Private Chains of Expectations

[Smiling Ahren]

PRISON COMPLEX
UNKNOWN PLANET
CELL C

Alcariel

The cell was damp. Water dropping down from the ceiling, making several pools along the floor. The walls were moldy. So was the food, so at least it was consistent. The bed hard, the air stale, suffice it to say that it wasn't a pleasant place to be locked in.

Ahren had found himself here after stealing from the wrong person and getting caught without his crew when he least expected it.

That was for the best. They'd have massacred his people and that might have put a dent in his perpetual grin.

For now the man was biding his time. It was a heavily guarded place, but they didn't seem to know that he was force sensitive, no yslamiri around. Or maybe those animals were too expensive to waste on the likes of him.

A door opened in the distance. The dragging of feet, which always heralded a new prisoner. The cell door next to him opened up and then something was thrown in, like a sack of potatoes, before the door was closed again.

Ahren listened to the guard walking away and then glanced to the wall between them.

"You will get used to the mold." The man said with a faint tease in his tone. "On the walls at least, the food... Not so much. Got a name, neighbor?"

 

[Alcariel]

​

It wasn't exactly the same as the cages she'd grown up in. Sure, she was a prisoner again, but as far as she could tell the intent here would be to let her rot for an undetermined amount of time (maybe indefinitely). Not to force her to conduct menial and degrading tasks as she had in slavery.

Nevertheless, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet and therefore any cage was a cage. Didn't matter what she was meant to do behind it.

The test was to get out of it intentionally; not mistakenly as she had so many months ago.

"You will get used to the mold." The man said with a faint tease in his tone. "On the walls at least, the food... Not so much. Got a name, neighbor?"

Huh? She hadn't expected anybody to be speaking to her.

She brushed her bangs from her eyes and squinted through the dim lighting, seeing nothing but wall.

"I don't intend to stay long enough to get used to anything." The Zeltron said, the meekness in her voice that had been there when last caged no longer traceable.

Then they asked her name. Her first instinct was to say the one she'd known for so long, Sael, but that wasn't it now, was it?

"Alcariel."

Even through the walls she could feel the person on the other side, their presence, their casual, unbothered emotion.

"Are names any good in here?" Head tilted as she watched the doors, listened to footsteps. "You remember yours?"

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Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

"Alcariel."

Now that was a fancy arse name. If Ahren wasn't mistaken, it was Echani, something he was rather familiar with since he spend some time in that neck of the woods. Close to Hapes and Hapes was probably one of his favorite places to be.

Oh, the women, the women.

Then his name was asked for, in a sense anyway.

"If I don't remember my own name you ought to call the ambulance, Alcariel, I am called Smiling Ahren."

He grinned at that, maybe he should have insisted on Grinning Ahren.

It was more apt.

"But speaking of names, yours is fancy as all hell. Echani? Or are you a princess?" Ahren wondered what the going rate these days were on a princess rescue.

"What did you do to end up in this moldy place out of anywhere?"

If Alcariel tried to home in more into Ahren's presence and his mind, she'd notice an oddity she hadn't experienced in the wild all that often.

There was nothing beyond the superficial relaxed and amused emotion.

His mind was totally and utterly warded.

 

[Alcariel]

​

Alcariel felt herself flush. It was a fancy name wasn't it? Something that the wretch Mercy had pulled from the gutter never could have dreamed of. Even now, hearing it from her own voice, it felt foreign. Like it didn't belong to her.

But it did, and she would wear it as such. Spencer and Mercy's investment in her growth could not be so easily forgotten.

"That's a funny name." She remarked, still feeling outward. He had nothing more to offer than simplicity. But she felt the shape of it. Something guarded, as Spencer had shown her. Hm.

"Are you sure it's not chatterbox Ahren? You're awfully talkative." Alcariel said simply, pressing beyond him to feel out the guards. They were several walls away. She'd have to beckon them back in before she really got to work.

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Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

"Mmm, is it funny? I would rather say that it is descriptive." Ahren murmured with a smirk, not being bothered whatsoever about how funny she felt his name was.

Then Ahren laughed at her following words.

It wasn't the first time someone remarked on it. He loved to talk, loved the tone and shape of his own voice, and loved what his words could do to the people around him. Early on Ahren had noticed that if he talked long enough, he was able to turn most situations into his advantage, one way or another.

Who could blame him for wanting to speak as much as possible?

"Do you not enjoy to talk then? Are you Quiet Alcariel? Silent Alcariel perhaps... or Whispering Alcariel?" However, Ahren did feel her presence slowly rooting around, like an animal's nose pressed against the floor.

"Mm, what is it you are trying to accomplish? They are rather rude, you know. Not pleasant company... not like me." Referring to the guards she was trying to lure over here. But how would Ahren have any idea what Alcariel was trying to do?

 

[Alcariel]

​

"Just Alcariel." She said simply — nipping the bud of any blossoming nicknames as ridiculous as the one he'd used to introduce himself. The name Spencer Varanin had given her was too pretty, too meaningful, to tarnish with any such prefix.

Talking wasn't her favourite past time. She preferred to listen. To observe.

She'd spent many a years in the company of those who loved the sounds of their own voice, and she'd grown a distaste for such folk. Braggarts, pompous abusers, people who spoke just to hear themselves and not engage in proper conversation. Who could barely wait for another sentence to end before they filled the space with their own opinions.

"They were rude to you? I can't imagine why" She asked, pressing her fingertips to the door and letting a beckoning thread curl from her mind to the nearest guard's, seeking out motivation she could easily deepen. Always best to make her puppets think their actions were of their own accord.

"Why are you here anyway?"

____________________________________________________________
Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

"Very well, Just Alcariel." Lightly, smirk curled, because he could sense the shape of her emotions. "Mm, can't you? I will just have to help you imagine then..."

And then right as she was about to draw some of those guards towards them, his presence would subtly reach out and proverbially knock on the door in her mind.

Any simpleton or brute could force their way in. Just using as much strength as possible. But it took real skill, real experience, to take a step between their minds and gracefully ask for permission. Alcariel did not seem like someone who was prone to trust however. So he'd project it right outside her mindview.

To tempt her to reach out and watch.

Beyond her door there would be a first projection- a daring heist orchestrated by Ahren, clearing out the vaults of some unknown world, before they got caught by the planetary defense guard. He, the Captain of the ship, had caused a diversion so his people could escape. It truly looked heroic and absolutely incredible.

She'd feel the curl of his smile right next to her mind.

"I may have added some flourish. I cut the part where they kicked me between my legs for insulting their mother, for instance."

What was immediate obvious to Alcariel was how casual his usage of mentalism was. As if he was born with it, grew up immersed in it. Like it was a second skin to him, to move in these mental mindscapes.

 

[Alcariel]

​

An image not of her own conjuring unfolded in a place where there should have been nothing. No heroism, no dashing captains and their motley crew. A fantastic spectacle, detailed, vibrant, and alluring.

Intrigued, the Zeltron leaned forward — not fully relinquishing her task to beckons the guards back, but allowing herself to enjoy the entertainment and the focal point within it. Up until now, she'd just had his annoying, constant voice. No other cue to imagine what her cellmate might look like. But this projection lent colour to the dark.

She flinched when she felt the brush of his pride. Not at the obtuseness of his emotion, but at the carelessness with which she'd conducted herself thus far. What had been the point of Spencer's labour and investment into her if she'd left herself open to receipt?

"Neat trick." She complimented cooly. "If that's up your sleeve, why have you stuck around long enough to grow an opinion on the cuisine and hospitality?"

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Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

She could practically feel his smirk beyond his presence at her 'compliment'.

"It's more than a trick, darling, it's a way of living." Which was extremely vague and entirely unspecific. Unlike the illusions he had crafted as if it was no effort at all.

But the question Alcariel asked was entirely fair.

Ahren shrugged and stretched, the groan reverberating between them in that connection.

"Life is full of experiences. The strength of your dreams is determined by how deeply you have drank from the cup of reality. If you have never felt the gruel on your tongue, the cold dampness of the cell, the discomfort of the straw... how can you ever craft it yourself in a meaningful way?" Ahren said simply, almost as if he was teaching a lesson that had been drilled into his brain many times over.

"It's why I prefer the pretty dreams however. They are much more fun to experience and learn, don't you think?"

 

[Alcariel]

​

The experience of her life, down-trodden, chained, malnourished, was simply an experience of enrichment and depth of understanding for him. Alcariel felt herself slide into a place of distaste. Obviously there was merit to his thoughts — that illusions needed to feel real, and imagination could only go so far — but she didn't like the touristic voyeurism to his way of learning. It meant he was not of this world.

"Not a disagreeable sentiment." She acquiesced at least, because who could argue that the pretty was more fun to experience? Everyone wanted a pretty life. So much of what she'd seen rooted in sentient fantasies and fears all lead to pretty lives. Her own life was far prettier now than it had been for the majority of it, and she'd not give it up.

Which is why she had to get out of here and move on with her training.

In a moment, the guards reappeared. Focused on Alcariel's cell and speaking between themselves. Their conversation was unimportant, but their actions meant the jangle of identification cards and fingerprint presses to release a series of bolsters.

With a satisfying hiss, her cell slid open, and she rose from her crouch to stand. At the doorway, through the threshold, still not fully in her cellmate's line of site she hesitated:

"Have you experienced enough for enrichment? Or would you like to stay a little longer?"

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Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

Ahren was on the bunk and studying the ceiling while everything was going around in the other cell.

Her question... surprised him.

"Oh, I guess I have seen enough for now, if you are offering. Thank you." Ahren drawled finally after a moment of his own hesitation. Then he stood up, settled in against the wall near the cell door and waited for... whatever was going to happen.

In truth Ahren was curious.

She was clearly powerful and it made him wonder how she'd approach it.

So the Sith closed his eyes and reached out again. Not to touch her mind, but to simply fill the presence in the neighboring cell. To watch through the mind's eye and see what she'd do to the guards.

What sort of Sith was she?

 

[Alcariel]

​

Why had she felt the inclination to offer freedom to her pesky cellmate? He was one of those people that checked every box that irritated her in the past: A man who called her darling, and who was evidently privileged enough to not know the inside of a cell for any reason other than curiosity. For all she knew, the gratuitous image of himself with his crew was extraordinarily characterized in his favour and could be completely untrue.

Had that been the appeal? A dashing mug with a side of rugged exposé?
No. It was subtler than that.

He saw the shift before she had spoken it. He was a mentalist — one with more control than Isar. And that made him dangerous.

So she smiled, the kind that softened men and disarmed sentries. The pheromones drifted, sweet and lulling, wrapping through the space.

"Good," she murmured, stepping through the doorway, the lights catching the silver glint in her hair. "I'm feeling generous."

The nearest guard blinked, dazed. She could taste their boredom in the air before she'd even seen them. A stale, heavy thing that made men careless. And careless men were hers to sculpt.

A pulse of pheromones drifted outward, the heavy, narcotic warmth of sleep. It slid into their lungs and smudged the edges of thought. One blinked, then swayed. The other laughed, until she tilted her head and whispered with her own voice – borrowing from a trick she'd seen Isar do: Dream.

They did.

Her mind brushed theirs like fingertips over silk, and visions bloomed, unique for each of them. The first guard's ID chip came free beneath her fingers; the second's she lifted from his belt. Both vanished into the ribbon at her waist.

The corridor ahead was silent. Cells lined the passage, humming faintly with suppressed power. The control panel at the end glowed like a heart waiting to be stopped.

Without turning, she spoke softly to the dark, her tone a dare and an invitation both: "Would you like to play a game?"

____________________________________________________________
Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

The tonal shift in her voice gave him a little pause.

From cold to warm and even hot, it was quite a concerning turn, because from Ahren's experience that usually meant something was afoot. It almost never ended well for the target of said tonal shift. He wasn't too concerned about his own physical well-being, but Alcariel's presence in the Force was quite strong.

Unrefined, but that could be even more dangerous if she didn't know her own strength and decided to start messing with him.

"Y'know, usually when a sultry voice starts whispering about games, I get nervous." Ahren drawled lazily in return, studying the door with a bit of wonder and concern.

"Do I have to be nervous, ma'am?"

Then he laughed and shrugged.

"Oh, what the hell, sure. I will play your pretty game. What do you have for me?"

 

[Alcariel]

She let him fiddle with his bravado. Let him feel clever. That, too, was part of shaping a man.

"You talk about illusions as if they're lessons," she said, voice low enough to scrape the metal between them. "Let's see if you can teach me something useful."

"These cells run on linked circuits. The locks, the lights, the block controls, they're threaded together with response nodes. One clever mind, nudged in the right pattern, will twitch those nodes. One well-placed nightmare in the right head can make the system behave as if the grid is failing. Guards will trip calls, weapons will be redirected, doors will cycle open to safety checks. when the control loop rewrites itself to 'respond to emergency,' you get a window — a few minutes where the heart of this place is blind. That's when i walk through.

And when I walk through, you walk too."

She let the plan hang between them. Mercy had kicked her onto this planet to have her control the prison. How didn't matter.

"Teach me a thread. Not a bellowing shove of power — finesse. plant a single, tiny image inside one mind here in the block that will cause a visible response in the control loop. Make the mind move the way you need it to move. do that, and I'll take you for the rest."

She let her pheromones gather like coals at the base of a fire — warm, seductive, focusing. "I'll amplify. You provide the needle. You thread the dream and I'll make it contagious." her lips curved and her hand lingered near the seam of her ribbon where the stolen ID-chips tucked against her hip.

she watched him then, the patient predator watching a fox decide whether to take a baited path. the corridor hummed with suppressed power, the prison's heartbeat waiting for the first false note.

"What do you say, Chatterbox Ahren?" She stepped back a breath and, quieter now, the invitation turned intimate. "Will you thread for a walkout?"

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Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

"My oh my, you are one fly and sly little Sith of mine." Ahren drawled in return in the wake of her story, request and game all wrapped in one. It was an interesting challenge.

Usually Ahren preferred the more brute-force approach towards getting out of a place he was stuck in. Partially as a revenge trip, turn people's minds inside out as a consequence for trying to keep him somewhere unpleasant. But that did mean that his talents were often woefully underutilized. He closed his eyes and once again sank himself into the space between them.

She felt different now.

More... more.

Before Alcariel had been a cold, frigid creature. Disdainful at best. But now she was unfolding herself, he breathed her in and the pheromones went inside of him. He knew what it was, could feel it burn into his synapses and turn his desires on their head.

"Zeltroni, huh? My second-in-command is a Zeltron. You might get along with them." Breathing out again Ahren connected herself to Alcariel, accepting the mental hand reached out to him. Using her amplification to spread himself further along the area. Every creature here was a pulsing beat, some pulsed slow and deep, others fast and chittering.

They were alive, they were souls that existed here, in the future, and in the past. They'd always exist even if they wiped their presence in the now.

"There is a woman here..." Ahren's voice filtered lazily through her mind as he adjusted her view towards one pulsing beat. "She can't wait to get home... her favorite show is going to come on. If she leaves right now, she might be able to catch it without missing the theme song. She loves that theme song, it reminds her of her childhood."

Ahren breathed in again.

"Her hand is right next to the emergency filtration button." Breath out. "They already triggered it the night before. Doing it now, will overload the filtration system. That will cause a cascade effect. The man in sanitation will panic. He will try and fix it quickly. The woman in security will be called up, leaving her post to the insecure and young intern."

In.

"A nudge there, he doesn't know what to do, but he has bravado. He will flip the wrong switch." Out. "The systems will disengage. The cascade ripples through, each system, each door ajar. Until... it reaches us."

She could practically feel his smile curved in her mind.

In.

"Infect them, darling, be the contagion. I will be your scalpel, I will play your game... please."

Out.

 

[Alcariel]

​

Alcariel bristled at the unthinking possessiveness he slid out. Disrespect, right off the bat. And then another stupid thing — as if being the same species were enough to instantly get along with someone else. As if the galaxy weren't full of tyrants all the same breed as their slaves.

"You assume much." She tut, and felt the involuntary snarl of her lip but kept herself relaxed overall. Open, receptive. He obliged at least, exposing the network of dependencies and domino effect. Each emotion and individual he pinpoint, she followed along until the one that needed to be tipped was struck.

In that instant, she bloomed.

The amplification was enough to retrace the thread he'd created ten times over. Discord sewn between the harmony.

All it took were a matter of moments and the primary exit obfuscating their departure hissed open. She hadn't even needed to use the ID badges. Wonderful.

And as a happy coincidence, her cell slid open and so did Ahren's. Truly no need for the identification cards whatsoever with this plot she'd come up with — although the guards she'd sent rocking into nightmares of their own still dreamed at her feet.

"A game well played. Even if there was a little too much table talk."

____________________________________________________________
Smiling Ahren
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

Ahren smirked in response to her bristle.

Ah.

So the thorny coldness was the real expression and the sultry honey was the silk covering. Ahren didn't mind, he had been around many people who wrapped themselves into camouflage of one or the other. This was just another way a chameleon could hide themselves among potential predators or threats.

The Sith stepped on through the prison doors and glanced around with interest. Committing to memory the room, because that in itself was an experience worth replicating.

Cold enough, damp enough, cruel enough. A perfect dream stolen from reality.

"Hm?" A glance towards Alcariel, glancing down at her casually. "Live a little, butterfly. You are too serious, it will chew you up eventually." Then he flicked his hand and a blaster flew into his hand, ripped off of one of the dreaming guards behind her.

Then he moved towards the exit.

"You can follow along if you want. I know where the hangars are and I can pilot a ship, unless you'd rather find your own way."

 

[Alcariel]

​

What was it with everyone telling her to live?

Alcariel, simply by being here — unbound, breathing, exercising her will instead of bending to another's — was living. This was living. She was Sith. And how dare this bearded braggart suggest otherwise?

Her lip curled, a flash of contempt, quickly smoothed over by the glide of her palms down her hips.

She stepped closer to the dreaming guards. Fear's tell tale scent still clung to them. Sweet.

"Pilot a ship," she echoed softly, almost to herself. "No, no. Not yet. I don't think so."

Her gaze shifted past him and toward the control hub inset in the wall. Monitors flickered there, half-watching every corridor. One feed showed the guard barracks, another the security override. Linked circuits, she'd said only moments ago. It was all one system. All one mind.

Her smile sharpened.

"I believe you can fly us out, certainly. But I'm not finished yet."

She reached out through the interconnected system, her pheromones carried on the recycled air, her voice a silken thread woven into every thought that was not adjacent to the fear-wrought wardens.

Wake up. Get out.

Her mind still maintained the thread that he'd sewn through the interconnected wardens and guards. With only a flicker, a tremour, to travel through that web, guards of likeness — recognized by a shared motivation — dropped to their knees. Across the compound, cells flickered from red to amber as one door after another opened

The wardens are gone, she promised. Mercy of Graspborn calls for stewards, not slaves.

One step after another, she walked out into the halls. Unhurried.

"Would you call yourself a good judge of character, Ahren? You read people, don't you?" Alcariel asked, l looking over her shoulder toward her former cellmate. "I want to take the best of the worst with me, and leave the rest to their own devices here."

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Smiling Ahren
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​

 

[Smiling Ahren]

Alcariel

Mercy of the Graspborn.

Oh, now that was a name that made him frown. It was not hard to figure out who that was. A name that had been running through the HoloNet quite a lot in the past year or so, ever since the Galactic Kaggath had ended with her as a victor. Her cult was spreading like a disease. And this woman was part of that mess?

It made his knees itch, which was the first sign for Ahren that he wanted to go.

But... there was always a but... she was rather interesting, wasn't she? And Ahren was nothing if not a complete and utter moron when it came to women with pretty eyes.

Even eyes that were all amber and fiery of heart.

"I'd say that I was a brilliant judge of character, but my crew would argue with me about that characterization." For some very valid reasons, in fairness, but Ahren didn't want to lend credence to gossip that wasn't in some way beneficial to him. "So, what, you want me to help you ascertain which of these bodies are actually useful to this cult of yours and which are best left behind?"

Blinking a bit at the sheer cheek.

"And what is in it for me, pray tell?"

 

[Alcariel]

​

"I'd say that I was a brilliant judge of character, but my crew would argue with me about that characterization."

"Then they'd be arguing against their own characters, wouldn't they? I'd assume you hand-select those you choose to surround yourself with daily."

​

She nodded slowly, deliberately, to his assessment of her request. Of course Alcariel could do it herself, but it would take much longer. Weaving through memories, ascertaining truth from falsehoods, weighing the physicalities and potentials alongside the merit of the minds — it would be helpful to have someone mutually smarmy and self-proclaimed rascal to evaluate those that would bring Mercy delight.

Slender shoulders shrugged.

"The Graspborn are a powerful ally to have across the galaxy. Helping contribute to their numbers would not be a bad thing for you or your elusive crew. And while I wouldn't promise favour with Mercy herself," she smiled coyly "I could owe you one."

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Smiling Ahren
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​