First Reply Festival Of Stars

[Fenn Stag]

CORUSCANT
EMPIRE CONTROLLED AREA
LEVEL 314, FESTIVAL OF STARS




PLEASANT DARKNESS, STARS ABOVE
​

He was free from some things, without all of it on- he felt free for the first time in a long time. The Mandalorian in him was ashamed that he wasn't wearing it. He didn't share his contemporaries opinions on the armor, the symbol of it. Lately, it felt more like a tool. What was he without it- that was the question he felt more important to ask, to ponder. It was freeing, it was awkward, it was... odd. A mix of emotions. But it felt good, in most respects. To be a regular person. To be amongst many. He walked through the festival- low light in most places. The lights had been dimmed or darkened, or even turned off for the first time all the rotational year for two whole days in the upper levels. The stars were visible for the first time in decades on Coruscant.

The Empire had brought the festival on to give the impression they cared. Cultural milestones, appeasing the local populace. He wondered, pondered even, if the Alliance had celebrated the sacred Coruscanti festival. But perhaps they were too busy repairing the damage to the planet, too busy fighting off yet another incursion onto the planet. Perhaps even the people forgot. But now-

The streets were lined with people. Red lights hung, dimly displaying shadowy figures moving about. Quiet, hushed tones. People were naturally more inclined to be quieter in the darker spaces. And the costumes, dark as it was, helped him blend in even more. His eye black, normally a tactical decision, was applicable here. It hid the whites of his eyes, the bright blues of them hidden by smudges of dark circles around them. The stars were bright tonight, enticing the many visitors, diplomats and who's-who of the galaxy come to bear witness what was visible on every other planet in the galaxy, if not more so here. It was decadence, it was hubris, it was folly in most cases to want to see the lights of the galaxy on Coruscant.

But it made for good cover. The Black Sun's dark shine needed to be here, in the economic and cultural center of the galaxy. He had been given a task, a directive, and would complete it so. It was a simple task-

Retrieve a package from a courier, and use the festival for cover. Don't open, don't ask questions about the package. All he knew was that it was large enough to require a backpack.

But Fenn knew it was not that simple. It was not often that things went smoothly for criminality. Especially on Coruscant.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

This wasn't part of what Scherezade generally preferred to do. It was one thing to receive a mission to go tag someone, kill someone, kidnap someone… Those were fun. Then there were diplomatic missions. Yeah, she didn't sign up for those. Her mouth got her more into trouble than out of it. AND THEN there were the boring missions that one did just to keep busy and moving. Like this.

The two slaves behind her were the package d'jour. Humans, though they barely looked like anything. Shock collars around their throats, keeping them in line. A clicky-thing in Scherezade's hands because someone decided that sending electricity down their spine was better than punching them if they tried to run. Still. The Blood Hound had more effective ways to get people to fall in line, she had no intention on using the clicky thing. Her sadism didn't run in those lines.

The festival ensured that the streets would be packed. Three robes over all of them ensured that they didn't really stick out. Another thing Scherezade hated.

But despite all of that, there was a grand smile on her face. Why, one might ask. The answer was simple. In her left hand, was a big ol' bag of cheese cubes. While she sheparded the slaves through the throng of people, she tossed a few cubes into her mouth every now and then, chewing with glee. Omnomnom. It made things a little less worse.

Arriving at the meeting point, her glowing green eyes looked around. She had never been shy about them, and hadn't even considered to try to dim them in any way for this. Why? This was just a small part of their business transaction.

"Wait here," she said with her sing-song voice to the slaves, and took two steps away to hop onto the local fence's gabion, making sure her butt was comfortable before she tossed a few more cubes of cheese into her mouth, legs kicking out beneath her as though she was a teenager without a care in the 'verse.

 

[Fenn Stag]

CORUSCANT
EMPIRE CONTROLLED AREA
LEVEL 314, FESTIVAL OF STARS




I DON'T MIND THE DARKNESS
​

He appeared like a demon, near Scherezade deWinter .

He looked like one, too.

In the dim red glow, his face was only half-illuminated, casting shadows with each movement of others near them. His presence in the force was hidden, warped. Like trying to look through opaque glass. He was a naturally sneaky, paranoid person. It only made sense that he took steps to conceal himself from the Mandalorian's greatest foes, the Sith and the Jedi.

Blue eyes, hidden by shadow and filled with passive hatred of all things on two legs, stared at the woman at the meeting point. Two others with her. He had a lot of tools to take them down, but he was comfortable enough to do it with his bare hands if need be. He didn't care for her body language or attitude- suggesting that she didn't take the task as seriously as he did.

He gave her the challenge, awaiting the proper phrase in return. Only him, the contact, and mission control knew the phrase. She'd know it off the top of her head, immediately. Anything other than her proper response firstly would cause him to bail immediately. Such were his instructions.

"Starry nights are my favorite."​

He had a voice like a straight razor. Quiet, soft, despite his size and appearance and capability. He had fought Jedi Masters to standstills, and defeated a Sith Lord with nought his bare hands. It showed in his presence, his stance. The voice carried with it the sea of rage hidden beneath, almost spoken the same way someone would speak through clenched teeth. His hair fell about his face, long and unkempt, concealing most of his features. It added to that demonic, otherworldly look he possessed.

He stood eerily still, awaiting her reply.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

The two slaves were standing there, looking like terrified sheep. Scherezade didn't care. She had her cheese cubes, and this transaction would soon come to an end. She wondered if the contact knew that one of them had a few bombs inside their stomachs, ready to detonate at the first sign of anything going wrong. It was a silly switch, she had thought, but since their journey would take them many times from hands to hands, she didn't see a reason to argue the fact that there were simpler ways to move cargo around.

When the figure draped in black approached her, her senses jumped into action immediately. He didn't have to speak before she knew she was scenting an Epicanthix, though everything else about him was vastly different than the other Epicanthixes she had come across. Still. She had spent a decade beyond the galaxy's edge and had only returned to the galaxy proper months ago. Scary things had a tendency to pique her interest rather than scare her away.

"Starry nights are my favorite."

"Paint your palette blue and grey," the answer came without missing a beat.

Scherezade jumped off the fence and landed with feline grace, standing almost as tall as the man who had come to collect the slaves. The clicky-thingie slid into her had and she offered it to him without pomp, more than glad to be able to shed the excess weight that two slaves brought with them.

Her other hand though, still holding the cheese cube bag, offered its open end to him, inviting him to grab a few.

 

[Fenn Stag]

CORUSCANT
EMPIRE CONTROLLED AREA
LEVEL 314, FESTIVAL OF STARS




STARING AT THE FACE OF A DEAD MAN
​

If the Sith Princess had any inclination or been in better lighting, perhaps she would've noticed she was looking into the face of a long dead man. But thankfully, the stars were out, not the lights.

"Paint your palette blue and grey," the answer came without missing a beat.

He didn't make a sound, an affirmative. He simply leaned on the fence near her, folding his hands together. Even in the dim light, the refraction off the beskar-weave of his hand was obvious. It was a mechanical marvel- extremely similar to his opposite arm, down to his musculature. He turned his head towards her, not speaking for a moment. He was sizing up her companions.

They clearly didn't like being there.

"It was supposed to fit in a backpack."

He knocked the cheese cubes out of her hand, unimpressed by her demeanor and frankly annoyed. His voice didn't raise, but carried that same lethality. His hand was fast- his biological right hand struck with such speed that could rival even the faster Jedi. It was a blinding movement, practiced, deadly hands used to killing and killing alone.

"These two do not fit in a backpack."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

He… Knocked the cheese cubes out of her hands. What the krak.

Before Scherezade did anything else, she moved the tips of her fingers, causing both bag and cubes to freeze mid-air. They would not be falling to the ground this evening, absolutely not! The five second rule never applied when it was an outside public space where millions of feet stomped on the daily, and she was not inclined to have perfectly good food go to waste because of some dude's tantrum.

At that point, it didn't matter that he had also hit her. The cheese was safe, and that was what mattered.

And now he was moaning about the slaves not fitting into a backpack, like it was somehow her fault that they didn't. "The smaller one looks like he can fold," she shrugged, her demeanor returning to being as careless as it had been when she'd set atop the fence with her little cheese cubes.

"Take it up with your superiors," she added, looking him over again, her glowing green gaze going from top to bottom and back. Nope, not impressed. Though she had done several missions for the Black Sun so far, she didn't really have an official standing with the organization. And since he hadn't yet taken the clicky-thingie, she just tossed it into the air. If he could move so fast to knock food out of her hands, he could move fast enough to catch the clicky-thingie before it fell on the ground and potentially went boom.

Of course, he could also start a fight with her if that was what he wanted. Scherezade was totally cool with that as well. She usually fought bigger and stronger opponents than the Epicanthix and was quite confident of her ability to continue to come on top. If he wanted to dance… She could do it. But he'd have to do something bigger than knock food out of her hands to show his intent.

 

[Fenn Stag]

​

In a moment, a flash- his eyes did not leave hers, but his hands in lightning succession, produced, in the spaces between seconds when the lights dimmed just right, a Ori'Ramikad Supercommando knife- pointed the tip right at her throat. Not across the throat held sideways like the holovids and the novels. No, a killer's poise, pointed straight at her trachea and everything important in the middle part of her neck.

Thankfully, the detonator she was foolishly holding clattered on the ground, much to the delight of the terrified slaves.

"Our superiors."

He stared at her harshly, eyes narrowed.

"Take stock of your situation and answer my questions." His left arm was braced, the beskar-alloy glinting in the dim light. They were shadowed in the darkness, only faint red sweeping lights to convey their positions to each other. But the knife was very much there, and the potential for him to use it was also there. He was fast. He was mean. And he was ready to kill her.

"What did they tell you, and what's important about these two?" That voice. Carrying weight, carrying anger. This close, the mask was slipping. Through the force, it was as if he was six people, speaking all at once. A turmoil of anger, doubt, revenge, hate, memory. Swirling dark oily shadows around him in the force. Insanity on display. However, they were quiet, the voices for the time being. The inner self, the true self, maybe.

Now, there was only a laser-focus on the woman in front of him. A traitor? A thief? A liar? A rat? Alliance, Empire, Republic agent, perhaps? The possibilities were growing in his mind. He had half a mind to run, and report the mission back as a failure. He had every right to at the moment. But something told him there was more to this. More to her.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

"Our superiors."

Scherezade burst into laughter. Yes, she had noted the tip of the knife at her throat. It didn't matter. The man had gone from tantrum to full on mis-reading the situation entirely.

It was both long ago and not that long ago that she had superiors. People who not only saw themselves as above her, but that she had seen as such as well. They had mistreated her, used her, abused her. She had broken free of their mental grip upon her eventually and had vowed to never adhere to such stupid views again. Scherezade deWinter had no superiors. Not in the Black Sun, not anywhere else. Were there people who were above her in hierarchy and in the ring of knowledge? Sure. But she would never refer to them as such.

His knife was still so close to her throat. All he'd need was to cough or sneeze and it would go through her pale neck. But if it was fear or worry he expected to see or scent, he would be waiting for a very long time.

Because you see. Pulling a weapon the Sith Warrior, on the Blood Hound, or just on Scherezade deWinter, was rarely a good idea. Especially when she knew she hadn't actually done anything to properly warrant it. Two seconds was all it took before her own blades slipped from beneath the robe she wore. A combination of knives, daggers, and short swords, totaling thirteen, fanning around her like the tail of a peacock, all pointy ends pointing at the Epicanthix.

But that wasn't enough.

With the Force, Scherezade reached forward. Like most species, Epicanthirxes had blood, and she was the blood hound. Her body didn't have to move an inch. All that she did was let the invisible tendrils spill into him, offer command to the very blood that coursed through his veins. If he did not stop her, did not distract her, or come up with a different way of protecting himself, he would feel it – the blood would boil.

Weapons or blood, blood or weapons, it was a choice she always hated to have to make. Both were just so incredibly fun.

"You try to make me lose my food and then make demands," she said, her voice still sing-songy, still friendly, still with a hidden grin attached to it even though her face was deadly serious, the glow of her eyes focused on him hard enough to burn, "How about you put your knife away and pretend we're civilized? Get more answers with honey rather than vinegar."

 

[Fenn Stag]

INNER DARKNESS​

He was trained to fight force users. Kill them. He'd fought more ferocious combatants before. He'd probably do it again.

He knew when they were probing, looking for an in, trying to manipulate his body. The process was to manipulate him- so he had to resist her. He didn't care for her attitude. She put them both in jeopardy. She played her card, a force user, and by the feel of it- Sith, Dark Side at best.

Such were the speciality of the Bounty Hunters of the Black Sun. Far more terrifying than even him, the invisible hands of the Black Sun's criminal empire. So he knew when to back off. But she found her powers resisted- for the time being. Through the force, she was resisted. In the force, it was as if the oily shadows around him swirled, coiling around him, pushing back against her. Whispers in the force. Darkness in his soul pushed her away, hate and anger kept him she needs to die

kill her

slice her open and save yourself

they will come for us now

bite

kill

rip

free of her influence- for the time being. A feat not easily done. A testament to his many dealings and substantial training in dealing with Jedi- and his birthright, Preliat Mantis . He pulled the knife away from her neck, cursing, looking around in a brief moment of paranoia. No one at the festival had noticed, or had been able to see the two of them. The two slaves looked terrified- rightly so.

"You've damned us both." He did not care for her childish mannerisms, her femme fatale act, the fake whimsy and humor. He found her already annoying. He turned and walked back towards her, a mechanical finger pointing down, demanding answers. It was clear how he was able to hold his own and kill as well as he did- he moved like his father, a wolf. He always had the posture of aggressively leaning forward, always

"Drop the act, and tell me what you know now before we both end up with our heads in carbonite. Don't act like you can hide from the entire galaxy, either. There will not be safety for those that cheat the Black Sun, and you damn well know that."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

She felt his resistance. That was okay. The effort she had put into her actions was not one intended to take him down, but one mostly to warn him that she could. He probably did not believe it, just as she did not believe he had the power to give any meaningful harm to herself. He would have to press harder if he wanted her to show him that he was wrong.

But something flickered. No, she did not know of the voices, but she sensed something was… Not like with all the others. Still, he had not given her a reason to push on it. It was his business, and his headache to deal with, whatever it was.

As his knife came away from her throat, so did the canopy of blades around her close up again, the pointy ends all returning to hide beneath the robes she wore.

She had damned them both?

"I'm not the one who's acting," she noted with a sigh, reaching back for her cheese cubes and tossing a few into her mouth. Force, situations like these always made her hungry for food and… Well, other things that would be experienced when she was back with her paramour.

"Didn't cheat the Black Sun either," she commented after swallowing, "I was told to bring these two buttholes here and that someone would take them off my hands. Didn't bother with questions."

Turning around, she walked to the slaves and pulled their hoods off. Both were human all right, though their faces were tattooed in a tribal pattern that she hadn't recognized.

"Someone might be trying to do away with you though," Scherezade shrugged, "the smaller one has a bomb in his body. Not sure when it's set to detonate." She grinned. The slave looked as though he was about to faint. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head, and he shut up before he had even begun. "The paranoid ones usually have a reason to be paranoid though," she commented, turning her gaze back to him, "which begs the question… What did you do, Epicanthix?"

 

[Fenn Stag]

​

"I followed instructions. Someone didn't."

There wasn't any hesitation. With the precision and efficiency of a trained killer, Fenn produced his pistol, a verpine shatterpistol- and shot both of the slaves, point blank. They were both dead quickly, and Fenn guided the one that nearly fell violently gently to the ground. He grabbed the detonator and threw it over the edge of the platform, tumbling down to the blackness below. He quickly looked around, looked at his compatriot- and began to move. Whatever the cause was of all of this, he had to get to the bottom of it.

And not leave any evidence thereof.

The bodies would be found later, CorSec knee-deep in problems and a change in management ensured that it would be blamed on someone else, something other than what it really was. To their favor.

"Disappear."

He turned to walk into the crowd, shuffling at first, then changing his gait periodically. He shed clothes, kept his head down- and narrowed eyes. Someone had to pay for this. And it wasn't going to be him.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

She didn't respond when he shot the slaves. She didn't respond when he got rid of the clicker-thingie. She didn't respond when he actually for a change gave her a direct answer to her question. Sithspit, Scherezade didn't actually do anything in those precious few moments other than just stand there, eat her cheese, and keep on looking.

Sure, the dude was a butthole. He lacked manners. He was rude. He probably didn't like her, which was really weird, though it was weirder that it was weird than not. So as far as Scherezade was concerned, she was now deeply, trouble-ly, intrigued. And she was rarely a woman who was good at putting pleasures off.

So while he did his thing and tried to disappear into a crowd, she merely followed. He had no anti-Force equipment that she could tell, since she was easily tracking him not by vision or body heat, but merely with the scent of his blood, thankful for the moment that most individuals didn't know how to protect themselves against it. Shed clothes and altered gaits did not and could not slow her down. Not this way, anyway.

Somewhere along their route, she'd discarded her bag of cheese cubes, now empty.

Was… He aware of the fact that he had just gone against explicit instructions? Something went off in the distance, probably the smaller of the two slaves exploding, a button pressed from a distance that neither she nor the man covered. Or someone was lighting fireworks. This was Coruscant, where anything and everything was possible.

As for herself, she couldn't be bothered with concealment. She'd even taken a further step and removed the heavy robe she'd been wearing, her armor now in full view to anyone who glanced her direction. Not that it mattered, because again, this was Coruscant. She could've been walking brand naked, and no one would bat an eyelash. She loved this planet, despite all its flaws.

Her only question now was whether the man knew she was following him or not. She was going to assume that he did. He certainly seemed paranoid enough to think she would, so why let the chance go? She was going to annoy the krak out of him, just because she could. And it would make her giggle.

The only thing she wasn't going to do, was offer him more food. He didn't deserve it.

 

[Fenn Stag]

CRY NO MORE​

He turned and stopped, his head slowly turning to face her. She dropped her cloak, the movement behind him causing him to stop. His body tensed, then froze in place. And then, he disappeared from sight. In the force, he was close. Like a screen of smoke. He knew he was being hunted. Years of practicing Teras Kasi led him to be more efficient at hiding himself, controlling his mind. His natural Epicanthix birth prevented his mind from being probed and being tracked that way- but he was still fighting a Sith.

But he wasn't going to make it easy to be followed.

He shoved a person into her from her flank, then passed by her. Another push when the lights came on. Two people moving into her at once- and then, a quick sleight of hand, and something was left on her belt. A key. Apartment key, specifically. Six levels below. And Fenn was gone.

Quick as he came, he disappeared. The key was unique- physical. No remote access, no activation code. A rarity in the galaxy today. It meant, more specifically, that it was free of slicing attempts and one needed the knowledge of the inner workings of the lock to get into it, if they needed to pick it. But, judging by the complexity of the key-

That lock was employed by a very paranoid man. He was gone, disappeared. In the sea of people, searching with the force was difficult, and with the energy and constant shift of emotions and his now paranoia, it was quite literally a needle in a haystack. But-

He needed her, in some capacity.

---

Roughly half an hour later....


The apartment was barely furnished, and he kept it that way. A safehouse, off of the Black Sun's books and everyone else's. Outside, he saw an Imperial patrol pass by, Stormtroopers clinking along. He turned his head away from the window, and then back to the mirror, running a hand over his face, pulling his hair away from his view. He had showered, changed, and was staring at the box of equipment. A set of armor, painted black, lay exposed in the open container. The light came flooding into the apartment from the hallway. Outside, there was still the mix of dark red and hues of purple, and the blistering mess of stars above them.

He stood up, pressing a button on the wall and closing the blinds. Blackout curtains. For a more nocturnal creature. Or a man who wanted privacy. He walked towards her as she entered, staring at her. He was handsome, tall. But damaged. In a room alone, it was clear who he was a copy of, perfect even.

He didn't speak, just staring at her for a moment. He cocked his head only slightly. Whatever that meant, he didn't hate her. Seemingly.

"Someone wants this mission to fail. Or- set one of us up to fail."

He stepped away, turning his back. In Mandalorian culture, a sign of trust. She was free to stab him in the back, and the act was a show of good faith. He collapsed into a sitting chair, that normally would've faced the Coruscanti skyline, but now faced a thick cover over the window.

"Tell me what you know of the two slaves you brought. Anything."

Not hostile like before. Still quiet, low. Even in his own space he didn't feel comfortable speaking. Like it was foreign to him, in all languages to speak aloud. To talk. To communicate.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

When Scherezade said she loved Coruscant, she wasn't kidding. Sure, it wasn't the same like her home planet, but she hadn't been to her home planet since the age of one. But here… How many hours had she spent merely falling from top floors to the ground, letting her body enjoy the wind that whipped by her ears as she landed on top of vehicles to slow her descent. How many chain accidents she had caused with those games, spending entire afternoons doing so while the fake lighting of Coruscant changed from red to night and back again.

The man tried to do so many things to lose her tail, but he neglected to take care of the one thing that in their situation might have actually worked. His scent remained strong, which made him easy to follow. Not even the other person he'd shoved into her path was enough to distract her from it. Like many predators, she relished the knowledge that he knew she was after him and was still trying to get away.

And then he was gone.

Scherezzade grinned.

The scent was still there, hanging in the air. She hadn't seen him disappear, but she knew he wasn't too far. Her game of hot and cold when the smell of the man's blood began and she made several guesses, following invisible trails into empty alleyways only to realize she had taken wrong turns and tried again.

It felt like a lifetime later that she arrived at the lock. For all her talents though, lockpicking was… Not really one of them. She knew how to break locks, smash them, melt them, and cover them with pink paint and glitter. None of those things would serve her purposes now. Instead, Scherezade sighed and scanned her surroundings, causing a nearby lightbulb to explode. She needed shadows.

Many people thought shadows were nothing but their physical manifestation, thrown by the light as a response to the places it could not reach. Some people were trained in better. All shadows connected to the shadow roads. Scherezade didn't have the type of control over it that she wanted. Her own access to them was of the short distance type, and short of time. If anyone was looking, they would believe her to have merely been swallowed up by one of them in the street.

And though for her it felt like several lifetimes, in reality it had only been seconds at best. She traversed the shadow road, the icy coldness of it threatening to turn her lungs into icicles. When she emerged from a shadow within the man's apartment, chunks of ice decorated her lashes and some of the ends of her hair. She gave one frozen exhale before her body remembered how to warm itself up again.

Scherezade looked around.

Sithspit.

The apartment, and there was no doubt by the smell of it that it was his indeed, looked just like her rooms had at her grandmother's house, all those years ago. Spartan in its decoration, mostly to answer the more primal needs a body had, rather than be a place of arts and vibes. She had not expected this to be a common ground.

She'd have been more than happy to snoop around and find out more, if there had been more to do. The open crate hadn't escaped her notice, but the Mandalorian armour in it… She knew it was better not to go near that. Not now, anyway. The blood feud between her family and the Mandalorian clans didn't have place here tonight, even if the night had slowly and subtly shifted from working to playing a game to… Whatever this was.

When he stared at her, there was little she could do but stare back. And then he stepped away. In truth, she knew so little of the Mandalorian culture that she had no idea what the move had meant by their standards. It didn't matter though. She wasn't one to stab someone in the back. Kick their butts, sure, but stabbing? She was a Sith Warrior. She had unwritten codes and rules that she followed.

She looked at him again. Tall. Yes, very handsome. And yes, damaged, as they all were, even if he had his own type of spice blend to it. That was okay. She wasn't here for him in that way.

Scherezade sat on a couch, facing him. He was doing exactly as she'd asked before. No bravado, no pointing weapons and demanding answers. Just asking. Conversing. Almost like adults. She really didn't have a right to ask for more than that.

Glowing green eyes stared at him a moment longer.

"The tall one had a sickness in his blood," came the answer, "I didn't really pause to look deeper than that and see what it was. Didn't really think it'd be important."

And the shorter? She had jested earlier when she said he could fold into a bag. But now… Now that she thought of it…

"I've had them for a few hours. They were… Quiet. Very quiet. Other than that single moment, none of them even tried to speak or to plead for mercy."

Was that something worth noting though? She wasn't certain. Her experience with slave cargo was quite limited. She was usually more the massacring type.

"Why would someone want you to fail?"

 

[Fenn Stag]

​

His eyes glossed over, processing the information she shared. He shifted forward in his seat, his hands clasped together in thought. He rose to a stand after a moment, turning his head back to the Sith after thinking for a spell.

"This job was for me- you said one of them had a bomb in them."

He turned his nose up, staring at the ceiling then back down to her.

​

"Someone wanted to use them to kill me. Or-"

He cursed himself. He reacted quickly and perhaps rightly by taking the two out to pasture early on, but now he wished he kept one alive to at least ask a why. But, if they were resolved enough to do this.... perhaps they were resolved enough to lie and sacrifice two of their own. Or, more disturbingly-

"They weren't slaves at all."

The statement hung in the air for a moment. A machination of lies and deceit had brought the two of them together. Someone, or something, or an entity, had used the Black Sun to target Fenn and used the woman before him to do so. All unknowing pawns in a sick game. He ran his mechanical hand through his hair. It gave feedback, somewhat similar to the actual sensation of touch.

Somewhat.

He was quiet as the grave again, thinking of the many enemies he'd made over the years, and who would do such a thing. Or who would orchestrate it. The list was long, very long.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

Scherezade gave a single nod as the man repeated her earlier words. Yes, one of them had a bomb in him. The quick jump from there to deciding it was meant for him though… Her head threatened to spin. She had already deducted that he was a paranoid person, but even with paranoia, one could usually find the trail to follow the steps of logic on. Here, she couldn't really say that she could.

His thoughts were maybe spiraling. Hers weren't. She wanted to tell him to pause and breathe, but he was already doing that part on his own. There was a madness to him, and Scherezade was still more intrigued by it than the situation at hand. That was dangerous.

"Back up, pretty boy," she said gently, "Why would someone try to kill you? And if someone did, why like this? A slug between the eyes is a much easier option than involving me and…"

Oh. Damn. Now she was the one getting ideas. It was a shame he had killed the other two. Would their bodies still be where he had let them fall? If she could get her hands on some of their blood… Perhaps it wasn't too late to read the memories it contained. But at the same time, it was going to be cold blood, so less useful, and there was always the big ick factor.

"I'm Scherezade," she took a sharp turn, and introduced herself, "Scherezade deWinter. I was once with the Confederacy, then I defected to the Agents of Chaos. I'm guessing you've already worked out that I'm a Sith. I have a long list of people who would love nothing more than to have my head on a spike. But I don't have any reason to think any of them would be behind this."

She remained on the sofa, not wanting her body language to now scare the guy away or shove him into an even more paranoid corner, "Who are you? You look like that Mantis dude from a few years back, but that's not an answer. And if I go by your logic and agree that this was about you, which of your enemies would be dumb enough to try to involve me instead of just taking out a contract on your head?"

He had too many moments in which his head didn't seem securely attached to his neck. But she wasn't about to say that out loud.

 

[Fenn Stag]

​

Fenn clinched his teeth.

"Who's to say. Ensuring success. Hard to kill a Mandalorian from far away. Hard to kill me, too. A bomb, a surefire bomb- that'd be smart. Or they were waiting until I got close to someone else. The Black Sun has enemies miles long-"

He cocked his head again.

"Contracts are bad ways to subtly kill someone. I'd go to ground if I had a kill contract on my head- but. Maybe it wasn't me. But someone I was supposed to deliver to."

He paced around, rapid, uncontrolled thoughts. Many thoughts kill kill kill kill break her neck she's small use the helmet raced through his mind about what could've it been. He closed his eyes and thought of the runes on the slaves body. That had to mean something.

"Fenn Stag."

He said simply. He didn't answer the Mantis comment- though the visceral reaction on his face would tell her immediately that it was a sore subject.

"Or, it wasn't for either of us, and that's why they didn't detonate yet. But why the pair?"

Speeders hummed outside of the apartment. The dim orange glow was warm, and would probably soothe a paranoid man to sleep.

If he ever did sleep, that is.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

The shudder that ran through him at the mention of Mantis dude was the same shudder that had run through her at his mention of the word Mandalorian. Which was probably why neither of them elected to elaborate on their respective matter. Some things were best left for later, if for any time at all.

Still, Scherezade had been sitting very still for several very long moments. She wasn't used to it. The Amazonian woman was almost always on the move and even had monkey bars installed on her ship to give her more mobility options during long rides. At the same time, she didn't exactly want to get up and go for a run.

So instead, she shifted on the couch, twisting around quickly until her legs were on top of it and her head down, hair spreading on the floor. Was it clean enough? She didn't know or care. She was still thinking.

"I heard an explosion on my way here," she answered with a shrug, "I think they did detonate. Or someone had a few extra firecrackers to release."

The thought that it could've been for the next person on the list though… "Who were you supposed to deliver them to?" came the obvious question, "was your next point of contact even on Coruscant?"

Because if he was supposed to travel with them… She was more than willing to just go grab her ship and fly somewhere. Because even though they now had more questions than answers, almost every fiber in her body wanted to get up and go stab something. Anything.