Private A Pretty Bad Wednesday

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Of all the places to fuck up, the Sith Empire was probably the worst. He likely had a future of indentured servitude for the next ten to fifty years awaiting him if he got lucky, and a summary execution if he didn't, which was probably more likely anyway. Maybe that would be better than being a slave. He didn't really know how God worked, or even what God really was. The Jedi essentially taught that everything was God, and the Sith believed that they in themselves were Gods.

So what about him? Was God going to give a shit? Would he come back as a toad? Carter didn't know, but he was dreadfully curious.

"You gonna tell me where I'm getting transferred to?" He asked of his captor. The imperial officer just sighed, "Can't say scum, don't really care all that much. You'll be dead before tomorrow one way or the other. We don't tolerate spies in the Empire."

Definitely not great for the confidence. Carter mumbled a curse under his breath. "Okay, but you guys do though."

"Do what?"

"Tolerate spies. You have an intelligence bureau, I'm just not a part of it, but I could be."

The officer scoffed, "You're a writhing worm, you degenerate. Cry to the Dark Lady when she arrives, see if she sympathizes."

Carter shut up, not wanting to press his luck. He was going to some Dark Lady, which was probably not a good thing. He would've liked it better if he were being sent to a man. The female Sith always seemed to be the cruelest.

The officer led him into what looked to be an interrogation chamber. Not wanting to bring any further punishment his way, Carter complied and allowed himself to be strapped onto what he could only assume to be a torture table. At least they had the courtesy of having it stand upward so he could look his captors in the eye.

"Anything else?" he asked once he was firmly restrained. The officer just scoffed again before making his exit from the room.

"Cool."

Beatrice Govan

 

[Beatrice Govan]

The Dark Lady.

There was a sense of whimsy in such a name. For you see, it conjured a certain image in the head of those who heard it. Her calling card the clack, clack, clack of impossibly sharp heels as she would be revealed. Tall and statuesque, The Dark Lady would be clad in extravagant black that hugged curves in exactly the right places. Porcelain flesh and of raven hair, as beautiful as she was terrible with throaty tones that spilt elegant execution.

Oh, how I hate to disappoint.

When the door slid open, such a lady was not revealed. What stood in her place seemed to be a frail creature. Short in stature, and oh-so-terribly thin. Her outfit, yes it was black, but entirely existed in the realm of Imperial function, almost-uniform like which perfectly matched the way her blonde hair was scraped into a harsh bun that only exemplified the sharp angles of her face.

It was all so terribly...plain. Well, with the stark exception of her right hand, a prosthetic of glamorous gold, the only signifier that she was indeed, a person of importance.

Evelynn Zambrano enjoyed being understated, however.

There was a distinct advantage in being underestimated, it lead to over-confidence and bared throats and the blood spilt from such hubris was always the sweetest taste. Those who knew better were only those who had taken to their history lessons, and from what she had been informed about this prisoner, was that there was little expectation of that.

He was a talker, and not of the useful variety.

Emerald eyes stared at the man strapped to the upright table, expression thoughtful as if she were considering a piece of art within a gallery. The first thought that came to her mind was of sweat, oddly enough.

Soft footfalls of plain, black boots approached him until the woman was close enough to properly examine the silvery scar tissue upon his face. Now that was nice to see, it even summoned a small and genuine smile upon her features.

Tell me your name, please, the sudden voice pressed into the man's mind, the hushed nature of her telepathic tones incredibly polite but in the same breathe rather icy.

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The medallion was extra vibraty beneath Carter's shirt. Whomever this Dark Lady was, she had enough presence in the whole Force thing to make his sole means of detecting such things have a small seizure. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the woman that stepped through the doors did not match Carter's mental image much at all.

She looked like she was barely a hundred pounds. Were the Sith in the business of starving their lords now? Probably some weird religious thing. Nonetheless Carter reminded himself of the dangers Sith represented, even the tiny ones. With his eyes woefully unprotected after the officers had taken his gear, Carter was forced to make actual eye contact with the woman, something he was perfectly capable of doing, but would have vastly preferred to avoid. It was harder to lie when you were looking someone in the eye.

"Gotta say I like you a lot more than what I thought I was getting. Most members of the black bathrobe brigade I come across are missing a few chunks of their faces." He opened his palms and held them out to the side in mock surrender. Arms were having trouble actually moving given the restraints and all.

Emerald eyes met ones that were distinctly green. Not vibrant, just...there.

Sweet mother of fuck.

Suddenly his private time female voice was speaking of its own accord, and it had a significantly different tenor to its words all together. It took Carter a few seconds to realize he wasn't having an aneurysm but rather the woman was telepathically speaking to him.

"I'm Carter," he replied plainly. "Take it you're the Dark Lady?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

A fleeting temptation came and went when he passed comment upon the black bathrobe brigade for the woman to open her mouth and show him just exactly what chunk was missing from her face but it seemed slightly premature. After all, this was just foreplay. A touch too soon for tongue. Or lack thereof.

A flash of mirth came across Evelynn's face as the prisoner inquired if she was The Dark Lady which was followed by very throaty scoff. It was not a nickname she had given herself, with the woman firmly believing that self-appointed nicknames were the very height of overinflated ego.

You may call me Evelynn, she replied within his own head, a polite smile held in that quiet voice, I am not some brooding dominatrix, after all.

She imagined he would find that disappointing.

Her golden hand reached out for his face, gripping his chin rather gently as the pointed index finger of The Skeleton Key drew softly down the rough of his cheek. She was still considering him, trying to catch a gleam of exactly what type of person was bound here before her. There were a great many ways of finding out.

Conversation was the first method, and coincidentally enough, the most pleasant.

Well, Carter, Evelynn continued with that same pleasant smile affixed to her closed mouth, would you like to tell me how exactly you have come to be in my possession?

Naturally, the woman had been given a brief dossier regarding what information they had regarding the prisoner, but she would rather hear it from his own lips. If anything it would aid her in getting a better read of him.

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It was only a moderately terrifying situation.

Given the life he'd elected to live, Carter had come across a great many marvels in his travels. Jedi, Sith, and others like them had come and gone, but the few times Carter had been subject to telepathy they had been brief. More importantly they hadn't been looking right at him when doing it. The silent smile intermingled with the almost casual tone was just a bit disconcerting.

"Well that's nice. I'm usually the dominatrix anyway," came through an easy smile that was all together faked. He was trying to get as much of a read on the Sith woman as she was on him, and trying to keep her from tearing apart his mind in search of answers should that be her wish. Carter had elected to learn a number of techniques in his travels to deal with Force Users and their mental probes. He wasn't certain if it was wise to engage them just yet.

"There was this guy I was hunting for the Republic; he wasn't Sith, but he fled here thinking it'd work out for him. It didn't, but Imperial authorities weren't keen on honoring my freedoms that the contract with the Republic promised. Guess they figured I was a spy, or maybe working for the Republic is enough to get put in the gulags," he gave the best shrug he could manage given the restraints. "Dunno."

The little Sith woman reached out with what was either some kind of torture device, or a prosthetic hand. It was only when Carter was certain his flesh wasn't either being ripped or seared away that he chose to believe it was the latter. "Don't have to do that though. I'm a decent asset. Don't have ties to anybody, don't mind doing a bit of work to earn my freedom." He let the offer hang there, though his gaze never left the woman's metallic hand, evidently still wary that it might have had a lethal purpose.

Beatrice Govan

 

[Beatrice Govan]

A snort as sudden images of the man before her clad in heavy eyeliner, tight black leather and frightening stiletto heels flashed into Evelynn's mind. A suitably horrifying yet hilarious prospect that would likely be burned into the back of her mind for the rest of eternity.

I see.

A blunt answer was given in response to his story. Whether it was true or not was yet to be seen. It seemed exactly plausible enough, which is what made it so dangerous. A soft yet strange noise of consideration vibrated outwards from the woman's throat. The Emperor's Daughter had no wish to be made a fool out of, in fact, it was the very last thing she needed onto of her already lowly Sith status.

She would believe him for now, choosing to exist in hypotheticals rather than the truth. That could be extracted later for insurance.

Working for the Republic is somewhat frowned upon here, yes, she finally remarked, slowly removing her hand from his chin, her prosthetic fingers softly dragging down her face as she did so, your mark was clever to lead you here, but alas, not clever enough.

Arms became folded across her chest, and the woman tilted her head slightly before another soft smile crested upon her lips.

You offer your services, but ultimately you are only loyal to yourself, am I right?

That was the initial feeling she was getting from the man so far. Unrepentant do-gooders were delightfully simple in their lack of desire to cooperate. They would spit defiance and throw insults as if being strapped to the interrogation chair was an arena of challenge. They don't offer their services a few minutes into the conversation.

Well, unless they really were spies.

What if I were interested in what you offer? How could I guarantee that you would not betray me?

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