Along the Watchtower

[Dire Wolf]

"Oh c'mon, ma'am. We can deal you in, no problem"

Rhissai's face softened into a sweet expression at the offer; the soldier had been a veteran of the previous war. One who'd been saved on some nameless dust-bowl thousands of light years away. This one had only come after she accepted his drink, and bought the table one in response. In truth, while she had nothing against a game of pazaak, she'd loathe to be put in a position where she took money from her men. And they were just that; her men. The Jedi Master may not have been in their chain of command, nor she connected to them in any way but memory, yet they were still hers. One day she would lead them, or men like them, in a charge against the same Sith who sat on the opposite end of the room. Some would fall, others wouldn't. That was the nature of the galaxy, and war, no matter how repugnant that truth had been to her. If denying them some familiarity meant morale, and thus better chances at survival later, then so be it.

"Maybe next time, guys. But let me sweeten the pot before I go," a couple chits were produced from her scratchy brown pockets to fall on the pile of others. A disappointed sigh fell out of them at the response, followed by murmurings and gratitude. "And Darklighter," she pointed, and a clean cut man turned, "try not to break that Arken's mag capacitor while I'm gone." A roar of laughter followed Rhissai in her wake, complete with jeering and shoulder shaking of the black haired man in question.

An amused smirk remained as she strode away from the Republic side of the tavern, across the gulf that was a no man's land, to the bar in the middle. Volleys of glares had been fired from the Sith side, beneath those utility uniforms whenever they weren't focused on playing pazaak. Just as her troops had done the same, after the laughter had died down. Once at the bar, the Jedi slid gracefully into a seat where she was immediately reminded of her horrible state of dress. Jedi robes weren't exactly made to be comfortable; rather their coarse fabric had always managed to chafe her soft skin. Chafing and glowers hardly bothered her; exposed lightsabers had made her feel exposed. So much of her fighting style relied on an eclectic mix of erratic and unpredictable attacks, which were only amplified by a lightsaber which flashed from nowhere. Three had been her choice; one in each hand and a third grasped by the Force. Rhissai's mind was her greatest weapon; that statement was damn near literal.

There wouldn't be any fighting here, though. Not without starting a war at large, and one that neither nation particularly needed with a race of evil fungi spreading it's tendrils throughout the galaxy. All the barkeep required was a glance to be summoned,"Tihaar for me, tall, if you have it, Corellian Whiskey if you do not," her melodic accent drove her odd order in, "and a shot for everyone else." The bartender nodded and got to work, placing a stiff Mandalorian Vodka in front of the Jedi before going to work on the shot glasses. Only enough for the Republic. "Excuse me," the man turned, "I said everyone, not just my men."

Confused as he was, the man knew better than to question. In the next few minutes drinks were placed before everyone, and much to Rhissai's disappointment, moments later the floor beneath Sith boots became a bit more alcoholic. All eyes remained on her as they upended their glasses onto the wood, and in a flash the Republic Troops were up and ready to swing at any 'damned grayback' that insulted the Jedi Master. The Sith were quick to respond, their chairs scraping against the hardwood with the sudden movement. Before either side could make their way next to one another, though, Rhissai was between them. Tension filled the minds of each man; anger in some, nervousness in others, and fear in all. When she was younger such an extreme gathering of powerful emotion would have effected her, but she was above such things that day.

Nobody could know that she was scared, too.

[Rabbit]

** Astrid's "participation" written with permission from Tenkalus

---

Tensions in Soldon were high - Keelen could practically taste it in the air, as he strolled casually down the walkway of a major thoroughfare. The desire for violence simmered just beneath the surface of every being he passed. It didn't matter if they were a Soldon citizen, plains-clothed Republic service member, or a crisply dressed Imperial support officer. The space between people as they negotiated the space around each other in the street, reminded him of the "crown shyness" he'd seen in some of the trees at the Csaplar Botanical Gardens as a younger man. Everyone, it seemed, was on edge, nervous, uncertain. It threatened to affect him as well, but Keelen figured he had three choices in that regard.

He could let the repressed aggression around him stir up his own, he could ignore all the emotions all together, or he could briefly analyze each emotion as he passed them by and decide which energies to affect him. He decided to go with the later. There was power in emotions, after all - and there was power in choosing which emotions to feed.

The newly-minted Pillar of Strife had decided to don some plain clothes of his own and take a stroll through the streets of Soldon after the summit had concluded - for him, anyway. There were still some negotiations for the Empress and Supreme Chancellor to hash out, but those discussions did not need to include him. Keelen had decided that a good use of his time, then, was to walk among the mix of Imperial, Republic, and Prahzi beings and feel for himself how the idea of an alliance was truly sitting among the common folk.

He had let Astrid dress him for the occasion. In retrospect, Keelen wondered if he should have given such power to his youthful, and entirely too enthusiastic, charge. She'd sent him off in a loose black leather jacket, the style of which was not dissimilar to what he'd seen the odd smuggler or Republic pilot favor; there as a sleeveless red tunic underneath, which was unnecessarily (and in Keelen's opinion, bordering on obscenely) tight; the "look" was rounded out by surprisingly well-tailored black trousers, which were bloused into the tops of sturdy black combat boots that came up mid-shin. Astrid had even accessorized - he had a pair of round-rimmed, tinted glasses that hid his red eyes, and a plain black cap that cast shadows over his face and hid his black hair.

"Would you like to add an earring or two to this? A nose ring, maybe? Perhaps I should stop by a tattoo parlor on my outing?" Keelen asked dryly as he looked at his absolutely over-the-top reflection in his office's floor-length mirror (an absolute necessity for most military personnel, particularly a high-ranking officer such as himself).

"No...?" Astrid had titled her head and peered over at him with a question on her expressive face.

"I look like a lower level Nar Shaddaa punk," the Chiss had dryly explained, with particular emphasis on "punk".

Astrid had just shooed him out of his office and off the Revenant after that. There hadn't been any way to really hide the color of his skin, but with the glasses and the hat, it was a safe bet that most glancing at him on the street would assume him a Pantoran.

He had to admit...so far, the get-up (as ridiculous as it was), was working. No one gave him a second glance as he prowled along the street. A long, looped silver chain tapped his hip as he walked, the true crowning glory of Astrid's fashion sense.

"Really, now?" he'd stared at Astrid completely askance as she had handed it to him and explained that he should hook it to his belt loops.

"Hey," she'd sniffed at him. "You can't go down there with your light sabers. You can wrap it around your hand if you need, too. It'll do a nice bit of damage."

"I'm a Darth of the Sith," was his dry response. "If anything goes sideways, my first inclination is not to wrap a mostly-decorative chain around my hand."

"Look," Astrid had put her fists on her hips, her expression turning saucy. "You asked for my help. Just be glad I don't send you out there with a giant belt buckle that says 'cocky'..." she seemed to realize what she'd said and who she'd said it to, as her cheeks colored quickly. "Or...something like that."

Keelen's smile had been slow and wolfish.

"I can assure you, I don't have anything I need to over-compensate for."

Astrid's horror had been swift and highly entertaining.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that."

The memory of that exchange was certain to bring a smile to the corners of Keelen's lips for a long time to come. He would have even indulged in a rare chuckle at the thought of Astrid's face...when the ever-present threat of violence coalesced suddenly into reality. Keelen stopped abruptly and quickly took a closer stock of his surroundings. He was just about to pass the entrance to a cantina...and that was where the abrupt shift in energy was all but radiating from.

The disguised Chiss wasted no time in turning his attention and steps toward the cantina entrance. His eyes adjusted quickly to the sudden change from the light of a sunset evening outside and the low, sparse lights inside (which were that much dimmer, thanks to the tinted glasses he currently sported). It took exactly ten seconds for him to take stock of the situation - namely, that there were Imperial soldiers in front of him posturing at the Republic forces on the other side of the small establishment, and a Jedi standing in between them.

As he was stepping up to the back of the Imperial line, a tall, beefy specimen - spec ops, from the look of him - moved threateningly toward the Jedi.

"We don't drink with Republic dogs," the soldier growled.

The Republic line shifted dangerously in response. For his part, Keelen put a hand on the two shoulders in front of him and pulled the bodies those shoulders were attached to back toward him. To their credit, the two Imperial soldiers didn't say a word - they had been trained to instantly recognize and respect strength. One stumbled a bit into one of his fellows in the line, but they both made an opening for Keelen to step through.

Both the Republic and Imperial lines froze at the introduction of an unknown player. Keelen was still half a head taller than the tallest Imperial present (who happened to be the one currently trying to intimidate the Jedi in question) and he radiated a promise of violence far and beyond what any of the human men gathered could ever muster.

Keelen stopped his advance behind the foolhardy idiot that was trying to threaten the woman standing in the middle. Keelen glanced over at her for a second - and was immediately struck with a nagging sense of recognition. That, however, was a matter for after.

"There a problem?" he addressed her; the soldier started and turned half-way to look behind him.

He squinted up at Keelen and the Chiss could tell by the man's bloodshot eyes that he was about three sheets to the wind. The Sith's lips pressed together in a disapproving line.

"Get out," the man snarled at him. "This ain't no place for civis."

"I don't recall addressing you, Corporal," Keelen let his weight drop into his knees, his whole body going loose and fluid as a fist almost as large as his own came swinging toward his face.

The Chiss slid neatly to the right as the man punched the air where he'd just been. Without skipping a beat, he grabbed the corporal's wrist in one hand and pulled his arm beneath his own; Keelen then stepped back and stretched his opponent's arm across his broad chest. Thumb in the center of the man's palm, he pulled up and twisted slightly. The soldier grunted, his face contorting into a grimace.

"I would say it's you who needs to get out," Keelen held his own considerable talent for violence in check, as he calmly addressed the corporal down the length of his outstretched arm.

The soldier just growled defiantly.

"Who the fuck you think you are, to order me around?"

The Chiss immediately stepped back and used the momentum of his abrupt movement to swing the man forward. He then let go of the man's arm, but before the Imperial could orient his stumbling feet, Keelen grabbed him by the back of his neck and used the force of his controlled pivot to push the man forward toward the edge of the bar. There was an audible crack as the corporal's forehead connected with the wood - it was a small mercy for him that the edge was rounded and not a straight angle. The heavy body in his grip went limp and Keelen let go of the corporal. He watched dispassionately as the soldier crashed to the floor at his feet.

Another soldier broke from the line of Imperials and Keelen could see him bunching up the muscles of his body to rush him. The Chiss pivoted to meet this new opponent and smiled mirthlessly as him. The sight of straight white teeth and lips that curled into a feral smile made the man pause just long enough for Keelen to put an end to the violence before it could continue to escalate.

"In answer to the corporal's question, I'm the Pillar of Strife."

It was almost comical how the human man's dark face suddenly turned pale; every single Imperial in the room turned so still that they might as well have been fixtures of the cantina. Keelen reached up and pulled off his glasses with casual arrogance; he fixed the upstart with his crimson eyes and the man looked like he would pass out.

"You all may know me better by another title - Praetor Magnus," his ruthless smile returned and every spine on the Imperial side of the catina snapped instinctively to attention.

The Chiss tucked the glasses into one of his jacket's pockets and he looked over the assortment of shocked sailors, soldiers, and special forces standing in front of him, stiff with an appropriate level of fear.

"I would strongly suggest that you all either return to your bunks, wherever those may be, or to your seats."

There was an immediate scramble to do what he said; he watched for a moment, searching for any familiar faces in the crowd. If there were any personnel present from the Revenant, he would make sure to have a personal word with them later...

Half of the Imperial forces gathered practically vanished; a small handful of braver souls remained, but they went meekly back to their tables and chairs. Keelen then turned toward the idiot passed out at his feet and nudged him once with the toe of his right boot. He glanced over at the dark-haired Jedi - who was just as tall as he was.

"Might I bother you for a medic, Master Jedi?" he then turned fully toward her and inclined his head toward her again.

Damn! But she seemed eerily familiar.

Knowing that every Imperial and Republic eye was locked onto him, Keelen extended a steady blue hand toward his Jedi counterpart.

"Darth Invictus, by the way. Care for a drink?"

[tenkalus]

There was no way. No way in HELL, that she was going to miss this. Disturbing mental images and implications from Keelen aside, it was the first time he was going out into the wild in civilian clothes! With that in mind, the cunning former apprentice of the Pillar of Strife had rushed off to fulfill her mentors request in full form.

She’d raided the intelligence deck wardrobe, reserved for operatives going undercover for brief stints, and had picked out several appropriately sized garments that would likely fit Keelen. Several shirts and jackets and pants inevitably turned into a lot of shirts, jackets and pants and eventually found themselves in a borrowed crate, on a borrowed hoversled, and being proverbially “wheeled” up to Keelen’s office for scrutiny and selection.

Astrid was no fashionista herself, but she did have an eye for pretty things, and would fight anyone who said her tastes were lacking. In fact, the only thing Astrid spent her earned credits on besides new weapons and armor not obtainable by the ship’s quartermaster, was clothes she thought she looked pretty in. Years ago, she would have laughed at the idea that she’d have the opportunity to worry about how she looked. But as creepy as it had been to be in his presence, Darth Solis had showed her the merits of having quality clothing. She’d never have the disposable money to throw at such frivolities as Solis would, but in the meantime, there was the operatives wardrobe. A place where she could maybe, borrow an eentsy-weentsy, tiny little micro cam that could be hidden on the lapel of say, a certain black leather jacket she’d picked out to be worn by a certain Chiss Praetor Magnus and didn’t tell them about it…

After that, it was all down to the waiting game. This was another test she’d placed on herself. It was training. While she wanted to tail Keelen through the city to test her stealth abilities, she knew herself well enough to know that either he’d sense her immediately through their bond and send her back to the ship, or her clumsiness would find her face down in a trash bin somewhere because she wouldn’t see where she was going, thus giving herself away. Plus, the cast she wore on her left forearm would not easily be hidden.

Astrid had all but recovered from the mission to Teth. It had been a couple of months and her bruises had faded and the bones had mended. But she’d re-injured her broken forearm when the cast had come off the first time and she’d decided to go back to physical combat training too quickly.

The real training this time was slipping her camera in place. The pay off would be when she got to see if it transmitted.

She wasn’t disappointed.

She’d already been off duty for the day when Keelen had asked for her help, so when they broke, she simply went to the galley to grab a snack, (a container of ice cream of course), then ran into Sergeant Breena Omahri in the hallway back to her quarters.

“Where you headed, squirt?” Breena had asked playfully. Ironically, Astrid had a good 5 inches on her height. Even if Astrid were a full fledged Sith now, and a better hand to hand fighter by far, Breena had something of a big sister complex with the younger woman and had a hard time letting that go when they weren’t in formal company.

“Shpying on da Pwaitor Magnuz wid a micwo cam in his shivi jahcket.” she said around a mouthful of ice cream, the container of which was held in her good hand while her spoon was wedged between her palm and the inside of the cast on her left arm. “Wannal cohm?” Astrid replied casually as if discussing an outing of star gazing.

Breena was shocked into silence but recovered quickly. “Astrid!”

Astrid held up her spoon/arm and waved it in disapproval. “Is Vee-wiss now.” She said with a deviant smirk as she swallowed. “Proper Sith names and all.”

Breena closed on her and hissed in a whisper, “Fine! Veerys! You’re gonna get yourself killed! You can’t just… spy on the Praetor Magnus!!

“He’s wearing a chain on hisss hippppp.” She teased insistantly. “Sure you don’t wanna come watch?”

The special forces sergeant floundered for a moment but blinked the image away and shook her head vehemently, “....No!!!”

Five minutes later

Astrid was sitting cross-legged in her rotating chair by her personal desk in her quarters, using the Force to spin it slowly around and around in a circle while she snacked and waited for the feed to go live. Keelen would have taken his time to shuttle down to the city, and would be on foot after that so they’d had time to prepare.

“How did you get kicked out of the military, Breena?” The sergeant asked herself sarcastically as she lay on Astrid’s bed a couple feet away, “Oh, I thought it would be a good idea to watch the frakkin Pillar of Strife getting his kicks out on the town…”

“Shhhh. Is wurf ah peek”

“If we get caught, I’m saying you mind-tricked me. Total deniability, Astrid.”

"I dunt know how-ta do dat yet..." Astrid said as she spun the chair a bit too hard with her mind and pushed it off balance. She barely swallowed again before it pitched her spinning to the floor. She landed on her back, carton half empty now and her lips crusted in chocolate. Her face screwed up in pain and her right hand felt to her stomach.

“I don’t feel so good…”

“That’s because you’ve been spinning in a chair eating ice cream for ten minutes you ditz. It's bound to make you dizzy.”

Five minutes later

Breena held Astrid’s black lockes behind her head as she puked in the trash can next to her desk.

“That’s alright.. Just get it out. Just get it all out….” Breena soothed behind her while rolling her eyes.

Five more minutes later

“Thank youuuuu!” The sergeant said to the custodial droid as she passed the bin out the door and shut it again.

Astrid was rinsing her mouth out with water in her personal refresher station in her room. “Ugghhh…” she called in disgust from the tiled room, “It’s like puke flavored chocolate!”

“Brush your teeth too!” Breena called absently without looking back. She was toying with the controls on the monitor on the desk and sighed. Astrid had set the cam perfectly, she’d hidden it perfectly, she’d sold the disguise, perfectly.

But she’d forgotten to turn the monitor over to the auxiliary feed to pick up the frequency from the camera.

“Oh! I got it! It’s on!” She shouted over he shoulder as the screen showed buildings coming into focus.

The microphone was in a great position to pick up sound as well. Breena could hear the shuffling clink of the chain on Darth Invictus’ hip as he walked. “He’s got a really strong gait. Perfect posture too. I’ll give the man that much.” She looked back to Astrid who came jogging up and pulled up another chair as they crowded around the screen. “Why a chain though?”

“It’s Prazhi!” Astrid said defensively, “No weapons allowed by either side remember? If anyone jumps him, he can wrap them around his knuckles and have metal knucks. Easier to beat the pudding out of someone that way. Besides. It’s cute.”

Breena thought about it for a moment and then just held up her fist. “Yeah okay. That’s smart.” The sergeant conceded

Astrid bumped her knuckles without making eye contact, and missed it when Breena flinched at having her knuckles grazed with the cast. “You think they got pudding in the mess?” Astrid asked blandly.

“No, Astrid. Just no.”

“Where is he anyway?” Astrid continued, peering around at what they could see.

“Cantina, probably. Annnnd this doesn’t look good. Tensions were already high down there. If anyone from our side gets hit by a Pub or the other way around… this could spark the war back in motion…” she said gravely as she got out her comlink, ready to call in backup for her Praetor Magnus in case things got bad.

"Get out, this ain't no place for civis."

“I don't recall addressing you, Corporal”

“Hey I know that guy!” Breena exclaimed. “Corporal Jessup from the Hundred and Third. He always hits on me at the military ball. Total douchebag....”

Breena tensed as Jessup swung at the Praetor Magnus, her hands covered her mouth and her eyes went wide. Astrid grinned wildly and bounced excitedly on her chair. “It begins! IT BEGINS!!” She cried.

It was like watching combat in slow-mo. The expert maneuver and fluidity of grace was like poetry in motion for Astrid Blackspyre. Both women watched Jessup get taken down with a series of synchronized Ohhh’s for every impact leading up to the sad corporal getting his head bounced off of the bar. Breena even started giggling at that, adding a “Holy shit!”

“Did you see that head smash?! That’s my move!!” Astrid said joyously.

Then Keelen introduced himself as the Pillar of Strife and the ooooooooh’s got longer in the room as the Imperials in the cantina stood stock still in fear. They could see the blue hand reaching up and removed the sunglasses Astrid had insisted he wear to hide his Chiss eyes, and the way Keelen casually placed them on the inside of his jacket had her rolling on the floor in tears. “I’m so proud of him! They grow up so fast!!” she choked out.

Breena tossed her com onto the desk and fell to the floor herself, laughing. “You think I’ll see Corporal Jessup at this years ball?” she asked

Astrid looked over slowly, and gravely. “Yes. Yes you will.” She answered seriously, before adding. “He’ll be the 30 year old private scrubbin the latrines!”

Both women broke into fits of mad cackling and Breena held up her left hand between them.

Astrid reached over with her right and slapped her palm against it in a high five.

[Dire Wolf]

Both sides stopped short of a foot away from the Jedi Master’s flattened palms, as though the act itself was enough to repulse the twin throngs of men. What had once been a dull murmur of ambient tension had erupted into a cacophony of emotion from the moment her liquor fell to the floor. An igneous cinder had lit which threatened to grow and spread, consuming the whole galaxy, over a bit of cheap mandalorian whiskey. Everything weighed on her navigating the situation. Sod the Sith, and the Republic. People everywhere who wanted to stay free of sentient mold infestation relied on her.

Movement caught her eye. Movement towards her. A trooper stepped out from the line with a baleful countenance to his step. No doubt he expected the slender woman to wilt beneath his gaze, yet the only way to meet hatred was with confidence. “That’s enough,” her words were calm and back straight; though she addressed her men, Rhissai’s gaze never once left the approaching man, “they don’t want their drinks. No reason we can’t enjoy ours; go back to your seats.”

Not only did that Sith wear a murderous expression, but his supposed intimidating movements were sloppy. Red streaked eyes were focused upwards towards her own. Many men, especially tall ones, found it unsettling to be shorter than a woman. Especially one so lithe and willowy as her. This one seemed to find it more irritating than unsettling. Bad luck for the galaxy. A fluttering in her heart was followed by a tumbling in her gut, and a tremble in the tips of her fingers. Fear. The man continued to approach.

A deep breath in through her nostrils was held within her lungs during the man’s final steps, before being measured out through pursed lips. Every ounce in her wanted to allow him to strike. To absorb the blow, as there was little lasting damage the man could do. Her men may not agree, though. A bloodbath would ensue, in that bar and across the cosmos. Another thought was to ensnare him in a coil of telekinetic might, but then she would be the aggressor. No. The best thing was to allow him to attack, and then capture him. Do her best to keep the two sides from fighting with judicial use of illusions and telekinesis, and telepathically scream for help.

Before any of that came to pass, however, a bell chimed. A stupid little noise emanated from the frame of the door, signalling the bar’s denizens of a new arrival. This one was taller than the soldier before her, and even to the untrained eye far more powerful. Each movement was predatory and practiced, lending to an aura of absolute peril hanging around his frame. Yet there was still more to the man. A latent power to the common eye was found obvious to her own highly developed senses. The Force displaced around the man as though he were a great vessel in an ocean, and in the attempt to flood over him it instead was whipped into a fury.

Rhissai had defeated many Sith in her time, yet this man had not been so easy. Though he wore thick black leather and round framed glasses, she didn’t need to see his eyes to recall him. For every ounce of her prowess in the arcane secrets of the Force, he held with a blade. Each push was a pull. Had she not doubled his age and experience, Rhissai had no doubt that the outcome of their duel would have been vastly different. Hardfought momentum had only been gained against the juggernaut when her own troops began to lose theirs. Battle lines had crumbled and fallen to the Sith onslaught while she was distracted by a damned duel. Enraged, she used what remained of her power to cast him as far as she could before fleeing the other way. The best she’d managed to do was rally her men, and turn a slaughter into a semi-competent military retreat. Semi.

She’d never learned his name, though she supposed that wouldn’t change his soon-to-be attempt to kill her.

Yet his question caught her off guard. Had he been as reticent to start a war as she? Brows flared only to fall in moments, and for a brief pause she lay dumbstruck. “If I’d known that your men didn’t drink Mandalorian Whiskey, I’d have ordered them a Bourbon.”

Of course, she barely spoke before the big man whirled around with a ruinous haymaker that connected with air, and air alone. What followed was enough to cause the woman to step back; a joint lock. Enhanced pain compliance, was the technical term. It was the first technique she was taught as a child, and wickedly effective to those that knew it better than she. Rhissai much prefered to seize someone with her mind.

With that brief moment of stunned thankfulness passed, the Jedi Master spun on her heel towards her own troops. A stiff bark issued out from her belly, one who’s volume seemed far louder than should be plausible from such a soft spoken woman. “I said back,” what followed was more in line with her soft, melodic voice, “go back to your drinks and your games. I’m a Jedi, not a babysitter.”

Though she didn’t mention it, the disappointment was apparent on her face and the way her head shook. A few of the men retreated to their tables, but for the most part they left the alcohol alone. One of her troops, the one who had tried to buy her a drink, attempted to approach only to find a finger pointing back to his table. No sooner had he begun to retreat than a crash shook her feet. Instinct drove her to spin around, all of a sudden all-too aware that she turned her back to a Sith, to find the body of the big drunk crumpled against the foot of the bar.

A whole new gravity had fallen over her shoulders in the moment that her once-adversary had addressed himself. Praetor Magnus, the Pillar of Strife. Republic Intelligence had reported the Empire to have lifted a new man to the station, but she’d little more to go off of. Sith names were unsuitably arcane for use in everyday conversation, or at least so she hoped. Invictus would quickly become tiresome to repeat.

“You may,” her eyes inclined ever so slightly towards the red eyes of Darth Invictus, a man of unknown provenance and incredible power. Every eye in the room was fixed upon the pair that should be known as enemies. Hated, bitter rivals out for the blood and bile and venom of the other. Yet, when his hand extended outwards so did hers. A firm shake was met on her part. Or so she thought. Invictus’ hands may as well have been made out of steel. “Master Rhissai Arckan,”[/b][/color] she nodded, “Mind ordering a Tihaar while I take care of your...” moron

She glanced down at the unconscious man, “Soldier?”

Rather than wait for permission, or conformation, she fell to a knee. Slender fingers threaded through her raven hair, tucking stray locks behind her pointed ear, before they hovered over the man’s skull. More eyes fell upon her. The room became a mixture of concern and confusion as a soft blue light emanated from her hand to quickly repair the relatively minor damage Invictus had caused. Mercifully, the skull was intact and he’d only undergone a cognitive recalibration. Once the soft blue light vanished, her fingers snapped at the pazaak player, “You. Serin. He’s outta the woods, you take care of the rest. Don’t you dare talk back. Whatever happens to him, happens to you.”

The man opened his mouth in protest, but thought better of it. A few quick strides brought him to them, and the unconscious man to the center of the room. A heavy backpack was dropped onto the ground beside them as the Corpsman did his work. That wasn’t of consequence, though. Rhissai rose to her feet, and after flattening her robe she slipped into a stool beside Invictus. A few pregnant, awkward, and silent seconds passed before she spoke, “I’m glad to meet you again under better circumstances.”

Jedi Master Rhissai turned to the man with elbows leaned on the smooth bar table, beside a Dark Lord of the Sith and once bitter enemy. A smirk threatened to tug at the end of her lips while she studied him, “A former Highcouncilman and a Dark Lord of the Sith walk into a bar…