First Reply Festival Of Stars

[Fenn Stag]

Scherezade deWinter​

Fenn turned his head away.

"Too late for conclusions. We don't know enough, if anything."

He walked over to his gear, dropping his communicator and datapad and the rest of his electronics into a faraday bag. No tracking him that way. Fenn's paranoia was matched by his preparedness and his experience. Maybe he had a reason to be paranoid. Or maybe he had no reasons to.

He turned towards her, going to the room with the bed folded in perhaps one of the neatest ways she'd seen. He stopped in the doorway.

"I'm going to sleep."

Simple statement of fact. He wanted to sleep badly. It was one of the few times his mind was somewhat at ease. The door shut. A lock. Then another. Then a hissing hydraulic sound- another heavy lock. He was blocking her out entirely. He clearly didn't trust her. There was a few minutes of noises, a man shuffling around, disrobing, getting settled into the bed.

Then silence.

---

His dreams were the same. Uneventful, interspersed with bits of sanity. If she was awake, she could feel the dark side flowing around in his mind. A taint, like oil stains from removed paintings in old homes. Lingering bits of the darkness he faced.

He awoke, stepping out into the foyer where he left her. He walked over to the kitchenette, stopping to mix what appeared to be medication mixed with some type of energy powder and drink.

"We need to find a way to track the movements of those two prior to you receiving them when they got planet side."

A slow, small sip. His face contorted, the taste clearly unappealing.

"I can feel it. Some evil, lurking."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

Scherezade just stared at him when he said he was going to sleep. Well… That was uneventful. And then he was gone.

She just stood awkwardly for a moment before walking to the window, peering out at all the colors that one could see from any point on this planet. Casinos, luxury houses, and neon signs were more common than air on this planet. She smiled. It was so different from what she was used to at home, or the tinyness of her ship's inside. Still, she loved it.

And she supposed going to sleep would be a nice way to pass the time. Before she did though, the blood hound removed one of her blades from her body and pricked her finger. A single drop welled there, first smaller than a pin's head and then slowly growing larger. Once she decided it had become large enough, Scherezade bounced her wrist, causing the drop to leave her finger and begin to expand. Its actual mass didn't change though. As it continued to grow, it turned into a layer that became thinner and thinner until it was practically invisible.

It was a neat trick she had learned entirely by accident while living beyonf the galaxy's edge. Her invisible net would grow enough to encompass the area, including the dude's room. It wouldn't harm anyone or collect any data, but if someone tried to enter it from outside the invisible sphere she shaped it into, she would know. And wake up.

And with that in place, Scherezade plopped herself on the floor and got comfortable in under three seconds.

She was still sleeping when he walked back, deeply and peacefully enough that neither his steps nor his words stirred her. The darkness that had spread while he dreamed had felt like a cradle, making the Sithling feel even safer on her spot on the floor. There was no reason to worry. About anything.

But she did wake up a few moments later, naturally so, glowing green eyes blinking groggily at her surroundings while her brain required a jiffy to catch up and remember why she wasn't on her ship, where she usually slept.

"Your drink stinks," she mumbled as she sat up, a hand brushing through her hair. She could smell it all the way to where she was.

"I can probably follow the trail of the blood sickness if no one's thought to intentionally erase it," she added as she now stood, moving and stretching her limbs, "Don't suppose you got any food here? I like cheese."

 

[Fenn Stag]

​

"You're sitting on a planet with trillions of people." He said after a while, ignoring her comment about his drink. He took a bitter sip, grimacing as he swallowed it. He shook his head, fighting something invisible in his mind. In the force, he was like two people. Constantly shifting, swirling in his own mind. As if they were both constantly in a wrestling match, violence on violence. Fighting for control, dominance. He walked towards her, after rinsing out the cup he used, neatly drying it, and setting it back into place exactly where it was once before. Controlled, precise, quiet. "All our evidence is miles away and far from your Sith magic." He said it with disdain. Sith Magic sounded more like an insult, a slur, a callous topic that he detested. In fact, it was very much obvious that he detested her presence as a whole. She was a blight to him, a begrudging ally and someone he obviously did not truly want to be around. But he was right. Coruscant and the evidence of the two would be surrounded by morning- at best, cleaned up and sanitized by the locals. But, more likely, swarmed by CorSec and unable for the pair of them to get close.

"No food for you." Whether that meant that she was not allowed to have the food was in his house, or that she would be uninterested in what he had, was also up for debate. Though from his tone it sounded much more like the latter than the former. He scanned his home, before walking over to the wall. He tapped it twice, and out came a few shelves, tucked into the wall. Inside was gear of all kinds, weapons, tools. He turned his eyes towards his armor nearby, but knew that it was too risky to put on. Too easy to be identified. So, he chose another route. Similar to before. Green jacket, black shirt, an old Alliance surplus bag.

Jamming tools, pistols, a grenade, knife, grappling hook, garrote wire, another knife, crushgaunts, a folding carbine, and ammo, and a medkit, and two battle stims. Just in case. He laid them out neatly on a nearby workbench, silent as the grave towards her. He didn't speak for several minutes. She might've considered it awkward silence but he found it... well, exactly that. Silent.

He laid out his gear neatly, checking, refining, sharpening. It all went neatly into the bag, each in place in a specific way. Facing a certain way. Years of training reflecting in everything from how he moved to how he put his weapon into a bag.

"Let's go. We have some people to talk to."

He said, rather bluntly. It also seemed that if she didn't come along he'd leave her behind, and on her own for her own investigation. He stood near the door, waiting for her.

Scherezade deWinter

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Fenn Stag

---

For what seemed to be the first time since they had arrived at the apartment, Scherezade's facial expression didn't seem much casual or weightless. She frowned, the unhappiness clearly visible. It was one thing for people to look down at her. Force knew she had spent her first years in this galaxy going through exactly that. Youngerhood's traumas were a thing of the past, but the scars still remained, and she knew what it was like.

And that part, was fine.

What wasn't though, was that he sneered at the Sith Magic thing. She didn't do magic. She wasn't a Sorceress, nor had she any inclinations towards being one. "I don't know how to do Sith Magic," she said, her unhappiness all too clear in her voice, "I have other abilities." He didn't need to know now. He didn't have to know how such a large portion of her life had made her feel sub par because she didn't do Sith Magic. He didn't need to know she was the first female of her blood line to go the Warrior path instead of the Sorceress one, and the heaviness that came with it.

He didn't need to know anything. Especially not if he was refusing to give her food.

Her glowing gaze followed him as he began to ready himself for another outing, keeping silent. Every childhood voice inside her mind reminded her that this was it. This was what it was like to not be wanted, to not be appreciated for what she could offer, that she was not enough. It didn't take too long for the thoughts to turn into a swirl.

"Okay you know what, krak it," she said with a sigh and shook her head. He was by the door. She walked right by him and continued down the hall on her own, "Go talk to whoever it is you wanted to talk to. You do you. I'm leaving."

It had, after all, been his paranoias that had kept them there. She'd been fine with continuing to her point C off planet the night before.

"You seriously suck," she yelled behind her shoulder as she marched away.

 

[Fenn Stag]

Scherezade deWinter
​

Fenn didn't seem deterred by her proposition, let alone her attitude. He found her annoying, grating, off-putting, her incessant attempt at charm and wit... he hated her. He hated a lot of people, but her bubbly personality and her constant speaking of foul Sith sorcery made him hate her all the more. She was by far, his least favorite person as of this moment. So when she said simply that she was to depart and leave him to his own devices-

Well that was just fine to him. Infact, it was welcome. He didn't need to say anything, he didn't want to. He wasn't going to kill her, but a few thoughts about sanitizing his apartment, then leaving it came to mind. She had compromised his safety with carelessness and thoughtlessness. He-

Stopped mid-stride when she turned and walked the other way. Two figures, hooded like before, sharing the same runes, appeared in the hallway facing Fenn. Fenn braced himself, reaching for his gun before he saw the hilt of a lightsaber being drawn.

Snap-hiss. Snap-hiss.

Two red blades came out of the darkness, and the two hooded figures tilted their heads. He grit his teeth and approached them both, taking the initiative. Jedi and Sith were predictable opponents- one simply needed to read a book to determine how they'd fight. Mandalorians were not predictable, they were not easily read. They were infact, by very definition, unpredictable. So he knew just what to do with this quasi-Sith would-be assassins came to him. One blade arced over his head, coming down. He just had to step to the side. A mechanical hand formed into a fist, and drove deep into the assassin's stomach. A harsh sound, a sickening crunch as he cracked ribs and caused internal bleeding with just the impact alone. He turned and drove his hand up over his face, grasping the jawline. He squeezed, felt bones give, and brought him over his shoulder into the other opponent.

Their bodies collided, armor underneath their robes giving weight to his attack. They both skid along the ground, the second one, not yet struck by Fenn, falling against the wall. He lashed out, driving his foot into his face, over and over. He only stopped stomping the Dar'Jetii went limp and the crunch overtook any other sound in the hallway. He turned and looked back the Sith from before, the woman.

Three more appeared in the hallway in front of her- ready to strike out at her.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade didn't stomp through the hallway, though she really wanted to. The guy whose apartment she had spent the night was quite literally too full of himself, leaving no room for the very people he wanted to aid him. But she was done with that. She was going to walk to the port, hop on her ship, and continue her journey to the Galactic East. At least, that was the plan.

Of course, someone had to stop her plan. Scherezade's boots slowed when three red sabers flared into being ahead, their glow bouncing off metal walls in harsh reflections. The air grew hotter instantly. Her eyes narrowed as she used a split of a moment to study what was before her. Three opponents. Tight formation. Two flanking, one center. Their spacing was efficient, not random. They'd trained together.

Scherezade didn't reach for her weapons. Instead, her fingers flexed once, loosening. Her center of gravity dropped a few centimeters. Ready.

The middle one advanced first, sweeping a diagonal slash aimed from her left shoulder to right hip. She pivoted on her rear foot, turning outside his line rather than retreating. Her left hand met his wrist with a short, sharp contact just below the thumb, and redirected his momentum past her body. Her right elbow came in, collapsing the angle of his arm before he could recover. The lightsaber wavered. She twisted her hips and drove an elbow up under his tricep. The bone popped out of socket with a clean, wet sound.

He screamed. The lightsaber clattered to the floor.

The Sith Warrior had no intention of claiming it. The left flanker was already moving in, low guard, thrusting. Scherezade dropped under it. The thrust missed by centimeters, its heat grazing her shoulder. She stepped inside the attack line, catching his extended arm between her torso and forearm. One knee struck into his thigh to break balance and then she rotated on her lead foot and slammed her palm into the joint of his elbow. It folded the wrong way. The second lightsaber fell. She caught his collar and shoved him into the third attacker's incoming swing.

The third hesitated for half a heartbeat, just enough to avoid cutting down his own ally. That hesitation cost him.

Scherezade used the cover of the tangled bodies to close distance. One step, two. Then she trapped his weapon arm under her own, hand locking at the wrist. A short, brutal knee to the ribs knocked the air from him. He tried to reverse the lightsaber's grip for a backhand slash, but she pivoted again, using his wrist as the hinge, and guided the blade back toward him. The weapon's own momentum brought it home, biting across his chest in a diagonal line.

He dropped.

The one she'd dislocated earlier came up behind her, screaming, trying to reclaim his weapon with his good hand. She sensed the swing in peripheral motion and bent backward, almost limbo-low, feeling the blade's heat across her face as it passed. She came back up fast, closing into his space before he could reset. Her palm hit his throat once with a vertical strike. His body jerked. She stepped past him, seized his hood, and slammed his head against the durasteel wall. Once. Twice. Then he went limp. Thrice, exploding his skull and brain matter all over the area.

Only the sound of cooling sabers remained, their blades flickering out one by one.

Scherezade exhaled through her nose. Her pulse was steady, her stance still grounded, one foot slightly ahead of the other, ready in case there was a fourth. The air smelled of ozone and sweat.

She looked down at them: three bodies, three weapons still hot enough to hiss against the floor. She didn't bother picking one up. She hadn't even bothered to bring out any of the multiple blades that were still stashed across her body.

Hand to hand was enough.

Her stance changed, going back to what one could only consider 'Scherezade normal' and she looked back at Fenn Stag . Though she looked calm, perhaps even serene, the blood lust was all too easy to read in her eyes. This was what she had honed herself for constantly. The field of battle was her dancefloor, and it was rare for her to shy away from a fight.

But the shmuck was standing there, near his own door. Had he been looking at her fight? She didn't know. A moment later, she remembered that she wasn't supposed to care.

Scherezade turned to resume her exit.