A Rattataki Life-Day Eve

[Darth Ophidia]

The cold winds of Rattatak swept the spaceport like a phantom host of past lives, clawing, clinging, clamouring for remembrance in the cold and hallowed night. The clock had just ticked past midnight local time, and the port lay mostly silent; muted were the sounds of celebration and of despair alike, as though the winter night sought out and strangled any disturbance.

A ship docked, and a grumpy old maintenance worker hobbled out to meet the guests and see their credentials. A tall droid in a nice pair of boots came out to meet him. It handed him a code and manifest, and while it checked out, it was at least twenty years old. Yet, the freighter had logged arrival on Rattatak at midnight every life-day eve for the last fifteen years. Visiting family, he assumed, and approved the docking. Visitors to Rattatak was a rare thing. Most often they were First Order bureaucrats or the stuffy whatevercathix that thought they owned the place. He spat mentally. Never had Majesty been important to him, but this night he saw something he had never seen before.

From the bowels of the ship stepped a woman of chalk skin and pale eyes. Her form was tall, lithe, and draped in robes of such dark complexion he swore they were woven from the void itself. Her features were sharp like glass, hard like durasteel, and as angular as an Imperial vessel. Rago Votz felt himself compelled to take off his hat and bow before her:

A Rattataki Lord of the Sith.

She strode past, the droid remained, and all of a sudden the maintenance worker thought himself foolish. He could not remember why he had bowed or removed his hat. It was all very silly, really. After all, he never cared for majesty.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

She stopped outside a building, the empty windows crested with ash and the walls dotted with blast points. The cleft tip of her tongue curled as she remembered the razor and the lash.

'You speak with two tongues. Let them see the lies in your mouth'

A lie, lies, liar - Seh, seah, saiah.​

​

Old pains, she left them behind and let her feet carry her down the street. She heard in her right, quiet sobbing from the side-street. A form sat huddled, holding tight to its meagre breast something cold and very near dead. She saw the skeletal hands of fate wrap around them, and Darth Ophidia moved on, her fingers turning the circular disk between her fingers.

Down the street was the loudest building in town where local and legend alike got their jollies and drowned their sorrows. It emanated spice and booze, pushed by music, moans, and forced smiles. The little and fatherless looked on from around corners, with quick fingers finding unwatched credits. They were useful, could fit in places a grown person could not, great for thieving. Not so great a life. Die young or live long enough to be the distraction.

She moved past and slipped into one of the back alleys. Normally, this was where the little hands cut throats for the first time, but she went untouched as the shadow-children tucked themselves away in their hidey holes. Ophidia stopped in from of the door at the end, a gloved hand coming to rest on the panel outside. She turned her head and looked inside as though through a window. Bare legs and laughter, spacers taking a night off, mercenaries before the next big haul. Underneath; bones, so many bones. There was nothing there for her.

Darth Ophidia moved on.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

As Ophidia crested over the hill, she saw the great fighting pit. It lay quiet now, preparing for the Life-Day celebrations. Fight for your life, earn your coin by spilling blood on the sand. Spend it however you want, or hoard it for the future. She turned the disk between her fingers and slipped it into her palm before clenching her fist around it.

She remembered vividly the memory of knives flashing, hands grappling, two children fighting for their lives before a crowd that laughed and jeered at her struggle. The coin she still carried.

Her lips curled, first in a sneer, then a smile. That was the day she had set herself on a better path: Herself before all others. It was the first time killed. It was not the first time she had hurt someone and perhaps caused their death, but the first time she had looked into someone's eyes as they faded away.

There was nothing like the first time.
Ophidia looked left. It was a familiar place, a bar where she was shown kindness, and where she signed up for a ship off-world with a mercenary company.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The interior was covered in dust and old spillage. Behind the bar stood a woman, polishing a glass so worn it looked cloudy rather than clear. A droid wizzed about, collecting glasses and righting chairs. The only remaining patron was sleeping on the floor, and it appeared a brawl had taken place.

"We're closed." The barkeep said

But Ophidia would not be turned away. "One drink for a weary spacer. I can pay." She produced the credits with a turn of her fingers and looked into the barkeep's pale eyes.

The barkeep eyed her, took the credits, inspected them and finally poured the drink.

Darth Ophidia turned the cup between her fingers and brought it to her nose. It smelled foul. Her eyes turned up to the timepiece: Life-Day was here.

Happy birthday, Maica Pec.

She swallowed it down.