It's In The Air

[Squee]

(cont. from Unfortunate Circumstances)

Walking out of the warehouse, Tesa had decided on a taxi service. If the driver presented a sign that he knew something about Graffion (like wanted by the police), Tesa would first try bribery. If that wouldn’t work, she’d coerce the driver by threat and later kill him. After what Graffion had done for her today, any length would be taken to ensure his safety.

Any measures would be taken to make sure he never left her side again.

She offered to carry something of his, his swords maybe (she didn’t have the strength to carry a bowcaster). His sour, scowling look told her there wasn’t a chance of her carrying them if she was the last person in the galaxy. “Fine, suffer,” she’d said. But she hovered worriedly as they left the warehouse with one hand poised to grasp him if he began to tilt.

The taxi driver didn’t presume to know Graffion. The man’s nose wrinkled when he saw the blood in Graffion’s hair and the temporary bandage on his cheek. Yet, after a second, he asked if there had been an attack and if the police needed to be notified. With a smile awkwardly set on a face of worry, Tesa told the driver the police didn’t need to be involved. It had been just a bad row between friends. The weapons? Oh, they were prized possessions that their “friend” had been holding on to and after the fight, Graffion had ended the friendship/partnership and taken his beloved weapons back. Not to worry, the blades were dull and the bowcaster wouldn’t fire. Good enough for the taxi driver.

During the ride, she chewed on her lip and studied her datapad. They couldn’t stay at her hotel long once they got there. Knowing Graffion, he was probably a wanted criminal, or he’d done something illegal today to make him a one. Good as he was, slipping up or a witness often happened. And she had to find a ship. Money wasn’t a problem; it was finding a dependable ship. Though Tesa would loathe doing it, interplanetary passenger ships were available.

Getting Graffion to her room was simple. The suite was definitely on the luxurious side, with a front sitting room, two beds in the back, and a master-room style bathroom. All her things were in there though, with double digit suitcases stacked on top of each other, and it made the room more cramped than it needed to be.

“Bathroom,” she stated. Tesa started to move suitcases off a stack for the one on the bottom. She left the rest teetering in a pile on the couch cushions. Placing the suitcase on the bed, Tesa unlocked it, revealing fragile vials of a multitude of colors protectively slotted and surrounded by padding.

“I can do two things, Graffion. I can use natural healing methods or…” she paused, standing in the doorway. “I can close the wounds with the Force. One’s slower than the other, and it’s your choice.”

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

It was hard to walk in straight lines, but this wasn't the first time he'd been wounded, disoriented, and dog tired. Although, he'd never been hit this bad since the day he fought the master Assassin Artemis Entreri, who'd taught him all he knew, and lost his eye...The memory caused him to blink a few few times and reach up to his head, pushing the hair back and tracing his fingers along his mechanical eye. A deep set scowl crossed his face.

Tesa offered to carry his swords. He set the scowl in her direction. It would do for an answer. He wasn't in the mood for words right now. They set off, and Tesa arranged for a cab. It seemed she planned on taking care of him. It was only fair. If he went off on his own he would have to slum around wounded for the next few days, possibly getting caught by the police and detained ( eventually executed ) or robbed, killed, die of infected wounds, or any number of potential things. She was an unknown to this world, and a safe haven to him. She was essentially saving him in return for saving her, a life for a life. Yes. A fair trade. One life for one life, and then... and then what? He began to realize that he didn't know what he wanted to do. Normally it would be lay low, get another job, enjoy the high life, and then back to work. And then leave even? No. He knew that wasn't the answer. The same instinct which made him choose to save her told him that he couldn't, wouldn't, simply leave.

He could barely see the cab with his eye, it wanted to stay closed. His mechanical eye saw very clearly, though. He reached for the door handle and clumsily slid into the vehicle, Tesa siddling in beside him. She explained away his wounds and weapons. He could see the cab driver didn't buy it, but he also knew the cab driver didn't care. The easiest way to stay alive in this business was to avoid shady characters altogether, or keep your mouth shut and you don't get a bowcaster bolt through the back of your head.

When they arrived at the suite ( Graffion really couldn't tell how long it took, as he had dozed in and out of sleep. ) Graffion walked through the room and found the nearest chair, gently placing the bowcaster along the wall, leaning it up against the wall and double checking to make sure no bolts were in and it wasn't cocked. It was just courtesy to the hotel and the neighbors, afterall, not to accidentally discharge your weapon through the ceiling and into the upstairs neighbors face. His swords he laid on the floor clumsily. They were in their sheaths, and neither of them were stupid enough to step on them besides.

As Tesa asked how he wanted his wounds treated. He shook his head gently, smiled, and pointed at the minibar, "Get the liquor." he said. He reached up and felt the staple in his head. He reached down to his knife, which was strapped onto his leggings around his calf, and unsheathed it. He walked into the bathroom, looked into the mirror, and stuck the knife into his scalp right where the staple was, digging into it and flinging both a chunk of scalp, staple, and blood down into the sink. It was only a light trickle. He dunked his head into the sink and turned the water on, washing the dried blood from his hair and head.

When he rose, his head and cheek swelling and stinging, he found Tesa with three little bottles from the mini bar. He smiled, grabbed the whiskey, and drink the whole thing, "Why thank you dear." He winked, then reached for the next bottle, removed the bandage from his cheek, and poured.

Oh the pain was a fire. He hissed, his breath sucking in with pain, and then blowing out in a growl. He put the bandage on the sink, grabbed the final bottle, and lightly dampened the inside with some liqour before reapplying.

"Any natural medicines you have you are free to apply as you please. The alcohol should prevent infection. I don't take pain medication. I will see this Force of yours some day. But not today, and not on my body." He looked at her and smiled, "What a shame, two beds instead of one." With a wink, he wearily walked over to the closest bed, shed his dirty, bloody cloak, let down his hair, removed his shirt, belt, and weapons, and fell into the bed, leaving all of the aforementioned attire upon the floor, "Sweat dreams." He mumbled, smelling of blood, sweat, and alcohol.

[Squee]

Crude field medicine. Tesa snorted at his uncivilized sterilization, but she wasn’t going to argue with him right now. Let him do what he wanted.

Leaning against the doorframe, the last bottle held by its neck between two fingers, she watched him bring more pain to himself. Her senses squirmed, awakened by the pain, and they panted and lusted after it. Her body felt so depleted it hurt, like thousands of bug stings. Her lungs suddenly felt robbed of air and his pain was the only oxygen source. She could use that pain, she knew, and regenerate her energy with it. His pain… She felt herself stretching for it, and then linking to it, by nature. The first swig of pain was incredibly revitalizing, an eye opener, beautifully refreshing.

He took the last bottle from her and she whirled out of the doorway. Her hands swooped up against her forehead and temples, compressing her head with her palms. Her lips were peeled back, revealing how tightly her teeth gnashed. No. No, not here. Her instincts screamed with indignation. Yes, he was close. Yes, he was in pain. Yes, the pain was at its peak right now. But not here. Not him. Not his pain.

WHY NOT?!

NOT HIM! She severed the link to his pain with conviction, imagining she could shred it like a piece of flimsy. “Guh,” she breathed out softly, arms collapsing around her. Cut off, Tesa thought she might start wheezing from feelings of suffocation. Her bones felt old and her vision unfocused. Regret stuck like bile in her throat, sorry that she was unwilling to rejuvenate.

He was speaking. So she turned, bringing her head back up and forcing her arms to drop. “My medication comes from plants. I don’t know if you can find anything more natural. I’d rather you used it than soaking bandages in alcohol, and let me gum the tears together. She sliced you pretty good. It’ll scar, unfortunately. I can’t do much about that. Gonna be just like me.” Tesa tapped a finger on the scarred part of her face on the left side. “But I had stitches. The gum works much better.”

She spent the next few minutes sitting on the edge of the bed next to him with a variety of objects in her lap. “You’ve already, what did you say, ‘sterilized’ it. I suppose.” The nasty, soaked bandage was taken off. She popped open a box and pulled back a wrapper on a brownish substance. Keeping his skin together, she applied the sticky gum and waved it dry. A foul smelling green smear followed. Then an adhesive bandage. “Don’t take that off. Not conscious. Not unconscious.”

Tesa left him to sleep then. Unlike Graffion, she desired some kind of cleanliness. Why should she sleep in the filth of the day? Cold water served to wash away dirt and distract her from his pain, which served as a nagging temptation. By the time she was done, Graffion was asleep, and his pain was no longer present.

Despite being bone weary, Tesa couldn’t let herself lay on the second bed yet. She stood out on the balcony for a long while, staring at the city lights. So she had him back. He was going to stay. She was sure of that much. If he couldn’t stay away after knowing she was a force user and lied to him, he was never going to go away. He was probably going to want the truth. Probably going to want some kind of conditions set. Probably going to want to set up some kind of system of give and take.

“All in due time…” she told the lights. “He won’t need those anymore.” And neither would she.

Back inside the room, she sat in the chair between the two beds with a pillow wrapped in her arms. Her medicinal kit sat on her bed in easy reach. Burying her face in her pillow, Tesa settled for an uncomfortable night of upright sleep.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

The sky was red. Graffion turned his head from left to right, his eyes scanning the dirty clouds. He knew where he was. He was on his homeworld Coruscant. The skies were never red like this, but today they were. Bloody clouds. Somehow he knew they were stained with the blood of his victims. The clouds roiled side to side. Before him was his house, behind him a factory. It was wrong, though. All wrong. His parents house, not his. And the factory was more than a block away, not across the street. obviously a dream. He smirked. "Well, I guess I get to kill my daddy again." He strode into the house.

His father wasn't there, however. In the seat Artemis Enteri sat, his right shoulder missing an arm and spewing blood. In his left hand he held a cup of tea. He smiled, tipped his head, and said, "Why hello, there, Graffion." His voice was warm and welcoming. It was deceiving. Everything about the man was a deception. His fatherly gaze, the warmth in his smile and the draw of his words. He put on personalities like a woman put on clothes; to him they were just to cover himself up. Underneath those personalities, no matter which one he wore, he was always measuring, and always planning your death. Sometimes he even took enjoyment out of it.

Graffion clenched his fists, and suddenly noticed that he was holding a lead pipe. The same pipe, he knew, that he had beaten his father to death with. And Artemis stood in that very chair. Which begged a question. He turned. Tesa sat fearfully in the chair next to him, "What is that for?" She asked, her voice clearly showing concern. He looked into her eyes. Those weren't Tesa's eyes. These ones were blue, like his mother, who had sat in that chair a long time ago. Tesa's were a sandstorm, and this was a blue puddle on the ground. She looked like Tesa, but it wasn't her.

Of course he didn't really know Tesa, did he?

"it's for..."

"Killing." Artemis said, laughing, "What else? He's killed me twice over, why not a third time, huh?"

Graffion roared and threw the pipe at Artemis. The man exploded in dust and haze, and Graffion was now in space. Floating, the hum of the ship beneath him, the slight vibration filling him. He turned just in time to see Insanus, a quirky avian droid, fly by and crashed into his forehead. His hands reached up and cradled the wound while his foot shot out at the falling bird as it passed, pinning it to the wall, "Stuck!" Insanus said in the annoying, twittery way he was prone to, "We're both stuck, Assassin, and we aren't going anywhere."

Graffion reached out and grabbed the bird, throwing it across the room, "You are." He said. The bird hit the wall and bounced off, fluttering against the floor. He watched it flop for some time before he walked over and put a foot to its wing, "I'm dreaming."

Insanus giggled. It utterly creeped him out, to see a bird giggle, even if it were a droid and a dream, "All dreams are just questions in disguise."

"Yeah and you're the stupid sage that gives me riddle answer." He stepped on the droid, crunching it beneath him. And that's when he felt it. A slight change in his body, the temperature, a breeze. The quietest of sounds.

~*~

Graffion exploded into motion, jumping out of bed and landing right on his feet. How long had it been? What was going on? Where was he.

Tesa's Suite. 6 hours of sleep, according to the interface of his mechanical eye, which had a clock and alarm feature as well. He glanced at the door and saw the man standing in the doorway. He glanced at Tesa, she was definitely awake after all the commotion he'd made, and well aware of the intruder.

"Who the hell are you?" Graffion asked him, his voice sharp as knives.

The man was dressed like a cleaner. Obviously, the first assumption was that he did room service and cleaning.

"I do room service and cleaning." The man responded, his eyes showing obvious confusion and fear, and the blush on his cheeks showing embarrassment, "My apologies, I must have the wrong room. I was told this one needed cleaning." The man started to leave.

"Wait." Graffion commanded. The man stopped and looked at him biting his lip, "Uh, yes? I'm sorry, sir!" Graffion's careful gaze set upon him. He was an older man. Grey hair in a tail behind a loose hat. His overalls covered his whole body. He was completely average, except for the tone of his muscles in the arms and legs. He was fit and strong in his left arm and his legs. His right arm seemed wholly bland as well, but not as strong and well defined.

"bring us up some wine. And do be sure to bring it to the right room."

"Yes, sir, I'm happy to please. But...may I ask one question?" He looked down at the weapons.

Graffion pointed a thumb at himself and said, "Bounty Hunter." He smiled and flexed his arm, showing tight, corded muscles.

The old man's eyes showed his satisfaction with that answer, and he stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Graffion fell down to the bed. His body was still exhausted, and he sat down with a loud plump, "Very nice place, Tesa. And, I hope you don't mind buying some wine."

[Squee]

It began as a beckoning from afar. Tesa recognized her heart beat. And then the energy that disbursed throughout her body with every pulse. That beckoning washed over her mind. Then her eyes opened while she took in a sharp intake of air, breathing the pillow fabric up against her nose.

The back of her mind was ringing a dull alarm, triggered by the Force. Before she could lift her head, there was a tumult of bed things and thudding of feet. Sitting up some, Tesa’s legs moved so they dangled off the edge of the chair. As Graffion confronted the newcomer, she examined him with hot eyes. And she did not like what she saw.

“Knock next time,” she snapped after the intruder. “You can let your employer know I’ll be filing a complaint.”

The room service man left and Tesa rose to her feet. “I can pay for any alcohol you want, that is not the problem.

“He’s good,” she complimented. And that scared the hell out of her. “But I wonder where he got that get up. Someone that good doesn’t take chances people are that stupid.” This was a gorgeous hotel, very highly rated and very expensive. It was an attraction for the wealthier visitors who were used to luxurious home settings and getaways. Its “rich vibe” was why Tesa had chosen it, along with its increased security and spaciousness. She didn’t think Graffion could afford one of the rooms, and most definitely not one on the upper levels.

That “room service and cleaner” had worn a raggedy uniform in a very up-scale place. Overalls, really? He might as well have stumbled into a formal restaurant wearing torn pants and a stained t-shirt.

“And he’s interested in you. Do you know him?” Tesa was sliding vials and boxes back into her suitcase. Not once had the man regarded her. He’d only apologized to Graffion. Most servicemen were trained to direct words to all individuals involved. The man had failed to apologize to her as well. She didn’t like his curiosity in Graffion’s weapons either.

And there had been no actual fear. If there had been, Tesa would have used it.

The suitcase closed with a whump and locked with a clack. She moved it back to the stack. Checking the time, Tesa realized she’d had three hours of sleep. Her fingertips dug into the corners of her eyes as she rubbed them. “I probably just said too much…” Too late now. Any bug would have picked up on her words.

Sighing, her arms dangled back at her sides. She crossed to the vanity, where Insanus sat turned off. Picking up the avian droid, she quietly contemplated the benefits and consequences of reactivating him. She brushed her thumb over the switch and Insanus’ red eye-band lit up brightly in the dim room.

“Mistress? Have you found your…”

“Sh…” she quieted the droid. She walked him out on the balcony, closing the door behind her. “Sane… I need you to play guard dog.”

“That… is not my designated function.”

“You just need to keep an eye out for me and Graffion.”

“Oh, Mr. Maruhuey has returned? How wonderful! How did you manage to…”

“He’s wounded. Don’t bug him. Got it? Just do security. Remember? Like back on the ship?”

The droid’s wings opened and closed slightly, which Tesa now knew was the droid’s expression of thinking.

“Some memory files are corrupted. But enough are intact to remember what I did.”

“All right. Go into self power down.”

“Okay dokey then!”

She brought the droid back inside and set him on the vanity once more.

“I… don’t want any wine when it gets here.” Tesa crawled onto her bed and lay on her stomach. Her arms folded to make a cushion for her head and her eyes looked at Graffion over her upper arm. “I really, really don’t. Should have asked him for some strawberries instead. I would’ve been impressed.” It was probably best for them to stay put and let her rest. The man wouldn't come after them as long as they were alert.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Graffion contemplated her words. She was right. Probably a thief of some kind. Perhaps he should alert the security. It would make sense. The get-up would get him in, and security wouldn't be too hard to get passed with a few white lies here and there. It would make sense why he only addressed Graffion; he would view Graffion as the threat. Most males assumed other males the greater threat. Of course Tesa was in an entirely other league of threatening and deadly. With the force, her sheer potential automatically reached beyond anything Graffion could hope to do, and that was without training...with training, it wasn't just potential, it was actuality, power in suspension, waiting for the moment it can be released.

"He's probably a thief." Graffion shrugged, "On Coruscant, the older more practiced thieves would pretend to be a laborer or repairmen or employee, move in on the richer residential areas, and pocket small items with large payoffs, only to pawn them on the streets. I didn't recognize him, but if I were breaking into the building, I would focus my attention on the more...alert, and disciplined opponent."

He turned and grinned, "Or he's an assassin after my neck, but then he would have come in shooting already. I don't think it is going to be a problem, though I would recommend that we not linger too long."

Which left him with another question entirely.

Where will we go, then?

When Tesa turned the bird on, Graffion nodded. She planned to rest with the comfort and security that Insanus would be watching them, ready to alert them. On top of that, they were both well trained in their arts, although what her arts were he couldn't be exactly sure. Lying, deceiving, and being devilishly charming were definitely among them. Oh, and flinging steel office desks with her mind. He would have to try and remember that next time he pissed her off.

His weary muscles managed to get him to the bathroom, where he turned on a shower. A hot shower. He let the water flow over his body as he stood beneath the flow of the shower-head. Beneath him he could see dirt mixing in the water by his feet, especially beneath the weary, callused pads. Only a slight tinge of red streamed from some areas where the water flowed against his wounds. The sting of the hot water was enough to make him spend only a minimal amount of time on his face.

As for his hair, he took special care of it, shampooing and conditioning three or four times, thoroughly. When he stepped out, he realized that all of his stuff was at his old apartments. With a scowl and a clench of his fist he began the tedious process of grooming and straightening his hair until it was perfect. Well, as perfect as he could get with the selection of products the hotel so generously provided. He cropped his bangs forward perfectly, so as to cover up his mechanical eye. As well as his newfound wound.

When he was finally fresh, he clothed himself and stepped out of the bathroom quietly, so as not to distress Tesa. The wine wasn't arrived yet. He required drink.

With a scowl, he began walking for the door. But he didn't leave. No, he thought. Not with our mystery guy around. He tried to rationalize that he couldn't carry his weapons around the public and his clothes were still dirty and bloody, so his cloak couldn't be used to hide them. And that walking around unarmed with a potential assassin and the local authorities potentially after him. But his gaze kept going back to Tesa.

He shook his head, "I'm just tired." He whispered to himself. Just to be safe though, he reached and grabbed his swords, bringing them over to the side of the bed. He lay back down. He didn't sleep for a while though. He just watched Tesa and replayed all of the recent events that happened to him over the last month or two. What the hell was wrong with him? Spy networks force user. And a woman. He already broke three of the most basic tenets of his line of work. Not willingly, of course. But that hardly mattered.

As he contemplated everything about the last day, his thoughts kept returning to Treston. The man on the shuttle. He wondered how his birthday celebration went. Was his wife happy to see him? Did he tell her about Graffion and what an interesting day he'd had?

Why am I thinking of that? Why do I care? I never care. It's my job to not care.

and with that thought he fell asleep.

[Squee]

She kept jumping awake with panic on her breath. Roughly every hour, her body decided to feel like it was falling. For the third time, her hands clenched the bed and she sat up. The first thing her mind’s eye saw was the satisfaction on that old man’s face. It was wrong. And it haunted her. Those eyes weren’t even for her and yet they stalked her.

Graffion was asleep again and Insanus was motionless on the vanity. It was far too early to be awake, because it was still dark out. Checking the time, Tesa confirmed morning was still a couple of hours off. But she wasn’t going back to sleep. Not when she couldn’t sleep.

When she got up, Insanus’ red eyes flickered on. Tesa waved her hand and, without a word, the droid powered back down. The wine had never arrived, she noticed, which didn’t surprise her. Whoever that old man had been, he had not actually been a serviceman. Graffion had wanted wine, however, and she would be sure he received it.

Oh. Won’t consume his pain but order him some wine? Except Tesa felt his actions yesterday entitled him to some luxuries. Slipping out of the bedroom portion of the suite, she slid the door mostly shut as quietly as possible.

What was the wine he drank on Nar Shaddaa? She triggered the room service button. A woman’s soft voice spoke, conscious of the hour, to inquire her needs. Quietly, Tesa ordered a bottle of good white wine and to use the light alert when it arrived at the door. Oh, and to stick an extravagant bow on it. It may be too soon to joke about the past, but Tesa would find amusement if he made the connection between the bow on the wine and the bow on his former target.

Ending the call, Tesa dragged the remainder of her strawberries from the conservator behind the bar. Tiptoeing into the front room, she collapsed in a large, plushy chair, legs dangling over the side, to enjoy her delicacy while waiting for room service. She flicked through her datapad, considering ships available for purchase and pushing a couple of business meetings back further into next week.

The lights above the door flickered announcing the arrival of room service. The wine transferred hands with a soft exchange of gratitude. Tesa couldn’t contain her grin when she saw the hand-size star-like bow sparkling gold on the wine bottle. That went on the squat table in front of her chair.

She bit off the last part of her strawberry and threw the green leaves back in the container. Spinning, her legs twisted together as she lowered her body. Now she was sitting cross-legged facing the hotel door while the bedroom was at her back. Taking a deep breath, Tesa rubbed her hands on her knees. Some hours before morning. Not sleeping. While Tesa did not like meditating, it was a good way to pass the time.

Her eyes drifted closed and Tesa submerged herself in the quietness of the suite. The conservator hummed, but eventually that drifted away. Graffion’s breathing was distracting until it faded out. When silence and stillness pervaded all her senses, Tesa’s eyes reopened and she twitched her fingers upward. The footstool, potted plant, and three suitcases levitated immediately. Moments passed before she grew comfortable with the weight of the five objects, and two more floated up at her gesture. It was a few minutes before Tesa joined another object to the group.

And fifteen minutes in, her forehead was hot with sweat. It had been a while since she’d practiced telekinesis like this. After yesterday, Tesa had this sudden urge to better her abilities. Almost as if she could practice and train for days, just so she did not have to depend on the help of others to defend herself against some weasel Jedi. But that was unrealistic because she knew she did not have that sort of dedication.

This would suffice for now. Another object. And then another. How far before it’s too heavy? The eleventh object lifted. After that, Tesa twisted her fingers, initiating a couple of objects into a slow rotation in place. Others she motioned to bob gently. Nothing extreme. Just control. And as she entered this stage, time was a lost concept.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

He had woken in silence, without moving or stirring. His eyes had flicked around the room to view Tesa in her meditation. At first, he was distraught. But then his eyes disconnected the scene from Tesa. If he didn't do that, he would grow angry with the knowledge of her deception and what he'd been drug into. So instead his eyes focused on the bewildering spectacle before him. Telekinesis. A thing every little child dreamed of, fantasized about, and knew they would never achieve. And here it was, a bunch of objects floating beyond the constraints of gravity, held up by sheer willpower alone.

He could see that some of the objects were rotating, some were bobbing up and down, and others simply floated. it's like being in space. he thought to himself. Finally he shifted to sitting position and said, "Don't look now, but there are a few objects in this room currently in rebellion against the forces of gravity." It was a slight jest. Humor, he'd heard, could take ones mind off of a bitter reality. It did not work. He received little amusement, and his heart remained bitter. He could feel it in his face, unmoved.

He wondered how she would react to his awakening, to his witnessing of her force use. His extrovertive reaction was likely better than expected. But his introvertive reaction was different. It was a storm, and he could feel it swelling inside him. A quick flash of rage bubbled in his belly. That passed, and was followed by disappointment. Some at her, but mostly at himself. How could he allow himself to be deceived by her? What was she to him? She had once been a store clerk who was more than she appeared, then a rich philanthropist playing murder games with a skilled pet ( a black cat. ) who stuck around because the pay was good.

Now what was she? Mistress? Boss? Tormentor? Gaoler? All of the above? She was still rich, he knew that. On that, he mused, was for sure the greatest benefit for this relationship. Whatever the relationship was defined as, he couldn't be sure. She was powerful, he knew, and she obviously had powerful friends. At first glance, it seemed she had everything she could ever want...

except that she has powerful enemies. He thought to himself, And that is exactly why I wanted to stay away from her ilk. I was trained to be able to perceive the stench of those who bring misfortune, but this one...this one got passed me. With smiles and jests and jokes. With promises glory. And then the misfortune came. Still. She saved me from Strae and her ilk. Another rat that wormed its way into my life. Hah. I traded one for the other. This one's got mystical powers and metal bird.

That's what she was. She was Strae. She was Strae born into a different life and a different skin, and somehow both of them attached themselves to him. It took one to free him from the other, but was he any less enslaved in the long run? That thought made him cold. Very cold. He rose and strode to the table. There was wine on it, with a pretty little bow.

With a sarcastic mirth in his voice, he acknowledged it, "You're gift giving habits are getting better. Wine is so much more refreshing than a corpse."

He sat down poured two glasses, offering one to Tesa and keeping one for himself.

He swiveled the wine around in his cup, and narrowed his good eye, "A soldier and a sailor, a tinker and a tailor, had once a doubtful strife. Rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief; who are we?" He asked her. It was an old children's rhyme from the streets of Coruscant, played as a divination game to play at what one's future was. Namely, who they would marry and what their profession would be.

He added, this time pointing to himself, "Assassin, murderer, patricide, pride." He pointed to her, and waited for her to fill in the blanks as he took a sip of his wine.

[Squee]

"Don't look now, but there are a few objects in this room currently in rebellion against the forces of gravity."

His words had the effect of ringing a gong right above her head. He’d startled her, and a fit of panic jumped in her chest. Her control of the objects wavered.

“No!” she hissed defiantly, arms shooting into the air to encompass all the objects. “No. No. Nononono…” They’d all sunk in some degree, but those that were moving didn’t stop. In the moment that followed, Tesa’s ragged breathing could be heard and her fingers clutched crookedly in the air. She had them all. She still had them all.

Sucking down a giant breath, her eyes squeezed shut, and her brow furrowed. Tesa rotated one hand to match the speed of the spinning objects. Then as the hand slowed, the spinning objects crawled to a stop. Her other hand bobbed and slowed, making the bouncing objects freeze. The objects that were shifting from side to side also stopped with direction.

Eyes back open. Her hands moved through the air, manipulating the objects. Suitcases stacked on one another before resting gently back on the ground. The footstool returned to in front of the chair. The potted plant, while slightly off its original resting point, returned to its position as well. When all objects were in place, Tesa’s arms dropped with a huff of exhaustion.

“And that,” she said, short of breath. “Is why I never use dangerous objects.” His swords and bowcaster remained undisturbed.

Standing, she moved out of Graffion’s way as she steadied her breathing. When he commented about her gifts, Tesa allowed just a little smile. He did remember. Sort of. “That man was still alive when I gave him to you,” she corrected.

When he offered her the wine, she frowned slightly. It was much too early to be drinking and she didn’t like white wine. However, there was a sense of seriousness. That he was offering the wine as a way to pave the path. It was in his face. It was in the way he sat down. If Tesa hadn’t meditated, she would be tempted to sneak a look at how he felt inwardly. The last physical touch was still fresh enough for her to trace his presence in the Force, and then tilt it open like a drawer to look at the contents inside. She was too tired now, though, and even if she had the option, Tesa had a crawling feeling she did not want to know.

As he spoke, Tesa sat down cross-legged once more with forearms resting on the squat table. The drink sat cupped in her hands. When it came her turn to speak, Tesa was quiet, mulling over words to describe herself. This was like back on the ship. He was giving her another chance to discuss who she was, it seemed. A very basic level of fear appeared beneath her heart, beginning to swallow it. But she was going to speak.

“Businesswoman,” she stated first. Her eyes were focused on the wine. “Spy. Deceit. Control.” The next word was hard as she remembered his sword ripping from its sheath. And the rage that had been in his eye. She was afraid of that rage. If it reappeared and he acted on it, Tesa wasn’t sure she’d make it out of the hotel room fast enough.

Her eyes raised to meet Graffion’s. “Sith.”

She swallowed. Her fingers gripped her glass harder.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Sith. Darkness was his world. Darkness was what hid him, what let him strike. He left his enemies in the darkness of ignorance, he left his friends in that same darkness. Without the ability to weave darkness wherever he needed it, Graffion was nothing. But the darkness of the Sith knew no boundaries, no honor. It could not be said that the Sith dwelt in darkness. It could not be said that the Sith dealt in darkness. It was not their world, it was their very being.

Today, he was staring into the pit of darkness itself. It explained a lot. It explained a hell of a lot. A sick being who played with her foes and friends like toys. He remembered the day he first met her. He'd killed her attackers, but not until she'd gotten to one. He remembered how the guy seemed to melt in her grasp, his mind seeming to bend to her will. At the time, he hadn't realized it was anything out of the ordinary. Thugs often cower and bend when in the presence of their betters. But now he felt sick as he realized that the man was being influenced by something cruel and twisted.

And yet, Tesa's cruelty seemed to have boundaries to them. She had not destroyed him. She had played ball with Strae and her spy network and did not bring the full extent of the darkness upon them. He remembered when she'd toppled over that chair which he'd been sitting in. With a single arm. It should have triggered more than suspicion. Even *he* would need more than a single arm on the chair in order to topple it over with a full grown man sitting in it. She had displayed her anger, but she had also displayed control.

businesswoman. Spy. Deceit. Control.

Spy. Deceit. These were expected of anybody who was anybody on Nar Shaddaa, or in the crime-world. Business woman. Yes. He could see that. Where else would her wealth come from? Control. Definitely. Ever since he met her she had everything under control, or at least within acceptable perimeters. In times when they stretched beyond those perimeters or the unexpected occurred, Tesa would either adapt in kind or begin to become extremely perturbed, frustrated. She had her ticks. She was essentially just another human being, only with the power of this "force."

NO He screamed at himself. Do NOT do that. Do not minimize this fact. She is Sith. Sith isn't about what has been shown, it is about what has not been shown. The Sith are notorious for being the very scum of the galaxy. They are not content with murder, their game is genocide. They are not content with power, they must have victory. They are not content with freedom, they must become the rulers. What has she done? The Sith commit atrocities that Graffion could only dream of. The Sith have no mercy or compassion. The moment I cease to be beneficial, will she terminate me?

Of course, he should have terminated his relationship with her the second he found out. As soon as he was payed for his last job. As soon as he was free from Strae. He should not have saved her.

A softness came to his eyes and his face. He had saved her. What the hell was he now? Assassin's don't save. There was no reason to help her. She was complication. She was misfortune. She was SITH. But she was also scared. She was afraid, she was helpless. Those things shouldn't have moved Graffion, yet he moved.

He pointed back to himself, "Did once have a doubtful strife."

"I am nothing now. I was an assassin, the best. But now I am nothing. And it is because of you. I have shown mercy, compassion. I have lost my professional touch to emotion and hedonism." His lip curled up in disgust, "The moment I saved you, I quit my job." He sipped his wine and stood up, "Sith." He echoed.

He walked to his utility belt, equipping it along with his swords. "Control." he spat, "You will not control me." He started down the hall, to the door, then stopped, "I will work with you. Not for you." And then he entered the bathroom instead of leaving. He had a night and a days worth of urine to dispense of, and then he needed to dress his hair for the day ahead of them. He would let her mull over those words.

[Squee]

She stared back at the harsh lines that made up his face. There was no doubt that he could see her nervousness, her fear. Yet he would also see that despite that all, she was going to confront the very thing that she feared. Her eyes never left him. Scarcely blinked. Her body was coiled, and she was leaning opposite of her dominant side to quicken her standing if need be.

You wanted truth, Graffion. That’s what you asked for on the ship. You ask for it, but you don’t like it. But you don’t know what kind of Sith I am. You don’t know my end goals. You don’t know that I could really care less about the Sith’s goals. That most of them leave a horrid taste on my tongue. That I find them all incredibly petty and homogenous. But you only asked for categorical words. So if you will just wait… If you will just ask…

He began to speak again, and talk about being an assassin in the past tense. Tesa forgot about her fear momentarily and cocked her head slightly in curiosity. Was? Lost? No, Graffion. You are still the best. Saving her cost him his job? She did not understand.

Her eyes tracked him as he stood up with “Sith” trailing off his tongue. Slowly she stood, as he approached his utility belt and swords. Where was her lightsaber? While Tesa had no swordsmanship near Graffion’s skill, she wasn’t going to let herself be struck down. Back on the ship, she had believed Graffion wouldn’t have killed her. It had been the only reason she had tempted him. Now, though, after he knew and believed exactly who and what she was. After he seemed to reconcile whatever he was struggling with, Tesa couldn’t be sure, but she believed he would have the heart to kill her now.

“Control. You will not control me.” Oh. Oh those words tickled her humor. They made her want to smile. If only he seemed to understand that the moment he walked into that weapons shop on Nar Shaddaa, she had plotted his future. Granted, Tesa once thought she’d lost him. But on the streets, when she had shared her fear, and he had responded the way she had hoped, she had been put back in control of him. For the sake of right now, though, she should probably not say anything.

“I will work with you. Not for you.” He shoved nto the bathroom and Tesa damn near fainted as she fell into the chair. Air gushed out of her, and she felt weak with peculiar relief. Graffion wasn’t going to kill her, but he was still angry. Her heart pulsed in her neck, mingling with the bubbles in her throat. Tesa covered her mouth to muffle her giggles.

Oh yes. Very good. He was staying around. He wasn’t going to leave. She grinned at the chair’s cushion. She could do this after all.

“My hairbrush is in there if you want to take care of that blond mess you call hair,” she spoke loudly. Let him be angry. She was going to be happy. She rubbed her eyes, though, which ached with tiredness. Snatching up her datapad, Tesa began reviewing the list of ships once more while she waited for Graffion to reappear.

“Murderer,” she addressed him. “Unless a particular individual threatens my life or yours, I do not want that individual dead unless for strategic purposes. Also, Pride,” she continued, calling him by a second title. “I’ll try not to stomp on your dainty little toes. But maybe just this once...”

She pointed to herself now. “Am curious to a fault. If saving me makes you incapable of being an assassin, why did you save me? I can rationalize saving me the first time: you wouldn’t have gotten paid.” And if there was one thing Tesa knew about bounty hunters, assassins, and other murders for hire was they liked to be paid to compensate for the other people’s lives. It was their justification: it was just a job. “But yesterday, Maruhuey… Why did you quit your job yesterday? And why stick around me if the Sith make you scowl so?”

Graffion was obviously no fan of the Sith, and that worried her just a little bit. She timed his replied, watched his expression, and listened to his words. If he had some kind of treachery planned, to find the Sith nest and uproot it from the inside out, Tesa couldn’t allow that to happen. Iniquitous would use her skin as a coat if that happened. If would also kill Graffion, and she certainly didn’t want that.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Indeed. He had already found and taken the liberty of using her hair-brush, and was quite fixated on his grooming when he'd heard her voice peeling through the door. He ignored her remark about his hair being a mess. It wasn't long until he got all the tangles and mats out, though he did pull a few hairs out. Then he began the tedious process of straightening and pulling the hair, keeping it from curling or frizzing.

"Murderer, Unless a particular individual threatens my life or yours, I do not want that individual dead unless for strategic purposes. Also, Pride, I’ll try not to stomp on your dainty little toes. But maybe just this once...”

“Am curious to a fault. If saving me makes you incapable of being an assassin, why did you save me? I can rationalize saving me the first time: you wouldn’t have gotten paid. But yesterday, Maruhuey… Why did you quit your job yesterday? And why stick around me if the Sith make you scowl so?”

Graffion opened the door. He turned to view her, thinking for a moment. How should he explain this? It was a wonder she didn't already understand. He frowned, paused his grooming for a moment, and said, "Tesa. There are two kinds of Assassins. There are the good kind, and the bad kind. I do mean morally, we are all steaming piles of bantha fodder when it comes to that. I mean in skill. But it isn't one's physical prowess that makes us the good kind or the bad kind. A good Assassin maintains his skill by following a certain set of rules. Not rules that are set up by a guild or by a moral code, but a set of rules Assassin's learned to follow because without them they often stumbled upon ruin and death." He shook his head. He had broken all of them.

"One of those rules is that you must be compassion-less. There is no room in our world for compassion. It begets doubt and hesitation, both of which lead to certain doom. The second rule is you must never have an attachment. No love. No room for such. It brings remorse, regret, and most dangerous of all, you cannot love and kill your compassion at the same time. Conflict within oneself." He continued brushing his hair then, staring at himself in the mirror, "Saving you breaks both of these rules. There's more to it, but those are the main two. So now, I cannot be an assassin. I am unfit for the task. Even should you die today, how can I return? I am too warm for the coldness I use to taste. My senses will dull, my mind wander. The assassin I was is now dead. That doesn't make me less deadly or remove my skills." he looked at himself for a long, hard time, "It just means that I need to seek a new way to use those skills."

But there was more to her question. She wouldn't be satisfied with that, he knew. She wanted to know why he'd saved her if he knew all that. A little part of him knew what she wanted to hear, but none him would say it, or even admit that he should, "Tch." He said, "You are not the first person I have saved. In the hotel on Empress Teta, the man you sent me to kill. There was a fool who sought to go up and kill my target. A good assassin would have let him try to go through with it and pin the blame on him. I stopped him, told him he didn't have to worry about it and that the man would die that night. I didn't do it for him, but his sniveling girlfriend. On this planet, a man was hopping onto a shuttle, but the driver pressed the emergency door lock. The door was closing around him. It would have cut him in half if I hadn't grabbed him in time. Why did I save you? Because I didn't realize you can throw a desk at a man with your mind." He laid a blaming eye on her, "Or infiltrate their psyche and destroy their will. I hate the Sith. I hate the Jedi. I hate the force. I hate you. But unfortunately, I...am attached to you." He closed the door again. He hoped beyond hope that she would be wise enough to ignore that last part. Just, pretend he didn't say it. Otherwise, he might just have to kill her.

[Squee]

His explanation sounded like a hodgepodge of generalized Sith and Jedi beliefs. Be compassionless was a Sith tenet. Just because the Sith were usually associated with mindless murder and using people as tools. Any sort of compassion hindered the Sith’s ability to carry out necessary tasks and attaining what he/she desired, usually something incredibly selfish that suited that one person. And the Jedi were against attachments and love, because they had to be compassionate for all. One unique bond between two sentient beings created irreversible desires and selfish need to protect that other end of the bond.

But she wouldn’t tell him that. Connecting him in any way to the Jedi and Sith was a bad conversation topic for this morning.

Instead, she decided to tackle a problem that she saw on Graffion’s face. His slight remorse. The accusing gleam in his eye battled with loss.

“One person’s rules are incompatible with another person. Each individual has his differences that make him who he is. When one person tries to follow another’s rules, it may work for a time because that person desires to follow those rules.” She stood, moving, finding her medical suitcase.

“Sooner or later, that person discovers how much of his individuality is hindered by conforming to a set of rules that another person created.” She opened the suitcase and quickly selected a few items. “It’s like a child growing up and leaving the guidance of his parents. He now sets up his life with rules he thinks are good for his life. Sometimes it can be a fusion between his parents’ beliefs and what he thinks ought to be rules. The end result is personalized life rules.”

Tesa walked over to the bathroom door and leaned her back into the wall. In her fingers, she twisted a vial around and around. “So make up your own damn rules,” she growled. “And even then, don’t be conformed to those. Because new experiences and the new events of each day make you a new person. They lead to new rules or the removal of others. Nothing is ever stable. Nothing is constant. Everything is perpetual chaos.”

Her knuckles rapped on the door. “That bandage on your face needs to be replaced and the green stuff washed off. The ‘daytime’ medicine is in my hand here.” She lifted her arm beside the door in case he decided to open it.

Her eyes focused on his swords. A new way to use his skills, he said. Attachment, he also said. He hated her, though, he’d added. Annoyance heated her sternum as she realized the comparison between her and Graffion, and then her and Jack. By using the word “attachment”, Tesa knew he planned on staying. His reasons for that attachment were lost on her; why did he form this attachment? She wouldn’t bother him with the question now. Better to utilize this information than question it.

“If you’re going to stay with me, you will need to learn how to deal with constant change of rules.” How much should she tell? Everything was too fresh for her to give away all secrets. “My line of work does not allow me to be the same person. Who I am to you is not who I am to others. It’s the nature of being a spy. I’m sure you know that already because of Strae, who you and I will hopefully never see again.” If Tesa saw that wench ever again, she’d kill her for what happened on Empress Teta.

“And then I need to know what you mean by ‘working with me’. What kind of insurance do you need? Like me. I don’t want you shoving one of those darling swords through my back if I grow too comfortable being around you. To what level does Maruhuey stoop, hm?”

He seemed to be the very direct kind of assassin – the kind to engage physically rather than use a poison. Yet, still, Tesa had only seem him interact four times with people who could be considered “enemies”. He’s reduced people to simple meat Being who she was, seeing the different personality swings of her former master Sawnders, and then the evidence of Strae, Tesa couldn’t help but second, third, fourth, and fifth guess people’s intentions. He’d shown no signs of treachery, but Tesa had realized that may because she’d been only pursuing ways to “keep” him.

“I still don’t know who Graffion Maruhuey is exactly. So don’t be insulted.”

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Graffion did as was suggested, replacing the bandages as he listened to her...lecture? Was it a lecture, was it an order? Was it advice? Or like the Jedi and Sith always do, was she 'simply stating the truth.' There was no room for fallibility when they spoke their 'truth.' As his thoughts on Force user arrogance began to rise, he felt a bit of anxiety rise up as well. Quickly, he quelled it before it could rebel against his senses. He would take it as advice, as musings and rumblings. It didn't matter what he would take it as but he didn't care to speculate on what it was meant to be.

It seemed she found his rigidity of rules a bit barbaric. Be that as it may, he didn't sway.

"Rules change as the situation and the people change, yes. But that is exactly my point. The situation has changed to such a degree that I am no longer fit for those rules. And thus, my title fades. Ah, well. I can't live forever. Even on Nar Shaddaa, my infamy shall fade as the next criminal commits his atrocities. This I have accepted long ago. What I have not thought of, is how I would come out of retirement. I expected a quiet death at the end of a blade, or a bloody and painful one with the mangled bodies of bounty-hunters all around me. Never did I expect to have my deciding moment be a street chase and a warehouse battle with a bunch of force flinging zealots."

He came out of the bathroom, his bandages fresh, his hair ready just the way he liked it, his clothes on---still dirty from the day before, having had no time to bring all of his former things. "So...that's that. I broke the rules, I changed, and now I am something different. Something new." His face seemed lost and blank. Slowly he walked over to his swords and grasped the hilts. He picked them up, feeling the weight, and slowly turned, a grin slowly displaying itself along the contours of his face, "What, then, shall this new monster do? You ask what part I should play in working with you? I have a myriad of skills to offer, from cutting bloody swaths through the enemy to infiltration; from lying to conning to whispering secrets. From facilitating a deal to frightening a plebeian...from blasting holes in the wall to fixing them."

He placed the blades on the bed, tying his sheaths to his belt and then letting the wooden sheaths eat up the naked steel. "You'll find I am not so complex a person. I generally say what I want and do what I want. I understand the need for ground rules, though. I won't stab you in the back. I'll put it through your chest if the time ever calls for it. Of course, I don't see why I would have to do such a thing. So long as you don't force my will, I'll have no desire or will to harm you in any way. I don't imagine you would try to force me, a person like you could have any number of mindless servants working for them. That is not what you want nor need, I believe."

"Otherwise, I am fairly honorable. I've always done my job to the tee so long as the pay has been good. If my employer doesn't betray me, I've never betrayed an employer. I don't see why any of that has to change. As far as I'm concerned, you are my new, long-term and permanent employer. That is to say, I am with you. But do remember, for as much as you don't know of me, I know even less of you. I say we learn slowly. Too much too soon is often...dangerous, for a...partnership. Especially one of shadows."

[Squee]

As Graffion came from the bathroom, Tesa whisked in. She kept the door open a little bit so she could listen to him speak and describe his side of the rules. Then his resume, his speech full of strengths and ability. Her hair was incredibly unmanageable, though slightly frizzy and crinkling into kinked waves. Tesa brushed it, changed into soft traveler’s clothing as like the day before, and pulled her hair into a clip. He was saying how he’d stab her through the chest if he needed to kill her as she was putting blue contacts on her eyes.

“I like the chance to impale you with my lightsaber myself.” It was a dry smile sent his way as she came from the bathroom. She chucked her dirty clothing into a spare suitcase and shut it closed. Tesa was still listening as she scooped up her datapad, fingers swiping over it decisively.

“I don’t, actually,” Tesa said suddenly when he was done. “Have thralls that is. Too much work. Have to pay for the upkeep. Feed them. Bathe them. Tell them when to go to bed. Nah.” The datapad slid into a socket on her belt and she rubbed a hand over her forehead. Her head tilted as she looked at him. “You know more about me than probably all the people in the galaxy combined, Graffion. I made that decision, but I had to be careful with it. Do not shrug off what you know about me as miniscule.

“And I perform my work in broad daylight most of the time. I like to sleep at night.” She smiled then, easily this time, and to the point that it reached her eyes. “Perhaps you are right and all details not bared for you to see anyway. I’m saving them for another day. In the mean time, shall we go look at this ship I found posted for sale? And on the way, you can tell me what you need replaced. We are not going for your things in your room; it’s likely to be a crime scene now.”