Private Lessons in Protocol

[Arris Windrun]

CORUSCANT
SITH TEMPLE
Quinn Varanin
​

Enter the professional loiterer. Back and boot pressed against the wall, cigarette burning betwixt two fingers. She wore a cropped, grey muscle shirt that hung over synthflesh - seams visible on her midriff where her cybernetic form came together, and dark utility pants that fell bootcut over metal feet; at a glance, they looked like black boots. Her hair blonde, tied in a braid and tail behind her head; loose strands and short, messy bangs flanked her face. It was Arris Windrun, alright.

Steel-colored eyes searched passersby like a dealer sizing up future customers. She took a long, lazy drag, craning her neck upward to exhale, and stretched her back before her head came down. Her attention turned to a familiar silhouette crossing into view.

"She ain't here," Arris drawled in her Talusian accent. "Assuming that's why you're here, Princess... Or, is it Queen now?" She asked dryly.

Arris took her foot off the wall and bent it backwards to extinguish her cigarette on the sole before stepping forward and flicking the thing off to the side. Someone else's mess.

"Guess I still need lessons in protocol," she grinned.

Tease though she may, Arris wasn't quite sure where they stood since their last conversation on Desevro.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Arris Windrun //:
//: Attire //:

Annoying.

Quinn looked towards Arris from the corner of her eye as she listened to the garbled accent from the Replica Droid. With all the parts that Arris had shoved in herself, one would think she'd pick a more attractive voice. But maybe that was the point? Quinn rolled her eyes as she allowed the creature to finish. Her position never moved as she wrinkled her nose in frustration that she must have missed Mercy.

Though she wouldn't play too hard into letting Arris know that she was right.

"Who's not here?" Quinn asked, her head never looking towards the other woman. Why was Arris here? Didn't she have better things to do?

"Majesty or Highness works well enough," finally, Quinn looked to Arris to see the patchwork of flesh and machine that made the woman. Briefly, the woman remembered seeing Arris fight during the Kaggath — she looked different… healthier back then.

Was this what the Dark Side did to someone like Arris? Quinn's eyes softened as she looked away. It was an unfortunate side effect, one that Quinn never understood why it never affected her.

Perhaps the Force took pity on her.

"You look like chit." Quinn retorted.

While her heart bled for the droid, she wasn't going to let Arris know of it. Mercy had warned her about the Covenant and done her best to toughen up the little Princess. Arris and the rest of the Covenant were uncouth when it came to their powers.

They would devour the Princess alive.

Their eyes met again as Quinn watched her, trying to figure out what she wanted, why she lingered around.

"Don't you have better things to do than to sulk around like that?"

 

[Arris Windrun]

Quinn Varanin
​

"Ah. Your Highness, then." Arris corrected herself.

She didn't bother to question the woman's feigned ignorance.

But when Quinn commented on her appearance, the cyborg looked down at her own body. Well... maybe the clothes weren't her best pick, but when was fashion much of a concern for her? Good cloth would only get ruined with the kind of work Arris did.

Arris exhaled quietly and looked back up. "You really think so? I changed my flesh this morning." She said, as if that was a very normal thing.

At her second question, "no... I guess not." How else was she supposed to answer?

The truth was something mundane - she just needed a break. Needed to get away from it. The "it" in question, of course, was the growing responsibility of managing the Covenant while Mercy constantly disappeared to one corner of the galaxy or another. Anywhere but the Core, apparently.

"So - if you ain't here for her, then what brings you all the way to our little slice of durasteel paradise?"