Rose's Thorns

[Squee]

Tesa cupped her hand about her tired eyes and sighed. The noble she was tracking and watching (for incriminating evidence of deviance from the Sith Empire) was not going to leave his dinner party soon. Not that it overly mattered – she could extend the time she drank wine indefinitely if she continued to pose as waiting for a date.

To make matters worse, her wounds were irritably itchy. Allergic to kolto, Tesa was on the slow track to recovery complete with angry, inflamed skin surrounding tight, black knots of stitches. She had a delicate, shear wrap about her shoulders to obscure the sight of her shoulder injury. However, the wrap caused the healing site more irritation than soothed it as she had hoped, contributing fully to the crawling, prickling sensation the stretched from shoulder down her back. Tesa resisted every millisecond to furiously scratch. She continuously checked her messages to hear if her agent had procured bacta.

"Allow me, sir." The pleasantly smooth voice disengaged Tesa from her zoning. Bringing her gaze upward, she saw the head waiter move out the chair with practiced eased for her sudden guest. She looked to the guest and recognized his lengthy blonde hair.

"Oh! Maruhuey!" Tesa stood in a hurry. The chair caught on the carpet, she stumbled, and her wineglass jerked in her hand. Wine sloshed over her hand and splashed onto the table. Tesa sat back down heavily.

A waitress swooped in immediately, a cloth in hand. She took the wineglass with minimal prying. Her cloth moved swiftly over Tesa's hand and slid across the table, effectively eliminating any presence of a spillage.

"I'm sorry," Tesa said, feeling distinctly disjointed. She wondered just how much wine she'd had at this time. Her face flushed with embarrassment at this demonstration of clumsiness.

"Do not fash yourself, ma'dam."

A clean glass was brought by the head waiter. He calmly lifted the wine bottle from a bucket of ice, sitting undisturbed at the center of the table, and poured her wine. Judging by how far he tipped the bottle, Tesa thought she must have had more than half. Not to include how much she’d had earlier that day either.

"Wine, sir?" The head waiter asked Graffion, turning the bottle so the label could undergo his inspection. Meanwhile the waitress had returned, silent as a ghost, picking up, unfolding, and laying Graffion's cloth napkin into his lap before offering him a menu.

Tesa breathed slowly and purposely fixed her shawl from where it had fallen to the crook of her elbow. Tesa turned her glass in a careful, lazy circle, but watched the city lights sparkle outside the window beside her, as the waiter and waitress settled Graffion. Once they departed, Tesa sipped from her glass and leaned toward him.

“I did not expect you until the 18th.” Though, in her impairment, Tesa couldn’t quite recall what day was tonight. “It was… good of you to come. I needed some help because I don’t think…

“Rude,” she said, completely altering the conversation. She drank some wine. “Rude of me. You meet me at fancy dinner an’…” She shook her head. “How have you been? Your hair looks blond as ever.”

And now, she had a date.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

And there she was. He was still familiar with her voice due to the messages, through what contact they had kept through the jobs and the small-talk. It was jarring for Graffion for a moment; he wasn't use to the feeling in his stomach, you know, that feeling of anticipation, happiness even, when you are expecting to see someone. There was a trace of excitement, but not the kind of excitement Graffion was use to, the dangerous kind; close to elation. But for all these emotions that stormed inside of him, not a trace showed on his face. It occurred to him for a moment that perhaps she could sense this. That for all of his barriers she could simply bypass them, and know his thoughts and emotions.

There was the familiar moment of disdain at this thought, but somewhere, he also felt a measure of comfort at this thought that he couldn't explain, a feeling which seemed tumultuous against the morals and expectations of his long history and distaste for anything as religious, institutionalized, and unnatural as the force.

He moved into the room slowly, almost sliding in. His mechanical eye had already done a preliminary check of room, and detected only the heat signatures of Tesa Yarum, the servers, and several patrons. Some would say, in an upper class joint like this, why worry about security so much? The answer, to Graffion, being simple. The richer you are, the more expensive becomes your treachery. Danger does not go away, it simply becomes more subtle, sometimes with less remorse and somehow even pettier than before.

And of course, any room with Tesa in it was automatically a red flag for danger, treachery, and subtlety. His mechanical eye saw little out of the ordinary, except that his elctromagnetic spectrum had definitely picked up two people in the room, over by a larger group, a dinner party, they definitely had blasters hidden on them. He clicked back to the regular spectrum, viewing the two with detail. Clearly, they were bodyguards. The way that they sat, casual and trying to be unnoticeable, but upright, slightly stiff, strong builds, searching eyes. Those eyes rested on him.

Graffion's eye met one of the bodyguards. He held it for a second, and continued on toward Tesa. She was looking down at a hand held device, far too distracted to have noticed him.

Allow me sir, the waiter moved a chair out for him to sit, Graffion gave a courteous nod.

Oh! Maruhuey Drunk. He could tell immediately, by the way she spoke. And instantly as he saw her move. He'd seen her drink, but never drunk. She stumbled. Graffion saw the sloshing wine well before it hit the table, and made sure to stay back a mili-second longer out of the splash zone. He then took a seat as Tesa plopped defeatedly back into her seat. He was not surprised to see that by the time he had made himself comfortable, a waitress had cleaned the table. Tesa apologized.

He cracked a smirk as an evil thought traced along his conscious, one he dared not think aloud, even for himself.

wine, sir?

"Ale. Tarisian." he looked at Tesa, a little smirk, almost a 'I know something' grin on his face.

I wasn't expecting you until the 18th Tesa spoke.

Graffion silently noted that today was the 18th. Either she was very drunk and had no idea what day it was, or she was toying with him and seeing if he'd bite. All things considered, he was willing to accept the former. Still, he let this one slip, filing it away for later.

“It was… good of you to come. I needed some help because I don’t think…

“Rude,” she cut herself off. He shifted slightly, unab, le to cover his bemusement.
Rude of me, you meet at a fancy dinner an....how have you been? Your hair is blond as ever.

Graffion flipped his hair, as if in response, and gave a broad smile, "Tesa," he bowed his head ever so slightly, "Busy. Chasing mice." He had seen the waiter approach in the corner of the eye and held his hand out, where the Ale was placed gently in his palm, he gave a subtle nod to the waiter, and took a long sip of the Ale, "Amongst other things." He set his glass down, a noticeably good distance from himself. An indication that he did not plan on joining Tesa's...antics.

"Things have been going rather smoothly of course," He shrugged, "haven't been fighting any super-powered freaks lately." He pointed at the stitches on his head, a mark which still remained after the Selonian Jedi had smashed the business end of an office stapler into his forehead. Could have been worse, though not a war wound the Mandalorians would soon be sitting around telling stories of.

"What happened?" He asked, indicating to the shoulder wrap on Tesa's neck. Even though it complimented her outfit, it was an oddly unnecessary choice of garment, and by the uncomfortable stance she was in, he could tell almost immediately that she was hiding something, "Or are you just covering up a second head sprouting from your neck?"

[Squee]

“Busy. Chasing mice.”

Tesa laughed at this, a charming and genuine sound. It sounded strange. Felt strange. Force, how much had she drank?

Yet, she leaned back, albeit uncomfortably, wineglass cradled in both hands to reduce its chance of tipping. She unconsciously matched the timing of his sip, though she took a heftier gulp. Then he set his glass almost arm’s distance from him. Intoxicated or no, Tesa had too many diplomatic encounters to understand the meaning of the action. Feeling a brush of shame, she placed her glass onto the table, but not too far.

Her lips twitched as he mentioned super-powered freaks. Their last encounter had been a harrowing experience. Tesa was sure not to repeat it again. It was as easy to fool a Jedi as anyone else, at least the first time.

Then he asked what happened. The pleasant smile dropped, replaced with a failed look of indifference. “Do you know anythin’ about Taris? I’ you pay much attention to the HoloNews.” Tesa sat back upright, fiddling with the shawl as it rubbed against her inflamed skin. Sighing through her nose, she fixed Graffion with a hard stare. “The Orders, Sith an’ Jedi, had a battle there. The Sith manufactured some device that… attracted the rakghouls. It worked.”

Tesa dropped her eyes to where her hand clasped the wineglass, at the junction of cup and stem. She could see the black blood in the wine’s dark red color, mingled and mixed with her own. Dripping in strings from her fingertips. The thick, slimy feel sliding over her tongue. Tesa moved the wineglass further from her, suddenly repulsed. She swallowed and tried not to gag on imaginary ooze.

“Ma’dam.” The waitress had reappeared, a small square plate in hand. Tesa removed her hands from the table, letting the waitress rearrange the bread plate and wine to her satisfaction before resting the steaming appetizer before her. Tesa had ordered the chef’s favorite appetizer. Now it was here, a sort herb-dashed bread with a bright, chunky red drizzle.

“The battlefield turned into a feasting ground.” She paused, poking the appetizer with her fork. “Did you know the rakghoul virus is a Sith alchemy invention?” Tesa tilted her head, meeting his one blue eyed gaze. “You would. Being aroun’ them. Relentless. With an unrivaled, unbridled hunger.

“I wish it were a second head. I was bitten. An’ scratched. Not to worry,” Tesa added quickly, “I am treated for the virus. But my allergy to kolto complicates my healing.” Lifting a section of the shawl, her skin was puffy and red about the shoulder. “It is a… an unpleasant affair.” She huffed a large breath. She stared at the bread, or whatever, dish and did not feel particularly hungry. With a gesture, she offered it to Graffion, brows raised in question.

“Blasters,” she said suddenly, but low. “How many on the stiff-rod men to the left of the dinner party, from the entrance? And note the Echani at the dinner party. Something on him?” Not that an Echani needed a weapon to be lethal.

“I… We are tailing one Duke Rosaire Bonnet. The green-eyed, curly blonde haired gentleman with a generous smile an’ neat, broad shoulders. Already branded a traitor by the Order. I need more proof. You’ll help me get it?” Though phrased as a question, it was not really. “I will compensate for your time, as always.”

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Graffion seemed perturbed as she spoke of Taris. Yes, he had heard much of Taris. Fleets. Wars. Battles. Destruction of great scales. Outbreaks, Rakghouls. He shuddered. He'd been on Taris before. He'd encountered a few Rakghouls, on a mission with Strae and a mercenary group...funny, he couldn't remember the name of the Mercenary group. Then again, he didn't spend much time thinking on the dead and gone. He looked at the wound, and dreaded what she might conclude.

“I wish it were a second head. I was bitten. An’ scratched. Not to worry,”

Oh it was worrisome. He had a feeling of fleeting concern. He knew what a Rakghoul could do, and he'd seen what happened to people who were bitten and went untreated. He'd seen a few horrible things in that underground facility on Taris, years ago. But the feeling of concern wasn't in fear of having to face such a monster again, but a trembling rage at the idea that Tesa had been subject to such...monstrosity. She was Sith. She had been through bad. He knew that. She'd probably witnessed...probably done, horrible things. Yet, he couldn't but wish he had been there, wish he had stopped her from suffering the way a Rakghoul can make you suffer.

His emotions were in a twist, and her calming words on the matter did little to resolve his uneasiness. Quickly, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pushed those concerns away. His stand-out appearance was already an attention grabber for those thugs and body-guards, and the last thing he needed was an Echani detecting his volatile emotions.

And then all concerns were gone, his brain easing back into relaxation, reminding himself who he was, where he was, and why he was here.

"Two blasters. One of them, I suspect the Echani, has a small, elongated electronic device hidden under his coat. Could be a stun-baton, a flashlight...or an adult toy. Hard to say." He said, with a playfully devious smile, "It wouldn't be the first time I've caught a fully grown man with something devious hidden in his pocket."

It was clear that he was just having fun at this point, but he quickly rebounded it, "And Tesa, you really should warn me 'come in disguise, targets in room' before you off and schedule a meeting at a fancy dinner. Here I thought you just wanted to have fun. Why's it always gotta be chases and 'pew pew' everytime we meet? This why we can't have anything nice." He knew he might be pushing buttons at this point.

But dammit he just couldn't help it.

[Squee]

Tesa nodded and muttered, "As I suspected," as Graffion told her the weapon locations. Guards would conceal carry at least one blaster. Except when Graffion mentioned the last electronic possibility on the Echani, she visibly jerked with shock. "A... What?"

"It wouldn't be the first time I've caught a fully grown man with something devious hidden in his pocket."

"Truly?" She questioned, incredulous. Tesa gave the Echani a sidelong stare. "Force, people are strange creatures."

Tesa sipped from her water glass as Graffion chastised her for not warning him about the targets. Taking a deep breath, she assessed him with a critical gaze down the length of her nose. "I like your blond hair an' you dressed appropriately." She had to speak slowly around large words. Internally, some part of her screamed at her foolishness for drinking. "That is fun for me. Knowing you own some semblance of elegant wear. Also, I am hardly disguised either.

"And then chasing people and being shot at is my life. Now. No thanks to my idiotic superiors." Tesa rubbed two fingers firmly against her temple, slanting her eye even she rolled them. "This is not supposed to be a chase an'... Erhm... 'Pew pew' as you so... Ah... eloquently put it. It should be jus' cornering this man an' asking him a few questions. That's all I want. Answers. Bonnet could be useful yet. He has... History to him."

Tesa moved her appetizer plate to the side, the food untouched. Cradling water glass with both hands, she leaned forward and rested both elbows on the table to create a more intimate image. Her shoulder ached as it was forced to roll closer to her neck. "For now, order some dinner. Drink your ale. Try to pretend you like me, an' tell me how your last job went."

---

"... And then the magistrate's cat strolled in with a local rodent. Dropped it daintily upon the countess' foot. As bad as that was, the aristocracy talks more about the scene the countess made." Tesa paused to chew a small forkful of pasta. "An absolutely disaster. Disgraced both the magistrate and the countess. And the feud between the two families continues. Over something as silly as a cat being a cat."

A tingling sensation crawled at the base of her neck and Tesa paused with her fork lifted halfway, and closed her mouth to avoid looking foolish. Something was about to endanger her person. "Graffion, I think it's time we moved." Tesa stood and lifted her handbag from where it hung on the back of the chair. "Be a gentleman," Tesa said, extending her hand. "And escort me to the exit."

At a touch, Tesa slivered against Graffion's subconscious, establishing a quick link for telepathic communication. They were a few steps from their seats when the tall glass windows shattered behind her. Tesa hiked her dress with one hand before she saw armored individuals storm through the reception area and realized escaping would be near useless. The shouting started then. Tesa clenched her hand on Graffion's elbow, feeling and knowing his instinct.Graffion. Don't.

"Don't move! Stay where you are!"

Tesa flicked her fingers, pushing over a square table in front of her and Graffion. Glass shattered the floor. Tables screeched on hardwood floor.

"No one move!"

Some female party guest shrieked.

"Hands from the coat!"

Tesa fell behind the table, dragging Graffion with her.

"Blaster, blaster!" The energized sound of discharging weapons.

"You two!" A pair of booted feet appeared before her and Tesa glanced up to stare down the barrel of a blaster rifle.

Still holding Graffion's arm, she squeezed his elbow. Hard. Don't!

The filtered, feminine voice was firm and cold. "Stay. Put." Although the the soldier stayed in front of them, she angled her weapon away.

"Grand Duke Rosaire Bonnet!" A voice bellowed above the commotion. "You are under arrest by the authority of the Galactic Republic!"

"Shiiiiit!" Tesa hissed under her breath. She craned her neck to peer over the lip of the table. Several soldiers had moved in close to Bonnet's party. Something was odd. She looked at their guard, and the strangeness was about her too, but Tesa struggled to pinpoint the oddity. Slowly, Tesa worked carefully at her handbag to open it.

Get ready.

"Boss, I have two extras here. What do I do with them? Hey! Lady! Hand out of the bag."

"Oh! Certainly!" Jerking her hand out, Tesa thrust it forward, sending the soldier through an unbroken window and to certain death. Her lightsaber sat in her palm between her last two fingers and her thumb. She looked at Graffion. "Okay. Now we can go."

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

I think its time we moved. Graffion instantly felt sick. From the tone of her voice and sudden tension he felt he knew something waswrong. Before she even finished her next sentence he was sliding his chair and taking her extended hand, moving toward the exit while reaching into the pockets of his fine cloak. His fingers brushed against his slug pistol, but did not linger, instead unclasping a small, palm fitted throwing knife.

Moments later a movement by the windows. He saw the shape and knew exactly what was happening. A raid. So it was gonna be a pew-pew day afterall...

He could see troopers pouring through the exits, more than he cared to count. He turned suddenly as a table overturned, providing cover. His eye searched for whoever did it, but inside he felt like he already knew nobody had done this...by hand at least. He let Tesa take cover first. There was blaster fire; he could smell the burning flesh immediately.

And then a Republic trooper was standing muzzle faced down at them. It took only seconds for Graffion to see something was wrong. Republic soldiers don't hold their guns like -that- and they -don't- stand that close. His eyes stared up at the trooper, trying to glean her intent. "don't move' and other general threats.

Still, he felt some kind of urge don't. It was very urgently calming him...what a paradox. But Graffion was not panicking. He was very patient. Always take the time you are given to assess. He clicked on his mechanical eye. Without moving his head too much, he began checking thermal signatures. Main exits completely blocked. Bathroom? only if he wanted to hold out for real authorities. To be honest, he was -hoping- these weren't real Republic. If they held out then he'd have to deal with real cops. And that was NOT an option.

The kitchen...he could some shapes in the kitchen. Some civilian. Mostly cooks and servers. Two figures, not flailing about. Perps. Hard to tell. Just shapes, blurry at this distance.

"Boss, I have two extras here. What do I do with them? Hey! Lady! Hand out of the bag."

Graffion tensed up at the word "boss" and "extras"

He was a loose end. Nothing good happens to a loose end. He started moving as soon as the trooper shouted "hey Lady hand out of the bag" his dagger sliding to fingers, his arm arching forward toward her neck. But no contact was ever made.

There wasn't any way to quickly describe it, seeing someone be pushed by the force; thrown back. He'd seen people smashed by oncoming speeders, punched in the gut so hard they went flailing in the distance, yanked by a crane arm, thrown out of a room by the waist. But what happened to that Republic Guard was visceral and frightening to the subconcious; because there was far too much left to the imagination. One moment her blaster was pointed muzzle first at his head, his eyes staring dangerously, defiantly back...and then the next moment the trooper was airborne. Like the hand of god reached through the window, grabbed her body mass, and pulled her screaming out of the building, just to drop her back to gravity's merciless fate.

Graffion twitched. "Okay, now we can go."

Graffion was still standing there with the knife trying to figure out what happened when someone vocalized his thought, "What fuck just happened?"

Graffion looked over at the trooper, about fifteen feet away, and they met eye contact.

there was no time for questioning, both had made up their mind; kill or die. Graffion turned his body and dropped his knees, causing a twirling motion. He released his dagger as a bolt of scorching red plasma arced over him and out the window. The trooper fell to the ground as the dagger, a vibro blade, imbedded itself between the plating on his left knee.

"Rappell out the window or fight our way through the kitchen." he told Tesa, although it was not really and option. He had already chosen and since he pulled out a smooth metal slugpistol, that told Tesa exactly what he'd chosen. It would take him too long to set a grapple and then rappell out down a very open, exposed wall.

"Stay low, follow my path. Enemies on the path."

Graffion crouched to the edge of the table, "Go!" he hissed, and sprinted. The 'Republic troops' were still regrouping, and focused on on their primary target, which thankfully was not yet them. Hopefully, the bulk would leave, and only a small mop-up crew would remain.

Graffion was not one to rest on 'hopefully.' He reached a third of the way before blaster fire came his way, and dove headfirst behind the bar. Unfortunately, the entrance to the kitchen was a little passed the bar. Graffion leapt up and unloaded 6 shots to cover Tesa. none of them hit, but the perps all stopped shooting and ducked.

"4 civilians in the kitchen, two perps." He called out, You go in, I'll cover. Close quarters in there, but they may have room to shoot, so stay low!"

She probably didn't need his coaching, but he wasn't about to shut up. Information won and lost battlefields. "Go!" He stood up and, due to his thermal vision, got a perfect shot right off the bat, and then ducked down again, putting a bullet through a Republic imposter's helmet. He then leaned to the side and fired suppresively.

That'll make them think twice about standing in the open, guns trained on the bar.

[Squee]

"Graffion!" Tesa hissed when he didn't move at first, just staring out the window. Foolish man. Focus!

"What the frack just happened?" Then Graffion snapped to, invested in the threat at hand. Seeing him react, Tesa chose the moment to wrench off her Force-forsaken shoes. No way was she going to run around in spike heels, not even if they were two inches. Dammit, and these were ones she really liked, with the green gems.

"Rappel out the window or fight our way through the kitchen." He spoke aloud, but his thoughts coasted through her consciousness like water. Before he was finished speaking, she knew what he was going to do. He would need a rappel. She wouldn't. But Tesa was uncertain if she could soften to fall for both of them. She wasn't going to leave him, either.

So she listened to his orders half-heartedly instead. He was used to a singular type of fighting - without the Force, without a lightsaber. Even so, she sprinted as he did. That tingling tickled at her neck. Her lightsaber snapped on, and with an arc of purple, she redirected a blaster bolt away from her. A surge of controlled panic swelled in the air, and an smile touched Tesa's lips.

"Jedi!"

"We have Jedi!"

"They threw one of us out the window!"

"Gods dammit!"

"Not Jedi then?"

She slid beside Graffion, lightsaber swooshing off. "Well. That confused them." They continued to shout to one another, trying to figure out how to react to the presence of a 'Jedi'. Tesa tilted her head as Graffion called orders, trying to decide if she should argue. She decided not to, but she wasn't going to follow them completely either.

"Finish a volley an' follow. I'll cover your run." Outstretching a hand, the Force rolled from her, picking up bottles and glass cups. Tesa leaped from cover, lightsaber switching on again. As she reached the kitchen doors, she made a quick, viscous snap of her wrist, and the bottles of alcohol went sailing into the fray. The guests screamed, if they had stopped, and the soldiers shouted for cover. Now, Graffion!

Pressing into the kitchen, the staff cowered between the tables. The Republic soldiers, staring at her, staring at her lightsaber, uncertainty rolling off them, even as one raised a blaster. Tesa thrust her hand forward, throwing them both backward so they bounced off the wall. Bounding over a staff member, Tesa rushed, and grabbed the staggering soldier's helmet by the chinguard. She pulled and tripped him, letting him fall hard. She whirled, sloppily slicing at his companion's rifle, and cutting off half of her fingers as well. The soldier cried out, and Tesa could feel the woman's pain.

"Who are you?" Tesa put her foot in the middle of the first soldier's back, between the shoulder blades, preventing him from standing.

"Jedi," the filtered voice said. "We... we serve the Repub..."

Tesa flipped her lightsaber and buried it into the head of the soldier at her feet. "Liar!" The female soldier startled with a burst of disgust and fear. The perfect opening. Tesa lunged but the soldier brought up her arm. Clasping the armored forearm, the connection was made, but Tesa felt the punch slam her ribs.

She yanked the soldier forward, until eye to face-plate. The soldier's consciousness shrieked with confusion and pain, and Tesa threw her mind into further chaos briefly before securing herself as the only authority. "You're mine!" Tesa hissed. "You'll do as I say."

"I... I will do..."

"Excellent." Tesa dragged the soldier through the back door and onto the landing platform, typically used for deliveries. A speeder sat there. "Your vehicle?"

"Ye... yes..."

"Graffion! Will you drive?"

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Graffion stepped over the charred corpse, taking a picture with his mechanical eye. To study the wound from the lightsaber.

He followed Tesa and her prisoner, with his gun trained on her back. After a few moments, he began to realize that the prisoner wasn't just cooperating; she was completely without control.

"Yes, I can drive." He responded begrudgingly, "If you can hold on tight." He boarded the speeder, starting it up, "Ask her if they have tracking on their vehicles..." he requested, revving up the speeder, feeling the almost violent hurming of its powerful engine. He locked his legs in tight and waited for the others to board and get secure, "Got a good grip?" He waited only a few seconds longer, then gave the throttle a squeeze.

The wind and sudden jerk of speed was not all too familiar to Graffion, but he quickly reigned it in got a hang of it. Still, he didn't move too fast, taking turns and twists down the side streets and alleys. He had barely gone more than a block before he pulled the speeder into what looked like a loading bay. Parking it, he slung one leg over the vehicle and hopped off, "Bit of a smell, but this should do for a minute." He walked over to a door and checked the controls, splitting off the keypad, and grabbing some wires. A few seconds later, the door zipped open. "Got it!" He smirked, "and just one minor electrical burn." One sniff and he confirmed what he'd initially theorized, "Looks like a fertilizer plant. We keep quiet, nobody should bother us while we figure out our next play."

[Squee]

“Answer his question!” Tesa’s hadn’t released her grip on the woman’s armored arm.

“N-no. They are only supposed to be d-ditch vehicles.”

“Excellent.” Even inebriated, the longer she sustained the connection, the more secure her authority over the mind. Although, a physical touch was no longer required after she made the link. Tesa was afraid of relinquishing her physical hold, lest she lose telepathic control of the woman.

The initial bumpiness of Graffion’s driving made her snarl, but she withheld her comments in favor of keeping her link with the “Republic” soldier. A blazing amber eye turned on her prisoner. “Who are you?”

“I’m… Zynthia…”

“No, stupid,” Tesa interrupted, bite to her words. “Your organization. Who do you work for?” With some effort, she pressed firmly on the woman’s mind, suppressing and attempting to supersede struggling will writhing under Tesa’s oppression.

There was a rather large jerk and Tesa’s attention shifted to Graffion, losing the competition of wills. “This is why I’m the pilot,” she chastised. “Honestly.”

And if you weren’t full of wine to the point of puking, you WOULD be the pilot, she argued with herself. Her fingers twisted more firmly into Zynthia’s arm, an outward expression of her frustration.

Graffion set them down safely enough and took proactively rushed to open the door. Tesa followed more slowly, tugging Zynthia behind her, much like a mother would an unwilling child. “Congratulations,” Tesa muttered sourly to Graffion commented on an electrical burn. “I hope it turns into a scar.”

She could care less about what the place looked like, as long as it served it’s purpose. Shelter. Temporary safe haven. A location for interrogation. “Right. Fine. Perfect. Find something to tie her up with.” Her head was starting to hurt and perspiration dotted her heated brow. The woman’s will struggled harshly against Tesa’s control, and it had taken a great focus to maintain her telepathy.
Glancing quickly about, Tesa determined finding restraining materials would take too long. “Ya know what? Nevermind.”

Her lightsaber blazed viciously purple as she ignited and stabbed through Zynthia’s leg in a motion, the heavy buzz muting as it seared through the thigh. Zynthia shrieked, collapsed, and Tesa dismissed her telepathic hold. The lightsaber hissed off.

With a small groan, Tesa rubbed her forehead with fingers and a thumb. She was much too drunk for this sort of nonsense. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight. She was supposed to have a nice evening, with wine, and return to her hotel with knowledge about how Grand Duke Rosaire Bonnet liked his steaks. Now she was intoxicated, feeling ill and dizzy from sudden exertion, and irritated she had to find where these “Republican” buffoons had made off with her Grand Duke.

“You’re no Jedi!” Zynthia accused.

Tesa removed her hand from her face. “Oh, well done,” Tesa tutted. “When’d ya figure that one out? When I put my lightsaber through your friend’s head?”

Tesa smiled as the reminder served its purpose – Zynthia recoiled as a fresh wave of fear smothered their Force connection. It was energizing, like a shot of espresso.

“An’ if I’m willin’ to kill your friend…” Lazily, Tesa grasped Zynthia’s helmet and slowly pulled it off. Beneath the faceshield was a brown-skinned face with green eyes belonging to an underwhelming average human female. “… What do you think I’m willin’ to do to you? When you have the information I need?” Green eyes glittered with that fear, though the mouth tried to set in a defiantly grim line.

“Our next move?” she said, directed to Graffion, and she shared a quick look with him. Tesa dragged fingers over the helmet’s surface, the action creating a small screech. “To find out who she is, her employer, an’ where they’ve gone. I need my Grand Duke.”

Tesa tilted her hands and the helmet fell with a loud clang. “An’ she’ll give it to me. Willingly, or I’ll rip it from her head an’ leave her as a vegetable.” The muscles in the woman’s neck bobbed as she swallowed.

Some flitter of thought deigned to remind her Graffion was unfamiliar with the extent of her force abilities. It made her pause, and her amber eyes slid back to him. If Zynthia didn’t start talking in the next several seconds or so, Tesa was going to resort to methods he may find… distasteful. This was the warning she was communicating, or at least hoped she was, in her hesitation but there was resolution etched on her face.

Speak now… Either of you.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

“Congratulations. I hope it turns into a scar.”

Graffion ignored that comment as he continued to scout the area, quickly deciding that any workers had long since gone home. It didn’t seem like they had any active alarm systems either. There was still the possibility of a security guard that might stumble upon them, but with the area being a mostly industrial and away from residences, that seemed unlikely that they had a dedicated night shift guard. On top of that, it was a rather large facility. Security guards, in general, tended to be lazy. Graffion put it aside as a rather low possibility, if that. Still, he made sure to do a thermal check every so often.

“Right, fine, perfect. Find something to tie her up with.” Graffion was immediately irked by her dismissive and impatient tone. For the briefest of moments his loner instincts kicked in and told him Not worth your time. Just leave. But then he reminded himself that she was his employer, and more than that. That despite the unexpectedly chaotic day, his life and living had actually improved since meeting her. For the most part.

Graffion reached into the small satchel he kept most of his utility items in, but remembered he hadn’t packed his rope or grapple today. The most he had was a couple of feet of wire. Most he could do was her hands and feet. Of course, a fertilizer plant would definitely have some kind of hoses he could cut short…
“Ya know what, nevermind.”

Graffion looked up to see what she was talking about when suddenly a purple beam of energy flared. His eyes widened in surprise as she stabbed through the hostages leg.

And suddenly, any sarcastic joke he had been saving in the back of his mind vanished like a Hutt’s prisoner into the mouth of a Sarlacc pitt. And just like a Sarlac pitt, it would take him a moment to digest what was going on.

He was no stranger to an interrogation, but Tesa didn’t seem like the patient interrogator type.

Things were going to get messy. It wasn’t the way he would do it, but he wasn’t in charge here. Only, he sensed something strange when the woman’s fear started to take root.

Something he hadn’t really seen from Tesa before. A darkness. It lacked the concise professionalism which he had seen her operate with before. It bit and gnawed, slowly dragging things ever toward it. Some kind of hunger, some kind of consumption, awoken as the womans eyes widened and her muscles tightened, as her shoulders moved into a guarded position and the pain in her leg subsided to the fear in her heart. Graffion was not a sensitive person but for some reason he could feel that fear off the woman starkly. And for some reason, he felt a satisfaction that he normally wouldn’t receive.

Not the satisfaction of a sword hitting its mark, but at the moment of panic when the pain and realization set in that death was looming.

Graffion could see Tesa waiting a moment, a slight contemplation. But he knew the look of determination in her eyes. There is always a point in every decision where there is no going back. And for Tesa, that decision had been made as soon as their dinner had been disturbed. This much Graffion knew already.

“Purple is a nice color for you.” Graffion said, stepping closer, “But put that away a moment.” He waited to see if Tesa would indulge him, but went down to the womans level, standing on a knee, “If I were you, I’d start telling me everything you know. Because there’s only two people within a mile radius to hear your screams.” He spoke seriously, but his body was relaxed and he had a fairly disarmed posture, “But only one of us isn’t planning on ripping you limb from limb like a Rakghoul tearing at a feast.” He shook his head as though pitying someone who knew no better, “And believe me. You’re death will come only after every ounce of agony is felt.”

He only hoped the woman was smart enough to say what they needed.

I won’t stand in your way… he thought, But if we don’t have to go there…its best not to.

[Squee]

Graffion spoke and Tesa shifted her weight from the balls of her feet to the heels. Firmly gripping her lightsaber, she crossed her arms and let Graffion step toward their hostage.

His action did not surprise her. Although fully aware of her inclination toward the dark side of the Force, his distaste for Force use still ran strong. As far as she understood. He’d known for some months now, but most of that time they had been apart, with her only sending him on a job here and there. He would need to become more adjusted to her open use.

Tesa pinched the bridge of her nose, and then rubbed forefinger and thumb against the center of her forehead again. Graffion attempting to be “good cop” gave her a bit more respite and a moment more to prepare. The woman’s pain emanated from her. Tesa leeched greedily, bulking and bolstering the Force as she gathered it to a buzz.

She sneered as Graffion compared her to a Rakghoul. She was nothing like those creatures. Not after that moment on Taris. Never would she be like one of them again. She had synchronized with them, reflected their hunger more potently, to the point she had redirected them to feast upon themselves. While the memory brought a surge of pride and accomplishment, Tesa physically swallowed away her revulsion.

“Five seconds.” Tesa said, firmly. “An’ I’ll ply your brain open like an oyster. Five, four - ”

“We’re a mercenary group,” Zynthia spoke quickly. Disappointment made Tesa scowl. “But we posed as Republic to fulfill the job. Which was to pull the Grand Duke from his dinner.”

Pose? Why? Force, as if her head didn’t hurt already. Tesa crouched on the opposite side of Zynthia, narrowing her eyes.

“Employer.” Tesa demanded.

Zynthia, holding her cauterized leg, leaned away from her. Those green eyes were wide with both fright and knowing; Tesa was capable of any violent act, and she knew it more after Graffion’s speech. Well done, Maruhuey. Though a bit too well.

“I’m bottom of the chain of command. That’s why I had the kitchen. The back up route. I was proving myself.”

“Three.”

“No!” Zynthia yelped, visibly flinching though Tesa hadn’t moved.

“Two.”

“It was an odd job! The captain said so!”

“Where did you take him?”

“I’m sure everyone went back to the ship.”

“Docking bay?”

“Small one landed. Bigger one in space. Traveling together.”

“Will they wait for you?”

“Probably not long. You meet or you get left behind.”

And she and Graffion had made a commotion, which shortened that time span.

Tesa tilted her head, studying the woman, who only looked at Tesa from the corner of her eye. “One.”
Her hand shot forward and grasped Zynthia’s knee. The Force connection reestablished swiftly. “No-!” Zynthia managed to protest before Tesa silenced her vocals. The woman went rigid with discomfort as Tesa delved into her panicked mind.

Like going through a list of files, Tesa flicked through the woman’s memories, hearing echoes of words and catching glimpses of colors and shapes. The captain she’d spoken of, who she was sweet on. Vague impressions of rumors about the job with the Grand Duke. Ludicrous feelings of posing as Republic, questioning the last sense of morals. Needing the credits. Wanting to prove to get out of “boot” status. Passing sensations and details about the ship, the docking, the transport to the restaurant.

Tesa withdrew with a soft sigh and Zynthia made a gasping noise. Still connected, Tesa disrupted the woman’s wakefulness. With a roll of her eyes, Zynthia went unconscious, slumping over bonelessly and smacking the floor.

“Bay 64F. A freighter. No surprises there.” Listing slightly, Tesa eased into a more comfortable sitting position. “She didn’t want to tell us,” she mentioned, as if in explanation to Graffion. Why was she doing that? She owed no explanations to him.

She pressed thumb and forefinger to her forehead and groaned. “You’re going to have to drive again.”

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Graffion had known they wouldn't get everything right away. He had known that Tesa was going to do her force connection anyway. He had seen it in her eyes. But he was glad that he was able to make the passing of the information...easier. For everyone. Graffion was not a nice or a gentle person, but he had never been overly fond of interrogations. Nor was he prone to cruelty. He could fight cruel; that was just a part of combat. But he took no pleasure in the act, once the adrenaline was gone.

As soon as Tesa's hand lurched forward and made contact, Graffion stood up, and moved on. His part was done. He was never one to linger where he wasn't needed. He did a quick scan, thermal and electromagnetic, to make sure nobody was watching or had snuck up on them. The walls were too thick to see outside. His hand reached down into his satchel and drew a fist sized coil of steel wire.

When he turned around, Zynthia was unconscious and Tesa was relaying information, "Yeah. We don't have time to waste." He responded, assuring her that whether or not he was comfortable with the force didn't matter; it was the right call. A proper interrogation would have taken too long. "I can bind her," He said. Then he tapped the handle of his pistol, "Or a more permanent solution. I have no preferences. But we can't let her wake up and warn everyone of where we are going. If she's bound, it'll take at least a couple of hours before anyone stumbles on her. If she's dead...well, that's the end of it. "

Even as he spoke he walked to the door that they had entered through and put and ear to it. He didn't hear anything. He pulled his pistol up, and hit the keypad. The door popped open, and he tactfully peered around the doorway, quickly assessing that there was no threat. He jogged back, "Your call on the merc." He said, "It's all clear outside. And Tesa, if they captured an Grande Duke, they won't be hovering in orbit for very long, and they certainly won't be concerned about a rookie."

[Squee]

“We don’t have time to waste.”

“Agreed,” Tesa muttered, still rubbing the space between her nose and hairline. She frowned deeply as Graffion presented options for Zynthia: bind her or kill her. The options were the truth, whether or not she liked them, and honestly, since capturing Zynthia, Tesa had already made the decision. Neither she nor Graffion could afford any interferences.

Tesa was astutely aware she was unable to kill the woman, not after meshing minds with her. The melding mingled their logics and feelings, leaving impressions of emotions and sensations. Zynthia’s death would hurt momentarily – Tesa would acutely feel the sudden silence of life and dreams.

She was staring at her shoeless feet, noticing small tears around her toes and runs in her hose. Closing her eyes briefly, she mourned the loss of the expensive clothing article.

“No, they won’t. They won’t even come looking for her.” Leaning forward, she checked the couple of pouches on Zynthia’s belt and found them empty besides blaster cartridges. “Need these?” she offered to Graffion. Then she shifted to examine the woman’s boots. Damn. Too small.

Her shoulder protested with a twinge as she used the arm while standing back to her feet. Automatically, Tesa dusted her dress, absently wiping away the presence of dirt. Stooping, she picked up the helmet. She took a deep breath and looked back at Graffion. “Put a bullet in her head. They might not miss her, but they might miss their speeder an’ a good helmet.”

---

“Thoughts?” Tesa spoke, breaking her relative silence since they’d left the fertilizer plant. They were passing Bay 56F. The helmet swung by her fingertips. “Strategy? Concerns?”

She wasn’t even sure if the mercenaries would still be there when they reached the docking bay, or, if they were, if her Duke was on board. Even if their ship wasn’t there, they would be able to reach

“I want the Duke alive,” Tesa explained, reiterating from their much earlier conversation. “The Order does not care if he’s alive or dead, but I care that he lives. If his death is unavoidable, it’s understandable.”

She paused, considering her actions in the last hour. Should she explain? Perhaps not. She’d deceived him for a time, as part of a game, where only her business pawns were affected. This was no longer some game, but her actual job as a Sith associate. She needed cooperation and she did not need to deceive him any longer. “I used telepathy on you earlier, in the restaurant, just to communicate quick messages while I determined why the hell ‘Republicans’ were storming the restaurant.” She would be transparent. “Your will to act, however, was yours completely.”

Tesa briefly bit her lip. “It is faster to communicate by thinking. I can strengthen that bond. You would know exactly where I am, what I’m going to do. You decide.”

Bay 59F.

“Otherwise… I hope you have what you need.”

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

Graffion took a moment to weigh her words. A Force bond between the two of them that would allow them to hear each others thoughts, feelings...know where the other was. It was an ideal situation for any two people working in the field together. In that sense, it was certainly a no-brainer. However, Graffion's brain seemed to loop the idea that he worked alone again and again. Except he didn't always work alone. And now, Tesa was his primary employer. Hell, he had a room on her ship.

But it was a steep and sudden commitment and a large part of him pulled away from it; shadows danced in his heart, creating unfamiliar and odd shapes. The nightmares around a campfire that kids stare at in bafflement. Graffion, however, was neither one to stare in bafflement nor did he have nightmares. Not since...

"Do it." He concluded, a solemn tone to his voice. The moment the words left his mouth he felt a concreteness to his recent past. A decision he'd made long ago being finalized. Normally this sort of thing would be a question to ponder on, but Graffion was not a ponderer; the situation was obvious, and no fears or regrets could stand against what common sense told him. If he imagined where he might be in the future, he failed to conjure a scenario that did not put him right beside her, for better or worse. Tesa Yarum was not somebody that you just walked away from and never saw again. If they were to part ways, it would have to be one or both of them as corpses.

As they came up to the hangar doors Graffion shut his eyes and focused.

He had his two pistols, one silencer, attached to his left slug already. Earlier, he had taken a moments breath to transfer bullets from the slug pistol that he'd already fired so as to have max-capacity ammunition. Leaving him 12 shots in either gun with a single spare clip that had approximately half of its bullets left. Under his right sleeve, tucked in a hidden compartment, was a small, sleek throwing knife. In his satchel, he had his steel wire, a flask of alcohol, a folded square of fine clothe ( for cleaning or swabbing stains of various kinds ), and a collapsible multitool.

Never to be forgotten, though...his two, long scimitars at his side. Nothing ever beat the classics.

Graffion smiled as a plan hatched together.

"There's more of them than there are of us." He concluded, "The logical plan is to use stealth and guerrilla tactics. Leave the crew to me. You focus on your duke." He looked around the hangar bay exterior until he saw what he had been hoping to see, "See that large sealed door?" he asked, "Find a way through it. It's a breaker room. Heavy duty industrial doors...but you've got the world's most purple torch to cut through that. When you get in. Destroy every breaker for this hangar. Then creep inside. The best part of the plan; no power, no hangar doors opening. No ship leaving."

Before she could do anything else, however Graffion turned to Tesa and looked her right in the eyes, "I haven't seen who you really are. But you haven't seen who I really am either." He leaned closer, allowing himself to get lost in a sea of amber, "There is a darkness inside of you, but Darkness is my Home; it hides my steps, silences my footfalls, and cloaks me in its embracing shadow. Though I am not the darkness; out of shadow is my strike." The sound of steel scraping against steel. Graffion's sword rose between them, and his single eye locked with her left eye through the crack at the end of his blade; from his next words an alleigant phrase he did not know he was capable of, and an intensity few flames could match,

"Put me in a room with your enemies, Tesa. And you shall have enemies no more."

[Squee]

“Do it.”

Tesa cast a lingering glance toward him, but he kept his gaze forward. This was a bit surprising, but altogether extremely ideal. As she faced forward again, noting them passing Bay 61, a piece of a triumphant smile touched her lips. Efficiency ruled over uncertainties toward mysticism, and this was excellent knowledge to know and apply.

“As you wish. I’ll do so up here.” She gestured forward, lightsaber in hand, indicating when they reached the hangar of interest. His agreement did not mean she would forgo his sensitivities on the matter. She would minimize the time of such a link, for his sake. Not just for sensitivities, but because such links could be… unnerving and insightful. Even as someone capable and used to establishing telepathic links with others, Tesa tingled with both excitement and disquiet at the prospect of a new bond.

The hangar door was closed, indicating either the mercenaries had returned or were still at large. With Graffion seeming to collect himself, Tesa tucked the helmet beneath her arm and pressed her free palm to the door. Projecting through the thick durasteel, she could detect stirrings of anxiousness, hurriedness, and sternness. “They’re here.”

Graffion strategized as a lone assassin might. He put together plans quickly and spoke with great confidence in his abilities without details. He’d been doing so all evening, but Tesa found she hardly disagreed with him. Additionally, she needed him to operate as he was comfortable until she knew how to predict how lacking Force talents impacted his… existence.

Force, she would know what that feels like in the next moments.

“Creep?” she echoed. She didn’t want to creep. She wanted to ensure the suffering of each individual within the hangar. More than anything, she wanted their fear. He’ll know that hunger if you bond.

“I haven’t seen who you really are. But you haven’t seen who I really am either.”

We’ll know in a moment. Tesa didn’t speak aloud, worried such words would cause him doubt. She did not want their agreement called off; her anticipation had intensified since he’d agreed. Her gaze didn’t waver from Graffion’s, as she waited out his words, waited for her moment to make the bond. Her patience was rewarded by a pleasant thrill by his words of allegiance.


A twist entered her smile. “Why do you think I hired you?” Hand passing by his blade, Tesa touched her fingers gently to the curve of his temple. An invisible cord extended from her and bobbed along the ways of telepathic waves. Gently bypassing the physical, seeking acceptance, taking great regard for sanity, and anchoring within intangible consciousness.

She heard the silence of him – the absence of a Force well strong enough to draw from. Like a beautiful instrument’s strings being forcibly smashed to quietness. Interesting.

Then she also felt his intensity, and knew his words to be genuine.

Exhilaration poured from her, and he would know the thorough enjoyment she received through telepathic actions, and the remnants of her eagerness to make this particular bond.

She moved away, then, and approached the breaker room door. Pressing the emitter end to the door, she switched it on and cut through. A brief swell of the Force peeled away the hot edges and allowed her access. Discovering Bay 64 controls, a wave of the hand caused disruption and some panels sparked as their circuits died.

There was a problem with Graffion’s plan, she realized while leaving the breaker room. I cannot see in the dark. And so as she entered the dark hangar, several headlamps were switched on and beams of light bobbed in confusion, and the sensation muddled the air. Confusion and anxiety truly were perfect catalysts. Those lights being cast around could be contained.

I’ll create the darkness to strike from.

Tesa tossed her helmet, and it had the effect of a rock hitting a quivering pool of water. A strike of surprise ripped through the currents of the Force. The headlamps swiveled toward the sound, spotlighting the helmet as it rolled to a stop. Using the mercenarys’ outlines as a guide, Tesa circled in the direction opposite from where she sensed Graffion.

She approached the closest one and whispered as she walked. “Would you like to see if her head’s still in it?”

Her lightsaber blazed amethyst and the line of the merc’s waist slowly bloomed red and yellow as the blade leisurely cut through him at the pace of her walk. It hissed off when she completely passed the mercenary.

And the resulting pandemonium provided her such an exquisite thrill.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

When the lights went out, the mercenaries acted as anyone would act. Sudden recoiling, heads twisting each way to see what was wrong. Of course, they couldn't see anything. Moments later, spotlights at the top of the ship turned on, a few lamps. "What the fuck happened?" A brazenly fellow bellowed out. Not the Captain, more like a First Mate. "Ackles, check the breaker."

Ackles walked nervously across the large hangar bay toward the service tunnel. His friend, flashlight in tow, followed him behind, blaster rifle up. Ackles turned around the corner and looked down the service tunnel. He craned in, squinting, "What the hell is that?" his buddy stood right behind him, pointing his flashlight at the gleaming steel of... "Isn't that Zynthia's speeder?"

A loud thud to the right, all eyes turned to the helmet landing directly in the center of the hangar bay. A familiar helmet. "What...the..."

Suddenly, a glow of purpled and gargled cry of surprise. Shouts and hollers went up. Ackles turned to fire his blaster at the general area the purple light saber had blasted but the loud roar of an engine and the grind of metal. He hadn't even realized he wasn't standing where he had been. He hadn't realized that a speeder had just crashed through his chest and tore the left half of his torso off of his body. All he knew was he was suddenly looking up. And then he was looking at his friends mangled corpse, caught in the enginge of the speeder that was crunched up against the steel wall, the enginge trying to carry on its duty, but just sucking up more flesh and bone, jamming its inner mechanisms.

And Ackles couldn't look away from his best friends grinding bones. When his body finally bled to death, he spent the last moments of his life replaying the first girzzly moment that he realized his buddies bits and pieces were spinning and splitting along the powerful belts and turbos of the speeder.

~*~

Graffion moved along the darkness towards the hoarde of enemies. Red lines in the distance. His two pistols were out, and he bobbed and weaved in the darkness. Most of his foes had been facing Tesa's direction, until the unavoidable crash of the speeder drew their attention. Tesa raised the silenced slug and came to a knee. *piff*piff*piff*

The familiar tug of the pistol, and two red silhouettes suddenly fell to the ground. One was dead, the other would be soon. He got up and moved with silence and swiftness, "Shooter!" Someone finally realized, "Over there, by the entrance!" "Where!?"

The first mate screamed, "Just shoot you worthless maggots!" He crawled to a mounted gun at the top of the ship. Now, Graffion hadn't been expecting such anti-infantry fire-power, as the heavy repeater sent a wave of blasters that seared the metal walls and floors unrepentingly in sporadic doses, complimented by the small arms fire.

Too bad Graffion was clear on the other side of the hanger. He stayed low. *piff*piff*

"Kreen!" A Rodian cried as his friend suddenly fell into him, blood shooting out of his neck and side. The Rodian held him a moment, then looked at the angle of the bullet wound, "over the-" He didn't get to finish as Graffion pulled his other pistol out, and a very loud noise of the slug pistol with no silencer, along with bright muzzle flash cut him off. As well as the three bullets in his chest.

Graffion ran forward as his foes Turned to shoot at him. His next shot was aimed not at an organic opponent, but at the spotlight which briefly shined on him.

"He vanished!" Another foe cried out.

Heavy repeater lazers suddenly splashed where Graffion had been. But Graffion wasn't there anymore. He was hiding behind supply crates.

Flashlights illuminated the area, "How many of them are there?" One person asked.

Someone made the mistake of walking too far from the others. Graffion darted out, ducking the shadows, his footfalls not making a single noise. He drew his sword and there wasn't a single noise made as it ran across the mans belly. All the flashlights turned to him as he started screaming. All the Republic soldiers could see was him doing his very best to keep what was left of the contents of his belly from falling passed his knees.

The First Mate suddenly cried out as *piff*piff*piff* and sparks flew up around him. He hit the deck, *piff*piff* another two shots sparked off his mounted gun. The first Mate stayed low, "GET HIM!" He cried out.

Graffion rolled forward as flashlights illuminated him briefly and lazers filled the air around him. He ducked and dodged, then shifted directions, hitting the ground and rolling back the way he came. His foes tried to keep the flashlight on him but he was too fast, and their trail of lazers and lights kept flowing past the direction the they thought he might be heading.

Too bad he had rolled back to his original location. Where three unfortunate people had run over to, trying to get a better angle. When people eventually found out that they didn't know where he was, someone called out, "Regroup, regroup! Get in the ship! Retreat! Retreat!"

Graffion smiled as he saw something very useful on one of the mercenaries utility belts. Tesa. He reached out. He could feel her hunger. Her need for the fear and the chaos. I'm going to give you a gift. Use it to get into that ship, and find your duke. As the three walked past him he silently came up on the mercenary at the very rear, his powerful hand covering the poor soul's mouth, and his strong arms holding him in place. Graffion's grasp was tight. His palm covered up the mans nose and mouth, clenching so tightly he could feel the bridge of his nose crushing under his iron grip. His screams were silent though.

He could feel Tesa, and he allowed this young man's fear of death to flood in him, as he desperately and in absolutely black terror wished his partners, who were ignorantly walking away from him, would just turn around.

There were still 8 enemies. If they regrouped, it would be difficult for Graffion to tear at them.

He knew what Tesa desired. He saw the hunger earlier and he could feel it now.

And as the boy felt Graffion's other hand press against the back of his skull, and pressure of his powerful arms. He screamed internally something fierce and primal, his body wriggling in his metal clamp like hands as he felt his bones creaking and crushing under the skin. Graffion knew one thing; there was no terror like what this boy was facing right now.

And he needed Tesa strong, Do you feel it? He asked, Is this the despair that you grasp at so greedily?

"ZIKA!" Someone screamed, and the next moment Graffion was illuminated with flashlights.

Right as sound of the boys skull caving in and his head popping was prominently visible for all of the crew to see.

Graffion dropped the corpse to the ground, standing covered in blood.

And the waves of panic were so deep in the crew's hearts, that even the First Mate stood in silence, mouth gaping wide at this blood stained demon that stood before them. Graffion slowly reached up and touched the side of his head, where the mechanical eye sat, turning his safety mode on.

And Graffion threw the EMP grenade that he had swiped off of the now dead Zika's body.

Moments later, every light in the room was gone. Even the flashlights at the end of the crew's guns.

[Squee]

She couldn’t help a short bark of laughter. The timing with the crashing noise just after her distraction couldn’t have been better. She only had to bat away a couple of bolts, but another singed by a little too close for comfort.

She simply kept walking, and soaked in the panic, the confusion. Even she was puzzled by what her eyes were following, but she could sense Graffion’s movement. The men shouted to each other, more concerned about the flitting shadow rather than her. She was sure some of them thought she was part of the commotion.

Tesa fed the bond appreciation. Pride. Impression.

The general chaos made her pause several times, waiting by crates, and staying away from the lights. Slowly, though, she made her way toward the ship.

Graffion reached for her and she responded in kind. Gift? Although not near him, Tesa tilted her head quizzically and pushed more telepathically to him, and skimmed his thoughts.

Giddiness soared through her. Do it. Her eyes locked in his direction despite not being able to see him. But she could feel through him, and then latched on to boy when Graffion grabbed him, greedy as a famished leech.

The terror shrieked from the boy, instantly satisfying her. The tight grip. The suffocation. The dangerous pressure. The creaking of bone. An open vortex, Tesa pulled the horror into her, and feasted on its energy. The Force twisted around her, bending to her command.

“Zika!” The lights found Graffion and Tesa lurched forward, surging protectiveness making her move. She heard his thoughts echo something about an EMP. Something left his hand. The grenade went off with a dull whump and the lights snuffed out.

And Tesa laughed. Loudly. “Yes. You are all dying tonight.” In the darkness, her fingers pulled into claws. The Force molded to her desired shape, as shards of agony, and she thrust them forward. The shards bit the minds of their remaining foes. All the fear she’d consumed, she amplified and channeled it to them. Show me your nightmares. For one, that was his finding his family dead. Another was afraid of being run through with a sword. Another despaired at any sensation of falling.

Then there was screaming.

Switching her lightsaber on, an amethyst glow cast upon the contorted, agonized shapes clasping their heads. Some curled on the ground, others tried to remain standing. Tesa nonchalantly strode for the ship’s ramp.

She was drunk on their terror, but her hunger never reached contention. The reservoir grew infinitely toward the top, but it never brimmed. She was self-sustaining now.

Approaching the first mate, she made a flippant hand gesture, dismissing his horror. He stumbled, breathless, gasping raggedly, muttering something akin to “oh god” repeatedly. She didn’t give him much time to reorient. Grasping him by the back of his neck, Tesa forced him to walk with her onto the ship. Play Mercy with the others if you must.

“The Duke,” she hissed dangerously.

“He’s not here.”

Alarm clamored through her. “Where?” Something thudded down the ship’s small corridor. “Call them off.” Reaching into his mind, she saw he was afraid of being jettisoned into space. “Or I’ll leave you to choke on vacuum.”

“Oh god…” His voice was hoarse from screaming intensely. He pointed at the ship-wide PA system and Tesa allowed him to reach it.

“This is Pellon Takrooni. Please, for all our sakes… kill the intrud-!” With a pulling motion, Tesa stole the air from his lungs. He choked on nothing as she pressed clawed fingers to his head and reintroduced his nightmare. His body did the work then, gulping and gasping, and she let him slump.

With a wave of her hand, steel peeled from the walls with a shriek. The first shape rounded the corner and Tesa propelled the metal sheet into them. It sliced through skin and bone and pinned the body to the wall. Around the corner, someone cried in shock, and didn’t appear.

Tesa pulled on Graffion. Take care of them.

She looked at Pellon, crumpled by her feet, and growing a particular shade of purple. He had been a brave man, and quite the leader. Another one of his men might have been an easier target to interrogate. However, that would have been less rewarding. Less fun.

She took pride reducing capable men to pathetic heaps. To remind them of the terrors they tended to forget.

Again, she dismissed Pellon’s nightmare with a small wave. “The Duke. I need him.”

“Get me…” Pellon gasped. “…to the front…”

This was suitable. As he rose, Tesa grabbed his collar and directed him in front of her. Forward ship. Meet me there.

[Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice*]

For a moment there was just silence and shock, after the lights went out. Then Tesa's voice echoed through the air, and hers was a cold and malicious glee that did not drip out seething but deluged of maddening cry like an expecting predator who had been waiting a long time for their moment and was now presented the most perfect of opportunities, anxiously tearing into its meal to get to the bone. And that same feeling that Zika had felt moments before spread through the room. And the terror was thick.

A cacophony of screams and tears suddenly rolled out, as strong, hard men and women were instantly turned into weak, writhing worms. As Graffion's mechanical eye booted up and gave him the nightvision he needed, it was like something out of a horror film. Only Graffion wasn't frightened. Because Graffion was watching not from the eyes of a victim.

He was the monster.

Too easy. Graffion thought, as he stared at the forms of frightened and terrified crewmen. He could feel a desire to play with and taunt these people, but Graffion quickly rejected that. He pushed all of his emotions away and focused on his immediate goal. These people were alive; and they needed to be dead. That was the simple math of it. Methodically, Graffion raised his silenced pistol and began picking them off one by one, starting with the closest and most able bodied; it was not out of any mercy or respect. It was the opposite, the ones who remained standing posed the least threat. Graffion was a cold killer, and this was just math to him. One of the crewmen were curled in a ball when the bullet entered his brain.

There was a call through the loudspeaker, and that seemed to snap the last 4 of them to consciousness. They all ran toward their First Mate.

Even Graffion was surprised when the first of them suddenly moved the opposite direction, pinned to the wall with a sheet of metal through them.

He ran out of ammo as he picked off the other two. The last one turned to him but Graffion had closed the gap. A sword flashed forward, but stopped hard on the metal barrel of a blaster rifle. The woman pushed hard and Graffion took a step back, then swung wide, aiming for the arms. She dodged and dropped her rifle, drawing a long curved knife of her own. Graffion wound his swing around and came in again, but she parried. They exchanged a few parries, Graffion coming in easily, in and out, sparks flying. She strained to keep up with him. Finally, she became aggressive, swinging faster and faster, forcing Graffion on the defensive. Back pedaling, he noticed she was getting her swings closer and closer, putting him in a bind...

He smiled. It was too easy. He turned her blade to the side, and with his free hand...

Drew his other sword, cutting easily across her side, just under the outstretched arm. She gasped in pain and fell over, but Graffion wasted no time finishing her off, his original blade diving just under the back of her neck, vertical the spine and out the chest.

Meet me at the front.

I'll meet you there after I check to see if any mice are on the ship.

[Squee]

I can help with that. The Force billowed freely from her, a cloud eager to do her bidding. Extending from her, it touched the echoes of life nearest to her, relaying their position in the form of heartbeats and negative emotion. About there. But...

With a gentle pushing gesture, the Force glided down the walkway she and Pellon stormed through. The doors closed with successive hushes. Willing destruction, the Force bent and twined, and with it the doorframes in the walkway. Don’t bother with the trapped ones.

Passing a sizeable communications center, Pellon pulled up short. “Here. I’ll use this.”

Tesa paced near the man, fingering her lightsaber with impatience as he tapped on a screen.

“Captain. Sorry to bother but there is… someone looking for the Grand Duke.”

Tesa leaned toward the little holographic image as it asked, “For what purpose?”

“Regarding business. He’s escaping justice.”

“Captain, this woman has killed a lot of us.”

The Captain’s heavy face looked to one side, his lips puckering and brow deepening. With a jerk of his head, as if summoning someone, he then met Tesa’s gaze. “You’ve some skill. If you…”

“I’m in a hurry,” she interrupted. “And my associate is killing members of your organization as I speak.” Tesa leaned on the console, leering over the tiny hologram. “The Grand Duke you kidnapped. I want him. Now.”

A second image appeared – a tall standing individual with a noble visage. “Would you happen to be operating with the Sith Order?”

“Rosaire Bonnet. You’re wanted by the Empire for your treason.”

“It did escalate to treason, then? Well, I no longer want the Empire. You can tell them good day and rot in hell. I have escaped you today.”

Tesa scowled. “You’re not being taken by the Galactic Republic?”

“Oh, no, these are highly skilled mercenaries. I wanted the impression of Galactic Republic so I could safely transport from Bakura, and effectively escape the likes of you.” Rosaire Bonnet clasped his arms behind his back and tilted his head. “Mistress Yarum, are you not? I remember you from the parties. You’re a skilled woman, but you are still young.”

“Do not patronize me.”

“Or what? You’ll reach through a hologram? I am beyond your reach now, Yarum. We’ll soon be jumping into hyperspace.”

Damn. They must have taken him right to an orbiting ship. Tesa sneered and glanced up as Graffion entered the room.

“Let this be a lesson to you. You are used to winning, and you, appraised intellectual, have been outsmarted by a non-sensitive outside your elite class.”

“I’ll find you.”

“If you dare entered Republic space. Goodbye, Mistress Yarum.” The hologram scattered and went dark and Tesa clenched her jaw, a tangle of embarrassment and anger tightening her chest.

A warning tugged at her then, whispering Danger. Imminent. Graffion.

The Force surged through her, grounded on instinct. Throwing her hand sharply, she shoved Graffion bodily to one side with an invisible push.

A scorching pin prick bore through her right side. Startled, Tesa looked down to see a smoking hole, right between the spaces of her ribs. A second blaster bolt struck a bit higher, searing a new wound in her chest. Tesa gasped, and she felt the inward compression, and an awful sucking noise hissed from the hole. She couldn’t get her breath. A swirl of alarm. The hot pain bloomed, throbbing and echoing through her body.

Rage flowed through her, easy as water from a new faucet. Amber eyes seared the distance down the walkway, where an individual stood with a shouldered rifle. With a furious burst of dark energy, Tesa grasped the air and seized the man. Snapping her arm back, the man soared toward and past her, and met a solid steel wall with a meaty slam and a metallic bang.

Tesa inhaled deeply, but it wasn’t enough. Her chest hurt. Gasping sharply, she heard the hole hiss again before she covered it with a hand. That swirl of alarm heightened to the sound of clanging bells, heard in her very bones.

“Graff…” Tesa wheezed. “My…” Was it so hard to speak? Wide amber eyes found him as she leaned heavily on the communications console. Breathing rapidly, she tried desperately to find a balance between air and words. “My… lung. I… think.”

It felt like her airways were obstructed. She coughed painfully. Can’t breathe. A cold finger of dread touched her neck, sending an icy shiver down her spine. A sharp taste, tangy and copper, spread over her tongue as she coughed again.

“Hos…” she hissed. Bloody hell. Hospital. Now.

[Squee]

Graffion felt himself suddenly whooshed to the side; completely unprepared for Tesa's shove. He landed on his side, but instantly propped himself back up to a kneel. "What?" He managed to seethe as a sensation of pain stung his chest, until Tesa turned and solved the mystery by grasping out with the force. The body flew across the distance of the ship and slammed heavily into the metal wall. Death was never kind, but the slow death of having your body and inner organs crushed by impact was a less kind death.

Graffion couldn't spare a single thought for that, however, as he stared down at Tesa's cringing, gasping form. He watched with horror as the smoke rose from her chest. He eyes darted to the First Mate, who was looking side to side in bewilderment. At the moment he was still getting his bearing, so Graffion took the moment to read Tesa's situation. And it was bad. The heat signatures coming off of her body were clear indicators of a clean shot. He felt a desperation not just in his fear for losing someone, but Tesa's fear of death. And that was compelling. Almost compelling to the point that he forgot about Pellon for just a moment.

Just a single moment. It was almost enough for Graffion to be killed as well, but at the last moment he heard the grunt as Pellon's arm wrapped around his neck. Graffion managed to get his chin tucked under the choke. Graffion reached for his weapon but Pellon's free hand reached down and pinned him to place. Graffion struggled against the strength of the first mate for a moment. The man was not small, and he was not weak, he'd displayed as much in multiple ways.

But he was not Graffion. He had not grown up mending metal and gone through the grueling training of a master assassin. Graffion put both hands upon Pellon's free arm, on up near the shoulder, and leaned into the choke, biting Pellon hard. He rolled forward and sent Pellon into a sommersault, then found himself above the man. Graffion put a foot on his neck. He had no time to play games or suffocate Pellon, so he reached down and grabbed either side of the man's head, one hand just under the chin, and twisted as sharply as he could. Powerful, struggling arms fell instantly to the ground, and before his final breath croaked out of his twisted windpipe, Graffion strode over Tesa, grabbing her in both arms like a fireman would carry a child out of a burning building.

And with that same haste, he rushed out of the ship. Into the darkness, running across the pitch black hangar bay, hopping over the still warm corpses with his guided vision. There were two ways all of Graffion's brief partnerships ended. With payment or with blood.

Graffion refused this to be the end of this partnership. "This will not be your end." he vowed, "I'm not done with you yet."

Light spilled onto them as they found themselves in the streets. He heaved Tesa up, readjusting her. They looked like a mess out in the light of day. Him all black clad, clothes wet with sweat and splotched heavily with blood. His blonde hair stained with the young man's blood who he had brutally ended, as well as the woman whom he'd crossed swords with. Tesa, in her once pretty dress, now scorched with a burn mark where the faintest wisp of smoke still smouldered at the end of the fabric, shoes missing, form a mess.

Graffion had no vehicle and did not know the area well enough. He had no choice.

And imagine the look of surprise on their faces when he burst into the docking bay offices and marched to the front desk, laying her on the counter, "Call an ambulance immediately." he commanded. He wished that he had the ability to force command this woman right now, but he didn't.

Still, the clerk wasn't about to say no to the man drenched in blood who just dropped a dying woman on her countertop.

The woman immediately pulled out her communicator and signaled for an ambulance immediately, "What happened?" She asked.

"My crew stole my ship and shop my wife!" He barked back.

"And what happened to them?"

Graffion paused for a brief moment before shaking his head, "They'll be splitting the bounty between fewer men."

"Uh-huh." She nodded, "About 5 minutes. I've got some basic supplies in the closet."

"Go get them!" He insisted. As soon as the woman disappeared into the back Graffion's mind raced.

Hospitals always notified police when something like this happened. He reached into her cloak, "I'm going to borrow this." He said, "I won't be far. But it will be better for you...to go alone, Ms. Yarum."

He walked away with her lightsaber, and left her on the countertop, "I won't be far." He said again, before slipping out of the building, and heading toward the docking bay that Tesa's ship was parked at.