Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Full Circle


The air hung cold on the planet of Zeltros, but as rain fell to cover any silence that might have formed; the careless boot falls of a scrambling smuggler was afoot. With each step, another would match behind him, the slow murmurs of a small grouping forming just behind the club known as Blush. It wasn’t the best neighborhood by any means, but the men were well armed enough to cause some attention.

With each passing second, the group seemed to take position in various areas around the alley, as if expecting something to happen. They faced outwards with guns raised, each patiently waiting; as if what sought them was the devil itself. Perhaps it was in truth, and windows closed to stop his demonic aura from unsettling the pleasant homes around them.

A man slowly got out of the passenger seat of the small planetary freighter, brushing his hair back before walking up to the back door of the club. He knew it was a slow day, what with the storm and all, but he had no intention of buying a drink today. Three heavy knocks came from his hand on the door, a heavy and menacing salute to those inside as his clothes grew damp.

In the next instance, the rear doors of the ship opened and the mangled body of The Slave was thrown out. His body landed with a brutal thud and splash as he was left lying on the ground, almost entirely emaciated from his time in torture aboard Bastion. With no movement to his form besides a very slow breath, he remained with eyes closed and skin bloodied by a mixture of heat blisters and sores.

Besides his torn clothing, there was a small, and rather cheap, datapad next to him that another man threw from the van only a moment after.

After The Slave was out, the crew of malcontents or even would be heros, left him alone. A quick retreat from the situation seemed all the further assistance they were willing to give, and as the slow drawl of music came out of Blush; there was nothing left for the Slave besides a cold bed in a watery pile.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
Ivan had been heading out for a smoke when a knock resonated through the club’s back door. It was one of a few, and despite the rain he felt the need to step outside and away from the stifling atmosphere. Unlike Joza, the Corellian didn’t thrive in the energetic atmosphere—he didn’t wither in it either, but at times it could be suffocating and he felt the need to clear his head with some brisk air that didn’t stink of pheromones and sex.

Hand resting at the pistol tucked beneath his belt, the pilot cautiously edged the door open. There were no mobsters with guns ablazing (his boss likely paid the local cartels off to leave her be), only a broken body left in a raw heap of limbs. “Haran,” He muttered through the cigarette in his mouth, looking at the mess of a man while the engine of a freighter roared in the not too distant distance. Looking around quickly, perhaps for some aid or to see if whoever did this was nearby, Ivan finally grunted and strode forward, gripping [member="The Slave"] by the scruff of his collar and dragging him unceremoniously into the building.

An urgent message sent to Joza’s datapad had the Zeltron down with them in minutes. The trio congregated on the lower landing of a maintenance staircase in the back of the club. She was a little irked that he’d pulled her away from her meeting so quickly—she was this close to charming herself into a lovely contract with a liquor vendor—but her irritation faded to a mix of concern and…well, irritation at seeing the emaciated figure he’d found in the rain.

“The hell?Was all she could say as she knelt down next to The Slave, his body propped up against the wall in a sitting position, or the best that could be managed.

“Went out for a smoke, there was a knock at the door and found ‘em like this.” Ivan shrugged, pulling at his cigarette before handing her the datapad found next to the body. “This was with him.” A pause, cursory glance at the heavily injured man. “Friend of yours?”

Joza ignored him, mind elsewhere as she activated the datapad.
The datapad surged to life as she held it between pink fingers, idly taking a moment to boot before displaying a short message. It started hazy, but the autofocus quickly separated the static from the screen and left it readable in short order;


We were hired to get him back. We did.
Now he’s your burden. Watch out for the Sith. They’re hunting for him.

PS: He was crucified. Isn’t in good shape.

It was oddly blunt of them to assume she couldn’t tell he wasn’t doing well, but they mentioned it regardless. With the same unfocused screen, the datapad slowly fell dark and lifeless, almost mocking the pale form that was next to them. The Slave, however, was a figure of scabs, dried blood, and horrid bruising; each the cause of unknown amounts of bruising.

Besides this, he was obviously sunburned badly. Blisters had formed along his shoulders and face, only to find dead skin holding tight to his body at the end of each arm. Where his own scars began, and the new ones ended was nearly impossible to tell, his entire body fading into a conglomerated mess of pain and abuse.

All he offered to them was a soft groan of pain as he was set down however, forever left to the elements and good will of those that ran the club. For whatever reason the smugglers had, they had brought him back to the exact place he was taken from originally; perhaps thinking it the best idea to stop the others from looking for him. Yet, the idea that he was being hunted was oddly perplexing, and only added to the ambiguous mystery that was his downtrodden appearance on her backdoor.

At the very least, he certainly didn’t see up for another lap dance.

Silver hair lay stained red from some wound he had gotten on his head hours earlier, and all of it was heavily matted and stuck to his head from the water outside. Even within the force itself, his once enigmatic and omnipresent essence was little more than a slow drizzle from his form; in complete contrast to what it was when she had seen it prior.

He was a broken toy someone played with too hard, and she was the mother the child dumped it on. For better, or for worse it seemed.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
Arms crossed, Ivan peered over her shoulder as the message flickered to life. The pair stood in silence for a few moments as they read it over, each forming their own conflicting thoughts on the situation at hand. [member="The Slave"]’s shallow breathing was the only sound in the hollow stairwell until Ivan’s low voice rumbled against the walls.



Another pause, another heavy silence. Ivan had followed Joza into more than one slave ring bust, he knew the risks of that and how she maneuvered around criminals. “The Sith are after him. You think—“

“You can leave.” A brisk response as she pocketed the dying device and knelt down next to The Slave. From the moment the message came into focus, the gears started turning and top speed. And they had to, given that many rescue ops worked on limited time and had unprecedented twists. She was cautious when it came to dealing with Sith, but they tended to be a bit self-inflated and overconfident. Not all, of course, and she was well aware of how dangerous assumptions could be.

Slipping The Slave’s arm over her cybernetic shoulder, she slowly stood up while supporting his weight. The two were roughly the same height, though she was in heels. “But first, run down to the clinic and grab some PlasVol. Some…calohist lotion, bandages. You know.” She sifted Slave’s weight against her. “Then you can leave.”

Ivan paused, fingers digging into his arms and teeth gritting in conflict. He hated when she did this. After a few moments of indecision, he took up the other side of Slave. “It isn’t safe to keep him here.”

“We can’t risk moving him. Not until he’s at least stable.” The Zeltron owned numerous structures on several worlds, some of which weren’t connected to her without some digging. She also didn’t want him down at Patagonia Clinic if she could help it—that was another target. Either way, he could be tracked back to her. But how far was she willing to go for this man? Green eyes peered down at the emaciated body between them and she shook her head. Some part of her—an admittedly large part, actually—had seriously considered kicking him to the curb.

But she hadn’t.


Hours passed, and Slave was settled into the bed adjacent to Joza’s office on the top floor. An IV drip of filler blood had been inserted to him quickly given that she wasn’t sure of his blood type and wasn’t about to run samples back and forth to and from the clinic. Right now, the Zeltron was concentrating on the wound at his head, disinfecting the damaged area while rooting through the mess of matted blood and hair.
Perhaps throwing the young and wanted man would have been for the best, at least for safety concerns. The more sane of the galaxy likely wouldn’t have brought him in their home in the first place, leaving him to die without a second thought. Yet, she didn’t, she left sanity behind for a sanctimonious saving of a man she barely knew; and one that might not even be friendly to her after he woke up.

As hours passed, and she kept up her diligent efforts in keeping him alive, his body slowly came to warmth and seemed to stabilize for the most part. Although healthy, he still lacked an obvious strength about him that’d allow a sovereign healing process; so until then he was still dependent on her in as symbiotic a manner as possible. Though what he gave in return hardly counted for naught.

With hands carefully maneuvering their way through his hair, doctoring and nurturing as best as she could, the neurons in his brain began a slow process of firing in intervals. What was unconsciousness, slowly shifted to something more pronounced, his muscles signalling his slowly awakened status before all of them seemed to explode in a singular rush. Hands rushed to life him upwards from his laying position, almost ripping the IV from his hand while he tossed the blanket aside and almost moved to stand.

Almost being that because as his feet made contact with the floor, he realized almost instantly he didn’t have the strength to carry himself. Not yet at least; and so he paused, blanket off, exposed in a hesitant pause of complete confusion. His mind desperately tried to rationalize where he was, nothing but a blinding light shrouding his gaze as a blurry pink figure sat to the side. Before any of it made sense, he offered the lowest growl of a voice he could even muster, and obvious sign of damage to vocal cords.

W-Where am I?”, he struggled to get out.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
Joza had noticed the twitch of his arm when it was too late, the subtle movement registering just before he shifted suddenly to try and rip the IV from his hand. She immediately pulled back to stop him, pressing on the entrance of the needle to keep it from being yanked out. In an instant, her patient had been jolted to life like something out of a holoflick leaving her momentarily stunned.

His body shuddered under the exertion of being upright, and Joza gently placed a hand at his chest in an attempt to guide him back down to the bed as she spoke. “You’re at Blush.” Her murmur was gentle, instinct to nurture this broken young man stronger than ever at seeing him awake and disoriented. “You’re in pretty bad condition, but you’ll recover your strength.” She reached over to reaffirm the tape on his hand holding the IV in place, opting for another strip. “You’re going to bruise there…” she tsked, though the afterthought was sort of amusing. What was one more bruise on this broken canvas?

Reclining back, Joza looked over [member="The Slave"] with a mix of different concerns—for him, for the risk she was taking, the damage she could potentially bring to her company and her family. But what was done was done, and at the end of the day her softer heart won out. He had done her no wrong in their short meetings, but that did not blind her to the possibility.

“Ivan found you outside. There was a knock at the door and you were unconscious on the ground.” Her gaze flickered over to his own as if searching for something. He wouldn't know of her pilot, Ivan, but the finer details weren't important right now.

“Do you remember who did this to you?”
You’re at Blush.

The words didn’t exactly make sense to him, and despite her touch he couldn’t help but try and retract his arm from her. Still, he didn’t have the strength to do so, instead letting his attention focus on the fact his eyes absolutely refused to focus on anything but the blinding light that was above them. He offered little more than a groan as she pushed him back down to a laying position and continued speaking.

The words came through as little more than static however, as he felt like he was underwater and everything she said was muffled by white noise. Until of course a singular sentence made it through to him, its careful words breaching his psyche with little remorse.

Do you remember who did this to you?

Thoughts flooded back to him, from the trip to Bastion, to witnesses the face of Ignus. All the way down to the weeks he spent crucified atop a building, forever the victim of a blazing sun and a lack of water. If it weren’t for the force and his ability to bring moisture to his parched throat, he’d of surely died if nothing else.

Yet, despite the memories coming back to his mind, he didn’t speak. There was a quiet disregard as his already shaky vision seemed to move away from her, a slight frown forming on his previously stunned expression. In all honestly, he wasn’t sure where his train wreck of a thoughts were leading him, but they eventually calmed after a few careless moments of silence; leaving only his shallow breath greeting her ears.

It's not important.

His tone was somber, idle, obviously hiding something behind words that tried to negate its importance to the conversation. With head tilted away from her, and eyes seemingly glazed over by memories; his words came with the same foreign murmur as it had before;

... I don’t feel good.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
The thoughts that raged through [member="The Slave"]’s mind were not entirely invisible to her—but she kept her distance, not wanting to pry. Those sorts of things were private, and she would respect that so long as he wasn’t a danger to her.

At the very least, she could sense his unease with what he’d been subjected to. While she couldn’t be certain, exposure to the elements was involved given the reddened, blistered skin.

Slowly, pink fingers wove their way through the least injured side of his head, touch light and careful. “You’re no one’s prisoner here.”

The door opened and Ivan slipped through with a few bags of clear liquid.

“Finally,” Hissing softly, she stood from the bed and made her way to the far end of the room. “How long does it take to get saline?The man murmured some excuse, eyes drawn to The Slave.

“He’s not dead?” Dry humor was evident with that tone.

Snatching the bags of saline, she made her way back over to the bed, hanging one of the bags on a second IV stand before prepping the line.

“You’re really dehydrated, so I’m going to have to put another IV in. Alright?” Her words were gentle, maternal even as she touched his other hand. “It’ll help you feel better.”
As the new voice came through, he glanced towards the door, golden eyes meeting blue with a slight annoyance. Not because of him specifically, but more the fact he didn’t want to see anyone right now. Even Joza herself seemed the slightest bit of a discomfort, but he dealt with it knowing his lack of ability to do anything about it. Jaw clenched tight, he glanced back to the wall to avoid both their gaze, mind still wandering through exactly what had happened in the last few days.

He was on the top of a building, the all encompassing blaze of a sun bearing down on his once very pale skin. While there, he hadn’t exactly had much in terms of focus, let alone a strong sensation of where he was, but he could piece parts of it back together. The last he did remember at the very least was getting picked up by a few men who took the entire post he was strapped to and put it into a ship. After that, everything was pretty much blurs and static.

And now he was here. Exactly where he had been prior to all this. Where a dart came and struck his neck, only to have him on his way to his torture.

It was only then he realized just who was taking care of him. Her soft features, the nearly maternal way she sought to comfort him and place herself in contact with his skin. She was Joza Perl, the woman he had flirted with only days prior, and in a less than appropriate way. A once foreign gaze moved towards her with a slightly more welcoming sensation than it had prior;

Thank you. I…

He paused as his throat seemed to lock up for a second. His tear ducts hardly worked anymore, promising himself long ago he wouldn’t cry; a child's false idea of strength perhaps. Still, he held back what he could as he finished what he was saying, gratitude obviously littering the various syllables.

I’ll pay you back.

Another moment of silence before he followed it up with another few words;

You can get rid of me anytime. I think I’ll be okay.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
Joza waved Ivan away, the pilot leaving without much complaint given that he’d rather not stick around for this one.

Seating herself beside him, she took his hand in her own and gentle prodded the veins against the surface of his hand with the pads of her fingers. Finding a decently sized one, she carefully pushed the needle beneath the skin, head tilted down and eyes fixed to her task in concentration as he spoke.

She didn’t interrupt him, remaining quiet as he worked the words from his throat. At the same time, her focus shifted from his hand once it was safe to do so, latching onto the undercurrent of emotion running through [member="The Slave"]’s mind. It wasn’t entirely difficult given her race, but her empathy and to an extent, telepathy and been honed to a fine point.

Anger, but was it directed at himself or his captors? The suffering would be etched into his mind for a while. A long while. Or so she figured. Something she could identify with, either way—self loathing, self blame and unsure of which outlet to use. Not too long ago, Joza had been somewhat of an apologist over what had happened to her. It was easier not to have to think about those who wronged you when you internalized it all, twisting it in your mind until you were the one at fault and deserved what you had coming. There were multiple sides to a story, and she’d obsessed over seeing the other side and convincing herself that it was right.

A harsh conversation with a friend gave way to an untapped anger towards her tormentors, an emotion she was afraid to feel. Because that would take her back to what had happened and make everything real again, and it hurt but felt so raw and freeing at the same time.

Right now though, she was quiet. Lost in the flow of his emotions, silently observing.

“You can leave when you’d like, but I wouldn't recommend it just yet.” Her hands fell from his own, one coming up to brush the hair from his face. “Not until the doctor clears you.”

Like hell she’d let him go now. Joza made the decision to take him on, and he’d stay until he was stable enough.

“You can pay me back by telling me who or what did this to you.” Her words were soft, blunted at the edges. “You don’t have to tell me right away. You don’t need to tell me what happened. Even if I dumped you out onto the streets right now, they’d still come here first regardless, and that is not your fault.”

She smiled, small and unobtrusive and unassuming. “But I’ve had people come after me for taking their things before.” It would help her construct counter measures if she knew what she was dealing with, even in the vaguest sense.
Bass beat lightly through the somewhat soundproofing walls, becoming nothing more than muffled white noise to cover the silent lull in their conversation. The Slave took the chance to ponder just how he’d word it, how much he could even trust this pink strangers; and just what would she say in response to what he had to say? She was trustworthy in face and tone, but as empathetic as he was, he couldn’t trust someone that knew how to be charismatic. Not right now.

Not as weak as he was.

It uh…”, he hesitated, perhaps for the first time she had ever seen.


The golden corruption of his irises panned over her, taking in her form before returning to her hand, letting the soft touch of her pads run across his skin with the subtlest of tingling. His mind wandered back to just what he was angry at; the reasoning for the tension in his jaw. Was it Ignus and his abhorrent punishment, or himself for even getting into the situation? Did it even matter?

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, his hand wrapped around hers and pulled it to his chest as he closed his eyes. Perhaps he had the audacity of a man, the temper and skill of a warrior, but the comfort of her touch made all the hard and suave exterior he had given off up until now seem like nothing more than a facade, a child in wait with hair of ash and lips of grey.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
“I know.”

Soft words, soft words that still reverberated off of the walls of the still room. Her thumb stroked along his hand, slow and methodical. There was a part of her that thirsted to nurture those around her, and [member="The Slave"]’s situation tugged at some base emotion to project. The very least she could do was offer him this small comfort, as Solan had done for her after her own escape before he disappeared into the galaxy.

A few beats past before her voice sounded again.

“There was a note with you but it wasn’t very detailed. Do you remember anything? Names? Appearances even?”

He was so unlike the person she’d met at the club and then at the gala—but that wasn’t a bad thing. Joza was not so naïve to believe that people didn’t have different sides or lacked depth. It was that very way of thinking and handling someone that allowed her to suss out how they worked, latch onto that and work it to her benefit.

Not all the time, and typically not in a malicious way either.

But now he was hurting, and rather than pity she could empathize. Empathize with being used and broken at the hands of another as a punishment? For pleasure? An exercise of power? She still disliked wearing high collared shirts and it made her wonder what quirks The Slave had developed from his past.

“Hey, be proud that you managed to work your way into my bed.” The corner of one of her lips tilted, muted smile shifting into a little smirk.
Do you remember anything? Names? Appearances even?

What would he tell her? That it was the Ascendancy that brought him to his knees and crucified him atop their headquartered planet? It was embarrassing, let alone dangerous considering how little he knew of her. Still, if someone brought him here, and she hadn’t killed him just yet, he could at least consider taking the risk.

Ignus. I was on Bastion.

His words were slow and deliberate, carefully crafted and chosen with care. They gave all the information she would need, and with it the grip and cradle that was around her arm tightened as he readied himself to her response. Amber gilded eyes watched with a golden innocence that scryed over every micro expression her face offered, but not answer would come. Instead, a joke, one that met his ears with a warmth he hadn’t heard in some time.

Hey, be proud that you managed to work your way into my bed.

A smile formed on his own lips, as small as it was. She at the very least helped him stay in slightly better spirits than he would be otherwise, and as of right now perhaps that was for the best. He couldn’t bear trying to tell Imperia that he was weak enough to get captured and tortured. There was a second before he responded to her, but despite the soft tone he carried it was one filled with his own remarkable coyness, no matter how subtle it was.

I was just hoping it’d be under a bit difference circumstances.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
Ignus,” She repeated, voice a low murmur as she tried to conjure up anything she recognized about that name. Perhaps she’d heard it in passing, but couldn’t remember under what context. Bastion she knew.

His response kept her smile there, a part of her pleased to hear that little flirtatious note work its way back into his voice.

“Beggars can’t be choosers I’m afraid.”

He was remarkably alert for someone who’d been through such a heavy handed punishment, but he had youth and the Force on his side. Joza wasn’t particularly surprised when she felt that sulfuric gaze gently scrutinize her face—it wasn’t the first time that someone had looked at her with those eyes. She had nothing to hide here.

Well, nothing he’d figure out from this visit.

“Do you feel up to drink or eat something light?” His body was starved, emaciated. They’d have to be careful for at least the first few days that he didn’t overeat lest his body be unable to handle the sudden influx of nutrients.

There were a lot of things she could have said—‘at least you’re alive!’ was probably among the worst. She wouldn’t put it past him if he’d wished for his own death and one point during the ordeal—Force knows she’s been forced into that corner herself. A low, soft whisper would brush against his senses.

“I don’t want anything from you.” If anything, it was the raw truth. More bitter than it seemed, especially as she ran her thumb soothingly along his hand. With every ‘rescue’ like this there was another new set of risks. She worked hard to calculate for them and stay ahead of the game, lest she get caught. It was a tiring dance, but Joza couldn’t see herself stopping anytime soon.

He would get better, she was sure. Physically, yes. Mentally? That was up to him. You don’t walk away from an ordeal like this unscathed.

[member="The Slave"]
The Slave pondered a flirt, but when he attempted to think of the words a vibration of tired aching pain washed over him. Instead of something coy and interesting to say, nothing more than a slight sigh mixed with a groan came out. With eyes clenched, and body still thrashing internally from the ordeal, he choked out the softest answer he could;

I… Yeah.

As Joza took her time to grab for him whatever it was she intended to feed him, or have him drink for that matter, he lay on his back and pondered just what happened. It was the hundredth time he’d had the images flash through his mind again, from the way Ignus gave him nothing more than a calloused grin to the way his apprentice threw him on the crucifix with an almost extreme prejudice. All for his relation to the Primeval, if not a bit of his own crimes in the Outer Rim in general.

It took a few moments before he said anything, but when Joza came back he glanced up to her and offered her a soft smile, speaking slowly to emphasize his point.

Thank you.

I… have to ask, what do you think I should do now?

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
Water and bread it was, then. A plain meal, something that wouldn’t irritate his stomach and help build him up to eating normally again. Slow burning carbs and all that.

She mirrored his smile as he thanked her, saying nothing because it was not needed. It was an odd sort of situation, given that the two knew very little of eachother and yet here she was, restraining her urge to gush and cuddle and nurture this injured creature back to health. A proper distance had to be maintained given the paranoia deep down, the paranoia that kept her and her’s alive and safe for the time being.

Who knew who [member="The Slave"] was affiliated with? For all she knew, she had enemies who’d staged this entire thing.

That was the paranoia talking again, but she always listened. Maybe she didn’t act, but she tucked that voice into the corner of her mind for now.

She seated herself on the chair next to the bed, legs crossed as she sipped from a steaming cup of caf while turning his question over in her head.

“Rest. Recuperate your strength.”

Of course, he meant after that. But there was an importance to giving yourself time to heal.

“Do you have any place safe you can go? I’d do what I can to avoid crossing paths with this Ignus and his people for the time being.”

If you had to strike, be sneaky. Amass your allies, gather your info and be patient. But Joza was no General or warlord, nor was she particularly interested in that sort of power.

“Until you’re well again, you’re welcome to stay in my care and all that entails.” Her eyes flashed, once, amusement with a bit of malice behind them. Malice? No, more like snark and hidden aggression.
All that entails.

As much as he liked the idea of staying with her, he knew he couldn’t stay long. Not only could he not let her fall victim to anyone after him, he had to get on the move as soon as possible. The sooner he could respond to the disrespect planted upon his lack of a name, the sooner he could be at peace.

Ignus and The Sith Ascendency had to die.

His jaw tightened as rage washed over him once more. Instead of eating, he held a gaze that seemed to be a thousand miles away, angled low to the floor in a semi distracted demeanor. In this, he imagined just how he would go about all of this, from the destruction of their war machine, to the political assassinations. There was war brewing, to him at least, and one that couldn’t be stopped so simply as a pardon or apology.

He simply couldn’t allow this to pass without repercussions. It was all a slave knew in life, after all.

Sulphur like eyes quickly glanced back up to her, his expression softening almost instantly. Her own nature seemed to calm him, though it might have just been the pheromones. The thought forced a slight smile before he shook his head and responded to her question;

I have places I can hide from them, but hiding isn’t my concern.

If they come, will you be alright?”, he said, his tone suddenly shifting to something more akin to concern.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
The gears were turning.

He was thinking, mind working its way out of the fog to faraway places. To revenge, to the next few steps he had to take carefully. Joza knew not of his connections or affiliates, but it seemed that [member="The Slave"] was more than your simple man bound in chains.

If the shift in concern surprised her—and it did—then it did not reflect in her gentle gaze.

Sometimes Joza hated her pink skin. Other times though, it was to her benefit when she worked the floozy façade. The Zeltron was crafty, manipulative and underhandedly aggressive when it suited her—she wouldn’t have been where she was if she hadn’t learn to survive and work a situation to her benefit. As she’d discovered, the life of a Jedi was not for her.

Fingers softly intertwining with his own, she brought them up and pressed his hand against the side of her neck. Though the peaks and shadows of the jagged flesh were downplayed with cosmetic application, he’d feel several inches of seared flesh beneath his touch. It was originally the slave brand of Kossak the Hutt, burned at the blade of a saber to the point where it would be unrecognizable as such.

“I have my ways,” She murmured, smiling a bit cryptically with brightened eyes. “If I flashed them, I’m positive that they’d keel over and die from sheer bliss.”
I wouldn’t mind going out like that either.

He chuckled before it turned into a pained cough. With a sigh, and a moment to recuperate, he lay back down and offered her a weak smile. The longer he was awake, the more he could feel just how injured he truly was, and in a way he had never been used to. Sure, he’d been whipped, burned, shot, and worse on more than one occasion; but to say he had ever been so emaciated that he couldn’t even stand was something entirely different. No matter how hard he tried to ignore the aching calls of his body, he simply couldn’t, a message that would never cease no matter how hard he tried.

In a quiet silence, his still free hand moved to stroke her cheek from where he sat; a placated and gentle grin offering its own slight message. It wouldn’t be hard for a zeltron to realize this, but its caring demeanor told all it needed to with the simple curvature of his lips. With a spirit as weak as he was, a low whisper came out that seemed more pained than it truly was;

I’m glad I met you, even if it was under… less than normal circumstances.

Its Joza, right?”, he said with an almost unsure look; one that seemed like he feared treading on the line of insensitive.

The worst thing he could do right now was get her name wrong; especially considering everything that had just happened.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │
Her head tilted, idly against his hand that came up to caress her cheek. Full mauve lips parted slightly, eyes carefully searching his face. Joza was not uncomfortable with the gesture, nor would any Zeltron typically be. Touch, sexual and platonic, were a part of their culture and ingrained into their biology.

Barring anything non-consensual, of course.

“It is.” Her lips curved into a tired smile, hinting at a smirk. “Though you could have feigned memory loss and I’d have believed you.” Her words tapered off with a light chuckle.

A pause while she looked thoughtful.

“I’m going to call you John. John Doe.” From the first time they’d met at the club. It was what Hazel had called him, and the name stuck. Especially since… “I don’t want to call you slave.

“And you don’t really look like a Paxton.”

Was there a hint of a tease in her voice?

[member="The Slave"]

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