Mess Is Mine

[Jairus Starvald]

​

Antlean II​

​

[member="Evelynn"] | [member="Kiber Dorn"]​

​

The world of Antlean II was a recent discovery and a pleasant one at that.

Akure Executive Interstellar had been quite busy blazing lanes within the Elrood Sector, assisting the people as they could and developing the sector with new infrastructure projects, bolstering trade through sub-contracting and the sort. A Rekali blaze-trailer had discovered the Antlean system a few months ago and AEI did not take long to stake a claim.

Uninhabited by sentients and playing host to several interesting remnants of civilization (some of which were Force-attuned by the looks of it), it only made sense for AEI to get involved here.

Cerbera herself decided to inhabit the ruins of a temple on the planet.

Restoring it had been a challenge without arising too much attention to it, but eventually they managed to do so. After that... the Sith finally had a place for herself, in relative isolation and with the ability to do her own research.

One of which was an arcane ritual she had read about recently.

Apparently it allowed for the thinning of the veil between the Netherworld and realspace. This would be beneficial, if she was able to create a stable passageway between the two places... that could open a lot of new opportunities.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Kiber Dorn, otherwise now known as Cyrus Yung technically had a job.

Generally, as jobs went, it wasn't really a bad lot. In fact, there were likely people who had studied for years in their chosen field who might have killed for a chance to play in a laboratory. Unfortunately he was not one of them. Got a touch of the wanderlust, you see. Wanna see the stars, or at the very least snort them up his beak.

Cabin fever was already setting in.

He would have ran far a-fething-way by now if it wasn't for a few unfortunate circumstances. It was always quite peculiar how people were none too fond of Kiber Cyrus, but liked to keep him around, or at least keep a close eye. At this point he didn't know who was the bigger thorn in his side, Lady Frankengreen or Cousin Pop-A-Vein. Hard to tell. Wasn't he supposed to be the pain in the backside?

Still, life was what you made of it, huh?

And besides, the whole breaking and entering with intent to steal thing had been his bad. Consequences, consequences but not a drop to drink. What were the chances he'd get caught? Actually, quite high, better to not dwell upon it, really.

So, instead of dwelling he took to, well, taking excessive smoke breaks. It was a marvel in itself that Kiber Cyrus always seemed to have a packet of cigarras on his person? Where was he getting them from? Ah. That would ruin the wonder. Couldn't do that, eh?

He stood in a closet, filled with luminescent and probably highly flammable cleaning solutions used to make the most dubious stain disappear. The man puffed away, effectively hot-boxing himself but alas, there were no narcotics in his smokes. Just the regular old tobacco. She would find him. She always did.

But there's always time for a smoke.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

Her tread was silent and passive like the passing of a floating ghost.

Within her sanctuary there was little that was unknown to her. This was the reason why when [member="Kiber Dorn"] had tried to breach it and steal that which did not belong to him... the Sith was already there. Like a little spiderling weaving her little webs, until she found something sticking from it.

This time around it was a man.

A familiar figure even, which had surprised her immensely if being honest.

Years ago Kiber Dorn and her had met... somewhere. She could not remember where it was or what she had been doing, but the man was as insufferable then as he was now. No, the difference was now within her - which probably explained her solution to this particular problem he presented.

If Kiber walked, he walked with the location of her sanctuary. This was not possible... and in truth she had need of an assistant regardless.

So why not him?

A shadow fell upon the door where Kiber was smoking his problems away.

Cerbera's head cocked slightly to the side as a faint smile brushed past her lips. Eyes closed and she entered the room with her mind, felt the air, the smoke, felt the molecules of gaseous intent and the compacted bag of living flesh swimming softly through the smoke and air.

Then she applied change to the state of the air and smoke.

A minuscule change that would soon make the smoke burn in his lungs - it was nothing too worrisome, he wouldn't die or anything awful like that.

But it would presumably send him running out of the little room to safety.

She was already standing a few meters back, just in case, with that same eerie smile on her lips.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Naturally, Kiber Cyrus was completely unaware of what lurked outside the cleaning cupboard, more than happy to remain in his own little bubble of slow, death-inducing lung destruction.

He was acutely aware, that this was probably one of the worst places to be going for a sly smoke, what what all the potent chemicals surrounding him but he didn't think too much of the risk there. I mean, no container was open, right?

Right?

Well, he wasn't so sure, when after another quick drag there was a mild searing sensation within his lungs. Really, that was a bit of a cause for alarm if anything. Immediately he coughed, and spluttered, grabbing at his own torso as if his hands had a cure for what great, vile mystery was happening on the inside. They were not a cure.

SO THIS IS HOW I DIE?! IN A CLEANING CUPBOARD! WITH A MOP AS MY SOLE COMFORT!

Of course, then after his internal dramatics, he decided that perhaps evacuation would be the better way to deal with this issue.

Kiber Cyrus burst forth from the tiny room, half flailing, half yelping as his lungs continued to protest in a fiery nature, his half-smoked cigarra still held between his pointer and middle finger (because, you should never waste your smokes, that's a sin).

Unfortunately upon practically tumbling out of the room like a panicked bantha led him straight into the path of Cerbera. Awkward. It was then that the man who was definitely not Kiber Dorn went through approximately five hundred different facial expressions, ranging from sheepish, to full-on embarrassed, to coughing, to trying to play it cool, to coughing again before settling on some kind of indignant face of pride that looked more like constipation.

“....ack....I was....taking....wheeze....stock of the....hack....cleaning supplies...”

Ten out of ten excuse.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

That smile only grew wider and less humane by the second.

Teeth was shown, which usually meant a threat... at least in some of the animal empires. In truth she didn't truly mind him sneaking off and doing some smoking every once in a while, but what Cerbera truly detested was a lie. Even if it was a simple lie, even if it was a white lie, one should not lie in her experience.

Lies were quarrelsome things that brought immense problems.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." The Sith tutted softly before approaching him - the approach was as soft as silk with only the fluttering of her robes making a noise in the air.

If Kiber stepped back Cerbera would approach further, until he was pushing against the wall.

A single finger, manicured and neat and fine, petted his lips and quieting him down from the lies. Yet, strangely enough two moments after the touch ended... his lips were becoming numb, before that feeling spread past his lips to his mouth and the big slap of meat that was his tongue.

"Did I not tell you I do not enjoy lies, Kiber?"

Head cocked and perhaps the Sith was concerned or interested for a moment.

"I did tell you this, did I not?"

 

[Kiber Dorn]

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but for some reason Kiber Cyrus was starting to believe that his excuse was in fact not, ten out of ten and that it hadn't worked at all. Maybe there was a hint in the very air, or perhaps it was his own personal, golden intuition...

Or perhaps it was due to the massive shark-like smile that so-slowly crept onto the woman's face in a sinister fashion, as if she was about to devour him on the spot.

Stranger things had happened.

As she equipped her predator smile, he equipped his prey's instinct. She walked took a step towards him, so he took a step back. Step forward. Step back. Again and again until his back was pressed against the wall behind him and she was right before him with nowhere to go. It was the perfect mix of scaroused, frankly. Yeah, he was nervous, but hey, if she was going to kill him it would have happened on the night of the break in.

Right?

Well, then again, she was decidedly not the same person that he had met (and probably attempted to flirt with) all those years ago. Was he?

A finger happened upon his lips, and childish instinct called for him to give it a lick. He didn't, mercifully. Instead he stood there like a plum, unsure if she would eat him, feck him or murder him.

Then his mouth began to grow numb. Initially, giving the burning lungs he thought that he was actually dying of some peculiar and unheard ailment, but no. It wasn't that. It was her. The Green Menace was making a point. She was always making a point. Still the sensation, or lack of, rather gave way to a panicked expression, that could only crest upon the upper half of his features.

“...eeeeeeeeeeeeh?”

Horrific flashbacks of going to going to the dentist suddenly crept into his mind. Oh Force. Why was he constantly so helpless?

Mouth hung open and limp, making the man seem incredibly slack-jawed and dim-witted. He took offence to that notion, he was a mild buffoon at best.

“....ah...ooh...ee-ee-e, ooheh..."

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

Once again Cerbera carefully shushed him with a shhhh.

It was very important that he paid attention now, because it was a special day, was it not? Her finger retracted itself and returned to her side, while she studied the effects of the nerve agent as it passed through Kiber's system and settled itself between his nerves. Already his tongue was having a difficult time getting sensation, his mouth dragging instead of making the movements necessary to formulate proper speech patterns. For a brief moment the Sith was very happy that Kiber had made her do this in the first place, watching such a thing unfold was beautiful.

Delicious.

"Now, now." The voice sing-songed through his protestations before gesturing for him to follow her. It was a curt gesture without any of the affection of her voice nor the soft tenderness of her finger tip.

It spoke of patience sharpened to an edge and that would cut if tried to appropriate.

"You have to understand today is a special day, dear Kiber." She sang over her shoulder. "I cannot have you muck it up... I would have to knit your lips together."

A melodic chiming sound ringed after those words.

Cerbera was laughing - it was a joke then? That was entirely possible, but at the same time... was it?

They passed through corridors, until finally the two reached a set of larger doors and behind it laboratories. In the middle of it all, dominating the room with its aura of unease and power stood the greatest alchemical apparatus that existed. It was only once they entered the room that this aura spread across them, whispering and covering them in an oily texture of corruption.

This was because the entire room was lined with material that blocked out the Force.

They could use it here, but nothing from here could reach the outside.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

It wasn't as if he could object to her shushing anyway, well, technically he could but mostly just in vowel sounds. Which if anything wasn't really helpful. Although when was Kiber Dorn Cyrus Yung ever helpful?

Clue: Never.

Naturally, the man was mostly oblivious to why it was a special day, frankly he was more concerned with the whole 'knit your lips together' thing. Mostly because he didn't doubt that she would do it. His eyes widened, a worried stare shooting straight towards Cerbera as he considered a life with his mouth knitted shut.

How would he smoke?

How would he eat or drink?

BUT REALLY, HOW WOULD HE SMOKE?

“...ooooooooooo,” came the low response from Kiber's Cyrus' paralysed mouth, obviously in a small kind of protest, as his shoulders slumped and his head hung low.

Still, the man followed onwards, just waiting for the feeling to come back to his face, presuming by this point it would have come back at all. Her digs were creepy on a regular day, but this room stood far higher on the creep scale than the rest. If you cut open a Sith Lord and sat inside of him would it feel like being in this room?

That was a gross thought. Why did he have to picture it in his head?

“..aa...ee...ooi?” Kiber Cyrus asked, as if he was entirely understandable at this point in time. Still curiosity and all that. Why was today a special day?

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

The Sith Lord circled around the Dark Forge and towards a few tables farther down the room.

They would need the mythical apparatus later, but right now it was time to prepare themselves. Shredding the remnants of the veil between the Netherworld and this world was not a trivial matter at the slightest. It would be difficult, complicated and very dangerous, so they would have to approach it carefully. It mattered little what her role demanded of her in terms of characteristics, appearance and behavior, but this would never change for her.

The analytical way Cerbera studied the path forward.

"We are making an opening, dear Kiber." She responded absent-mindedly to his mumbling. Almost as if it was obvious that that could be the only question on his mind.

"From here... to elsewhere."

Her long graceful fingers pushed apart papers and opened a tome. It seemed the crack as leather expanded into forms it was not accustomed to.

Gently the pages were swept to the side one at a time, before she stopped suddenly.

Instead Cerbera turned around. Her back leaning against the table for a moment, while she studied the waiting form of Kiber behind her with something of calculated interest. Never a good sign, but in this situation the Sith was simply musing. She approach again - this time the glint of the eyes suggested that retreating and making her walk after him again was not a good idea.

Once again her finger rose, manicured, nails sharpened until they could cut.

"I need a good boy today, Kiber. Can you do that for me? I might even give you back your tongue."

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Well, at least she understood his quizzical vowels. Although the Lady in Green's answer was vague at best, dubious at worst. Elsewhere could have meant many things. Another planet. Another galaxy. Another realm? He was actually betting man (albeit a poor one), so the analogy worked and Kiber Cyrus would have put good money on the latter option.

There was one realm in his mind, which was the only one befitting of the woman's current state of being.

The Netherworld. Chaos. Hell.

Of course, Dorn Yung was always open to surprises, and if she opened the gateway to Spice and Puppy Island then hey, it's a great surprise and everybody wins. Probs not though.

Wait, she was staring at him. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood to attention. He did not like that look. It gave the man a sense of being naked and so incredibly vulnerable. Also mildly objectified. Rude.

Fethity fethballs, don't look at me like that.

The approach was on once more, he thought better of stepping backwards this time but at the very least moved his head backwards, as if she was dangling a large spider in front of his nose. She was the walking omen, offering the ability to talk like a stranger would offer a small child candy out of their speedervan.

“Eee oh ih eh,” he replied nervously with a very tentative nod. As if there was any other choice.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

Antlean II was a place of power and Cerbera considered herself exceptionally lucky to have found it in the first place.

Similarly to worlds like Tython and Yavin 4 it had an excessive amount of focal points within the Force. The many ruins scattered amidst deserts, hidden underneath the treeline of jungles and buried deep within mountains suggested that once this world had been inhabited by forcers as well. Crafters even, of some sort, and that interested her immensely.

This very sanctuary was build on one of the more exceptionally powerful focal points. It was the reason why the experiment had to be performed here. Well, the Dark Forge was also here, she supposed, it would be difficult to move that again.

"Very good." The Sith responded before brushing his lips with her tip again, but before he could retract it... her nail cut through soft flesh.

Blood welled up almost immediately.

"Oh. Yes, we are using your blood for this experiment."

The smile grew wider when not Kiber's immediate instinct was to protest. She had already brushed past him towards that great, evil, magnificent and frightening forge before them. It hungered for blood and that hunger was ancient.

But what it could do when its metal tasted the red liquid...

"Come."

 

[Kiber Dorn]

“Eeey!”

Some say the smallest cuts hurt the deepest. Those people had probably never lost a limb before and their contributions to society should be largely ignored until they speak actual sense. Still, it wasn't nice to be lacerated by villainous fingernails and Kiber Cyrus' eyebrows furrowed in faux-hurt as she revealed just what being a good boy entailed.

“...Iy ooo?!” The man did indeed protest, immediately bringing up a hand to touch the fresh cut upon his lip. At least that part of his face held no feeling.

Now he was approaching a realm beyond hesitant.

What if he refused to partake in menacing blood experiments? What if he took a sta...oh who was he kidding. He couldn't run, he couldn't hide and not doing what she wanted would have resulted in something far worse than a little bloodshed. Greeny de Sade was creative like that. Lose some blood now or have his head alchemically attached to his own arse later. Would she have put his butt where his head was?

The real questions.

With a wounded look in his emerald eyes Kiber's head dropped low once again and shoulders dropped in tow, a very exaggerated physical expression to let her know how he was feeling about all of this. As if she cared.

“Iiiiiiiii...” he replied, drawing out that vowel like a teenager that was being forced to come downstairs and eat like a gosh darned family for once.

Nervously he stepped up beside her, before the malevolent forge, his mouth still uselessly hanging there like he had been the victim of a dentist gone rogue. Then came the next thought process. How much blood? Hope said that just a drop from his already bleeding lip would be required, but Hope was oft a lying betch.

“...ah I eh aaeeeheh?”

The answer to that was already pretty obvious.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

From the depths of her cloaks a dagger appeared.

It wasn't a particularly special one, in fact it looked completely plain. White brushed metal edge and a simple steel handle with ergonomically formed rubbers to let your fingers rest in peace. Of course there were individuals who thought that their sacrificial daggers needed to be these fancy, elaborate things with old and ancient blood caked to its edges, but Cerbera... didn't actually like the idea of her wounds getting infected. Kiber was a different story. Maybe a good healthy dosis of infection would make him behave, but right now his blood was quite key.

Infecting it with disease was the last thing the Sith wished for.

"We will need a respectable amount." The answer came, but it wasn't clear if she was actually responding or simply talking through him.

The edge first brushed past her own hand and blood welled up... strangely enough it wasn't red. Rather it was a light green liquid that seemed to swirl, rather than seep towards the darkly stained pool of the Dark Forge. There it gathered together for a while. At least, until it suddenly disappeared as it was absorbed by the metal beneath it all.

Hunger everlasting.

"Don't be a baby, dear Kiber. You will be fine." His arm was extended quite roughly and her hand curled around his wrist. Almost immediately the Dorn would realize that Cerbera was much stronger than her form and frame suggested.

Unyielding strength like an old tree exhaling softly... or nettles stubbornly rooting in the dirt.

The cut was swift, quick and without warning. It slashed across his arm, but there was a methodical nature to it - no major arteries were hit, but the blood flowed richly indeed.

"There was that so bad?" Her hold was released.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Naturally, his request for anaesthetic was lost. She had paralysed his mouth in the first place, so really at the end of the day, did she care about what he had to say? Probably not. His fault for lying to her in the first place, tho'. Ugh.

A respectable amount? How much was a respectable amount? A pint? A gallon? Enough to fill a Gamorrean's boots?

At least she was cutting herself in solidarity? Or was just really clumsy. He peered down nervously at the pooling green liquid upon the Dark Forge, before it then promptly vanished. Why? Where? What did it do? These were important questions, none of which he could actually asked in vowel form.

“I o eei a ayay,” he replied, offended as she grabbed his arm like some kind of secret strongman competitor and thrust above the hungering pool, “Eeey!”

Like trusting a sibling to wax your eyebrows there was no count of three, there was a quick slash, a small yelp of pain and then just like that the red red kroovy was flowing from his arm like obnoxious craft beer out of a tap. He stared at Cerbera, green eyes filled to the brim with mild annoyance and moderate hurt. At the very least he was used to such abuse.

“...eh, eh ih ah,”

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

It was strangely amusing how Kiber kept trying to articulate his words even though there was little point to it in the moment.

Not like she could actually understand him. All she could do was make educated guesses, but those were severely biased because she was educated. Which meant that those guesses would naturally be skewed towards the more sophisticated.... unless the Sith accounted for that.

But that was getting into difficult territory and Cerbera wasn’t interested in that.

"It was hardly painful. I didn't even feel it." She responded in a soft mumble while her eyes followed the swirling of blood around the forge's pool.

Before it, too, evaporated away into nothingness.

This was a good sign. It meant that the Forge was accepting the offering and didn’t consider it an insult, which hadn’t been an obvious conclusion considering whose blood she had been using. But then again... some of the Dorns had been genuinely powerful, so maybe an echo of that power remained in Kiber.

Who really knew?

"You may talk again." And almost like magic did the slack-jawed nature of his mouth dissipated. "We are going to forge next. Ever molded metal into something?"

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Hardly painful.

Great, now he was being out-toughed by Greenilla DeVille. Whatever. What was pride anyway? Was he even in a position to feel pride? Had he ever been? Rat boy from rat family. Bullied, beaten up, always running. Oof. That was damning. Best not think about it.

Like her blood had before, his own crimson vanished into the pool. He could only guess at what process was happening here.

Having fulfilled his good-boy quota, Kiber Cyrus was blissfully granted the ability of his mouth again. Guess she was good for her sinister word. Maybe he'd even learned his lesson. No more lies. Well. No more lies to her. Well. No more lies if he think he can't get away with it? Maybe? Probably not a good idea? We'll burn that bridge when we get to it.

“...blaaach,” he said immediately, checking that his consonants were still fully functioning.

The nip of the cut upon his lip made itself known, niggling away like only the tiniest cuts ever could. Of course, his arm was still bleeding too, but yeah, tiny cuts are totes priorities. I mean, she had marked his beautiful face! Oh, the tragedy!

“...babe,” he said before instantly correcting himself in absolute horror, “...ma'am.” Babe ma'am. Nice.

“Do I look like I've ever forged in my life?”

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

Head cocked.

It was an unnatural twitch in its rigid suddenness with none of a humanoid's subtle flair for easing into transitions. In fact, it felt very much like a shark eyeing up their dinner, before going for the kill. It did not bother Cerbera in the slightest what [member="Kiber Dorn"] tried to call her, because in truth there were precious little opinions that the Sith concerned herself with in the present. But he would have had to be punished regardless - not for her, but for him, so he knew where the lines were. Sadly though, Kiber had corrected himself rather quickly.

Just as well really.

Draining him of more blood would presumably not be a good thing. Perhaps it would even cause him to flail into a faint and that was the last thing Cerbera wanted to deal with in the now.

"I suppose not." the Green Menace responded, before gesturing to some hammers, metals, rocks and other smithing equipment in the far corner of the room. "You will be taught then."

...whether you want to or not. Was the implied connotation of those words.

"Carry them here please."

It did not sound as a please.

A lot of work would have to go into this experiment of theirs (hers). The most important step would be the crafting of doorways that could stabilize a possible rift and ensure that there was a measure of control there. If she simply ripped open a hole in the fabric of reality itself? Well, that would certainly be a lot easier and with less work involved, but it would be dangerous.

Any one spirit could just waltz into here and anyone could simply fall into the rift without issue.

That wasn't a good idea.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

There was a slow internal whine from Kiber Cyrus as she revealed that he would be taught how to forge. Not that it wouldn't be useful to know, but honestly, it sounded like a lot of work. Hard work. He hadn't signed up for this, actually he hadn't signed up for anything. This was slave labour! Well, if you ignore the attempted break-in and theft aspect anyway.

However instead of externally whining he just looked to her like a wounded puppy. As if that was ever going to change circumstances. She probably ate wounded puppies for lunch. That sick bi...

“Fiiiiiiiiiine,” the adult man said, echoing sentiments of a fourteen year old teenager in the middles of a strop.

Dragging his feet the entire way he went over to the other side of the room, trying to gauge if he was strong enough to take everything over in one trip. Probably not, but it was his instinct and duty as a man (or at least half a man) to try.

“...I got this...”

The tools were heavy. This was a bad idea already. Too late. He was invested in this. As he picked up as much as he could, Kiber Cyrus bundled it all in his arms like the heaviest metallic baby that had ever existed. It was awkward, it was heavy, it was already slipping as he turned to bring them over to her.

“...I might not have this..”

The first object fell, falling with an awkward clang onto the floor. Then the second. His face was a mixture of awkward mortification, but still he powered on. Then the third thing, a hammer, fell upon his foot.

“Aayeeee!”

A crunch. A yelp. Then a symphony of clattering as he followed up by dropping everything else onto the ground, and subsequently, more of his toes.

“FECKIN'...FLIPPIN'....AUNT...MARIE!”

Then he fell over, clutching his foot.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

It was amusement and a strange sense of curiosity which had made her allow Kiber try his feat of strength.

Most of the equipment had been alchemized, which meant it was even more heavy than it was supposed to be. In that regard it probably would have been far more fair to tell him to stop, before he hurt himself, but in truth this was a lesson that he had to learn. The soft tread of her walk brought her before him. There the silhouette looked down on Dorn for a brief moment, there was cold-cut interest in those eyes as she watched - almost as if the sheer volume of pain brought new insight to her scientific mind and it was enough to simply... watch.

After a moment or two she started picking up the several pieces of equipment.

She made it look so easy, but of course it wasn't completely fair. Her arms were like tree trunks in a molecular sense of the word - no muscle, no real muscle, but instead tireless exertion that could go on forever and ever.

"Pick yourself up and come." Cerbera finally retorted over her shoulder to his cries of pain. "Science waits for nothing, not even hurty toes."

Big baby.

They would have to toughen him up, if he was to get anywhere in life.

Which interested Cerbera to a degree. Why was she so occupied with trying to make him stronger than he was? Was it some measure of potential inside of him? Or was it simply to look fondly back at her earliest memory of them together.

When she had been punching him in the face was a youth.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Of course she would just watch him writhe in pain upon the floor and not offer him any aid, and of course she would just pick up the equipment with total ease, making him look like Weak Gimp McBrokenToes. OF COURSE SHE WOULD.

Kiber couldn't really object to any of that mild humiliation however, as he was more concerned with the state of his poor broken piggies. He might have taken off his shoes and dared to brave a look at his feet were it not for the green woman's insistence that they carried on with their task. Complete lack of empathy. Total nutter. Not even an offer of a bacta salve?

Wait.

“D-did...did you just say...hurty toes?” Kiber Cyrus asked, his voice still high-pitched and evidently in moderate pain as he tried to get back to his wounded feet.

They throbbed, feeling red hot and already swollen. He cringed at the thought of having to take his shoes off later on, but decided against complaining about it given that the woman would have only offered to cut off his feet and replace them as a solution.

“Ooh...” He hobbled over to her both slowly and dramatically, wincing with every step and internally noting ever part of his foot that felt the most pain. “Aaaah...” A few broken toes. Bridge of his left foot was definitely done. Oh Force, what about the toenails? “Eeee...” The idea of them going black and falling off made the man want to retch.

“Can we forge some steel toe-caps while we're here?”

This was probably an offensive notion for the Dark Forge, but he didn't think it could hear him. It shouldn't, right? Even if it did have a taste for blood. It's a fething forge!

---

[member="Cerbera"]