Mess Is Mine

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

It was difficult to ignore little Kiber's pleads of pain and angles for attention, but that was just what Cerbera did.

Eyes closed she let the hum of the Dark Forge fall over her, deafening her ears to anything other than the sweet music the forge made. It was an interesting question, if the alchemical apparatus was actually sentient. No time to actually experiment on it the only thing the Sith could do was muse about it... and her instinctual reaction was to reaffirm that yes, it had a form of sentience. How could it otherwise be? A forge used throughout the Age of Darkness, its steel tainted by oceans of living blood and its very matrices corrupted by insistent darkside seepage.

"If you learn quickly and apply yourself?" She looked over her shoulder and to his feet. "I will fix your feet for you."

It would be painful, entirely unpleasant and in the end there would be even more pain for Kiber. But after the pain, there would be strength and purpose and feet that weren't broken to shatter.

Cerbera was never much for pain, but she realized the effects it could have on any sentient's psyche.

A powerful tool, if used correctly and without holding back at the opportune moments.

"First, we heat up the fire...." They got to work soon after, the heat of the fire burning against their skin and the corruption of the Darkside twisting and shaping itself around them with every breath taken. It was no wonder that insistent usage of the Dark Forge had its effects on Cerbera, but it would presumably also have an effect on Kiber itself... maybe not immediately... maybe not overtly.

But it always got its due.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Apply yourself?

Well then, that settled that, she was going to fix his feet. Learning quickly was one thing, Kiber Cyrus wasn't actually as idiotic as he might have seemed, but he certainly was an incredibly lazy creature. Apply yourself were two words conjured from a nightmare and already he was internally scoffing at the notion of such.

I'll apply myself when I'm dead.

He did not say that out loud, for he could only imagine that the green lady's response would have been, 'well that can be arranged.'

Better just to do what he always, blag it. Get on cruise control and just try to breeze through her instructions and make it seem like he was helpful. Would it fly? Probably not, but at the very least he was always willing to try exerting as little effort possible while seeming to be so completely inept that she would have no other choice to just take over entirely.

As a child he used to accidentally drop the dishes so he would no longer be asked to wash them. Worked a treat.

There was an angle of physical labour to this job that didn't rub him the right way, it wasn't even the presence of omen that he didn't like. He'd played with monstrous cults, his family (or rather his not family) were always associated with the Dark Side. But all these notions of fire...and sweat. Even breathing was uncomfortable next to the fire of the forge.

“Yo...do you have air con in here?” Kiber inquired, still limping around like a three legged bantha, “..cus it's hot as feth, man.”

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

There was quite the vast difference and distance between dropping dishes to get out of washing them and trying to juggle the expectations of a perfection, sociopath Sith.

"Oh, darling." Cerbera cooed back to him. "It's only going to get hotter from here on out."

It might have been a sexual pass, if not for the sudden heat that streamed richly out of the Dark Forge as she prodded the fires further and farther.

From there on out time seemed to slow down for both of them.

Kiber would soon discover that his usual tactic had no particular effect in this situation. Every time he failed was a time that Cerbera forced him to do it again and again and again, until the time came that his hands were raw and bleeding, before she pushed him even further down the road.

Only after he succeeded did the pain in his arms and hands soften out, replaced with the burning fire of the Darkside raging through his veins as she forcibly healed his body.

The green lady seemed to have endless patience with him.

Until finally the moment came that the last tick of the hammer finished, the sound echoing across the chambers. Sweat trickled past her forehead, which she wiped away with a grimy hand, but there was genuine pleasure in her smile now. No longer the toothy grin of a shark, just the soft, pleasantness of a job well done.

Between the two of them was a circular object and it hummed with power.

...a little bit further away from them, there were also steel toes that could be attached to boots.

"That was not so bad, was it?" She chuckled softly, while her eyes shimmered with pleasure at her masterwork.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Darling? Was she making a pass at him? He paused and looked to her, waggling his eyebrows slightly. Sure, she was terrifying, yeah she was cruel and okay, she was clearly a malevolent being, but he still would tho', like one hundred percent, broken toes and all.

Then he was hit by a wave of actual wretched heat and as he recoiled, shielding his precious face the man realised that no, she was not making a pass at him.

Alas.

Suffice to say, forcing was not a pleasant experience. She apparently held the galaxy's entire supply of patience. Not for lies perhaps, but in this scenario it was unrelenting. Every time he karked something up, he had to do it again. EVERY SINGLE TIME. Of course he whined the entire way, both flailing and sighing dramatically all to no avail.

It was literal physical labour! The very definition of hell in the eyes of Kiber Dorn Cyrus Yung! He wasn't designed for hard work! This was cruel! This was unusual! He needed an adult!

Really, he did. He was injuring himself so much that a proper smith would have taken the tools away from him by now.

There were plenty of burns.

He'd struck his own hand with the hammer on at least four different occasions.

There were a multitude of various aches across his entire being in places that he didn't even know existed.

It might have been the worst day ever. Even worse than we he found out about the senseless massacre of his family! Worse than when the Primeval prima donna Anja hung him from hooks! Okay, maybe not worse than that, but he was always a bit dramatic.

Even the relief that she gave was offered. He didn't actually realise that you could heal a body with the power of the Dark Side. Needless to say, it wasn't pleasant. If anything it was...was...is burny a word?

When they were finally done Kiber Cyrus was found face down upon the floor, face slick with sweat. His clothes were seemingly glued to his body in dark, damp patches. You could stick a fork in him, because he was done.

“...what?! No...it...was...the...worst...” he panted, displaying that he was still as blatantly unfit as he had been when they first met.

Don't smoke, kids.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

Again the woman chuckled and the laugh sounded like the chiming of a bell.

Light and pleasant and completely contrary to her earlier behavior. Maybe it had something to do with the crafting of the object, finding a vent for her creativity that made her more pleasant to deal with or maybe it was the seeping of the Darkside energies into the object itself which drained it away from her. Who could really know with Cerbera? She had always been a strange one and little had happened to change that outlook.

"You will get used to it, promise." She said in a very serious tone then. So, it wasn't just all play. "How are the feet?"

In her last healing session she had made sure to grab those as well.

By that point in time he had been so exhausted Kiber probably hadn't even noticed that the pain from his toes were gone. When everything hurt, just a small portion going away didn't do much to blunt the overal plain anymore. This was something that Cerbera knew intently.

"You can drag yourself back to your quarters now. I won't need you for the rest of the evening."

Whereas with the forging process Cerbera had the luxury of being patient and teaching him things, even though he didn't want to be taught, it was different with the actual ritual.

One little mistake, one thing done wrong and this entire place could be turned inside out by the Force itself.

That wasn't a thing that the Lady in Green wished to experience.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Get used to it?

That made it sound like this was going to happen again. He looked forward, still laying upon the ground, features twisted in horror. Even if he got used to hard labour, it was still largely unpleasant and he was still atrociously lazy.

She asked how his feet were, and his immediate instinct was to complain about how much pain there were in, but...well, that would have been a lie.

“Oh...they're...fine?” Kiber Cyrus answered breathlessly, the tone of his voice tinged with surprised.

Did she heal those as well? He didn't actually notice. By this point he was so wrapped up in his own world of self-made martyrdom that his awareness was somewhat skewed. Still, he didn't seem entirely grateful for the healing experience. Dude wouldn't have broken his toes if she hadn't made him practice forging, after all.

He'd get over it. Eventually. Hopefully.

Then that was it, they were done apparently. A pretty anti-climatic experience for the man. She talks about opening doors to ominous places and instead they do shop class? The offense sat mildly upon his features as he continued to lay belly-down on the ground, chin resting upon the floor.

“...oh...so...you...get to...do the...cool stuff...and...I just....have to...do...the...legwork?”

Not that he would look a chance to leave in the mouth.

Slowly he got back to his feet, features still holding a mild aura of exaggerated offense. He really was quite the drama queen. Nobody could do it better. Okay, a lot of people could do it better, but that wasn't the point.

“I see...how it...is,” Kiber Cyrus sulked, trudging away from her and towards the door outta the craft shop of moderate doom, “...don't...need to....tell...me....twice.”

He was really milking it.

“....used and abused...”

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

Cerbera snorted again.

There was a certain amount of understanding between the two of them. If there was one thing that Kiber Dorn wished to do more than anything else, it was to go back to his room and soak up the smoke of those alchemical cigarettes she had made specifically for him a few weeks ago. They were intense, so much stronger than the usual hit and more importantly... your body didn't get used to them at all, contrary to the spice crap the Hutts were pushing on a regular basis.

Your sixth hit was the same as your first hit and presumably that was why Kiber loved them so much.

In truth the Sith had a feeling that even if his chest wasn't threatened with implosion if he tried to flee? The dude would probably still stick around, just to have his hands on her special stash.

"Get out of here, Dorn." Cerbera responded, while studying the circle of runes and metals. "You can experience the fun and unexhausting parts when you apply yourself."

As if that was ever going to happen.

Her back was already aimed against him. For one, she didn't worry at all about him, he could hardly hurt a fly, so the last thing Cerbera was going to worry about... was him trying to attack her.

For two?

He wasn't all that interesting to her.

No ambition, no fight, no strength, just mild and ambiguous weakness that had no texture to it.

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Ugh, she was the worst.

Well, okay, the woman hadn't killed him, so like, not the worst in a sense of true rankings throughout the galaxy but just like, the worst, you know? I mean, apply himself? That concept was a complete fantasy. She was living in a dream world.

He paused, turning to look at her and finding that he back was already turned. The man's cheeks were still pink from physical exertion and shiny with sweat, although he'd gotten most of his breath back now. There was temptation to flip her the bird, but Kiber Cyrus had a feeling that she probably held eyes in the back of her head. Maybe he'd do it later, in the relative safety of his quarters.

Moderate sass would just have to do.

“Okay, mum,” he retorted with a pout, folding his scrawny over-worked arms across his chest.

Turning again once more to leave (and yes, smoke sweet magical cigarettes) he trudged away, half-thankful that he'd get some Kiber Cyrus time and half-annoyed that he wouldn't get to see the fruits of his labour in action. Still, smokes in bed was a safer choice than portals to Chaos. Eh, he'd live.

Once more he paused, right at the door.

“It's Yung, 'member?”

Couldn't do with her dropping his actual name out-loud, even if they were the only ones around to hear it. Maleagant was probably having a mysterious migraine right at that moment. Could he annoy his cousin through physic means? Eh, he seemed perpetually annoyed. Probably had a migraine regardless. Still, better to make a proper habit of using his new name, which meant that she had to too. Well, he couldn't make her do anything...

Maybe if he requested that she use the name Cyrus Yung nicely, perhaps peppered with a please on the end?

Pfffft.

And with that, he left.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

"Names have power."

She retorted, before crouching down and starting to brush the metal. Friction caused static and static caused a discharge of red lightning from the tips of her fingers.

It did not seem to hurt her at all.

There was energy stored within the matrices of the metal, just enough that with a little push it would break through the fabric of reality. Hovering slightly above it, invisible to the eye, but very visible to extended presence was a thinning of the barrier between this world and that one. Kiber hadn't noticed, but even when they were hammering away at the metal, her archaic whispers bound spells into the thick ring. It was that shift within the Darkside that was clawing at the air and making it possible for the rest of the ritual to be completed.

He thought he had only been doing menial work... the truth was far from that.

"You may throw away yours as you throw away all your responsibilities." the Sith Lady continued patiently, nails scrapping against the steel to test the integrity of their craft. "But your name shall always be, Kiber Dorn."

"Own it, little man, because every time you repeat your lie... you kill yourself. Until there is naught but dreams and whispers."

A shrug of the shoulders.

"Or keep hiding from the scary Kaine Zambrano, but you will have no help from me to perpetuate your lie born out of weakness and cowardice."

 

[Kiber Dorn]

There was no retort to be made as the woman chastised him for a change of name, he was already on the way out, emotionally and physically.

The real benefit of lackadaisical lifestyle meant that he had never really afforded the ego that afflicted the rest of the galaxy. Loser. Waster. Weakling. Coward. He knew it. He owned it. He was still alive was he not? Doin' it right, baby.

Although he wasn't quite on board with dreams and whispers, Lady Green might have been getting a bit carried away with the metaphors there.

Still, as he made his way back to his quarters he considered it all. His lie? Please. It was Maleagant's lie if anything. Dudebro slammed him against the wall like the local school bully and started railing on terms like 'legally dead', 'new name' and 'safe house' as if he was being threatened by a witness protection program.

It had been a good few years since he was worried about being a Dorn. Kevin Zamzinga. Goth Queen of Pancetta frankly had more pressing matters than Kiber to attend to, and vice versa.

Reaching his quarters he considered it further. He didn't have to stick with the name change, no. There was no great need, or requirement for the man to do so. Old vein-head insisted on it, and he was family after all. It was a favour. If it put the dude at ease, then more power to it cus that guy needed about a kilogram of ease in his system.

He'd never liked Kiber anyhow. Five letter name beginning with K? Sorry mum and dad but that's not the secret to power. Thank the Force he was a boy, he might have been Karin Dorn the sequel otherwise, and Karin's a fat girl name.

There were no cigarettes had by the man when he made it back. Instead with all the grace of a diving swan Cyrus Yung fell forward onto his bed, almost immediately falling asleep when his head hit the pillow.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Kiber Dorn"]

The lack of retorts did not truly bother her at all.

It was the seed that she pushed in that would do the work for her... or wouldn't. In the end it mattered very little what choices Kiber would make for himself, that was something that he would have to make on his own and didn't truly affect Cerbera in the slightest. In fact, it was probably better for her if he kept being himself, because the lad he was now was not a threat to anyone. Well, except maybe himself in some situations.

But that was something that she could work with.

The next hour or so was spend making preparations, incantations whispered and gestures made in the air, until finally a crack through the room sounded.

Another crack, followed by a deep hum as energy started to gather above the circle that would serve as a focal point for the gateway between here and there. There were multiple times where the Sith pondered about breaking of the ritual entirely and giving up on it, but in the end she kept on going.

Sweat gathering around her brows, blood starting to trickle from her nose, until finally something snapped within the Force.

It would radiate from the room, sweeping even past the walls and maybe even wake up Kiber.

Collapsing to her knees Cerbera saw the flash of green light, before the circle stabilized the rift.

It was done.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

There was nothing.

A spirit still existed, but it felt nothing.

Time was lost, it ceased to exist giving way to a blank void. No others to find solace in. No sensation to feel. Trapped within your own mind, buried beneath your own thoughts. It was the very definition of oblivion. The Netherworld. Chaos.

Hell.

All that she could do was think.

Reminisce.

All those sweet, pain-etched memories replaying again and again, over and over, ceaseless and unending. It could have been heaven. It could have perfect. Delving deep into a rich tapestry of naught but agony and blood. Reliving every sordid cut, relishing every bruise, feeling the sweet break of brittle bone until the very end of time itself.

But there was nothing!

Those once cherished memories, ceaseless in repetition were hollow, faded. They gave no joy, nor ecstasy. Instead they taunted. That which was long lost. This was the punishment found most fitting. A life dedicated to all the sensations lost within vice, doomed to repeat it for eternity with none of the sick, sweet satisfaction of it all. Even then, there was no solace to be found in the cruelty of it all.

There was nothing.

Until.

A smell.

Copper. Blood. It teased on the edge of long dead senses, the first sensation felt in oh-so-long. How long had it been? Time had no place amongst the dead. But she could smell it, taste it even. She wanted. She craved. Spectral eyes snapped open, a ghostly visage desperately seeking out the source of such a scent.

Green.

It swirled before her. The same colour as her mother's eyes. The same colour that her own had been once upon a time. The portal enticed, inviting her in as it whispered to her in nigh indecipherable tones. It called to her as she came to it, every inch closer bringing the sound and smell in rich, thick detail. She wanted. She needed.

She could feel something.

The moment the spirit laid a finger upon the gateway the realm around her seemed to explode. The void splintered around her, shattering like glass and falling away to reveal naught but black. Even in nothingness the world around her spun, opaque blue turning to porcelain flesh, wiry blonde hair unravelling, emerald green eyes rolling into sockets as she tumbled.

A flash.

Unsteady feet touching upon solid ground and then immediately giving way as a spirit made flesh erupted from the gateway. Banshee-like screams emerging from the woman's mouth as she collapsed upon the floor, overwhelmed and devastated by such sudden change.

Evelynn felt everything.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

There was immense pleasure in seeing the rift stabilized in front of her.

It wasn't emerald anymore.

Instead there was a subtle shift in hues depending on which way you looked at it from. A certain grayscale permeating around the edges, before color returned the farther it left the confines of the bubble. It was fascinating and Cerbera could sit there all day, just staring at it, studying while her mind was immersed in the Force and subtly prodding at the ragged fabric cut into reality. But it was that same immersion that tipped her off of what was to come, she quickly pushed herself off the floor and was trying to get out of the way, when a screaming banshee was thrown into her.

They were entangled in a mess of legs, screams, arms throwing around and chaos.

It took the Sith five seconds, before the naked flesh of her finger brushed past the neck of this... whatever she was. It was still surprising to feel warmth from her skin, this meant this wasn't a spirit.

Another three seconds later and Evelynn would suddenly and roughly find herself unable to move as the nerve agent took root between her synapses and prevented her her body from sending signals back and forth her brain. No movement, no sound returning, not even her vocal chords being able to produce as much as a peep, as the poison did its work.

Once she was still Cerbera pushed her off and managed to push herself up into a standing position.

There she looked at [member="Evelynn"] for a while. Blonde hair, eyes staring back at her in a mix of... horror and astonished curiosity? It was difficult to truly tell from this position.

"I am going to give you your speech again and I will expect you to stop that howling." Cerbera patiently laid out her terms, before she focused. In truth she did not need skin-contact to cause the changes she wanted... but they made it far more easy and less of a hassle. Within only a few moments the muscles around her throat relaxed again and control was relinquished.

"Now, let's try that again. Who are you and why did you come here?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Needless to say, it wasn't a smooth transition.

To have been in a void of absolute nothingness for so long, every sensation that the woman now felt was amplified, to the point of being overwhelming. The air and heat upon her flesh, real flesh sent nerves into overdrive. Exposed flesh touching against the floor and fabric of another being. It was too much, this sudden change, this rampant sensitivity.

Perception was so shaken that the woman did not realise that she had collapsed upon another being, it hadn't even occurred just how strange it was that she was screaming. Between the shrieks there were frantic gasps for air, so accustomed to not breathing at all. To not feeling a single thing. Now it was everything, anything bombarding her mind all at once.

A touch upon her neck. Flesh on flesh sent eyes rolling wildly, teeth gritting through the screams as a single thought echoed above all.

Don't stop.

Then just as violently as she had been gifted back the galaxy of sensations they were torn away again as her entire being went limp and numb, screams dying to a barest whimper before becoming complete silence, leaving naught but ragged breathing behind.

The paralysis gave a moment to settle herself, but such was a feat currently beyond her composition. What had happened? Where was she? Who was that woman standing before her? Too many questions and not enough answers. It was all too much to process and so she just lay there, eyes wide and wild darting around the room before finally settling upon the green-skinned creature that spoke.

In her confused and frantic state the woman found little offense at being spoken to like a child. She could barely fathom the concept of being given back her speech. Her. The Silent Sister. But then again, had she not just been screaming at the top of her lungs?

The grip upon her mouth was released, as she lay there, chest still rising and falling in manic rhythm.

“...Ev...Evelynn,” a surprisingly small voice replied, mouth sounding out the word as if it was a foreign action in itself, “...Dorn.”

The petite woman's stare was positively rabid, eyes bulging as they stared up at the inquisitive woman. Why did she come here?

“It called to me!” Evelynn hissed in return.

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Evelynn"]

Dorn.

Dorn.

Dooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooorn.

Somewhere a wild Kiber could wake up from his exhausting stupor as that name filled the void of the room and marked him as the offence that caused this unfortunate mistake. Because a mistake it was, if there was one thing that the Sith had not been expecting, it was the sight of a bare-naked lady suddenly spawning into the room and screeching like a wild banshee whose ass had just been pinched by some rude lad. But right now it was not the time to wonder about what could have been or what should have been.

Right now it was the time to wonder what there was to do with this one.

Her immediate thought was to eliminate the possible threat. There was clear power radiating from Evelynn, even if she didn't notice it herself. Was she more powerful than Cerbera herself?

Difficult to notice with the background radiation from the Netherworld filling up the room.

"I see." Cerbera did not mention that it was Kiber's blood calling on her. In her experience knowledge was power and she was not prepared to simply hand it over to this woman for nothing.

"You can move again, but if you tackle me again I will be cross with you."

The hold over her body suddenly relinquished itself and her muscle were free to act of their own accord again.

"You were dead before, Evelynn Dorn, you are alive again. What is it that you want?"

The answer would probably either kill her or give her sanctuary. Cerbera would not abide by another rival, not if her life was in her hands, but there were other possibilities that were slowly drifting around.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

If she was at all in the realm of her regular disposition the woman might have snorted at the concept of her physically tackling another being.

However such was not the case, and when the hold was released upon her own form the woman sat up, completely undeterred by her own apparent nudity. Her own left hand touched upon her right forearm, the sensation of her fingertips upon her own flesh an apparent masterpiece as the woman sat and marvelled at the very feeling.

At least she was calm now.

Fingers ran up her arm slowly, noting the apparent lack of any physical scarring, her hands the same flesh as the rest of her being. It hadn't always been that way. She could recall different coloured hands, cut off in revenge by wild Mandalorians.

“I do not know,” she replied quietly, staring at her own flesh as if it was some kind of wild miracle.

“Pain.”

Her head tilted, emerald eyes narrowing as she peered at such unburdened flesh. Like a blank canvas waiting for so many macabre masterpieces to grace it.

“Pleasure.”

She did not want for much. Evelynn was never the sister of conquest. It was Nemene who wished to further her reach and spread her reputation. The Queen of Ego, Sister of Hubris. She had been content to bask in her own version of gluttony and screw the rest. Perhaps now she could?

The petite woman looked upwards, still sitting upon the ground, her intense stare shifting from her own hand to the woman that stood before her, the one evidently responsible for bringing her back to the living realm.

“Why am I here?”

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

Pain and pleasure the naked lady told her.

From a clinical perspective this [member="Evelynn"] was an attractive specimen. Facial structure symmetrical with the bones rather narrow and angler in their expression, skinny and with bones stretching out skin that wasn't old, but wasn't young either. Dirty blonde and with eyes that spoke of grass... or poison, she reminded her slightly of Kiber, if Kiber had been a pretty girl. But contrary to other individuals Cerbera never truly cared about those practices.

Touching, intimacy, sex and karking, those were all things that had their place somewhere.

Usually whenever there was a need to manipulate or influence, but it had never been much of pleasure for herself. Too distracting and far too easy to fall in a particular trap of emotions.

"The blood of the Dorns flow through you." Cerbera finally responded - she could have lied, but in the end, if she wasn't killing this one right now? Then she would discover Kiber soon enough on her own and there was little need to make that too much of a surprise for her.

"I used that blood to open a passage way from the Netherworld to here."

This was presumably how she was attracted to it in the first place.

"Here we are now."

 

[Beatrice Govan]

The bombardment of sensation had steadily began to relent, the woman becoming once more accustomed to living. Flesh. Nerves. Breath. Blood. It was rather jarring, noting each individual process of the human body like that. Feeling. Hearing. Smelling. Seeing. Quite amazing how it all worked together.

Even better when taken apart.

Her face relaxed somewhat, breathing still elevated but a sense of tranquility coming to the former-spectre.

A pale sliver of an eyebrow leaped at the notion of Dorn blood being used in the process that brought her back. Blood? Having watched the majority of her family face execution before her very eyes the woman was surprised there were any left to bleed. Was it from the living, or the dead? Now that was another question, albeit one that would not be asked. Family had never ranked highly upon the list of her priorities, a waste of time that could have been spent in pursuits of gratification.

Sharp, porcelain fingers ran down her own throat, seeking out the familiar harsh notch that had sat there like decoration of flesh. The last time Evelynn Dorn had been capable of speech she was a different woman. A mousy, timid creature too delicate for the galaxy at hand, prey in a world of predators.

A smile, paradoxical in how it seemed serene yet wicked.

Silly little girl.

“I must apologise for my...dramatic appearance,” Evelynn said in those eerily hushed tones, “...returning to this realm when one has spent so long in Chaos is rather...”

A tilt of the head, as she looked up at the green-skinned woman still stood before her, that smile still worn.

“...jarring.”

Her own hand remained at her throat, a solitary fingernail now running down the alabaster flesh as if she were tracing the design that lay beneath.

“I also must thank you,” Evelynn continued, always having strangely found room for manners within the malevolence, “however accidental this circumstance may be, you have given me the gift of life, that simply cannot be overlooked. I am in your debt, truly.”

A pause.

“If I may inquire, what was it you sought from the Netherworld?”

---

[member="Cerbera"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Evelynn"]

It was strange how different this Dorn was from the other one.

In truth Cerbera had given up on Kiber becoming anything more than a pretty lawn ornament in the long run.

Stubbornness and the realization that letting him slip into further obscurity was simply giving him what he wanted, were two of the reasons why the Sith had still bothered across these months. Someone needed to hold her equipment after all, someone had to be used as a testing subject and someone had to donate their blood. Kiber was a good specimen for all of this - because the Force ran strong through him and there was a debt between them.

Mostly centered around his attempt to rob her and her punishing him for this in any way she could think of.

"Your courtesy and manners do you credit." The Sith responded after a moment of thought. Sentient life was usually messy and loud and obnoxious to her, but this one seemed... different?

Somewhat.

Different enough that her curiosity was picked and Cerbera decided to accept the bargain of debt. Instead of drowning her like a box of little kittens mewling.

"I take debts quite seriously." The Lady in Green warned softly, before extending her hand towards her. It was not simply a gesture, not simply a way for her to pull herself up. There was more behind that hand and the contact of skin that even Evelynn would know in the moment.

"But I accept."

Her mind went to the Netherworld again.

Why had she wanted a direct connection to it again? Only after a brief moment of introspection and reviewing her mental notes, did the Alchemist realize her reasoning. They were as they often were - underneath that skin only curiosity and creativity basked and crawled without limitation.

She simply wanted to try.

"I was curious to see if I could." A light shrug of the shoulders. "I can and now so many opportunities arise through it."

 

[Beatrice Govan]

The sentence, 'I take debts quite seriously' was met with a small knowing smile. Evelynn was well-accustomed to this situation. Not quite called debt. Dominion? Ownership? Between her father and her former-lover this was no new scenario. As long as she was free to pursue her own interests it wasn't a problem, pride was not a beast that prowled within her. Not to say that these kind of situations didn't descend into...

...unpleasantness.

However, the woman would burn that bridge when she got to it, and then likely burn several others.

“Wonderful.”

A slender hand reached to grasp the green-skinned woman's hand in agreement, the warmth of another being such an unfamiliar sensation after so long.

Then another.

Pain.

Sudden and sharp like a blade being driven through her palm. It gave cause for a soft gasp, eyes bulging as they stared at hands intertwined. Those bony fingers tightening, nails digging into to the flesh of the other woman's hand with little recourse.. It had been...so long. Her hand, it seared as if it had been plunged into vicious, passionate flames. The most base pleasure. Intense. Exquisite. Ecstasy. It filled Evelynn's core with adrenaline, sending her heart rate into a vivid fever.

Strange, perhaps, that she did not scream but instead only opted to offer strangled gasps of air as she had done in the past so many times before.

This is what she lived for.

Contact was broken and the woman now stood, chest heaving and teeth bared in what was a truly feral grin. Turning over her hand Evelynn observed the fresh, jagged wound that stretched diagonally across her entire palm, as if it had been torn apart by a beast's claws. It still ached, pain more akin to the embers of a dying fire then the intense inferno it had been only moments before. As the woman stared her tongue snaked outwards, nestling between her front teeth as she bit down upon the organ ever so slightly.

Further discussions about the Netherworld were now lost to Evelynn Dorn, at least at that moment in time.

“A contract?” She mused, still grinning before finally looking up at the woman, the one whose name she did not even know, the one whose debt she was now in.

---

[member="Cerbera"]