Private Professional Contracting

[Darth Virelia]

"Blast from the past."

Tags - Evangel

Virelia did not rise when the word slipped from Evangel's lips. Mistress. The sound of it was sweeter than any oath, more intoxicating than the richest wine. She lingered there, savoring the tremor in the Mandalorian's voice, the way the syllables shuddered through the space between them like a pulse begging to be claimed.

Her claws traced lazy circles against the exposed join of armor at Evangel's throat. Each motion promised both ruin and rapture. She pressed just enough to remind her prey that death was but a flick away, yet withheld the final cut with cruel restraint. "Good," she breathed, her voice low, sultry, thick with velvet satisfaction. "You learn quickly."

She shifted her weight, grinding her hips into Evangel's body, every inch of movement lewd and deliberate. "Do you feel it? The calm in the storm?" she whispered, violet eyes burning like amethysts held to fire. "That is what obedience gives you. The hunger remains, yes—but I give it shape. Purpose."

Her other hand slid up along the Mandalorian's helm, caressing its faceless curve like a lover's cheek. "Coin never understood you. The others could not. But I do." Her claws pressed harder, then eased, a rhythm as intimate as a heartbeat.

Virelia leaned closer, her lips nearly brushing the edge of the visor, voice dropping to a hushed, licentious murmur. "I will not promise you gentleness. I will not promise you safety. What I promise is truth: that you belong here, beneath me, with my claws at your throat and my will in your veins. You will never again have to ask yourself who you are, or why you kill. You will kill because I command it. And you will live because I allow it."

She lingered there, silent save for the heat of her breath, letting the weight of her words sink like chains forged of velvet and iron. Then, at last, she whispered one more word, quiet as silk sliding over steel:

"Mine."

 

[Evangel]

It was familiar territory. Darth Virelia demanded obedience. Subservience. She continued to lay atop the Sith Spawn and made no effort to remove herself with no instruction given. It hurt to lay so still. So silent. To not be given purpose in that moment, but it was her will and so it brought pride to obey. There was nothing to learn; Evangel already understood what a Lady of the Sith -- former or present -- demanded of those that served. She understood and embraced it once more.

The way Virelia moved, the way she spoke said more than her words, but all she said was for Evangel to remain still. To obey. "Command me, Mistress. I am yours." The storm of howling voices had calmed, but the stillness ached. Surely the Dark Lady wanted something. Why had Evangel been brought here? There must be something someone of her power and authority desired. All she had to do was say it. Say it! "Your will is mine. Your desires my own."

Were the words not enough? What was enough? What would sate Virelia's unstated command? Evangel knew the etiquette. but knew precious little of Darth Virelia herself. What she wanted. Who she hated. How could she carry out her will laying on the floor? But if that is what she wanted... if denying Evangel was what brought her pleasure, then she would suffer in silence. As she had before. It was exquisite suffering.

"Help me understand."

Darth Virelia​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Blast from the past."

Tags - Evangel

Virelia lingered atop her prize a moment longer, savoring the ache in the Mandalorian's stillness, the way her body strained with unspent hunger. Every tremor in Evangel's muscles was music to her, every ragged breath another verse in the hymn of domination. But when the mercenary whispered help me understand, Virelia smiled behind her mask, a slow curl of lips that dripped with cruelty and indulgence alike.

"Good," she murmured, claws tightening just once at the woman's throat, punctuating her pleasure with a sting. "You beg to understand. You ache to be told what I desire."

And then, with deliberate grace, Virelia uncoiled herself from Evangel's body. She rose slowly, hips sliding over armor, claws dragging along pauldrons and chestplate as she stood. The withdrawal was as obscene as the pinning had been intimate; every inch of contact was deliberate, as though she were peeling herself away from something she already owned.

Virelia stepped back just enough that the mercenary could rise if she dared. Her six-eyed mask tilted downward, violet eyes glimmering through the narrow slits with hunger unmasked. She raised her claws before her face, flexing them so the chamber light caught on their sharpened curves.

"Understand this, Mandalorian," she said, voice deep and licentious, vulgar in its intimacy. "I do not need coin. I do not need another blade-for-hire to add to the pile of forgettable names. I chose you. I called you here because I saw the fracture inside you, the hunger eating you alive. And I knew…" her voice dropped to a whisper, sultry as silk sliding across bare skin, "…that hunger could be shaped into something exquisite."

Her claws lowered, pointing toward Evangel's chest as though to pierce it without touching. "You want purpose? I will feed you prey until you drown in their screams. You want belonging? You will kneel here and know every breath you take is mine. You want to be used? I will use you until there is nothing left but blood, sweat, and obedience."

She laughed, low and decadent. "And when you falter, when the chaos in you rears up, I will not banish it. I will not 'heal' you. I will drag you down into it and teach you how to wield it as your truest blade."

Virelia paced a slow circle, the hem of her cape brushing stone, her voice curling like smoke. "You were made you into a killer. I will make you into a weapon. Not just thrown, not just wielded, but sharpened to a single truth—that you exist to satisfy me. My commands. My appetites. My wars."

She paused behind Evangel, claws hovering just above the woman's helm, so close that the faint hum of energy in them brushed the Mandalorian's senses. "Do you know why I pressed you down, why I kept you gasping in silence? Because you are too used to noise. To chaos. To the endless gnawing of your own thoughts. I wanted you to feel the leash before you begged for it."

Then she stepped back into Evangel's view, head tilted, stance regal and obscene. "So stand, Evangel. Stand and show me you are ready to be mine. You asked to understand? Then understand this—your body, your hunger, your violence, your life itself… all of it now belongs to me. You will kill because I demand it. You will live because I allow it. And you will obey because nothing else in the galaxy will ever make you feel this alive."

Her claws flexed again, the sound sharp and hungry in the silence. "Now… rise."

 

[Evangel]

Command me, Mistress. Hold me. Love me. I wor--

Shut up.

Virelia had shifted the dynamics of the struggle, but one persisted within the Sith Spawn she fawned over in that moment. Instead of an insistent desire to maim, kill, and destroy it became a war between extremes. Between subservience and domination. Naturally, before such a magnificent and glori-- before a Lady of the Sith Evangel had to behave... properly.

It was difficult not to want to grovel before her. To beg for her affection. And to also not want to rip her mask off and gouge out her eyes for the ceaseless sexual assault of their bodies -- their armor -- as it was rubbed together. Two minds with the controlling consciousness caught between them. She could feel the surprising strength of the personality that desired nothing more than to hear Darth Virelia's every word. Was it...?

Evangel could probably replicate Force Domination having experienced it, but there was a catch. She could mimic any ability she experienced, but just because she could channel did not mean she understood it. Much like someone exposed to Sith Lightning might be able to recreate it, but not necessarily with half as much effectiveness as the original caster. Experience and training played a part in utilizing abilities; things Evangel did not possess. Darth Virelia would undoubtedly have defenses against being commanded. Little did Evangel know it also required mental weakness that Virelia high off her own success would certainly lack. In either case, the Mandalorian had insufficient means of utilizing the power effectively.

Unlike Force Push (or Crush as Evangel had told the tale), which was far easier to use with limited experience.

The helmet shifted at the light stab Virelia had given Evangel. Her breath caught at the ceaseless physical domination the Lady held over her in that moment. It was humiliating. It was rapturous. She hated it. She wanted more of it. And Evangel couldn't deny this struggle had a certain structure to it compared to the cold, isolated rage of murder alone in which she'd arrived on Malachor. It didn't feel like being punched in the head over and over again, but in being pulled at from two different directions. But how to make sure neither side won?

It wasn't until Darth Virelia said 'kneel here' that the Mandalorian pushed herself up to do just that. Just because it hadn't been a deliberate command didn't mean she couldn't take it as one. Even the side of herself consumed with adoration jumped at the chance to get closer again. It was frantic at no longer being pressed up against the figure that command it. Evangel hated that simpering aspect of her psyche.

At least Virelia would never need to worry about Evangel lacking for hatred and anger. Though the Sith Spawn nature had made certain of that a more meaningful, directed source would provide a great deal of power.

LEASH M--

Evangel knelt perfectly still, hand on her knee, as Virelia stood behind her with her constant effects to emotionally dominate her new servant. She wasn't wrong, but the madness had merely... adapted to her efforts. It was not as distracting as before, but it was far too... malleable. Not that the Dark Lady would find that undesireable. Evangel, however, would not turn into a drooling puppet pawing at her feet! So, Evangel stamped down on the slavering self.

It stilled under Evangel's heel as Variela came back into view.

Admittedly, despite the zeal of the subservient self, Evangel didn't find what Darth Virelia had to say... unpleasant. It was very Sith or Dark Lady of her to say. Entirely normal. She already knew generally what to expect. The Dark Lady was probably mostly saying it for her own benefit. Because she enjoyed it. Because Evangel wasn't trying to interrupt and deny her the pleasure of being the one in command. Only, she was in command, so there was nothing to object to.

At her explicit command, this time, Evangel rose to her full height again. "Mistress, I await your commands." Equally needless for her to say, but her Mistress would want to hear it all the same. Of course, she awaited commands -- with bated breath even. But what else was there to say? Plenty, but no leave had been given to say it, and Virelia might have plans for her new servant.

Meanwhile, the hunter within watched. Studied. Evangel and Virelia were right, there was structure and form now to the madness. Instead of a crazed, frantic desire to butcher it patiently bided its time for the prey to let down its guard.

Darth Virelia​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Blast from the past."

Tags - Evangel

Virelia watched her rise, violet eyes gleaming like gems pulled from a furnace. The Mandalorian obeyed without hesitation now, and that obedience sang to her—sweeter than any hymn, more intoxicating than any drug. She let the silence stretch, savoring the sight of Evangel kneeling, then standing again at her word. The balance between storm and leash was fragile, trembling, but hers to command.

Her claws slid back into their housings with a slow, deliberate hiss, though her hands flexed as if aching for more. She paced before Evangel, every sway of her hips a calculated obscenity, every movement dripping with possession. "Good," she purred, her voice velvet soaked in venom. "You kneel when I whisper, you rise when I demand. You are beginning to understand what it means to be mine."

She stopped, mask tilted, eyes drinking in the faceless helm. "But obedience alone is not enough. Any fool with a chain can drag a hound. I want more. I want a weapon that kills when I say, and only when I say. A shadow that walks where I cannot, a tongue that whispers my will into ears that would never hear me otherwise."

Her hand rose, fingers gliding along Evangel's helm as though it were her cheek, lewd in its gentleness. "You will be that shadow, Evangel. My agent within the Mandalorian Empire. They will see a mercenary, a warrior, a sister of iron. They will not see me. You will serve there, watching, listening, bleeding when I command it. Every contract, every alliance, every enemy—you will weigh them, and you will carry my word back to me. Do you understand? You will wear their colors, but your soul belongs to me."

Her voice thickened, darker, hungrier. She stepped closer, claws brushing the Mandalorian's side as if claiming the body beneath the armor. "And more than that… I will forge a guard. A personal guard. Mandalorian women, each handpicked, each trained to serve not only as warriors but as ornaments of my will. They will be my shield, my teeth, my adornment in battle. And you—" her tone dropped into a husky growl "—you will be their captain. Their mistress beneath me, ensuring their loyalty never strays, their blades never dull."

She circled Evangel, every step predatory, every glance licentious. "You will command them in my name. You will mold them into a reflection of yourself: disciplined, ravenous, obedient. And when they look at you, they will see not only their leader, but the proof that surrender to me brings purpose."

Virelia stopped behind Evangel, her voice a whisper at the Mandalorian's ear, hot and obscene. "You will be the first of them, the example. The pet who became captain. The beast who found a leash worth loving. The others will follow because you will show them how." Her hand slid down along Evangel's arm, claws scraping softly against the beskar gauntlet. "Serve me, and I will give you prey enough to drown your hunger. I will give you sisters to command, a throne to kneel before, and a purpose so sharp it will bleed you every day you live."

Her laughter came low, vulgar in its promise. "Disobey me… and I will tear you apart piece by piece, and then rebuild you into something worse than obedient. You will not like what I make of you then."

She stepped back into Evangel's line of sight, head tilting with wicked elegance. "So, Evangel—my pet, my blade, my storm—do you accept these gifts? Will you serve me in shadow, and lead my guard in my name?"

Her eyes burned brighter, daring, demanding. "Or will you crawl back into the emptiness you came from?"