Play The Game

[Connor Harrison]

MONASTERY
Haserian sector

Connor stood at the highest point of the Confederacy retreat on Monastery, one of the most Northern plants under Confederacy rule. Retreat in name may give the impression this was a place to relax, unwind and hide-away from the horrors of the galaxy. Yes, in some ways it was that, but it was also a nerve centre for the CIS in this system and offered lots of resources such as training hubs, research and development stations and some top secret installations that used the mountains and canyons as cover.

It was the gateway to the rest of the galaxy for them, and so had to be sure it was well protected and stocked at all times.

The sky was a soft azure with thick white clouds, low-lying and drifting slow. The surroundings below him were a mixture of browns, oranges, greens and other earthly colours. Mountains rose and some were capped with greens, others cold blues.

Inhaling slowly to drink in the Force energy around him from all of the nature, Connor was on his second day here and looking to see if he could create new armour for the future calling of war, but also plan his journey across to the East and one day into Silver Jedi space. There were more places to see beyond the Confederacy in his quest for balance.

The Galactic Empire, for one, with links to the Queen of Commenor, was another. But that could wait.

For now, he was thankful for the peace and for being alive. The breeze ran over arms with rolled up sleeves, yet only his one human arm benefited from the feeling. It was quiet, save some mild noise coming from the little Confederacy hubs around the mountain he was atop.

It was moments like this he appreciated not surrendering to taking his own life back on the dark world of Maena.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

The doors to the retreat slammed open violently, courtesy of a well delivered kick by Scherezade deWinter. The girl had been told she'd developed some sort of a name for herself among the Confederacy, but she hadn't been exactly sure as to what kind of a name it was. In any way, her last three months of existence outside of the pebble she had spent centuries in were a learning experience. Mostly in learning how not to die. Srina Talon had dubbed her as the best pin cushion in the 'verse, a title that the young Sith Apprentice slash Witch was becoming more and more familiar with as it turned out to be one of her greatest assets in times of wars, and she was constantly on the look out for wars, as violence fulfilled her in ways little else did.

Which was exactly why she'd come back to this dreadful planet. On her last encounter here, the CIS was trying to save the planet from some infection or somesorts that had caused a lot of animals to go feral and wild, attacking locals and.. Well, pretty much anything and everything. She had battled with a sabrecat that day and it had nearly cost her her life, as her innards threatened to spill out of her abdomen. She'd killed the cat, and had turned its fur into a gorgeous coat that had served her well on the blistering cold of Maramere..

And so, she had to come back. The planet had more to offer her, and she wanted more of that pretty fur.

If anyone was watching as the doors slammed open, they would have seen quite the visage; a tall girl with a youthful face, whom many often repeatedly mistook to be a minor, still with the last remains of baby fat in her cheeks. The young girl was also entirely drenched in blue blood, only her eyes poking out, emerald green, and ever so slightly projecting the same color that inhibited them. Several different kinds of knives poked out from her clothes; simple jeans and a T shirt, drained in blood as well, but with edges. Seven knives around the belt, three sticking out from her combat boots, and one sticking into her thigh. She elegantly ignored that one.

Atop her shoulders though, was a mass; two such sabercats, very dead.

Her clothes had offered little protection in her fight with them though, and most of her skin seemed to be covered in claw marks. It didn't matter though. Scherezade had recently learned that she could in fact acquire bacta tanks, and there was one on her ship, ready for use. She just had to pause at the retreat first since, (1) it was close enough to where she'd parked her ship and (2) they had food. She, so easily distracted, had none left on her ship, except for some water that came from Maramere, which dubbed it as Water That Was Not Safe To Drink [tm].

With little ceremony, Scherezade tossed the corpses of the cats right on the carpet that decorated the entrance hall, and stretched out. Those cats had been friggin' heavy, and she'd needed all the help from the Force to both kill and carry them. And now, she wanted food. Preferably before the corpses started rotting, because she still had about an hour of work to do on each of them if she wanted the skinning to happen properly.

Flaring her Force presence out in the retreat to make sure she took no one who could be there by unhappy surprise, she began to make her way towards where she remembered the kitchens to be, her stomach growling.


[member="Connor Harrison"]

 

[Connor Harrison]

Connor sighed.

Connor opened his eyes slowly.

Connor had heard an almighty bang from behind him inside the resort.

Connor couldn’t even escape the noise this far up it seemed.

What the Force was that? A back-firing engine? A speeder crash? A blaster misfire? He couldn’t exactly NOT go and make sure things were ok, or nobody was impaled under a speeder or part of the building had been blown away by a faulty boiler. Taking one last look at the view, he turned, jumped across a few stone boulders and onto the gravel track.

A few birds up ahead seemed to be circling around, looking for something. As his boots crunched underground, Connor peered around the resort to look for any warning signs because he couldn’t feel any, just a lot of….well….frustration, and death? The stone and tile building seemed intact. The ivory walls were spotless, the rusty coloured décor and tiled roof still in one piece. No smoke, no fires.

Coming the front of the resort on his path, he saw the door open, and distorted prints from the tracks leading in. And also blood. Blue blood. Eyes narrowed slightly, and he slowly lifted his head and saw the blood streak leading inside. The lightsaber hilt was already in hand, ready to activate.

While he was no doctor, he assumed the blood was from some alien being or a wounded animal from the mountains looking for food. Damn if he was going to be on the menu tonight.

The huge carcusses of what looked like cats were strewn in the dark hallway. Connor winced and lost his train of thought. Skin was slashed, blood was everywhere. This was not exactly a clean kill, or a well thought out one. This was a hunter. Boots crossed the floor, touching the fringes of the blue blood that he followed as well as the pounding Force aura

Now it wasn’t just the blood, it was the noise coming from inside the room to the right which was the kitchen if he remembered. To his left, doors leading into a mountain-side view dojo. Two sets of stairs, one leading up and one down were straight ahead. Store rooms on either sides of the hall. Yes, this was the kitchen, and someone was not content with the two cats rotting away on the floor of the resort.

Edging slowly to the door frame, Connor slid inside and saw….a young woman dressed like she’d been for a casual walk…kitted out in knives and Force knows what else…covered in blood. He sighed and lowered the hilt to his side.

”Well," he said in the silence, ”I certainly missed this activity on the schedule this morning."

He walked in and looked down at the blood. Yep. Led right to her.

”If you’re hungry I think you left some freshly skewered cat kebabs out in the hall, Miss…?"

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

She might have flared her aura to announce her presence to anyone who might be there, but the one thing she hadn't actually thought to do was to get a Force scan of the premises and see who might already be there. So when the stranger entered the kitchen and began to talk, Scherezade was surprised, her body jumping into a tense stand, both hands ready to pull knives out. Her eyes landed directly on his hilt and she just waited for him to make a move, already marking the vulnerable spots she could start with. All the info she'd ready about such encounters always said to go for the chest, but in her experience, going for the eyes tended to deliver the shock effect better.

Only he didn't make a move. He was talking. And he wanted her name.

Scherezade's body relaxed and she stood tall again, limping on the stabbed leg ever so slightly.

"We actually get activity schedules?" she asked, eyes going wide, her tone emphasizing just how clueless she was about such things. It was never be there at that time or we do lunch at twelve. No, it was always, come now! or you got ten minutes to move your tush, we're leaving. Then again, it could also be that while these schedules existed... She'd never received them. After all, the girl had no official rank other than Mandragora among the CIS. She was not a politician, she was not a soldier, she was not a knight... She was going to have to ask Katrine about that.

Grabbing the plate she had made for herself in the few seconds she'd had in the kitchen (and laddened it with hamburger, bantha wings, fries, and shortribs of this or other animal) she sat down by the table.

"Those cats aren't good for eating," she explained, "they don't hold enough body fat that can melt during the cooking process, so all you end up with is uber stingy meat. You usually want lazy fat animals for food. And of course, that's before counting that I never actually checked to see if sabercats aren't toxic to the mostly human body. Healing from their scratches is easier than healing from digestion issues due because this or other animal turns out to have glands that will kill you when you eat it. Besides, there's a fully stocked kitchen here, and the Confederacy is usually okay with food."

Taking her first breath since she'd strarted explaining the situation, Scherezade gave [member="Connor Harrison"] a genuine smile that went from ear to ear, "I'm Scherezade deWinter. No need to add a "Miss". What's your name?"

 

[Connor Harrison]

Connor just stood still and drank in the lot. The movements she made. The injury she bore. The food she had. The explanation she gave. Even when he wasn't talking or doing anything, her energy tired him out over those few seconds.

All he could do was, well...

”Huh. I see."

Miss DeWinter - Scherezade - seemed more than capable to look after herself. Feeling a little more at ease, he span the hilt in his palm and tucked it into the brown belt on his side and walked in, frowning at the blood on the floor that the girl seemed non-the-wiser to. He stood on the opposite side of the table to her and leant on it with his hands; one human, one metal.

”That's an unusual name if I may say so, Scher...Schezade," it was at this moment Connor knew he had messed up. ”And call me Connor. Connor Harrison. A pleasure."

He looked past her mountain of food and down to her leg, and tipped his chin to it.

”You want to get that looked at. I can, if you don't mind? It may be infected."

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

"Hello, [member="Connor Harrison"]," she greeted him with another one of her wide grins. Her eyes still followed his movements, shifting for a split of a moment as the hilt of his saber moved, and returning to normal when she realized it was just to put it away. He next motioned for her leg, and she looked down, the expression on her face dawning as she realized that thing was still in there. Of course, she'd known it was there. But she'd wanted to eat before dealing with it, and as such, promptly forgot it was there for the last few minutes.

Her left hand came forward, touching the hilt of that knife experimentally. "I don't even know how that got there," she admitted after poking it once and realizing her adrenaline levels had come down enough for her to feel the pain of moving it, "but I remember seeing it and figuring it was better to leave it there until I got to a bacta tank. My healing abilities are still too basic to deal with stuff like this on the field."

With a shrug, she picked a single bantha wing up, put it in her mouth, and a second later, pulled nothing but bare bones out, tossing them on the plate.

"You sure you wanna look at it? I'm kinda sure the knife wasn't clean before bits of fur and cat blood got on it," she said, and without waiting for an answer, her hand gripped the hilt and she pulled the thing out. Her jaw tightened and she nearly bit her tongue in the attempt not to scream.

She wasn't allowed to scream. She had to learn how to take pain without uttering a sound. This... This was nothing compared to what some of her enemies could and would do to her once they'd realized she was training herself as a mostly human tank. This was a good exercise for that.

And now that the knife was out, the wound was bleeding like mad. But that was to be expected. Scherezade tossed the knife into her left hand and tried to toss it into the sink without moving from the chair. She missed by two inches. "I really need to work on that," she muttered, and the fact she was trying to swallow her pain was more evident in her tone than she would'e liked, "but you're welcome to take a look at it. I figure at the current bleeding rate I have about fifteen minutes before bloodloss becomes an issue." And if he couldn't do anything about it, that was fine. She'd still have ample time to get back to her ship.

 

[Connor Harrison]

All Connor could do was watch. Was she running on fumes? Her aura was spiking, but she was coherent and in control. So it seemed anyway.

Before he could stop her, she had pulled the blade from her leg. His hand came up to warn her, but chewing down on meat and grimacing at the pain, this girl was a live wire. And then she threw the knife! He had to swerve a little as it cartwheeled across the table towards the sink, only to miss and clatter down on the floor.

This girl was a sort.

”Right," he moved to her with purpose and focused on her leg, ”just work with me."

He didn't have time to play the game she was. In a few minutes, she would lose probably bleed out and lose consciousness. This wasn't something to laugh off and eat over. Connor wrapped and arm around her waist and held her arm, lifting her off the chair and away from her greasy meal. Kneeling, he helped her sit up leaning against the table.

”So tell me about how you found the Confederacy."

With her bravado and mouth, the distraction to have her tell a story would be enough for him to do what he needed to do. Many times in the service of the Jedi had he pulled shrapnel from a comrade or fixed a broken bone. Even on himself, he'd prevented death a few times. He didn't hesitate. He pushed his palm down onto the bleeding wound, and her blood seeped through his fingers, but it was good. The rich midichlorians in her system flowed through to his aura, and he connected with them and accelerated their energy.

It was the muscle below that would cramp and heal, the fibres reaching together and knotting that would need time to set. Then, the skin tissue. Connor looked through his hand into her wound and fused the skin, the Force binding the tissue that was as easy as breathing for one who had done it a thousand times. The amplification of her Force aura mixed with hers was enough to leave a tender, pink graze where the wound was.

He removed his hand and rubbed his thumb gently up and down the area and nodded. It felt good. It felt good to help another and feel his connected hadn't weakened.

And he hadn't listened much to a word she said.

”There. Now you need to take the weight off the leg, for the rest of the day and tonight at least. Let the muscle heal naturally over the next few hours and the skin harden. There will be a small scar, but hardly noticeable."

Connor reached to help her up back onto the chair.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

[member="Connor Harrison"] seemed to be more in a hurry than she was. Her thigh hurt like mad, sure, but she was also hungry. She nearly protested when he picked her up and moved her from her food; killing two cats had cost her a lot of fuel in terms of physical abilities, and all the Force she'd had to spend had taken its toll too, and she needed the food to regain energies that she relied on in order to keep going. And going. And going.

And then he asked her for her story. That... Was actually a first. In all her three months of existence, no one had bothered to ask her that.

"I didn't," she began, her cheeks flushing, "I was born before the Gulag years, but I was just a baby, and I had a twin brother. And then the Gulag came and my grandmother locked me in a little pebble, and hid that pebble in the galaxy. Five hundred years later, she randomly chooses Katrine Van-Derveld, the Mandragora Night Mother, to be my Ward, hands her the pebble, and goes all oooh you go and you train her or I'll kill you. Lucky for both me and Katrine, we actually like each other, so neither has to worry about stupid grandma deWinter's threats. And that was three months ago, so I kinda defaulted into the Confederacy because Kat's here too and I'm trying to learn how this whole not being a baby and not being a pebble works, and really, when you don't get there in a more or less linear fashion, it's often really confusing, so I guess I'm doing the best that I can, but it's not really enough because now people from my home planet are looking for me, and some of them are finding me, but I seriously wanted a new fur coat after the last one that I'd made was destroyed, so I had to come back here, and then, you know, I figured out that two was better than one, and for a sec there I'd considered three, but I think that would've pushed me more beyond my limits than what I'm in the mood to deal with right now in terms of consequences."

Scherezade blinked. She'd been so busy telling her tale (and busy leaving some of the parts of it out, like her whole being a princess and needing to be worthy to go back home and whatnot) that she had indeed not noticed what Conner was doing. Only now, her leg was healed. Or at least, not bleeding. She moved it in the air a little bit, giving it a test run.

"Bloody awesome! Holy Force, thank you!" she half yelled, allowing a moment for his instructions to sink in. Scars didn't worry her; she was going to be covered in them before her first year was up anyway. But the rest... "No can do, Connor. Those cats need to get skinned, and they need to be carried to my ship, unless you know how to freeze them for a night so I can do that tomorrow. "

An idea popped to her mind!

"Hey, do you know how to skin a cat? Or would you be able to if I gave you instructions and we pulled the cats here?"

As she asked her questions, she brought her plate back to her. She was hungry. She needed food. Three more wings were gone before she finished the last question, and she'd never had to stop for a beat while speaking in order to consume them. It was almost like magic.

Realizing she could've been rude though, Scherezade quickly picked her plate up and offered it to him. Sharing food was always a good thing, right?

 

[Connor Harrison]

Well, she moved ok. A tiny little limp where the muscle was healing, but she was ok. Off for food again it seemed. Connor shook his head and gave a little chuckle, moving to the sink - not before picking up the blooded knife - and giving both it and his hand a wash.

”So you were a pebble, and then taken in by a witch? I know of Katrine. Well, heard of her. I'm sure you're in good company."

He let the knife dry off and wiped his hands, before turning to see her handing over the plate. He was hungry, but then he wasn't....oh to hell with it.

A wing seemed tempting, so he took it.

”Thank you," he took a bit. A little dry, but nice. Dry was better than moist. ”Mm. Not bad. And, no never skinned a cat. But there's always a first time right?"

He grinned and continued eating, a few more bites did it.

”I'll get them to your ship and if you need to leave then so be it, but just, be careful on the leg ok? You don't want it to give way and the muscle tear again. I can't be with you all the time to patch you up."

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade nodded with enthusiasm when [member="Connor Harrison"] said there's always a first time. Her own experience with skinning was rather new as well; she'd gotten the theoretical side by making friends with someone who tried to steal a kill of hers some two moths back, and it had taken some trial and error before she had it right. That was why the first cat only turned into a coat and not something grander and fancier. But she'd get there. With the way things were going, her ability to survive without running to the ship needed to be expanded, and making warm clothes out of dead things was almost as important as finding safe to drink water.

"I don't need to leave," she explained herself, revealing she might have given the wrong idea, "at least, not until someone tells me we're headed for another war. Or battle. Or something like that."

It was true. Most of her time under the Confederacy had at first involved getting into trouble, and currently mostly involved raking up the enemy's body count. She was a weapon in the making, still in her first steps, but she was becoming more and more useful every time the CIS needed to extract violence. And she was going to become even better.

"Tell you what," she added with a huge smile, "you can bring the cats here and I'll teach you how to skin 'em, and in the meantime you can tell me all about yourself and what you're doing with the Confederacy. And I can fry you a new batch of wings while we're at it."

Remembering now though that she had more than just wings on her plate, the girl began to attack the fries as well, opting for just mayonnaise on the side. Kat had introduced her to ketchup and BBQ sauce, both of which Scherezade had outright rejected due to the overly sweet taste of both.

 

[Connor Harrison]

Something told Connor it was useless to argue with this one.

”I'll be back in a second," he said, walking out of the kitchen and wiping his hands down on a rag.

The trail of blood needed to be cleaned. If there was no hired help around, then he would do it of course. Blue trails led back to the two deceased cats, rigid and looking like stuffed carpets. First, he moved past and shut the double doors. An officer walked by, and all Connor could do was smile as if the blood was totally normal and carried on.

Then, to the carcasses. He waved his hand around the cats and felt their dissolved aura, but it was flesh and blood and bone, and the Force latched onto them and he walked ahead, arm out behind, the two bodies sluggishly dragging along the floor.

”Who knows when the drums of war will sound," Connor said casually as he re-entered with the bodies. ”Take the time they aren't sounding to be sure you're fit and well and of sound mind and body. There's plenty of time for fighting after."

The cats came to a stop on the stone kitchen floor and Connor walked back to the table. The smell of the cooking was tantalizing.

”I guess I'm with the Confederacy as they aren't Jedi, nor are they Sith. For now, they're in the middle. A nice balance, which is what I seek. After I've found that within myself, then I can continue seeking to find others who are after the same thing and help them rid those trying to tip the galaxy into catastrophe."

There was no need to go into his complicated, dark and dangerous history just yet.

”Smells great! You can hunt and cook, if you can fly a ship and learn not to get yourself killed, you're the perfect wife."

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

As soon as [member="Connor Harrison"] left the kitchen to retrieve the cats, Scherezade jumped from her chair, landing on her good leg. Her hours of training with her dummies was paying off; she managed to keep most of the weight off the stabbed leg by simply using her muscles to hold it a few inches above ground, and noticed how the muscles weren't shaking under the constraint of needing to hold a leg for so long. The pain had also lessened, bringing it down to that perfect spot where it served as fuel for her movements rather than sap her energies. She greatly approved of this - the wider she would manage to make that spot, the better she would be out on the field.

When Connor returned, she was already busy with the frying pan, the oil hot enough to bubble as the bantha wings swam in it, only occasionally being turned by Scherezade. She removed them after a few minutes, only to dump them back in again. Double deep fried. The best a teenager's stomach demanded. While doing so, she used the Force to pull separate fries from the table and have them land directly in her mouth. Multitasking was always an asset.

"The drums of war never cease," she answered, her voice lightly, "it's just a matter of when we choose to follow the beat."

The HNN was always turned on in her ship. She knew about wars in all the parts of the known galaxy. She knew where she could pack a bag and head off to if the Confederacy went weak. Her loyalties lay with the Nightmother, but the rest of the CIS could burn and she wouldn't care; the CIS was her tool as much as she was theirs. Under their expenses, she could learn and become better, making mistakes at the cost of someone else. In return, she gave them a weapon that was constantly being honed - herself. It wasn't a relationship that was meant to last though. Another year, perhaps a few, and their ways would part. That is, if she didn't kill too many of their Mandalorians first and start a civil war. Options, options...

"I'm not supposed to know how to cook," she said somberly as she pulled the last wings out and set them on a plate. With a limp, she walked back to the table, and set it by Conner, "neither my grandmother nor my mother, nor any other women in the family that I know of, know how to do this. But they're not around and the Holonet is full with cooking shows, so I learned. It's also cheaper to do it this way than constantly buy it, and I don't have to worry about my rat burgers containing things that aren't rats."

She let herself fall into the chair next to him, grabbing the burger that was threatening to go too cold to be fun to eat. Was it rat burger? She had no idea; the fridges of the CIS were generally trustworthy, and meat was meat. She was still growing into this body she'd been given, and she was in need of it.

"Anyway, there's years before I'll be ready to marry," she went on, going over everything Connor had said in her head to make sure she didn't miss a beat, "grandmother didn't marry until she had five five children with my grandpa. Their marriage marked the end of their relationship though, because they had a violent divorce a little over a decade later. He died, she almost killed herself, and they took a third of Coruscant with them. And of course, that goes for the maternal side. The paternal side had sex once and never saw each other again. My mom never married my dad either; they were both under the impression that since they were other halves, it was a useless ceremony that they didn't need or have time for. Same for most of my aunts and uncles."

Come to think of it, no matter how hard she tried to look through the memories grandma deWinter had given her - she couldn't find a single happily married couple, other than her uncle Jonathan, the family rapist. She was definitely not going to delve deeper into those memories though.

Grabbing her hamburger now, she devoured it with three bites, her mouth remaining as empty as it had the moment she'd entered the facility. She supposed it was back to the fries and wings.

"I wouldn't worry too much about balance though," she kept on babbling, "the galaxy knows how to take care of itself. A quick review of history shows that balance tends to get unbalanced when people who weren't supposed to meddle with said balance in the first place claimed to be working for that balance."

Scherezade blinked. That was definitely not a thought she'd come by on her own. "Grandma's words, not mine. She was the Dark Lord of the Sith a few centuries ago. Or a few millenia. I always lose track of the numbers involved. Anyway, most of us are Sithlings, except Auntie Brumhilda and Cousin Merlin, who chose to go Jedi and are therefore considered taboo by most of the family."

This time, she shoved five wings into her mouth, hoping that would keep her from talking more. Her words were all over the place. This was probably the most she'd spoken at once since... Since coming out of that stupid pebble.

 

[Connor Harrison]

The food smelled good. He sat, watching and waiting the deWinter chef at work, also listening to her talk rather quick and excitedly. So far it seemed this girl had a troubled up-bringing? It was what he was trying to piece together.

”Thank you. Looks good," he said. He wouldn't choose to eat this stuff, but he wasn't going to turn his nose up.

After moving the plate a little, he looked over the wings and took one to eat, waiting for the polite moment to begin eating. And he found it in a break in conversation. What followed next as a delve into her past Connor never expected to hear. It zipped from one point to another at the blink of an eye, a dot-to-dot trail of names and events that made up who this deWinter was, and what a family tree she had.

Connor had only taken one bite, but that was enough as he was trying to capture everything she was talking about.

Sith Lords? Witches? Uncertain balance? Grandma?

A tinge of doubt crossed his mind - so in trying to keep balance, he would be one to destroy it? Hm.

”You certainly are a treasure trove of intrigue aren't you? So, from what I gather...you're heritage stems from Witches and Sith? So you're....a Sith Initiate or something? What are you hoping to become - sounds like you have a lot of expectation to meet for your family name, am I right?"

He opted for a few fries next.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

She grinned when he complimented the food, and devoured the ribs she'd made earlier, making sure to leave about half of the amount for [member="Connor Harrison"]. Ribs took time to properly make, and she'd been glad to find some ready for eating in the fridge earlier. The thought that she might've taken someone else's food from them didn't really cross her mind any point.

"Mostly Sith," she corrected him, "the Witch thing belongs to another branch of the family, at least as far as official titles go. I'm getting Mandragora training now anyway though, courtesy of being a Chosen of Jart."

That, in itself... Was a whole different story. She had been a Chosen of Jart, and had the spirit-given tattoo to prove it. But the day on Hasseria, when she'd raged and apparently stabbed Dath Metus, she was also hit by Force Lightning, and that stupid lightning had ruined the tattoo. It'd been two months and she hadn't heard the spirits a single time since that day. Nor had she brought it up with Katrine yet to see if there was something that could be done to fix it. If she was completely honest with herself, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to fix it. The few spells she knew still worked, and she assumed it wouldn't be too hard to learn new ones, even if the spirits didn't sing in her mind like they did with the rest of the Mandragora.

But what was she trying to become?

"As for the future..." she tried to collect her thoughts on the matter, "that's a story for another time. What I mostly want is to find my parents and my twin brother. If they're asleep or dead, I don't know. They might even be alive or awake. But I can't find them. So the idea is drawing a lot of attention to myself, up to the point that if they're alive they can't ignore it. And become strong enough because that kind of attention can also draw dangerous things to me."

Then of course there was the whole matter of Endelaan... But the less people knew about that, the better.

"Why are you here, anyway?" she asked, "on Monastery, I mean. There's nothing here since we took care of the stupid beasts and saved the locals who, I might add, are not making human sacrifices to thank us."

 

[Connor Harrison]

The fries were good, he had to admit. Soft and a little salty, but with enough of a slight crunch to tingle the taste buds. A few mouthfuls in, he stopped to actually eat and listen. A few words of what she said stuck out.

”Mm,mmmm," he waved a finger to encourage swallowing before talking, ”no beasts...or humans....sums up why." He rubbed his hands together. ”This is one of the most Northern points of Confederacy space, and half of me wanted to see how well they want to keep the gateway to their system secure, but also to get some...peace."

Sitting here chatting about the CIS, eating greasy food and prepping two dead cats to skin wasn't what he had in mind.

”But have you seen the view out there, when you're not hunting cats? It's beautiful. I love standing, listening to the Force around me and breathing in the fresh air. It helps me focus, and I can look down on a world and feel I have a part to play to keep it just the way it is. I'd hate to see places like this lost. Even to the Confederacy. Keep it the way it is. Don't change it."

Her goal was interesting however.

”Don't give up finding your family, ok? But make sure you seek them out the right way, and only if you want to. Don't shrug it off as if it's not important. If it is, MAKE it important. Go out, make connections and find them. You don't need to act like a wild nexu just to get attention. If you're not careful you'll get the wrong kind of attention and never get to find out."

Connor had connected with faces from his past, mostly by sheer almost cinematic style coincidence, but he had been grateful to have that chance. Scherezade could have that chance too.

”Oh. Jart? Mandragora? I've heard that a few times - what is it and what does it mean? Enlighten me."

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

"Peace is boring," the girl replied in between mouthfuls of fries. There was no menace to her tone though; she might have listed a grocery list and it would have sounded about the same, "survival, war, conflict. That pushes people to strive for more, to become better, to get creative and develop things never seen before. You break things so that you find new ways to fix 'em, enjoy it for a while, then do it again."

She was smiling now, that same innocent smile she'd given [member="Connor Harrison"] earlier. There was little room to make mistakes regarding Scherezade deWinter - she was friendly, smiling, sometimes even bubbly. But she was a Sith, and there were certain philosophies she abided by, and worked constantly on improving herself to get 'em done even better.

Another set of wings flew into her mouth, only to come out as pale bones a mere few seconds later. She chose not to respond to the bit about family. She didn't know whether or not she'd actually find them. Them finding her was also a possibility. But with some of the choices she'd made... Those were not thoughts for now. Thoughts for now was to focus on the mission.

"The Mandragora are the CIS version of the Witches of Dathomir," she explained, "very similar, but very different. For one, they don't adhere to the tribal system of Dathomir. Second, they seem to be more combat and ritual focused than being one with nature focused. They also don't follow Allyah. The Mandragora get their powers from connection with spirits. Jart, Doashim, and that third one whose name I always forget. Everyone who gets chosen by a spirit gets to join, and everyone who's chosen by a spirit gets marked. It's kinda like using the Force, but from a different perspective. If there's something they can do that other Force Users can't, I haven't discovered it yet. But kinda like Sith is just one type of Darkside religion, the Mandragora's another type of Witchy religion."

Leaning back, she wiped her had on a paper towel. "At least, that's what I think," Scherezade added, "most of this wasn't really explained at any point, I just kinda deducted it from things that were and are happening."

As to her own markings... That would not be a subject for today. She had been marked by the Jart, the elegant tattoo on her back a firm indicator of it, as well as the horrible rip in the tattoo that marked that not everything had gone according to plan and that her direct connection to the Jart was essentially non-existing. She'd fix it. Some day.

Looking at Connor, she smiled again. "Are you ready to learn how to skin a cat?" she asked with a kittish grin.

 

[Connor Harrison]

The ratio of food the girl put away compared to Connor, in both mass and time, was impressive. It was like she hadn’t eaten for days, or she was just obsessed with fried food. It was nice and all, but one had to pace themselves at least! Not this one – she was making it look as natural as breathing.

Although Connor found himself engrossed in Scherezade’s tale. A lot was working for this girl – she was young, bright, pretty, skilled in survival, a good cook, knowledgeable and rather clued up on the state of the galaxy. He found himself nodding in agreement about peace and war. He also found himself wanting to know more about these Mandragora. Part of his time under the umbrella of the Confederacy was, in all honesty, to learn and see what cards the Factions were playing.

Exploring new and alternate methods of the Force as a power and a tool were high up there in his desires.

”Fascinating," he simply said, eating some fries absently.

Without time to think, she jumped onto the next subject. Cat skinning. Connor looked to the beast, wiped his hands and nodded. ”Mm. Please, by all means."

The Mandragora was still on his mind as he stood. The key to ultimate power was to harness knowledge after all.

”So who teaches you these Force powers and studies? Is there a Priestess or Master? I’d like to find out a little more if you think they could even teach me a thing or two."

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

They were ready to start the cat skinning! Scherezade bubbled in her seat with excitement, ready to start handing in the instructions, when she realized she hadn't given [member="Connor Harrison"] the proper tools he would need in order to do it. With a flick of her wrist, one of her knives flew from its place on the counter and made its way towards him, the hilt away, so that he could comfortable pluck it out of the air.

Her instructions were about to begin when she realized he'd asked a question.

"There's the Nightmother, who happens to be my friend," she explained regarding the training, "and each of the pacts had a shaman that sees to the training as well. But it's closer to a professor in an academic class than a master-apprentice type of relationship. They could probably teach you if you went to Ryloth and ask to learn the ways. Might get a little violent though. The spirits mark their chosen ones in physical manners; tattoos, scarring, the works."

She herself had her own tattoo, the bird that symbolized the Jart, on her back. She was not inclined to show it to anyone.

"Now focus on the kittie cat," Scherezade ordered, "unlike humans, the fur of cats is not directly glued to their muscles. If you pet a cat, you can go back and forth with the fur to its natural extend. They frigging love it. But it also makes the removal easy when they're dead. You cut around the neck, carefully so that you don't behead them. Go only fur-deep. And then the same for every leg, about sock-height. Tale too. And then what you're left with is a carcass you can peel like a banana!"

[member="Connor Harrison"]