Private Disdain

[Mauve du Vain]

"Your recent conduct has left much to be desired. I am sure the reports greatly exaggerate your behavior. Please report at once to my gallery on New Vertica to dispel these rumors."

Mauve had sent that message days ago. Still nothing. Perhaps he was in transit. She glanced at it again. No reply, no acknowledgement. Perhaps Koda Fett or Windrun would haul him in in carbonite. Then, at least, she could have the satisfaction of mounting him on the wall of her gallery.

Putting the datapad back in her pocket, she walked toward her office in the rear of the art gallery and sat down in her oversized chair in front of her immense wroshyr wood desk. A dozen or more rare relics lay scattered on shelves and cases behind her, a museum in miniature.

She leaned back in her chair and held up her hands, forefingers and thumbs together, squinting through their aperture at the wall. Yes. Morrow could go right there in that empty spot just beside the door. What a refreshing view every morning, looking up from her desk with a warm cup of caf to see his terrified face frozen in time.

A wicked smile curved up her face and she picked up her cup of caf in both hands and took a sip, daydreaming of small cruelties.

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

Morrow drew his blaster, flipped it over in his hand, and handed it over. Security wasn't satisfied. Their pat-down found nothing, but the metal detector asserted otherwise. After several back and forths between pat-downs and a detector wand, Morrow barged his way through into the gallery. He spat several curses toward the shrugging guards, impatience carrying him quickly towards Mauve's office.

Sliding door mechanisms hissed as they parted before Morrow's stride. He stopped several paces from the desk, signature black cloak shrouding his figure, leaving just his face distinct from the stygian mass.

"Your security sucks," he mentioned bluntly. They never found his vibroblade.

Blue eyes scanned across the various art pieces and artifacts, their owner's gaze fixed in a humorless stare.

"So..." he began, regard finally falling back to Mauve. "You've heard all of Razmir's bullchit by now?"

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"Hm."

Security was indeed lax, which meant Arris Windrun was probably not working today. That's right, she'd sent her on that other job. No matter.

The raven haired boy had stormed into her office like a runaway Reek and his emotional state was much the same as the three-horned animal. Defiant, stubborn, flippant, intractable, she could feel these drifting around him like a cloak he wore, repelling others lest they get too close.

A single brow rose, but Mauve did not, remaining languidly in her chair.

"I have certainly heard something, but whether or not it's gutter rumor is why you're here, isn't it."

She folded one hand over the other and leaned forward, elbows on her desk.

"Why don't you tell me what happened, in your own words."

The scent of jasmine lay thickly in the air, soothing away anxiety and frustration. Calm-inducing.

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

Morrow's blank expression wavered somewhat. His brow furrowed slightly, flexing every bit of volition he could in preventing the Zelton's scent from doing anything with his head.

"Razmir ordered autocanon fire on a Jedi, conveniently ignoring that I was in the line of fire, for starters."

He'd neglect to mention the truth of who that Jedi was to him. Likewise, he wouldn't elaborate on the detail that he had saved them, though forward was his only way out of the autocannon's salvo. Even attempting to rationalize it without being asked would have sounded incriminating. Morrow was a consummate enough liar to know better.

"Naturally, I put plasma through that nerve burner's skull the first chance I got," he continued, referring to the cannoneer. The revelation came with no hesitation or doubt in his voice, believing himself blameless.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

The jasmine became cloying, overriding all other smells. Still calm inducing.

"Hm."

Among Mauve's many talents was the ability to perceive the emotional aura of another. All Zeltrons had this, to varying degrees. Empathic telepathy, they called it. Right now, Morrow was haloed with the sickly yellow-green hues of deceit and half-truths. As to be expected.

"Of course you did."

Mauve could feel some sort of emotional twinge in the boy when he said the word Jedi. She turned his words over in her head, resting her chin on one hand and watching him with very wide, very violet eyes.

"So you were just protecting yourself, looking out for your own interests? A shame. The way I heard it was somewhat different. Are you sure you didn't put your life on the line for another?" The words dripped from her tongue like strands of honey, rich and smooth, "That would be understandable. Heroic, even."

She watched him.

"Are you a hero, Morrow?"

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

"Heh." A Hero? It may not have been a joke, but it was funny.

"She was in my way," he continued. "I had to go through her to save myself. Lucky rip for her, that's all." Perhaps more telling than he'd realize, 'the Jedi' had become she and her. His explanation ostensibly confirmed the detail Mauve had pressed him on. It was the truth, even if some rather large details had been omitted.

"Unless you'd call that heroic?" he asked flippantly.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"No, I would not."

Mauve sighed, leaned back in her chair, eyes rolling with disappointment and a touch of disdain.

"I wish you wouldn't lie, Morrow, really. This Jedi," she traced a circle on the wood of her desk with a fingernail, the lacquered tip gliding softly across the wroshur's smooth surface, "Someone random or... did you know her?"

The Zeltron already suspected by the auras swirling about the man. She just wanted to hear what he had to say. Information was currency, after all.

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

"What difference does it make?" he contended, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

Gradually, Morrow could feel his inhibition slackening under the influence of Mauve's alien aroma. He had prepared himself for this, as much as one could. Teeth grinding furtively behind his closed lips, he focused on his story. For a time, his concentration would continue to reign over his intentions. Though even if he could manage to endlessly bend his half-truths around the beckoning authority of the pheremones, it may not be enough. The Vigo's almost otherworldly insight felt like an even bigger obstacle.

Why did Mauve care, anyway? The job was over with, for better or worse.

"This is about that rat Razmir, not some Jedi."

Wasn't it?

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"Of course it is," Mauve gestured to one of the leather-bound chairs on the other side of the desk, where Morrow continued to stand there like some dark haired scarecrow, "Please, have a seat."

Smoothly, she stood and plucked a bottle of Corellian whisky from the shelf behind her. "It is about Razmir, but it's also about knowing where your loyalties lie. If you have some Jedi trollop, I really don't care," She poured a glass and rounded the overlarge desk to hand it to him. It was not poisoned.

"But I want you to at least be honest about it."

She sat on the edge of her desk, ankles crossing, and regarded the young man.

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

Eyes drifted back and forth between Mauve and the offered seat. Black fabric shuffled as Morrow skulked forward, form shrouded by his signature heavy cloak. Cloth parted when he sat down, revealing even more black underneath. His smuggled-in vibroblade remained scarcely out of view.

"Trollop," he echoed, umbrage and daze emulsified in his voice. "She's my—" Morrow stopped himself, realizing his tongue was getting precariously loose. One last effort to steel himself against the Zeltron's scent went down along with a lump in his throat. "—I don't know." Truth. Morrow couldn't put a word on what Talin Treicolt was to him if you offered him credits for it. Friend? No, friends don't do the things they've done with one another.

Ambivalence roiled in Morrow's head behind the topic of this Jedi. It would muddy the empathic space Mauve was attuned to; the signature turmoil of a young man's romantic perplexity.

Stygian locks swayed with a tight shake of the head. Morrow rediscovered his mental center with the gesture. "It doesn't matter. She wasn't supposed to be there." As if he had any say in that. "We'd be having this conversation anyway. This is bigger than just a friendly fire incident."

They hadn't even gotten to Damien yet.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Oh. Poor little bird. He truly didn't know how he felt about this Jedi, did he? Mauve's lips twitched upward ever so slightly as she sat on the lip of the desk, somewhat higher than he now that he was sitting in the chair.

She put her hands behind her, palms flat, and kicked off her heels, curling her toes. Ugh. Free at last.

"Bigger than a friendly fire incident?" She frowned and tapped at his shin playfully with a bare foot. "Now this is news to me."

She gave a small pout, crossing her ankles again. One foot bouncing restlessly as if lost in thought. The same foot that was brushing up against his calf.

"Hm. What could be bigger than murdering one of Razmir's minions? You know he wants you dead."

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

"More to the story, I mean."

It was getting harder and harder to think straight. How did anyone do business like this?

"Raz can get in line."

Morrow forced his eyes away from Mauve's suggestive posturing. Another aspect of her game, he reckoned. As if the pheremones weren't bad enough. He shifted in his chair, leg moving away from her wandering foot.

"Like I said, his goon had it coming." No one was going to get away with almost killing him if he could help it. Statutes be damned. "He took Damien hostage, you know him?" Morrow was aware they had some history, probably negative, but the Razmir's patterns looked more than slightly detrimental to the operation from the outside. Reveling in discord when they should have been executing the plan.

"As if that Jedi he was screaming at was supposed to care."

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"No," Mauve said smoothly, "Who is Damien?"

She noted his scoot backward, his reticence, his disgust with Razmir. If she didn't make an asset of him, someone else would. There were really only two solutions to a problem like Morrow.

The manchild would need to provide a touch more information, athough she had seen some helmet footage. Not quite a "clean" operation, but then that wasn't her domain.

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

Damien's reputation often preceded him, but not here. His friend? Maybe. The man responsible for the flattering, or maybe deeply unflattering, pinup of Mauve on the titular On The Mauve? Well, Morrow wouldn't tell.

"Another associate, hired for the same reasons I was. By Raz? I don't know."

Disgust contorted over Morrow's features.

"Took him for a meat shield as soon as things didn't go his way. Shouting like he could bargain with that Jedi that threw me across the rafters."

His finger twitched, an echo of past intent.

"I should have iced him... Fuckin' coward," Morrow slipped, venom sizzling on his tongue.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"Hmm."

He hadn't touched his whiskey yet. Mauve took the glass and took a sip, the liquid gliding between her lips, smooth and fiery. She tapped the glass against her lips in thought, then set it down on the desk with a thump.

"That temper," her lips quirked, "Has anyone ever told you you're something of a loose cannon? Your Jedi lover, maybe, or does she overlook all your imperfections."

A raised eyebrow.

"Razmir doesn't. And I- well... I just want to know what makes you tick, Morrow. You want to what, murder Razmir? And then what, spend your whole life running, looking over your shoulder? How do you think this ends?"

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

"She-" Morrow's face contorted again, "-this isn't about her."

Mauve had already gotten some semblance of the truth she wanted, but Morrow wanted to remain lucid. Drinks were, he figured, yet another piece of her game. He was nothing if not calculated, speaking of how he ticked. How could he elaborate on that insidious ambition that drove him?

"I know better, as much as I'd love to put crimson between his eyes." Just the thought of it could make the corners of his mouth rise slightly. Sweet malice. "My bridge with Raz, if there ever was one, has burned."

Morrow's limited ability to sense intentions and the abstract was tingling in his favor. A rare, but serendipitous occurrence. "Not with you, though. You know better," he asserted. Eye contact became suddenly very pointed. They both knew why he'd come to reconcile. He wasn't going to let Razmir get in the way of his ascension. "You know my value." He'd felt her think about it, though he didn't understand how he knew that. Gut feeling. "You have an eye for that kind of thing, don't you?" He tiptoed on flattery, lacing it with subtle vaunting.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

By way of answer, Mauve gestured with a palm up at all the objects of antiquity surrounding her office. "You could say that, certainly."

She leaned forward, resting an elbow on her thigh, hand in chin, and looking down at him.

"But you still haven't answered my question. How do you think this ends? What do you want, Morrow? A place in the Black Sun? Power? Wealth?"

Mauve paused, a wicked smile curling up her painted lips and she reached out her other hand to cup his chin.

"Women?"

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

"I-" Morrow stammered slightly when Mauve's hand took the side of his face. Eye contact sharpened, the faint daze in Morrow's blues suddenly replaced with sudden vehemence. It was like a flashbang dropped into the empathic space the vigo kept prodding.

His hand rose, fingers grasping firmly around her wrist. "I want to rule," he admitted, an otherworldly emphaticness in his voice. Power was the answer. It spoke little of the future itself, but multitudes of his intention to change it to his purpose. Black Sun was a means to an end, though the vigo before him stood to gain a great deal from the spoils of his path.

Unless his confession was too portentous?

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"Do you now?"

Well this was interesting.

My my, Morrow. What aspirations.

The hand around her wrist was tight. She made no move to remove it, nor to remove her own hand. Instead she let her fingers rest against his cheek.

There were many types of rule, for many different reasons, of many different things.

"What, exactly, do you want to rule over?"

Yourself, for a start.

Her thumb brushed the ridge of his cheekbone.

Morrow

 

[Morrow]

All attempts to resist the pheromones had deteriorated. His tongue was loosened by the Zeltron's particular strain of intoxication. Despite this, there remained an inexplicable deliberateness to Morrow's words. He remained self-aware enough of his succumbing to Mauve's game that he could cling to the ability to mold his words, even if he could no longer lie or obscure.

"Everything that can bend-" he uttered, "-will bend to me."

Perhaps not a convincing aspiration to be someone's employee. It implied the obvious, that he would always be looking for the next step up, always willing to trample over those he viewed as his lesser. If it wasn't an outward threat, the drive may be appealing, knowing how far Morrow would go to get things done.

"I've seen it."