Private Interlude: Brine and Bluster

[Corazona von Ascania]

Some time after the first round of the Galactic Kaggath.

Cora decided that she hated Ruusan.

She was the sentimental sort – and there was no stronger sentiment than watching your beloved younger brother fall from a great height, hitting every damn branch of the tree on his way down. He wasn't dead, she'd been able to confirm as much. Taken off-world. To where? By whom? She didn't know. She tried to find out. Even the cursory mind trick didn't reveal that information, but maybe she hadn't approached the right people. Maybe she hadn't tried hard enough.

The stadium's bar didn't serve wine. Not the kind she liked, at any rate. Cora chose whatever the house special was, and choked down a stein of bitter ale.

Two things to hate about Ruusan. Oh, probably three, given that they'd built a fight-to-the-death arena in the Valley of Jedi. Was nothing sacred anymore? Had anything ever been?

Cora pressed her face to the table, folding her arms around her head. Eyes closed, she could clearly see Lysander von Ascania , bright blue arcs of lightning rippling from his fingertips. He didn't know it yet, but that seemed to be a family trait.

If he knew? It would shatter his image of her, she thought. Maybe it deserved to be shattered.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Corazona von Ascania

Mercy was quite annoyed after that round. Sure, she had won, but there was barely any satisfaction to be had about it. Her opponent had been outfitted with cybernetics, a full suit of armor and weaponry.

Nothing fun about beating a cyborg who just didn't want to go down.

So Mercy decided that drinks were in order. A lot of drinks. She entered one of the bars and dropped in an open seat. One that was right next to Cora.

Little did Mercy know that she sat down right next to someone she had dueled a few years back.

Or that she was her favorite pulp author.

"Corellian Red and keep the bottle on the table."

Mercy stretched and sighed deeply. This was going to be a long arse fething tournament.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Someone sat down next to her, made their order, and sighed.

Corellian Red. Whatever that was, it didn't sound appetizing. Maybe she was just in the sort of mood where you found a problem with everything.

Cora slowly lifted her face from the bar. The skin of her cheek wanted to stick to the wood, leading her to grimace as she raised her head.

The woman next to her was bulky. A shock of red hair tugged at a distant memory. The blonde squinted as she brush a frazzled strands back from her own red face.

"…You!"

She gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at Mercy. Cora held that pose for a moment as shock morphed into a sort of sheepish confusion.

"I…forgot your name," she mumbled.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Corazona von Ascania

She grabbed the glass and was about to sip but then the figure next to her (a pretty woman) rose up into action.

"Did nobody ever tell you that pointing fingers is rude, lady?" Mercy murmured as she watched the well-done finger nail down to the hand, up her arm and to her face. Head tilted there, because she looked a bit familiar, didn't she? And she clearly knew her from somewhere. "With an expression like that when recognizing me, I either slept with you and left out the window, or we fought for some reason."

Then a lazy smirk.

"Maybe a bit of both?"

No, Mercy leaned to the latter part of the sentence, because now that she was focusing she could practically smell the stench of the Lightside on her. It was overwhelming. Burning up her nostrils, making everything sick and dark inside of her shudder in anticipation.

"You do seem familiar though, I just can't put my finger on it..."