Cambry ended up staying in the Cantina far longer than he meant to.
He awoke from an uneasy sleep, simultaneously finding himself escaped from visions of his old mentor and of battle. With a rub of his eyes, he looked round. The Cantina housed different patrons than his last observance, a typically ragtag collection.
By the door, Cambry noted a CorSec officer watching the room with a dutiful eye, and found himself glad he had forgone wearing his Mandalorian armor. In plainclothes, he was the object of protection. It was a welcome change.
Sure enough, no change to his equipment or person was found on a brief inspection. He seemed alright. Not that his wallet would remain the same for long; the extra hours he had ended up staying here would cost him at the landing dock.
Leaving a few credit chips strewn across his table, he made his way towards the hangar, feeling ramshackle and a little dreary still. Images of his upbringing still swirled dimly in his head, resentment for the same did similar in his heart, but he made his best attempt to dispel all of it as he walked along the hallways, passing technicians and astromechs and various passengers of the station. An apology came uttered from his mouth when he bumped shoulders with a young pilot, and he berated himself for the lack of coordination. He was better than this. He'd have to be if he was going to actually do his job.
Finally, Cambry tracked down the Lassie, still idling, ramp still lowered. After paying the official grudgingly, he tromped on board and gave a brief greeting to Verne.
"Kept the place locked down?"
He didn't except a response, and as always, none came. He hoped to get the droid a voice coder soon. Maybe that'd liven things up and give him someone to argue with.
The brown Astromech's dome swiveled and it rocked slightly on it's feet, giving a foggy whistle.
Cambry slipped into the pilot's chair, and began flipping the switches and checking the read-outs that would indicate whether or not they were ready. As always, the information regarding weapons systems was faulty and read that they were disabled.
Stang it. He'd need to get that fixed.
With an idle wave out of the viewport to the servicing technician (who did little but raise an eyebrow in return), the spacer set about lifting off. With an uplifting feeling, the ship rose powerfully into the air, before starting it's way forward. Soon, it had passed through the shielding, and he found himself once again in space.
He was glad to be off the station, something there was making him nervous. He felt it under his collar, somewhere in the back of his neck. It made him grimace, actually, as he felt a sort of invisible prick.
He grumbled for a moment, and rubbed at his jumpsuit. The feeling would pass; maybe he should try and get back to sleep?
Then the images of his dreams from before returned, and he dimly shook his head. Sleep could wait. He felt rather restless.
He didn't quite know where he was going. Maybe just into idle space. Somewhere safer. Coreworlds. No pirates or anything; he could afford to just sit in space and wait for his goal. Maybe he could check the bounty boards, or contact some old mates of his, see what jobs they were running.
In the end, he opted to laze back in his chair and do absolutely none of this, mostly just pondering his existential existence and his place in the galaxy once again. That funeral really got to him, apparently. The Mand'alor's. His Mand'alor's? He didn't really think so, but it was so hard to say. For what must've been only the fifth time since his death, he wished his old mentor was back. If only so he'd have someone to berate and hit for his resentment and confusion.
He wasn't so sure how he felt about that line of thought.
"Kriffing..." He muttered, as he pushed himself up out of his chair. He stalked off into the corridor behind, intent on doing some checking of the cargo, patrolling the ship. As he trudged down the hallway, again the thought came to the forefront that he wished this wariness he had would go away. This awful dread, what the krif was that? It was just annoying now, he thought, as he slapped at the back of his neck.
In a thoroughly unhappy mood, Cambry began doing irregular pacing around the ship, inspecting certain pieces of equipment (much of it junk) to begin with, and finding himself distracted halfway through with trying to fix a multitool.
Then he heard a sound.
It was a metallic ring, like a dropped can. Whatever it was, immediately his head shot up, immediately his heart began to beat faster. He held utterly still as he listened for any more sound, any kind of change.
Nothing.
He couldn't leave this at rest. In his mood, a sound like that spooked and angered him enough that it had gotten his full attention. A mynock, maybe? Stowed away? His mind flipped through possibilities as he came upon the door to Cargo, and it slid open before him.
Well then, he thought, as his heart more or less dropped. He hadn't considered that one.
The Sith's lightsaber ignited with a sinister sound, casting a red glow around the room and the doorway. He heard nothing but a dark growl as the saber came up, and Cambry immediately went down. He was operating on nothing but instinct; this was happening, and he had been prepared to deal with it. And he would. The Mando way, one could say.
As he went down, his left fist went slamming down into the inner thigh of the dark figure, who grunted in pain at the blow, staggering slightly backwards. That hissing red blade waved in Cambry's vision, driving his nerves to their edge. It's possible he'd never feared for his life more than in this moment. And he wasn't even wearing his Beskar vambraces. This very well might be the end of it all, and that, for some reason, terrified him.
Cambry meant to go for a follow up, but the Sith recovered too quickly for that. The grip of lightsaber came smashing across his jaw, shaking his entire world and blacking his vision for a second, as he slumped against the door frame. Something like a laugh came from behind the mask of his attacker, even as he turned his wrist, intending to twist the searing blade into the spacer's shoulder. Both of them were breathless and on edge, and though the Sith's features were hidden, Cambry's eyes sharpened as he found his foothold from the blow. He watched the wrist turn and come down, saw the progression of the blade, where it would end up. And as he pushed forward with his hands, it didn't.
He had grabbed the Sith's hand with the death grip of a cornered man; that saber couldn't move. The Sith seemed to realize this quickly, as he raised his other hand, the force already carving a channel towards his finger tips. Cambry let out something akin to a roar, as he braced his back against the doorframe, and launched a vicious kick at the acolyte's kneecap.
The acolyte's attempt to push and crush him with the force never came to fruition; he had braced his legs in preperation, and the kick to the kneecap shattered it in a savage blow. A thick cry of pain echoed out of the mask as he tumbled to one side, the lightsaber still held high aloft by Cambry's white-knuckled grip. The spacer pushed himself up to his feet, even as the Sith flung a weak arm out at his leg - an attempt to fight still, despite the overwhelming shock beginning to overtake his body.
Mercy didn't exist in Cambry's eyes as he looked down at the intruder. Another kick from his durasteel-toed boot found itself buried in the Sith's abdomen, and it's force broke two ribs in the human's body. A strangled plea, a sob perhaps, filled the air as he felt his insides caving. The lightsaber still hummed malevolently.
Cambry glared down at him, his eyes flicking to his targets as he acted further, each action undertaken in all practicality, efficiently and with purpose; ending this fight. He planted his foot on the unbroken knee, pinning it to the floor, as he continued to force the hand holding the saber to hold the blade aloft. The spacer brought his other hand down to grip the lower arm, and twisted; with a sharp crack the wrist broke, and seconds later the screams died off into heavy silence as the Sith finally went limp and passed out, one arm short of two. The blade had been maneuvered through his bicep, and what was still there was a smoking hump, instantly cauterized by the lightsaber blade.
The attacker lay motionless on the floor as Cambry stepped away, pressing random buttons on the lightsaber until one finally turned it off.
A feeling of guilt, and slight shock at himself, resounded in his head as he looked down at the mangled body, but the rationale of the situation came soon after.
HE could guess the motive: the Sith thought he was a Mando, and decided to mess with his ship, kill him. Maybe impress his masters back home, or however the Sith worked.
Well, this one wouldn't have lasted against any Mando, but Cambry was a little surprised he hadn't lasted against him. He didn't think himself any kind of great warrior, but in the end, it seemed his training from childhood took precedent.
The next hour or so was spent salvaging equipment from the body. Nothing really, just some credits and a communicator, besides the basic Sith robes. The Lightsaber though, as non-functioning as it seemed, that was interesting to have. He tucked that away somewhere safe.
Once there was no use left for his assailant, he tucked the body in the airlock, closed his side, and opened the other. Almost peacefully, the Sith Acolyte floated into empty space, becoming smaller by the second. Being spaced while unconscious would lead to a relatively peaceful death. He was glad he could at least give that, maybe as a way of atoning for what he did earlier.
He wondered if he should be bothered that mutilating a Sith saboteur would probably give him less mental issues than attending the Mand'alor's funeral. Either way, it seemed a sort of grim irony.
Soon he had returned to the cockpit of the Lassie, now having calmed down from the shaking and the adrenaline from earlier. That was the last time he was falling asleep in a Cantina again.
He noticed the heavy sense of dread from earlier had passed. A thought crossed his mind, and his eyebrow cocked over a curious eye.
He set his hyperdrive, relied the coordinates to Verne, and seconds later, the ship leaped into the void.
The now-corpse of the ill-fated Sith floated still through the blackness.
// Exit Thread //
