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..."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora lips parted in shock, leading to an open-mouthed stare. A bright pink flush surfaced on pale skin, dusting both cheeks and over the bridge of her nose.

"M-my goodness!" She gasped, affronted at the coarse suggestion. "I assure you, it was most certainly not the former which took place!"

Cora withdrew her hand and deflated slowly back into her seat. She continued to stare at the brawny woman, her addled brain trying to come up with a memory, a name, something.

Heaving a dramatic sigh, the blonde wilted over the bar top. She planted the side of her face against an outstretched arm that rested against the wood.

"Whoever you are and whatever I did, it clearly didn't work. I take it you are here to spectate that brutish sport?"

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Corazona von Ascania

"Oh, you are cute." Mercy drawled lazily there at the pink hue coloring her cheeks and nose. Usually it took a little bit more for her to coax out that kind of reaction from her prey.

She would have pressed the advantage, but truth to be told Mercy was tired. She had won her last duel and yet no satisfaction was gained. Because it had been annoying. Endlessly annoying and frustrating with an opponent that just didn't want to fight fair and honest. Little did she know that the following rounds would be much of the same.

If she did, maybe she would have left the tournament there and then.

"Spectate? Oh, darling, do I look like someone who sits back and watches while action is happening in front of me?" The glass was put in front of her and she grabbed it with relish, slamming down the hard liquor in one go with a smack of her lips and a deep satisfied sigh. "No, princess, I am part of the festivities."

She waggled one of her hands, the eldritch one, before balling it into a fist.

"These pretty hands are breaking skulls and drawing blood." Then a head tilt there as Mercy watched Cora with renewed interest. "But you are far too prim and proper, true Princess quality by the way, for this shindig. What are you doing here?"

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora turned her face, still resting against an outstretched arm, slowly toward the Big Woman. Her lips peeled back in a blooming display of disgust. No sense of decorum, this one.

"Pretty is not the word I would have used," she murmured. "You could do well with a manicure."

Why did the redhead's hand bother her so much? Like an itch deep beneath the skin, one that you couldn't quite alleviate by scratching.

"Me?" Cora flung her free hand against her chest, sounding faintly affronted that her presence was even in question. She had purposely chosen the dingiest cloak she could find in order to float along unnoticed. Perhaps, she could've done something different with her hair?

It took her vaguely inebriated mind a few long moments to wrap itself around the shape of Mercy's question. Her expression plummeted into something dour.

"My…friend was a participant. He lost the first round, badly injured, and I don't know where to find him."

Lysander was alive, that much she could tell. But nothing beyond that.

Cora planted her face against the sticky surface of the bar top.

"An it's all my faulllllt," came her muffled wail.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

"Pretty is not the word I word have used," she murmured. "You could do well with a manicure."

"Mm, that's because you are a delicate little princess flower." Mercy drawled dismissively, but clearly looking to get a rise out of her with the way she eyed her right after saying that. "Hands are made to do things with. Beat people into pulp, crush obstacles, force a way forward regardless of what someone tries to convince you of."

Corazona von Ascania finally revealed what was wrong and it made Mercy nod slowly.

She wailed.

That made Mercy grimace before gently, awkwardly, patting Cora on the head. "There, there, it's quite alright." Mercy murmured softly. "It is not your fault. When a man walks into the ring, they do so making the argument they can handle themselves."

Another stroke of her hair before drawing back.

"If your friend was incapable of meeting the moment, that is not on you."

It was her eldritch arm that had tapped her on the head however. Maybe, just maybe, that touch would be enough to tell Cora exactly why its existence was bothering her so much. After all, she had cut it off in the first place, so how was it possible it was right there in front of her? Then again, Mercy had just combined gentleness with being rather blunt about her wounded friend's abilities, so maybe Cora would be distracted.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

The weight of Mercy's hand against Cora's head wasn't oppressive. It was, in a way, gentle. Comforting, maybe?

Still odd, though. A sense of warning tried to filter its way through her frazzled, inebriated mind, but Cora only managed to focus on the immediate.

"Yeah, but," she argued as she finally sought to raise her head from the nest of shame that was her own arms. "Feel like I drove him to it. Wasn't there for him when he - hic - needed me. An' now he's hurt."

The pity party was put on pause as Cora narrowed her gaze onto the redhead. Aside from the obvious, something still didn’t feel right about this interaction.

"Your arm is…weird."

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

"Yeah, but," she argued as she finally sought to raise her head from the nest of shame that was her own arms. "Feel like I drove him to it. Wasn't there for him when he - hic - needed me. An' now he's hurt."

"Oh you poor soul, blaming yourself and feeling bad for a man's choices like a billion women before you." Mercy said with a snort, dripping of sarcastic empathy. "How will he go on without you flagellating yourself? Is your back nice and raw yet, or do you think you need to use the whip a bit harder to make the point?"

A roll of her eyes as she withdrew her hand. Someone so feeble like this little dove was not worthy of her empathy.

"Don't be pathetic and get a karking grip. Men have done stupid chit for a millennia without you being responsible and they will continue to do so for a million more."

Mercy probably should have been a bit more gentle. She was clearly hurting. But it annoyed her to see a woman, strong in the Force, gorgeous, possessive of wit and able to speak even while clearly inebriated, blaming herself so much over some thing. So annoyed that she almost didn't notice Cora's comment about her arm.

Almost.

"Mm, weird is one word to use for it." She extended the hand between them... and slowly willed her fingers to warp into tendrils. Each golden, metallic, dangerous.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora's mouth opened and closed several times, reminiscent of a fish gasping for water.

There was so much to process. A billion women? Flagellation? Pathetic? On top of it all, there was the woman's frustrated, sardonic tone to contend with. While she hadn't been directly seeking compassion - more so an outlet to whom she could complain to - there was a note of…something compassionate in the redhead's words? Not kindness, no.

"My back is fine," she mumbled. "I think."

Cora looked down at the empty mug, staring into her own distorted reflection. "He's…like a brother to me. He's young. Should've been there to help him make better choices."

She squinted now, and the crooked image of herself blurred further. "Had more choices than I did growing up, though. Most men did. Maybe that's why I'm…kind of mad."

The woman weird fingers shifted into bright wisps of light. Instinct told her it was dangerous.

Cora blinked, hard.

"How…are you doing that?"

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Corazona von Ascania

A chuckle.

"I recognize that..." Mercy said with a soft whisper, looking away for a moment, distant. As she thought back to those horrible days when she was like Corazona. Forced to care about the opinions and fates of lesser men, because she was born a woman and nothing more. And once again, just like in the distant past when Cora and her had fought (not that either one of them seemed to recognize the other), she'd get a vision.

Of a different woman, regal, stately, with long copper hair and sitting on a throne. A different life, a different path taken.

Then a blink and it was gone again.

"Doing what?" Smirking as she looked back to Cora and waggled her the tendrils that had been shaped out of her fingers. "This? My arm... is extremely malleable. It can do... a whole lot of things."

Monstrous things.

But then it reshaped back into her normal-ish hand. Golden, shimmering with runic sigils branded into the hide that Cora might recognize. After all, she had cut that arm off years ago.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

A moment of silence hung between them. For a few beats, the air shifted toward something more introspective.

Cora recalled a time when they were younger. Much younger. Sat on the floor with Lysander in her lap, propping an open book up against her knees. His little hands traced the depiction of a classical Ukatian knight with fascination.

Then a blink, and it was gone again.

Mercy was smirking, waggling her hand like a taunt. It irritated something in Cora in the same way a mosquito bite would. Familiar runes flared to life, and so too did a distant memory.

Cora bolted upward, eyes wide. The empty glass stein she'd been clutching came down upon Mercy's head in a decisive swing.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Corazona von Ascania

Mercy didn't get caught unaware that often, so whenever it did happen, it was like a whole revelation to her.

She was smirking wickedly and then suddenly a glass was slammed over her head. It shattered into pieces and send Mercy flying to the ground. It is truly as they say. The bigger they are, the harder they fall and Mercy fell like a mountain being suddenly turned upside down. The floor trembled as the sudden weight bounced on it.

Blood was everywhere as shards of glass cut gashes through her head, her face, along her neck and shoulder. Mercy blinked in a daze, blood in her face, but that daze didn't last for long.

The growl came first and then suddenly she was up on her feet, grabbing hold of one of the bar stools to smash it over her body like they were in a cheap staged wrestling match.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

As Mercy fell down, Cora shot up. Her head spun, her footing staggered briefly.

"Sith!" She gasped, pointing toward the tumbled mountain of a woman. "You're a Sith!"

Cora was afforded a few moments to either try and flee, or press another attack. Unfortunately, all her inebriated mind could think to do was gawk.

Then, Mercy got up. Holding a stool.

Cora yelped as she scampered just out of range of what would've very likely been a deathblow - or at least, a mighty concussion. The chair exploded to pieces as it struck the ground, and a wooden leg rocketed upward, socking her in the chin.

Dramatically, she spat blood into the air as her head whipped to the side.

The force of the blow had knocked Cora over onto the bar. After half a moment of being dazed, she scrabbled for a shard of glass and launched herself at Mercy's throat.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Corazona von Ascania

Now usually Mercy ironically didn't provide much in the way of mercy to people that attacked her unprompted.

But clearly Corazona was going through it. It was one thing to kill a sane and sober individual, it was another thing ripping the throat out of a drunk miserable girl who had been crying about some boy just a moment ago. It was like kicking a little fawn that could barely walk. Was it easy? Yes, but where was the satisfaction in it?

Mercy's flesh suddenly burned with a blue hue and she slapped the shard of glass out of her hand. Then using the momentum of Cora's launch, she smashed her head into the pretty princess' face.

It might make it a bit more realistic versus how gorgeous it looked, especially up close.

But primarily it might shake her out of her whatever this was.

"You best knock that right off." Mercy said, without pressing the attack. "I don't feel like showing you every corner of this bar, but I will, with your face first. Try and be pretty after that."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Time was dragged into a crawl as Mercy's skull bashed itself into Cora's face.

She swore she could feel her brain rattle. The world slowed, but then it spun. Color and sound blurred together as Cora exploded backward, landing in an ungraceful sprawl on the dirty floor of the bar.

Her vision swam and Mercy's lecture felt as if it was both underwater and faraway. Cora lifted a hand to gingerly touch her aching face, then grimaced as pain blossomed.

She was slow to process the blood on her fingers. Her nose was bleeding? That made sense, given how much it hurt. Her brain was still buzzing, too. New information was processed slowly, while anything that had come before it was lost in a haze.

Cora gazed up at Mercy, dumbfounded.

"You…you think I'm…."

The corners of her lips cracked, framed by twin dribbles of blood. Her voice was a rasp, and trying to talk felt like chewing broken glass.

"…Pretty…?"

Another shade of red was added to the canvas as she blushed.

Mercy

 

[Mercy]

Corazona von Ascania

Mercy blinked when she spoke and then laughed, head tipping back, a surprisingly pretty sound coming from a violent creature such as hers.

"Yes, Princess, you are pretty." Even prettier covered in blood. She could almost imagine Corazona, a Sith-in-training, flinging herself at her foes with nothing more than a glass shard to rip open a throat. A beautiful sight. But Mercy didn't voice it, instead she offered her hand to pull the woman up to her feet.

"But I don't believe you don't know that. Men and women must fall over themselves to compliment you."

If allowed, she would gently run her finger tips along Cora's face, to dab some of that blood away from her eyes, the corners of her mouth. "I truly made a mess of you, I would apologize, but you did start it."

Tone devoid of apology but perhaps a smidgen of empathy.

"So, what prompted it anyway, don't tell me I kicked your friend's arse without realizing it." Her first opponent had been a man, but armored, so Mercy couldn't even say what he looked like.