Private Brews and Bruises

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano
​

The red-haired woman’s shrug was about as casual as it was sharp, definitely not something many could pull off. Then he witnessed the tendrils, like a predator’s tongue, and he felt the air begin shifting too. A soldier’s discipline cracking under the theft of his hard earned fuel! A tragedy he knew all too well. Perhaps that was the reason, the blonde’s pulse began to quicken. But outwardly, he was stillness incarnate, or so he hoped, with a tilted chin meant to suggest amusement.

He felt the weight of her words too, being more than just another jab. Surely, they were a test, somehow meant to strip him of his charm. The audacity to even believe such was possible stunned him.

So, Lysander leaned in, elbows on the table, fingers steepled. They were not withdrawn, nor were they cowed. A faint, ironic, smile graced the curve of his mouth before he drawled the following syllables. “To think these humble instruments of persuasion could ever tempt a titan like you. I assure you, they’re far better at counting credits than caressing.. egos.”

But as soon as word gave assent, the foundation of this little venture was already cracking under.. appetite. Before the idea of it could even breathe, it was being tested.

He'd spent enough time around the Zabrak to know his discipline was a fortress, but even fortresses crumbled when sustenance was mocked. A coil of muscle drew back to strike, and Lysander's chest tightened. More than just angry, it was righteous, that hand denied the sacrament of his labor.. calories!

It made the air too heavy.

..smoke before a fire.

If the blonde were to guess, Mercy probably liked a man with anger issues too..

Truly, a scary thought.

His attention flicked to his sister. Fatine, it seemed, was far more captivated by the umbrella than anything else in the establishment now.

A hand fell on Naamino's shoulder, the gesture light but every bit brotherly, to let him know there was a witness who understood this situation intimately. "He’s rather precious about his protein, you see. Discipline makes men territorial, and I assure you he's earned every bite.”

An oblivious cantina droid, moved past, wobbling with broken wheel. The tread caught the edge of his boot, and crushed it with the grace of a drunk bantha. A sharp jolt lanced through him, and the curse that followed was venomous.

“Feethhh!”

Without thinking, his other leg snapped back and delivered a kick. The tray it was holding went spinning and launched into a nearby table with the crash of glass and durasteel.

Drinks flew..

Chairs began scraping..

Someone shouted..

Then, he watched as a half dozen hands began reaching for their holsters.

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Mercy Lysander von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano

The scene was reaching its crescendo, and Fatine was loving it.

The Big Woman's procurement of a nuna wing had set the gentlemanly Zabrak off. Lysander, ever the wielder of Ascania charisma, seemed to be close to defusing the tension by…talking about what his fingers could do? Gross. Fatine sipped her drink with a slight sneer, the sweet burn
coaxing a soft hum of approval from the back of her throat.

It all seemed to be going well until a wayward droid crushed the toe of his boot.

Again, Ascania charisma.

Lysander howled, and his painful flail sent a tray of drinks crashing over a nearby table. For a moment, there was only the sound of shattering glass and splashed brew, punctuated by a sharp crack of thunder as the durasteel tray landed among the ruins.

Suddenly, they were on the precipice of a real bar brawl!

Fatine's grin stagnated when she caught sight of an unsettlingly familiar figure: the Iktochi film agent who tried to bed her in exchange for a part in his latest production. He was sitting at a table far from the bar, closer to the door. When had he gotten here? She hadn't seen him walk in.

"Hey, creep!" She shouted, shrill as her loud appearance dictated. "This is for trying to feel me up at the audition!"

The Moogan Tea was reeled back, and hurled in his direction. It never reached its intended target, instead striking a the back of a rather mean looking Trandoshan's head.

"Oh. I missed."

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania Fatine von Ascania

Naamino might not have seen the danger, but Lysander certainly did.

Because as the atmosphere grew increasingly clouded with the young Zabrak's fury, amber was bleeding into Mercy's eyes. She licked her lips at the display of fury that was slowly building under his hardy hide. Mercy anticipated it, she practically gorged herself on his wroth and would have loved to sink her teeth into his flesh to swallow it and make it her own.

But then Lysander yanked him back just enough to prevent Naamino from smashing her elbow. Instead it was just a light pat. But that connection of body to body was enough to send a lightning bolt through Naamino's body.

Mercy's connection to the Force was coiled tight under her skin. If you were sitting right next to her, you might not even realize she was a Sith Lord. But it was the touch that revealed it. Just a brief brush of connection would erupt her presence in the room like a bonfire. A reminder to the youngster that he had never fought Mercy for keeps.

Even in the arena Mercy had practiced measured impact. No Force usage, at all, just her fists. After all, it hadn't seemed fair when the anklet had prevented him from touching the Force.

"Tut, tut, Ascania, you are interrupting all fu-" Then a droid rolled over his feet, the young blonde kicked the droid, the droid smashed into a table and caused a cascade of chaos that froze into blasters drawn and knives out.

"Well, now, hold on, there!" The bartender tried to exclaim with authority, but all he could manage was a pipsqueak. The Trandoshan that Fatine had accidentally threw the tea had wasn't just unhappy, he was already storming at the younger lady. Hell-bent on crushing her and the rest of the room seemed happy enough to watch and see what the small crew would do.

He didn't get far.

Mercy's image blurred and suddenly her hand was wrapped around his tree-shaped throat. She lifted him up as if he weighed a feather... and with an irreverent swing, she threw him straight into the Iktochi.

Chaos erupted immediately as everyone else took that as permission to start settling scores.

The barkeep began to crawl away.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Eyes widening at the zing of power that surged from Mercy in the briefest moment of contact, Naamino didn't have time to rethink his heated decision. Luckily Lysander was there to do that for him, but soon the rest became a blur of commotion.

Unconcerned for himself, secretly armored beneath his robes and more than capable at hand to hand combat— the zabrak's more responsible and thoughtful nature came back online as fists started flying and blasters were unholstered. Without a second thought Naami whirled to gently but firmly scoop Fatine von Ascania up under the ribs to set her on her bar, that she might easily hide herself behind it.

Wings and rising temper all but forgotten, the Sith warrior turned to quickly assess the chaos just in time to spot a near human taking aim at Lysander von Ascania

"No you fething don't," Naami barked as his left hand shot up to Force crush the blaster in his hand.

Its power pack exploded from the sudden damage, ensuring that his friend's wanna be assailant would need to learn to shoot with his offhand. The zabrak felt his bloodlust rising even as the bar devolved further into mayhem. It showed in the hard gleam of his eye and the stern way his mouth set into a wry grimace.

"Who else wants to try me?!"

Naami roared, banging his chest with a closed fist before squaring up at Lysander's side.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano
​

Lysander’s head snapped toward Fatine’s voice before he registered the flying drink. His brows furrowed, scanning the crowd he one who had tried to.. grope his sister? He continued through the scattered chairs, and remnants of an entire table that was already collateral to the madness.

Then he caught the hulking figure moving forward. Claws, the tilt of a snout, muscle rippling under scales.

A Trandoshan.

Before he could fully step forward, Mercy’s presence blurred right into motion. The massive lizard barely registered the contact before being lifted off the ground as if he weighed nothing more than a ragdoll.

His lips quirked in an amused smirk. Of course. The muscular redhead never wasted time. He imagined she handled all of her men in similar fashion.

The Zabrak was radiating enough fury to melt durasteel.

He let out a rather long, soft, theatrical sigh, tilting his head slightly as though the entire galaxy itself had inconvenienced him personally. Glancing down at his fingers, he inspected them with the air of a connoisseur.. because, of course, one had to maintain appearances.. even amid a brawl apocalypse.

“Well,” he drawled, tilting his head just so, letting the infamous blonde hair catch the dim lighting at the perfect angle, “I suppose some people call this a fight.. but I prefer highly interactive networking.”

In the blink of an eye, Lysander felt the ripple of the Force and a sting of instinct, as a bottle rocketed straight toward his head. With the fluidity of a seasoned boxer, Lysander slipped it as one would a punch, leaning just enough, shifting his weight, and letting that momentum hurl past him. The glass slammed into the wall behind, shattering across the cantina floor.

That mask of amusement dropped for a moment, replaced now with the energy of someone completely ready to engage.

“Ok, motherfethers,” he muttered.

Wasting no more time, he launched himself into the fray. The cantina just went from a brawl to a battlefield.

And Lysander was smiling as he dove headfirst into it!

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

The Trandoshan's shadow only had a moment to loom across Fatine before Mercy made terrifyingly short work of him. Impossibly fast, she surged upon the lizard-man, tossing him aside like he weighed nothing.

Fatine was starstruck. What strength!

"Oh!" She gasped as the zabrak hoisted her into his arms and atop the counter. Naami might've thought that the girl would dip behind the bar for cover, but she remained perched on the surface, intent on watching the brawl. In fact, the basket of nuna wings had somehow remained in her possession during the scuffle - and she reached for a patron's discarded drink, giving the ale a curious sip.

"Blech!"

Inadvertently, she'd spat the sour drink out atop the poor barkeep's head as he crawled away.

"Go Lysander!" She cheered in between mouthfuls of crispy fried nuna. The heavy glass stein was tossed behind her, haphazardly striking an approaching ne'er-do-well in the face and knocking him out cold.

The Iktochi had somehow managed to avoid being bowled over by the airborne Trandoshan, which meant that the poor reptile careened into a table of Jawas before crashing into the cantina wall.

"Tch!" grunted the skeevy film producer as Jawas scattered around him and disseminated among the chaos to pick pockets. From beneath the folds of his outfit, he produced a blaster and began firing pot shots at the teenage boys who seemed to have an inordinate amount of strength.

Mercy Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania

 

[Mercy]

Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania Fatine von Ascania

The Iktochi got a few good blaster shots in, including one straight in Mercy's chest, which should have send a smoking hole through her body and made her collapse to the ground.

Instead it only seemed to amuse her.

"Wrong move, pal." Mercy grabbed the greasy movie maker, by the blaster and the hand wrapped around the weapon... and then squeezed. Hard enough to break both the hand as well as crunch the blaster in said hand. Until the metal and bone were melded together and the alien was screaming in pain.

Then she grabbed him by the back of his neck and like a sack of potatoes carried him towards Fatine.

Mercy cleaved through the crowd, who mid-attack, suddenly realized who they were trying to attack... and awkwardly melted back away into the crowd to find a better target for their drunken rampage. Someone whose head didn't seem precariously close to brushing the ceiling of the room depending on who else filtered in and out of the establishment, and whose arm's weren't as wide as some adult men's bodies.

"You said something about this piece of filth." Mercy declared as she looked down at Fatine sitting on the bar. "Wanna kill him? It's satisfying, I promise."

The alien seemed to redouble his struggle to get out of Mercy's grip, which earned him a swift slap around his face.

"Quiet, the young lady is considering her options."

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

One fool, who clearly hadn’t put two and two together as to why his friend’s blaster exploded, charged at Naami slurring something in a language the zabrak didn’t speak. It didn’t matter, they both knew the language of violence well enough. Without a moment of hesitation, Naami swung hard on the guy and dropped him in one. The man’s guard had been as sloppy as his liquor habits it seemed.

More people scattered, with plenty of them getting out while the gettin’ was good. Naami threw a few more punches and proceeded to break a table by throwing someone atop it. His initial anger seemed to have simmered down into something more sporting— a fight was often a good way to blow off steam after all.

With much of the cantina now in disarray and as available opposition began to wane, the Sith soldier turned to regard Mercy as she offered Fatine von Ascania her due. It was clear Naami had no intention of intervening, in fact he seemed to approve, and he’d not bat an eye at whatever outcome the young woman deemed appropriate. Sparing a glance for Lysander von Ascania to try reading if he had thoughts on the matter, movement caught his eye.

The hulking young man suddenly huffed out a breath and pointed at someone moving toward the exit. He practically growled out the command.

“Oi! Leave your apron behind if you’re abandoning yer post.”

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mercy Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano ​

The cantina's riot had devolved into a storm of noise, heat, and.. bodies. Lysander navigated through the sea of drunken revelers and their debaucherous energy, searching for a target. A chorus of chitters cracked through the air as the Jawas scattered from the Trandoshan’s crash landing.

Little brown cloaks streaked across the floor, grabbing their fallen credits, boots, vibroknifes.. anything not nailed down.

Problem was.. one of them wasn’t running away.

It was charging at him. Robes were flapping like an angry dust mop with tiny legs. Glowing yellow eyes were blinking erratically.

Lysander was not taking chances with small, fast things holding stolen blasters.

Instinctively, pumped his shoulder and snapped his hand forward with a sharp feint, a promise of violence.

The Jawa shrieked “UTINI!”

That was all the opening he needed. The blonde shifted his weight, coiling for the strike. His leg swung out straight, no hesitation, no mercy.. like he was wielding a durasteel pipe instead of bone.

The Jawa lifted off the floor, ragdolling through the air before collapsing in a heap several feet away.

Another shadow appeared. A Talz, all fur and four eyes, staring down at him like he’d committed an offense against the galaxy’s natural order.

Four eyes.. far too many judging him at once.

Lysander stepped in and drove a punch directly down the creature’s centerline.. between the pairs of eyes, exactly where instinct told him the skull was thickest. Knuckles connected and the creature reeled.

Then he heard a familiar voice carve through everything.

"Wanna kill him? It's satisfying, I promise."

It wasn’t for effect, theatrics, or even a threat.. it was an invitation.

And now the night hovered on a more dangerous line, one step away, from becoming something far darker.

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Tables were breaking, hands were being thrown, and blaster bolts were flying – none of which seemed to strike Fatine from her observation deck, miraculously.

Lysander was...squaring up with a Jawa? What the hell? An impossibly wide grin stretched across Fatine's face as she fumbled for her datapad. The corners of her lips ached before splitting into a howl at the sight of her brother punting a Jawa into outer orbit. And she had it all on camera! The frame shook as she slapped the bartop, overtaken by peals of laughter.

Then, the Big Woman stalked towards her, the gross Ithorian clasped in her enormous grip.

"Kill him?" She balked, too surprised to even wince as Mercy slapped the squirming captive. "Umm…"

The girl's eyes rolled upward in thought, her mind suddenly racing a mile a minute. Then, her gaze abruptly dart around, finally landing on Lysander in an unconscious act to gage his reaction.

A flash of white rippled across her vision as the departing fry cook threw his apron back at the hungry Zabrak. Fatine blinked. Then, she scrambled to stand atop the bar, heels scraping almost clumsily atop the lacquered surface as she stood.

Painted lips pursed as she looked the dangling Iktochi square in the eye, reeled back her foot, and kicked him in the cajones as hard as she could.

“There,” she huffed as the alien scuzzball wailed in pain. “Now he won’t be able to harass any other women for a while! Unless…”

Her eyes drifted to Mercy, curious, “…I didn’t hit him hard enough?”

Mercy Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania

 

[Mercy]

Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania

Mercy saw it in Fatine's eyes.

The girl wasn't the type to commit murder in cold blood... or perhaps not even in hot blood. It was not for everyone. This was a fact that Mercy knew, but it still disappointed her when seeing it in action.

She was prepared to do the deed herself but then Fatine... kicked him in the- oof.

Even Mercy winced a little at that impact. The wind went out of the scuzzball's lungs and then he started screaming in pain. The wince wasn't long for the world as Mercy laughed softly but then shrugged.

"I dunno, darling, up to you." She shook the scum in the air. "You can kick him as hard as you'd like, but that won't solve the issue." The big mountain made it seem so easy. Holding him up in the air as if he wasn't a grown man, but instead some kind of thing. A toy that could be broken easily if Mercy decided to.

Maybe that is why she spoke so casually of these matters. Living things were so fragile in her hands.

"Next week he is gonna go right back towards victimizing women like you. Or you can solve it right now, here, permanently."

The scumball was not entirely unaware of what was being discussed next to him, even as he dangled, and he started to beg now. Promising that he would never dare to do anything like that ever again.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

The cantina was still smattered with groups here and there, some gathering their wits after such an abrupt brawl and others picking their wounded up or relieving them of their credit purses. But everyone gave the most dangerous people in the room a large buffer of space.

Fatine von Ascania had watched first hand what even a fraction of their combined power could achieve in a room full of predominantly civilians. They were in a place for underworld types, rough and tumble marauders, cheats, thugs, and thieves. The caliber of Mercy , Lysander von Ascania , and Naamino just so clearly outmatched all others present.

With continued watchful neutrality as to the fate of iktochi, Naami was careful not to hook a horn as he pulled the apron over his head. Rather than take the long way around, he hoisted himself up onto the bar and over it in one smooth, athletic motion. Helping himself to a fresh pour on an ale and observing the cantina with icy eyes from his new vantage point.

An injured and scowling jillsarian caught his attention when one of his four arms was hidden from view even as the man limped toward the door. Raising his left hand casually, ale held in the other, Naami drew upon the Force and readied a blast, dark rippling energy shimmering in his palm as he barked across the room.

"If yer thinkin' of taking a pot shot, don't. I'll atomize you before you see if it lands. Leave while you can, e chu ta."

Then he took a swig of his drink, keeping an eye on the alien sidelong. He was going to throw some new wings in the frier but first wanted to be sure things were well and truly handled before he was occupied getting a perfect gold-brown crust.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano Mercy
​

There was a movement that didn’t belong in a bar bawl. Fatine’s datapad was out and angled directly at him like it was some kind of holodrama cameo. Of course she was.

For someone who usually wore composure well, something in Lysander’s features instantly betrayed him. A flash of guilty teenager caught doing something very questionable. Maybe it wouldn’t have registered on anyone else.. but he knew he was being recorded. Fatine could immortalize that launch if she wanted.

His full attention turned toward the device, lips curling in that signature Loth-cat grin. And with a theatrical lift of a hand, he extended his middle finger directly at the datapad. Obviously, a gesture known across every world. Who was to say twenty years from now his niece wouldn’t stumble upon it during some social media search? Uncle Lysander, the fething dropkicker of Jawas. What a legacy.

That thought should’ve made him laugh, but all humor was gone the moment he returned to the Ithorian in Mercy’s grip. He recognized the way his sister looked at him. Permission.. or moral direction? The Mid Rim was far behind these days, and the Light long abandoned.

The kick was enough to make anyone flinch, the type of impact a man felt in his soul when witnessing. For Lysander, there was only something dark curdling along his spine. He wasn’t so naive about the galaxy anymore. Politics, power, and beyond, he knew what happened when people thought no one was watching.

Around them, more patrons backed away, clearing a wide path around the trio. Just street rats understanding the Sith present weren't ones you trifle with. Naamino’s voice drew his attention next, adorning an apron like some wrathful kitchen deity. Best his brother taste sustenance before the establishment turned to ash.

And kitchens? Those had knives, cleavers, and boiling oil. Everything the blonde’s current mood was currently entertaining.

Emerald eyes sharpened, colder than durasteel. Any softness carried as a brother fell away, and what remained felt like a blade.. the same one that once severed an arm on Hapan in front of Cora.. before understanding what he was becoming.

"Fatine. What did he do?"

As for how she ended up in some predicament.. well, that could be unpacked later.

​

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Oh.

Suddenly, this was getting a little too real.

Something in Lysander had changed, like a flipped switch. Fatine couldn't sense the Force, but she didn't need it to know that something dark had slipped into the core of her brother.

Not slipped, amplified. It had always been there, perhaps. Hidden, smothered beneath layers of expectation and inexperience. Now, it had permission to creep towards the surface.

"Uhh…" Fatine trailed, brow knit in uncertainty. Mercy had a point - she'd feel terrible if he'd go on to assault another girl, but was killing him really the answer?

What did they want her to do, send this man to the guillotine?

Lysander's voice pierced like a glacial needle. Fatine's eyes went wide. She'd never heard that tone from him, and it unnerved her. He sounded like their departed father.

Deflated, her cheeks darkened with an embarrassed flush as she dropped back down to the bar top.

"He like…tried to get me to sleep with him for a part in his stupid show."

The cantina had hushed beneath the heel of the Sith, holding its breath to the tune of pops and sizzles as Nammi worked the fryer. For all her outward confidence, it was clear that talking so openly about something like this was new, unwelcome territory.

Fatine shrugged, reaching for her stolen glass of brew.

"And when I said no, he tried to anyway. But I like, got away so what's the big deal?"

The mug lifted to her lips, and she tried to ignore how sour the ale tasted in her mouth. "Do whatever you want, but you're not gonna like…kill him, right?"

She glanced to Lysander, worried. Not for the Ikotchi's life, but that her brother would take it.

Mercy Naamino Zuukamano Lysander von Ascania

 

[Mercy]

She felt the creeping anger in Lysander von Ascania as Fatine von Ascania spoke and Mercy's grin only grew more unhinged.

Yesss.

Mercy licked her lips and allowed her attention to formally drift away from Fatine.

"Do whatever you want, but you're not gonna like…kill him, right?"

"Which is it, Fatine darling. Do whatever you want or don't kill him?" But her eyes were starting to bleed into the amber spectrum. "He thought your sister was an easy victim, Lys." Mercy purred there softly, shaking the alien again, who had closed his eyes at this point and was trying to make himself into a small as figure as possible.

Possibly hoping that if he didn't see anything, they wouldn't see him either.

"He thought he could do whatever he wanted and that there are no consequences." Then the grin turned a touch sly. "But... there are always consequences, aren't there? Dolled out by those with the strength of character to know when to say no. Enough... is enough."

Then suddenly Mercy dropped the man in front of Lysander's feet.

"Your sister is gentle. She thinks just a little kick will do the trick. But you, Naamino Zuukamano and me... we understand better, don't we? That's why you two really came to meet me tonight. You wanted to give me a glimpse of what you guys can do. And that goes beyond pretty drugs and tasty spice, doesn't it?"

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Having successfully warded off a few lingering smart-asses that might’ve thought they could sneak in an attack as they left the cantina, Naami grunted his satisfaction at diplomacy well done. Once the wings were located, it was second nature to man the grill, finish the rest of his brew, and keep an ear on what his companions were up to.

The shift in Lysander drew a measured side-eye from Naami, but it was Mercy’s insistence for justice and Fatine’s overall bearing that drew him back into the discussion fully. The man lifted both full fry baskets out of the oil, hooked them on the standby area just above, and set a timer on his scan-com to alert him in 12 minutes— the perfect rest time between a first and second fry, to ensure extra crispy, golden brown texture.

With a sigh, the big man took the few steps back to the back of the bar, leaning close to where Fatine was and spoke rather authoritatively to the other two.

”With a lady in our presence, I’m not sure it’s ideal to make her decide how we take out the trash. Savvy? Lys, happy to take the scum out back and have done with but you’ve got ten minutes of my time before I’m back in here making a fethin’ meal for myself.”

His tone had gone cold, matter of fact, and his eyes slid to lock on Mercy specifically.

”But yeah, we still gotta talk business. No use doin’ it on an empty stomach.”

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Fatine von Ascania Naamino Zuukamano Mercy​

"Do whatever you want, but you're not gonna like…kill him, right?"

It almost felt like the cantina sank underwater as the sound dimmed. For a time, the only thing Lysander could hear was Fatine’s voice, echoing in his skull. Then the Iktochi was dropped before him, and his breathing was far too loud.. something about it crawled under Lysander’s skin.

His gaze stayed on his sister, but the warmth that once lived there drained away completely. The sensation returned.. the Dark, as a slow contamination. It spread the way poisons did in old med texts. Somewhere, distantly, he thought he should feel bad for asking her like that. For forcing the truth out of her in front of strangers.

.. in front of other monsters.

Sith coded logic was rewriting him sentence by sentence. This was an Iktochi who had tried to buy her body with power. Violence wasn’t taboo here.. backing off or hesitating would only read as weakness. On Desevro, Nar Shaddaa, anywhere he resided.. that was an invitation to his throat being opened.

Fingers flexed once at his side. Naamino spoke, but it was a little too late, for they wouldn’t register through the haze. Mercy’s grin spoke the loudest. After all, this was whey they had come here.. the proof.

A slow exhale was released through the nose. The chill in his voice would be unmistakable. “I’ll handle it.”

And still, he flicked back to Fatine one final time, committing face to memory. Unspoken words hovered on the tongue, the nearest he would come to an apology. Even so, he would never let a loved one witness what he was at his worst. Or was this even the worst? He couldn’t be sure.. his thoughts were clouded. The darkness was his to bear alone.. always had been.. and none of it would ever be placed in her hands.

As his head turned away, the Dark surged in approval. The Iktochi scarcely had time to draw breath before Lysander’s hand seized the collar, making it clear he was no longer in control of his own body. Multiple pleas spilled from the man, but Lysander would not slow. Dragging him forward, the kitchen opened.

The back exit made the most sense. That was where trash, crates, and bodies ended up.. where Smuggler's Moon hid its sins. Passing Naamino, no glance was spared. "Keep an eye on my sister."

A prep table slid past on his right. A cleaver and vibroknife were spotted first, but his hand instinctively chose the narrow boning knife. Something that worked well for separating what needed separating. Once the back door was opened, he shoved the man through it ahead of him and into the night air.