Public In Through The Guts

[Catarina Talen]

Objective: Jeopardize Intelligence Gathering By Engaging In Pointless Heroics
Equipment: Datapad, Lightsaber (Hidden), Blaster Pistol (Stun-Only), Latch-on Thermal Detonator (x3)
Tags (Allies): Novac Lyrikal | Faelyra Vynn | etc., etc.
Tags (Opposition): Ziso Kus | etc., etc.

Waste no time. Be fast and be precise.

The Jedi Knight moved with ground-eating haste; every second meant more smoke exposure and more time for the Sith to come and find her and her associates. While Faelyra and Novac worked to contain the fire, Caterina shuttled its victims to safety, or as close as one could achieve down here in the Guts.

A Human girl with old burns on her face and a cough in her chest. A Rodian, with a limp on his left side and the rattling breath of fluid-filled lungs. A Caphex, too old and frail to move herself away from the flames. Cat shielded those she carried away from the flames with her body, and her body she shielded with the Force, so that the heat would burn her only lightly and the smoke would not fill her lungs.

Endless disaster, sparked by one individual's carelessness - or malice. Still, with three Jedi, this was doable. There wasn't anything to be done for the structures themselves, but they could keep injuries to a minimum if -

A quiet billowing of her cloak and the sheer desire to end a life were the only things to give her away before the crackling, pained hiss of a Sith lightsaber followed and she struck down for Faelyra Vynn.

There was a split second where she was frozen. In her mind's eye she saw the worst; the padawan and the healer butchered, corpses burnt by plasma-fire, the bone-white machine-Sith looming over them. Her fingers shook, her limbs trembled as she placed one last wounded civilian down before -

She inhaled.

There is no Emotion; there is Peace.

And exhaled. Her pupils dilated, saucer-plate-wide and rimmed by the ruby red edges of her sclera. She was a Jedi; master of her own emotions, or at least striving towards that goal. She could not allow her fear to endanger others.

"No," she whispered, and dashed towards the Sith, the Padawan and her fellow Knight. In the midst of the blur erupted an arc of shining blue light, and when she came to a standstill she had brought her lightsaber to bear; it was held forward, at the height of her midsection, with the tip of the beam pointed up and towards the Sith. She took a few more steps forward, cold and efficient in her stride, to place herself between the aggressor and the Padawan.

"You won't harm anyone here."

The delivery was quiet and tranquil, with only the slightest tremble of fear. This wasn't a threat, it wasn't bluster. It was barely even being delivered to the Sith.

It was a vow, between Caterina and herself.

 

[Faelyra Vynn]

The burst of water from the ruptured pipe spread in glittering sheets across the grimy floor, hissing where it met the nearest tongues of flame. It was messy, imperfect, and absolutely enough. Faelyra looked over just in time to see Novac wrestling the angled pipe and soaked cloths into usefulness, calling civilians into a bucket line with a confidence that had not been there moments ago.

A small, breathless smile touched her lips despite the smoke. “Thank you,” she called to him, and she meant it with an earnestness that cut through the chaos. Because without that water line this corridor would already have been lost. She turned immediately back to the wounded. There was no shortage.

A middle-aged Duros with blistered hands. A woman half-conscious from smoke inhalation. Another civilian with a nasty gash from collapsing debris. Faelyra knelt beside the worst of them, pressing one palm lightly to the woman’s sternum while the other steadied the side of her neck, feeling the frantic flutter of pulse beneath blue fingertips.

“Slow breaths,” she whispered. “You’re alright… just stay with me…” The Force flowed, soft and cool where everything around her was heat and panic. She could not mend all of it—not here, not quickly—but she could stabilize. Ease constriction in the lungs. Draw down shock. Buy minutes.

Minutes mattered. Then—Cold. Not physical. Something far deeper and far more wrong. It sliced through the corridor like a blade of black ice. Faelyra’s breath caught. Every muscle in her body locked.

The calm she had been spreading through the Force recoiled violently as another presence slammed against it—hatred so concentrated it almost felt alive, jagged and diseased and ravenous. Her head lifted on instinct, eyes widening as she sensed it before she fully saw it.

Above. Watching. And then dropping. A pale mechanical horror wrapped in a cloak, crimson blade screaming to life as it descended directly toward her. Faelyra froze. Not from lack of awareness. From the terrible, crushing realization that she was still kneeling over an injured civilian and had nowhere to go without abandoning them.

Her mouth opened before thought caught up. Through the Force more than voice, the warning ripped from her in a burst of raw alarm.

SITH! The mental shout cracked outward to every allied presence nearby. And then the world yanked sideways.

Faelyra cried out as an invisible pull tore both her and the woman she was shielding backward across wet durasteel. The Sith blade struck where they had been a fraction earlier, carving molten ruin into the floor. She hit hard on one shoulder, instinct immediately overriding pain as she twisted over the patient, arms wrapping protectively around the smoke-choking civilian.

Novac. He had moved her. She looked up just long enough to see him plant himself between them and the attacker, polearm saber igniting in trembling readiness. For one heartbeat Faelyra simply stared. The envy she had felt before returned—but changed now.

Not envy of recklessness. Admiration of courage. Even frightened, he had stepped forward.

Faelyra swallowed hard and curled tighter around the injured woman as sparks spat from the Sith’s ruined landing point. “You’re safe,” she whispered to the civilian, though the words shook. “Stay down. Stay behind me.”

Another flash of blue. Catarina entered the fray like a drawn line of certainty, her blade interposing itself with quiet finality between the Sith and the civilians behind her. Faelyra felt the steadiness of that vow as much as heard it. A wall had formed.

Which meant she had seconds. Only seconds. She forced herself back to task. The woman beneath her was hyperventilating, pulse erratic. Faelyra pressed both hands down again, calling on the Force despite her own hammering terror. Calm. Oxygen flow. Stabilize the constricted chest. Ease the spasms. Keep her conscious enough to move if they had to run.

Come on… come on…The civilian’s breathing leveled by degrees. Not healthy. Stable. Good enough.

Faelyra exhaled sharply and looked to the cluster of huddled residents nearby—children crying, an elderly Ithorian crouched low, two others too shocked to move.

No one was guarding them. Her healer’s instinct screamed to stay on the ground with the wounded. Her survival instinct screamed louder to hide. But neither would help if the Sith broke through. Faelyra rose. Slowly at first, then with firmer resolve than she felt.

Her silver lightsaber snapped to life with a clean hiss, pale light cutting through smoke beside Novac’s and Catarina’s more battle-ready stances.She did not step ahead. Did not pretend she belonged on the front line. Instead Faelyra planted herself just before the civilians, blade held in both hands despite the visible tremor there, blue eyes fixed on the monstrous Sith beyond her allies.

A shield. That she could do. Her voice came quiet, but no longer timid, directed behind her to those cowering in the smoke. “Stay low. Stay behind us.” Then, swallowing against the fear clawing up her throat, she set her feet and held the line.

Location: Level 1313, Coruscant
Objective: Be ready to provide “medical” aid.
Outfit: Civilian “blend in” Clothing
Allies: Catarina Talen | Isobel Serraris | Mykel Dawson | Starbird | Thalen Dhorain | Lestra Thairk
Potential Enemies: Arris Windrun | Ziso Kus
Direct Interaction: Catarina Talen | Novac Lyrikal | Ziso Kus

 

[Ziso Kus]

Metal screeched under Ziso's impact on the floor. Weight alone wasn't the only cause, but rather the intensity of her strike. Her lightsaber carved through the flooring in a wicked gash. Her claws tore. Her entire metallic body was going to be used to rip apart the Jedi had she not been moved. And yet, she had been. The chill of hate, of a seething rage, cut through the haze of heat and flame all that much more as the Sith's gaze turned to the Jedi.

Most of her form remained hidden under the cloak she wore, huddled in her shorter state of being. The bone white mask had to look up at each of them as more lightsaber's joined the chorus of defiance. Two stood before her, stamping down fear in the process. Living eyes glanced to the healer behind, as she focused on mending wounds.

Hate.

The bitter cold grew. The cloak parted to reveal the extent of the cyborg. Machinery and cybernetics whirled to life as her form extended, plates shifting and moving. A second saber joined the first in a flare of agonizing red, the kyber within crying out in anguish. "Jedi still wish to talk, even here on this world?"

Her form towered now at her full height. The pair of red burned into the ground, filling the air with a painful hiss as metal melted from the heat. Then she threw. Both sabers ripped through the air with machine precision, spinning rapidly around the Jedi. Towards those behind them, those they were trying to protect. Through support pillars and walls, to weaken the structure.

A terribly cruel feint, to lure their eyes to those who needed their protecting. The second their attention went to stopping those blades, to stopping the collapse of the building, the Sith had faded from sight. Not quite from sound. The crush of cybernetic claws biting into wood and steel, the crackle of the flame. Disorienting and distracting. Tricks of the trade for an Assassin.

Lethal intent, hate, the flame, the lightsabers. Everything was loud, blaring the Assassin's presence as she moved just out of sight. Everything was a distraction from the true strike. A pair of daggers, as silent as they were simple, thrown from an angle only possible through the Force towards the serpent Jedi's back.

Novac Lyrikal | Faelyra Vynn | Catarina Talen

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

No longer knows? Then this woman wasn't stuck - she was lost. But Arris said nothing. No, she stood there, hearing what she had to say.

There was little reaction when she placed her hands on the cyborg's arms. Either an act of apathy or silent permission. Hell, even Arris herself wasn't certain. She just cast her eyes a little low at the one who stood half a head shorter. Arris snickered when she accused the lighting of its uselessness. Theirs was a durasteel sky where exhaust burnoff made a poor substitute for starlight, and the light of passing speeders and neon signs hardly touched the darker corners.

When she asked if the Talusian knew a better spot, Arris shrugged and answered. "Yeah." She was already walking when the word departed her lips.

"Don't stray from me." A warning, not a command.

The Guts was an easy place to get lost. A liminal space of labyrinthine alleys and streets littered with pazaak dens, flophouses, and swoop gang dives.

They arrived at a rundown vehicle garage where a swoop bike had been half-disassembled. Arris approached, and the blast door parted, revealing a disaster of a space within, cast under fluorescent light. Tables filled with dissected speeder parts. Her little safehouse in 1313.

Arris gestured to the space. "Well - here we are."

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Ziso Kus Faelyra Vynn Catarina Talen

the feeling novac had and the feelings he felt radiating from te sith clashed inside him. his fear and want to protect vs the pure hate and murderous intent clashed like wild beasts. it was almost sickening, he'd never felt anything like the feeling the sith was producing, almost oozing.

suddelny everyone catarina and faelyra where there, lightsabers drawn. good 3 against 1 shouldn't be bad right? but the sith is still there, staring at them with hatred, they didnt run did they think they could beat the 3 of them? suddenly the droid like sith drew another red blade and threw them, novac went to protect himself but the blades where going for him or te other two jedi. they where goin flr the civilians and supports! 'SHIT' was all novac could think for a second or two, until his thoughts where just 'protect, get them to safety, move them out of harms way' there where to many for him to get all at once but he moved as many as he could out of the way of the blades making sure to not be ruff so they dont get hurt even more then they might already be.

suddenly it was like an alarm went off in his head. he'd felt this once before when he fought a doashim, right before it swung at him and clawed his side. it was a warning, novac in a instant dropped to the ground and turned around moving like a snake just as 2 daggers flew above him.

he'll have to thank his master if he makes it out of this. she was a master at force speed and because of all their sparring novac had gotten quitea quick reaction time.

he didnt see where the sith was but could hear them and used the force to throw a few bits or debris that already came off the burned building in the general direction, having no idea if they'll hit. it was a bit sloppy but quick.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

The offer lingered in the scant space between them, akin to an outstretched blade with its hilt beyond reach--one must shed crimson to obtain it. . . the blood poured, for sacrifices were but a single sprout in a barren field, a particle of light to combat an authorative darkness. Agreement was the only path to one day topple this grave threat.

Pledged to an enormous risk of certain demise, the young Nabooan concealed herself in the shadow of what must have been a grand warrior of the Sith. Each step taken was another step away from the horde, and into a new treacherous minefield.

Her dark eyes darted around the footpath, from the intricate neon shapes, to the countless markings decorating the poorly stitched walls--symbols that echoed no recognition, but only the sheer dread of what they might allude to. This place harboured no intricate pillars, domed architecture, nor the smell of any flora. . . Life was a concept here; a cruel dream to drive one to desperate measures, a fuel to fan the flames higher.

Whilst a shroud of desperation clung to the stranger, its origin could not be found in the same waters as the Guts inhabitants. It tasted foreign, tinged by danger whilst coated by layers of familiarity--a narglatch in shaak's hide. "I shall not stray, friend." She voiced confidently and paced after the woman, until the path split and led into the dark alleyway where not a soul could be sensed.

The safehouse was well-hidden, it was merely another fragment in this labyrinthal prison. Though the insides did not scream grandeur neither, but it had sufficient tools to enact her little 'sabotage'.

Once inside, she wandered toward the crate with tools, inspecting them one by one. "So you are the collecting type," words spoken more to herself, rather than its owner. Her fingers reached out and wrapped around an all-kit tool, its bolts were loose and the durasteel had rusted considerably. Yet it still lit up when she enabled the fusioncutter. . . Splendid.

Her hand loosely gestured toward one of the unopened metal crates: "Sit. You cannot keep walking around like a half-destroyed droid." Isobel's tone maintained its gentleness, a nigh on melodic sound that sounded too out of place for it to belong here.

And yet it did.

Once the cyborg had lowered herself onto the makeshift seat, she bridged the gap once more--the toolkit resting in the palm of her hand, a passive tool that did not yet unveil its purpose. Her half-gloved hands brushed over the metal casing of the arm, as she moved it left and right, rotating it clockwise. "Flex those arms for me," She blurted out without thought before flushing a bright red. "If you can, um. I wish to see what parts aren't working."

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris​

Arris seated herself on the box; she was not quite relaxed, but whatever tension she felt was of the lingering sort. The kind carried by tired people who struggled to let go - if they knew they carried it at all.

She glanced slightly over her shoulder when the stranger placed her hands on her arm. It was malleable, compliant to her touch, easy to bend and move and rotate. Until she asked Arris to flex. The cyborg thought nothing of it and obeyed just as her arm had. Pistons hissed quietly, and other intricate parts began to move. Wires, snaked and coiled, bent around hard metal. Compliance turned to resistance as Windrun's arms flexed as if expecting to carry Coruscant on their shoulders, tugging on the synthflesh where metal touched her back muscles.

Her right arm was in terrible shape. Several rods twitched and vibrated, and one was broken; it couldn't quite fit inside its sheath, and so her right elbow hadn't bent as completely as the left.

Arris turned her neck a little further, watching the woman sidelong. If she noticed the rush of blood beneath her cheeks, then she didn't bother to remark.

"So - what do you think?" A quiet, tired question.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

The clanking cacophony of the systems sent a subtle tremble through her fingers, the cybernetic's inner workings appeared hopelessly disordered, so much so that even she -- one without a clue about cybernetics -- might recognise the flaw in its design. To hotwire it would require little effort, though whether such interference would leave even a light scar upon the Covenant was another matter entirely.

And yet, this place served as a safehouse for the Covenant, if her instincts could be trusted, and that alone lent promise to the attempt. For if the cyborg possessed even a glimpse of significance within the faction's ranks, then perhaps damaging it might disrupt the Covenant's inner workings, if only for a fleeting moment.

Isobel clicked her tongue once, applying some light pressure to the rod that was sticking out of the case. "What goes on my mind moreso relates to the origin of this. . . disaster. The damage extends to the inner workings of the cybernetic and shall require new components for it to be fully operational once more--" A soft grunt departed her lips as the rod would not move back, before she forfeited the attempt. "Though . . . I can temporarily stitch this," Her teeth met the insides of her lower lips before she added a hushed: "I think."

For a moment, the Nabooan drew away, and grabbed a mask to shield herself from the incoming sparks, before returning to her previous position.

The all-kit tool buzzed as the fusioncutter lit up. One of her hands slipped back onto the chassis and sought to still the stranger's motion. "Allow me to weld it back into place. Stay still." The blue flame neared the metal prosthetic, digging just a little further to heat the power regulator within the arm--not enough to break it at once, but certainly after intensive use--and made a screeching noise as it continued to weld one of the actuators [rods] back into place.

She then tried to tend to the other arm. "As I said, this is a temporary reprieve, I would advise you to avoid any fights. . ." Bel offered with a faint smile.

​

 

[Faelyra Vynn]

The Sith’s hatred filled the corridor like poison in the air.

Faelyra could feel it pressing against her skin, cold enough to make the fire seem distant by comparison. Every instinct in her body wanted to recoil from it. The mechanical grinding of Ziso’s transforming frame only worsened it—the shifting plates, the stretching cybernetics, the awful screaming pitch of tortured crimson kyber.

Her grip tightened on her lightsaber. The towering cyborg’s gaze slid past Catarina and Novac. Back to her. The healer. Faelyra swallowed hard. Still afraid. Still shaking. But she did not lower her blade.

Then the sabers flew. The spinning crimson arcs tore through the corridor with horrifying speed, carving sparks from walls and support beams alike. Civilians screamed. One of the pillars groaned immediately from the impact. Faelyra’s heart lurched into her throat—

But Novac moved first. Fast. Far faster than she expected. He threw himself toward the civilians without hesitation, shoving and guiding people out of the sabers’ paths with frantic determination while trying not to hurt anyone in the process. Fear rolled off him through the Force, raw and undeniable, but it did not stop him from acting.

Faelyra saw a child stumble in the panic. She darted forward immediately, catching the little girl before she hit the burning floor. “This way—stay low!” she urged, pulling her behind a half-collapsed vendor stall as one of the spinning blades screamed overhead.

The second saber punched through a support column. The ceiling cracked. Dust rained down.

No no no—The Sith vanished. Not truly. Faelyra could still feel her. Hate didn’t disappear that easily. But the corridor became chaos—firelight, collapsing metal, screaming civilians, the shriek of spinning sabers, the pounding scrape of claws against walls somewhere out of sight.

An assassin. The realization sent another spike of fear through her chest. She turned instinctively, trying to locate the source—Then Novac dropped. Daggers hissed through the space where he had stood. Faelyra’s eyes widened. “Novac!”

The blades struck sparks from the wall behind him as debris suddenly whipped through the corridor from his counterattack, hurled blindly toward the hidden Sith. Good. Maybe enough to disrupt her—Movement. Tiny. Wrong.

Faelyra felt it more than saw it. The Force twisted strangely to her left—an absence amidst the noise, a sliver of killing intent sliding through the chaos toward a group of huddled civilians behind a fractured beam. Another feint. Her stomach dropped. “Down!” she shouted.

Faelyra thrust out her free hand instinctively. Not elegant. Not refined. Just desperate. The Force slammed into the weakened support beam as another crack split through it, holding the worst of the collapse for one straining second while civilians scrambled clear beneath it. Her arm trembled violently from the effort.

Too much weight. Too unstable. She couldn’t hold it long. “Move!” she cried again, voice breaking. The last civilian stumbled free just as Faelyra released the beam and dove backward. The support crashed down in an eruption of sparks and smoke, cutting off part of the corridor in a shower of burning debris.

Her breath came hard now. Too loud. Too fast. She rose again beside the civilians, blade up, eyes searching desperately through smoke and flame for the hidden Sith. She hated this. Not the danger. Not even the fear. The uncertainty.

Healing had rules. Wounds made sense. Pain could be soothed, stabilized, understood. This—This was chaos. A predator hiding in smoke while civilians burned around them. Faelyra tightened both hands around her saber hilt and edged closer to Novac’s position without fully realizing she was doing it.

Not because she thought he needed protecting. Because despite everything, his presence made the terror slightly easier to bear. “The pillars are unstable,” she warned breathlessly, eyes never stopping their search. “She’s trying to bring the corridor down on everyone.”

Another scrape echoed overhead. Closer now. Faelyra’s pulse hammered. Then quieter, almost to herself but still audible through the smoke: “She wants us afraid enough to stop thinking.”

Location: Level 1313, Coruscant
Objective: Be ready to provide “medical” aid.
Outfit: Civilian “blend in” Clothing
Allies: Catarina Talen | Isobel Serraris | Mykel Dawson | Starbird | Thalen Dhorain | Lestra Thairk
Potential Enemies: Arris Windrun | Ziso Kus
Direct Interaction: Catarina Talen | Novac Lyrikal | Ziso Kus

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

"What can I say?" Arris breathed. "Got in a speeder accident." A dry and obvious lie.

She watched sidelong as the woman worked on her arm; the glow of the fusioncutter reflecting off her face. As requested, Arris was perfectly still.

Her head twisted to the other side, where she worked on that arm next.

"What makes you think I'm a fighter?"

She turned her head more fully, scanning the stranger with cybernetic eyes uncannily devoid of life. "I... haven't caught your name, have I?" She asked. "I'm Arris." Her free arm swung idly at her side, testing the hotfix.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

A bright red flooded her skin as the stranger's words caught her off guard--the presumption that she was a fighter might be wrong, though the murmur of the Force lay doubt to the conclusion. One does not simply have cybernetic arms like these within the precipice of the underworld to use them for racing or what not.

As the tool buzzed again and went to work on the intricate web of systems in the other arm, Bel maintained her silence to an eerie degree; feeling as though a single word might result in certain doom and damnation. The flame weakened the wiring within the metal casing, emitting a screeching noise she attempted to cover up with her own noise. The shuffling of her boot over the metal flooring, the clearing of one's throat, anything to draw the attention upon her rather than her deed.

"'Twas a guess. . . A wrong one at that it appeared. Most people here fight, or that is the saying." The Nabooan's poorly crafted façade with the more attention she poured into her actions, the light mash of Alderaanian and Nabooan accents now dripping from her word.

Before a bit of thought could stifle her voice, she answered Arris': "Isobel--" Left her lips, as her hand froze mid-air, the fusioncutter crackling ceaselessly in the empty space between them. "Er- Iria. . . Isobel is my-- second name." Smooth, very smooth.

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris​

"Uh-huh."

Arris hummed something close to a laugh.

She was always good at reading people, a talent she picked up on the streets, honed as a fighter, and practiced constantly in her interactions with Acier, Kirie, and Nilira, among others. Had the stranger been better, tried, then maybe...

"A poor mechanic and a lousy liar," she openly mused.

Her gaze lingered on the woman. It was not threatened nor threatening - except, perhaps, in how lazy it was; unbothered.

"Are you a fan, then, Iria? Not the first time one's wanted to get their hands on my metal."

She reached into her pocket to draw from a dwindling pack of cheap cigarettes. The smoke hung from her bottom lip when she gave Isobel (she assumed to be her real name) another scrutinizing look. Then her eyes fell to the fusioncutter. Arris leaned a little closer, silently expecting a light.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

Deceit truly was not her forte, even in her youth she failed to look innocent when she had grabbed a Buttersweet puff from the kitchens. So when the woman saw through her, as clear as one might look through glass, surprise did not overwhelm her senses. . . It was miraculous to see how long the façade had lasted--long enough for the wires to be damaged moderately at the very least.

"I quite frankly do not know who you are, 'Arris'." She voiced with a breath of amusement as she withdrew her presence lightly, maintaining just out of reach for a certain metal arm to grasp her. Her brown eyes passively slid over the cyborg's appearance, questioning herself on whether she must know who this figure must be?

The Nabooan's fingers tightened imperceptibly around the leather hilt of the fusioncutter as she watched Arris place something between her lips. The object itself was unfamiliar to her, though it resembled the old fuses once used for explosives and the similar. . . Though upon further contemplation, she highly doubted it would lead to any form of detonation.

Still, with visible hesitation, the blue flame crept closer before carefully lighting the cigarette, before the flame vanished from the emitter. "Why did you allow me to lie to you? It must have been obvious, and yet-- you allowed it." It baffled the young Jedi, was this some sort of game where she had not realise she had been played?

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

Arris pulled back and took a long, easy drag. Something to savor the flavor of smoke and let linger the mildly psychedelic chems in her highly advanced, artificial lungs.

When she exhaled, the gentle fog rolled out like on a cool morning in the thaw between winter and spring; at least, that's how it was on Talus, as she bittersweetly recalled.

She couldn't help but grin from the corner of her mouth at Isobel's question.

"Maybe I like it when women lie to me," she teased dryly.

The slow-burning cigarette hung idly between two fingers, shedding tiny embers that fizzled quickly into imperceptible ash.

There was an honest answer in there somewhere, but truthfully, Windrun wasn't quite sure of it herself. When she looked at Isobel again--her eyelids light, as if a touch sedated--she was reminded of Kirie most of all... Which of course, also reminded her of Rox. Always, reminded of Rox. But who was this young woman so out of place, so quick to fall into pace with the ugly and the cruel - here in the shadowed heart of sickness?

Arris took a second, shorter drag. Exhaling with a certain finality. Her expression turned forward, and the grin faded.

"Why are you here?" She asked. It was a question that demanded more than a simple answer, if her tone was to be read correctly.

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Faelyra Vynn Catarina Talen Ziso Kus

novac was making sure to not stay to still. smoke filled the room around them. this was bad.was his training reall supposed to prepare himself for this? dont panic, dont panic, dont panic. "we gotts make sure the civilians are safe first, then we can focus on the sith. easier said then done" saying that last part to himself.

he still couldnt see the sith but luckily most of the civilians where running and away from the danger already.

"think you can help them get out of here? me and catarina can focus on the sith while you do." hopefully he thought. he didnt say it because he thought she would be good in the fight, no. rather he said it because he knew she was moreof a healer, better and protecting and helping others. at least better then novac was.

novac focused for a moment. trying to find the sith anyway he could. with all the smoke and people screaming and shouting it was impossible. so he thought. he just barely heard a crunch of steel that was different from the collapsing debris. sticking his saber in the metal floor and dragging it in a line he then lifted up the molten metal with the force. sending it towards the sound.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

A sudden red bloomed on her face, as a flower might open at the sight of the sun, muddling her senses behind a veil of embarrassment and. . . surprise. The galaxy had been filled with surprises--none of the tales Isobel had read could have armoured her sufficiently against the rampage of flirtations and forwardness. It could not be deigned a complaint, merely a source of amusement, if not a delight to be explored.

"You... flatter me, Arris," All other words fell short, as she was left only to her nervous hitched breaths and the faint shivers of her figure. What must one do in this situation? Reciprocate the advances--but how? The lady had grown up with tales of princesses being saved from gigantic monsters and happy ever afters. . . Naught that involved idle compliments.

With each word spoken, the remnants of the 'perfectly crafted' disguise withered away, leaving only the flustered and naive Nabooan girl who thought herself ready for this galaxy. "That was the wrong thing to say, is it not?" A chuckle, forced and terribly awkward, slipped from her lips as she gazed upon the smoking cyborg. "I cannot think of lies--I should have... Done that." The blush on her face went from a muted meadow blossom to the brightest of firelilies, whilst her mind tripped on every word she may have uttered or action she may have done instead of stammer like a startled animal.

When the Jedi turned to put away the fusioncutter back in crate of tools she barely recognised, the simple question made her trip on her own boots. Why are you here? Bel stumbled forward against the crate with a terrified gasp--before her hands caught herself on the ledge.

A lie manifested itself in her thoughtscape, a solemn presence amidst the rampage. . . Though she could not bring herself to deceive more than she had already attempted, for it remained a futile battle against a foe who already knew the truth. . . Or so she presumed.

For a long moment, a stuttering heap of noises was the only sound within the garage as her mind battled between truth and falsehoods. "I... It was-- We are here to," The word 'we' felt so natural, she hardly thought about the probable damnation it delivered onto her allies. "Sabotage the Covenant. You and those other Sith, they corrupt this place more than it already was! Can you not see!? Can you not feel this place choking you with each breath?" The truth was a mercy, a breath of fresh air amidst the toxicity. . .

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

Arris turned more fully towards her.

Now that was an unexpected reaction. She watched the younger woman fall apart at the seams, occasionally bringing her cigarette up for another drag. By then, the smoke had nearly disappeared in her fingers - only an ember of proof that it remained.

She said nothing when Isobel asked if it had been the wrong thing to say.

There was a budding hint of a smile when she unraveled further, confessing her intentions so freely.

"Oh, I dunno..." She exhaled the last bit of smoke her cigarette offered, grinding the remains between finger and thumb. "Lying is easy - you're probably lying to yourself right now."

The cyborg rose to her feet and walked towards her. "Really, did you come here thinking that you, personally, would matter?" She looked down at her arm. The technopath knew what she had done.

When her eyes returned to Isobel, they were softer. "If this was your attempt at sabotage, then clearly you hope to get nothing done. But if you believe I'm responsible for this mess," she gestures towards the street just outside her garage. "Then what's stopping you?" She asked.

"I'm right here," she said, a touch lower. "If you actually want to save lives... be decisive."

 

[Faelyra Vynn]

The chaos pressed in from every side—heat, smoke, the groaning structure, the ever-present wrongness of the Sith somewhere just beyond sight—but Novac’s voice cut through it with something solid. We gotta make sure the civilians are safe first…

Faelyra turned her head toward him, catching the shape of him through the haze as he kept moving, kept thinking, kept trying despite the fear clawing at him just as sharply as it was at her. Then—Think you can help them get out of here? Me and Catarina can focus on the Sith while you do.

For a fraction of a second, Faelyra hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to. Because a part of her—small, stubborn, and newly awakened—wanted to stay. To stand beside them. To prove she wasn’t just the one who hid behind others when things turned violent.

Another distant scrape of metal. A flicker of that cold, murderous presence. A child coughing behind her. The hesitation died. Faelyra nodded once, sharp and certain. “Yes,” she said, breathless but steady. “I’ve got them.”

And she meant it. Her gaze flicked once more between Novac and where Catarina stood holding the line, blue blade a steady anchor against the shifting nightmare around them. “Be careful,” she added, quieter—but firm.

Then she turned. Fully. Away from the fight. It felt wrong. Every instinct screamed not to expose her back to something like that, not to turn from the source of that hatred—but Faelyra forced herself forward anyway, stepping into the cluster of frightened civilians as another tremor rattled the corridor.

“Everyone—this way!” she called, louder now, projecting her voice with more strength than she thought she had. “Stay low—cover your mouths—follow me!”

Some listened immediately. Others froze. Too overwhelmed. Too afraid. Faelyra moved to them first. She crouched beside the elderly Ithorian, slipping an arm under one of theirs. “I need you to stand,” she urged gently but firmly. “You can lean on me. We’re leaving.” Her other hand lifted, the Force brushing outward—not in healing this time, but in guiding. A subtle pull. A nudge toward movement, toward direction, toward escape. Not control—never that—but encouragement layered over panic.

“Keep moving,” she repeated, softer now as she guided them around fallen debris. “Don’t stop. Even if you get separated, keep going east—away from the fire.”

A section of ceiling cracked overhead. Faelyra flinched, instinctively raising her hand again, not to hold it this time—but to deflect. Smaller debris shifted just enough to glance off the path rather than crush it outright. Not perfect. But enough.

Behind her, she could hear the clash beginning—Novac’s movement, Catarina’s blade, something heavy striking metal. She didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Not if she was going to do this right.

Another civilian stumbled—a young boy, coughing hard enough to nearly collapse. Faelyra dropped to a knee beside him, pressing a cloth into his hands and guiding it over his mouth. “Breathe through this,” she said gently, steadying him. “Slow. Like this—” She demonstrated quickly, forcing her own breath to slow despite the adrenaline surging through her. The boy mirrored her. Good.

She rose again, ushering him forward with the others. Step by step. Group by group. She moved them through the smoke-choked corridor, always positioning herself between them and the direction of the fight, silver blade casting a pale glow against the dark as she walked backward at times, watching for anything that slipped past Novac and Catarina. Protecting. Not by fighting. But by making sure there was something left to protect.

Another rumble shook the structure, distant but growing. Faelyra’s jaw tightened. “Keep moving,” she urged again, more urgently now. “We’re almost clear.”[/color] Even if she wasn’t sure that was true. Even if every step away from her allies felt like leaving them behind to something she should be helping face.

This was her role. And for the first time since the Sith had appeared—She didn’t question it.

Location: Level 1313, Coruscant
Objective: Be ready to provide “medical” aid.
Outfit: Civilian “blend in” Clothing
Allies: Catarina Talen | Isobel Serraris | Mykel Dawson | Starbird | Thalen Dhorain | Lestra Thairk
Potential Enemies: Arris Windrun | Ziso Kus
Direct Interaction: Catarina Talen | Novac Lyrikal | Ziso Kus

 

[Isobel Serraris]

IN THROUGH THE GUTS​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Level 1313
OBJECTIVES — Sabotage
TAGS — Arris Windrun
PARAPHERNALIA — Old civilian clothes, an old blaster pistol and concealed ruined lightsabers.

The realisation hit her like an obscured vision finally uncovered. . . Her hand falling down hard upon her lips as the Nabooan stared wide-eyed and flusteredly at Arris. She was a walking folly, she was, unable to keep secrets, unable to keep the one thing she ought to keep silent that way.

The poisonous blades of the cyborg's words struck her over and over again, in continuous and endless rhythm. It had been futile, for what would the deeds of a few pawns matter when the king was still active on the board? The truth stinged and tore at the blissful canvas she had sought to paint--to be a hero, to strike down what evil may be corrupting the core. Only to end as yet another soldier fighting a war they would not see the end of.

"No. . ." She mumbled, and let her hand fall away from her lips. "You ask me to kill you, while you are unarmed. . . While I have not a clue who you are, Arris. Must I become some heartless monster to strike back against corruption?" Isobel returned with a fire equal to her previously blurted out admission. The darkness had begun to clash with the light at times, leaving her astray, yes, though she would sooner die than become tolerant of murder.

The offer proceeded to haunt her long after the words had been spoken, it was vile. . . utterly vile, to propose cold-hearted slaughter to a Jedi--to a beacon of Ashla's light. Her head kept shaking lightly as her gaze flitted from the metal arms to the face of this presumed 'Arris'. . . Must she know her? Was she of importance to the Covenant... No, it could not possibly be.

"I will not partake in your games, Sith." The Nabooan took a step back toward the exit of the garage. "Never. No matter how much you or your brethren try, I will not have that blood on my hands..." Her boots crossed the threshold, landing on the metal outside the safehouse.

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Isobel Serraris
​

The cyborg scoffed. "You think this is a game?" She called out. "You, quite literally, fell into my arms - and oh saboteur, jumped at the idea of fucking them up... to what? Score one against the Covenant?" She laughed, though it was a mockery of real humor.

"No," she pointed at Isobel. "I think it is you who are here to play games. You say you're here to end our corruption? Heal this world, is that it? Save the trillions of poor and suffering... And you can't even sacrifice your good conscience to kill one of the women chiefly responsible?" She exhaled.

"Then go ahead, walk away, enabler. If I had to guess, that makes you a Jedi, yeah? Who else would let others pay the price for her own inaction? So long as you don't have to make choices that tear you apart at heart like all the rest, yeah?"

There was a quiet rage that stirred in the Force around her.

"Hell, this is why you're all useless." She accused with a glare.