrak's voice was like lightning and the music she had written that flowed from Rex and Ronan and her was the thunder. It pulsed and the crowd bowed and swayed and stomped to it's command.

This were eternity.

But then eternity took one of them downright bad turns. A chord missed and the strings on her bass quetarra snapped reaching out and winding themselves around her wrists, the metal biting and presenting it's offering. The surprise came, the blood followed, the pain was absent until Sadie looked up to realize that the crowd was still pulsing but to a new beat, to the stuttered echo of her heart thudding in her ears as Bog stared at her across the stage. Two strides was all it took to separate and with a wretch he pulled her forward to the center, to the spotlight, tugged by the instrument in his hands, strings pulling her like a puppet into position.

"This is all a show, kid." Lightning struck and the near manic cheers of the crowd were the reply. "Meet your replacement, my dear."

The Zabrak nodded his head towards the side of the stage and Sadie screamed with no voice, another string of her bass ripping itself free to wind around her throat as the figure approached. Long claws hit first, brought scales into light and a narrow reptilian face that towered over all of them.

Sadie tried to pull away from the hold but the crowd, their power gifted by their gods held her, a light sweeping over dulled faces that revealed alien tech reflected in their eyes. Escape impossible, she looked back to the approaching figure who reached out towards her ensnared head. The claws of the Ssi-ruu cradled her face, breath hot as it inhaled and exhaled her very self.

More struggle only to be answered by one of the clawed hands raking down across her stomach. Her reply was to attempt another scream, the Ssi-ruu answered with a grin, a maw opening, razor teeth obscuring the crowd.

"Be seeing you, kid." Bog's voice from behind.

Jaws opened wider, wider still.

Snap.

"NO."

Whether it were her scream or the crashing of something going flying across the room that was what woke her up, Sadie was thankful and disoriented and all ten kinds of fracked up before she got her baring and went and realized she was so damn restricted on account of the blanket having wound her right tighter than some trash food burrito.

No stage. No lights. No Bog. No kriffing lizard asshat. Just... Home.

"Frak." Sadie grumbled as she detangled herself from the loose fabric, still breathing too damned heavy, heart still pounding away too damn hard, to feel like it was okay to lay back down and relax proper.

Instead, in the dim light that filtered in from somewhere in the hallway she went and allowed herself the over guilty look at the person she no doubt had done and gone ruined a night's sleep for. Again.

"Sorry." Was a standard reply, one Sadie knew she didn't have to make to Vitt. Not for this, not for nothing else, yet it still weaseled it's way out of her all the same.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore's hand was half way to the blaster beneath his pillow before his eyes had even opened. It took all the self control he could muster to stop it from making it all the way when that sheepish apology tumbled out of Sadie's lips. In an instant, he knew what was happening, what had happened. In that instant, his heart sank. Blasters under the pillow weren't much use against the kind of monsters Sadie had to contend with.

He shifted, disguising his reaching arm as a stretch, rolling himself onto his side to face her. A smile formed on his lips, and while it was one he ushered forth deliberately, there was nothing fake about it. There never was when he smiled at her. It was stupid, and made him feel like some dumb kid, but it was what it was. He hesitated for a moment, feeling his subconscious fight against the urge to reach out towards her. He muscled past it, the backs of his fingers gently brushing against Sadie's shoulder. His hesitation didn't come from an aversion, or some lack of desire for contact: it came from respect, of understanding that Sadie had boundaries that her past had helped her to build, and that there was a whole mindfield between those boundaries and her that all the well meaning in the world couldn't always avoid setting off, if you didn't have her inviting the way. They were making progress, though. He was starting to learn the terrain, learn what was okay and what wasn't.

"You've gotta stop doin' that," he countered quietly, fingers trailing down her arm, gently leading her hand towards his lips for a brief kiss against her knuckles. "I've told you b'fore, wakin' up next to you ain't somethin' I need an apology for."

His eyes lingered on her features, straying for a moment here and there to reinforce the mental recording of the details of her face. His smile lessened, but remained in place, a note of worry tugging at his brow.

"I don't need to know," he said, the words almost a rehearsed catchphrase at this point. Nightmares weren't uncommon for either of them; but reluctance in sharing them was. Vittore understood it completely. Dreams were your mind's way of torturing and taunting you, of reminding you where your weaknesses and vulnerabilities were. People with lives like theirs didn't need or appreciate the reminder; and having them was bad enough without having to admit it out loud, no matter how understanding the person next to you was. It wasn't a lack of trust, or a desire to hide those details from someone who cared for you: it was about not wanting to be what your mind tried to convince you to think that you were. Maybe it was shame, or something similar. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't healthy. But it was what the both of them did, and both of them knew that all that was needed was for the other to just be there. "But I'm here if you want me to."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Jus' th' usual dren." Weren't an avoidance or one of them non answers, more of hitting the pause button, maybe something to work out over caf and pancakes in the morning rather than some unholy hour of the morning.

Weren't a lie, neither. Bog showed up a whole heap load more nights than Sadie liked, which really meant any but was a reality of almost all. Was lessening, though, slow like and frustrating, but it were getting better. Sadie figured sharing a bed with Vitt had a great deal to do with that, but it weren't fair to put that sorta pressure on him or whatever scrap of happiness they'd managed to go and find.

For a few ticks Sadie just followed her breathing, trying to make it get back to more calm and respectable like levels. Deep and slow, like some of them meditation deals taught, extend the stomach and breathe from there rather than keeping it all tight in your chest. Worked more than Sadie wanted to admit the mumbo jumbo should.

She'd let her hand linger in Vitt's, fingers soft and avoiding all urges to cling. Not that either of them would have given a damn if she did. Wee hours were one of them sacred places, and special times. Guards could go and be dropped, weight could be lessened, and no judgement were gonna come from it.

Frak it.

Easing herself back down seemed like the hardest bit, letting herself go and be close enough to put her head on Vitt's shoulder and tuck her arms between them was the surprisingly easy part.

"Feels like penance," she said in one of them quiet tones that weren't quite a whisper since normal speak was above and beyond. "Jus' kinna wish th' verse would call it even already, y'know?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Penance. If that was what was going on here, then the universe had done fucked up, and was shooting wide instead of hitting the target who actually deserved it. Sure, Sadie had performed more than her fair share of misdoings over the span of her life, but what she'd suffered through in that same time more than dwarfed the equation into insignificance. Infinitessimal, or something, right? One of those words in one of those books Vitt had been trying to read up on lately so he could ask Sadie how her day was going a little easier. Besides, compared to Vittore Montegue? Hunter, killer, raised in a life of hate and violence? There was no way that she more than he deserved the universe exacting some sort of penance. And if that was what the universe thought was good and fair, the universe could go suck a dick and choke on it, as far as he was concerned.

He didn't say any of that, of course, though his eyebrows and jaw muscles may have gone and given it away without his approval. Normally his sabacc face was pretty rock solid, but it didn't quite work when Sadie was around. With her, everything was like someone had dialed up the control sensitivity. Every tiny gesture, every thought, every feeling, every memory, all of that played out in his head like it was cranked to eleven. Worked out pretty great for him most of the time, truth be told, though there were a few broken noses and cracked jaws scattered around the Outer Rim that might have preferred he be a little less quick to anger at her defense whenever some loudmouthed lecherous drunk tried even the slightest thing in his line of sight.

Now though? Moments like this were something else. A simple smile could make him melt inside, but this? Sadie in his arms, leaning against him so that even with his eyes closed, there was no way he could ever forget that she was there? He wished there was a way to carve that feeling into his chest, to cast the weight and shape of her like lead into his flesh so that he'd never have to stop feeling it. Or maybe they could just lock the doors and never leave this bed again. That would work too.

"Need me t' go punch the verse in the face a few times?" he offered quietly, torn between not wanting to move a muscle, and the desire to pull her just that little bit closer. "Pretty sure my knuckles've healed up from the last few times."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Nah," the refusal came quietly, kinda like brushing off being asked if you wanted sprinkles on ice cream. "Not yet, anyhow. Kinda likin' where you're at right now."

Okay, so the smile that was working its way to her lips was a bit sleep deprived and that was probably why it came all easy. Was funny in a way, if she could somehow go and talk to herself just a fair few years ago and tell her this was gonna be a thing, there was no way she'd have believed it. But this was good, for the both of them, really. But it weren't the sort of thing Sadie would ever have thought she wanted, never mind go and need.

She also weren't against letting Vitt rough up folks on her behalf. Yeah sure, she could take damn well care of herself, problem was that was her only damn option for so long it was kinda nice to have someone else there to have her back, to throw some sleaze out of a window, to just be there. Probably something else her not-so-terribly-younger self would find kinda downright embarrassing, but that version of her hadn't exactly learned just how damned fraked up the verse could go and be when it really had a mind put to it. At least, not where she was considered. Other folks had always been on the table, she'd just kinda gotten used to being down so often she never really figured she'd end up where she had. Should have saw it coming, should have known she weren't immune to true viciousness. Weren't ever gonna happen again though, not with Vitt around, that was for damned sure.

"Jus' lemme get in a shot next time, yeah? Thinkin' deckin' th' verse myself at least once might do good."

[Nen Lev'i]

Contents may be hot when heated.

No shit was the obvious response, and yet it was those words that Nen Lev'i fixated on as he wove his way through the corridors of Cloud City. Partly, it was a side effect of how much effort it was taking to concentrate on the uncomfortably full container of Stratobucks caf gripped nervously in his hand. It shouldn't have been a source of such anxiety for him, and yet it was. He had made this trip, between the Elysian Acquisitions offices and the second-nearest Stratobucks outlet on a daily basis for the last several weeks - second nearest, because there was always a queue at the nearer outlet, and also because of the embarrassing incident with the holocall ID and the cute redhead barista - and at this point had managed to hone the trip down almost to an exact science. Three unopened pods of creamer were clutched in his right hand - it only took two and a half to get the ratios right in an extra large, but sadly Stratobucks did not offer fractional creamer containers - while the left held the precious caffeinated elixer clutched as tightly as it dared. With the three extra minutes it took to reach the more distant outlet, all told it took seven point six minutes for him to return to the offices with caf in hand, and so Nen always left eleven minutes before Miss Shadowstar was due to arrive at the offices, thanks to a handy alert Katie had helped him rig up for when Miss Shadowstar left her apartment in the morning, the other three point four minutes factored in so that once the milk was added and the container passed to Miss Shadowstar, it was somewhere in the vicinity of a drinkable temperature.

The thing was, three days ago it had taken only seven point four minutes. In the grand scheme of things, that was nothing. What's twelve seconds between friends, right? Except that it meant that faster was possible, and that? That was a challenge. In his downtime, which was abundant, and not filled with any pointless distractions like romance or a social life, Nen had begun to analyse what factors may have impacted his travel time on that day. His first assumption had been a measurement error. Twelve seconds wasn't nothing, but his analysis was based off a visual glance at the chrono on his wrist, and the one on his desk. That was the easiest variable to control, and so now his wrist chrono had been deconstructed and reconstructed, and was now synching with remote sensors adhered to different parts of his body, which were measuring his stride and heart rate, and logging other factors like ambient temperature and air pressure. He'd considered that clothing might play a part, a slightly more comfortable pair of slacks allowing longer strides, or a slightly uncomfortable shirt irritating him into a mildly faster pace, so he had purchased and for the last five days worn five identical outfits, and five identical pairs of brand new shoes. His measurements recorded activity through the rest of the day as well, ensuring that each set of shoes and clothes would be subjected to the same wear and tear to allow the experiment to continue in a balanced way, with any step count discrepencies compensated for at the end of the day; but also logged his sleep patterns, his caloric intake and expenditure, approximate volumetric measurements of bowel and bladder movements, and pretty much every variable he could possibly think of.

There was no purpose to it; and yet there was. It didn't matter; and yet it did. The fact that Nen couldn't explain it, the fact that he couldn't convey to you why it was better to stand around for three point six minutes rather than three point four, didn't in any way lessen the fact that it mattered, somehow, to him. The world was a complex and confusing place, and while it was far beyond Nen's power to control or study the larger questions of life, this was something within the scope of his ability to analyse and understand.

And so Nen Lev'i focused on those stupid words, letting their annoying nature focus his mind to avoid the encroachment of music, or numbers, or anything that might cause his strides to shift from the careful steady rhythm that he sought to match every day of his experiment. The tracking doodad on his wrist, with all it's associated fitness bits - he really needed to think of a better name for it - pulsed periodically with a gentle vibration, each one perfectly matching the impact of a foot against the ground. As his subconscious tally of strides reached six hundred and forty-eight, Nen turned down the side corridor that led off the main concourse and towards the Elysian Acqusitions suite, careful to remain equidistant between the two sides of the corridor - the easiest way to ensure that he was walking as close to the same path as possible every day.

A small smile tugged at his lips - only one hundred and thirteen more steps to go! - but it quickly faded, a shift of motion at the very edge of his vision towards him; enough to wrench his attention away from the unfathomable words.

"No."

Rapidly the smile collapsed into an expression of horror, as the malicious decimation of the day's scientific efforts trundled gleefully towards him in the opposite direction.

"Pie, you rusty little assclown," he warned, jaw clenching. "Don't you even dare..."

[R4-P13]

There were many things that could have been attributed to why R4-P13 could be considered awkward. The main being the former R4 unit had little experience moving about on it's own, having only recently been liberated from a Jedi starfighter, another would be that he had to be transferred to a practically ancient C1 chassis. And finally? Well... finally just came down to P13's programing, or lack there of, or whatever it was that made up a droid's personality.

P13 wasn't a jerk per-say, just standoffish until he got to like you. Master Aamoran certainly never had problems with the little astomech, unless of course, P13 had other notions that day. And then there was Master Nen, he and Mistress Sadie had worked together to extract him from the starfighter and give him the ability to roam Cloud City and the properties of The Exchange as much as he liked. And roam he did.

So needless to say, P13 had determined he liked Master Nen. A lot. Which probably explained the excited blissful series of deep toned bleeps that resounded down the hall as the droid sped towards his friend, mechanical arms waving as he set about attempting a friendly nudge against Master Nen, all warnings given having been misunderstood... Or more likely; just ignored.

[Nen Lev'i]

They told him it was a sign of affection. Astro droids didn't have arms or surface sensors, and so couldn't quite grasp the concept of a humanoid embrace. This was their approximation, offering a hug in the only way that a groin-high trundle barrel could. Sadie had teased him about it, joked that P13 was simply showing his gratitude for the part Nen had played in his liberation. Nen supposed, if he thought about it hard enough, that from P13's perspective, the cobbled together mechanical parts that they'd crudely fashioned into a clunky new shell for the R4 unit was maybe akin to restoring vision to the blind, or the ability to walk to an amputee. Nen didn't quite buy it, and certainly didn't feel comfortable with any sort of gratitude or attention for his actions, but at least he could understand it.

Vittore Montegue had been slightly less understanding. Haven't you ever met a baby loth cat before? had been his dismissive remark; he'd seen genuinely startled when Nen had responded in the negative. After all, how could he have? Nar Shaddaa wasn't exactly a hot spot for the expert of cute and cuddly creatures, and if a loth cat ever had made it as far as the Smugglers' Moon, there was no way it would have managed to cross Nen's path before something found it and ate it. Captain Montegue had seemed genuinely surprised by that revelation, and so had done his best to explain how creatures like loth cats, domesticated nexu, and things of that ilk would rub against legs, trees, furniture, all sorts. His explanation of it's probably scent marking or some shit wasn't particularly enlightening, and Nen wasn't sure how the personality or mentality of a loth cat was meant to have worked its way into an astromech droid lodged inside a starfighter for several decades - but then, what did Nen expect? After all, this was the man who had taken one look at the droid's alphanumeric designation, and decided to insist that they all call him Pie.

Three pairs of synthetic beeps chimed from Nen's wrist, as the last few seconds of today's experiment ticked by before Nen had the opportunity to circumvent the droid and resume course. Worse, he had observed, amid his atempts to sidestep the astromech, Captain Montegue had indeed been correct in that Pie seemed to be attempting to leave some sort of residue on his legs - though it was more a matter of rust and grease than fur and odor. An experiment ruined, and a pair of slacks in need of an unscheduled cycle through the cleaner.

A deep, heavy sigh escaped from Nen. Science utterly thwarted for the day, there was only one thing left to do.

"Hey, buddy," he said softly, dropping into a crouch in front of P13. One hand still gripped Miss Shadowstar's morning coffee, but the other rested itself on top of Pie's truncated dome. This was what the droid was after, right? An astromech hug. Contact, and proximity. Despite knowing the droid couldn't really feel it, he found himself gently patting the top of his casing anyway. "It's good to see you too."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

It was far too early for whatever shenanigans were happening in the hall outside her office. It was always too early, but today especially since she had woken up earlier than usual after spending a night up later than usual; both instances purely Vhiran's fault. Okay, maybe not entirely just his, but Emelie was the boss and that meant she got to delegate where blame got to reside. Besides, it wasn't like Vhi was exactly going to be around to defend himself so that meant he'd just have to deal with it.

She watched the Boy and His Droid scene play out for a bit longer, allowing herself another glance at the comm unit on her wrist; the display tapped until a steady and soft blue light pulsed at her. It wasn't much, just a small indication that the tracking device she had Sadie install on Vhi's ship was working. She didn't need to know where he was going, so much as making damn well sure he was coming back.

It wasn't that she was paranoid about it, but as with everything, Emelie never saw anything wrong with a bit of added security as of late. Her little crew was constantly growing, changing, evolving; and while she had never been one to take anyone who could be dubbed as a part of it lightly, mistakes had been made in the past and they were ones that she was all too keen on never making again.

So long as she didn't end up some sort of mom figure, it was all good.

All of that, however, did nothing to stop the eyebrow raise at Nen and the droid.

"You two done cuddling, or should I let you have a moment?"

[Nen Lev'i]

There were a lot of ways one could respond to a situation like this. Embarassment was pretty high up on the list. Your employer finding you having a private moment with everyone's friendly neighbourhood automaton wasn't exactly normal, and most folks would go and get all bashful and ashamed about it, making excuses and rationalisations and all that what-not.

Most people weren't Nen Lev'i, though. He was anxious, definitely. Cowardly, maybe. But ashamed? He'd never quite got that. You were you, and as long as you were being you, that's how the galaxy was meant to be. Acting weird was just part and parcel of it, and he would no sooner modify his own behaviour than he would reprogram Pie to stop his leg nuzzling. Lots of people had complicated philosophies, but Nen's was simple. You do you, kid. Just be yourself.

Without hesitation or batting an eye, Nen wrapped his caf-free arm around P13's chassis, and let his head rest gently against the astromech's dome.

"There's still time if you want to get in on this, boss," he offered cheerfully, stretching his non-hugging arm out in Miss Shadowstar's direction. "If not, here's your caf. This is starting to feel like a two arm hug sort of situation."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Think I'll stick with the caf," Emelie replied as she swooped over and took the offered beverage - As if there really was a choice between the two.

Not that she had anything against droids; she even found it positively endearing how much those that had come with Vittore and now P13 (Emelie refused to use that ridiculous nickname) were just as much a part of her crew as any other member. But still, she wasn't exactly the hug a droid type. Then again, it seemed like Nen had that covered.

Emelie had to admit, she missed her old assistant, Trina Windgate, and all her older-sister-like nagging that came along with her. But Nen was a damn good replacement. For one, he actually got her non-spiked caf order frighteningly accurate, and two... Well, he hardly had mastered that disapproving, all-knowing look that Trina had all but perfected. Third, well, third was easy. Nen was downright likeable. True, he was a bit of a goofball, and young, but as far as just company went, with no strings attached? He fit the bill perfectly.

As she walked past P13 and Nen she paused just enough to look over her shoulder at the duo and shook her head and let the amusement seep fully in to her.

"You've got five minutes before I expect a briefing on today's schedule."

[Nen Lev'i]

Oh. So that's how it was.

There were two kinds of people in the 'verse: those who accepted hugs, and those who refused them. Admittedly, dividing the sentient population of the universe into two sections based on that particular metric might not have been particularly useful, but Nen had given it a lot of thought, and if you added enough layers and subcategories to it, you could actually drill down to some pretty useful insight into people. For example, within the subset of people who accepted hugs, you had all sorts of folks: people who were just being polite, people who understood it as a platonic greeting, people whose cultures placed no stigma and implied no further intimacy to the act, people who were having a really bad day - the list went on. The reverse was true too, of the people who refused hugs. Some just weren't feeling it. Some had issues with physical proximity, or social proximity. Some found it jarring with their concept of social propriety. Some thought it was beneath them. And some? Some just didn't like you.

Okay so sure, Miss Shadowstar was nice. Of the people he knew on Cloud City, she was one of the more amiable and less intimidating options. It helped that her name was on his pay slips at the end of the cycle, but more than that, she'd had no obligation to offer him work when Captain Montegue dragged him back here during the whole Sadie escapade. If not for her, he might have found himself working for Force knows who down on the seedier levels of Cloud City, scrambling for enough credits to buy his way back to Nar Shaddaa and familiarity. Instead she'd given him a place to belong as part of Elysian Acqusitions, and within her criminal network, the Exchange. She'd even helped set him up with a pretty bitchin' apartment - not as big, or comfortable, or expensive as some of the other Exchange types, perhaps, but then you had folks like Captain Montegue and Sadie who voluntarily slept in tiny rooms on a space yacht. Nen was nicely in the middle of the pack, and honestly that was where he was happiest. Being a frontrunner was overrated, and the middle was infinitely better than trailing behind.

Still, as great as a sense of career and criminal belonging was, Nen watched the rest of the Exchange with envy as they slowly crystalised into something more: a family. Oh sure, it helped that half of them genuinely were biologically related. Sadie's new Jedi mentor had gone and turned out to be her dad, because he'd banged Atton Kira's sister, which made Sadie his niece; and then you had Sadie getting up to whatever it was she got up to with Captain Montegue. Thus far, Miss Shadowstar didn't seem to be related to anyone, but Atton seemed to have declared her his heiress of sorts, and the rest of them treated her like family, and then there was all of her Pink Moon Syndicate connections - family, family, family. That was how things worked around here. Even the gorram droids were considered part of the family.

Not Nen, though. Sure, Sadie was nice to him. To the others, he was somewhere between a stray kath-pup that Captain Montegue had brought home, and the seen but not heard hired help from some Alderaani noble family. They did right by him, better than anyone else had back in his Black Sun days on Nar Shaddaa, that was for sure; and yet back then, he'd felt like part of something. Black Sun had treated him like shit at times, but that was par for the course, and he'd felt less alone in that latrine than he did up here in the clouds.

A quiet sigh escaped him. At least he knew P13 seemed to appreciate him. On a whim, a gentle smooch was planted on the droid's crimson head.

"Don't worry about her not wanting to hug us, little buddy," he said warmly, as much to reassure himself as the droid. "Some people are just allergic to nice things."

[Atton Kira]

"This -"

Atton's spine creaked a little as he doubled over, rumaging around beneath the bar. It was early, and he was a fool for being here, having only managed to secure a few hours of shut-eye after a night spent tending this very bar. He didn't have to, of course: he liked to hide behind the pretense that the job was part of his cover, a way to make him accessible to potential informants, and a justification for his presence here on Cloud City to avoid any unwanted Imperial attention, but he could easily have taken a management post here at Elysium, to essentially the same effect. No, the reality was that he liked it: for all the exhaustion and frustration it presented, he liked the opportunity to interface with people, in a way that made him almost invisible to them. People would confess things to their bartender, people would say things to others right in front of them without a second thought. It was overt anonymity, and frankly Atton found it more intoxicating than anything served across this counter.

Today though, his presence here was something different. It wasn't anonymity he saught, and yet he still found himself hiding behind the protection of the bar. He'd chosen Elysium as neutral ground, somewhere that he felt at least somewhat comfortable and where she wouldn't exactly be out of her element; and, most importantly, somewhere with a ready supply of alcohol.

"- isn't the real stuff," he admitted, setting down a bottle of what claimed to be Alderaanian brandy on the bar. "They make lots of fancy claims about it, plants grown from real cuttings exported from Alderaan just before..."

He trailed off and shrugged, retrieving a pair of glasses from beneath the counter, and beginning to pour.

"It's like the lies we tell ourselves in order to get to sleep at night."

One copiously filled tumbler was slid across the bar towards his sister, the other raised in a lazy salute.

"Not true, but close enough to get the job done."

[Elira Asael]

Skepticism was the flavor of the day, and would have been present even without Atton's warning, but still Elira drank deeply from the tumbler, half finishing the contents in one go. She eyed the glass in her hand, rotating her wrist as if trying to analyze the contents.

"Remember that time we got that bottle of raava from Chandrila?" Elira began, a hint of wistfulness and nostalgia at the edges of each word. "We were so convinced that because it was exotic that it was going to be the most amazing stuff ever; that simply because it wasn't from Alderaan it had to be better somehow."

Another drink from the tumbler was taken, more cautious this time, a sip really. Just enough to wet her throat and her nerves to continue.

"It was good, though." She raised the glass to eye level and let out a soft sigh. "This though? This is shit. Would be fantastic if it was the real deal, though."

[Atton Kira]

It shouldn't have been as easy as Elira made it seem. They'd talked since her recovery - both from the Empire, and her injuries - and they'd talked, said a lot of things that had gone unsaid for far too long. There'd been resolution, relief, closure, all of those things that you were supposed to get when you reconciled with your estranged half-sister, but then what? All the tropes and idioms never filled you in on that next part. Things were supposed to get all happily ever after, but how were you supposed to do that? After a couple of decades of knowing in your heart of hearts that you'd betrayed a promise to someone you cared for, how did you break the guilty habits you'd fallen into?

Elira was right, of course. Despite the distillery's lofty claims, it was a pale imitation of the authentic liquor that it proported to be. Of course, having a mother who'd been Alderaani loyalty, Atton and Elira had been spoiled with ready access to the finer and more expensive things in life. For the common Alderaanian, nostalgia alone was likely enough to smooth over the flaws and differences. Atton envied that ability, that comfortable ignorance that made it easier for people to be happy with what they had. In Atton's line of work, ignorance - of the knowledge sort, at least - was a commodity he hadn't enjoyed in a very long time.

He let the taste of the imitation brandy linger in his mouth, and wondered if the two of them and what they had was comparable: a pale imitation of the real thing, satisfying only to those who were ignorant of how true family was meant to feel. They had grown up together, travelled the galaxy together, and part of Atton longed to feel that way again; but they were different people now. The pieces of that life had been dismantled, and the fragments repurposed. They would never quite fit together the same way again.

Would be fantastic if it was the real deal.

Atton sighed inwardly at that sentiment. Indeed it would.

"So, are we going to talk about the bantha in the room?"

He took another sip of his shit brandy, smirking a little into the rim of the glass. If there was one thing Atton Kira was truly good at, it was deflection. It had been essential to his occupation all these years, and essential to his survival, but more than that, it had become essential to his character. Many people thought they knew and understood Atton Kira, and those people were all wrong, by design, all misled by the truths and lies that Atton interchanged in an elaborate web. He didn't just state the lies, either, he committed to them, wove them into his actual reality in such a way that they almost became true. He really was just a humble barman working at a nightclub on Cloud City. He really had been a Holonet News reporter. He really was Doctor Atton Kira, an affectation he was oddly nostalgic for these days. He had turned those lies into a deflector shield so effective that these days, even he didn't truly know who he really was underneath.

"You shacking up with the Jedi again? Because if you are, I think I've got a pamphlet around here somewhere to help make sure I don't wind up with another niece or nephew you need me to smuggle into hiding."

[Elira Asael]

Elira finished the definitely not-Alderaanian-yet-accetable beverage in her glass, her face remaining neutral as if she hadn't heard the question. She let the pause linger, stretching out enough to make Atton wonder if she was really going to answer at all.

And for a moment, albeit just a brief tiny one, Elira actually considered just avoiding answering. Atton already knew the answer, but that wasn't why he asked. The answer she knew she was going to say had immediately been on the tip of her tongue, and no doubt Atton already knew precisely what she was going to say, but there was some truly mean part of her that wanted to hold it all to herself, to not give him the satisfaction.

She reached over to the bottle and refilled her glass and topped off her brother's before she finally made eye contact with him, a hmm leaving her mouth as she took a far more restrained sip of the beverage.

"Sure," the silence was broken. "Might as well hand it over since you clearly won't exactly be needing the reference material any time soon."

[Atton Kira]

Atton sat in silence, momentarily stunned by the vicious low blow that Elira had just delivered. He blinked, once, twice, almost unsure that he'd even heard it correctly. His eyebrows furrowed, and then pinched together, and then from deep inside him errupted a waterfall of laughter that cascaded outwards as if a levee had just broken. Laughter shook his body, crinkled his eyes, reddened his face, and unsteadied his legs enough that he had to dump himself onto a convenient stool?

"Really?"

His words squeezed out between chuckles, like reckless pedestrians trying to dodge their way through traffic. Just as it seemed as if the laughter had diminished, a fresh new convoy of chortles raced their way out of his lungs. The back of his wrist rubbed at one of his eyes, and came away damp.

"That's the comeback you're going with?"

He finally managed to muster up a sigh, blinking a few times and enforcing a few deliberate breaths to reign in his amusement. His glass gestured a vague salute before the contents were downed swiftly, the burning flavour of subpar brandy offering some small iota of focus to help restore his composure.

"Not quite the elegant razor's wit my nostalgia was hoping for, but still. That's some classic Ellie right there."

[Elira Asael]

"Yeah, well..."

Another drink was taken as Elira tried desperately to hide the fact that the sudden outburst of laughter from Atton was entirely unexpected. Of all the reactions she had tried to imagine, him damn near peeing himself from a case of the chuckles wasn't one of them. It was an utter relief though. To say they'd been estranged these last chunk of years was a few of the hells of an understatement. That combined with the talk they'd had... Well, Elira had hoped maybe that would clear the air and bring about something normal; but she'd learned a long time ago there was a damn difference between hoping and something being reality. Felt like a punch in the gut when they met, but there you had it.

"Been a while since I've had a decent target to practice on."

[Atton Kira]

Atton nodded along in silent agreement as he refilled his glass. It wasn't necessarily a side effect of the lives they both lived, but it was a side effect of the way they chose to live them. Pushing people away came easily to both of them, and while Atton mostly just held people at arm's length, Elira was more inclined to propel people out of an airlock - figuratively speaking of course; and on the odd occasion, not. He wondered if they had always been that way, always been that broken, saved from loneliness only by the enduring stubbornness of colleagues and comrades who refused to leave for as long as possible; or had they been broken, the newborn Saidra becoming a wedge between them that slipped all too easily into existing cracks, and wrenched their lives into fragments? Atton wasn't sure, and for once, his curiosity wasn't strong enough to overcome his desire not to probe any deeper.

"It must have been hard after Quinn retired. Space is a cold and empty place when you rattle around it alone."

The words were delivered with a mix of sympathy and subtle poetic flair, a tone so carefully chosen that Atton neglected to consider his words before he uttered them. He winced, suddenly off-put by the accidental admission of his espionage into his sister's life.

"Sorry," he began with a grimace, "Perils of being an information broker. I can't help knowing -"

He stopped. It was a familiar line, and a familiar lie. The old excuse that knowledge was his business, and secrets were unfortunate collateral damage. It was bantha shit, and he knew it; but it was such a pleasant, comforting lie, one that helped you sleep at night and live a life free of guilt and reservation. Life was changing, though. Though he hadn't quite handed over the keys to his kingdom just yet, he had forged a second set and placed them in the hands of Emelie Shadowstar. When she was ready, when enough time had passed, he fully intended - or at least, he hoped he did - to step aside and leave her to inherit the network of spies, informants, and whispers that had kept him so occupied and so comfortably financed for all these years. But when he did so, what then? What would be left? Who would he be? At first, he had imagined he would simply fade away, content to be forgotten by a galaxy that already, by design, payed him little mind. Now, things were different. It wasn't just Elira; it wasn't just Sadie; it was everyone, this strange, motley assortment of lost souls and miscreants. It was like a second coming of those old days aboard the Malebius, back when life was simple, and all one had to worry about was ISB patrols and the occasional Inquisitor. He was part of something: a crew, if he was feeling modest; a family, if he was in a sufficiently sentimental mood. It was something he had never expected, nor hoped for, nor imagined a man such as him could ever have. Now, it was here, unbidden and by accident; and it deserved better from him. They all deserved better. Not a man greedily hoarding secrets, but a brother, an uncle, a friend.

"I kept an eye on you all, for as long as I could. You may think that I never looked back when I walked out of that airlock, but I did, and I never stopped."

His efforts to refill his glass were resumed, and as a few seconds trudged past, so too did his moment of sentimental indulgant, surviving only as long as the bottle continued to pour.

"Did you know he's an uncle now too?" His voice lapsed back into something far more conversational. "Some guy went and knocked up his sister a while back, and she went and wound up getting into a mess of trouble; left Quinn holding the baby. Well, teenager, or whatever he is by now."

A breath of amusement crept out from Atton's nose.

"Wonder if he ever followed through on those old threats of his, and tracked down the guy responsible to - what was it again? Arc-weld your wandering balls to the deck?"

[Elira Asael]

It probably should have bothered her just how much Atton knew about - well - everything. They'd had a decent shouting match over it, after all. Right now, however, with the dust still settling between them, Elira found herself more amused than anything else.

When they'd been younger - much, much younger - Atton had always wanted to know everything. The problem had been, he would just ask or leer creepily in a pathetic attempt at stealth and a far younger, less adult Elira couldn't count the number of times she had told him to shut up or leave her alone. Now Atton didn't ask, and wasn't seen, but still found out all he wanted to know just the same. She was proud in one way, unnerved in many others, but not angry. She'd never been angry - which was something that was hard to believe given the unkind words she had jettisoned at her brother far too recently.

It was, however, something she was going to have to get used to in a big hurry; even if she'd already made some sort of peace with it. Atton's wealth of information was, after all, the single most reason she had to thank for still breathing. Probably the same could be said about her daughter. She wondered if the same was true for others of their merry little band.

"Gods, we're old," she grumbled into the edge of her glass. "When the hells did that go and happen?"

[Atton Kira]

"Speak for yourself," Atton quipped back, with a chuckle.

It was a deflection, a knee-jerk defence mechanism that prevented him from needing to openly acknowledge the fact that she was right. Thanks to the Epicanthix side of her genome, Elira had aged somewhat more gracefully than her fully human little brother had, but there was no denying that the both of them were part of a generation that was rapidly growing obsolete. Force sakes, they were practically the grandparent generation, though fortunately, no one in their family had any designs on cementing that status just yet. There had come a time when people who couldn't remember the Clone Wars, who'd been born during or since it, made him feel old. Now, there were people being born who - if the peace held, at least - wouldn't remember the Galactic Civil War either.

Uninvited, a stray whisper of Benjamin Kira's voice tumbled through Atton's mind. It's not how many years you've lived, his father had droned, words that the absentee patriarch had droned as if there was some profound significance to them, But how many wars you remember.

Atton fought the urge to cringe at the pretentious words. They had been a brag, a nascent reminder to Atton that Benjamin Kira was a war hero. By the grace of his father's own disinterest, he had been allowed to spend much of his youth among the Ath-Thu'ban household on Alderaan, protected from the obligations of Alderaani nobility by the lack of marital bond between his parents when he had been born. Atton had never quite known what happened when the Admiral and the Contessa had learned of her pregnancy: he liked to pretend that she had been thrilled, wanting to cement their romance through marriage so that Atton could be born as a proper part of her family; and that his father had refused, abandoning her and him in favour of continued dedication to his reputation as an officer. Atton liked that narrative: the parent who wanted him, and the one that didn't. He liked it better than the more probable version that he was unwanted by both; but at least his mother had the decency to do a better job of hiding it.

It had been a lonely childhood, though. Not an Ath-Thu'ban, not a true Alderaanian, not a clue of how to act like the sort of noble that the household and culture demanded that he be. His brother, Mal'achai, had been off on distant worlds serving the family, the homeworld, and the Republic as a Jedi Knight: an example that Atton couldn't possibly have followed. Elira meanwhile, she shrugged off the same expectations that Atton failed to achieve. While the pressures of expectation and disappointment filled him with a dizzying confusion over who he was meant to be, Elira stood there as a beacon of self-identity. She was who she was; she was who she chose to be. Atton envied that. Idolised that. He'd done everything in his infant power to emulate her, or at least to adapt himself into the kind of person that Elira wouldn't want to push away.

He'd failed. Just like Mal'achai, and just like his father, Elira had left, off on her quest for rebellion along the galaxy's spacelanes. Atton had surrendered, leaving behind an Alderaan that he didn't deserve to be part of, and following his father's footsteps into the military, hoping that serving in the Clone Wars would earn him the respect that his father had denied him for so long. Of course, it wasn't good enough. Atton's service with Republic Intelligence merely provided his father with a more specific reason to look down upon him. It wasn't proper warfare, not proper service, not the kind that was worthy of celebration or acclaim. It became a joke, the son from Intelligence becoming new nomenclature for the bastard, the outsider, the unwanted son.

And then the war had ended, and Elira had found him. Under the guise of honouring their brother - a brother they both believed to have fallen heroically, a decade before the Clone Wars even began - they had rebelled; Elira perhaps merely for the sake of it, and Atton as a means to spite his father. They had smuggled survivors of the Jedi Order away from the forces of Palpatine and his Purge. They had flipped their fingers at new Imperial regulations and tariffs, Elira's connections and Atton's understanding of the Empire's inner workings steering them through the shadows to adventure and profit.

Then it had fallen apart. All of it. The business with Inyos. The birth of Sadie. Atton couldn't even remember which of them deserved the blame for the falling out that had driven he and Elira in different directions. And now here they were, together again, every premise of the last decades a smouldering ruin at their feet. Sadie was no longer the unwanted daughter. Elira and Atton were no longer estranged. Mal'achai was no longer the noble martyr, instead twisted into something insidious and dark that Atton couldn't even begin to fathom.

His father said that wars were the truest mark of age; were that so, then all the struggles, and conflict, and heartbreak that this family had endured surely made them all ancient.

"You may be getting a bit grey and wrinkled around the edges, but me? I'm barely coming into my prime."

[Vittore Montegue]

This life was tougher than Vittore had ever expected it to be.

On paper, or flimsiplast, or the back of your hand, or whatever the hell it was you used to scribble things down on, it should have been easy. Emelie Shadowstar and her Elysian Acquisitions corporation had him on retainer, which basically meant that he got paid for sitting around on his ass waiting for them to find something for him to do. Sure, maybe those jobs weren't quite as thrilling and death-defying as the ones Vittore might have picked for himself, but he wasn't the same man he'd been back when those had been his employ of choice, what with the whole having something to live for now thing; and honestly, if he was getting restless and bored, Miss Shads was pretty cool with letting him do the odd side task, so long as he was at her beck and call when she needed him to be. And all this downtime, all this opportunity to spend time with Sadie, in familiar surroundings, without people shooting at them? It was all pretty great.

Yet at the same time, it was immensely difficult. It wasn't just that Vittore struggled with staying in the same place for too long, it was that he struggled feeling as if he deserved all of this. His work as a hunter had been penance or self-punishment for his perceived sins, and to have set that aside, and replaced it with this? This happiness, this bliss, this feeling of being worth a damn to someone? It was a constant joy, day after day, and it filled Vittore with a whole new set of fears and worries that he wouldn't ordinarily have contended with. He wasn't trained for this. He didn't know what the hell he was doing. What if he screwed things up? What if he did something wrong? What if one of these days, Sadie realised that there was a whole galaxy of better guys out there, and made a totally justified upgrade? He wasn't some lovesick sap, and it wasn't as if he'd chosen to hang the pivot of his happiness around her shoulders; but there'd been no happiness before, and the kind he enjoyed right now was the happiness she'd brought with her when she'd strolled into his life.

It wasn't something that kept him up at night, or that plagued him constantly, but there were moments - moments when the stray thoughts crept in, poking at the edge of what should otherwise be happy. Like now, for example. Strolling down the promenades of Cloud City's lower levels, off in search of somewhere with good eats and passable drinks. They'd been systematically working their way through the bistros and food outlets, making note of the ones they liked best so that they could circle back to them on those days where they didn't really feel like being adventurous. It was those kinds of things: so normal, so perfect, and so utterly undeserved by Vittore Montegue. That was when there'd be the flicker, like that faint crackling instant when a light fitting trembled just the slightest bit. In a moment it was gone, almost as if it hadn't been there, but still: you don't deserve her, was the persistent whisper in his head.

Yeah, I know, was the silently grumbled reply.

This time, it was the accidental brush of his knuckles against hers that sparked off the little flicker of anxiety in him. Things were complicated when it came to contact between them, for a whole host of completely understandable reasons. But while Vittore understood the reasons, what he didn't understand was the limitations, the restrictions, the edges of what he was and wasn't allowed to do, and was or wasn't supposed to do. Should they have been holding hands right now? Was that a not okay now thing, or a not okay ever thing? If it was okay, would Sadie just grab hold of his hand, or his arm, and that would be that? Or was he expected to be the one to do that, some unspoken obligation to make that move and be the man in this relationship? No one had briefed him on that, and it wasn't like Vittore was exactly rolling in people willing to offer advice. You had the Jedi, and the Att-Man, who were Sadie's father and uncle, and even if they did seem like people who might have valid relationship advice - disclaimer: they did not - it would have been weird. You had Little Nelly, Nen Lev'i, whose solution to everything was pretty much hug it and it'll be fine; and then there were folks like Captain Asael and Miss Shads, who - and no judgement here - would probably have a Force sakes, why are you two not banging already sort of reaction, which would be especially weird coming from Sadie's mother in particular. And then there was Ammo, the Mandalorian, who Vittore was happy to chat to about guns and stuff, and who seemed like the sort of person who'd offer insightful advice, but still. Mandalorian courtship was probably something about hunting a wild animal with your bare hands and presenting it to your desired mate as a trophy, and somehow that didn't really seem like Sadie's thing.

Of course, making it worse was the fact that Sadie was now connected into Jedi radio, and was probably totally aware of every little flutter of anxiety and doubt that he ever felt. If she was, she did a good job of hiding it, but still: add that to the list of things to feel guilty about. Everything else aside, Sadie for sure deserved someone who wasn't going to subject her to his kind of baggage on top of everyone else.

Carefully and discretely he drew a breath, cycling it through his lungs and trying to clear his mind. It was something he'd read in a book about meditation. Not explicitly a do not dump your emotions on your Jedi girlfriend technique or anything like that, but Jedi stuff was all about clearing your mind and calming your emotions and stuff, so it seemed like as good a place to start as any.

"Where'd we get to on the list?" he asked aloud, a distraction for himself as much as anything else. "Please tell me it's not the live insect joint today. I dunno if I'm brave enough."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Oh kriff no, if it were we'd be skippin' right on past," Sadie offered as she went and took a sidestep that was one of them just enough movements that bumped her against Vitt and caused her hand to meet his for just a smidge.

It weren't intimacy by any damn standards, and it was right embarrassing for folks like them where physical stuff was just that. At the down right heart of it Sadie knew this was stupid. The two of them seriously needed to just get on past this dren and have one proper night of mussing up the sheets and this would be over. Trouble was, making that move to get there was proving a whole heap of a ton harder than it had any damned right to be. Frak the entire verse for that. Or not as it were.

Worst bit of it all was, despite teachings meant to knock it the frak off, Sadie couldn't help but be aware on the smallest bit, how Vitt were troubled by it all. She didn't dare go and open up and try to really suss out what was bothering him. That left a whole heap of bad ideas incubating but Sadie had the brains to at least go and remind herself of the fact that she had been the one who had tried to run and it was Vitt that'd put a stop to that. That meant more to her than any damn hint of feeling could ever do.

Still, she knew something were eating at her partner and enough to know it was to do with them and that was enough to make Sadie go and worry. But it was a downright respect thing that she didn't try and go and make a fuss about it. They'd figure it all out. Eventually. Probably would take an intervention from a third party who would call them both out on being idiots, but if that were the cost, Sadie would pay gladly.

"Think we've worked up t' that Sullustan joint." The question was answered as Sadie had to go and bring her brain right back on target and go about doing her usual business of attempting to ignore the dren that was off-kilter. "So this could either go right amazin' or we both might be in a whole system of hurt t'morrow."

[Vittore Montegue]

Sullustans. Right.

Vittore cringed a little internally, as old instincts began to kick in. Working their way through restaurants like this, exploring the different cuisines that Cloud City had to offer, was part of a careful process of unstitching the attitudes that his father had instilled in him. It wasn't that Hugo had been racist, or that Vittore had inherited some form of xenophobia from him; it was more subtle than that, more insidious, more about letting cold analytics get in the way of warm empathy. People weren't people to Hugo Montegue: they were a collection of capabilities, of strengths and weaknesses, of how could I kill them if I needed to, or how would they kill me if they tried? It was hard to think past that, hard to form a thought about them that didn't dwell on their sight, or hearing, or subterranian nature. It was why, in part, Vittore wanted this. It was why he wanted this culinary exploration of Cloud City; it was why his datapad back on the ship was filled with myths and poems and trashy alien romance novels. Hugo had raised him to think about things in a certain way, and maybe he'd never be able to break away from that; but maybe, by sheer force of will, he could corrupt that process, and forge different connections and associations instead.

Right now, he forced his mind to dredge up every piece of trivia about Sullust and Sullustans that he could. SoroSuub, who made those big triangle carriers that the Empire liked to lose. The Paladin blaster rifle Dad had from his Senate Commando days too; Renegades, QuickSnaps, Lancers, and SSKs too, and a whole bunch of other decent guns; and speeders, freighters, starships. The Battle of Sullust, turned into a petty last jab attempt to thwart the Rebellion in the months before the Alliance of Free Planets came to be. The other Battle of Sullust, because they'd sided with the Separatists during the Clone Wars. Pinyumb, the capital city, easy to remember because it sounds like a tasty needle. The Chained Oblivion, both the title and antagonist of an old Sullustese romance poem, and a pretty damn awesome name for a hypothetical band.

There should have been more. He wished there was more. In one meal's time, there would be - even if, like Sadie implied, his asshole might not thank him for it in the morning.

"Just makin' this clear from the outset," he quipped back, returning Sadie's gentle and pretend-accidental nudge of physical contact with one of his own. "Don't get me wrong, I love you... but the Tide's my ship, an' if it comes down to it, I one hundred percent get dibs on the bathroom."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Psh, fair 'nuff. Though I mean, if it's that damned terrible we ain't gonna want... t' be..." Whatever crude humored joke Sadie was working on got derailed as her brain finally caught up with something Vitt had gone and said. No, not the bathroom thing that she'd opened herself up to in the first damn place. Nope, something way worse and more profound had been spouted and Sadie was damn sure she'd never heard Vitt say it before, not even in the joking way he'd just done and gone brushed it off.

"Wait. Did y' just say... You..." Well frak. Was she supposed to say it back? She did after all. But it felt so obligatory to do that. And why did people put such a big gorram emphasis on a simple four lettered word anyway? What was it about four letter words in general having some freakish power over folks? It weren't fair to put that much pressure on something like that, she figured. But at the same time... didn't seem right to just blurt it out either just because she could or should or something.

[Vittore Montegue]

Oh no. What did I do?

For a moment, horror swept through Vittore's mind, an army of thoughts and demons turning on him with weapons drawn in accusation. What mistake had he made? What had he said that he shouldn't have done? How had he managed to mess up something as simple as walking and talking? His words replayed in his mind, scrutinised and dissected for whatever utterance had been out of place or unwelcome, analysed from all angles for possible interpretations that he had not considered, or insensitivities that might have tripped unknowingly across some issue that he had not been careful enough to avoid.

But then he found it, the dull and tarnished copper coin in a dragon horde of gold. I love you. Was that it? Had those three words been the comment that made Sadie's thoughts stop in their track? Granted, he had in fact uttered I love you, but, which was not a good fourth word to append to that trio - not with only a singular t, at least - but still. Was there something wrong with that sentiment? Was it a word too far, a level too high, a specific word applied to a relationship that for Sadie was still vague and uncertain? He supposed it could be. He supposed it was like those articles he stumbled across while browsing the holonet unable to speak, where lovesick teens asked anonymous others whether it was too soon to say love, or asked how to know whether it was safe for labels like boyfriend and girlfriend. Of all his doubts and uncertainties, how he felt about Sadie was the one thing of which Vittore was absolutely certain. Dread filled him at the thought that he might be alone in that certainty.

Fortunately, his racing mind reached back further, scouring through every conversation that the two of them had ever shared. Was it simply that he had never said it before? That he had chosen perhaps the worst possible time to utter a word that should have been saved for some perfect, intimate moment? If that were true, the notion horrified him. Had he really gone so long feeling it without saying it? Had he robbed himself and Sadie of the cathartic bliss that came from knowing that all they felt could be crystalised down into a single, simple word?

He stopped in his tracks, physically rather than Sadie's verbal equivalent, waiting for her to turn enough so he could meet her gaze, a nervous smile stumbling like a newborn deer to find its way to his lips.

"Damn right I did," he said, managing to sound confident for those few words, before hesitation began to creep in. "I guess I figured it was so obvious that I forgot to go and say it."

He reached out, fighting the impulses not to, the fingers of his hand gently ensnaring the fingers of hers.

"I love you, Sadie. I hope that's okay."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

He made it all seem so damned easy to just go and admit your feelings openly that Sadie found herself a might bit jealous. Maybe she'd just been overthinking the whole damned notion, putting too much emphasis on something that really just were all that simple. It weren't like their option about each other was some right secret or nothing, they both knew so yeah, maybe it was just that they'd never said nothing but had been saying it all along somehow anyhow. Whatever, it was out in the open now, breathed and spoken and damn if it didn't leave her with one of them stupid doe eyed smiles that Sadie knew broadcasted her inability to hide the fact she was really just a giant sap deep down. When the kriff had that happened?

Her fingers tightened the tenuous hold between them and then she went and tossed caution to the winds, because why the hells not?

"It's totally okay, but only if I can go an' say that th' feelin' is all kinds of mutual. I love you, Vittore."

So there it was, L word loud and clear and spoken and it should have left her feeling like Cloud City itself had gone and fallen away and left them both soaring alone. But it... Didn't. Okay, so it had for a second or two, just some brief moment after she'd gone and spoken up finally. But then?

It was... weird. And downright unnerving and... cold. That was the right proper word for it. Sadie felt cold. Like some sort of chill wind had swept in snatched the warmth they'd created with overdue admissions and she just couldn't figure... why. What part of the verse saw fit to make that how she felt?? But it weren't coming from her. It wasn't inside it was an invasion.

Her breath felt heavy as if turning to liquid in her chest that were trying to strangle her, and the smile that was so easily placed vanished as Sadie found her eyes moving away from Vitt's to past him. Things seemed to slow as she watched the people behind him, walking, talking, carrying on as if nothing was happening.

And then there it was. A parting in the crowd and the bottom of her stomach, her heart, her very soul fell out.

No.

No kriffing, fraking, WAY.

Wake up, Sid! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

But she weren't sleeping. This weren't some pleasant dream turned sudden nightmare. This was real, this was happening.

And some hellish imagined larger and more imposing version than she had ever recalled in her worst memories of Bog'el Xcreth was standing in Cloud City, making eye contact with her across the promenade.

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie didn't mind slow days. Paperwork and a glass of freshly tapped whiskey, both from the newly minted Anwwn distillery made for a delightful combination. The batch wasn't amazing, but it was certainly passable as a first test. There would need to be more opinions and tweaking on the recipe and process, but certainly Emelie could taste the potential. The thought of the Elysium having it's own private label had been too good a thought to pass up and now that she had proof of the product in hand, it always felt good to be doing something so utterly legitimate and in a way new. There were of course, a few more hoops to jump through before she could actually properly offer the fruits of the distillery's labors to the public, but it was getting there. And fast. Probably fast enough that she needed to consider the time frame of a proper ribbon cutting and ceremony. Wonderful more lists; more dancing among Cloud City's politics. Yes, it was certainly a good thing the test batch was certifiably drinkable.

It was enough to keep her attention from fully recognizing the approaching figure through the transparent walls that made up her office, only that someone was here. Not exactly an invited guest, but if it was really someone to be concerned with, no doubt Nen would have notified her. As the door opened Emelie allowed herself to look up, seeing who would be so brazen as to wander in without so much as a warning or a greeting. The smug grin that greeted her was far from unfamiliar but there was something about Captain Montegue that was certainly off.

Off enough for her hand to quickly move under the desk and pull out the small holdout blaster she kept there. Off enough for her to not hesitate as several - definitely lethal - bolts to be fired into Vittore's chest and certainly off enough that Emelie didn't even hesitate about it all for even a second.

"Fool me once, asshole." She muttered, one of those things that probably should have stayed in her thoughts rather than let slip from her tongue.

It wasn't the most graceful of things, but it was far from anything Emelie had ever had to practice either. Sadly the hunter was not the only casualty as her attack had knocked over the glass of whiskey on her desk.

"Frak." Emelie let out with a sigh and placed the blaster back on her desk, clear of where the liquid would reach it. "Such a damn waste."

Shifters. The notion still terrified her. And while outwardly she seemed to react to the sudden death in front of her with nothing more than a casual glance over the edge of her desk before she set about cleaning up the mess she had made, inwardly she was already racing wondering what in the ever living frak was this about now.

And that was when the body on the floor sat up, groaning in protest against the blaster fire that had laid him out only moments ago.

Emelie froze, ice cube melting between her fingertips as her eyes widened at the site. Now that. That was not supposed to happen at all.

"Kriff me."

[Vittore Montegue]

The grin across the Shifter's features - across Vittore Montegue's features, misappropriated for dramatic effect - grew broader.

"That an invitation or an order, boss?"

A moment of contemplation was cast down at the Shifter's chest, the angry craters of seared flash already beginning to shrink and knit together beneath the scorched holes in his shirt. It was a shame, really, to see new clothes ruined so quickly: but his instructions had been very specific about his choice of wardrobe, just as they had been about the face he was required to wear. Security footage, audio recordings, a full psychological and behavioural profile. The level of detail went above and beyond most of what the Clawdite was typically provided. But then, this was no typical job; and he was no longer a typical Clawdite.

The Shifter cracked his neck to the side, for a moment allowing his focus on his mimicry to slacken, a ripple of his true form flowing like a wave across his features. He had to hand it to his new benefactors: their enhancements were more than he could ever have hoped for. All that information that they had provided had not simply been read: it flowed freely into the Shifter's mind from cybernetic implants, and back out into his extremities, gently guiding his movements and mannerisms to conform with the guise he had adopted. His voice, altered by another set of implants, effortlessly escaped as a match for the recordings the Shifter had been treated to: he simply needed to match the inflexions and the linguistics, the technology taking care of the rest. Other adaptations had guided him through the city to his target, weaving around security patrols, evading cameras, bypassing whatever locks and obstacles that might have stood in his way. It was almost effortless, an indescribable upgrade to his capabilities: and all free, offered by scientists who wished only to prove that they could - save for this one small favour, of course.

Which begged the question: how? His mimicry was more perfect than ever, and yet this target, this Shadowstar, had seen through it with barely a hesitation. Before he had not bothered to ask why - why this face, why this target? - assuming simply that his benefactors had his reasons. It wouldn't have been the first time he was sent to pose as a disgruntled employee: such tactics were par for the course, particularly for the discerning individual who wanted to make the most of their corporate insurance policies. Now though, he began to wonder. Was his information in error? Had his benefactors missed some vital clue, some fresh injury, a haircut, a piercing, a level of intimacy between Shadowstar and Montegue for which he had not been prepared?

"I'll do you a favour," he said, climbing slowly and calmly back to his feet, rolling his shoulders as he felt electrical impulses trickle their way down the circuitry embedded into his flesh, stimulating bursts of energy and adrenaline in their wake. He was supposed to use a blaster for this, but circumstances had changed: now he wanted to do this with his bare hands, and the implants were all too eager to accomodate.

"Kriff me as final words is kinda embarassing. How's about you tell me how you knew I wasn't him, and we go with those instead?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Sarlaac. The word sprang to mind, the entity or organization that had been responsible for the last Clawdite that had dared wear the face of Captain Montegue in an attempt to end her life. It had to be what this was about. Had the Underworld's computers finally found something that was going to fit all the puzzle pieces together, was this a strike to prevent that from being learned, some sort of fail safe they had triggered? It was the only explanation that Emelie could come up with, but that wasn't exactly important right now. Important was not ending up dead. Sadly, her odds that the real Vittore Montegue would come through the door to save her this time around was rather low.

"Do you really think I would give you any sort of information that could let you keep posing as one of my people?"

Emelie eyed the blaster once more, knowing it was probably futile to pump another few rounds into the imposter, but couldn't help but think it might at least wipe that once-endearing smile off his damn face. If nothing else it took her attention off the horribly loud pounding of her heart and the fact her chest was trying to feel like it was going to cave in on her. She wasn't scared, at least not utterly, but adrenaline and alcohol had a funny way of mixing together.

"I'll give you a hint though, it is one hell of a tell that any one else in my crew will see immediately." The haughtiness was dropped in favor of a mock pout and a sullen bat of her eyelashes. "Guess you'll just have to live with the disappointment of not knowing what it is."

[Vittore Montegue]

The Shifter let out a deep chuckle, one that sounded twisted and out of place emerging from Vittore Montegue's mouth.

"Small words, from a small person."

It didn't matter. The woman's attempts to rile him found no purchase, her naive ignorance to the true scope of the situation serving as the source of the Shifter's amusement. What did he care if Shadowstar's feeble crew saw through his efforts? With her dead, the damage would be done, and the Shifter would simply fade into the anonymity of a different face, slinking off undetected without a trace. The failure of his deception - whether it was his own, or his upgrades - could be analysed at length later, once the fundamentals of his mission were complete.

Once the fun part was complete.

"No matter."

Where would he begin? He knew enough about Emelie Shadowstar not to underestimate her. She'd certainly reacted as swiftly as his information said she might, and she was prepared enough to follow through. Her confidence and her physicality suggested that she might have some fight in her: not enough to matter, but perhaps enough to drag things out long enough to pose a problem. A shame really, to be required to make haste in the interests of the plan, and to waste the opportunity to savour the kill and a not utterly objectionable-looking victim. This wasn't his preference, to merely kill as if it was a transaction: there was so much to be drawn from an extended kill, from each broken bone, each broken spirit, each broken rule of morality. She would not scream for him. She would not weep. He would not get to watch the spark and spirit diminish in her eyes before he extinguished it forever. There would be no trophies either, nor lasting memories, nor echoes of his misdeeds for her to carry into the life beyond. She would simply die; simply end. A shame, really. He almost pitied her.

Almost.

His movements were slow and purposeful as he advanced into the office, his mind ablaze with imagined possibilities. Asphyxiation. That was the route he would choose. A hand around her throat, an effortless crush of her windpipe, the body left strewn across the desk she remained behind. That was the best he could do for her; the most he could extract from her end.

"I must commend you, Miss Shadowstar. You greet your end with more resolve than most."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Must be because I'm getting used to people trying to kill me." Emelie shrugged, both psychically and verbally as she tried to ignore that look at that drifted across the Clawdite's eyes.

She wasn't as gifted with empathy as her mother's race, but it didn't take such tricks to know what he was thinking, maybe - thankfully - not the full extent, but she knew the type, knew what sorts of sordid things their sick brains could come up with to do to a someone they saw as weaker. Even without her own personal experience with a man like the one before her, Emelie could guess what sort of things he was envisioning right then. It was enough to sicken her and she should have been utterly terrified about it all. After all, her blaster was useless and the shifter stood between her and her only exit.

The calm she suddenly felt didn't come from herself, however, or any change in accepting her fate. It came from a wholly unexpected and entirely welcome site.

"See the problem is," Emelie felt a familiar smirk tug at the corner of her lips. "There's a guy with a lightsaber that might take issue with what you're planning."

[Nen Lev'i]

The blade hummed into existence the instance its name was mentioned, the golden yellow plasma sweeping in an arc that was more sportsman than swordsman, but it got the job done.

The lightsaber carved through flesh and bone almost without effort, but not fast enough: Emelie's words had been enough to make her attacker begin to turn, and that momentum was preserved in his head as Nen cleaved it clean from his shoulders. The head tumbled, and rolled, deflecting off the doorframe and redirecting on its course towards the ground, trajectory modified to aim towards Nen's knees. "Balls, balls, balls!" escaped from him as he staggered awkwardly backwards, for a moment forgetting the weightless energy blade in his hand; a flicker of awareness half a second later was enough for him to thumb the weapon back into inactive silence, before his attention returned to the now detached head that stared awkwardly back up at him.

Nen flinched as the decapitated body suddenly moved, gravity taking hold to slump the headless form down onto its knees, and then topple it forward into what would have been face-down if there was still a face attached. Nen's ears became decidedly warm as he realised how much his reactions were encroaching upon what might otherwise have been a heroic moment, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Perhaps if Miss Shadowstar's would-be assassin had been courteous enough to actually arrange a proper appointment rather than the untoward approach of waltzing in wearing someone else's face, he might have had enough time to prepare himself for something a bit more cinematic. Next time, he thought to himself, not even bothering to waste the neurons on entertaining the notion that their might not be a next time - with these people, their absolutely would be.

He sighed slightly, in disappointment at himself as much as anything else. "You alright in there, Miss?" he asked, though his attention was only partially on Miss Shadowstar. Of course she was alright, and really there was no point beyond politeness to even ask. Perhaps he might have put a little more effort into it under different circumstances, but right now he was a little too distracted for proper decorum, what with Captain Montegue's face still staring at him. He'd put two and two together, and figured out that this was - he hoped - someone wearing the bounty hunter's face rather than the man he actually knew, but he'd sort of expected him to revert back into his natural state once his head had been lopped off. Apparently not. Maybe the lightsaber had seared the nerve-endings shut, or something sciency like that. Whatever it was, it was certainly going to make the disposal of the body a little weird.

Nen managed a sidelong glance in Miss Shadowstar's direction, not wanting to take his eyes off the dead head for too long.

"This definitely isn't him, right?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Sadie." Emelie spoke as if the name could answer the question alone. It was the thing the Clawdite's research into his assumed identity must have missed, and with all the work Atton did into hiding the girl, it was no wonder. "He was far too happy and she's nowhere in sight. So no, definitely not him."

The breath that she'd been holding in, the tremors that had wanted to work up through her hands, Emelie gave in to them all for one instant as she leaned a hand heavily against her desk and allowed herself a few moments to regain composure. This was not a random attack, and the fact the shifter didn't even react to her threats of the others being able to see through his disguise spoke volumes. The Clawdite was meant for her and her alone and while Emelie would have been flattered to think that this was a simple assassination attempt on her, it was too clever, too precise, and besides... Last time, there had been a guy with a giant red lightsaber and gold armor to back up where the assassin had failed. There would be more but where.

"We need to check on the others," It wasn't exactly an order that Emelie gave as she came from behind her desk and walked towards Nen.

Yes, finding out where everyone else was, what they were doing, making sure they were safe. That was top priority. But in that instant, it had to wait for something else.

Without ceremony, Emelie nudged the severed head away from her assistant with her foot and then quickly closed the gap between her and Nen, her arms flinging themselves around him to draw him into what was probably a little more friendly an embrace than was proper for an employer and employee. Whatever. He should have been used to her style by now.

"You are so getting a raise."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos sat in silence, perched atop one of the couches at the periphery of Elysium. He had been there, once: the ruins of Elysium on Alderaan, fragmented remnants that hinted at vast stone structures that had existed millennia before. Those ruins no longer existed of course, just like the rest of Alderaan, but Inyos wondered if the name's significance was understood. Had Emelie Shadowstar understood the subtle tribute that her nightclub played to the world that had been home to several of those who now orbited her? Had it been Atton Kira, whispering memories of home as benign suggestions? Or was it a cosmic coincidence, another expression of the will that pulled on the strings of destiny, drawing strands of thought from each of them to weave together in a tapestry of shared experience?

Whatever the origin of Elysium's name, it served a vital function: a subject on which to meditate, drawing his thoughts away from the dubious nature of the couch's upholstery. Though he was sure that Elira's passing comment about his 'brave' seating choice had been in jest, Inyos had spent enough time in low-budget accommodation in the galaxy's seedier corners to know that the prior history and fluid exposure of couch cushions and mattresses was something best left to the realm of the unconsidered.

Perhaps he should not have been meditating at all. The purpose of his presence here was to hang out, spending time in the company of others rather than in solitude. He supposed it was a fair criticism: outside of training with Sadie, and time alone with Elira, he kept mostly to himself, waiting for the next opportunity to be of use. It was how the days on Ossus and on the Wheel had been spent, spare moments dedicated to contemplation and reflection. It had been how his entire existence on Ord Ithil had been spent, as well as every rare and stolen moment of privacy during their evasion of the Empire and Inquisitors. Even in the days of the Jedi, back before the war, solitude was a refuge that he cherished and retreated to: be it his quarters, the Archives, or one of the Temple's meditation rooms. Yet, back then, there had been no one to expect or wish otherwise from him. There had been no family to be part of, and Inyos desperately longed to live up to his role in that; but the how was tricky, and elusive. He was present, and yet still found no real need for him to be; nor did he wish to intrude, particularly not on the rare occurrence of an amicable conversation between Elira and her brother. He could feel how much that meant to both of them, and knew that were he to encroach, he would be like a third ion engine on a TIE Fighter, redundant and utterly -

His eyes snapped open, an icy stab of fear piercing through his mind. Sadie. Danger. He tried to reach out, but the second his mind strayed past the threshold of Elysium, his perceptions recoiling in pain as if something was shrieking inside his mind. At first, it was everywhere, but as the seconds passed it shifted and changed, his mind fighting to discern a distance, a direction. His attention shifted to the back corner, a seldom-used doorway that led out into the access corridors behind Elysium, rather than out onto the main street. He felt it, them, the force of their intent piercing through the cacophony.

The instant the doorway opened, Inyos was in motion, hurling himself into an arc through the air with a single leap. His lightsaber activated en route, and the first figure was bisected before they could even react, the blade's direction reversed to slice first through the blaster of the next assailant, and then through the arms that held it. A gust of Force hurled the figure backwards against the wall, and Inyos twisted the lightsaber in his grip, thrusting it behind him through the belt - and abdomen - of the third and final figure. As the plasma blade turned the last figure's gut into an imprompteu sheath, the device it had lanced through sparked and stuttered in protest, and the screach in Inyos' mind fell silent.

What didn't fade was the icy chill, that twisted in his mind like a knife: the gut-churning sense of Sadie's fear and distress. It was a fear that infected him, and became his own as he turned back to the figure he had discarded. He surveyed the man's gear as he approached: generic and unmarked, but new; not mercenaries then. They had carried themselves like soldiers; Stormtroopers; Commandos, perhaps, despite the lack of markings to suggest that. Inyos' lightsaber fell silent, returned to his belt, the now empty hand reaching out through the Force to wrench the man's helmet from him, sending it clattering across Elysium. He saw the man's tongue shift within his mouth, a tell-tale sign of a poison capsule being dislodged, ready for a fatal bite. No. The Force gripped the man's jaw, wrenching it downward, plucking the capsule free and tossing that harmlessly aside as well. They had come prepared: prepared to die, but also prepared for a Jedi, if that device of theirs was any indication. Inyos had never encountered anything like it: but the same was true of every weapon the Empire had tried to wield against the Jedi. They had come prepared for him, to kill him. No: not just him. Sadie.

The Force reached out for the soldier again, less delicate this time, swirling around the man's torso like a tornado in the process of forming. He had felt it, moments before these men had arrived. Her fear. Panic. Danger. The Force's grip around the soldier tightened. They had come for his daughter. They had come to hurt her, to take her, to rip her away from him. They were here for his family, for his home, to destroy what he had found, to drive him back to solitude; back to the darkness. No. The plasteel of the soldier's armour began to crack, sections of it beginning to cave in as the Force squeezed tighter. Not again. Never again. Bones began to follow suit, popping and cracking beneath the strain. The soldier's jaw worked, part a gasp for breath, part a plea - mercy, perhaps. Inyos didn't allow him to speak. Didn't need to. Whatever words the man had, whatever truths or insights he might offer, they didn't matter: he didn't deserve to live long enough to utter them, and didn't deserve to die on his own terms. Outstretched arm trembling, Inyos bade the Force to lift him from the ground, the constriction ever tightening until with one last sickening crunch, the soldier's chest caved in and his body turned limp. The Force slackened its grip, and the soldier's broken form slumped to the ground.

Inyos turned, the colour drained from his features, his stoic expression somehow devoid of the warmth that most failed to even realise it had.

"Sadie."

The word was spoken as a question, explanation, accusation, and more, delivered in a stern voice towards Atton Kira. If anyone could aid him in that moment, it was him.

"Where is she?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

We shoulda killed him. Sadie knew it was the damn truth, something that had haunted her when her mind had gone and made itself clear enough to remember the fact that it had been her choice that Bog hadn't died that day. He probably wished he had, and the truth was Sadie, on clouded and very hazy memories of the extent that Vittore had sought retribution for the things Bog had done to her, she never had gone and expected the Zabrak to live. A few days tops.

But no, fraker had gone and survived. Thegorram monster that'd more or less enslaved her for too many damn years, had pulled her arm from it's socket more times than Sadie could ever go and try to count, who had tortured her, carved a series of horrific designs into her, attempted to let her life drain away from her; and now the bastard was here.

Sadie had always stood up to Bog, always told him off and had earned pain for her trouble, but now? Gods fraking it all to hell she was utterly terrified. It weren't right! Rutting bastard had no right to make her feel like that! To come back. To suddenly take everything that she had worked on healing and rip it all the hells away. She was supposed to be stronger than this. Supposed to shout some threatening mockery at her former boss in challenge and all kinds of defiance.

Instead she... She balked. Force damn it all Sadie couldn't even get a rational thought out. Just an endless string of "No" that was going on and on in repeat. It was also the Force that let her know that something was different. She had a reason to be scared to this point. Bog was different, and it weren't that he was just carrying around scars that Vitt had left him to echo the ones that the Zabrak had given Sadie.

And yet, through that damn terror she managed to snag one thing. One bit that she knew for certain. Bog was there for her. She wanted him as far damn away from her as all get out, but he was there for her.

"Vitt..."

Sadie wanted to beg him to run all the same that she wanted to cower behind him. Instead of either, her hands just tightened around his, a desperate cling for the one damn person that could fix this, just as he had before. Whether that meant they both would make for one hell of a getaway or not... Well, Sadie's mind just weren't working right proper to go making any sort of suggestions.

[Vittore Montegue]

Oh. That guy.

It took a moment for Vittore to clock into what had drawn Sadie's attention, what had drained the colour from her face, what had taken their I love you moment and turned it into something sour and fearful. It took a moment to understand why she clung tighter to his hand. It took a moment to understand why it felt as if her every thought, and fear, and feeling was projecting itself into him. Vittore didn't remember his name: not out of disrespect to Sadie, the woman who he'd abused, and tortured, and brutalised; but out of deliberate disrespect for him. Monsters don't have names. It was a lesson his father had taught him, and one of the few that he still clung to, even though he allowed himself to modify the criteria for what monsters were. Hugo had applied the term to the freakish, the different, those who didn't conform to some humanocentric bullshit idea of normalcy. Vittore based that assessment on deeds, and this guy?

"Don't worry."

It wasn't confidence that steadied Vittore's voice. It wasn't anger that set his jaw, or that freed his hand from hers so that it could become a fist. It wasn't rage either, or hate: those emotions were wild, chaotic, untamed and unbridled. This was wrath, sharp like a vibroblade, and Vittore held it in his fists as if it were.

"I got this."

The distance between them couldn't have been more than twenty meters, but it felt like miles. Vittore didn't run, didn't even quicken his pace, much as part of him would have liked to. This was a job left unfinished, a monster left unslain. He ran a mental inventory: a couple of concealed knives, a holdout strapped to his ankle, and his FWG-5 tucked down the back of his pants. Hardly a hunter's arsenal. What he wouldn't give for his '32 about now - but illegal blaster pistols weren't exactly a casual concealed carry sort of a weapon, no matter how lax the regulations were in a city like this. It wouldn't matter, though. He'd break this guy with his bare hands: the asshat Zabrak sure as hell deserved it.

He didn't stand on ceremony, didn't stop for banter or reaction. His fist reeled back the instant it was within range, and struck out without hesitation. It crashed against stone, against steel, against something. Pain reverberated up Vittore's arm, a hushed and confused profanity leaking from his lips. He didn't have even a moment to contemplate before the Zabrak countered, and with a single blow Vittore felt his jaw pop, and saw stars, the deck suddenly unsteady beneath him. He had broken this man, literally, left him in bleeding pieces on the grimy floor of a Nar Shaddaa dive. What had happened to him? What had changed?

The Zabrak flexed, shrugging off the cloak that had hung from his shoulders. His flesh glinted in the dim Port Town illuminations, cold metallic plates and sinews fused to his skin and bones. Cybernetics. Son of a -

The thought didn't even finish before the knife pierced his gut, wrenching an unpleasant grunt from Vittore's throat. The Zabrak's eyes locked with his, and Vittore watched the complete absence of anything play out behind them. "You don't matter," a twisted sythezoid voice uttered, and Vittore believed him. Whatever ire Vittore felt towards him, it was not reciprocated: Vittore was nothing more than an obstacle, and with freakish and superhuman strength, the Zabrak tossed him aside like the nothing that he was, left to slump and bleed discarded on the ground.

The Zabrak's attention turned to Sadie.

"I'm not here for you."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie hadn't gotten to watch Vitt take care of Bog'el the first time around. She weren't sure that was a good thing or not consider just how unrecognizable the Zabrak had been as far as she could recall - which... wasn't much, thanks to levels of agony and such she was in. But Sadie could damn well recall the aftermath, the fact that Vitt had ended everything she had found tormenting her for years.

So when he had strode off, full of confidence, her protector, her Hunter. The doubt that had settled regarding the shift in Bog's appearance had dissipated. And then that first strike had happened, Sadie's heart and mind swelling at the thought of finally getting to see what she had longed for... then it... all went so so wrong.

Her scream, the voice that came from deep within her, were some reflection of her very essence. No doubt the "NO," shouted from her lips was felt through gorram knows how many places. She had heard - even felt on some level in her young self - when Alderaan was destroyed. But Sadie had no doubt her pain, her wretched agony at watching the horror from her entire life strike down the first man she could admit freely she loved - there was no way it wasn't felt in waves throughout the verse. Not that Sadie gave a gorram care what anyone else felt.

Her fear was forgotten as her eyes trained on Bog'el and she felt alive, felt The Force flowing through her, felt all her teachings from her father that she had tried to ignore before he came into her life come into being.

"YOU FRAKING SHIT."

Her fear was still deeply instilled, but still her outrage rang true. But rather than the full front of her utter loathing of her tormentor being a threat, Bog'el just turned his eyes towards her.

"You know, kid. If I could kill you, if they would let me..." Through cybernetic voice he still manged to sigh. "I'd make it slow."

Sadie tried to ignore it, but the synthetic voice continued.

"What I did to you before? That cutting? That was easy. You need worse to teach you because clearly it didn't work you little Nar Shaddaan Beeogola Nechaska."

It weren't the worst thing Sadie's been called, but it sparked a fire in her all the same.Sadie found her hands tightening, nails digging into her palms, but she still couldn't move. Was a whole heap of complications. A Zabrak she wanted to run from, but had hurt Vitt. She wanted to make him pay.

But while her senses and her head and her courage were trying to gather, Bog stalked forward. And Sadie found herself frozen. The first punch across her jaw stunned her, caused her to stumble back and reel and her head to go fuzzy. The punch to her stomach knocked the damn wind right from her and forced her to the ground. The last? The one that must have been two hands together to crash atop her head before she was limply hoisted up by the front of her shirt and tossed through a damn shop window? Well, blessedly Sadie lost consciousness, but damn if it didn't make it clear that Bog weren't gonna take her in any useful way.

[Vittore Montegue]

"Hey."

The word came out of Vittore's mouth as a croak, lacking any of the desperation that had compelled him to utter it. He winced, propping himself up onto one elbow, and then a knee, stumbling - or whatever the equivalent was before you'd even found your feet. A weak and feeble cough pushed its way out of his lungs, and something shifted in his gut. A knife. Hells. Left in place, just like the blade he'd stabbed into Sadie; though at least the poetic asshat hadn't snapped off the hilt this times.

"Hey. Shit-for-brains."

Vittore forced his way to his feet, arm cradling the knife in his gut. His legs struggled, a staggered side-step bringing him close enough to a wall to catch himself. The knife was tugged free, and tossed aside onto the deck: not the smartest of moves, but about as smart as things were going to get, all things considered. Better to bleed out than have that thing still jammed in there, slicing up more of his innards with every motion. He adopted the best stance that he could. Threatening. Inviting. Whatever worked.

"That all y' got?"

Too many thoughts swam through his head at once. Sadie. Where was Sadie? That was chief among them. The who, what, and why of the Zabrak followed in quick succession. What the hell had happened to this guy? How'd he gone from abusive dick to Darth Vader? Who had the creds? The tech? The desire? Not that any of that mattered - not now, and not for him. Saving Sadie, that was the objective; the only thing that mattered. With a struggled effort, Vittore forced out a faint chuckle. It was weak, but enough.

"C'mon, man. The stuff I did t' you? The bones, the kneecaps, everythin' else? That shit must've hurt, man, like a son of a bitch, and you're just gonna -" An arm gestured for emphasis. "- stroll on by like you ain't even a little salty?"

Overconfidence straightened Vittore's posture. Pain protested, but he ignored it.

"Is there a second that goes by when you don't think about it? All them wires, and circuits, and servos where proper people parts are meant to be? Do you feel 'em, whirrin' and buzzin' about inside your skin? When you try to sleep at night, when you close your eyes, be honest: you see me, right? Starin' down at you, holdin' your life in my hands, lettin' you live so you can endure whatever pathetic inhuman excuse for a life you've got left?"

He watched it happen, the flicker of anger, the crack in whatever determination drove the Zabrak. He'd heard them, blearily, the words he'd uttered to Sadie: someone else had him by the strings, someone who wanted Sadie alive. Good. Real kriffin' good. Second best thing he'd heard all day. That meant options. That meant no matter what happened next, Sadie would be okay; she'd make it; she'd survive. But that wasn't enough. Alive and in tech-face's custody wasn't good enough: not with the kind of people Elysian and the Exchange had pissed off. Not with their luck. Not that there was much he could do about it himself, not alone; but he wasn't alone, was he? For the first time, that really sank in. Not alone in caring about Sadie. Not alone in opposing whoever the hell it was wanting to mess with them this time. Not alone; not for long, at least. All they needed was time.

Before Vittore could properly react, that flicker of anger had changed into a blur of motion. Holy shit, this guy was fast, something Vittore realised too late as the slugthrower he'd tried to pull from behind him was slapped out of his hand before he even got a shot off. It didn't matter though, not as a set of durasteel knuckles threw his nose off-kilter, not as a crushing blow to the chest forced the air from his lungs, or a flurry pummelled him to his knees. A laugh escaped from him, an almost drunken smile as Vittore swayed, taking hit after hit.

"What's so funny?" the cyborg snarled, frustration boiling over.

Vittore's words were muffled as they struggled their way past a split lip and a broken jaw.

"Shouldn't a' messed with us. Its gonna be your last mistake."

"Us?" the Zabrak spat the word with disgust. His mouth split into a sneer. "Your friends are already being taken care of."

A snort of laughter transformed into a cough part-way through. Vittore leaned forward, a meagre spit of blood launched towards the Zabrak's feet.

"They're my family, you glorified dick piercing," he grunted back. "And whatever plan you think you have, however easy they told you this was gonna be, they were wrong. They lied. There's more of us than you can handle, an' you're gonna have to go through each an' every one've us before you get to her."

Vittore hammered his point home with a defiant tilt of his chin.

"Me first."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

She hovered somewhere. Weren't quite consciousness, but not entirely unaware either. Sadie knew her damn arm hurt once again like a supreme son of a kath, and that elsewhere some shards of broken glass were lodged in places they had no right to be, but she was there. And yet... not there. Drifting between that oddball place of awake and not, conscious and yet oh so gorram blissfully ignorant. She could still hear Bog somehow through the haze, in a voice that weren't his but yet belonged to him. And then there was Vittore, not just his replies but his perceivable light of defiance that was trying to guide her out of whatever void she was plummeting in to. Then she felt pain. Not her own, no, this belonged to someone else, someone her heart and soul had bound itself to.

That were the truth, weren't it? Not something Sadie had wanted to go and admit since it sounded all kinds of shades of sap and lame and whatever else nonsense holovids made up, but she'd felt it. Felt it almost as soon as she'd been coherent enough to talk with Vittore that very first time. The Force had brought them together, tied them in a knot so damn complex and tight that it was gonna take some sort of damned miracle to separate them. Or maybe the knot had only been started and by tugging and twisting and trying to defy it they'd only locked it down. Whatever. It was there. And despite all them notions of not intruding on Vitt's privacy, Sadie couldn't help but feel him. Same way she felt the very notes and coding of the galaxy go and make sense of itself.

And so she felt it. Felt Bog'el trying oh so hard to crush the very thing he could never understand underneath durasteel and raw power. It was something Sadie hadn't gone and understood until recently either. Vittore, as tangled up in herself as he was, he weren't the extent of it. There were others that were coming - she could feel them on the edges of her vision. Father, mother, uncle... They were coming for her.

Maybe that was the thought that lulled her back into the blackness, the one that let that void wrap oh so pleasantly around her and tug and pull her ever down.

But the void weren't alone.

It weren't a voice, just a sensation. An annoyance, a brief glimpse of a person with brown hair, a man with a haughty attitude but the skill to back it up. His was the first hand that grabbed around her and began to tug back. Oh no you don't. Sadie couldn't help but find some amusement in the downright refusal that was given to the unfamiliar being. He was happy and yet not and it was complicated but whoever he was, he was dragging her back.

The void demanded her surrender, however, tugging her deeper in defiance of this unknown protector. Then... There was another, at her other side. This she knew. And the green clad, blonde haired Jedi that she found at her side came with a name that was lost to her then but she knew him. Had met him. Mandan...? Yes. That was him. But what was he doing here? She hadn't seen him since she was barely able to walk... He was a friend of her father's and he joined the other man in trying to pull her back. Come on, Sid!

Yet the sweet surrender to the unconscious still called. Give in, it beckoned. Sleep.

It was then a third came to her, unfamiliar and yet... the dark haired woman Sadie knew was not of her blood, not of ties of friendship that made family and yet... Please. The woman offered, a hint of darkness to her words that was both frightening and alluring. Please. Help him.

Together the trio of spirits, of hallucinations, of illusions - whatever you wanted to call them - pulled her back. Tugged and strained and urged and Sadie found her eyes opening to mess of glass and toppled groceries around her as she coughed, forced air back into her lungs. Fine. This fight weren't over yet.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore coughed blood as the next blow landed, so frequent and forceful that his body had long since turned numb. That was a bad sign, he knew that, but for a few fleeting moments he was glad of the peace, the Zabrak's onslaught little more than buffeting his already punch-drunk perceptions.

The peace was not only physical: it came hand in hand with his resignation as well. In his line of work, there was an expectation that your days were numbered. Perhaps it would be a hunt gone wrong. Perhaps a double-cross by a client who didn't want loose ends. For Vittore, as with many others, it was the one that got away, returning to repay what was owed. It was the end that Vittore had always expected, perhaps feared, even. It was the root of his ruthless certainty, the cause of his reputation for leaving no survivors, leaving no potential avengers. It wasn't efficiency though, it was a precaution against his guilt. He had killed husbands and wives, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, friends, comrades, loved ones, leaving all manner of loss and heartbreak in his wake. It was only a matter of time before that overdue justice caught up with him, and if it chose to do so now?

He wasn't ready. Of that, he was certain. Perhaps he'd never be ready, not as long as his heart belonged to Sadie K'Vesh. But if he had to die, if he had to meet his end, if a monster had to force him to breathe his last? This was an end he could live with. Die with. Whatever. Dying for her. Dying for them. Dying to stall for time until someone who wouldn't fail could arrive. He smiled vaguely at the notion, catching glimpses of his surroundings through his one good eye. He could see them in the distance, or at least thought he could. Father, Mother, Uncle. He saw Sadie through the window she'd been thrown through, still alive, still moving. The others would be there somewhere. The Boss. The Kid. He felt something familiar too, something protective, something watching.

One last chuckle escaped from him.

"Sorry, buddy," he wheezed, mouth splitting into a bloodied grin. "Time's up."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

This was all gonna hurt like all seven hells and then some in the morning. Sadie weren't quite sure why that was the thought that was coming to her as she got back to her feet and grabbed hold of of them particularly meaner shards of glass that she'd been so wonderfully thrown through that'd decided to stick around. Pulling it from herself was easier than expected and the girl went and found herself almost laughing at the prospect of yet another damn handful of scars added to her body thanks to that overbearing psychotic former band mate. Why was it funny? That were probably all heaps of a bad sign, one of them things that certainly meant she should have stayed on the ground rather than pulling chunks of debris from her skin and staggering out of the full length window that weren't there no more.

Those struggled bits of laughter died right quick though when Sadie caught sight of what was still happening and she remembered this weren't just some squabble between her and Bog no more. Vittore. What in the right proper kriff was he doing? This weren't possible, Vittore Montegue didn't lose, not to no one! But that notion was challenged in the brief instant she heard him laugh, caught his eye. This weren't no loss, but it was something that didn't go and sit right with Sadie - ruined every last little bit of calm she had, truth be told.

She felt something going an switch inside her. Weren't like the fear was gone, but something was different; the cards shifted, the code rewritten, the octave changed. Somewhere a certain big guy's lessons came floating to mind. Two - Get off your ass, Three - Know your adversary. Great, shiny, she had them down. The others well, lessons and rules could be avoided and ignored at times she figured but Zero? Zero was sticking out to her. Know yourself. And who she was right then and there? Well, she weren't Sadie K'Vesh - Bog'el's little punching bag - no more. She was Saidra Ath-Thuban, Sadie Aamoran, and damn if she was gonna let this piece of utter cybernetic trash in the form of her past demons take away the first person in her whole damn life that'd really truly meant something to her. They weren't just words earlier, dammit, she well and truly loved and damn if that weren't enough of a reason to go and cause a scene.

Sadie could feel the others there, readying themselves to intervene, could feel her mother and uncle readying blasters, could feel her father's strength adding rhythm to her own. An understanding taking place. She weren't gonna fight alone, but this was on her. This was her battle. Not without or in spite of everyone else, but with them, for them even.

It didn't go and matter how or which of them were responsible for the way Sadie's hand reached out to the side and suddenly found itself wrapping around the comforting grip of Inyos' lightsaber. Didn't matter if it was the Jedi's teaching or Amaros' Mandalorian ways that caused her to surge forward towards Bog'el just as the Zabrak was about to lay out Vittore. Didn't matter if it was her voice or Elira's or Atton's that spouted some Alderaanian curse at him. Didn't matter because it was all the above.

Bog'el, upgraded and the right bastard he was, was ready though. Sort of. His arms crossed in front of him to meet the lightsaber's blade - some sort of metal that Sadie was gonna need to learn about prevented the saber from slicing through.

"Y' tried t' take everythin' from me!" She accused as the blade crackled off them bracers. Another strike for each word and her pace was picking up right quick, the Zabrak was using those same bits of himself to defend but anyone watching could see he was having trouble keeping up with the small humanoid girl. "My life, my music, my dignity!"

Her free hand pushed forward, power that Sadie didn't like really tapping into and right often couldn't made use of and Bog'el weren't exactly thrown, but the cybernetic beast certainly was shoved back a few paces, his feet barely keeping purchase on the ground.

"And y' can go and have 'em!" Small thing didn't know when to quit against the bigger meaner opponent, clearly, but Sadie had a right point to make. Her form weren't clean and it weren't pretty, but it was keeping Bog'el from knowing exactly where the blue blade was gonna hit next and damn if it weren't satisfying when he'd gone and miscalculated and Sadie found that sweet spot where the lightsaber resistant metal ended above his elbow and the metallic arm hit the ground with an oh so grand sound.

"But, y' sure as frak ain't taking him." Well now here came the disturbing bit, if Sadie were sitting outside herself. Sure, she'd killed before, but that'd been with a blaster and was mighty impersonal. Swinging that saber through Bog'el's neck and severing his head from his shoulders? Well... Yeah, she was pretty sure that was about as personal as a body could go and get. But she weren't done, oh hells no. With everyone watching, either proud or horrified or whatever opinion they had of her in that moment, Sadie followed through, the blue blade that belonged to her father piercing through the face of the Zabrak's severed head, going straight down through whatever remained of Bog'el's twisted damn brain and out the back of his skull to the floor of Cloud City beneath it.

"And y' ain't taking away my family." Last bit was hissed through clenched teeth and for a bit it seemed she'd stay there, maybe carve more of the remains of her tormentor to all sorts of pretty little pieces... but then the lightsaber was turned off and with it crashed out her adrenaline.

She didn't go and make a further scene by passing out or nothing like that, but the girl did fall to her knees and while quiet for a little, didn't take long for the laugh sobs to start. It was over.

[Inyos Aamoran]

* * *

Everything since that moment had been a blur. Perhaps it was the fledgeling status of her training, shields that they had not yet finished building insufficient to withstand the intensity of her emotions. Perhaps it was their connection, the bond through the Force that connected them across the stars, making it an impossibility for either of them to endure anything alone. Whatever the reason, he had felt every instant of it, every blow she had struck, every fury-filled ounce of vengeance that she had unleashed upon Bog'el Xcreth. There hadn't been a need for questions, or details: Inyos had experienced all the answers that were required. This was her abuser, her demon, the vile creature responsible for not all, but so much of Sadie's suffering. He was darkness, he was evil, and the galaxy was a brighter place for his shadow having been driven from it: and for all the toll it might take, Sadie deserved every raw and agonising moment of retribution that she had experienced. If anything, Inyos felt, with utter and unhesitant certainty, Bog'el deserved a far worse death than he had received. Through fragments of explanation, Inyos came to understand what Vittore had done to the man when last their paths had crossed. Vittore would not have given Bog'el the kind of swift end that Sadie had delivered; and as his thoughts strayed to the soldiers that had attacked Elysium, Inyos was certain that he would not have, either.

It did not sit right with him: not his willingness to see the Zabrak or others dead, but the absolute certainty, the lack of remorse, the absense of even the faintest shadow of doubt. Jedi were warriors, and during the war they had been soldiers: killing was no stranger to any of them, Inyos Aamoran least of all. He flinched as he thought of Ord Ithil, of the lives he had taken there, deaths that had filled him with regret and despair. Now he felt nothing. The deaths were transactional. Scores settled. Accounts balanced. He felt as indifferent as if they had been droids - and it troubled him that it did not trouble him. A Jedi could kill, yes, but they were meant to desire another path, and regret when one could not be found. Inyos did not. But then, Inyos had what a true Jedi did not. Attachments. Family. Something to lose. Fear of loss was the usual reason that the Jedi Order provided, when a Youngling asked why attachments were forbidden: but Inyos did not fear losing them, because he knew such a thing would not come to pass. He would not allow it, just as Sadie had not allowed it.

Her thoughts echoed in his mind. Y' ain't taking away my family.

It repeated in his mind like a mantra as he sat and watched, observing Sadie from a distance. She had barely left Vittore's side; they'd almost had to restrain her as Amaros Koine had lifted the unconscious and beaten Vittore and carried him away from the carnage that Bog'el's presence had wrought. Atton and Miss Shadowstar were elsewhere, working their connections and wiles to smooth over any legal entanglements that might result. A brawl in Port Town was barely worth mentioning, but two beheadings by lightsaber in different parts of the city was bound to raise a few eyebrows, and so care was being taken to ensure that such details were conveniently absent from any official reports. The rest of them had come here to the now-familiar clinic, trudging in escort and vigil of an emotionally drained Sadie and the bleeding Vittore. Through some cosmic coincidence, or perhaps grim humour from Doctor Dechen, Vittore had been placed in the same room that had once harboured Sadie, and Elira. A right of passage it seemed, when it came to the members of his family.

He spared a brief glance to each of them, scattered around the clinic surroundings. Amaros loomed by the main entrance, and Inyos could feel the bestial frustration that rolled off him in waves, insensed that he had played no part in the protection of his people and that such a thing could transpire on his watch, and standing ready to make amends the instant danger foolishly reared its head again. Nen Lev'i had adopted a similar guard post by the doorway to Vittore's room, and Inyos could see him fidget uncomfortably with the lightsaber that he hid beneath the discarded jacket in his lap - a subject for later enquiry, when emotions were less frought and frayed. The droid from the Jedi starfighter that had first brought Inyos to Cloud City and now reconstituted into a haphazard chassis, P13, waited silently beside his human master, one of the manipulator arms from his dome silently gripping the cuff of Nen's sleeve. Bumblebee, the Crimson Tide's medical droid, hunched over the medical displays in watch over Vittore's vitals, while the astromech Katie stood vigil in the corner of the room, sensors active, daring anyone unauthorised to encroach upon the space. Sleazy's exposed chassis was a stoic and unreadable as ever, but Inyos couldn't help noticing the absense of the usual beaten peaked hat that the droid typically wore, clutched in his hands rather than perched on his head. And there was Sadie, beside his bed as she had been for hours, clutching onto Vittore's hand as if it were a life raft, or as if he were hanging over the edge of a chasm and her grasp was the only thing stopping him from falling into oblivion.

And then there was Elira. Inyos felt the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder, and he turned, his gaze first catching sight of the caf she'd just retrieved before it climbed to her features. The concern and worry painted across them was gentle, but sincere. He offered the smallest of fleeting smiles.

"No change," he said, in answer to the unspoken question. "But he is stable."

[Elira Asael]

Elira only nodded in reply, leaving the cliche token of That's good unsaid. It would only cheapen things and the entirety of the room seemed to demand she not make such useless statements. While the danger was over for now, after all, Elira had a feeling that everything was far from good. Within a span of time far too short to be reasonable, she had watched both her daughter and her lover kill someone. The first was alarming, and disheartening, the reasons she had sent Saidra away from everything in the first place and had Atton hide her seemed all for naught. Sure, the girl was alive and had not been subjected to the Empire's Inquisitors and others that hunted down the Jedi, but what had she traded it all for? It was supposed to give the girl a better life, one that wouldn't so tragically echo her own, for one. It was a failure of a sort and yet the little that Elira had learned of her offspring had taught her that Saidra was far stronger than Elira could ever possibly give her credit for. But still, there was knowing, and there was seeing. However, whether the being she had killed was monster or mortal, a horror from her past or not, Elira knew enough to know the death would stick with Saidra and she would be feeling that new scar, firmly etched in her mind, for a long time. It had good company, she figured. Right along side watching someone you cared for being beaten to the Corellian hells and back. Both were scars of a sort that Elira bared as well, after all, experience was the best teacher.

Still, she felt bad. All these thoughts came to her with a strange detachment that Elira would have had for any associate of hers, especially a valued one. It was far far from the maternal worry that the galaxy practically demanded she feel. There should have been guilt there, but it refused to come. Instead, she let the wonders about the child that had plagued her as she went and retrieved a cup of caf wander off and instead let her true concerns take forefront in her mind once she had returned to the waiting room with the others.

Inyos. No, he wasn't going through something quite as terrible as the life they had created, or the soul most dear to the girl, but Elira couldn't get his actions out of her mind. She had seen Inyos defend others before, even watched as he had ended a life or two. But today? That was different. That wasn't her Jedi, that wasn't the man whose memory she kept blissfully in her mind. Elira wasn't frightened by him, far from it, but she knew - much like the actions Saidra had taken to take a life today - the ones that Inyos had done would stick with him; though she doubted the Jedi would look as fondly upon the end of the life he had snuffed out.

She didn't know how to broach the subject, how to ask what had changed him, why he had changed. It could have been as simple as protecting my daughter; Inyos had after all taken to the parent role with a shine that suited him. But it wasn't that simple, of that little factoid Elira was entirely positive. It needed to be addressed though, like a bantha standing in the room, like an open wound that Elira refused to let be ignored to fester.

"How are you holding up?" It wasn't the direct approach she normally would have taken, but even the softer tone she used let Inyos know she wasn't exactly about to yell out What the vos happened back there in the bar?

[Inyos Aamoran]

It might have been a rhetorical question: Inyos had always struggled with that distinction, particularly when it came to Elira Asael. He had long ago chosen to stop trying, answering her inquiries regardless, often to her amusement if a response was not in fact wanted or expected. This time though, an answer was not easy to provide. How was he 'holding up', as if his mental state could be served by the same language as a hasty repair. He supposed it wasn't too much of a stretch: like mesh tape on a hull breach, his current calm was no doubt tenuous and misleading, likely to fail at a moment's notice with catastrophic effects.

Yet, as much as the rational part of his head was conscious of that fact, he failed to feel it in his heart, or wherever else his emotions were presumed to sit. He did not feel nothing, not the cold absence of detachment, or the dark void of depression; but what he did feel was negligible. He felt fine. Ordinary. Unphased. Perhaps it was denial. Perhaps it was distraction. Perhaps it only a matter of time.

For a quiet moment, he considered Elira's perspective, what she must have witnessed and how it must have seemed. Despite their connection, in truth Elira was practically a stranger, barely enough time having passed for her to grow familiar with Inyos as he was today. For the Inyos he had been, back in the days of the Jedi Purge, his actions were horrific, a betrayal of everything that man had stood for. That was a man who still clung to the teachings of the Jedi Order as if they were the only truths that could save him. That was a man beholden to his past, and fleeing his present. Inyos had learned much since then, and both he and the galaxy had changed. The Jedi - or at least, those of them he knew - had for the most part had abandoned all hope of returning to their past, and embraced a new tomorrow, a new way of being Jedi, one that could not for simple practicality be shackled by the same restrictions and regulations that the Order had been. There were Jedi with families, Jedi with children, Jedi who struggled openly with emotion and darkness, and that simply was a facet of who they were. The old Inyos might have looked at himself and seen something that no longer deserved to call itself Jedi, but the newer standards of Ossus were not nearly so harsh; and the new Inyos that he was now, who had lived through shadow, and emerged into the sunshine if family and fatherhood? To him it was nothing, his actions justified on a level far deeper and more fundamental than anything as trivial as the Jedi Code.

Even then, the resolve of old logics and old beliefs began to falter, as rationalisation spread through his thoughts like a plague. There is no emotion, there is peace, the Jedi Code taught, and in this moment, in this instant, that was what he felt. It had been there in the moment, that flash of emotion he had no name for, but just as the Code taught, that passion gave way to serenity. His actions, dark as they might have tasted, had conformed in some twisted way to the Code. That troubled him more than anything else, the texts and traditions that he had always believed to be unassailable suddenly finding new context and meaning when viewed from a certain perspective. Even deeper in his memory, there was a different variation, a precursor to the Code that painted the words differently. Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force. Still the words of the Jedi, still the fundamentals of the Code, and yet they painted an entirely different truth: the chaos of emotion and the harmony of peace in balance, not in exclusivity.

How was he holding up? His beliefs crumbled around him like decaying ruins. Undeniable truths turned to dust in his hands. Everything he had once believed himself to be no longer meant what it had. Yet he was fine. He clung to the one thing that remained, the diamond left behind when everything else eroded away. His daughter. His family. His duty to protect them. As a Jedi, Inyos ran, and hid, and failed, and faltered. As a father, he had done what needed to be done. For the first time in a long time, he had succeeded, not failed, in being who he was.

His hand raised to his shoulder, resting atop Elira's, a gentle but insistent plea for it not to move, not yet.

"I didn't lose anyone today."

The words struck at his heart like a hammer, harkening back to the last time Elira had asked such a question of him. Perhaps that was another part of it: Sadie was not only family, but his Padawan as well; perhaps today was as much about avoiding a repeated failure as it was an expression of fatherhood.

"I have been worse."

[Elira Asael]

"I know you have," Elira softly assured. It didn't need to be said, they both were well aware of exactly the incident Inyos referred to, but she still felt the need to let him know that she remembered just as much as he had.

It was true, though and for a moment Elira considered what would have been the results had the worst come to pass, had the bad guys won. She knew without a doubt that she would have been upset if Saidra had died, she wasn't so heartless as to think it wouldn't have effected her and caused unimaginable grief. But for Inyos? It would have been utterly devastating. A glimpse of darkness that resided somewhere within Inyos had been seen, for sure, but Elira could only begin to guess at the unspeakable that would have become the Jedi then. Thankfully, for everyone involved, it had not come to pass. And with the ragged band of individuals she saw around her, Elira was fairly certain it never would.

"What you did, it wasn't a bad thing, you know." There was the bluntness expected of her. "You protected us, just like you always did."

Uncorked, she couldn't help but add a little to it, just enough to let Inyos know it really was her opinion, not just empty words. She stepped towards him, moving her lips near his ear. "And to be honest, it was kinda hot."

The hand that rested against his shoulder squeezed a bit and she let her fingernails dig into the material of his coat. But the playfulness retreated almost as quickly as it had presented. Later. Much later, given the overall mood of the situation.

A soft sigh left her then as she moved from behind Inyos to stand next to him, a gentle nudge of her arm against his preceded her standing a little too close, not quite leaning against the Jedi but enough to more than let him know she was still there. Her attention shifted towards the room beyond, to the figure of their daughter still huddled next to the unconscious form of the bounty hunter.

"When you were gone, I did some research into things from my family's past, into things you always were talking about. That Jedi, the one my ancestor used to team up with? The quoteable one you always used on me? I learned more about her, the stuff the Jedi probably didn't want to teach but someone still found worth writing down. She was a mother, you know. Became one while she was a Knight, apparently. And you know what? It didn't stop her from being a Jedi, it didn't change her ability to be that, they didn't strike her from the books or shun her. The fact you still can even use her wisdom as teaching material proves that."

She wasn't sure what point she was trying to make entirely. Elira never had been one for lessons by stories, that was far more Inyos' domain. Her head nodded towards Saidra, hoping to bring the story to reason.

"You're really good at it, you know. The whole parent thing. Makes me sort of wish I had asked Atton to make sure she found her way to you. Then again, maybe he did anyway - just the long way around."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos could feel it, that attention to be closer, and the reluctant that came with it. There was too much of that, in this world and in this family. He felt it between Elira and Atton, gingerly trying to find their way back to the sibling dynamic they had once shared. He felt it between Sadie and Vittore, and look how that had turned out. He and Elira had stumbled and staggered their way through it, neither one fully honest with the other, both too cautious and too respectful to make it clear what either of them wanted.

His arm reached out to wrap around her waist, pulling her gently into the closeness that she denied herself. Enough was enough. Purely out of instinct, his head came to rest gently against hers, something he had witnessed, but never fully understood. When he had done so with Sadie, it had helped him feel closer to her, as if their minds or auras were somehow overlapping, but that he had rationalised as being part of the Force. In this moment, he learned it was something else: that it was the closeness itself that caused his heart to feel the way it did.

He let his eyes close as he considered Elira's words. She was right, of course. Ari'ana Leonis, Ra's Ath-Thu'ban, Bastila Shan, and countless other Jedi from millennia ago, all had families, and attachments, and their wisdom and Jedi nature was never questioned. The Jedi of Corellia were granted special leave to maintain their bloodlines. Even by the time of the Clone Wars, the Council granted a similar special exemption to Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, to aid in the survival of his species. Not every Jedi to sire a child was Anakin Skywalker; not every attachment was a cautionary tale. Perhaps he was wrong then, to simply set the past aside and look to the future. Perhaps what was needed was to look at the past more closely, to see what was truly there rather than the convenient interpretations that his mind thus far held.

Elira's final words he found harder to agree with, though. While certainly, Atton was perhaps as much to blame for he and Sadie's paths over the decades as the Force was, there was an unspoken implication in what Elira said that he rejected: that he was better at this, and that her choices were somehow wrong.

"I am not the man you knew back then."

The dismissal was gentle, but firm, seeking to dispel the notion from Elira's mind before it had the faintest opportunity of taking hold.

"And you are not the same woman. I was lucky: I did not know Sadie existed until she had already forged herself into an adult. When we met, what she needed from me was almost nothing, and by chance, I had found myself in a place in my life where I was ready to offer that. Though she has it, she does not need my protection, nor my wisdom, nor my guidance. I am a resource at her disposal, and our interactions are her choice."

His eyes had opened again, and watched Sadie as he spoke. She was no longer awake, no longer intently watching every rise and fall of Vittore's lungs, as if by sheer force of will she could ensure that each breath would be followed by another. Her hand had not released his however, and instead she slept, head lain beside it. Perhaps they should move her, try to usher her somewhere so her reluctant sleep might hold more value; but she would refuse, and Inyos knew that there was none among them - droids included - who would be able to bring themselves to tear her away.

"You did not have that luxury. You found yourself with a child you had not expected, and one you were not ready for, from a man who abandoned you. Your life, your parents, your childhood on Alderaan, had done nothing to prepare you to raise a child in that situation. Had you kept her, or been able to send her to me, we both would have found ourselves ill prepared and ill-equipped for that struggle, and that is without even considering the struggles we would have faced trying to help an infant embrace and understand her Force gifts while hiding from the Inquisitors. During my time with the Jedi, I have witnessed families who have given over their children to the Order. I have seen their struggles, and felt the weight of that decision, to make that selfless sacrifice of a part of themselves for what they believe is their child's own good. That is what you did, Elira: what you believed in your heart was right. When Sadie left your arms, that was where your control over her fate ended, and for better or worse?"

His arm pulled her the slightest bit closer.

"Look at her. Look at who she has become, purely through the strength of her own will. We played no part in that, but not even the Force can change such things: that is simply how life has unfolded for all of us. Even so, our daughter is remarkable, and we should feel proud - not of ourselves, but of her. Do not -"

He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly as sentiment snuck up on him and wrapped around his throat.

"Do not run away from the opportunity to love someone. To deny yourself that is a mistake that few are lucky enough to ever have the chance to undo."

[Elira Asael]

There were instances when Inyos had been speaking that Elira had wanted to interrupt him, to object, to say something offhand and off colour to keep him from continuing on. Instead though, she remained quiet. A laundry list of things she needed to hear let occur instead. Especially the last bit. It was a mistake she had made before, perhaps both of them had made before; only Inyos was learning from it whereas she was tiptoeing around it all. Maybe it came down to the fact she was being overly hard on herself. To hear Inyos spell out her own reasons and thought process to her - as if it were an unknown - put a spin on it all that sounded far less deserving of the weight of guilt it was that Elira had poured upon herself. To hear of the woes that Saidra had been through, to now even see the reality of what she had left her daughter to... But still, Inyos was right. He had that annoying ability to be so from time to time.

"I'd lie if I said I haven't tried to take an interest. It's the thing I'm supposed to do now, isn't it?" Another sigh left her and she allowed herself to lean towards the embrace she welcomed wholeheartedly.

Just trying to pick up the pieces with Inyos and Atton was proving hard enough. At least there she had some expectations, some things to fall back on? Sadira? Aside from some distant memories of the day the girl was born, Elira had nothing. She hadn't even wanted to hold her when she was born, knowing it might cement an attachment and question everything she had already decided to do. How was she supposed to reconcile that? To make up for that instant rejection. Much like how Inyos described his new found relationship with Saidra, it would have to be on the younger Ath-Thu'ban's terms as to when and how the two women interacted. But that was it... the nagging point that Elira found herself proud of and yet oh so hard an obstacle to overcome.

"She called you 'Dad' from the moment she found out. Not just when you are around, you know? Atton's told me and I've overheard. But me? I'm just 'Elira' when she's feeling generous. 'Captain' - pronounced proper like, mind you, not like she does with that boy of hers - 'Asael' more often than not."

[Inyos Aamoran]

"She already knew me."

It was a fact easily overlooked: that the Force had played a part in the reconciliation of Inyos and Saidra, drawing them both to Cloud City and steering them onto a path that had hurled them both into each other's orbits. It was a fact that Elira knew, but clearly one that she did not understand.

"I earned her trust as a complete stranger. I was a Jedi she vaguely recalled from her past, and I offered to train her. We connected. We bonded. She already knew me when we learned that our connection ran deeper, and by then the trust and relationship was already there."

He could feel Elira's frustration, her irritation. It was familiar, the kind of storm clouds on the horizon that had always prefaced Elira's venting rants in the past. It was a coping mechanism, and nothing deeper, and yet it clouded things, making the obvious harder to see and understand. There was a chance that the storm would merely blow over, leaving an opportunity for clearer skies in it's wake; but it could also grow, and fester, and Inyos would not tolerate a hurricane at the heart of his family, no matter how justified it might be.

"Your situation is different, and you cannot expect it to be otherwise. Sadie only knows you as her mother, and she has grown into a person who does not require that void to be filled. If she calls me dad, it is not because a Father is all I am to her: just as that man whose side she will not leave is more to her than just her Captain. They are words, balanced atop meanings that are deeper, and more complicated, and more personal than an obligatory honorific. She doesn't know you yet. She doesn't see you, not as anything more than the part you have played in your life so far."

Inyos' tone softened, and his embrace tightened, brow furrowing as he sought a safe path through this storm.

"You are a difficult woman to love, Elira Asael, but it is worth it. Do not blame our daughter for not realising that yet; and do not lose hope before she has the opportunity to."

[Elira Asael]

Whatever troubles her thoughts had been building with her, whatever growing tirade was preparing to launch... It all became undone in an instant. Shoulder muscles that had been bunching in preparation suddenly released, and it caused Elira to sag just slightly in Inyos' hold. It wasn't entirely resignation to the truth, but it was more than enough to bring stillness to the fight that wanted to be made. Inyos had a point, a very very good one. Elira had almost given in to the justification that she hadn't earned any right to be regarded as anything more than another woman by Saidra, just the same as Elira still wasn't entirely comfortable thinking of the girl she practically knew nothing about as her daughter. It seemed a deserved fate, one in which Elira was glad to wallow in as punishment for her decisions, even if they had been made with nothing but care and hope behind them.

But that was her problem, she didn't give herself an option to move past it, to make anything more. Maybe Saidra sensed that reluctance and so in turn was more than happy to stand behind whatever thin barrier it was that they had constructed. Either way, it would need to change, and maybe - just maybe, it was Elira that needed to actually make the attempt first rather than waiting for the status quo to continue.

Elira shifted where she stood, a pivot that placed her right in front of Inyos and her hand raised to gently place against the Jedi's cheek.

"You make too much sense some times, Ra's. I hate when you do that. Doesn't give a girl much room to wiggle around your logic." The half smile that was forming, the general way she spoke to him, the familiarity of it, it had better damn well let Inyos know she wasn't entirely being truthful.

Whatever, he wouldn't get a chance to respond - at least not instantly - and she was hoping whatever smart remark he was plotting would never fully form as she hoped to obliterate it by distraction in the form of a kiss.

[Inyos Aamoran]

The kiss was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It was also delivered as a distraction, a playful tease, something that might have thwarted and baffled Inyos in the past. Over the days and weeks since they had been united however, his slowly growing openness to her feelings and his own had changed things, and now he understood a little more of the motives and intentions that danced behind her eyes, and tugged at the corner of her intoxicating smile.

The moment their lips parted, Inyos retaliated with a kiss of his own, far less playful, a hand sliding between her jacket and blouse to pull her body closer against his. The kiss was deep, but not desperate, laced with emotion and meaning as much as it was with desire. Passion, yet Serenity took on a whole new meaning, as for a fleeting instant their surroundings and situation were utterly purged from his mind.

When his lungs finally, frantically demanded it end, he held his head against hers, his lips lingering as close to hers as he dared.

"That's weird," he breathed, a rueful smile forming on his features. "I thought you liked it when I didn't give you much room to wiggle."

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore stirred, and shifted, a silent groan coursing through his body. He felt as if he'd been in a boxing match with a binary load lifter, and as consciousness and thought slowly began to trickle into his mind, he realised that wasn't all that far from the truth.

It took a few moments for his surroundings to resolve into focus. Hospital room. The clinic on Cloud City. Not dead, then. That was a pleasant surprise. From the stillness of the air, and the relative quiet spilling in from the doorway beyond, it was probably pretty late in the city's day cycle. The same day? Maybe. He didn't feel hungry enough for it to have been days, but then his mouth was filled with the bitter taste of bacta, and a dunk in one of those tanks was bound to rob anyone of their appetite.

He thought about moving, but then his eyes settled on her: on the vice wrapped around his arm, the exhausted sleep of someone who refused to let him go. The stab through his chest that thought provoked hurt worse than anything else did. For a fleeting moment, he ran a mental inventory. Broken bones, and broken ribs for sure, maybe a pierced and collapsed lung, the knife in his gut, maybe a ruptured organ or two given how much it felt like someone had been rummaging around his innards, a face full of duracrete that was retreating slowly away from having been a fractured jaw. Pretty banged up, the voice of Elroy, the man who'd helped raise him, murmured in his head. For an instant, Vittore glanced around, making sure that it really was his head, and not the droid he'd reprogrammed to sound like him. We gonna sell it for scrap, or see if there's anythin' we can salvage?

Harsh words from his mind, given the circumstances. His consciousness had been fading when Sadie charged to his rescue, but he'd heard enough, and felt enough, to have some awareness of what he'd done. It would be hard for her to understand, and that was okay. She cared about him more than he cared about himself; but that was love, right? She was the someone he was willing to die for, and that had been what he'd almost gone and done. She'd be mad at him. He'd deserve it. He'd also do it again in a heartbeat: her life for his was an easy trade.

He almost let her sleep. Almost spared himself her anger for a few moments longer. Almost allowed himself to cherish the opportunity to watch her sleep. She wouldn't want that, though, and so his hand subtly shifted, fingertips gently brushing against her cheek to coax her slowly back to the waking world.

"Don't mean t' alarm you," he said, his voice not giving him much of a choice about how quiet and whispered his words were, "But your parents are totally makin' out right now."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

She never should have fallen asleep. Awake and all kinds of nervous let her body keep forgetting the small bit of a thrashing she'd gone through. Patches of her clothing was still stuck to her and there was bound to be a few small bits of glass still embedded that she'd have to shake off later, but when the doctor had been patching up Vitt and even looked in her direction... Well, Sadie was pretty damn sure the guy wasn't a Force User buthe didn't need to be to sense that leave me right th' frak alone and fix him that must have been piratically oozing out of her. She was also pretty sure Bog hadn't gone and done her any real big hurts - not physical at least - this last time around. Oh, Sadie was sure she'd be sporting some right pretty bruising in another day or so, but for now? Everything just ached, including the downright whopper of a migraine that must have come from that whole blow to the head that damn near made this story end a whole heap ton different. Kriff, it better not have been one of them brain bruise things - then she really shouldn't have been sleeping.

All this weren't exactly coming to her realization right quick like though. Yeah, the pain sure as hells was, but Sadie always had been one of those grumble and tug the covers back over her head type of waking person and unless Vitt was gonna hand her a cup of caf right quick, she had half a mind to whine mumble at him and nod off again.

Wait a Force-damned-minute.

Vitt.

Yeah okay so the quip about her folks getting all... whatever... in the other room was heard and acknowledged and Sadie was damn glad that she was too tired to have to tune it out on another level. Truth was, she wasn't feeling much of anything there either. It weren't gone or no stupid dren like that, just a switch of the knob had been made, or maybe she'd overdone it and needed a battery recharge. Whatever probably better that way otherwise things would have gone and gotten a whole heap ton harder in terms of having to deal with the hellish questions that were starting to come back to her mind. Not the why, at least not that initial. Vitt had strode out there to go kick Bog's ass like it was gonna be cake and then things had gone wrong. And... and then... he had... stopped. Why had he stopped? Why hadn't he tried to get back to her and make a run for it if they needed to re-strategize a win? Why had he just... let Bog...

The sound that left her sure sounded like of them early morning protests but it was mixed with something Sadie still weren't comfortable with doing in front of Vitt. Not because it were some trust issue, it was more on account that she just didn't go and make a habit of getting all weepy and he deserved to not have some girl suddenly put her arms as best around his shoulders given that he was lying down as she was off to the side as best as possible and start crying like he was dead or some stupid thing. But there you had it, and Sadie went and did it anyway and maybe it was that she was upset or maybe it was relief but whatever! It'd been one kriffing right bastard of a day and she could go and cry if she damn well felt like it.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore felt a tug of the same thing on his own face. Probably not the smartest idea, all things considered. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but with all the damage it felt like had been done to his face, kriff knew where stuff would end up leaking from if he went and let his own waterworks happen.

"Hey."

His words were soft, an arm painfully liberating itself from where gravity bound it to the matress. Only one obeyed as well, more drained of energy than anything else. The arm that did respond reached for her shoulder, hand gently brushing against it. With considerable effort, he managed to lever himself, shunting his body ever so slightly towards the far side of the bed.

"You gonna scooch up here so we can do this properly, or what?"

[Sadie K'Vesh]

She wanted to go and reply with one of them perfect smartass comments, but it just wouldn't form. Hours later maybe it'd come to her but the opportunity would be long gone and fat load of good it would do her then. As it were, Sadie managed to go and compose herself enough to at least sit up a little, prying herself from where she'd just about clung to Vitt and let her emotions go all full bore. What he was suggesting was one of them downright not allowed things as far as hospitals went, but frak it. Course it felt a little weird with Katie and Bumble in the room, but her awareness of them was so damned fleeting it practically didn't go and count. Not on any meanness level, just... well... when Vitt had gone and been the majority of her focus, now certainly wasn't a time to go and stop that.

Her head nodded, about as much of a response that made any sort of sense that Vitt was gonna get out of her right then and there and with a fair bit of caution on account that her sense of reality had seemed fit to remind her that he was the actual injured one here, Sadie gently moved from where she sat next to the bed to joining Vitt in it, laying on her side to try and take up as little space as absolute possible. Still couldn't look him proper in the eye though. Now some new damned guilt was building up in her, the revenge of an earlier bit of thinking just before all the skrag had hit the fan.

"Th-this is my fault. I... I shoulda jus'... Jus' let you kill him back on Nar Shadda."

And there came the damn tears again and this time she was better positioned kinda crumple against Vitt, burying her face against his chest. It weren't one of them uncontrollable jobs, but more than enough so that she weren't holding it all in either.

"B.. but why, Vitt? H-he was gonna kill you an' ...an'..." She felt her voice breaking, shattering before it was gonna let her finish. Nah uh, not this time. "Y... You were gonna let him."

[Vittore Montegue]

Damn it.

Vittore's eyes misted, staring up at the ceiling to try and ensure that was all that happened. Awkwardly he positioned his arms around her, cradling her head into his shoulder, ignoring whatever pain followed as he willingly welcomed the weight of her against him.

"This is his fault."

He wished he could have uttered it with even more certainty, though his struggling face and lungs still managed to do a pretty decent job, a slight tremble in his voice not withstanding.

"Not yours. Not mine."

Part of him wanted to leave it there, to offer that reassurance and have that be the end of it. But Sadie's question lingered, one she deserved to have answers. Vittore had his reasons, believed them, stood by them; but right now he wasn't sure he had the energy to help her understand, wasn't sure that the answers would make anything better. The last thing he wanted was to provoke anger, or further pain; but wasn't that the way of it, sometimes? When you loved someone, sometimes it hurt, and maybe that was okay.

"I wasn't -"

He stopped before that lie managed to escape. He was going to let him. He was willing to die, if that's what it took. But that wasn't the point, that was the important thing. To Vittore, it was so clear, so simple, and yet so impossible to word in a way that sounded entirely right.

"He wasn't just here t' hurt us, Sid. He was gonna take you. Away from me. Away from here. Away from our family. He was gonna -"

His voice flickered, his head leaning against Sadie's a little more.

"He was gonna hurt you again. An' there was no way I was gonna let that happen. But I couldn't... I couldn't fight him. He was too strong, and I wasn't... I wasn't enough. He would a' just tossed me around like a rag doll, or he would a' just snapped me in two without breakin' a sweat. He could a' killed me easy, and then he would a' just grabbed, you, an' he would a' been gone before anyone else could do a damn thing."

Vittore felt his fists tighten, felt the anger clawing at the back of his voice. With all the effort he could muster, he wrestled it back into submission.

"But because of what I did to him? I figured if I could say somethin', if I could make him want to hurt me, not just kill me, it'd buy you some time. Buy everyone else some time. There's a whole lot a' people who love you, Sadie, an' I knew that... I knew that they'd be able t' save you even if I couldn't, so long as I gave 'em the chance."

A faint sigh escaped him.

"So yeah, I didn't fight back. Not because I wanted to die, or nothin' like that? But I was willin' to, absolutely. An' the next time somethin' comes at us, I'll be willin' to die for you too. All of you. I'm... I'm a soldier, Sadie. I ain't never had much of a chance for fightin' and dyin' for what I believe in, but now I've got you. An' yeah."

His voice trailed off, turning equal parts sheepish and resolved.

"I ain't sorry I did it. An' here we are, all alive and okay, because you killed him. You saved me. An' that... that's what I do for my family. Always have. You have the Force, and shit like that: I've got faith in you. In them. In us. Maybe I get saved; maybe one day I don't; but if you're safe? If they're safe? That's what matters. Me, standin' there, between danger an' the people who matter to me? I don't... I don't know how else to live."

A weak laugh leaked out.

"I guess it's about all I'm good for too, grand scheme an' all."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

So this is what the verse did to folks. Her and him, at the least of it. Raised them up thinking they weren't worth a damn and expected a body to go and figure out how to make due with that and still survive. Sadie was working on fixing that notion on herself, had a ton of help and heaps of support but Vitt? Vitt didn't have this wierdly growing family around him; he was part of it for damn sure, but wasn't getting that same amount of coverage, wasn't surrounded but left on an edge somewhere, supported by the others but not. It weren't no body's fault, weren't like anybody was ignoring anyone, but she could see how it hadn't helped as well. Was enough to slow the waterworks at least, causing a right heavy sigh to come in it's place as Vitt valued himself as nothing more than some sort of meat shield for herself and others.

It was the one part of him that she didn't love, and if Sadie ever got to meet the man responsible for implanting this notion in Vitt's head... Well, she guessed the elder Montegue might fight that some Jedi weren't so honorable. Nothing too bad mind you, just a right proper old style punch to the jaw, maybe something dirtier that'd leave the guy writhing on the floor just for a bit with an ache that'd last a day. Asshole.

Still, it was hard to argue with what Vitt was saying. Given the right situation, damn right she'd die for him too if it came to that, if there was no other options. But this whole little excursion had her rethinking the wisdom of that. Yeah, you died and they lived and that seemed all kinds of important. But what did you leave behind? Something that made whatever the frak happened to Concord Dawn look like a knee scrape in comparison. Sadie'd felt it, just for that little moment she thought she was gonna well and truly lose him, saw it flash before her eyes and downright did not like the version of herself she saw at the other end of that tunnel. No, she werne't gonna go all Darkside or nothing rubbish like that. But some part of her was gonna well and truly die with him, that part that was able to feel what she felt toward him now, that ability to let anyone ever get that close. It sounded all over dramatic but Sadie had seen it, like it were clear as living the life she was now.

"Y' could try just livin' for a damn change f'r one," Sadie mumbled, bit more spite in her tone than she really wanted but thankfully it came out soft like.

This was gonna be like arguing with a brick damn wall, she knew, and Sadie knew damn well she also didn't have that sort of suave talking negotiation skills that'd make it all sink in but damn it, she had to try. Had to. She pushed herself up away from him, not a ton, just enough so that she wasn't hiding her face and made every effort to look him square in the eye. This was important and dammit Vittore Montegue you were gonna listen.

"Y' don't get it, do you? I could'a ran if it was just about me livin' through this, gettin' away. Inyos could have gone and taken out Bog, probably right quick and easy like too once he got there. But... That didn't even go and compute though, yeah? I saw you. You were the damn reason I..." Frak she was choking up again. Kriffin feelings, man. But she'd started and had to finish.

"I don't want y' to die for me, Vittore. I don't need that. What I need is you bein' here. Yeah, fight, but not for me, but for us; me an' you." It was coming out all wrong, all stupid and cliche and Sadie wanted to take it all back and just find some way to merge their minds for a bit so he could just get it. But that weren't their way, everything was gonna be a struggle but it was one worth making. "Y'... Y' promised y'd be there for me. So... be there. I don't need y' to go an' die for me Vitt, I need y' to live. You ain't some soldier to me. You're... y're just... you. Not some damn title that anyone else could ever be."

[Vittore Montegue]

It stung, hearing her say it. He'd known it was going to, but knowing didn't diminish it any. And she was right, in part. All that stuff. Try living for someone, all of that. Nine times out of ten, he was right there with her. He who fights and runs away, right? But this wasn't those nine times. It was the one in ten, in a hundred, in a thousand.

"Y' saw how fast he was, babe." He cringed a little as the word slipped in there. Unfair, but not on purpose. "Unless you an' pops have been workin' on some super speed Jedi hocus pocus that I don't know about, there ain't no way you're outrunning that, and I sure as hell ain't keeping up with you. And even if we did, then what? We lead our shit on a merry chase, trashin' our way through people's lives, gettin' Force knows who else hurt in the process?"

A sad expression tugged onto his brow, wishing he could find the words to help her understand: to divorce her of the idea that this was some self destructive crusade that he embarked on lightly.

"This shit is my job, Sid. Snap analysis. Knowin' in an instant what we can and can't do. Your dad is a Jedi, your uncle's some savant for secrets, the Boss and your mom know how to handle themselves, and you're all of the above and more. Me? All I do is fight stuff, and I ain't even the best at that when there's a freakin' Mando in the room. My instincts are what I bring to the table, and I gotta trust them, else there's no point to me. An' I need you to trust 'em too."

He faltered, expression flickering a little, eyes glancing away for just a moment.

"I ain't gonna deny that there's issues I've got. But that ain't what this was about. I looked at that asshole and I just knew, okay? I just knew. Call it instinct, or maybe I've got a little of whatever Force mojo mom had, whatever, but I knew that stallin' for time, keepin' him there, givin' your folks an' the others time to get there was the right play. It saves you, it got him dead, an' as luck would have it I came out okay."

Despite the gravity of the conversation, a faint ghost of a smile danced briefly across his lips.

"Believe me, this all hurt like a son of a bitch, an' I ain't in any hurry to do this again. An' I ain't exactly in the business of steppin' out on life just minutes after hearin' for sure that the girl a' my dreams loves me. But some day, somethin' like this may come our way again, an' if I make a call like this, if I decide that it's you over me? I need you to know that it ain't me runnin', okay? An' it ain't me in no hurry to die. Truth be told, I -"

His eyes glanced away again, a faint flush coming to his cheeks this time.

"I think I might not mind growin' all old and grey with you, an' that ain't somethin' I've gone and thought about anyone before. Never really figured I'd love that long in my line a' work. Still might not though, an' that's the thing. Whether it's Him, or somethin' on a job, or some fluke accident, somethin' is maybe gonna do me in, an' if it's my time then it's my time. I ain't suicidal, I ain't in no hurry, but that's just part a' life for folks like me. I can't -"

He stopped himself. It wasn't about can't. It wasn't about obstacles or incompatibilities. It was about understanding, and Vittore hoped with all his heart that she did.

"I made you a promise, an' I aim to keep it. But I need your trust. An' by all means, be mad at me for gettin' hurt like this, my dumb ass deserves it, an' I sure as hell don't mean to go causin' you pain. But don't ask me t' start second guessin' my instincts, as if me livin' is worth more than someone else. They're all I got goin' for me, outside a' bein' special to you."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It weren't easy to hear, but it was something Sadie needed, just as much as Vitt had needed to hear her side of it all. Truth was, this was all kinds of hard to suss out, new territory and all that. It was good to know that it weren't no suicidal dren that drove Vitt's reasoning. He may not have gone and saw his full worth, but he had something and that were a right start if there ever was one. Didn't mean she liked it all, but it was there and it was something she had to go and learn was how things was gonna be.

"You know I trust you." Weren't a mean statement, certainly something Vittore didn't know, but there was a twinge in Sadie's voice that didn't sit right either. Time to fix that. "If y' need me t' trust y're instincts? You got that, hundred percent an' then some."

At least she weren't sobbing no more, still upset yeah, still wanting to just grab hold of him and never let go? Damn right. But she managed to hold on, adding to what Vittore said. He had this idea in his head and it was great and it worked and she would never question it. But he needed to adjust it, needed to change with the new information.

"But if y' think I am gonna run in them situations? If I ain't gonna pull a full repeat of today if it comes t' that? Y're wrong."

That was it then. The truth of it. She hadn't gone and saved herself today and anything that came for them after this point, well, if it got this bad again she'd be right there once more.

"Y' ain't alone no more. Y' don't get to make any last stands without me. That stronger thing? That thing that you can't beat? Yeah, so maybe y' can't weather it alone but us, Vitt? Us. That's what y' gotta keep in mind. I ain't proud 'bout today. But that's how it's gonna go, yeah?"

She sighed, resignation filling in the gaps she wanted to go and ignore. Where she'd kept a down right needful lock of her eyes with him finally gave way and she looked down, just to have one of them damn wayward tears work it's way from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. Trails that'd been set by others, that's what let it escape so damn easy.

"I'll go if you tell me to. If y're thinking that's the best play, if that's what you really think it best..." Sadie paused and forced herself to look at him again. "But please. Don't ask that of me? Don't ask me t' leave you. I made that damn mistake already, not keen on doing it again."

[Vittore Montegue]

Anyone who told you there was a worse feeling than watching someone you care for cry, knowing that it was your fault, was either lying or had never been in love. Vittore's soul collapsed in on itself, an Akkadese Maelstrom of emotion swirling around it. He longed to look away, to spare himself from it, but refused to allow himself. There was a reason this caused him so much pain, and it wasn't some form of masochist punishment: it was the cost, the part that showed you just how grave and significant your choices were. Vittore knew he had done the right thing, but her tears were the insurance that he would never make a decision like that lightly.

It was the last words that pierced the heart of Vittore's emotions worst of all. If Vittore had one weakness, one vulnerability, one exploitable sadness above all others, it was loss. His mother, his brother, his father, past lovers, past homes, every last scrap of life, love, and family, all ripped away and turned to ash. When he had set foot on Nar Shaddaa, the day they had first met, he had been a man with nothing, and he had embraced that. Relished that. Nothing to hide, nothing to lose, and nothing to answer for. But that man was gone. Lost. In his place, everything that remained, all he was, was hers.

"I promise you, Sadie K'Vesh," he replied, an intake of breath carrying an unexpected tremble as tear tracks of his own turned into gently flowing streams, "Until my last breath, my last heartbeat, you won't be gone from my side unless you want t' be, or need t' be. An' honestly? Maybe not even then. You are the best of me, Sadie. I am a better man with you, an' for you, an' I would sooner rip out my own heart than be without you, 'cause to me it'd be about the same damn thing."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

The problem with getting all emotional was that you'd go and say things and have no damned clue what you wanted in reply. Vittore certainly delivered, though. Part of her was hoping this would be the last time in a damn long time they'd go and have one of these heart exposing sort of conversations.The two of them were gonna get a rep as a couple of saps, and that just wouldn't do. For the now though? Yeah, this was okay. If only one person in the verse got to really see her like this, hear her talking with this amount of revealing, well, Sadie figured she'd gone and found the right man for it. Not on account of anything but that Vitt was hers, and she was well and truly in the vise versa boat and had done and just about given everything she had of herself to him as well.

For what Vittore was saying, with that final promise, Sadie find herself at a complete loss on anything further to add. A soft "Okay," left her as she found herself easing back against him.

She felt drained. Physical and emotional like. But thankfully, the only person she wanted truly supporting her was there to do just that.

"It's fraked up. I still can't believe he's gone," Sadie half mumbled, as much musing out loud as anything else. "Done him in myself an' I still think he's gonna come through that door."

One of them overly tired sighs left her, the kind that she couldn't pass off as anything but full of the regret it came with. One of her hands lightly settled over the thick bandage on his stomach and while she didn't set off sobbing again, there was a definite heaviness in the breath that followed that hitched a bit too much.

"Bastard had t' jus' go an' make us match a bit, didn't he?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore didn't dare move a muscle, and fought against his body's desire to squirm and recoil at the innards-twisting sensation the slight extra pressure provoked in his gut. A few seconds and he had weathered it, and carefully added his own hand to the mix atop Sadie's.

"Silver lining?" he offered quietly, scrounging up as much of a casual tone as he could muster. "Bein' a little more like you don't strike me as a bad thing."

He let his eyes closed, and systematically instructed his tired and aching muscles to relax, one by one, a small and genuine contented smile forming on his lips. Everything hurt, but any excuse to get Sadie K'Vesh in his arms was worth it.

"An' as far as Dickwit McGee comin' through that door? Even if he was able to make it past all of our family waitin' out there... I saw you, babe. You cut that gorram shit stain's head off - which was kriffin' badass, by the way. I know you're worried, but I ain't."

He compelled his fingers to interlace with her's.

"I got you to protect me."

[Atton Kira]

* * *

The shadows of The Underworld flickered and danced as scrolling text and looping surveillance footage filtered across the wall of screens and displays, uncomfortably jovial given the day's events. Ordinarily, it would have been Sadie deftly manipulating the data streams and algorithms, but she was occupied providing a vigil over the Montegue boy, and so they'd had to settle for young Mister Lev'i. Under normal circumstances, the thoughts that followed might have been harsh or critical, but Atton had heard about what had transpired in the Elysian Acquisitions offices. It was easy to forget, particularly with his own sentimental attachment to the father-daughter duo of Inyos Aamoran and Sadie K'Vesh, that there were other Force Sensitives in their midsts. While Nen's actions today were hardly the stuff of Jedi legend, they were certainly heroism of a sort, and for now, he had earned Atton's - temporary - respect.

As he watched the slowly compiling data, he ran a mental inventory of how Elysian and the Exchange had responded. The attack on Elysium had gone entirely unreported, the bodies of the three assailants searched and scanned before two of them had been discretely ejected into the Bespin cloudscape. The men had been unremarkable, but the injuries themselves were decidedly not, and two instances of lightsaber beheading was already a strain on the Exchange's ability to discretely conceal; and any strategy that avoided crime scene investigators paying any undue attention to the nightclub their secret data hub was concealed beneath seemed like a shrewd course of action.

Bog'el Xcreth and his Clawdite comrade presented a different challenge. While the security feeds in the Elysian Acquisitions offices could be conveniently erased or doctored, and appropriate donations made to the appropriate members of the Bespin Wing Guard to brand the reported gunshots a false alarm, matters in Port Town weren't quite as easy to usher away. A healthy distrust of authority was an ally, making witnesses reluctant to come forward and describe the exact specifics of what had transpired; and they had acted quickly enough upon their arrival to smuggle the body out of sight before the Wing Guard had the opportunity to identify the injuries as the tell-tale cauterising wounds of a lightsaber. That was where the third of the three Elysium assailants had come in, his already abbreviated arms made shorter thanks to a knife with an electro-plasma filament: a long way from a conventional weapon, but certainly something that was considerably less likely to raise eyebrows, especially when a registered bounty hunter was one of the combatants. His head had been removed as well, and there was the gamble: by the time the Wing Guard arrived at Dechen's clinic, the good doctor had already further customised the corpse, a frightful and grizzly scene designed to repulse and distract the attending officers from looking too closely at the mess of body parts and failed attempts at life-saving surgery, willing to simply believe whatever was placed in the report. It was a scrappy narrative, with the right balance of vague but believable answers to satisfy a disinterested law enforcement team. Witnesses might claim lightsabers and cyborgs, but who were the Guards going to believe: a human doctor with blood up to his elbows, or a bunch of aliens with their hands out for the standard reward for information?

It didn't quite sit right with Atton. His career was about secrets, about uncovering truths and then disclosing them to the highest bidder. All this deliberate deception was absolutely in his wheelhouse, and it all came so easily and naturally, like the dark side to a Force wielder. It was a precarious mountain path that he had shuffled along his entire life, slipping every now and again, but never fully falling. The consolation, and the ultimate antidote for his misgivings, came from reminding himself who this was for: not just for Sadie, but for her beau, for Elira, for Atton, Emelie, Nen, all of them. There was no injustice being performed here: the greater injustice would be for Sadie to be torn away from Montegue's arms, interrogated as a potential rogue Jedi; or for any of them to suffer and struggle more than they had, thanks to the deeds of the adversaries that plagued them.

It was those adversaries that gave Atton the most pause. Three coordinated attacks against the three key facets of Elysian and the Exchange. Three attacks that showed personal knowledge of their targets: the past Shifter attempt on Miss Shadowstar's life, Sadie's history with Bog'el Xcreth, and the fact that those attacking Elysium should be prepared to face a Force user - something that, to Atton's mild amusement, they clearly were not. He took no joy from the deaths or violence that he had witnessed, but the knowledge that the supposed cunning of their enemy had been so effortlessly thwarted - relatively speaking - did provide some small amount of satisfaction. It had also been good to see Inyos in action again: it was one thing to know that a former friend was caring for Sadie, and guiding her through the use of her special abilities; it was something else to know for a fact that said Jedi apparently still retained the same sharp wits and instincts that he had once possessed, albeit in a somewhat more ruthlessly effective configuration.

Still, that knowledge said a lot about their adversaries, and also frustratingly little. The attack on Miss Shadowstar had been the genesis of all this, but it was a matter of public record, and she was increasingly becoming a public figure. The events surrounding Sadie were more obscure, but Captain Montegue provided a connective thread, saving Miss Shadowstar from the former before rescuing Sadie from the latter. There were suspected culprets behind the attack on Miss Shadowstar, with a name - Sarlacc - but no face or faces; and while connecting Sadie and Emelie together required a certain level of knowledge, it didn't clarify who was being targeted: Elysian, or the Exchange.

A frustrated sigh escaped, as he watched Nen weave together the final strands of data into an interconnected web of conspiracy. Everthing they knew, or suspected, spread across The Underworld's screens for all to see.

"Here's what we have," he uttered, not entirely managing to purge that frustration from his voice. "We know that Sarlacc is behind the first Shifter attack on Miss Shadowstar. We don't know that they're connected to this, but given the details, the deliberate choices to mimic that attack - that's either a message, or a decoy."

Already a step ahead, already acting on instinct - or perhaps some subliminal Force mojo, all things considered - Nen Lev'i kept the screen updated as Atton spoke.

"We know the first Shifter was hired by a bounty hunter. Chir'daki, or Chir'ful, as our Captain Montegue colourfully calls him. We traced his contract back to a third party on Ubrikkia, and connected them to Rath Ouishii Dae and his Rath Cartel. We've spent the last year investigating them, looking for connections, but that's another dead end. Another middleman, and misdirect. Layers upon layers. Shell companies. Proxies. Whoever Sarlacc is, person or people, this is how they operate."

He hesitated for a moment before the next profile loaded, the briefest hesitant glance cast in the direction of his sister.

"More recently, we ran across this charming fellow. Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban, our dear brother, Jedi Knight and supposed dead man. Official records state that he died on a mission to Baltizaar some ten years or so before the Clone Wars, but if a Sith Lord can subvert and conquer the galaxy under the noses of the Jedi Order, I suppose we shouldn't have too much confidence in their attention to detail. It was him that we rescued Elira from; and by cosmic coincidence, he and our own Master Aamoran share the same Jedi Master. We know that he has connections to the Empire, because that's whose asses we all helped kick. That's also probably one of the only times that all of us have been seen catagorically working together."

Atton's stomach twisted a little at the deduction. The lines seemed to connect, and yet something didn't feel quite right, something in his gut protesting at the simplicity of declaring Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban to be at the heart of all this. Perhaps it was the unanswered questions: what business had Mal'achi had with Emelie Shadowstar before she and Atton had even met? Why were the ghosts of his personal past spilling out in such a way? There was a feeling he couldn't shake, as if he was missing something. Something important.

"Unfortunately for us, Mal'achi has been evading notice for the last fourty-five years. Perhaps he's especially patient, as long-lived species like the Epicanthix often are; but patience isn't something his genome is overflowing with, as Elira can demonstrate. His disappearance predates the Empire by quite some time, and yet here we find him embedded in it. Did they discover him in hiding? Recruit him? Or is Sarlacc something bigger, something that predates the Empire and has somehow managed to obtain a foothold within it?"

[Nen Lev'i]

Nen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not wanting to interrupt Mister Kira's presentation, and yet feeling an urgent need to chime in. It was like the awkward energy one felt in a classroom, desperate to provide an answer even though the teacher wasn't looking in your direction; or at least, it was how Nen imagined that awkward energy feeling, having seen it in holomovies and read about it in angsty teen literature, not ever having actually attended a conventional school himself. It was one of those weird cultural osmosis things probably, like all of the other random facts that spewed out of his brain in a daily basis. According to his brain, how he knew things was far less important than what it was he actually knew.

Fighting the urge to actually raise his hand, he instead waited for a lull in Mister Kira's train of thought, before pouncing on the opportunity.

"I don't mean to be rude, but -"

Suddenly, the attention of a room full of people was on him. That was a deeply alien sensation to Nen Lev'i. He was usually the person people forgot about, the one hovering in the background waiting to be useful, and never really managing it; or the guy who was just there, drink in hand, happy to bear witness to the conversation rather than actively taking part. It wasn't a bad thing. Honestly, it was a good thing. Attention made him nervous. Recognition made him queasy. The hug from Miss Shadowstar earlier on had been plenty nice - right in that middle ground of being probably longer than was socially acceptable, but not nearly as long as Nen would have liked it to be - but everything since was getting a little too much. The compliments. The good job, kid comments. Amaros the Mandalorian had actually touched him, done that manly pat on the back thing, which Nen had been completely unprepared for, and was now quietly embarrassed in the back of his head that he might not have reacted appropriately to. At least Captain Montegue wasn't there - having seen what Nen had seen, and heard what he had heard, the Captain was probably the most intimidating of the bunch, to his mind at least - but that was a double-edged sword, or was it double-bladed sword, like one of those lightsabers with the blades on both end where you might cut off your own legs if you weren't careful? Either way, it meant that Sadie wasn't here either, and honestly, she was about the only person in Cloud City that he felt comfortable around, his only real friend in this weird floating place.

Silently, he berated himself, fighting against the intense hot sensation in his cheeks. You cut off a man's head, Nen. You can talk out loud to a room of acquaintances.

"Well, I mean, the thing is..."

He reached out for the computer controls, quickly tapping in a few more instructions to the presentation display.

"I think we're missin' an important connection. I wasn't there, but if I understand right, this Bog Off guy -" Mentally he high-fived himself, and then scolded himself for wasting such a potentially good nickname at a time when Captain Montegue wasn't there to maybe dislike him a little less because of it. "- wasn't 'ere to kill Sadie, right, not like the attack on Miss Shadowstar? He was here to capture her, take her somewhere. Maybe that was just him deviatin' from the plan, getting 'is private kicks or whatever, but it really sounds like maybe whoever sent 'im and implanted all them doodads in 'is body might maybe have been trying to snag Sadie for some reason."

Nen's throat was suddenly incredibly dry, but the total silence from the others, the total attention, prompted him to continue.

"And like, okay, so we're thinkin' that these are the same people we rescued Captain Asael from, yeah? And they're 'ere to grab 'er daughter? I dunno, that seems significant. And that three-man team they sent to Elysium, that's kinda buggin' me a little bit as well. Sure, they were prepped to neutralise Mister Inyos an' that, but like, was he there target, or just their obstacle? Were they 'ere to kill 'im, or was he just in the way of 'em grabbin' Captain Asael again?"

His expression turned sheepish, and he wished he could somehow shrink down and hide within the fibres of his chair.

"I dunno, maybe there's somethin' special about the two of 'em, somethin' that ties into this Uncle Mal guy."

[Elira Asael]

Elira had remained stoic during the presentation, waiting for all the dots to connect and lines to blur together, but it never quite made it. Still, all the arrows seemed to be pointing at Mal'achi and that left a purely rotten feeling deep in her gut.

She hadn't exactly grown up with her elder brother as he was shuffled off to the Jedi Order long before she was born, but instead she had stories about him, about what all he was learning and how proud the family was to once more have a Jedi with their name attached to them. Elira only met the man once when he was a Knight and had made a trip to Alderaan on official business. She looked up to him, then. Almost a hero.

And like most heroes, Mal'achi had let her down.

The next time she saw him, her brother was overseeing her interrogation.

"He asked me about our father," Elira said softly, not entirely sure if she had actually spoken it aloud. "I - I don't remember the specifics, I was a little under duress at the time, but... I do remember him asking where he was."

Elira let out a deep huff and let her eyes wander away from the screens in front of her, searching for a bottle of alcohol her progeny no doubt would have stashed somewhere nearby if the girl was keeping up with family tradition properly.

"Stupid question. I haven't seen him since I was young. Probably dead somewhere... If for no other reason than I could see Mother as having hired a hit man for him running out on her."

Another sigh left her as her visual search proved fruitless and she dragged herself reluctantly back to the accepting and awaiting gaze of the others in the room.

"What that has to do with Sadie and I, though? Or your Sarlacc? I haven't the foggiest idea."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos didn't offer words at first, just a hand silently placed on Elira's shoulder, a gentle persistent contact to remind her that she was not alone. While he did not make a habit of delving into people's minds, it had grown harder not to of late, particularly now that he was surrounded by people he cared for, all of whom seemed to wear their emotions on their sleeves. Elira had never spoken about her father before: not at any great length, at least, save to clarify that she and Atton had only a mother in common. Inyos understood that he was not human, a fact that contributed to Elira's flawless appearance even after all this time; but to hear her speak of him, and feel her emotions as she did so, Inyos had not expected such bitterness and disdain. It struck a chord within him, stabbing in like a twisting knife: Elira's father had abandoned her mother, and Inyos had gone and done the same to her. He wondered if Elira was even consciously aware of the parallel, and wondered just what new depths of guilt the realisation would drag him to.

It also hurt to realise that he had a better sense of Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban than the man's own kin. Such was the way of the Jedi Order, deliberately divorced from attachments. Perhaps back in those days, Inyos would have acted the same, not compelled to be close to a family that the Jedi had raised them to desire no closeness with. Now, though? He dreaded the imagined thought of Sadie taking a similar path, disinterested in any interaction with him. His mind turned to his own family as well, parents he did not even remember, and had never chosen to search for. Did he have sisters, or half-brothers, or other kin out there among the stars? Did they know of him, or have any interest in the man he had become? What did it say about the kind of man he was that such thoughts only occurred to him now?

"It is not common for a Jedi to have awareness of their parents, let alone any desire to interact with them."

The words left him cold and analytical, despite the connected thoughts and feelings that danced through his mind. His eyes narrowed, contemplating the web of information displayed before them.

"Perhaps if we can understand his unexpected interest in his father, we might gain some insight into the path he is walking."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Emelie knew damn well she didn't have the empathic abilities of The Jedi, Or any number of damned possible Force Users in the room - which was honestly growing to a rather alarming level that she started to wonder if she was a guilty culprit as well. Stars wouldn't that just be a great big Frak You from the galaxy?

She was good with the emotions of others, though, especially when they weren't even trying to hide it. The day had been another mess and tiring one for her little troupe, frustrations were high and it felt like all of them were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So here they were, putting things together and aside from the damn Shifter's unnervingly familiar appearance today, she would have called it purely a family thing between her Smuggler, her brothers, and the mixed up kid at the end of it all. But what happened on Charny wasn't public knowledge, she'd made sure of that. Which meant someone knew. Which, unfortunately did drag her squarely back into it all.

She'd been given reasons that day as to why she was a target for Sarlacc, something about a vested interest in Silenus but any sort of digging she had Sadie do had turned up nothing. Which was downright impressive for whoever was behind all this that even the gifted slicer with her apparent all-knowing infochant uncle couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Which left just one culprit who could probably actually explain everything. Only one problem, while he wasn't in the room, his damn image sure was.

"I think it's time for an outside perspective, wouldn't you all agree?" Emelie stood up from where she had been sitting and tapped one of the screens, the image of Chir'daki came up on multiple places alongside the running list of information they had for him.

"As much as I never want to so much as be in the same system as this bastard, I'm thinking he's also our best bet. With our hunter out of the equation for a bit though... Well, while I'm sure Captain Montegue would love to bring this guy in himself, we need to act now."

Emelie looked at the others, from Nen, to Kira, to the Jedi, to the Smuggler, to the Mandalorian.

"Any ideas on how we don't royally screw ourselves over and get an honest win for a change?"

[Amaros Koine]

Amaros shrugged, chiming in with the obvious answer.

"We ask for help."

That earned him a few looks, but they rolled off him, unphased.

"This whole super secret cabal thing that you folks have going on, with your super secret clubhouse and everything, that's great and all. Love the dedication. Love the loyalty. But this guy? Chir'daki? This guy is not some run of the mill bounty hunter. He's a Force Wielder. Dark Side. And not the poncy Sith kind, with the rules and the monologuing. This guy is an animal, he's ruthless, and all the good intentions and brand loyalty in the world is not going to earn you the upper hand."

He allowed that sentiment to sink in for a moment, arms folding across his chest, fingers digging into the pits of his armoured torso for something to hook onto.

"You've got a whole network of information resources that Kira has spent a lifetime cultivating. You've got former clients of Elysian with access to equipment and resources. You know Mandalorians, mercenaries, other bounty hunters, people in the Empire, the Alliance, Force knows how many crime syndicates -"

Ammo trailed off into another shrug, Perhaps it was modesty, inspiring him to downplay a tactical idea. Perhaps it was just the understanding that he was a long way from being the smartest person in the room, and anything that seemed obvious to him should have been the same for them as well. Yet, the eyes on him made it seem like he wasn't.

"Sarlacc has set the rules of engagement for all this. They came at you through proxies and third parties, so we strike back at them the same way. Give me time, and access to some credits, and I'll build you a squad to take out this guy, and drag him in for questioning."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

Patience was not a character trait that Emelie had naturally. It took far more effort than she was usually willing to give, but this? This was worth it.

It wasn't exactly the answer she wanted, calling in others and gathering the right people - never mind actually locating the hunter - was going to take a bit of time. Not ages, not years or even weeks, but enough that Emelie knew she would begin to wonder if their opportunity was always slipping away. Would Sarlacc make the same connections The Exchange had? What if they got there first? What if his was another dead end?

Too many what-ifs. Emelie hadn't gotten as far as she had by focusing on the negative, or worrying about the complications. She had put faith in herself and trust in her people and that was what needed to happen here once more. Utter trust that Atton and Nen would find the hunter before they even had to think of tearing Sadie away from her current vigil. Trust that Amaros, with his extensive background and knowledge would be more than enough to have earned him all the contacts in the galaxy that could handle the hunter himself. But the biggest trust of all - was that the current thought in her head was shared by everyone else in the room: Today could have gone far worse and nothing like this was ever going to happen to them all again.

"Use whatever resources you need," Her eyes wandered from Amaros to everyone else in the room, a recognition of her team and all that remained of it after their weathered assault. "Let's make this happen."

[Azrin Shadowstar]

* * *

It would have been a lie if Azrin said that he was not disappointed. Years of development, weeks of surgery, months of rehabilitation, and millions in research and development had amounted to what, by conventional metrics, might have looked like abject failure. Azrin was not a conventional man, however, and he had no time for conventional metrics. What scant telemetry had been observed and retrieved showed promise. Modifications to the Clawdite test subject had shown significant improvements in the fidelity of his mimetic abilities, and the subcutanious reinforcements and augmentations to his regenerative capabilities had allowed him to effortlessly withstand direct hits at close range. His decapitation via lightsaber was unfortunate, but was also an unforeseen complication that lay beyond the scope of this particular test. The Iridonian test subject meanwhile, which had been equipped with lightsaber countermeasures, was reported to have withstood repeated direct blows to vital areas without any apparent loss of functionality. Again, decapitation had thwarted the subject's secondary objectives, but as far as primary field testing, it had been a resounding success.

Of some small disappointment was the crudely named Active Jammer that had been deployed against Inyos Aamoran. While the device's ultrasonics and hyperfield interference had indeed impeded Master Aamoran's abilities to connect with the Force to some degree, the device had proven too easy to identify, and too quick to dispatch. Enough against a rogue and untrained Force Wielder, perhaps, but of little use against someone with additional skills to compensate for what the device sought to impair. As far as a proof of concept, the concept was indeed proven, but significant development would be needed to improve the device's field viability.

There was the small matter of provocation and revelation, of course. Proverbs cautioned against poking a hornet's nest, or disturbing a Killik hive, but at worst Emelie Shadowstar and her Elysian cohorts were ants, or Verpines: industrious and resourceful, yes, and capable of quite the sting if they set their minds to it, but in the end they were scarcely more than an annoyance, a pest barely worth the effort of snuffing out. It also filled him with a certain amusement, a certain entertainment value derived from wondering and watching how She might react, such a paltry and pitiful excuse for a bearer of his own prestigious name.

Had events unfolded perfectly, Shadowstar's mood would have been quite different. The Ath-Thu'ban women would have been in their custody, any obstacles with a vested interest in their protection or retrieval duly wiped from the board. It would have been easier, the component pieces falling into place in accordance with the timeframe that Azrin would have preferred. His will was not paramount here, however. Such was not the course along which the Force had chosen to flow, and there was no benefit to be derived from languishing in disappointment or frustration. Anger was power, yes, but he had no need of it, and so he refused to indulge it, reclining instead into the comfort of his chair, a half-filled chalace of finest claret held calmly, and sipped from occasionally.

He felt a disturbance on the edges of his perceptions. His smile reinforced itself, establishing anchors to hold it in place on his features.

"Comiseration, perhaps. Or is it gloating?"

A soft, uncomfortably warm chuckle escaped him.

"Tell me, Rancor, what motive inspires you to darken my doorway this time?"

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

Oh some very base level, Mal'achi was disappointed that he had not come upon Azrin in a rage over how the intended plan had not come to fruition. Not that Shadowstar had ever given him reason to suspect he may have reacted in such a way, but it just would have been nice for a change. But no, his counterpart instead sat comfortably as if he was about to go and profess that he had foreseen this outcome and it had gained them valuable information or some other rhetorical nonsense. Ever true to themselves, at least that was something that count be counted on.

Perhaps things would have gone differently if they still had the utmost backing of the Empire they both served. When the Inquisition had been around, when Mal'achi spent more time at the Maw than any other locale, when they had easy access to other individuals whose research was actually creative and promising rather than such crude machinations and outdated experiments as they'd been forced to make use of... Ah, but alas, there was no use in crying over spoiled milk, as it were. What was simply was, Will of The Force or not.

Not that he didn't fully approve of what they'd created and used. It all had seemed a perfect mix of technology and psychological warfare. There were just items that hadn't been accounted for, alliances and loyalties and personalities that hadn't been properly taken into consideration.

"What? Am I not allowed a modicum of family pride?" Mal'achi answered, a satisfied rumble colouring not just the words but his very essence.

"I must admit I never expected the girl to react so..." He paused as he considered the scarce information they had managed to scrounge on the newest member of the Ath-Thu'ban lineage. "Emphatically."

He let his own brand of amused laughter leave, nothing much past a breath, but allowed regardless.

"I do think we may have underestimated our..." Another pause. Adversaries was the right word, but it gave the merry little band far too much credit. It implied they were more than just a wayward pinprick left in a suit that had just returned from the tailor; easily plucked away to smooth things out to perfection.

"Targets." The settled for word felt wrong, but Mal'achi refused to allow for a longer time to consider it further.

As he had spoken, Mal'achi had moved into the room, but it was only now that he finally made his way to Azrin's desk. He eyed the glass in Shadowstar's hand not with envy, but almost with a shame that the man chose to partake alone. Then again, was the former Jedi really any different?

"Given the end results of this little endeavor," He didn't say fiasco like he wanted, simply because it wouldn't have gained him anything. "I think it's time we called upon a true professional. Sarlacc, perhaps? Unless, of course, you object?"

[Azrin Shadowstar]

The chuckle escaped from Azrin again.

"Are we Hutts?"

The question was uttered as a challenge, rhetorical and amused.

"They do not appeal to the appetite of my Rancor, so instead we must feed them to your Sarlacc?"

Azrin understood the delicate situation. Ath-Thu'ban and Shadowstar were not names to be uttered lightly or openly; not yet, at least. It was why they hid behind subterfuge, behind Rancor and Krayt, at least in part. There was more to it of course, as there always was: the sacrifice of name was a tradition begun by the first Brothers and Sisters of the Inquisition, one that the Inquisitorious had since abandoned, but that Azrin kept alive in his heart and mind. The names were not arbitrary, either, creatures chosen because they were part of a greater whole; but they had become more, each of them embodying the name they were given in different ways. The Krayt Dragon, with his power and menace. The Rancor, with his ancient might and acerbic tongue. The Vornskyr, with his ruthless dedication to the hunt. The Sarlacc, lying in wait for victims drawn into his Maw.

Shadowstar shifted, releasing the smallest of sighs.

"Sarlacc is more valuable to us where he is. Such a confrontation has the potential to be -" He gestured vaguely with his wine glass. "- problematic, and while your favouritism is not entirely unearned, the risks if were we to expose him to them and then fail are too great. He is -"

The words trailed off into a meaningful look. The faint whisper of a smirk graced his lips before another sip was taken from the glass.

"- too important to us, and our plans. A weapon of last resort, and we are not yet at our wits' end."

Azrin fell silent for a moment, mind settling into contemplation. His vision seemed to glaze over, attention intently focused on somewhere or somewhen else. His voice grew quiet, deeper almost, barely above a whisper as his next words tumbled forth.

"They will come for Vornskyr next. Send him to ground. Let them fight for what they will believe is a victory. They will find it empty, and unfilling, and in doing so they will show us the full extent of what they are capable. Whoever survives, we will deal with, when the Force deems it time."

With a blink, Azrin's attention seemed to clear. His gaze shifted, an almost genuine smile on his features this time.

"Do not worry, Mal'achi. It will not be long before the Heir of Ath-Thu'ban serves their true purpose, and your wayward family is brought to its end."

[Atton Kira]

* * *

Atton wasn't sure of the time, but it was dark in the clinic, and that was enough. He'd waited, tapped into the security feed, until the snuggled mass of niece and bounty hunter had ended their conversation - one he had made a deliberate choice not to eavesdrop on - as well as their consciousness. He waited longer still, enough until the sleep that they shared had become somewhat stable, before letting himself into the clinic through a service entrance, and creeping through the dimly lit reception towards Montegue's room.

A small electronic device was produced from his pocket, a scramble code that hijacked Katie's awareness subroutines and diverted them into a brief loop. Later, the astromech would likely discover the few minutes of missing time, and might even be able to discern the cause behind them. That was fine. The code was an old contingency, one used now for the sake of convenience and compassion rather than malicious intent, and if this provoked an opportunity for it to be removed from the droid's operating system, then so be it. Good, in fact. Katie deserved her liberty; she'd earned it; just as Atton had earned her dislike and distrust in the years since she had been his droid rather than Montegue's.

The medical droid had been a factor Atton was less prepared for, but he was relieved to find it powered down, standing silently in the corner. The unlit eyes seemed completely unaware of their surroundings, the task of monitoring the room no doubt left to the infinitely better equipped Katie. Atton tried to play the mechanical statue no mind, but remained careful not to brush against it, or generate any loud noises in his proximity.

Sadie stirred where she lay, a slight shift in her posture drawing her a little closer to the sleeping bounty hunter. It could not have been comfortable for the man, given the extensive injuries he had suffered, but Atton supposed the combination of stubbornness and narcotics could work miracles when it needed to. Atton watched for just a moment, with the faintest pang of envy. It seemed nice, having that kind of closeness, that kind of trust. It wasn't something that Atton particularly remembered ever feeling: not to say that he hadn't; just that those who might have provoked such a sentiment had long since faded from his mind. He was too old for such things, of that he was certain. Too old, and too much himself. He had watched over the months as Sadie and Montegue had struggled to admit their obvious secret feelings for each other. If it was such a difficulty for them, then there was no hope for someone as irrevocably devoted to secrecy as Atton Kira; and no man or woman alive deserved the misfortune of being in love with that.

Perhaps he could change. That wasn't his motivation here, and yet perhaps this could be seen as a first step. Many people had their own opinions about why things happened here on Cloud City, among this social circle of the Exchange. They believed there was choice, and reason. They believed that the will of the Force was at play. Atton knew better. Atton knew that the only will that mattered in this city, and in these lives, was his own. Chance played its part, and perhaps the Force could be blamed for that; but for the most part, it was his will that nudged, and urged, and suggested the path of their lives into existence. Perhaps it was meddling. Perhaps it was arrogant naivety to believe that he had that kind of power. It didn't much matter: in this moment, at least, Atton knew that he was right.

Vittore Montegue believed that he was here on Cloud City because Emelie Shadowstar had been attacked, and that his presence was necessary to help keep her safe; or at least feeling that way. Emelie Shadowstar believed much the same, with the addendum that she needed Vittore Montegue as an essential component of her Elysian Acquisitions. Perhaps they were right to believe that; perhaps those ideas had been cultivated by their own minds, unaided. The seeds of those ideas, though? Atton Kira had planted those. A nudge here, a suggestion there. That was the true secret of manipulation: not to push an idea into someone's head, but rather to create a circumstance where they came to that idea entirely of their own volition.

The real reason Vittore Montegue was here? Her. Not to fall in love, mind you: Atton Kira would certainly not have engineered that situation deliberately, beneficial as it had seemed to be for his niece in the long run. No, Vittore Montegue was here because of what he had done to Bog'El Xcreth the first time he had encountered him: the lengths he had gone to on behalf of Sadie mere moments after they had met. He was violent. Dangerous. Ruthless. Atton had wanted those traits here on Cloud City, keeping Sadie safe. Things had not transpired as Atton had expected - all-seeing and all-knowing were aspirations that still fell somewhat beyond his reach - but in that regard, Montegue had filled his purpose. It was him that lay broken and bleeding, not Sadie. It was him who had ensured that Sadie remained here on Cloud City, rather than fleeing back to solitude. It was him that had been her rock when her father and mother had come back into her life, and him who became the foundation upon which she stood as she found and built a place for herself here.

Montegue might not have known it, but he had fulfilled his side of the bargain that Atton had struck. All that remained was for Atton to complete his half.

From his pocket, he produced an unassuming scrap: not flimsi, not synthetic, but regular paper. On it in ink were a few scrawls; Atton considered them for a moment before carefully placing the paper down, propped up against an empty glass of what Atton assumed had been water. The first section of writing was fairly incomprehensible: a set of spatial coordinates, and then geographic ones, pointing at a remote locale in a remote corner of the Outer Rim. The last words though were the payment, and though the note wasn't signed, and the handwriting wasn't particularly distinctive, the knowledge itself was more than signature enough. Atton nodded to himself and, retreating from the clinic, left the words for a waking Montegue to find.

Your brother.