Private Gimme Shelter

[Kalporra Djacq]

Even the best lies began with a solid foundation of truth. So:

"The Knights Obsidian, or just a few of them, really, but I've forgotten their names." Not false. She had Gerwald Lechner and Aries Creed had long since blended in her mind, a whirlpool of misidentification informed by annoyance. Something was already telling her that Oran Shule would not fall to the same fate, that she would always remember him exactly as he was, or at least exactly as he presented himself.

She just didn't know if the prospect excited or terrified her.

This old man was getting stranger by the minute. And to think she thought his peak had been raising the dead in a back alley.

Kal made the semi-conscious decision to share more than just an answer. When she was hunting for victims, specifically as she would get to know them, this method was a means to an end--a slit throat, body in a pool of blood. Creating a false sense of security for them, a false sense of trust here perhaps. "They took me off the streets of Christophsis. Have you ever been? The buildings are all crystal, and the people? Shiny too, but just on the surface. They can get pretty nasty under that gild." She looked Oran more intently in the eye. "Watch out for that."

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

"The Knights... Obsidian."

A hum there as he thought about that.

Oh, Oran knew about the Confederacy. It had always struck him as a strange little organization (almost as strange as considering a galactic-spanning nation as 'little', but that's a different story). They claimed to love freedom, liberty, all those nice buzzwords. A nation build on the belief that balance between light and dark was not just possible, but actually preferable to the eternal war.

What did it say about their precious balance when they were recruiting serial killers into their midst?

"Their names are irrelevant anyway. After all, they clearly were incapable of providing you what you needed, didn't they?" He murmured thoughtfully as they walked in the direction of the starport.

It was bustling even now.

Which indicated that even under the reign of a crazed cult... commerce and productivity found a way.

"As for Christophsis... no, I don't think I have encountered it in my journeys." Which immediately made him interested. Out of nowhere appeared a large ledger (where the hell did he keep that thing??) and a pencil. "Crystals, you say? Fascinating." And if she thought he was mocking her, that idea was immediately dispelled as Oran actually wrote it down.

She would just about catch a page about other worlds, Tython, Coruscant and some personal notes attached to them.

Tython: too shiny, the Force is wild here, it needs more control. Dangerous this way. The parasite eats.​

​

&​

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Coruscant: Taste of metal in the air, forced down your lungs, how do people live here? constant noise. the planet is dead... but on the corpse sits a living city, churning.​

​

Oran looked up at her last remark, catching her pointed glance at him and he smiled in return. "Aw, Kal, we are all nasty. We just differ in how it comes out, doesn't it?"

One moment later he paused... and Kal would realize they had arrived at his ship. It wasn't too shabby either. A Corellian-made freighter. "As durable and resilient as they come." The man declared proudly as he tapped a button for the doors to open up. "After you?" Into the Maw of the beast, so to speak, but things had gone well so far.

What could go wrong?

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

"Aw, Kal, we are all nasty. We just differ in how it comes out, doesn't it?"

Kal repressed a sigh, biting at the inside of her cheek instead. She had played that one a little too close to her heart; time to rein it back in.

She let go of Oran in preparation to lead him aboard his own ship. As the boarding ramp extended, the dark interior immediately behind it seemed to house movement. Scampering, swirling, soft-spoken shadows. The heavy-handed symbolism tugged at her skin--goosebumps again, and internal shivers she couldn't shake. It was all too easy for the situation's gravity to pull tricks over her mind, likely because she was normally what went bump in the night. Even she had to admit that Oran made a much bigger bump, or could, if his alleyway trick was any indication at all, which it probably was. The role-reversal would have been unbelievable if she hadn't been living it.

But, now that the reality was settling into her bones, she realized that she had never felt quite so alive stepping into a stranger's freighter like little, lost Gretel.

"How far's Rhand?" she asked, and left a pause for an answer. Then, "Whatever will we do in the meantime?" remembering that he had planned to test her for proclivity to the Force. "Training anyway? Mark your territory, so to say, Mr. Shule?"

Cat and mouse wasn't quite the same when the mouse was quite a bit brave, what with being a serial killer and all.

Oran Shule

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

"Rhand? Two day travel. Would be a day with a top-of-the-line hyperdrive, but these are the Unknown Regions." A bloody smirk covered with shadows as he looked over his shoulder to her. "And since the desolation of Csilla, these regions have felt a dearth in the usual import proclivities." Csilla had been brilliant in a way.

The way the Force had wept... beautiful.

If you subscribed to the notion that the Force was a disease, attaching itself to its victims, it made total sense that Dark or Light... the pain of so many lives, such a large loss of harvest, would make it cry.

His hand flicked and the ramp started to close behind her. The more breaths she took, the deeper she found herself in the fox hole. Serial killer or not, Oran could feel it cling to her. The uncertainty. "It must be awkward, Kal. You are used to being the one inspiring fear, no?" Absent tone as he led her deeper into the ship.

"What to do with yourself when the situation changes? Or even swaps around in place."

They entered the living space. A few couches arrayed around a holographic station. In a way not much different from the living room in a house. If you were willingly walking into the den of a cultist anyway.

Remarkably cozy.

"My territory is thoroughly marked, Miss. Djacq." He murmured as he turned around and leaned against the station, so Oran could watch her. "Training, yes, since you already mentioned having been tested and found sensitive.... so to speak." A smirk there as he stretched lightly. The bones under his skin groaning in response as they were pushed into stress.

"What can you do already? What did these Obsidian Knights, defenders of the Confederacy, teach you?"

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

She helped herself and took a seat.

If this place was to be her grave, she might as well make it her home first.

Or else, exercise what little power she still felt within her grasp. While she could. It was fleeting with just about every step she took.

"Anticlimactically little," she admitted. "I could do telekinesis and had a pretty honed mind's eye before they got their hands on me. Some other basics too, like acrobatics. They taught me how to do those better."

Kal paused to breathe mindfully, an expulsion of breath than sounded awfully like a heavy sigh, enough to betray mental turmoil, but she didn't mind enough to stop herself. If Oran wasn't already picking up on her vulnerability through other body tells, well, then that was his own fault.

She was remembering short-lived instruction that had seemed to fill out decades of her fast life. From classes to field missions, she had sharpened her few skills rather than learning all that many more from scratch. But, "I learned a bit of Lightning. Umm, Shatterpoint too--though only the theoretics there; never actually tried to parlor trick that one."

Another pause. "I'm sure you've noticed I have no saber either. At least not now. Or in entirety." She shifted her seated hips in such a way to get at the wound garrote at her belt. With a single, soft, satisfying click, it was off and in her hands. She took to looking down at it rather than up at Oran. "This is all that's left."

Oran Shule

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

"Mm, you say little, but that is quite the repertoire of abilities scrounged up, Kal."

It was not idle praise either. That was certainly not something Oran busied himself with. "Especially Shatterpoint. That one... mm, very rare, few people possess the talent to. Then again, you never tried it, so maybe you don't have it either." Slightly teasing her there as he thought about that. That would be a very useful talent to be exposed to.

Seeing the fault lines in destiny and shattering them when necessary.

Scary thing in the hands of a serial killer however.

"Lightsabers are so... complicated. I have never much enjoyed them truth to be told." He stretched there again, now the other side, feeling a bone pop back deeper into the right place. "A knife, an axe. A blaster when you really need to get the job done. Lightsabers... archaic and a symbol of people who consider themselves far more important than they really are."

A cheerful clap there then.

"Okay. Show me what you got. You say you know Telekinesis? Push against me. See how far you will get." Oran grinned there, challenging her without a care in the world.

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

Kal blinked like she misunderstood.

But she didn't misunderstand--not really.

She had simply been misleading folks for so long now that she barely recognized her own plays until she was halfway through making them.

She rose her free hand at Oran and focused a small jet stream of energy at him. It took every crumb of will to not crank the faucet on full-tilt, shove him back so hard he'd have to relive yesterday, maybe crack the entertainment station by proxy of his sparse bodyweight, but she pretended she was in control. That the fire kindled in the alley was nothing more than inconvenience, not a budding rivalry. That she was in fact playing him rather than perhaps the other way around.

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

Insinuated like she cared, all the way from definition to delivery. Just missing the devotion.

Oran Shule

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

Bemused expression in response.

Both to her unseen action (gathering of power like a wily storm clouded around her) and what she actually said.

"Miss. Djacq, every fiber in your being wants to test its mettle against me and come out on top." Oran murmured calmly as his finger nails dug into the palms of his hands. Drawing a slow trickle of blood in a practiced way. He did not call for the Force directly. Instead letting his blood do the singing, drawing in power in a casual and quiet way.

"I'd like to see you try." Pushing himself off the station and resting easily on his feet. "Give me what you got. Be warned... every inch you give, I will pay you back twofold if not more."

He smiled cheerfully at her, but the shadows around him had deepened.

It bathed his face in dark smears. As if a skull was looking back at her. Only the glint of pearly white teeth flashing as he smiled. The power was surging through his blood. Slipping in and emerging.

Curiosity often killed, but Oran was reasonably sure he'd be breathing by the end of this.

This time anyway.

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

Geez, creep. Okay.

She dropped her countenance as if it was a metal pot she had tried to grab off the range. At once and, on contact with the floor, it shattered. Figuring the exact tactics that would be helpful here was difficulty, so much so that she began to think there was no way she could win. Damned if she did; damned if she didn't. It seemed to her she was a freshly polished window pane to Oran, but she couldn't fog herself over as hard as she tried.

A more meaningful focus crept over Kal's face as she worked her feet up under her. She did shove now, exactly as he knew she wanted to, power raw and indiscriminate but rough around all its edges. The hand with her garrote quickly clicked it back to her belt before finding the couch's backrest behind her. The Force rerouted itself to her person, embracing her torso and helping to guide her up and over and behind that pivot point like a dancer lifting his partner.

Cover.

But she couldn't stay here.

She glanced wildly around the room.

Oran Shule

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

Luckily for Oran he was entirely ready for her push.

It still almost blew him off his feet however.

A snarl escaped his lips, but he remained steady fixated in his boots as Oran absorbed the force of the Push. His blood sang and took in much of the pain that was coaxed out of his body. "Good first try." He murmured. Sadly, his voice didn't point to a single direction that Kal could home in on, instead it came from all around her.

Vague and sleek like shadowy whispers.

"But you have much to learn." Before Kalporra could decide on a direction to dash to?

The Force swept out and came down on her like a hammer.

Not to crush, but instead to pin right against the couch. Like a deep hard weight settling on top of her and making it impossible for her to move anywhere else.

A moment later Oran slipped back into existence. He sat down near the edge of the couch, looking down on her.

"You are powerful, I will give you that. I am impressed." With a gesture Oran revealed his hand above her. The trickle of blood dripping down on her. "You even made me bleed... in a way. Happy?"

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

Was she happy?

She decided that didn't need to be dignified with a response.

But the rest of what he said--nay, did--did. "I'm not a vampire," Kal hissed, bearing her own teeth as she struggled against all hope and more mass. Meaning, she didn't need live blood banks; she wanted patrons laid up in a pile of their own wealth.

Plus, the pure sight of blood didn't do it for her, despite occupational assumptions.

If he didn't understand her implications, good. She would not explain either.

There was something benevolent in this moment though, about being for about once in her life the lesser evil. Or at least the first time she had been so acutely aware of such dynamic, her comparison literally bleeding down her face. It wasn't so exciting, considering she hadn't bestowed her marionette strings on Oran because she (shutter to think) trusted him, but rather confusingly relieving.

Despite herself, again, she glowered, all but growling, "Let me go, Shule."

Absolutely no more playful pleasantries.

Only survival.

Oran Shule

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

A chuckle there.

"Don't need to be a vampire to enjoy the sight of blood spilled, Kal." Murmured with a cheerful tone, before taking his hand away, because clearly this wasn't making her happy at all. Odd creature this one. Stalking the night in pursuit of prey. Making them fight, struggle against death, before taking away their life surrounded by her embrace.

Yet couldn't stand the sight of a body burning alive.

Yet wasn't pleased by blood dripping.

What was this Kalporra Djacq? Not a mere serial killer like his first instincts had told him. It was nice to be wrong for a change. Oh, some would have been infuriated or in denial, but not Oran. He believed that being wrong was perfect. It was the right opportunity to learn and become better in the long run.

"Shule? I thought we were friends, Kal." Oran husked pleasantly... and then slowly let the weight fade away from her chest. "You lost today... now you learn, no? Isn't that how it's done in this Galaxy of ours."

Offering his bloody hand to her.

A shake, to pull her up, to sign a pact.

All of the above?

Yes.

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

Kal found herself briefly wondering if Oran could come to understand what she in fact was.

Even more briefly, she hoped that he even could, but she cut herself of with a, Force damn, stop, and an eye roll meant equally for her internal narrator and friend.

Right, her bad. Or wait, no, not at all. She bit back, "I don't have friends like this." Another surprise would be that such a statement actually meant something, as she did have a few friends in this wide galaxy after all. Just, none she could really bear her heart too. At all, much less like this, had she any secrets in her heart like the man hovering above her. "Too soon," she added. Typically, uh, 'character quirks' like this were worked up to, not literally dripped into a prospective friend's face an hour or so after meeting them.

At least he bought her dinner first.

Going against every instinct pulling at her muscles, Kal put her hand in his and helped him help her up. After all, she really didn't mind to sight or feel or even smell of blood; she just preferred its source bone cold dead...and un-resurrected. She couldn't believe she had to make that clarification now. She nodded, agreeing to whatever would get her a few more minutes, hours, days to figure out what her next few steps should be.

Because right now she was at a loss.

As he suggested, learning now and doing better later seemed the best option. "Plus, it'd be a little inappropriate, yeah? If you're going to be my teacher."

Oran Shule

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

"I do apologize then." He says apologetically and for all intents and purposes it seemed genuine. "I don't do people much, if I am being honest."

Understatement of the century.

"They are messy. Confusing. I don't get them."

Which made dealing with someone like Kalporra even more complicated. There wasn't really a book on 'How To Associate With a Serial Killer' after all. That just wasn't in the public lexicon. Which meant that he had to run it by instinct. Except that his instincts were complete shite. Which he had just already admitted.

That felt good.

Being honest and bearing his heart... so to speak.

He squeezed her hand, pressing the blood in. A pact was made. Oran blinked and for a brief moment he still saw Kalporra, but now as an outline within the Force.

A bloodtrail could be useful at times.

But it was probably best if Oran didn't point that out right now. "Inappropriate?" Musing on that for a moment. "Hm. No, I don't think so. I am quite an unorthodox teacher, miss Djacq. You are not being inducted as a Padawan, forged into an Acolyte or..." Pausing there as he considered what an Obsidian Knight would be.

"Something else." When Oran couldn't figure it out. "I will teach you the things you want to know. You will help me light a flame against the Galaxy. We will both be happy, yes?"

A smile as he squeezed her hand one more time for good measure and let go.

"Okay! Let's set course for Rhand. We have quite the journey ahead of us."

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

". . . You are not being inducted as a Padawan, forged into an Acolyte or..."

Squire.

She would have said so if she had known what he had trailed off in search of.

Or maybe not.

Yeah, probably not.

Instead, she offered sort of a hum, and then, "Happy as I can be, I'm sure," with voice pancake flat.

A beat after that final squeeze and before he let go, she repeated with a bit more intoned body, "I said let me go..." and her own good measure after: "Please."

She would follow after him to some or another navicomputer somewhere, either here or in the cockpit--wherever that was--but not out of idle curiosity alone. She did wonder a little bit whereabouts Rhand was on a galactic map, so if needed she could navigate back to safe space, but mostly she couldn't afford to let Oran Shule out of her sight for even a minute if the last few had taught her anything. A whole life's worth of arrogance had told her she was better in every way, a characteristic that had gotten her into trouble with the Knights but not nearly as much, except she was worse in every way.

Except maybe the moral one which was a strange curve ball to have the universe suddenly pitch at her.

She just didn't know yet how smart keeping as close tabs on Oran as she could manage would be, but neither how much of an empyrean eye he had on her too.

 

[Oran Shule]

Kalporra Djacq

A bemused glance at her please as they walked together towards the cockpit.

"Sorry, bloody Kal, but I think we both know I ain't gonna let you go now." Oran winked, teasing her in a way that he thought people did. "Yar in it for the long haul and then some. But. I don't think you will regret it." He paused there right outside the cockpit. Considering his own words there briefly... before adding another last bit.

"Well, if you leaden your stomach a bit more, I have never met a serial killer with your palette or lack thereof." Before finishing the journey and plopping down in one of the chairs and gesturing to the empty one for her.

"Why don't you lead me through that for that matter, while I get us in the air?"

Already his hands, practiced and at ease, started the ship. The ironworks lumbering and shuddering as the engine roared up as per demand. "How is it that a serial killer is so..."

In truth he didn't have a word for it.

Nice or otherwise.

It was just... weird, really. "You seem very specific about the ways you enjoy your death. Why is that? And what are you looking for, if it's not blood or the sensation of tortured pain?" There was clear interest in Oran's tone, because he had never met someone like her before. Oh... serial killers were a dime in a dozen. Especially in a brotherhood such as the Maw. They were all diseased killers and madmen. But Kal seemed more focused than that and less hungry for the basic ingredient of blood than them.

What made her tick?

Now that was something Oran was interested in.

 

[Kalporra Djacq]

When Kalporra sat where indicated, her body making the decision much more than her mind as the short duel had ravaged her legs more than she thought it had while simply standing, it was as if her entire heart let go of all the tension that it had gathered over the course of the day.

And she would be crazy to fight against that.

A deep sigh followed, breathing it out though it was sure to return tenfold. She waited until he had asked all of his questions with head inclined back against its rest, staring up at the ceiling and tracing imaginary figures, hoping that with each one would come another--on and on until she had no space to answer anymore. But, alas, the end did come and it forced breath from her throat again.

"You wouldn't understand," she finally said with a voice all soft and compliant.

And, suddenly much scarier--the Brotherhood wouldn't understand--but she dare not say that, lest her silence somehow made it false and her voice true. She had assumed up until a minute ago that she would have been able to take care of herself, easily, both around Oran Shule and his faction.

Somewhere in her tracings, she saw just how wrong had she been.

"It doesn't really matter though, does it?" A shaky question, that, rather than a firm statement. She had to get away from this man. His influence, whatever exactly that meant, was changing her natural character. No distain, no tooth and nail survivalism, no biting sarcasm, but also no outright warmth and care. Just the naked vulnerability of a hard conversation.

Like they were in fact friends.

Had been, even, if the space of minutes had been years instead.

She was almost, almost begging him to leave it be.

Would he?