Private Alors On Danse

[Beatrice Govan]

Oh that face, she'd stared at that face (mostly in outraged disbelief) so many times that it was etched into her subconscious like marble bloody cheekbones.

I fucking knew it.

In a motion that was so smooth and tranquil that it was sinister, Evelynn leaned forward and picked up the carafe that held the remainder of the neglected JUB and drank, draining the last of the potent cocktail in one fell swoop. Intoxication was now an absolute requirement, and thankfully her slight frame offered a shortcut to such ventures.

At the very least, Aver Brand seemed to be the more forthcoming sibling. A refreshing change of pace.

Which cycle? The blonde pressed as she placed the jug back upon the table, her breath flammable and expression perturbed. She had a thousand unanswered questions and was left narrowing them down to the most pertinent ones in the passing seconds. As if that was easy to do; how had she gotten so invested in a man she barely knew anything about?

A stray bolt hit the shield only a few feet away, giving Evelynn cause to scoff in a withering fashion. Forget ethics, the gunfights would be the first thing to go.

He's never mentioned you, I presume you don't get along. Why?

 

[Aver Brand]

Fervent pursuit of immediate intoxication seemed like a reasonable response to this development. After all, how often were you sent to logistically coordinate for your mud-stick of a boss only to stumble across his hotter, colder sister?

Aver could only tip her tumbler at Evelynn and join her in the noble quest to drink the bar dry.

Going out on a limb here, and let loose the sarcasm, but I can’t see Emryc saying jack-shet even if I was his most favoritest sibling.

She snorted and raised a brow at their locale.

“Take a fucking guess.”

 

[Beatrice Govan]

A cycle of bad taste? Evelynn mocked with a returning hiss.

I'll have you know that I'm making progress, she mentally objected before wordlessly flagging down an attendant with some rather animated pointing at the empty carafe, but I lack patience; it's a virtue and reformation takes time.

Most favouritest sister? Did that imply more siblings? Was there an army of them out there? No, no, keep focus, there was little point in ruminating upon a shopfront of electric-eyed paragons of handsomeness. At least right at that moment in time.

Maybe later.

So what did you do to poor, little Coathanger? Evelynn asked in brazen assumption, it didn't take a genius to guess which sibling would be the more controversial figure.

 

[Aver Brand]

The mercenary happily ignored the first question in favor of the second, wry smile turning blithe as she licked the amber off her lips. Emryc Qosta was neither poor, nor little, nor a coat-hanger, and hadn’t been for quite some time now. But nether, she’d humor it.

Kark all. Me and poor, little Coathanger didn’t exactly… she waved her free hand in a futile bid for better words, grow up together. The baggage he’s dragging around? Packed all of it his own self.

The stereo announced the winner of the ranged duels – nobody cares, Jim – as Aver studied the other woman. Between the lazy sips of her whiskey, the corners of her eyes crinkled with a grin that wasn’t entirely insincere.

Why do you care, though? A faint line appeared between her brows, a brief expression flitting between frown and mockery.

No way.

Don’t tell me you’re riding his dick.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Why do I...

Evelynn's eyes grew wide and wild at the terrifying notion that accompanied Aver's words with malicious glee, golden hand delicately touched upon her own chest in the sheer horror of the implication. She hadn't spared much thought to such a wildly ridiculous and outrageous notion but perhaps it held weight.

No no no no no. Absolutely not. Unacceptable.

She didn't really care, did she?

...ah, chance would be a fine thing, the blonde slowly replied, having been swept off of her mental feet, alas, he doesn't seem terribly interested; it's all stoic repression and five word sentences with him.

Where was the JUB?

I mean, we're all damaged, Evelynn stated, leaning forward, tilting her chin down and offering Aver a knowing look, you know? Zambrano, gesturing to herself, rampant arsehole, gesturing to the mercenary, but we get on with it.

She felt herself, painfully awash in the alcohol-fuelled glow of oversharing and word vomit and continued going down on her own ship regardless.

So if it isn't your fault, then whose fault is it? Just what exactly is his bloody damage?!

She did care.

Fuck.

 

[Aver Brand]

The shadow-play of conflict playing out on the severe face of her unlikely companion was better entertainment than any bloodsport THCG and WHSK could ever hope to put on. Aver drank it all in, sweeter than wine, Whyren’s, or JUB (especially JUB), her smile growing with each droplet of self-realized horror that twisted those sharp features.

For my money, it’s the gigantic pole up his fucking ass. Her expression was placid as a lake on a still day, all innocuous peace and wonder. It fit that chiseled bone structure about as well as a second-hand suit, and the rampant arsehole delighted in the transparent lie.

Maybe you should offer instead? She tapped her lower lip with her tumbler, feigning thought as she swirled the amber around her mouth. You get some physical therapy, he gets some… human touch.

She grinned wide, sharp teeth glinting in the spastic stage lights that announced the entry of fresh meat into the ring.

Win-win.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Please, I wasn't born yesterday, one isn't born with a pole up their arse. It is nearly always inserted.

Evelynn tilted her head at her own phrasing, a sudden, extremely graphic imagine invading her sanctuary of chaotic seethe and self-loathing.

Mercifully, the JUB came and offered a way out from thinking about Emryc's hole. It wasn't a promising sign for the following morning when the woman took the carafe from the attendant and into both hands as if it were a precious newborn baby. The thing about JUB was that the more you had, the less you noticed the element of starship fuel.

You know...

She peered over the rim of her JUBjug at Aver with a narrowed eye of unrelenting judgement, eyebrows furrowing alongside for added scrutiny.

...even I find it considerably unhealthy that you are egging me on to sleep with your brother. Maybe you should take a moment to think about that.

An awkward sip from the foamy top was made even more awkward by the lack of tongue as the woman tilted her head back to let the liquid drain down her throat. She'd forgotten about the backdrop of violence, a sure sign of commitment to getting to the bottom of Emryc Qosta.

What about parents? Mummy issues? Is it his father? Force forbid, it's not an ex, is it? I don't need that sort of strife.

 

[Aver Brand]

This evening was turning out to be better than anything she could’ve expected. Instead of simple, regular, forgettable violent entertainment, Aver was getting a fucking treat for the ages. Front row seat to the struggles of a man who would pop a vein on his forehead if he knew this conversation was taking place.

And Force if that didn’t make it taste even better.

...even I find it considerably unhealthy that you are egging me on to sleep with your brother. Maybe you should take a moment to think about that.

Why? The amusement lingered in the curl of her mouth, but the question was serious enough. ‘Brother’ is just a word you use because genetics say so, but I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.

She shrugged, broad shoulders shifting under the tailored lines of her suit. When she pilfered another Black Label from an inner pocket, Aver Brand didn’t need to put any additional effort into resembling their topic of conversation – to anyone even passingly familiar with either, the familial mannerisms would be painfully obvious.

Different flavors of the same shit sandwich.

What about parents? Mummy issues? Is it his father? Force forbid, it's not an ex, is it? I don't need that sort of strife.

“E,” the mercenary exhaled along with a lungful of spidery smoke. “All of the above.”

Which, for at least one of those, she would maybe take a little credit. Had a finger in that pie, so to speak. Or, so-not-to-speak, a bullet. Aver winced and licked her teeth. She’d admit her short fuse may have gotten the better of her. Once or twice.

“So you aren’t fucking, got it. Then why do you care?”

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Helpful, she withered with an accompanying eye roll as the mercenary devolved into presumed genetic ambiguity. Clearly, this family had evolved to be this way; this is why they were so pleasing to look at because they were so utterly fucking torturous to talk to.

Then again, it checked out. Perhaps he was so emotionally stunted (and that was by her standards) because he never had a real non-frustrating conversation until he was an adult and by then it was too late. Like they were all trapped in a cryptic cycle that bred vague bastards with enigmatic pricks. Monsters, the lot of them.

Evelynn longed to scream but instead took solace in JUB.

You know why.

She sank a little deeper into her chair, clutching her carafe tighter to her chest as eye contact was very much avoided in a number that was considerably more petulant.

I'm not going to say it.

A huff, the air blowing out the blonde's nostrils creating turbulence upon the surface of the electric orange swill. What would it take to get something tangible out of the handsome brute? Maybe there was no way, maybe they were all just like this? Defective by default.

I can appreciate that you're having fun at my expense, but what will it take to get a solid morsel of useful information out of you?

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver looked at her evenly, visible amusement tempered into something more… subtle. If there was such a thing in this family. Once, decades ago, she’d been told she had the subtlety of a brick.

Now that brought back memories.

Sighing, the mercenary leaned forward and deposited her empty tumbler with a faint clink.

Say it, and I’ll tell you.

Was she actually feeling… protective?

No, that wasn’t the right word. It couldn’t be. ‘Protective’ was in her vocabulary purely by whimsical luck of environmental osmosis, and not because the woman had ever felt the emotion in her half a century of Mike-Hunthood.

But she wasn’t possessive of her toys, broken or otherwise. She’d assured her father as much before throwing his wretched body through the window of his luxury penthouse. She’d pondered on that statement all the long while it took for the rusted jaws of Nadir to swallow his body in smog, and she’d been only somewhat surprised to find that it rang true.

So what was it?

Make like I’m a goldfish. Three questions, no bullshet.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Evelynn shut her eyes and pretended she was literally anywhere else. Dantooine. Panatha. Chaos. The Cauldro- no, not there.

Fine.

In reality, it wasn't a terrible situation to be in, especially given lives lead. So much undue adversity, one misfortune after another snowballing ever quicker into torment, madness and death. In retrospect that life seemed simple and easy; manic and unthinking. Hands off, careening recklessly into the abyss. Pandemonium. Lunacy was easy, there was no control, no need to do or think.

Or care.

This, however, was a conscious effort to be vulnerable and right in front of a fucking shark no less.

Emryc Qosta is, she began, mental words like molasses with her eyes still shut for the sake of her own dignity, a confusing, frustrating, constipated, bewildering disaster of a man, okay, mostly insults so far, not great, yet in spite of all this, her teeth met, gritting together as she telepathically debased herself with an acknowledgement of her own humanity, I... am rather fond of him and as such, it was like hearing a hostage with a slug-thrower pressed into their back give a speech, would like to help him with his ridiculous emotional baggage.

It wasn't particularly smooth, or pleasant but it was said, it was tangible and in an appropriate reaction, she necked a few more measures of JUB.

Get on with it.

She opened her eyes, cheeks blistering from two parts mortification and one part alcohol and decidedly placed her stare at Aver's forehead so she could avoid visually acknowledging what had just occurred.

First question, you had to word things carefully with these people, they were surprisingly pedantic, who, aside from himself, do you think has personally caused Emryc the most suffering?

 

[Aver Brand]

Though there was certainly plenty of opportunity, Aver didn’t seize it for once. Instead of unleashing a slew of sharpened barbs or even just smiling in that knife-under-the-ribs way she had about her, the mercenary sat back in her chair and listened.

Even five years ago, this would’ve been unheard of. This exchange, this favor, this whole scene never would’ve taken place. But now they were here, and Aver even had the good grace to turn her piercing gaze on the arena. The visceral violence below seemed less painful than the simple admission of something so human as a fondness for another.

Well. Aver certainly didn’t have to struggle to understand that sentiment. The strained frustration on Evelynn’s face when she looked back up told her everything she had missed by taking in the carnival of carnage.

Thank you, she said, because she could – and because the mere consideration of the gesture no longer made her physically uncomfortable.

And that’s easy. Pa Qosta. His— boss? Abuser? Father figure? A local crime lord. Emryc worked for him, but… Aver spread her arms and shrugged her brows, Pa is dead.

A beat, a glance back at the bloody mass of limbs she had a couple thousand riding on. She sighed and met those focused green eyes with a twisted little smile.

Emryc killed him. Slit his throat, I think. Or did he shoot him? Her brow furrowed. Well, point is, guy’s dead as a doornail.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Shoulders relaxed when her vulnerability wasn't immediately annihilated by pinpoint vicious mockery. A more pleasant surprise and one that Evelynn would happily accept rather than over-analyse. You don't look a gift shark in the mouth.

Hopefully, her next bout of earnest sincerity was approximately one more lifetime away.

In what could have only been in typical Emryc fashion, it turned out the man didn't even have to be present to rain upon her parade. The backdrop of brutality was blunted, her evening's plans of steeping herself in old familiar stains now reduced to little more than a damp squib.

Instead, there were answers and a name.

Pa Qosta.

Solid. Tangible. Criminal. Dead.

Wonderful, Evelynn commented, eyes finally moving from the mercenary's forehead and connecting with that carnivorous smile.

She allowed herself another measure of JUB, but then swiftly realised that necking alien cocktails at a rate of knots was not conducive to a healthy evening of spectator sports. The now half-empty carafe was finally relinquished and placed on the table as to prevent a scene later on. The circumstance was already so strange but that wasn't an excuse to invite more madness in alongside.

Okay, second question, she continued, opting for a broader range of information rather than focusing on a single element, at current, how is your own personal relationship with Emryc?

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver sank back into her seat with a sigh, looking out to the familiar thrum of violence again. Her face didn’t change, but her body language lost another five degrees of warmth. Like it had any to lose in the first place.

It… isn’t, she said at length, then held up a finger to stay the blonde’s frustration at the brief answer. Short fuses! Short fuses everywhere!

He doesn’t like me very much. In fact, I’d bet good money he daydreams about taking one of his precious antiques and putting two in the back of my head. Or between the eyes, maybe. He’d want to watch, I think. Aver graced Evelynn with a mild smile at the thought. Just tell him about this… she gestured to their little situation, chance meeting and see what happens.

Well, nothing, probably, because Emryc Qosta had the emotive range of a bowl of soup, and coming from ex-Vrag, that was saying something.

As for me, Aver pinched her lips around the cigarra and leaned forward to top off her glass. I don’t think about him at all.

Technically a lie, but there was a single person in the whole wide galaxy who could call her out on that, and she wasn’t here. So.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

I mean, she was hardly surprised that there was a sense of animosity there (at least from him). She briefly wondered how a conversation would even function between the pair, or if they'd just sit in silence like irritating granite-faced titans. Such a peculiar yet fascinating family, and that was coming from her, she who was brought forth from a detestable dynasty and house of forgotten anomalies.

Evelynn leaned forward with back arched and elbows resting on knees as curious eyebrows cast thinly-veiled judgement.

Why?

It was the immediate thought that caused the blonde to hold her mental tongue lest she wasted the precious final question. She would, after all, be unabashedly informing him of this meeting.

Evelynn squinted. The more she considered it the less coherent her train of thought was. On one hand, Emryc was an illogical condradiction yes, but...well, actually in retrospect the man was incredibly pro-murder, socialised solely by lunatics who held no stock in the existence of others. Too quick to murder when slighted? Perhaps Aver Brand was the innocent pa-

-hahahahaHAHAHAHA!

With elbows still upon knees Evelynn buried her face into her hands, flushed face creasing in mirthful crisis.

Third.

What was a good third question? What covered better bases? Repeating cycles? Mother dearest? Point Nadir? The possibility of more stone-jawed siblings skulking around like perfectly shaggable gargoyles?

Bloody JUB.

I hereby grant you a moment to think about him, she continued with her face still buried, fingers splayed across forehead, would you, truly, like for things between you to be...

...less murdery?

...amicable?

It seemed like a waste of a question. I don't care. That's the answer she expected but wasn't the big joke that lurked in this family's veins like irritating crimson that they didn't do the expected?

 

[Aver Brand]

Wow, a whole-ass moment? You’re too gracious. No, really. Aver could communicate with her eyebrows alone what Emryc couldn’t with his entire face.

Her mouth, however, was perfectly content to find lewd purchase on the lip of her refreshed glass. She drank greedily and deep, as was only proper for this night of absolute, unabashed indulgence. In violence, in excess, and, apparently, in honesty.

Cosmic curveballs and all that.

In an easy prediction, I don’t care was the knee-jerk response, even if her legs stayed perfectly crossed. The thought lingered in the haze of smoke and Whyren’s as Aver considered it apart from herself. With a coy mental wave, she dismissed the words, feeling them dissipate like fat on her tongue.

If he can get over his itchy trigger finger, I don’t see why not. She smiled at the blonde, the expression distorted by the odd angles of the tumbler. But he won’t. Not this fast, anyway.

Leaning forward, Aver ashed her cigarra above the tray inset into the table. The cherry traced a small infinity through the air as she passed the habit from one hand to another.

“I know, I know. Just the thought of being deprived of my amazing company is causing you physical pain.” She gave one bony shoulder a consoling pat, careful for once not to knock the smaller woman to the ground. If he’s anything like me at that age, though, I wouldn’t hold my breath.

But— with a lazy shrug, Aver retreated back into the plush depths of her seat and sparked back up again, he might just surprise you.

Surprise her, too. Who knew at this point? Aver had certainly done things in her life that she never would have expected of herself. And, (un)fortunately, she was now… aware enough to realize that Emryc probably had the same capacity.

As did Evelynn, the alchemized cripple. And the obnoxious announcer Jim, and the last nine fighters still alive in the pit.

Wasn’t empathy just wonderful?

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Well, this scenario was turning out to be a venture in reformed honesty.

In truth, Evelynn wasn't entirely sure if she was satisfied with the way that the evening had panned out so far. At first, she was going to be getting paid for callous, resentful sex and then suddenly they were here, with truth and sentiment.

The meaty pat on the shoulder more than confirmed the evening as celibate and resigned her to a fate of actually liking another sentient being. She sighed, lifting her head out of her hands to reveal a slight JUB-inflicted glaze across the eyes.

Was this Beatrice Govan?

No no, your company is more than tolerable, she replied, having apparently yet to master the concept of giving a decent compliment, which likely explained why she wasn't exactly winning the top prize at the friendship auction either, and I do appreciate your honesty because you seem...

Evelynn looked up and offered an awkward grimace that was three steps removed from potentially apologetic.

...terribly dishonest.

It was entirely possible that Aver Brand, mercenary and handsome prick was lying. This could have been a long con thought up by a sharp mind; means to murder a vindictive sibling and claim the unending pretentiousness of W H S K S T T N, all under the guise of a small desire to patch things up. Did this woman seem the sort to do that? Evelynn remained silent for a few moments, staring, appraising and deciding.

She went back for the JUB. JUB was simple. A burning tropical dream. The warmth bringer.

The only thing he does is surprise me, she conceded, Emryc's reactions to regular conversation being a coin-flip of aggravating or perplexing. How did it taste in-fucking-deed, he doesn't even know who I really am. It's like he doesn't care to know, and when I eventually tell him, I don't even think it'll phase him one bit!

The blonde shook the jug to emphasise her frustration.

He's completely mad, right?

 

[Aver Brand]

Terribly dishonest.

She’d been called worse things by worse people, all told. They slid like water off a duck. Aver Brand would not have gotten very far in life – would never even have become Aver Brand, in fact, if she paid much mind to the opinions of others. The number of people whose judgments she paid any heed was… one? And a half?

Did her mother count? Why the fuck would her mother count?

She exhaled cigarra smoke and a groan, willing that figurative headache away. As with JUB, so with Whyren’s; both women partook of the numbing poison as if their lives depended on it. Or at the very least their sanity.

Do you want him to be phased? She raised a brow at the blonde. To forgive may be human, Evelynn, but not giving a shit is divine.

And I expect that what Emryc wants most in the world right now… she smiled, private and knowing, is to feel like a god of his own realm.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

...and what is a queen to a god.

She audibly groaned but through a disused voice, it was more like a hoarse croak as she leaned backwards, tilted her head upwards and stared a hole in the lofty heights of the arena roof.

In truth, Evelynn did want him to be phased, wanted some form of acknowledgement that she wasn't just some honour-bound pity project on the side that helped lighten the weight of his transgressions. She wasn't a fucking antique blaster only existing to be fixed.

But what's a Whisk to a Cauldron?

Fine, she wasn't The Silent Sister any longer. No longer a Queen, nor a sorceress nor a wild-eyed masochistic hedonistic lunatic. But it had still happened. It didn't cease to be because Emryc Qosta decided upon a different narrative.

What's Pa Qosta to carving your name into the flesh of the fucking Mandalore?

Yet in speaking she felt like an ingrate, head titled back down, frustration knotting through her core. Guilty for seeking an ounce of acknowledgement that she was more than just a side character in his long-form tragedy. She was moving on, in fact, she thought she already had. Evelynn Dorn is dead, long live Beatrice Govan. As the carafe once again reached her lips, she supposed that change didn't happen all at once.

Am I supposed to just concede all of that?

 

[Aver Brand]

She’d thought her brows were already as raised as can be, but with that monolog, there was nowhere to go but up.

Aver knew of Evelynn Dorn-slash-Zambrano, but she didn’t know her. Not beyond the few quick and dirty notes delivered to her comm by the band of infochants she had on retainer for just such occasions. No matter how many credits you threw at a problem, there wasn’t enough skill or computing power – or, indeed, intact records – in the galaxy to recover the sort of information the woman was spilling now.

Carving up a Mandalore? Fucking hell. Aver did an appreciative little bounce with her brows and tipped her glass at the woman. Cane and self-loathing notwithstanding, anyone who pulled that off was worthy of her respect.

Am I supposed to just concede all of that?

No.

The mercenary let the word linger for a long time. Marinate, really, in the air steeped with smoke and blood and alcohol. She considered the blonde with an even gaze before calmly retrieving the carafe of JUB. Enough was enough.

What the fuck do you need his approval for? Or anyone’s? There ain’t no fucking idenitity police. Aver snorted. The only authority on you… is you.

“According to me, anyway, and I’m terribly dishonest.” A lopsided grin curled her mouth around the cigarra as she puffed a plume of smoke at the ceiling. If you want him to know, tell him. If you don’t, don’t. But waiting around for the perfect moment ain’t never solved a problem in my experience.

Broad shoulders shrugged once more. The confiscated carafe of jet fuel teetered precariously in her lap.

So who are you, really?