Private Among the Spoils

[Tara Swail]

AMONG THE SPOILS
A Story of Tara's Trial
​

TARA SWAIL
Ashline Terminal

The slaver's vessel limped into Ashline Terminal like some broken creature, one engine spitting smoke across the dark. Its transponder pleaded surrender, though the docking clamps locked on without hesitation.

Tara waited at the head of the boarding ramp, her coat draped across her shoulders, the brim of her hat veiling her eyes in shadow.

Behind her, the story told itself well enough: a captain half-dragged, half-shoved forward in durasteel cuffs; a beaten crew corralled in chains; crates marked with Hutt sigils stacked in the bay. The air was thick with the stink of scorched metal and old blood.

For a moment she said nothing, allowing the silence to stretch, letting the whispers ripple outward as the scene settled into watching eyes.

When she finally spoke, her voice carried with it a dry humour that cut without effort.

"Brought back a little something. Thought the station might look all the better for it."

The captain was shoved to the deck at her feet. Tara nudged him idly with her boot, her gaze lifting to find whichever Graspborn had come to weigh her worth.

"Ship's yours. Cargo too. Him? He'd fit right in with those rats on Bracca."

Her eyes lingered a moment longer, red light glinting beneath the shadow of her brim- neither deferent nor boastful, only sharpened by the quiet certainty of one who had survived where others had not. With an easy shrug, she opened her hands as if in invitation, daring judgment.

"Now then, do I pass your little test? Or shall I find a captain who knows what to do with results?"

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Tara Swail

There was a Graspborn, yes, but he stepped to the side right when a giant pushed through the shadowy alcove and into the light.

"Mm, was the test beneath you, little blade?" Mercy purred softly, eyes flashing amber, drinking in the sight of the offerings. It was one of the reasons that the Sith allowed these silly games to continue. The Graspborn they called themselves, it was cute in a way. And she made good use of them every once in a while.

But no, it was the offerings that made her acceptive of their efforts. It was always nice to get a present. "Do you view yourself as better than those around you?"

Circling slowly around like a hungry predator. Taking in the sight of the Corsair from every angle, the way her shoulders cut, the kneeling slaver in front of her. "Perhaps you are..." Her eldritch hand reached out, tendrils unfolding, slowly stroking along her shoulder. Metallic, hot, flesh. "But you have to show me more than this."

Stepping in close behind her and the next part she murmured in Tara's ear.

"Open his throat for me. Give him a bloody smile."