Private Of Budding Vengence

[Oleander]

//: Mercy //:
//: Attire //:

Nothing survived.

The garden, the greenhouse—gone. Her life's work was reduced to a choking haze of smoke and ash in minutes. Oleander stood in the wreckage, brushing her bangs back, red eyes wide, trying to decide if she should scream or just start billing someone.

It hadn't even been that long since the Alliance tore through Hapes. The Queen Mother then? Dead. This new one? Probably already dead, too. Hapan royalty had the shelf life of a ripe fig. Oleander didn't mourn her.

She was irritating.

Tradition had its uses. Some people seemed to exist solely to ruin them. Especially whoever decided to rain fire on her viper plants. She knelt, listening to the last faint crackles, the dying whispers only she could hear.

"Shh, I know…" Her voice softened, even as her jaw tightened. When the final thread of life snapped, she straightened, rubbing her face.

The Alliance. Obviously. First, they shove Jedi into places they don't belong; now, they can't keep their enemies from torching the very people they'd harassed months ago. What use were they? The home could be replaced. The plants couldn't. People depended on her tonics, her poisons, her careful work. Now? All gone. For what—more war, more ash?

---

The landing ships weren't hard to find. Nor was the one in charge. Broad-shouldered. Hair like fire.

This was when she wished she hadn't ditched her teacher's more... combative lessons. But Sith politics were exhausting, and she'd never seen the point. She hated confrontation. Truly. But this woman had killed her garden, her income, and her peace of mind. At this point, her life was just another thing she could afford to lose.

Seedlings curled into her palm, twisting into curved daggers no bigger than her fingers. She started toward the woman—half a jog, half a march.

"HEY!" she called out, voice sharp over the chaos.

"You—You owe me a lot of money!"

The math ran in the back of her mind: thousands of credits in losses, not counting replanting costs, not counting the months of growth time.

"Hey! You need to listen to me right now!" She groaned in frustration and let one of the dagger-thorns fly, aimed for the eldrich arm.

 

[Mercy]

Oleander

Mercy didn't immediately respond.

It wasn't the first time she was walking away from a warzone to the lamentations of the suffering. Usually they didn't have the boldness to attack her however. Her eldritch arm responded before Mercy could. Tendrils ripping out and curling around the hilt of the knife. Before it was brought in front of Mercy's face.

Head tilted there and then the large woman turned around.

"Do I?" Unclear if she was asking about the money or having to listen. "Well, then make me." Again, still not clear. However her arms spread out, almost as if to welcome her home.

"The strong force the weak. Show me your strength, girl, and maybe I will listen to what you have to say."

Her blood was running hot still. They had done a lot of killing, but in the end she hadn't ripped Koda Fett 's head off and that was still annoying her a little bit.

This was a godsend.

 

[Oleander]

//: Mercy //:
//: Attire //:

"G–Girl?"

Oleander blinked as the woman turned, all posture and power. Shame the dagger thorn had been thwarted — though it was a 'friendly' reminder that she might have bitten off more than she cared to chew.

Maybe losing a few thousand credits wasn't the end of the galaxy. There was that new casino opening she'd seen on the Holonet. She could sell a 'good luck' tonic, make it all back, maybe even come out ahead.

Right now, though, she was standing in front of a tyrant with nothing but a thorn and a 'fuck it' attitude.

"I've made it past puberty, you know," she muttered, not entirely sure why she was even doing this.

It had been a while since she'd used the Force for anything other than coaxing flowers to bloom. The rust flaked off as she stepped forward, feeling the surge in her legs, momentum coiling. She didn't go for a head-on charge; it was too suicidal and messy.

Instead, she angled to slip past her, where a dagger thorn to the back might actually work.

And preferably not get wrapped up in that grotesque tentacle arm.

The moment her body twisted, she flung the rest of her arsenal — four dagger thorns — toward different points on the woman's very well-sculpted back.

Oleander wasn't much of a fighter, but she was still alive. That had to count for something.

 

[Mercy]

Oleander

Her skin suddenly flared up in blue fire and the knives pushed in hard before falling down to the ground without killing Mercy.

Mercy turned around and smiled.

"You got spirit, lady." She stated with a hungry chuckle. "But you are lacking that killer instinct." There was no hesitation. One breath she was there, the next every muscle in her body pulsed and Mercy was launched forward towards Oleander. The force was enough that the rock between her heels crumbled.

In the next breath Mercy was already on Oleander, her fist slamming up, to hook into her stomach before her elbow would come down at her head and send her crashing into the ground.

 

[Oleander]

//: Mercy //:
//: Attire //:

Oleander watched the woman's flesh burn bright blue. Her dagger thorns hadn't done a thing.

Not good.

She reached for more seeds, but the Sith was already on her. Everything blurred into slow motion — heels back, bad stance, old teacher in her head yelling about form. And the woman? Those muscles weren't just for show, much to Oleander's disappointment.

"Oh no..."

The first hit landed. Nothing between it and her insides except some soft flesh and a couple of ribs she probably didn't need. Her stomach and maybe her liver, though… those might've been nice to keep.

Her guts felt like they'd been rearranged by a particularly violent gardener. The second strike came in — this time she dodged enough to take it in the shoulder instead of the skull. Pain still bloomed, but she was already swimming in it.

Hands found purchase on the woman as she closed in for more. Oleander's mind went blessedly blank except for one thought: do something stupid.

She leaned back, tightened her neck and back, then slammed her forehead into Mercy's face.

Good plan? Probably not.

Going to die? Probably so.

 

[Mercy]

Oleander

Her forehead smashed itself into Mercy's nose and broke it easily. Blood gushed out, splattering both the young woman and Mercy, but that was where the trap fully sprang.

She had to get really close to do that to Mercy's face and the mountain of a woman wasn't a shy maiden of the fight. After so many fights a broken nose didn't even faze her. So even as her nose broke, her shovel of a hand grabbed Oleander by the throat and then yanked her up, forcing her to dangle in the air in front of her.

Forcing her to witness as the Queenslayer cackled and laughed while the blood ran down her face, lips, down her neck.

"That's the spirit, little spitfire." She purred softly as she shook her in the air. "You I could turn into a weapon." Tongue lapped up some of the blood and she swallowed.

"You I could make strong..." Thoughtful there, weighing if the annoyance would be worth it. Which gave Oleander time to respond.

 

[Oleander]

//: Mercy //:
//: Attire //:

There was a satisfying crunch when her forehead hit Mercy's nose. It was confirmation that she had hit the brute. A far better display than when she was a young tyke at the academy. Blood gushed on her face and on Mercy's, which was not as pleasant but an understandable effect from her headbutt.

Oleander felt the pressure first around her neck; her eyes widened as she looked at the fiery woman. Her smile faded, and a fit of regret filled the Hapan.

She coughed, the moment pressure got tighter around her neck, and she tried to hold onto Mercy's shirt. If she could keep herself closer, she wouldn't be at such a disadvantage. But her lackluster grip and Mercy's biceps meant she was now dangling like a scurrier caught in the grains.

"W-What?" Oleander struggled to choke out as she kicked her feet, trying to wiggle her way out of the vice grip. "I'm not a weapon, I'm an alch-alchemist!"

She stopped moving as the wheels in her brain started to churn. The woman was strong, and now her blood was exposed — this could easily be manipulated into a tonic of sorts.

Make millions.

Both of her eyebrows raised as she stopped fighting against the hold.

"Um… could you maybe not waste all that?" she asked with unsettling sincerity. "Save me a sample?"

No hint of humor. If Mercy didn't hand it over, Oleander could always make do with what was already dripping down her own face. Contaminated? Sure. Problem? Not for her — she'd mapped her own genetics three times over.

She reached into her pocket carefully with as much sleight of hand as she could and dropped a few seeds. They didn't seem as impressive, but with a bit of wiggle of her fingers, the seeds would sprout at a rapid rate and shoot up, trying to wrap the woman in thick, blue, spiked vines.

"Say hi to Barb," A little knowing and devilish grin cracked Oleander's face as she returned to try to pry the woman's grip from her throat.

"She's a viper plant."