Crash

[Lucia Nox]

Lucia Nox was falling through wild space. Stars hung upside down as the massive, hazy surface of Kamar curved into view through the darkness and rushed toward her in what felt like lightspeed and slow motion all at once. Emergency sirens wailed and red warning lights flashed in the cockpit of her tiny cruiser, which was losing pressure rapidly.

"Master Venn!" Lucia shouted hoarsely into the com, over the static of the frayed radiowaves. "Master Venn, I've been hit! I've been--"

Another strike rocked her cruiser. The static of the com and the wailing of the sirens, once small reassurances that she wasn't too far-gone, were knocked out in an instant. The cockpit fell deathly silent.

"No, no, no," Lucia breathed, frantically flipping the power switch up and down, twisting knobs and testing buttons. "Come on, you old piece of junk. Come on. Master Venn, do you read? Master Venn! Master--"

A third strike nearly sent Lucia tumbling from the pilot's seat and sparked a billow of flames from the back of the dying cruiser. Lucia cursed under her breath. Master Venn had been right. 'Fly directly to Ossus, and steer clear of the edges of the Outer Rim,' He had cautioned before she embarked. 'The travel might feel smoother, less bumpy, but you won't be welcome there. I'd like for you to return from your first solo mission in one piece, and with those old Jedi records, too.'

Lucia wasn't feeling so lucky. The pirates who skulked around the fringes of the Outer Rim apparently did not take kindly to strangers entering their territory, and they were working hard to make sure that she knew it. She should have listened to her Master, or better yet, not insisted so vigorously that she was ready for her first mission alone. But Lucia was headstrong to the point of recklessness. Her choice to deviate from the flight plan was foolish, and she realized now that it might cost her her life.

The fourth and final strike hit hard. As her wrecked cruiser hurtled into Kamar's brilliant atmosphere, Lucia braced for impact and called out into the most sacred energy field known to a Jedi--the Force--but it was too late. Oxygen was rushing out of the cockpit like so many breaths from her lungs. Lucia gasped for air. There was a bright flash of light, and then impenetrable darkness. Lucia, and all of her consciousness, faded into merciful oblivion . . .

______________________________________________________________________________​

​

"Look! Here it is! I told you--it fell right out of the sky! Quick, scavenge the scrap parts before the human wakes up!"

Lucia blinked and opened her eyes. White, blinding sunlight blurred her vision, and for a moment, she could not remember where she was or how she had gotten there. She recognized the hot, gritty feeling of sand beneath her cheek, but her head pounded, and her eyes still stung from the brightness.

"She's waking, she's waking! Work faster, you idiots!"

It was here that Lucia first registered the sound of the odd voices. They buzzed and gibbered to each other in some sort of odd, broken dialect of the common tongue, but she could only barely make out what they were saying. As they chattered back and forth, Lucia squinted into the far-off brilliance. Her vision was slowly returning, and as her surroundings faded back into focus, so did her memory.

Master Venn. Ossus. Pirates. The crash.

Lucia could see clearly now. There before her eyes, half-buried in the desert sands of Kamar, lay the mangled carcass of her cruiser, still smoking and partly aflame. Five large, insect-like humanoids--resident Kamarians--were huddled around the remains, gathering what spare parts they could and tucking the shiny metal away into bags. They were stealing bits and pieces of her ship.

"Hey!" Lucia shouted, but she did not recognize her own voice. It rose out of her slender throat as if from beneath a great weight, distant and weak, but the Kamarians immediately turned to attention. "That's mine!" She attempted to rise, to fight, to throw herself at the petty thieves, but alas--her body would not allow it. Every muscle and bone screamed from the impact of the crash, and Lucia wondered if she had broken an ankle, a leg, or more. Lucia's special connection to the Force had protected her from death this time, but she had not escaped injury.

The Kamarians were chattering loudly to each other now, too fast for Lucia to comprehend. They eyed her warily with their big, bulbous eyes and began moving closer. Lucia instinctively reached for the lightsaber hooked at her waist, but before she could ignite her shimmering azure blade--

"Seize her!"

Twenty arms--four per each of the five creatures--descended upon her like a storm.

______________________________________________________________________________​

​

Crash!

Icy water fell over Lucia's head, and she woke with a surprised, strangled gasp. A hulking Kamarian stood above her dripping blonde head with an empty bucket, the contents of which now soaked Lucia to the bone and brought her hurtling back to consciousness. It seemed that they were in some sort of primitive cell. Looking down, Lucia saw that her wrists were ensnared with binders. Stupid girl, She thought. Look what you've done. But there was no time to think.

"Wake up," Her captor grunted.

Lucia, still gasping for air, did not need the injunction. The big Kamarian grabbed her by the arm and roughly pulled her to standing. Lucia cried out. There was something badly wrong with her ankle, and she could feel the pain of bruises and lesions that decorated her body underneath her robes. The Kamarian either did not notice or did not care. He simply fitted a bag over her head, blocking her face and vision from view, and pushed her forward.

"Come, human." He said, but Lucia knew she had no choice. She was a smart woman, and she knew she was in no shape to fight off a Kamarian horde. Not yet. She went along without a word.

Lucia could sense the energy in the atmosphere start to shift as they walked. She couldn't see anything from beneath the bag the Kamarian had placed over her head, but a recognizable form was beginning to take shape within her mind. There was another human present--she could feel it--and they were growing ever closer. Suddenly, they stopped.

"Here she is, Tarasov--found her near the Badlands."

The Kamarian ripped the bag off her head and gave her a hearty shove. Lucia fell forward onto her knees. There was a moment of silence as she stared into the ground--but only a moment. Like an angel rising from the ashes, Lucia lifted her head.

Her molten blonde curls were wild and still dripping with water, and the milky porcelain of her skin--white as moonlight--was burned a faint pink along the high arches of her cheekbones from exposure to the desert sun. Her robes were in no better condition, soaked through and stained with clay and sand, doing nothing to conceal the wounds forming on her body underneath. Her eyes, however, were defiant and proud--sharp, feline, and brilliantly blue--the eyes of a would-be queen, never a captive kneeling at a man's feet.

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

KAMAR

The fragmented chattering among the insectoid tribesmen soon snapped into silence as they witnessed a small group of their fellow members entering a jagged-looking hut. Here resided the tribal council of a Kamarian tk'skqua, responsible for the leadership of the tribe.

The Kamarians were not known to be very friendly towards outsiders, giving the fact they were highly territorial. Although arrogant in nature, they had just fully developed technology way beyond their nuclear arsenal, including space faring and the likes. Their homeworld was a wasteland, ravaged by the frequent happenings of war between tribes. Though the seemingly ill-headed species uses more brawns than brains, years came and yet some tribes adapted to other cultures outside the desert world of Kamar and the Outer Rim.

A colossal creature emerged behind the group, thumping its way towards the hall. It had eyes resembling that of an arthropod's, while its arms was massed more than other tribesmen. The other tribesmen were beside it, clinching what seems to be a captive.

The Kamarian spoke up in a buzz, " Tarasov - found her near the Badlands. ". Grigori stood up from his seat from the shadows in a corner, a vintage cane held in his hand. The war-mongering tk'skqua council trusted him and his work after all. His hair was slicked-back and golden as desert sun. The man wore nothing ragged but a fine dress uniform, seldom unkempt. He glanced fiercely to the Kamarian and stood upright silently, " Lift the bag. " After all, the beauty of a fine-looking, yet bruised woman was all but covered in that bag, " Now, leave us. " he gestured to the creature and they left the scene.

" Tell me, lass, why visit these war-torn lands? " he muttered, puffing on a cigarette.

[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

The Kamarians swiftly retreated from the hut, and Lucia was left alone with the man. He made an impressive sight: tall, broad, outfitted in the finest regalia, with a devilishly handsome face that Lucia did not feel inclined to trust. She eyed him warily, like a cautious little feline ready to bolt or attack, as her mind began to work. Who was this man? What business did he have in the Outer Rim? Why was he here, of all places? Kamar was a known wasteland, war-torn and primitive, but this man was as sharp and refined as the gentlemen who strolled through Coruscant's upper levels. He clearly held a position of power within the Kamarian tribe, but how? Why? Now that she was his captive, what would become of her? How would she escape? How would she explain this to Master Venn?

Calm yourself, girl. Clear your head.

Lucia breathed . . . slowly, deeply. Her eyes closed for just a moment, long lashes pressing against the tops of her smooth cheeks as she drew upon the Force like an old friend. Warmth flooded through her body, and she felt the frenzied buzz of thoughts quiet down inside her mind and slip away. They were replaced with an inexorable sense of clarity. Lucia, now clear-headed and calm, became acutely aware of the energy flowing through the hut and opened her eyes, fixing her steely attention back on the man. The energy coursing around him was difficult to read. It was certainly not light, but it wasn't entirely dark, either. His aura pulsed strong and steady like a heartbeat, and although it was murky and complex, Lucia found that she was not afraid of him.

His voice broke the silence. "Tell me, lass, why visit these war-torn lands?"

Lucia watched the smoke from his cigarette curl around his face like a halo as she weighed her options. She could lie, or she could tell the truth. Either way, her odds of escaping and making it off the forsaken rock of a planet on her own seemed scanty. Her eyes, calculating as ever, flashed a brilliant blue as she parted her lips to speak.

"I assure you I'm not here on holiday," Lucia murmured dryly, the cultured accent of her voice hitting the air like a bell. "I was en route to Ossus and decided to take a detour. Ran into some brigands who weren't overly friendly. They shot down my ship, and I woke up here. Your--friends--tried to steal pieces of my ship for scrap."

Lucia paused, indignation rising in her chest as she looked down at her bound wrists, before snapping her eyes back up to him and attempting to stand. Her hurting body wavered, and her injured ankle nearly gave way, but she refused to kneel any longer. The statuesque woman would address him now as an equal.

"I don't know who you are or what business you have here--but I'm wounded. I have no ship. Your friends took the only weapon that I own when they captured me. I'm no threat to you. Give me what little I have left and let me leave in peace."

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

The captive woman with a face comparable to a cherub, was clothed with odd, nomadic garbs around her bruised body. The robes were ragged and torn from the harsh environment. Scratches marked visible on its cloths did not hide the pain she obviously was feeling. Grigori was aware of the trend, living in an old-fashioned desert world where gentlemanly, well-groomed clothes one will see in many capital planet among the executives and politicians does not reflect one's domination and power. The culture, in hundreds of years or so, implemented only simplistic clothes to provide comfort from the heat of Kamar. He was definitely curious about her origins and intentions, glancing in the woman's eyes hoping at least it will speak the truth itself. The tension was finally relieved as the girl spoke softly, " I assure you I am not here for a holiday. ". A surprise for Grigori, as he thought she would be more aggressive towards him. The statement was more passive than he thought. One thing for sure, the woman had a sense of humor, at least for now. She would then add, " I was en route to Ossus and decided to take a detour. Ran into some brigands who weren't overly friendly. They shot down my ship, and I woke up here. Your friends tried to steal pieces of my ship for scrap. ".
Grigori smirked as soon as he heard the last sentence, feeling contented that the woman would be somehow open answering the simple question he gave, " These friends of mine you are referring to are not friendly to the unknown much as you. Though, I prefer calling them minions myself. Also, scraps from your ship most likely will hit the marketplace by now. ". The woman was seemingly comfortable, and questioned Grigori for her actual needs, " I don't know who you are or what business you have here - but I'm wounded. I have no ship. Your friends took the only weapon that I own when they captured me. I'm no threat to you. Give me what little I have left and let me live in peace. ". Grigori was not an easy man, he always wanted things to be difficult for the experience he already had. The man paused for a second, knowing consequences will happen, " Very simple, lass. Working with my service is how you get out of this poodoo. Tons of small armament placed in the cargo, get one or two and do not even pay. Whatever I will hand you is already yours. Granting you full-on credits if you work hard for it, though it depends if you actually do something helpful for the works. Guess you won't live in peace without a ship out of this anyway. ".

[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

"Work for you?" Lucia questioned, raising the smooth arch of one eyebrow in disbelief. One thing was now abundantly clear: this man was a shameless opportunist. Lucia shook her head, water dripping down the ends of her wheaten blonde hair and into the earth. "I don't think you understand. I have to get off this planet--I have to get to Ossus. Whatever work you do here, it can wait."

Lucia was drawing closer now. She walked toward the man with the faintest limp, but her pale, shining features showed no evidence of the pain she felt with every step that she took. Her strides were slow but dignified, and the gauzy fabric of her robes, still soaked through and stained, moved fluidly around her limbs.

"Do you know what I am?" Lucia asked. It was a serious question, but she knew that her master would have frowned at the faint note of arrogance underlying her otherwise even tone.

She paused, her tapered blue eyes leaving his face for only a moment to scan the inside of the hut. Her intelligent gaze settled on a decorative clay pot sitting in a far corner. She was weak, and the binders around her wrists wouldn't budge an inch, but if she just concentrated hard enough . . . perhaps she could make a point.

Wham! Whoosh! Crack!

An invisible wave of energy rolled out of her outstretched palms, working within the confines of the binders to lift the pot into thin air and zoom it clear across the hut. The unlucky pot barely skimmed past the man's shoulder, where it shattered into a thousand pieces against the wall behind him. Her master really would not have liked this--but her master wasn't there.

It was an impressive feat, but any remaining strength that Lucia had left inside of her body shattered with the pot. She was wounded too badly from her crash landing onto the planet--and she was too young of a Jedi--to have been able to summon that amount of power from the Force without suffering grave consequences. Lucia found her legs buckling beneath her, and this time she could not help but fall back down to her knees. She might have groaned, but it was a quiet and faint sound--more of a whimper, really--and it soon became clear that Lucia was in no shape to leave the desert wasteland of Kamar, whether in peace or not.

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

Grigori was visibly shocked by the woman's supernatural abilities. He did not tolerate such kind of sorcery in his place. Surely the woman is from a much different origin, as she had recently lifted a pot without touching it even. That was the time that Grigori thought, that this girl was not a mere commoner. Her capability of doing things such as fascinated Grigori, and at the same time alarmed his presence.

The clay pot levitated across the room and struck behind Grigori in a glimpse, feeling its shattered remains dusted on his overcoat, " Who are you, and where do you come from? " Grigori asked to the girl. In this point of time, he knew the girl had a strange power, far much stronger than him. The doings were neither diabolical nor angelic, but it was nothing he had seen before. He backed down a few steps knowing that, even though the woman was frail to move a flinch.

He was quite impressed by her, but his face twitched after the act. Grigori was nervous, and looking unsettled. " Was that... witchcraft? " he uttered while his eyes fixated to the lady. The woman's clothes were part of this prejudice, thinking it was monkish and unfit for her. The tension grew between the two as every second passed. Good thoughts, bad thoughts, the only thoughts that shrouded Grigori's mind ware of the mystery of the woman.


[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

The woman, still doubled over on her knees, slowly lifted her shining head, the crowning glory of her blonde hair falling away from her face. Her eyes--clear, blue, and full of solemn truth--locked onto his. "My name is Lucia Nox," She said. "I am a Jedi."

The hut fell silent. Lucia allowed the weight of her words to sink into the thickness of the growing tension between them, and she watched his face for any sign or semblance of reaction. He was afraid of her, she could feel it. His fear radiated through the atmosphere and licked against her skin like hot, erratic flames. Part of Lucia felt quite guilty, but what other leverage did she have to save herself? This man was powerful and strong, with a Kamarian horde at his fingertips. She was a stranded padawan--not even a full-fledged knight--with no ship, no lightsaber, and a body full of bruises. Fear was a cruel mistress and a dangerous weapon to wield, but for now, it was all Lucia had.

"I know I can't make it off Kamar on my own," She admitted quietly after a long moment, long lashes lowering as her gaze fell to ground. "I'm too weak."

Another moment passed before a thought came to Lucia. She lifted her eyes, settling her sights on the man once more, but this time with a new clarity. "If you help me," She said slowly, studying him with the calculating appraisal of a woman who knew how to negotiate. "I'll help you."

It was a dangerous offer, and Lucia knew it. Entangling herself with a man whose name and occupation were still unknown to her was far from ideal, but if it got her a ship--and got her to Ossus--Lucia would play.

"But I can't help you much like this," She murmured, glancing at her bruises and tattered robes. "My wounds need tending. I need a medic--sleep, bathing, fresh clothes, food--and for these to come off." She outstretched her bound wrists toward the man, her eyes shining steady and true into his own--a silent request for his trust. "Set me free, and I won't stray from your side until the deal is done."

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

Grigori was never a believer of the Force. He believed it was some kind of an ancient religion - a cult for delusional people. He had always thought that the Jedi and the Sith were nothing but a mere illusion, until now. Ideas of such were absolutely unreal in his thinking. Back then, it was all a series of children's tales, but his eyes were seeing strange things he did not see beforehand. Then, he knew the truth from the captive girl identifying herself as - Lucia Nox.

She surely had a mysterious presence in her, revolving around her like she wears it. Barely a second later, her words made Grigori more visibly agitated. The woman revealed herself as a Jedi. He thought they were no better than a myth. Who could have thought that this woman was one of them? He uttered, " A Jedi? I thought they aren't real? ". Space cultists, confused monks, paranoids - whatever the blinded, public eye had said to them, they spoke the truth about it. The Force, it was real after all.

The woman had no strength to even walk freely by herself at all, but fear crossed Grigori's mind that Lucia had far more power than him. He had Kamarian tribesmen to call in his aid ever the woman becomes aggressive. The insectoids were capable of restraining naughty captives with their four arms, and known to be cruel, but he never would want to restrain a bruised woman. The woman needed medical attention, it was sure. She also needed sleep and comfort.

It would be a hard choice to trust her, but Grigori would rather provide her shelter for now, as the woman exchanged her help in the mercenary work for the requests. In a short while, he finally introduced himself to Lucia " The name's Grigori Tarasov, council member of this tk'skqua. These prawns around have no medics, they only have traditional healers. I'll get my personal kit and help you stand up in a second. ". He strolled in a corner and picked up a rectangular box and quickly went back to untie her from the constraints. " Promise me about the help, I would really like to have some company. Makeshift beds are in this hut, I'll treat 'ya there. ", he bent and grasped to help the woman up.


[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

Warmth flooded Lucia's broken body. Grigori Tarasov. He was an interesting man, and she had many questions for him. For now, though, all Lucia could do was breathe deeply in relief. She could feel his skepticism hit the air and dissolve, his once fearful energy toward her melting into tentative acceptance and cautious--if only provisional--trust. He was not the first to doubt the Jedi's existence, and he would not be the last made to believe. He did believe her--Lucia could sense that, too. It was belief born of necessity. They had no choice but trust one another, and for the moment, Lucia knew she was safe.

"Thank you," Lucia murmured, watching Grigori rise masterfully to retrieve his med kit. When he returned and knelt down to her level, she outstretched her bound wrists once more, palms pressed together as if offering herself to him in prayer. The binders fell to the floor. Instinctively, Lucia closed her eyes and sighed, tilting her head back and relishing freedom. She rubbed the slender circumference of her sore wrists, glancing down to notice that they still bore the imprints of where the binders once were, raw marks pressed red and tender into her soft skin. The marks would fade with time. For now, there were larger wounds to tend to, and promises to be made.

Grigori bent to help her rise, and Lucia slipped her arms around his neck. He was a large man, and as she allowed him to pull her up and support her body with his own, Lucia became acutely aware of their difference in size. For a fleeting moment, she felt quite vulnerable and longed for her lightsaber--but the deep, throbbing pain that traveled from her head to her toes brought her back to stark reality, and she knew that she was better off in this strange man's arms than left for dead.

Lucia gathered herself against him, lowering her gaze for a moment as she drew on the Force for guidance, for comfort. The energy around her still felt warm. It's alright, it seemed to say. Lucia lifted her clear blue eyes, looking up at Grigori from beneath his chin with quiet resolve, and acceptance. "I promise," She said, and permitted him guide her out of the main chamber and into a separate room.

Her arms tightened around his neck as she lowered herself down onto the edge of a cot, eyes squeezing shut, bowing her blonde head into the crook of his shoulder in pain. "I don't think anything's broken," She grimaced quietly before gathering her composure and melting down into the seat. "I might have turned an ankle--that's not bad. But there are sand burns and lesions that I know need bacta. I'm warning you," Lucia paused, lifting her hands to her robes and outer garments. "I don't think this will be very pretty."

Slowly, steadily, Lucia began to peel away bits and pieces of fabric. First the outer cloak, then the next level of loose robes, only as far as decency permitted. The layers all fell away, still soaked and gritty with sand, leaving Lucia in the pants and midriff that were standard for her uniform. The milky white of her skin was exposed now, and she was right--burns, lesions, and bruises decorated her body from the side of her neck, twisting down her back, and across the smooth plane of her stomach. As the cool air hit those open wounds, Lucia sharply gasped. The lean muscles that were carved beneath her skin tightened and rippled with the fresh burst of pain. She felt like an angry lioness with a thorn in her paw--she frankly wanted to scream--but as she reached back out into the warm energy field around them, she found peace and settled down once more.

A moment or two passed, but soon her blue eyes ventured upward and found Grigori. "What is a man like you doing here?"

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

Grigori's hazel brown eyes were busy finding a proper treatment inside his medical kit for tending the burns and lesions covering most of Lucia's body. It was all over her, and obviously giving her pain. Venturing the mountainous, desert lands was no easy job. These lands of Kamar were not for the weak, the frail - only the naturally fit survived. His hands capped every space of the kit until he searched it out. Bactade. It was an edible form of bacta, a murky liquid in canisters. Though, it was more known of its distinct taste. " Take this. " he handed Lucia a bottle. Grigori himself knew that he was slowly gaining the trust of the woman. His unease became much more comfortable than earlier. He was not scared of her at all, or at least didn't show any signs in the moment. He gently applied bacta patches on the more serious wounds without hesitation.

His smooth, silky hands were stretching towards a wooden drawer, sliding it within his pull. The compartment had old, but essential garments organized in a series. Grigori brought a fresh pair and followed the glance of the woman. Clearly she had a face of curiosity peeling on her face. She was genuinely interested in know why a human was leading such territorial species. " I retired in these lands back then, knowing that those war-mongering cockroaches would be somehow small-time help. Helped on their nuclear development 'till most tribes merged. They bought it, and I am now a council member of this tk'skqua. ", he said to the lady as he cleaned some of her minor cuts.

 

[Lucia Nox]

Lucia took the bottle without question. She was more than familiar with Bactade and its seemingly miraculous healing powers. It was a staple in the Jedi Temple's medic bay, and Lucia had learned to take it like a champion at a young age, despite its wretched taste. The oral version of bacta was quicker and more effective than the topical serum; already, she could feel the edge of her pain softening fractionally.

Her brilliant eyes now watched Grigori move about the small, dusty room with an almost feline curiosity. She watched him gather more medical supplies and listened to his story intently, absorbing the details and piecing together the puzzle of his curious circumstances. "You're a smart man," She remarked, after a moment. "From what little I know of them, Kamarians are fiercely loyal creatures. Not at all hospitable, though--you must have worked hard to earn their trust."

Whether or not Lucia realized it, she and the Kamarians had more in common than met the eye. Her trust was something that had to be slowly earned, too. This became apparent the moment Grigori laid his hands on her--Lucia jumped at his touch, like a cross between a startled deer and an angry lioness, caught somewhere between flight or fight. The only kind of touch that she was used to usually involved some sort of pain. As a child in that wretched orphanage back on Coruscant, Madame Vlasta liked to box her ears; as an adult in the Jedi Temple, she endured rigorous trials at the hands of her master. But Grigori's hands were gentle and kind. She looked at him warily before settling back down, lowering her lashes abashedly and allowing him to continue his work on her wounded body.

"I'm sorry," Lucia murmured, lifting her gaze and softly shaking her head, wheaten blonde curls moving across her shoulders with the movement. "I'm not accustomed to this."

The process unfolded more smoothly from there.

Lucia twisted and stretched her slender frame this way and that, assisting him in gaining better access to the various bruises and burns that were scattered all over. "What sort of work do you do exactly?" She asked over her shoulder, holding her hair up with one hand as he cleaned a particularly large lesion along the nape of her neck. Here and there, she passed him more antiseptic wipes from the box when he appeared to be running out. It was a seamless team effort, and Lucia played the role of dutiful partner well.

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

The question immediately struck him in the gut. Work. Grigori nearly spat out his true identity, so much to compromise a well-hidden cover. His chapped, light brown lips delayed what he thought. Good thing it did, or it will be a short trip both for him and the trust he earned. Days passed on the Kamar wasteland and nobody has yet to know anything he was with. Even if he did cloak his identity, he had to clench the gritty reality - he rose up the ranks of the Imperial Remnant, a regime about to be born. Serving as a captain of the Imperial Army, Grigori had to stay put until the final straw was pulled. In his ideals he knew the once galactic power will rise again. Its power will be overwhelming those who oppose in its ways.

Grigori snapped back to his senses and almost forgot Lucia's question. The recognition in his job was highly classified and dangerous to grip to. Prior to his self-exile on Kamar, he was arranging mercenary work for a contract company held by private cartels. He was no stranger to smuggling illegal chemicals voyaging the right routes. He had been a mercenary after all, just before the Remnant came. By the time they had recruited him, he was known according to their data files for the illegal nuclear development program he implemented for local defense. His Imperial views were shrouded by a mask of his mercenary self.

" I.. I am a mercenary, a freelancer to be exact. " Grigori spoke in doubt while patching up the lesions of the woman. He needed to be in steady disguise, he needed to. In a closer look, the wounds were brash and terrible that a bacta patch had to be used. It scattered Lucia's body earlier, but the healing properties of the patch did it for itself. He needed to gain trust to this woman, surely she will be a help for the revolt. Grigori then asked her in a subtle way, " The Force, is it true? The Jedi? The Sith? I thought it was all folktales and witchcraft? ". Clearly he asked her of the curious thought, but he never left a mark of being sinister.


[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

So Grigori was a mercenary. This gave Lucia pause. She was not overly fond of soldiers for hire; they worked for money, not for causes, and owed their loyalty to the highest bidder. She looked him over with freshly searching eyes. He seemed to be a kind man, but the energy swirling around him was now murkier than ever, and for a moment Lucia wondered if there was more to his story than he let on. She resolved to ask him more probing questions, but before she could speak, he quickly changed the subject of conversation back to her. For now, Lucia decided to indulge him.

"The Force, is it true?" He asked with a curiosity that was unexpected and almost sweet for such a roughened man. "The Jedi? The Sith? I thought it was all folktales and witchcraft?"

Lucia smiled, the full swell of her lips curving upward and spreading warmth across her inexorably pale features. She leaned closer to him. "There is nothing truer in the whole galaxy," She breathed with quiet conviction, as if she were a little mother revealing a great secret to a child. "It's the only thing I've ever believed in."

It was here that Lucia paused, extending her hands and gently taking the medical supplies away from Grigori, setting them down on the cot. "Here," She said, taking his hands and holding them within the tender grasp of her own, interlocking their fingers together. Her eyes fell closed, and with one gentle draw upon the Force, she sent the softest wave of electricity through her fingertips and into his own. It would radiate warm, otherworldly energy throughout both of their bodies, all via the conduit of her hands. To Lucia, it was exhilarating. She opened her eyes, blue gaze flashing brilliantly. "I'm real. It's all real. Can you feel it?"

After a moment, Lucia let her hands slip away. Her master would not have approved of such showmanship, and she knew it. But the Force pulsed strong within her veins like lifeblood. Who was she to deny someone--this man who was now nursing her back to health--even just a fleeting glimpse of the power that bound them all? The longer Lucia was away from her master, the more she found she was enjoying this newfound freedom.

Minutes passed. Lucia's wounds were in far better shape than before, but the grit of sand and sweat still clung to her skin, and she could feel the low rumble of hunger swelling deep within her belly. Lucia paused, glancing to the fresh set of clothing Grigori had provided, and then returning her eyes to him. "Are there any . . . bathing facilities here?" She ventured slowly. She felt as though she had rolled in buckets of sand and then gone without food for days. The Jedi could endure such stark conditions longer than the average lifeform, but even they had their limits. Lucia was rapidly approaching hers.

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

The only bathing facilities found in the area were showers. It was never a luxury such as saunas. " Of course, down the road. " Grigori stood against the wall. After all, Kamarians were not known to be that hygienic, they had an unpleasant smell. They would bathe only once a week, given their stinky features. Water lines were placed and installed around the tribal area only for the sole purpose of drinking, but Grigori has been using it for a public shower at the center of the village for his clients species alike.

The truth had been felt in his hands, Grigori was amazed by Lucia's supernatural abilities. He felt the flowing energy like it was his own as the grasp of the woman slid on his hands. He knew she was a girl with talents. The Remnant would want to accept such kind in the higher positions of the Empire. Her angelic aura complemented her kind nature, but there were change of plans. Every minute that passed, Grigori was carefully calculating Lucia's actions. His gentle face enveloped the ambition of manipulating and power. As he guided Lucia standing up, he knew that this would not be an easy job.



[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

Lucia leaned heavily against Grigori as he helped her rise. His strides were strong and sure, and Lucia fell silent as they walked the short distance to the showers. For the most part, she was simply observing. The clear blue appraisal of her eyes took in every detail of the village compound, partly out of curiosity and partly out of necessity. Lucia, despite her occasional recklessness, was no fool. Within the twisting, dusty roads and clay huts that all looked the same, she wanted to know how and where to escape, should the occasion arise. However, something deep within the pit of her stomach told her that it wouldn't come to that. Grigori had his secrets, Lucia was sure--but she had felt the warm energy on his hands. In her heart of hearts, she knew he would never use them to harm her. Besides, she had their deal to honor, and Lucia was a woman of her word.

"I won't be long," She said when they reached the primitive showers, leaving him to wait just outside. He would hear the faint turning of an old-fashioned faucet and the pleasant tumble of water beginning to run.

Lucia undressed. One article, then another. Each one dropped to the earthen floor in a piled mess. Aching muscles, smooth curves, the scrapes and lesions from the crash that decorated her pale skin—all were set free in an instant. She felt briefly thankful that bacta patches were waterproof as she stepped underneath the waterfall of the shower and tilted her head back. It was difficult to stand on her own, but oh . . . that water felt good.

Steam filled the small washroom like a pleasant fog. She scrubbed her body clean of the sand and dust and ran her fingers through the thick tangles of her blonde curls. She exhaled deeply, sharp brain dulled by the warmth permeating her senses—for once, too tired to think. Closed her eyes. Simply breathed. Lucia could have luxuriated there for hours, but in reality, it was less than a few minutes. She stepped away from the shower like Venus exiting the sea, donning the fresh clothes that Grigori had provided and enjoying the way they flowed, fresh and clean, down the slender curves and valleys of her frame. They were a bit large for her, but it was no matter. They did the job.

When she emerged from the washroom, Lucia might have glowed. With the ash cleared away, the clear porcelain of her skin would shine as if illuminated from within, tinges of fresh pink giving color to the apples of her cheeks. Fresh water still soaked the crowning glory of her hair, dripping from the soft ends of her curls and into the earth. She almost smiled, but then remembered herself.

"Thank you," Lucia said quite simply, allowing Grigori to support her once more. She wasn't sure what was next on his agenda, but she found herself hungering for two distinctive things: food, and the comfort of her lightsaber. She wondered where those miserable Kamarians had hidden it and resolved to find out as soon as she could. For now, though, she merely settled back in to Grigori's supportive arms and said, "Lead the way."

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

Grigori's burly arms supported Lucia as the woman came into his view, clothed with the fresh pair of clothes he had given her earlier. The moment she stepped out of the public washroom, her seemingly flawless beauty shocked Grigori. He felt that the captive whom he met earlier was a different person. Dust-smeared cheeks, greasy locks of hair, smudged robes to partner with. " Does anyone ever mention that you are one stunning gal? " This woman was wholly novel, had clothes that fitted her nicely, and the appearance of a goddess. Grigori might even think she was a precious stone unearthed from the ground below. His admiration then will be clouded by the twilight of ambition. He quickly snapped to his old ideals, knowing that infatuation will not help.

He guided her along the way towards the feasting hall, where only the wealthiest of the tribesmen eat. On the way to the hall, A series of roads were painted with sand and gravel, while vivid rays of the scorching sun loomed over the tribal village. It was such a magnificent sight to see, to know that the culture was still rich even in the war-like status of its species. Every time Grigori strollsd by each inhabitant, he'd receive a respecting bow. Guardsmen rose their bronzium-tipped spears and lowered their blaster pistols down their four-armed bodies as he escorted Lucia. The insectoids were loyal to him after all. Faint buzzing noises were heard as they drew closer to the building.



[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

"Does anyone ever mention that you are one stunning gal?" The bold comment, seeming to fall out of Grigori's subconscious thoughts most unexpectedly, made Lucia stumble in surprise. She gathered herself within the support of his arms and cleared her throat. "No," She ventured slowly, averting the blue of her eyes to stare intently at the dusty ground. "Just you." That was at least somewhat true. Much to her master's chagrin, Lucia did not escape the notice of men's hungry eyes whenever their missions found them in the dregs of certain entertainment districts. When Grigori complimented her, however, it felt different. Lucia lifted her eyes back up to him. "Jedi don't have time for such things," She added. "Vanity--emotion, attachment of any kind--it's all forbidden." The way Lucia spoke about these strict tenants suggested that she was not entirely on board with them.

The sun grew hot and heavy overhead as they walked. Its scorching rays beamed down onto Lucia's wet hair and did quick work in drying it; by the time they reached the heart of the village, her freshly cleaned locks shone bright like molten gold. She breathed in the sights and smells of Kamarian life all around them, awestruck by the richness of the culture and its bustling activity. Despite its primitiveness, and despite all its war, Kamar still thrived. Every insectoid they passed greeted Grigori with a sweeping bow, and Lucia began to wonder just how powerful he was within their community. As they entered the feasting hall, every bulbous eye turned onto them.

"There she is!" She heard one of them buzz excitedly in that strange dialect. "Tarasov has a woman?" She heard another one ask in a low whisper. The chattering and buzzing grew louder. Others did not sound so enthused. "Is she an angel?" A little one asked. "No, she's a human. There's one too many humans on our planet as it is," An older one muttered, under his breath. "We don't need them multiplying."

Lucia could feel the mixture of energy swirling around them like a buzzing storm--the good, the bad, the in-between--and it was overwhelming. Never had she longed for her lightsaber more. Instinctively, she found herself moving closer to Grigori. She still did not entirely trust the Kamarians, but at Grigori's side, she felt safe and untouchable for now.

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

" Fellow Kamarians, may I introduce to you a friend, Lucia Nox. " his blunt face grew out a wide, grinning manner. Visitors are often unwelcome to the tribes of Kamar, especially if they were of other origin. Despite their xenophobic nature, they tend to explore emerging technologies from other species. Grigori was a proof that they do, and helped them become innovative enough to benefit themselves. His rugged hands wrapped around the shoulder of Lucia as they walked through the main door of the feasting hall, guiding her stumbling ramble, " I expect proper conduct in your part. This woman will be our visitor. " he pointed directly to Lucia, knowing the natural behavior of the insectoids.

The feasting hall was common in appearance, essentially for a tribal community. Its exterior was made of adobe clay, while inside the place was much more grand. Clad with bronzium plates hanging by its walls, it was a blacksmith's dream. A large feasting table made of Homogoni stretched and occupied the center of the hall. Kamarian delicacies were placed on the table - roasted digworms, nightswifts and many more. Grigori had one thing in mind, surely they had worse tastebuds than his.



[member="Lucia Nox"]

 

[Lucia Nox]

At Grigori's word, the buzz in the feasting hall subsided. Lucia took her place at the table by his side, eyeing the food--more aptly described as grub--with intermingled curiosity and suspicion. She briefly wondered how he had managed to persist among the insectoids for so long. Bravely, she ventured out her fork to gently poke one of the digworms but just as quickly retracted it, watching as the slimy morsel still wriggled with life.

Lucia placed her fork down delicately, turning to Grigori. "Look," She said after a moment, dropping her voice low to a whisper. "Let's cut to the chase. I want you for your ship. You want me for my abilities. We need to work out a business deal, and fast." Her voice was firm, but not at all rude. She was simply a woman who meant business, and the power that filled the blue of her eyes showed as much. "I'm sorry," She continued, offering him a small smile. "I don't mean to be ungrateful--I just don't have much time. How soon will we be leaving the planet? What do you expect from me?"

Her duties as a Jedi were calling, but she now had a duty to him, too. She would honor both.

[member="Grigori Tarasov"]

 

[Grigori Tarasov]

The ambience of the feasting hall suddenly became too quiet. Grigori was grateful that these Kamarians were simple-minded enough to understand his brief orders. It was a no-brainer that he had exceptional power over the insectoids, but his tastebuds had the opposite for them. He simply had to endure the foul, unpleasant stench of Kamarian cuisine in a long period of time, cheering their poorly-made foodstuffs to gain their trust. Wiggling digworms were his weakness. He never really knew why the Kamarians were fond of eating such, but in time he had to adapt to their customs. Grigori readied himself as he plucked the first worm from his wooden plate. That moment, Lucia reminded him about her more actual needs - the ship. The woman spoke in a political manner and seemed to be genuine. Her lightweight smile earlier when Grigori guided her on the way turned into a more neutral expression.

Grigori carefully placed his fork alongside his plate and casually conversed to the lady, " We'll be running some glitterryll tonight. I have received word from fellow smugglers that energy spiders have been swarming the spice mines of Kessel again. Those nasty critters create their litter from the shadows called glitterstim. We'll be needing at least two specimens to complete the task. With that prowess, no doubt you will get a large one. The rest will be my job. " he proposed the contract to Lucia, knowing she will be handling such business pretty well. The legalities of glitterstim were still banned, giving the finest contractors such as Grigori, an uncomplicated work to do.


[member="Lucia Nox"]