Undercover Allies [Keelen/Gaeriel/Luca]

[Rabbit]

---

This was not one of his brighter ideas, Keelen decided, as the all-too-familiar pain of the electro-whip curled around his bicep and shot through the whole length of his body. Unlike the days when he had been a slave, the Chiss Sith was now strong in the Force and could have withstood the nearly-blinding pain of the whip without so much as a quiver down his spine. However...he had a role to play here. A role he had volunteered for...and a decision that he was now second-guessing, as he let his knees buckle under him.

To the jeering ring of slavers around him, he was nothing more than a displaced Imperial naval officer in a uniform made shabby by supposed weeks on the move, haplessly disconnected from his command and his territory. There was nothing particularly special, or powerful, about him. He was physically imposing - but, ultimately easy prey.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" a female Zygerrian purred above Keelen's bowed head, as her long-legged stiletto boots entered his limited range of vision.

He grunted - not entirely for show - as she grabbed a fistful of his hair high along his scalp, and jerked his head back so that he was forced to meet her yellow-tinted eyes. She flashed him a sharp-toothed smile that was anything but jovial.

"Take. Off. Your. Uniform," she enunciated each word so that they came out sharp and clipped.

She then let go of his hair and stepped back. The Zygerrian crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at her kneeling "prize".

"We can hardly be seen selling an Imperial officer."

The word "selling" alone made Keelen's skin crawl. He lifted his gaze just enough to glare defiantly up at her. The slaver just laughed, as if delighted by his audacity.

"Such fire," she lifted her arm gracefully and the slightness of her build belied the strength with which the energy-whip fell anew across the broad width of his chest.

Keelen hissed in pain - again, not entirely for show. Though dropping even further into a subservient position, leaning forward and pressing his palms against the duracrete floor beneath them, was definitely a show for the benefit of lulling the slaver deeper into a false sense of control.

"If I need to tell you again, then I will have my men here do it for you," her voice turned with her head, indicating to Keelen that she had shifted her attention, however slightly, from his bowed head to her sneering ring of goons that surrounded them. "And I would really rather not resort to such measures. That tends to get messy," her tone smoothed into a sultry pout. "I won't get fair market value for you, if things get messy. I'll be forced to be quite displeased then."

The bodies around them shifted, a non-verbal affirmation that Keelen - masquerading as he was as a hapless, luckless Teth refugee - did not want to make his current tormentor angry. For his part, he could care less if the catty bitch got angry or not...but if she got angry, then she'd inevitably do something to make him lose his own temper, and then he'd blow his own cover. Given the circumstances, Keelen's usual balanced air of indifference was teetering on a razor's edge and it wouldn't take much to tip him over into a full-blown, Force-fueled Sith rage.

He hated slavers. Given his druthers, he would slaughter every single one present right where they stood. But...the mission came first. And he had volunteered for this mission exactly because he could control his emotions where other Sith (hell, most other beings) most likely could not.

After a few more seconds, the Chiss decided he'd pushed his show of resistance far enough. With a shakiness that wasn't entirely feigned, he pushed himself back up until he was sitting back on his heels. He shot one more defiant look up at the Zygerrian, but the glare was undermined by the fingers that were already working at the clasps that closed the front of his uniform jacket. The slaver purred again, as if he were unveiling a six course meal.

He supposed, in a certain light, he was. From a monetary standpoint, Keelen was quite well aware of his worth. Factor in inflation and the current state of the galactic economy...he alone was probably enough to net this slaver a small fortune on the auction block.

The Sith Praetor kept his eyes lowered to the ground out of sheer force of will, as he reluctantly did as he had been ordered. A few minutes later, he was standing barefoot in front the cat-woman's rather salacious gaze, in nothing more than his regulation undershirt and shorts. His hands clenched tight at his side as an old, familiar, and massively unwelcome feeling of humiliation slithered up the length of his body, at the same pace and along the same path as the Zygerrian's eyes.

Keelen was hardly ashamed of his body - again, he was quite well aware of the figure he cut and even as an alien of largely unknown origin, he had turned the heads of more than a few females in his years among the Sith. No, what was humiliating was the way the slaver looked him over like something to be had, as an body simply to be possessed and consumed for the pleasure of others.

Her next words confirmed what he already knew.

"It's a pity that selling you is far more advantageous to my bottom line, than keeping you," he flinched as she trailed manicured, claw-tipped fingers down his arm, along the lines and hollows shaped by his muscles.

She walked around him, her fingers ghosting over his exposed skin, then over the cloth that stretched tight across his back, then over the skin of his other arm. Something caught her attention on his right side, however, and Keelen gritted his teeth.

He'd been afraid of this happening. The one flaw in his plan...

He was "damaged goods".

"What's this?" her voice now turned sour.

Hard fingers jerked the sleeve of his shirt up - it hadn't been long enough, as he had futilely hoped the sleeve would be, to fully cover the marks he still bore from his days as a slave to Iimi the Hutt. The Zygerrian had sharp eyes - most slavers did - and the whip scars that curled high along his bicep were enough for her to start inspecting him more closely. Her fingers drifted over the raised ridges of flesh on his arm and then drifted down toward his forearm, exactly as he suspected she would, now that her suspicions had been stirred. Her nails brushed against the brand there and he winced when those same nails dug until his skin as she roughly forced him to turn his arm toward her.

"A slaver's brand!" there was anger in her voice now. "Take this off," she plucked at the back of his shirt with marked displeasure.

Keelen knew well enough not to provoke her at this point. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head; the moment his back came into view, he heard her hiss. She was silent a moment or two more, as she circled him slowly a few more times, her eyes narrowed into furious slits.

"I don't know the mark on your arm - consider yourself lucky for that," she practically spat at him when she finally stopped in front of him. "A gladiatorial slave, by the look of your scars?"

It was spoken as a question, but Keelen knew it wasn't. At least he was fortunate, he supposed, that she didn't recognize Iimi's tattoo. He doubted it would take much digging for her to find out that the Hutt and his entire slaving cartel had been slaughtered...and considering that he could hardly hope for anonymity given his distinctive physical characteristics, he didn't imagine it would take much for her to put two and two together. The Zygerrian was clearly a great many things, but stupid she was not. Keelen was wise enough to recognize and respect that much about her.

"A pity," she stepped back from him and crossed her arms over her chest again; the edge of her lips curled in disgust. "I won't get half as much for you as a gladiator, as opposed to a pleasure slave."

Keelen couldn't quite help himself - he shot her a look that clearly communicated that he'd rather die than be a pleasure slave...again. Though, she didn't need to know that part. In response, the Zygerrian just smirked at him, her eyes full of cruelty. She reached out and cupped his chin in her hands - she had a strong grip, Keelen noted absently.

"Perhaps I won't be selling you after all," her voice grew husky with a suggestion that made Keelen want to punch her right where she stood. "I don't care if my merchandise is a little..." her eyes dropped down to the scars that marked nearly every inch of his skin across his chest; her hand followed suit and it took every ounce of discipline the Chiss possessed to keep from grabbing that hand and bending it backwards until her wrist snapped. "Roughed up."

It had always sort of alarmed him, how other slavers seemed to automatically size him up for a rather specific purpose. Keelen assumed it had half to do with his admittedly impressive physique - one did not become a Lord of Strife by avoiding arduous and consistent training - and half to do with the inherent mystique of his origins. Most - this Zygerrian included - initially wondered if he was some sort of aberrant Pantoran. As much as it had always disgusted him to hear, he was "exotic" in the eyes of most - especially those of slavers, who were always trying to find ways to maximize what they could "get" for him.

The Zygerrian finally turned her back to him and sauntered a few steps away. She snatched something that was draped over the shoulder of one of her hired muscle and tossed it at Keelen. Wadded cloth hit him in the chest and sheer reflex brought his hands up to grab the bundle before it could fall to his feet.

"Put that on," she demanded and Keelen shook the cloth open to reveal a pair of well-worn pants.

He eyed them a bit skeptically - by the looks of it, these had once belonged to a being who was much heavier around the waist than him, and a good bit shorter. But, he did as he was told (feeling utterly ridiculous once he was done and his suspicions proven woefully true).

"Load them up!" the slaver had apparently decided that she had lingered enough and circled a finger in the air above her head as she made her way toward a door on the far end of the warehouse where Keelen, and half a dozen other unfortunate Imperial souls, had been brought and "inspected".

Heavy wrist binders were slapped on him and he was shoved roughly from behind. Head down in what he hoped would be taken as a sign of defeat, Keelen brought up the end of a line that had been formed at the back of a repulsor truck that had clearly seen better days. And so he found himself slumped over on a hard bench that ran the length of one side of the truck. The back was slammed shut and the only light that was offered to them came through two small, square windows placed high on the doors. The vehicle shuddered beneath him as it was brought to life and Keelen leaned his back against the cool durasteel of the truck's enclosed bed.

His red eyes glowed in the dark and he could tell from the shuffling around him, that he made even his fellow slaves uncomfortable. There was one, though, that didn't glance away when he tried to make eye contact.

That one was a blond-haired woman that could only be described as stunningly beautiful. Keelen found himself offering her a small smile of pity, as if he knew only too well what fate lay in store for her. He did, in fact, know what could have been in store for her...but what he knew that she didn't, was that he fully intended to save them all. He had simply had to play the charade long enough to identify the slavers, get brought into one of their safe-houses (or warehouses, as it turned out), and to get sent to auction, where he'd be placed with the full collection of Imperial citizens they'd managed to enslave.

Once there, once he had eyes on all of the refugees who had been taken against their will, Keelen fully intended to incite a riot.

[Ghostie]

As the sharp, metal-toed boot came down and connected with Gaeriel’s ribs for a third time, she quickly decided that once she saw Kar’eth Tav’zra once again, the Mirialan would be getting much of the same from the Jedi Knight’s own boots. Gasping a bit as the foot made contact with her torso, Gaeriel’s small form was picked up a few inches from the impact, and landed a bit further down on the durasteel floor from her attacker. However much she tensed and readied herself for the pain, however much Jedi training Gaeriel had, it still didn’t help after repeated abuse and beating. By this time, her lip was split and bloodied, her head and swimming, and her ribs felt like fire. That was what happened when a slave tried to defy a Zygerrian. But to a point, Gaeriel didn’t even blame the being doing this to her.

No, Kar’eth was definitely going to get it, when Gaeriel got out of this mess.

After all, it was his idea to look for refugees fleeing the Archeri on Nar Shaddaa. His idea to look in on the local slaving factions. And ultimately, it was his idea for the Jedi Knight to infiltrate the Zygerrians this way, while the SIS Agent went off to chase other leads himself. Or at the very least, Gaeriel swore it was his decision. She thought that was how she remembered things playing out. She did, at least, know that the only thing she could blame herself for was volunteering to help the Mirialan in a general sense. Coughing a bit, the young woman rolled onto her side, finding each breath like a stab between her more than likely cracked ribs. She placed one hand on the cool metal ground next to her, attempting to push off to stand once again. But the soonest her hand was in place, a sharp cry of pain came from her lips as the same boot that had been assaulting her ribs now crushed her fingers.

"Jus’ where d’ya think yer goin’, Blondie?"

Gaeriel turned her eyes upward to see a huge, hulking Zygerrian, who dwarfed her even when she was standing. That in itself was not a hard feat to accomplish, but the being was quite massive, and clearly muscle bound under his short, rippling fur. He was the largest of the small group of the slaving species gathered around her, a few of which hung back and cradled one of their own, who was unconscious. Gaeriel met the eyes of the Zygerrian crushing her fingers, and they had an intense staring contest for a few moments during which the Jedi Knight tried her utmost to grit her teeth, and hold back the pain she was feeling. Just when she couldn’t bite it back much longer and her lungs were threatening to give out under fire, there was a sharp scream from behind her.

“YOU FOOLS! WHAT IN THE BLASTED HELLS DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

Gaeriel couldn’t turn to see who was speaking, but the entire group around her shrunk as the voice rang out. Even Furry Muscles, the one crushing her fingers, stepped back a few paces, and his face fell. As he did so, Gaeriel quickly withdrew her hand close to her torso, cradling it, and stayed in her curled fetal position on the ground. The group tormenting her was backing off, but the Jedi Knight was not about to press her luck as the rest of the scene unfolded around her. A new Zygerrian stepped over her as if she weren’t even there, and the newcomer addressed the group in the same voice he had used before.

“Boss, she nearly killed Omus - ”

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN IF SHE NEARLY KILLED ALL OF YOU! SHE’S WORTH MORE TO THE RIGHT HUTT THAN ALL OF YOU ARE TO ME! THIS IS WHAT STUN BOLTS AND NEURAL WHIPS ARE FOR!”

The newcomer, his back still to Gaeriel as he paced in front of the group that had been acosting her, seemed almost not sure what to do next as a silence fell across the area. Gaeriel used this small break to try and work some Force energy over herself, focusing on her hurt ribs, and hoping it would be enough that she could at least breath unlabored. But her focus was snapped when the lead Zygerrian stopped mid stride, and pulled a disruptor pistol from his belt. He deftly aimed the weapon at Furry Muscles, and unloaded a salvo with each blast being punctuated by a screaming word in the being’s direction.

“NOW - I - HAVE - TO - PAY - FOR - MEDICAL - EXPENSES - FOR - A - DAMN - SLAVE!”

Furry Muscles fell backwards and thudded on the durasteel floor with little drama after the newcomer was finished, wicked looking wounds across his body from the disruptor, his fur smoking and still distingerating away. The newcomer walked quickly over to where the unconscious Zygerrian was being cradled by his fellows, and put a blast in the fallen being as well, seemingly for good measure. The Zygerrians that were holding him quickly dropped the body, and distanced themselves from it. Gaeriel, for her part, simply watched stunned, almost not believing the way the being had come unhinged in front of her.

“Now… Get BACK TO WORK! And if I catch anyone else beating a slave with her hands and NOT a neural whip, THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY!”

“Yes, Princeps!”

The group rang out in reply almost in unison, with some hesitation on the first word. But Gaeriel could sense that it was hesitation based on fear, and not thoughts of rebellion in honor of their fallen comrades. They were genuinely scared of the Princeps, and from what Gaeriel just saw, she rightly couldn’t blame them. She herself was a more than a bit put-off by the display, and quickly decided that even if they didn’t find any refugees from the Teth, this operation would be worth it to simply rid the Galaxy of a psychopath such as this. The rest of the Zygerrians soon scattered, and the Princeps turned, facing Gaeriel for the first time. He gave her a wicked looking smile, and bent to help the undercover Jedi Knight to her feet. Gaeriel was relieved, at least, that the small amount of healing Force energy she had been able to use was at least a bit helpful in her general pain. Breathing wasn’t such a labor, now.

“I’m so sorry, pateessa… Are you seriously hurt?” Gaeriel did her best to put a a hurt, terrified facade, which was not the hardest thing to do under the circumstances. Hanging her head low and using her loose golden hair to hide her face, she nervously shook her head, throwing in a few extra shakes for good measure. “Good, good.” The Zygerrian replied. He led Gaeriel slowly to a repulsor truck, a hand firmly gripping her upper arm as he did so, the fur actually soft against her bare skin, given the tank top she wore. The back of the truck, for the moment, was empty. “Climb in, and I assure you we’ll have some medical professionals give you a look over.” Gaeriel, for the moment, hesitated. But that was a show. This was what she had wanted. No doubt this truck was heading for their main base of operations on Nar Shaddaa. Once she was there, she could slip out, and have everything she needed for Kar’eth.

Including a good beating.

“One last thing, pateessa…” The Princeps stopped Gaeriel from climbing onboard, and produced a set of binders from his belt. “... I’m sorry, but our friends at the next stop won’t take too kindly to you being without these.” Not giving Gaeriel a real choice in the matter, as she was after all just another pretty slave now, the Zygerrian slapped the wrist restraints on in front of her, and let her climb into the repulsor truck alone.

Climbing in, Gaeriel sat in the very front of the hold, in one corner, scrunched up as much as she could. They had made a few more stops, picking up more slaves, and then their final stop made Gaeriel actually perk up for the first time on the ride. This last slave coming onboard was a large Chiss male, well built, with a large scar on his side. Though his physique did catch Gaeriel’s eye, that wasn’t was interested her in the moment. Anger and raged rolled off of the man in waves, unlike anything else she had sensed from the slaves around her, who were mostly terrified. This carried with it some dark tinge, some hint of power. If the man was not himself a Force user, he most definitely spent time around them. Gaeriel didn’t have a successful career as a Jedi Shadow without knowing these things. Looking at the man as he gave her a pitiful little smile, Gaeriel held his gaze as she reached one of her bound hands up and into the inside of her cheek, and produced a long, thin pin.

Zygerrians, for all their slaving prowess, still did some things the old fashion way. Gaeriel was thankful that wrist binders were one of those. Holding the pin steady, she angled it into the keyhole on her own restraints, and struck up a conversation with the human woman next to her.

“So, you from Teth?” But the woman just gave Gaeriel a wary glance and turned away, as if trying to hide behind her brown curls, and distance herself from what was no doubt the heap of trouble Gaeriel would hoist upon them all by getting out. “We were vacationing there, me and my family. I’m trying to find them now.” She rehearsed her well practiced cover, almost disappointed that no one wanted to listen to it. Sighing a bit as she fiddled with the pin in her binders, there was a soft click, and they instantly loosened up. Once again, one didn't have a successful career as a Jedi Shadow without knowing a thing or two about subterfuge. Looking up with a grin, she spied the handsome, angry Chiss man once again, and held her pin aloft.

“How about it, Big Guy? I get those offa you, and you help me out?”

[tenkalus]

Luca glanced around the back of the truck without moving his head. It had filled quickly with slaves from all over the sector. None of which was the target he was here for. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Not this time.

---One hour Prior---

Hands held above his face defensively, Luca was a whimpering mess. He was bundled in a hodgepodge assortment of rags and curled himself into the fetal position on the cold steel floor. “N-n-no more! Please!!” He cried in protest.

Before him, a confused zygerrian was poised, whip in hand. “What the hell did you do to him?” the slaver’s partner asked in equal amounts of amazement and disbelief as he poured over a check sheet. “Nothing!” the first replied defensively. “I turned the kriffin lights on! Didn’t even touch him yet!”

Luca writhed in pain, selling the act that was only mostly an act. He’d made sure he was captured with a pair of old raggedy goggled that were tinted to an impassive blackness. The goggles helped tune out the sensory overload he experienced under bright illumination panels and daylight. The Empire had well and screwed him up when they’d experimented on his eyes. Or rather, replaced them entirely with someone else's. The extreme photo sensitivity was a crippling disability in the worst situations, and yet still a great boon in total darkness. They had turned a natural born hunter into an apex predator, unintentionally perhaps.

Just because he knew his eyes were simultaneously his greatest strength and weakness, didn’t mean he couldn’t use it to his advantage. The light overhead was indeed quite blinding, but he’d been trained to give people information they thought they wanted. By overselling his eyes, he would be ensuring he had a tool to use later on assuming it paid off.

“Pleeaasseee!” he screamed on the floor, “Turn them off!!! I’ll go blind!!”

With an irritated flick of his wrist, the slaver reached over and turned the lights down. The effect was almost immediate for Luca. His head stopped pounding and things were back into the workable spectrum. All the same, he made sure to convulse his body in convincing silent sobs and kept his face a mask of silent agony. He’d squeezed his eyes shut tight against the offensive light as soon as the goggles had been ripped from his head and tossed in the corner.

“What’s your malfunction, slave?” Whip slaver asked as he reached down and shoved the butt of his whip up under Luca’s chin. The former Imperial agent chose that moment to open his eyes.

The Zygerrian recoiled visibly. Luca was starting to get used to the reaction, and it was becoming a lovely tool for intimidation when he had the upper hand. That wasn’t exactly the case here though.

As far as the slaver knew, anyway…

“What’s wrong with your eyes, freak?” he asked after recovering from his surprise.

“I was working for an ore tycoon. Spent most of my days in a dark cave, mining! My eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Lights! The light hurts my eyes. Please. I- I’ll do anything you ask. You don’t have to hurt me anymore! B-b-but, my goggles…. please!”

Disgust spread across the features of the slavers and whip-guy stood again with a shake of his head. “Great. We got damaged goods. We won’t be able to sell him for much.”

“N-no! Look, I can work! I’m s-s-strong!” He proclaimed, scrambling to his knees and pulling his tattered sleeve up his arm, showing off his biceps (which were covered in convincing amounts of dirt he’d applied earlier). “And muh-my eyes could be a novelty! Clean me up and parade me around a bit and I’ll fetch top credit! I promise!”

The slavers considered, looking him over again appraisingly. “You’re a stuh-stuh-stuttering mess, slave.” The one with the list said mockingly. “But he might be right. One thing is pretty clear though.” He reached down by his chair and tossed the goggles back to Luca, who purposefully fumbled them and let them drop to the ground before scrambling on them and slipping them back over his head. “Can’t sell a blind save for anything.”

“Fine, whatever. Just process him and get him on the truck.” Whip guy responded. “Make sure he’s not hiding anything.”

Whip guy had left and his irritated partner patted Luca down for contraband, avoiding some of the dirtier spots on Luca’s arms as though he was carrying disease.

It was all sleight of hand. The slaver didn’t look at the goggles thoroughly, and as such hadn’t found the lock pick he’d hidden in the rim. And even if they had refused to give the goggles back, he had a backup pick squirreled away in a padded pocket of synth flesh he’d concealed with a clever application of ore dust on the arm he’d offered to their perception. He always carried a backup when it came to known entities. These slavers didn’t use stun cuffs to transport their product. The amount of slaves they’d have to lock up that way would cost them a fortune in higher tech restraints. No, they used simple mechanical shackles.

And he could defeat those with a well practiced hand.

“Alright meat, come on, into the truck with you!”

“O-Okay! I’m going! You don’t ha-have to push, just tell me what to do!”

“Get in there and shut up.”

Luca did.

---Present---

His masked eyes glanced around the compartment he was in without tilting his head. Everyone else would think he was staring at his hands, thanks to the goggles he’d been able to retain. It was then that his heart actually skipped a beat when his gaze fell on the shirtless Chiss near the end of the compartment.

Oh you’ve got to be shitting me…

Why it was the good ole Praetor Magnus, recently elevated Darth Invictus. What was he doing here?!

Luca had allowed his hair to grow out over the last few months and slowly tilted his head down casually, letting the dirty locks create a veil between his face and the rest of the slaves. He couldn’t afford to be recognized here. The mission had only just started. If Invictus recognized him, his cover could be blown.

And then another kink in the plan flared to life. A pretty blonde talking to the others, trying to strike up conversation. Luca flicked his head a micron to the side when he heard the audible click of restraints loosening.

Fool! It’s too early to try and mount an escape!

Emotions roiled within him. That woman was going to get everyone in the back of the truck killed. But Lucadonus Lestroud was a professional. So he clamped down on his emotions quickly and summoned his rational mind. There was a scale to be met here. Right now that scale was unbalanced. He could reveal himself in hope to deter the foolish actions of one brave slave, or he could remain silent and see how things played out. Either way, his hand would be forced eventually. Likely sooner rather than later. But maybe he could maintain his cover with some embellishment.

Luca kept his face veiled with his hair and adopted his frightened persona again. “H-hey! Unless y-you intend to j-jump out the back of the truck now, put those restraints back on!” he hissed in a high whisper. “Y-you’re g-gonna get us all k-k-killed!”

They were all unarmed and packed into a small space. Even if the blonde could get the drop on a guard, she was in a cattle car with unknown individuals of unknown mentality, most of which looked like they’d been beaten too badly to fight. And those who hadn’t been wiped across the floor, had no fight left in their eyes. Invictus could fight, but Luca knew him too well to think he was here on accident. Chiss were fickle when it came to this kind of thing. It was exceptionally shameful for a man of Invictus’ stature to be captured this way. Luca doubted very highly that he was here for any other reason except that he had chosen to be.

This blonde upstart was going to wreak havoc on any plans that both Invictus or Luca himself had. If she jumped out, there was nothing stopping a panicked slaver from hosing the back of the truck to put down a slave revolt before it got out of hand.

There would be a time for escape, but now wasn’t it. They had to get where they were gong, probe defenses, plot potential escape routes. Luca already had an exit strategy in place, but it was good for one person only, as far as he was concerned. The problem was he couldn’t exactly state his intentions to this uppity woman.

Oh well. Improvisation was part of an agent’s life. His chips had been cast. Time to see if he won this hand.

[Rabbit]

Well now... Things had just gotten interesting.

Keelen had initially written the blonde woman off as yet another unfortunate casualty of the Zygerrians' opportunistic business ventures. But, then she started talking and moving, which drew his attention back to her. This time, she commanded the full weight of the Chiss' regard, especially when she produced a lock pick from inside her mouth. The Praetor was outwardly impassive as ever, but he was a bit surprised by her resourcefulness.

...And also, by her power.

Keelen was careful to keep his facial features under control, but the urge to lift an eyebrow was strong. This was no ordinary woman, no indeed. She was strong in the Force. Most especially, the Light Side of the Force.

A Jedi Knight and a Sith Lord, sitting across from each other in the back of a slave transport. Keelen surmised that stranger things had certainly happened to him before...but this particular circumstance was definitely a first. He hadn't expected to put his Force Stealth to the test, but there he was, looking a Jedi straight in the eye as she offered to open his own binders.

And just when he thought the Jedi was the only interesting individual he'd have to contend with, a husky voice to his left and three other people down the bench he was sitting on, piped up to chastise the Jedi's unusual bravado. Keelen turned his head to consider the man; even sitting, the Chiss was still taller than everyone else crammed into the space that moved at a rather moderate pace beneath them. He didn't have to lean forward, or make any special effort, to eye the newest speaker. Red eyes narrowed ever so slightly as the Sith tried his best to meet the man's gaze.

The other "slave" kept his head down, however, and hid his face rather well behind a curtain of limp hair of indeterminate color. Nevertheless, there was something familiar about the man...something that transcended all senses except for those unique to a Force Sensitive. That sense of familiarity was going to nag at Keelen until he figured out where it came from - in the meantime, at least, he'd be sure to keep an eye on the other man.

Granted, the man spoke sense. The blonde...not so much.

The Chiss Sith turned his attention back toward the woman. As he did so, he could feel the repulsor truck slowing down. It was incremental, but something told Keelen that he only had a few minutes to convince the Jedi that it would be better for them all if she just played along.

He gave her a slow grin that was, really, anything but. Then he leaned forward toward her and lowered his voice so that hopefully, only she would here.

"'Big boy'?" he reached out with his bound hands and grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the lock pick; the Chiss then yanked her forward abruptly, so that their knees practically knocked together. "That's Commander to you."

Technically...he wasn't exactly feeding her a false persona. He was the commanding officer of the Revenant, although the day-to-day operations and direct command of the Imperial forces on board was given largely over to Admiral Garren's purview.

"I strongly suggest," the Chiss continued in his low, deep voice, his cheek against the Jedi's and his breath all but in her ear. "That you put those binders back on. I have a plan and I don't need you wrecking it."

The vehicle was now down to a crawl; it was going to stop at any moment. Keelen pressed his point.

"Trust me," he didn't mean it sarcastically or flippantly, and it came through in his tone. "I am here intentionally and you'll have your chance soon enough. But, you're getting ahead of yourself here."

Keelen took a calculated pause - it was so tempting to add "Jedi" to the end of that last sentence. But...he didn't need her to know who he was a second earlier than anyone else did.

[Ghostie]

“Relax, Four-Eyes…” Gaeriel responded in a bored voice, as the little man hiding behind his hair in the corner of the truck spoke out. All Gaeriel could make of him past the straggled waves of brown was a dark pair of large, round goggles. Hence, the nickname the Jedi Knight immediately hoisted upon the cautious man. Cautious, but not scared. No, on second glance, Gaeriel could see what he truly was. He was calm, and cool. Collected, and guarded. The Jedi Knight couldn’t make much past his emotions, but he did put on a good show. Which meant that he, too, was here for his own reasons, and not against his will. Or that the Zygerrians had found themselves someone to play tattle-tale on the other slaves. Either way, he was to be watched. “... this isn’t my first rodeo - ”

Gaeriel’s speech was cut off right at the end as the blue hunk of a Chiss in front of her deftly grabbed the hand that was holding her lockpick, and pulled her in close. Had Gaeriel been any larger, and no doubt they would have collided. His voice was in her ear, and his breath on her cheek, and it took all of Gaeriel’s self-control to not switch which hand the lockpick was in, and stab the man in a vital orifice. Instead, her eyes went wide when he revealed that he, too, was not in this repulsor truck against his own free will. It wasn’t so much that the man was some sort of agent, held a military rank, or that he had a plan in place that he was supposed to follow. The Jedi Knight’s real shock came at the fact that three individuals came together from seemingly nowhere, and found their way together to bust the same slaver ring, at the same place, at the same time.

What was the happenstance of that?

Gaeriel wasn’t sure if she could break the man’s hold on her, even if she wanted to start a brawl in the back of the repsulor truck. Sure, she was quick, and had both of her hands free. But it was such a confined space, and the Chiss was clearly stronger than she was. So the Jedi Knight endured every single word the man spoke. And the more he spoke, the more Gaeriel’s blood started to boil under his influence. Her face twisted in an ugly mixture of disgust and fury that was unbecoming of the Hapan woman. It wasn’t the man’s words alone, so much as it was the way he said them. He was calculated, demanding, and completely confident that he would get his way. As he finally finished speaking, everything started to make sense; the anger, and hint of darkness she felt when he came on board. Gaeriel couldn’t confirm it, but her gut told her that the man was an agent of not just the Sith Empire, but the Sith Order itself.

Pulling back from the Chiss a few inches, Gaeriel still felt her hand in his grasp, but their faces were no longer side-by-side. There was a long, tense silence over the entire rear of the repulsor truck, in a span of time that felt like it would last forever as Gaeriel studied the man’s bright, red eyes as closely as she dared. This man would not get his way. Not entirely. Gaeriel simply didn’t like him, and he made her fury rise to the surface. And if he was a Sith, then he was an adversary, and not an ally. Even in this time of peace, they couldn’t be trusted. Coming to this conclusion, Gaeriel’s frown turned into a small smile, and she sat back into her seat.

“For you, Big Guy, I’d almost put these binders back on and let you call me Commander…” Gaeriel responded in her usual snark. “... It’s a shame that we all know the Sith can’t finish what they start, though.”

With that, the doors on the repulsor truck swung open, and the two Zygerrian guards at the back started to shout for everyone to exit the vehicle. Keeping her eyes on the Chiss as they followed each other out, Gaeriel for her part left her binders behind, and pocketed the lockpick. Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the bright neons of the spaceport in front of her, Gaeriel found herself at the back of the line, next to the Chiss, as the Zygerrians processed the slaves. All around them, there were other repulsor trucks going through similar unload routines. The slaves that the Zygerrians let by were rounded up to an old, Foray-Class Corvette in front of Gaeriel. The spaceport was completely unexpected, and Kar’eth was sure to get another kick for whatever zany adventure Gaeriel was about to find herself on. Heart beating a little more quickly in her chest, eyeing the Corvette once again, a plan came to the Jedi Knight’s mind.

Using her diminutive size, Gaeriel used the crowd of slaves to put some space between her and the Chiss. Once he was effectively left behind her and out of earshot, the Jedi Knight stopped, and awaited her turn for processing. A few slow steps at a time, and Gaeriel finally found herself face to face with the Zygerrians that were working through the repulsor truck that she had exited. Seeing her lack of binders, one of the Zygerrians frowned, and snapped into action, his hand dropping to his neural whip.

“Where’s your binders, slave?!” The furry man demanded, but Gaeriel, as quickly as she could, waved a hand in front of them both, and touched their minds with the Force. Their eyes went wide, and unfocused, and the Jedi Knight knew she had them both.

“I don’t need any binders. I’m a replacement for a member of the crew on the Corvette.” She responded, calmly and clearly.

“You don’t need any binders…” Said the first Zygerrian, with the neural whip.

“... Replacement for a member of the crew…” Said the second, who was now limply holding a large datapad and stylus.

“I can go ahead, no questions.” Gaeriel added.

“Go ahead…”

“... No questions...”

With another self-satisfied smirk, Gaeriel walked lightly past her would-be guards, towards the starship unhindered. The only flaw in this plan, of course, was the crew itself. Given how easy the Zygerrians were able to be convinced, she didn’t believe that the Corvette was crewed by their own people. That meant that it was more than likely a chartered vessel, and that Gaeriel had no idea what she was about to run into. Approaching the boarding ramp for the Foray, Gaeriel looked for someone who would be in charge. If she couldn’t pass off being a replacement or new hire, then she would simply have to stowaway onboard.

It would still be better than travelling as a slave.

“OI! You th’ replacement fer Opperman?” Grinning again, mostly at her good luck this time, Gaeriel turned to the rough and loud voice. He was a man around her age, with a blaster rifle slung over his shoulder, and an unkempt shadow on facial hair on his jaw. There was a cigarette in his mouth as he leaned against one of the struts to the boarding ramp.

“I suppose so!” Gaeriel called back, before she closed the distance.

“Too pretty a thing, ain’t’cha, to be runnin’ with a buncha pirates?”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, pal.” Gaeriel responded a bit flatly as her spunk was quickly drained away. “I can handle myself.”

“I hope so!” The man said instantly. “Opperman was a fuckin’ shite of’a helmsman. Ever flown a Foray, b’fore?”

And Gaeriel, once again, couldn’t suppress her grin at her sheer luck.

[tenkalus]

Four eyes. That was a new one. It seemed the blonde was as petty as she was pretty. But it seemed that even Invictus couldn’t convince her to remain in bondage for the time being. Apparently the power of a Darth didn’t extend beyond the Empire when it came to convincing people you were scary.

Luca put it out of his mind and remained silent. At the very least, his suspicions had been rewarded with confirmation. Invictus was here for a reason. Which begged the question, why? What was here here for? Some of the marks on his bare chest looked fresh, others, did not. Why willfully put yourself in this situation and knowingly take a fresh beating? Was it machismo?

No, in their brief interactions, Invictus hadn’t seemed the type to posture for the sake of looking more manly. Those old scars though… Luca could only guess at the man’s life before the Sith. Hell, maybe they had been because he’d joined the Sith. Luca had never been to Korriban but he had heard nasty rumors about their training regimen.

So why was Invictus actually here?

He contemplated his next move as the truck slowed down and eventually came to a stop. Anticipation of a fight began to bunch in Luca’s muscles as they were herded from the back of the truck and out into the open air of a spaceport. The blonde certainly had a nerve of steel. He surmised as much as she walked right up to guards from the slave queue.

Things clicked into place very quickly for Luca following that, as he shuffled two places behind Invictus in their line. The woman knew how to use a crowd for cover, so she’d been trained to disappear, as evidenced by the lack of brushed shoulders she’d bumped moving against the crowd. She had skills with lockpicks, denoting further training. She spoke casually to the guards and they mimicked her speech patterns and seemed confused. That screamed that she had the Force at her disposal, but she hadn’t recognized Invictus to save her life, so she wasn’t a Sith.

A Jedi Shadow.

If he hadn’t been such a serious man at heart, Luca might have laughed out loud at the irony of the situation. A Darth and a Jedi had sat no more than a foot away from each other and one or neither of them had known who the other was or what they were capable of, all while an ex spy looked on in amusement.

Fate sure was a fickle bitch.

Was it fate though? Was this some other force at play to bring such players to the table? It was hard to say. All he knew was that things were quickly going pear shaped. He had planned ahead for a slave camp on Nar Shaddaa. He had not anticipated being transferred off planet. Given the lines at the starport and the ships they were being led to stand beside, Luca could guess with a degree of accuracy that they wouldn’t be staying on planet. Meaning the weapons he’d had arranged to be in place for when he made his move would be gone.

In the end though, it was fine. He could do without a firearm if he needed to. He spotted his target shuffling along with more slaves two lines over.

Looked like they would both be transferred off planet. Good. Best case scenario they were brought to the same place and Luca could act. Worst case scenario, they would be brought to separate places and Luca would have to escape and track him down again. As long as the man was alive, he could find him.

“Eyes forward, you!” one of the guards shouted and whacked Luca none-too-softly across the back.

The blow caused him to stumble and he hit the ground with a grunt.

Wordlessly, he gained his feet again and kept his head bowed as he hopped back in line. He could kill the guard with the stylus sticking out of the alien’s pocket if he’d chosen, or the datapad in the pouch at the guard’s belt for that matter. A quick, hard jab with the edge of a datapad to a sentient creatures’ throat, generally shut them down quick, fast, and in a hurry.

But there were appearances to maintain. He couldn’t drop cover just yet.

It wasn’t until he and Invictus were loaded on the transport that he made a calculated decision. When the ship began to lift off, and he felt the pressure of inertia in the cabin, he traded placed with a couple other captives and plopped himself down right in front of Invictus.

“Where’d you get those eyes, M’Lord?” He whispered sardonically as if he were in the market for a new set. He spoke in a low tone so the other slaves wouldn’t catch it. When Invictus looked up, Luca slowly reached up and pushed his goggles off his eyes and onto his forehead, revealing the unnaturally golden glowing orbs formerly hidden by them. “Your new girlfriend back there is kind of an asshole. Seems she wants to spoil both our missions.”

His accent and stuttering had been dropped as he spoke, instantly shifting back into his usual tone. As usual, his face held no expression except that which came with his eyes. And those eyes held the dispassionate fire of a man who killed for a living, and was used to being the deadliest person in the room.

Revealing himself now to a Darth was a measured risk. But it was one that needed to be taken. Luca was a master of stealth and deception, but even he wouldn’t be able to keep his face hidden the entire time they travelled in proximity. Coming out now expanded a few options and diminished others. He wouldn’t be able to stealth as well as he thought with Invictus around, but at the same time, knowing he was there also gave him new opportunities to be even more stealthy, if he could convince the Darth to create a distraction for him at certain moments.

Maybe they could work something out. It was hard to say how the Sith would react to his presence, given how they’d departed previously.

[Rabbit]

“For you, Big Guy, I’d almost put these binders back on and let you call me Commander... It’s a shame that we all know the Sith can’t finish what they start, though.”

Keelen didn't have a chance to respond to the Jedi's snarkiness before the back door of the repulsor truck was thrown open. He squinted in the rush of blinding-bright neon light, but the sudden change in pace around him didn't stop him from replying to her in his mind:

"I'll grant you the Sith...but the Chiss always follow through."

He wasn't so puffed up on self-important pride over the Sith Order, and his place in it, to not acknowledge the faults of his fellow Force Users. From a Jedi's perspective, the Sith did indeed fall too often short. Their own hubris often got in the way of sound and calculating thinking, and therefore, sound and calculating action.

He, however, was more than just a Sith. He carried his past with him, and that proudly in his own way. Perhaps he would have an opportunity to demonstrate to the waspish little woman just how tenacious a Sith could really be, with the right life experiences and self-identity.

He watched impassively as she used the crowd, and her Force powers, to manipulate her escape. The Jedi interested him...mostly because he'd never really encountered one in person before. Here was a chance to observe one up-close-and-personal. Or, so he hoped. Something told him that she had "allowed" herself to be enslaved just as much as he had. She was up to something, so the Darth was confident that this wasn't the last time he'd see her.

He rather hoped it wasn't, too. There was something...interesting about her. A quality he doubted that even she herself recognized.

When it came to emotions, he - the Sith and Darth - was in far greater control than she, the Jedi. He was on mission, which meant that he was cool and dispassionate, or as much as he could be, given his own Force alignment. Even so, he was far calmer than she - he had felt her anger at the way he had tried to take control of her impulsiveness. It had run as hot and strong as any Sith's rage...and last time he checked, such emotions were strongly discouraged among the Jedi. An excellent representative of her Order's philosophies, the blonde was not.

Then again, most of the time, Keelen wasn't exactly the "best" representative of the Sith. There was simply too much Chiss in him, no matter how much he tried to balance the two. And if asked, he would have said that the emotion that ran most strongly through him was not anger - though that was definitely a close second, and grief a close third - but love. Granted, that expressed itself most readily as a deep and almost unshakable loyalty, which in turn made it highly selective...but it was love all the same.

With the Jedi out of the picture, the Sith focused his attention on his present circumstances. He had come to Nar Shadaa to free Imperial citizens from slavery...but it would seem that the Force had other plans in mind. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he was as surprised as any of the others to see that they had arrived at one of the Smuggler's Moon's many spaceports. This was an unexpected plot twist, to say the least. Keelen had expected an on-planet auction block; in no way had he anticipated a planetary relocation.

If nothing else, however, he had years of experience with the unexpected. He just tamped down his exasperation, lowered his head as was expected of a slave, and shuffled along to the ship their captors herded them toward. Time to see where this would take them...

---

“Where’d you get those eyes, M’Lord?”

The man who had spoken up in the truck plopped down in front of him and it was impossible to ignore him, or the flippant way he addressed him. The use of "m'lord" indicated quite clearly that the other "slave" knew who it was that he addressed. Before Keelen could growl at him, the googles were pushed up onto his forehead and the Chiss found himself locking eyes with none other than Luca Lestroud, bane of many an Imperial traitor.

Given their circumstances, Keelen could hardly laugh, but he couldn't quite stop a snort of amusement. He had been leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, but now he leaned his still-bare back against the bulkhead and flashed Lestroud a toothy grin.

"This affair just gets more and more interesting," he kept his voice low, which made it into a growl that practically reverberated through his broad chest. "First a Jedi, now you."

He didn't think for one second that the assassin had gotten captured by slavers. What a curious set of circumstances...what, in the Empress' name, could have possibly brought all three of them together, in a Nar Shaddaa slaving ring, of all damned places? It was, to that effect, that Keelen then asked:

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

[tenkalus]

Luca didn’t smile in return. He’d been all out of smiles for a while now. “I’m here for the same reason as the last time we met, only this time I’m on a mission of mercy instead of vengeance.”

Under normal circumstances, Luca could lie about anything and damn near convince everyone around him that it was the truth with his body language. But he’d been interrogated by this man before. The biggest boon an agent had in their career was that the chances of them being in the same room with the same person twice when their cover was destroyed, was astoundingly low. Luca had tried lying to the Chiss before, with varying results. This time however, he wasn’t wasting time and energy trying to pull the wool over Invictus’ eyes. Those crimson spheres saw more than the blue man let on. Luca had no doubt of that.

“An old friend of mine got caught up in the middle of this little saga of mine. Your friends in low places are using him as bait to draw me out and put an end to my crusade, by way of two bolts in the back of my brain pan and an airlock. I found out they put him in this circuit of slaves and he was due for the auction block tomorrow.”

He glanced around at the other slaves and shifted his gaze down to the floor to concentrate on the vibrations of the ship as it lurched into motion.

“Thing is…” he continued, “I don’t think we are staying on Nar Shadaa. Something changed in the Zygerrian’s plans.”

He shifted his glowing predatory gaze back to Invictus. “So now, I’m stuck here with you.”

Luca didn’t ask the Darth in front of him why he was there. He didn’t have the pull to glean that intel from the man even if he wanted to. The only way he was going to find that out, is if the man across from him offered it up himself.

[Rabbit]

The man learned, Keelen granted him that. The first time the two had crossed paths - on Keelen's own warship, no less - Luca had tried to evade, had tried to lie and bluff his way out of his interrogation. He had apparently taken the...lessons...he'd gleaned from that first encounter and properly applied them to this, their second face-to-face meeting.

"A straight answer," Keelen crossed his arms over his chest and gave Luca a calculating look. "A wise decision."

The Darth titled his head slightly to the side and studied the ex-Imperial sniper a little longer. Keelen was well aware that he owned Luca no explanation of his own, for why the Empire's Praetor Magnus had allowed himself to be "captured" and treated as a slave. The Chiss briefly entertained the idea of telling his companion what he was up to...but then decided against it. Too many ears around them and Luca had already said too much, considering their situation.

“So now, I’m stuck here with you.”

Keelen gave Luca another predatory flash of teeth, before mildly replying.

"So it would seem."

He did allow one small nugget of potential interest to the man, however.

"Perhaps we will find, on the other end of our little detour, that we can be of use to each other."

Keelen's mission involved the Archeri, however removed from them they currently were. And where the Archeri were concerned...well...the Bronze Pillar of the Empire was willing to make whatever unholy alliance he had to. Up to and including a certain blonde-haired, smart-mouthed Jedi and a dishonorably disgraced ex-Imperial soldier.

Plus, Luca hardly bothered Keelen in any substantial way. The man had piqued the Chiss' interest and even garnered a certain sort of respect, for the methods and means of his "little saga". Luca was simply trying to settle the score, to avenge what had been taken from him without a single scrap of honor or regard. Keelen wasn't about to get in the man's way and in fact, he had been quietly following Luca's "adventures" as best he could, without rousing any suspicion or interest from others who would wish them both harm. In time, perhaps the assassin could prove to be of use to Keelen. For that, the Chiss would deal with Luca with an even hand and temper.

Keelen closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bulkhead, the picture of ease and nonchalance.

"Until we arrive at our destination, however, I suggest we keep our distance," he cracked open an eye and pinned Luca with a look that he hoped conveyed his fair intention (though, it was hard to tell if humans grasped that sort of non-verbal communication from him, given that his eyes lacked irises and pupils).

It wouldn't due to draw unwanted attention to us, was what he was trying to say, without stating the obvious.

"And let us see if the third member of our little company deigns to show her face again. I dare say," Keelen closed his eye again. "Forces larger than us have brought us together. It would seem that until the conclusion of whatever business is before us, we three were meant to allies," the Chiss paused and then huffed another short bark of a laugh. "Of a sort."