How Not to Negotiate

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Shortly after his induction to the Je'daii Order, Cotan had found himself pulled from his new studies as duty called elsewhere. No matter what roles he might recently take up, his position as a Judge of the ORC and his calling as a Jedi Knight ensured that he always had something that would draw him from study and contemplation into active work and trouble. It was, however, abnormal that he find himself thrust into the middle of two groups that were highly determined on re-inciting a civil war that had ended nearly a millenium ago.

Surprisingly enough, that was exactly what had happened.

The civil war between the Melida and the Daan on Melida/Daan (No points for guessing how they came up with the planet's name, eh?) had been resolved forty-four years before Luke Skywalker learned to fly an X-Wing and destroyed a gargantuan battlestation. The planet had existed in relative peace since then. Until after the Four Hundred Year Darkness, during which tensions seemed to arise between the remnants of both factions, and fringe elements of both had since tried to reignite the war, against the wishes of the overall planetary government. Thankfully, the vast majority of citizens knew better than to trust those fringe elements, confining them more to the level of violent gangs than revolutionary forces. The planetary government sent out a call for help, for any Jedi or Judge that might be close enough to respond to it, and Cotan found himself sent off to try and conduct negotiations.

Not my strong suit.

Thankfully - after a tense week of minor fighting and arguing between the heads of the fringe groups and the government - they'd all managed to agree to meet and engage in some negotiations to try and enact a ceasefire, if not an actual truce. Cotan was going along as a moderator of the discussion that was to take place, and as some extra security in the event that things went to osik. As a Mandalorian might say. The meeting was taking place in a conference room at a town hall in 'neutral' territory, where Cotan was running slightly late, and was supposed to meet up with representatives of all three parties.

Unfortunately for him, as he managed to reach the room and opened the door, he found that the representative of the planetary government was no longer capable of speaking, breathing, or in fact living, while the representatives from either of the fringe groups were nowhere to be seen. "Oi, Ish'ka." That little bit of profanity was some of the only Yuuzhan Vong Cotan knew, and it was very apt for the current situation. He crept forward warily, calling his lightsaber hilt to his hand, while he inspected the body. "Well, I'm not a dead-body-ologist, but it looks to me like this man has been assassinated," he mused to himself. And to whoever else was nearby and likely waiting for him; for all that he wasn't the best with the Force, he could still sense the remnants of the Dark Side clinging to the walls.

He'd be very surprised if there wasn't some assassin still nearby, and if he himself wasn't the target. "Hope I'm not next."

[member="Sera Sadow"]

 

[Sera Sadow]

Cotan was only half right. There was an assassin alright, and she was definitely after him - she just happened to be after him while eating a banthaburger in the back corner of a cafe across the street. Said assassin was dressed less like a trained killer and more like a stereotypically rebellious teenager, but she watched the scene unfolding in the governor's office - via a microcamera resting atop a bookshelf in said office - with the same dispassionate professionalism as the most experienced of her kind.

Well, almost, anyway.

Sera Sadow had no moral compunction against murder - she didn't have many moral compunctions against anything, really. Came with the territory of being a Sith. Still, she had to admit that the governor's death was unfortunate; such a weaselly little man would've made a good informant, if Sera had ever needed to return to this planet. Besides, he had good taste in cinema, if his holonet history was any indication. But alas, his demise was necessary - so what little guilt Sera's psyche mustered over someone who was neither an Imperial nor important to her was quickly pushed aside.

She had a job to do.

As soon as the target entered the room, Sera opened her left hand - the one not holding a banthaburger - and pushed down on the big red button in the middle of a small, shiny remote.

Cotan had about a second after the desk started beeping to find cover.

--

[member="Cotan Sar'andor"]

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

Nobody really even needed Jedi danger senses to figure out what that signalled. Not that Cotan didn't find them useful all the same.

With a bit of minor Force-Assistance, Cotan turned and jumped out the still-open door to the room, while pulling on the only special trick he really knew to cocoon his body with a shield of energy; the blast slammed into it and slammed him into the wall, but - aside from being surprised and mildly annoyed - Cotan was no worse for wear. "Thank goodness I learned that power," he muttered to himself. As he looked back inside, he could see the room was now definitely a mess. No more desks around the back wall. The back wall itself, however, was miraculously still intact. Good charge. A couple bookshelves were as well, although most of the books themselves were shredded and scorched into uselessness.

"You'll have to try harder than that to kill me," he spoke into the room, hoping that if there was a camera and microphone allowing the assassin to watch him, they were still intact enough to pick up. After that, he quickly made his exit of the building, though not without pressing an emergency button on his commlink, letting the local police know that things had just gone entirely arseways. As soon as he was outside, however, his own somewhat-dull Force senses picked up on a very obviously Dark-Sided signature in a relatively empty cafe across the street.

One very brisk walk later and he was in it, locking eyes with the person he could sense, all the way in the back of the cafe. His lightsaber, however, was by now concealed up his sleeve. He deliberately walked towards her, taking a seat a couple down from her. "So, are you the person I have to thank for the mess back across the street?" he asked, jerking his head back in that same direction. He already knew the answer - she'd left traces of her own Force signature back in the conference room, and he'd caught a wiff of it through his own danger sense right before the desk exploded. But a little friendly conversation never hurt anything.

"If I ask nicely, would you just surrender? I don't really want to have a fight or a chase today."

[member="Sera Sadow"]

 

[Sera Sadow]

Sera had to admit, she was a little bit surprised. Not that her target had survived – she hadn’t expected a single thermal detonator to take out a Jedi of any competence. She had, however, expected it to do some damage – professional courtesy may have dictated that she take him out up close and personal, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to even the odds beforehand. No such luck, it seemed; there wasn’t a scratch on the man who came to visit her in the cafe. In fact, the only thing that appeared to be wrong with him was that he was slightly annoyed. Nibbling on a wedge of fried...something, Sera listened to her target speak.

“Afraid I can’t do that. I’m a professional, you understand – I’ve been hired to perform a service, and so I will, to the best of my abilities.” For all the cloying, shadowy wrongness that stuck to the area around her, this young lady was remarkably calm and collected – rising from her seat without any particular hurry, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets as if she weren’t about to need them to, you know, fight with.

Sera, you see, was not like certain other Acolytes of the Sith. Having been raised in a militaristic household, she learned early on the values of discipline and self control – especially for one blessed with the Force. As such, she kept her emotions in check, using them instead of allowing them to use her, and loosening her control only when she deemed sudden, unexpected bursts of violent impulse to be beneficial.

This was one such occasion. Almost without warning, the glass on Sera’s table flew from its spot and towards Cotan’s face, accompanied only by a short-lived-but-intense burst of sheer malice. Another brief surge of emotion – this time fear – and the assassin was gone.

If the shrieks of surprise or people running in confused fear were any indication, then she'd probably retreated to the cafe's kitchen.

--

[member="Cotan Sar'andor"]

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Cotan's hand whipped up quickly, the glass almost instantly being immobilized in the air at his own useage of the Force. Exactly why I made sure not to sit too close. He carefully set it back down on the table, before jumping up and following the path that his senses told him was the likely route back to the assassin. Senses ranging from the Force to eardrums that were protesting at the clamour that was now happening, thanks to the efforts of the assassin. He barged into the kitchen, already focusing his will on the Force, ready to defend himself from any flying objects if needed. It wasn't long before he locked eyes on his target, who was in the process of exiting via the back door.

"Not so fast," he growled, reaching out with the Force; Sera would quickly experience an uncomfortable gripping sensation around her ankles, as Cotan strived to telekinetically trip her and pull her back towards him. While doing so he ignited his lightsaber, advancing implacably towards her. "If you're going to try and kill me, you're going to have to stand and fight!"

[member="Sera Sadow"]

 

[Sera Sadow]

Contrary to what Cotan may have expected, Sera had not been in the process of escape. And although he did pull down an escaping girl via the force, this girl was not the assassin, but rather a scared and confused fry cook. No, Sera had no intention of running away from this fight. Not until she was losing, anyway. The young assassin uncloaked behind her target, holding in her hands a hefty looking basket that dripped and sizzled with oil and frying vegetable matter.

Then she swung it at his head, releasing the basket’s handle and letting physics take care of the rest.

It wasn’t as if Sera expected this to kill her target – she didn’t even really expect this to injure him, not seriously, at least. But a basket full of boiling oil and food swung at your head was going to be painful no matter what, and pain, generally speaking, threw people off their game.

--

[member="Cotan Sar'andor"]

 

[Cotan Sar'andor]

Wait, that's not the assassin. Kark.

Look out Cotan!

Eh? Wha--

Cotan felt the basket connect with his head, and he instantly deactivated his lightsaber and rolled forward with the blow. This sent the basket and everything within it flying off past him and into a wall, though he had to admit, having droplets of boiling oil splatter all over the back of his neck and into his hair was distinctly uncomfortable. He'd have to get the assassin back for that.

He sprung up at the end of his roll, turning as he did so to face the assassin. "Bit cramped in here," he said after a moment, holding up his lightsaber hilt. "A bit too little space for these things. How about we avoid the collateral damage and step outside?" He gestured to the door - the door that the girl he had accidentally grabbed (Seriously, bad choice of fashion today, kid) just ran out of - while speaking. "It looked like you'd enjoyed that Banthaburger special, earlier, so I'm sure you understand how it'd be a shame to mess up any of the equipment back here."

[member="Sera Sadow"]

 

[Sera Sadow]

Sera smiled. It was an easy, almost charming smile, the sort she might give to a friend (if she had friends). The target was likable, she had to give him that much; were he not her target, Sera imagined, they might have even gotten along. Ah, well. Some things couldn’t be helped.

There was a tiny ripple in the Force, and suddenly Sera was armed, her saber’s bright red beam pointed at the ground in front of her – an invitation to strike. And, to an even moderately experienced duelist, an obvious trap. But if that wasn’t enough to set Cotan’s Danger Senses off, then the rippling, writhing currents of the Force centered around Sera certainly were.

Not that that mattered. He was in a fight. Of course he was in danger.

--

[member="Cotan Sar'andor"]