Private Razor's Edge

[Yula Perl]

Busted, she supposed.

Yula collapsed onto the bed, her body hitting the mattress in an unceremonious heap. She didn’t care what it looked like—a Zeltron throwing herself onto a bed in a cramped room with a man standing there—she was exhausted. Her muscles seemed to agree, practically screaming at her to stay down and rest as she propped herself up on her elbows, wearing a tired smile of defeat on her split lips.

“Alright, you got me. I’m really an intergalactic drug lord.”

She tried to pick at her nails for a moment, a habit of thought, and cringed. “I used to be a Judge in the Outer Rim Coalition, before things went kaput over there. So I moved to Denon. Figured I could be more use coreward.” Yula shrugged, having skipped over quite a few details. They weren’t important, she figured.

Despite the protest of her fatigued body, she found the energy to cover the few steps it took to get to the desk. Gingerly picking up a tangle of wires and plastoid that used to be an in-ear comm, she sighed. “Figured you wouldn’t be surprised by a Perl being trained in the Force, we all seem to be born with it. Ma used to be a Jedi Master with the Silvers, or something. And my sisters…” She trailed, fiddling with the wires. “You know em? Or my ma?”

It wouldn’t be unheard of for one of their names to have drifted into his life, she figured. From the Jedi or her mother’s business ventures.

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

He found his spot on a small armchair that seemed so old it had basically camouflaged with the walls. Dagon wasn't sure if it was even visible to the naked eye or it was the Force guiding him but crashing down on it brought both a surge of pain and a surge of relief. The aches were drowning into the ancient chair, siphoned by the barely soft pillow on his back. It nearly dragged him away from her backstory, nearly because she asked a question.

A question that made him jump.

"Or my ma?”

"No!.. I mean yes, no!" he fumbled bad but his wit came to him with a save, "Sorry, I'm just tired and my head's not working." the Jedi rubbed his eyes. tiredly. Acting 101, terrible performance. "Yeah, uh, I've heard stuff. Never met any of 'em, least I don't think I have." Dagon rubbed his chin in thought. The Perls were famous. No. Notorious. But there was something beyond that notoriety that struck a threatening chord in his heart, a chord that rang fear.

The mother of the girl that sat in front of him fiddling with some wiring was the woman that had murdered his father. Dagon couldn't help but feel also a hateful sting inside; it was either his or his father's severely tempered presence. Yet, it was his father that had corrupted Aeric, his father that had turned his brother into a tool for his own vengeance against the woman and her ilk, his father that had kept his mind restless and his spirit wavering, trying relentlessly to drag Dagon into the dark side.

Haytham deserved no absolution.

His fall was beyond reach.

"Y'know, we always need more Jedi in our ranks." ah, yes, what better strategy to shift the unsettling topic than knee-jerk recruitment. But the proposition incoming boiled also from a different place. He could sense a lingering sadness in her presence, aided by her natural empathetic link and Dagon discerned it as a problem to be solved, a person to be helped.

His extremely unhealthy addiction to always trying to help, protect and save kicked in. Almost as if it was a coping mechanism for his own mistakes and his own failures in trying to help himself and solve his own problems.

The lopsided smirk returned with full force, "I could use someone to keep me off honeypots...or STDs."

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Yula shot Dagon a bemused look as a bumbled around the topic of her family. Either the Perl name meant something to him, or the fatigue was setting in. Could be either or, and Yula wasn’t interested in teasing it out of him right now.

There was something in his tone though, a vague thoughtfulness with his answers that gnawed at a chord. He was anxious. From the earlier fight? Nervous around Zeltrons?

“Heard stuff, huh.” She snorted, pushing her way off the desk and pacing into the bathroom. “Y’know, I was afraid you were gonna say that you’ve slept with my mom. Or one of my sisters.” She called to him while crouching down carefully to reach a cabinet.

He’d be kicked to the curbin that case.

She returned with a medpack, stiffening when he mentioned the Jedi.

“Been there, done that.” She exhaled, trying to keep any ire out of her tone. She’d tried to be a Jedi before, with the Silvers, and had failed. No one had ever said that the path of a Jedi was easy, but for Yula it had been like forcing a river to flow in the opposite direction. Her very nature did not lend itself well to the Jedi lifestyle, and she’d been too late to save her sisters from slipping into the darker parts of the galaxy.

The thought hurt her heart, and she inhaled sharply while rifling through the kit. A plunger of bacta in one hand, she searched for a needle before waving off his proposal as if it were simply an offer to have dinner, rather than a reminder of her failure to her family.

“Wasn’t exactly my style, y’know? Besides, I’m not the best person to stop you from making bad decisions.” Yula arched both brows, fitting the needle onto the syringe. He'd have to be the one to do it, given her borked hands.

“You messed up your ribs, right?”

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

“Heard stuff, huh. Y’know, I was afraid you were gonna say that you’ve slept with my mom. Or one of my sisters.”

Dagon cringed intensely at the thought; that was nowhere near the truth, it was so far from it that he wanted to bust his head into the wall and delete the image that popped in his head. Although her sisters-- he knew Kyra, well vaguely - he'd seen her once at the Jakku Enclave punching Ryv in the nose. Hot but crazy. That seemed a pattern with all the Zeltrons he'd ever met. Yula included. Although...there was something different about her. He could see it, feel it even, on her face and in her tone as he brought up the topic of Jedi; it reminded him of himself. That somber undertone in her voice, that slump of her eyes - failures, mistakes, regrets. That same trinity he bore as a cross.

"The way of the Jedi isn't really paved with triumph and perfection." he said, addressing himself more than anything else. "It's been more of an uphill dirt road. A constant struggle to be better."

She fiddled with kit, settled the needle into the syringe, and asked a question. Dagon wasn't really much of a field med specialist, not at all; the little he had learned was from the one that could mend any wound. Physical and mental. The fleeting memory of Ayana barely contorted the features on his face, a small shadow procuring its way over his face.

He needed to run. To flee.

To escape.

He took the syringe and set it away, then caught her hands softly and looked deep into her green eyes, "I'll be fine but you left her hands on that honeypot." the smirk curved his lips before it disappeared, replaced by a sharp gleam of concentration, "Not the best at it but it will do." the Force whirled around his own hands, Auteme's few lessons of Force healing surging in his mind as he channeled the ethereal to treat the damage.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

“Maybe that’s my problem,” Yula murmured her inner monologue out loud. Maybe, deep down, I don’t want to better. Or she couldn’t.

She followed his hand as he took the syringe, then set it aside. His hands held her own, and the sincerity and kindness of his gaze made her uncomfortable. Zeltrons were very touch driven, even platonically, and Yula was no exception. Dagon’s genuine nature towards a stranger was something foreign to her. Soft, but not weak. Nida had taught her that.

“Huh. Maybe you’re the honeypot.”

She didn’t move away. Behind her genial nature was always a layer of wariness, but Yula was curious about Dagon. Vestiges of deception hung in their conversation, but not malice. He was hiding something, and that realization was only mildly interrupted by the cooling sensation that spread across, then through her hands. Her cuts began to scab over, and tingling numbness at the tips started to fade away. Yula hummed, flexing her digits carefully. They ached, but she could move them.

"Thanks, Dag."

Still, they shook. Nausea was beginning to set in, and the pounding of her head felt more prominent.

“Can’t really blame you, though.” Yula inched her way back to the bed, cautious not to upset her agitated stomach. “I’ve ended up tied to a chair in a warehouse by a gang member more than once.” She flashed him a cheezy grin, half-hearted as she tucked her hands to her sides, shuddering through the sweat that collected at her brow.

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

“Huh. Maybe you’re the honeypot.”

"Thanks, Dag."

Happy to help.

Dagon replied only with an honest smile and only when Yula moved back to the bed did he turn his attention back to himself. The shirt went off and he welcomed the coolness of the room brushing against his chest. He took the syringe but halted midway before injection, observing his scarred torso. Far too many for someone his age but that was the lowest cost of war. From lightsaber marks to blunt trauma, he had 'collected' plenty; some more recent than others. One horizontal slash across his chest always seemed to attract his eyes the most - a cut by his brother's blade during their fateful reunion on Ziost.

"Heh, guess it's some sort of tradition with gangers." he snorted just as he squinted from the injection of bacta. The rush of vitality hit him a few moments later and his back slumped against the armchair, nestling into it. "Say--" Dagon stared at the ceiling, chemical-induced delirium faintly veiling his senses, "--what'd you mean when you said it wasn't your style? Pulling me out of that mess, when you could've left me there, was very Jedi."

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

Yula made no effort to respectfully shun her gaze away as Dagon disrobed from the torso up. He was attractive and right in front of her, so of course she looked.

Her eyes lingered on the needle, held still by Dagon. His taut muscles were a canvas for a myriad of scars, each patch of scarified flesh marred by slightly different methods. In no words, it was evident to see that he’d been through a lot. She counted at least half a dozen before he spoke again. Her eyes, reddened from fatigue, softened.

How he maintained a kind demeanor, she did not know.

“I mean-“ Yula stopped short, hemming and hawing over how exactly to answer his question without spilling her heart onto the floor. “Helping someone isn’t exclusively a Jedi trait, right? You don’t need to be a Jedi to pull someone out of a mess.” She shrugged, looking at the ground as if the answers would be there.

“I ran with the Silvers for a bit, you know. Made some good friends, but I didn’t agree with some of the decisions the top brass made. That, and—”

A sudden wave of nausea hit her and she heaved, holding her crumpled body in place before gingerly lowering herself onto her side. There was nothing in her stomach but bile, anyhow. Just had to wait it out.

“—I don’t think the Jedi welcome criminals. Or spice addicts.”

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

Dagon couldn't see but he could definitely feel her eyes lingering over his torso. Unapologetic gaze. Every. Fethin. Time. Once upon a time, when he was younger and far...purer, he had believed the long-lasting looks people threw him on the street were due to his clear affiliation with the Jedi. Lightsaber, leather jacket, the classic. But then the looks never stopped even when he wore plain clothes. And then he was less pure than before.

“—I don’t think the Jedi welcome criminals. Or spice addicts.”

What small, cheeky smirk had settled on his face vanished immediately. The revelation sounded heavy; something she wouldn't usually divulge to anyone. If she expected any form of judgement, none came her way. As he had said earlier, the way of the Jedi was a constant strive to be better. If anything - the news only stoked the zeal, the need, to help her even more. Exponentially.

"We've all got our flaws, Yula. There's no perfect Jedi, that's the truth, even if that is what we need to present to the people - to be the sigil of hope and faith." he explained, "but sometimes the truth isn't good enough. Sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded."

Dagon lazily cocked his head towards Yula but before he could utter another response, he saw the minor convulsions in her form - she wasn't feeling well. Hadn't she taken a shot of bacta while in the bathroom first? The Jedi staggered up on his feet, struggling to clear the bacta's haze from his vision, and crouched down on her level.

"You're pale as a blanket." he frowned as he brushed a lock of her raven hair away to lay his palm on her forehead. Blazing heat and heavy sweat. Fever? "Didn't you take a shot of bacta, too?" he didn't pull his hand back but instead channeled faintly what little Force he could muster to alleviate her situation. Concern rising in his blue eyes as they lingered over her. "Were you-- are you...high?"

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

The moment his palm pressed to her forehead, Yula felt a surge of warmth seep into her skin. Physical contact amplified her natural empathy, and she was mildly horrified to discover that his concern was genuine. It would have been much easier, she imagined, if he wanted something from her. The identity of a Shadowrunner, the location of a cartel, even sex—she could have coped with all of that, because it made sense.

“No,” She croaked, absently clutching the jacket tighter around her. “I’m not high right now.” It would have been easier if she was. Yula’s eyes fell closed for a brief moment and she allowed herself to lean into the warmth. The tender gesture reminded her of her mother, the way Joza used to stroke her hair when she was feeling unwell. Right now, Yula did not believe that she deserved compassion.

“I’m in withdrawal.”

When her eyes opened, they were sharp as knives. As good as it felt to be comforted, her pride wouldn’t allow for someone—this stranger—to pity her, as pure as his intentions may be. She shooed his hand away. This was the third time she’d faced the symptoms of spice withdrawal, and it hadn’t gotten easier. With the way she was going, she was certain that there’d be a fourth. And a fifth, and so on.

“Just—worry about yourself, Dag. I’ve been down this road before.” She spoke haltingly, strained from her injuries and general discomfort. “You took a beating back there. Seems like you take ‘em a lot.” Yula glanced to his chest, her gaze lacking the admiration it held earlier. “Keep going that way, and one of these days a shot of bacta and some rest won’t be enough.”

Oh, vulnerability made her hostile.

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

Healing was definitely not Dagon's forte. Add on top the exhaustion, the pain, and Yula's withdrawal symptoms, and he was already way over his head. Did that stop him? Quite the opposite. Yet, before he could throw himself into the currents of the Force, despite all the consequences that could follow, Yula shooed his hand off her forehead. Her sudden attitude shift - the seeping of hostility in her voice - surprised him but Dagon didn't show it. Maybe out of fatigue, rather than some incredible form of stoicism - he wasn't quite good at that; ironically, given his mentor being Asmundr Varobalder , stoicism personified.

He set his hand down on the edge of the bed and let the silence hang as he followed her gaze and words down to his scarred chest. They were as sharp as the daggers in her eyes, as sharp as the blades that had delivered those same scars. The truth always stung. It pierced through any layer of determination. Stubborn defiance came to meet it head-on.

It wasn't the first time he'd heard those remarks.

Won't be the last.

"But it'll be worth it." he retorted coarsely. His path had been set and it didn't matter where it finished - only what he left behind.

"Can you say the same, Yula?" there was no venom and no judgement in his tone.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

A full minute passed as Dagon’s words—few as they were—bounced around in her skull, pulsing to the beat of her migraine. Yula wasn’t particularly fond of who she’d become as a person, but she hadn’t expected Dagon to challenge her.

"But it'll be worth it."

“How,” She muttered lowly, and in the silence of the room her voice seemed to carry. “Can you be sure?”

Yula groaned and squinted her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to settle her aching head. “ 'm sorry.” She mumbled with her eyes scrunched closed, hating that she actually missed the soothing hand on her forehead. “Shouldn’t have come at you like that when you were just being nice.”

Compassion was rare enough in the galaxy as it was, and normally Yula would have used humor to deflect an uncomfortable situation if she wasn’t feeling like the junk they scrape out of a garbage compactor. Or maybe she would have come at him with more venom instead. Moving with slow, careful purpose, she managed to shimmy her back against the headboard so that she was sitting up.

“Dag, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you, or what you been through.” She gestured with a tilt of her chin to his chest. “But I gotta ask—what are you hoping scars like that’ll be worth in the end? What’s it all for?”

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

The Jedi allowed the silence to reign supreme for a long minute, both deep in their own thoughts and tribulations. Sometimes silence was the best tool to clear minds, something he had learned from his master and surprisingly applied in the situation. And it worked; her cold features softened with a groan, the layer of hostility stripped by the resurfacing pain. Dagon almost reached with his hand again but resisted. He wanted to help, not to push.

“How, can you be sure?”

"Someone has to be." undertones of zeal snuck into his muffled voice.

Her apology sounded earnest. Earnest enough that he could finally get a peek through the dozens of facades that hid her true self. Or so he believed. He had to believe. He had to believe that she wasn't too far gone in the spiral of vices and accompanying regret and sorrow. A tide that he, himself, battled every day to prevent himself from drowning. Swimming against the current with only willpower keeping him afloat.

He wanted to give her that same will.

To reach for her.

Even if he wasn't completely sure whether it was motivated by the noble cause of the Jedi or his selfish need to fill a chasm, a loss.

“Dag, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you, or what you been through.” She gestured with a tilt of her chin to his chest. “But I gotta ask—what are you hoping scars like that’ll be worth in the end? What’s it all for?”

Dagon stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, instinctively tucking the jacket around her, before he replied with a brief glance at his chest, "So others won’t have them." it would've sounded cheesy had it not been delivered with a large dose of sorrow and...hope. No more brothers should suffer the same fate.

He paused for a moment, hesitant on what to say next.

Not yet.

“Try to get a few winks, yeah?” Dagon stood up reluctantly from the bed, still left wanting to heal her more, but some wounds...they needed time. “I’m a light sleeper - if you need anything let me know.”

He was, most definitely, not getting any sleep tonight.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

It was as cliché as you could get. Mister Save-the-Galaxy was throwing himself at every dagger, every bullet so that someone else wouldn’t have to. The worst part about it was the lack of bravado. The genuine belief that this was his path, to be the sacrificial lamb laid at the doorstep of the galaxy’s scum and villainy. Yula couldn’t even bring herself to sneer at the implied idealism, not with the weight of the circles around his eyes.

“Alright, alright. Put your shirt back on.”

Her brows arched as he tucked the jacket into her shivering form. It was becoming apparent that Dagon was the type who cared recklessly, without abandon.

“You of remind me of my ma, kinda.” Murmuring, she settled into a more comfortable position in the bed, turning precariously onto her side and drawing her knees closer to her chest. She paused, craning her head in the direction of the male model.

“I’m not some pity project for your savior complex, by the way.” Her eyes, suddenly lucid, bore into his. For all her prior snark, Yula’s tone this time was honest and informational. “I ‘aint your problem to fix, Dag. Remember that.”

With that, her head dropped back into the pillow, and she was out.

---

The morning sun filtered almost harshly through the single small window in the crammed loft. Yula awoke when they streamed across her face, disturbing her sleep and rousing her awake. Hazy at first, she simply laid there until the events of the previous night trickled back to her.

She noticed the jacket first, large and roomy and obviously not hers. A sting of panic hit her for a moment, until she realized that she was still fully clothed. And covered in bruises, dried blood, and dirt—the latter two making an appearance on the jacket.

“…need to wash this.” She mumbled in mild irritation, sitting up slowly.

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

“Alright, alright. Put your shirt back on. You of remind me of my ma, kinda.”

Dagon exhaled a weary snort at the remark before picking up his shirt and putting it on. Her way of breaking the ice was amusing, a special talent in a way. He almost inaudibly murmured a reply, "Never heard that one before." but i'll take it. The circles beneath his eyes, the subsiding pain and the growing fatigue all pushed down the intricacies of her mother and his father's past from resurfacing.

The Jedi already had plenty on his plate.

He crashed on the armchair and put his feet up on the stool. It would do the trick for tonight. He'd slept at worse place and at worse times. Nothing's as bad as a trench under the deadly racket of artillery shelling. A fourth-hand arm chair from a bygone era and a Zeltron chick on a few feet away - not a bad day, all things considered. Silver linings. The thought procured a barely visible smile on his face.

“I’m not some pity project for your savior complex, by the way. I ‘aint your problem to fix, Dag. Remember that.”

His eyes were already half-shut, on his inevitable journey to sleep, when one last thought crossed his mind.

Too late, Perl, too late...

**

Dagon had been up with the first rays of light. What was that - a three, four hour sleep? Something like that. Five, if he was aiming for a placebo effect to shove off the weariness. Couldn't do anything about the aches, not even the half-ice, half-steam quick shower alleviated that. Just gave him a fake sensation of freshness. Enough to put him back in his clothes and start up two cups of coffee from that ancient caf machine on the desk by the time Yula murmured her way out of sleep. He'd found only one painkiller after rummaging a lone cupboard and he'd left it beside her cup.

"It's seen far worse, trust me." he smirked as he leaned back on the desk and took a sip of the caf. "How you feeling?"

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

“Oh, y’know.” She yawned, even that hurt. “Not bad.”

The morning after always felt worse. The adrenaline designed to keep you from going into shock had worn off, and the hard bed did nothing to help the stiffness of her muscles. Yula shifted and stretched, pleased to not be overcome with a wave of nausea. The smell of caf permeating the small room, and the sight of Dag sipping it didn’t turn her stomach either.

Letting her limbs fall back by her sides after a stretch, she fixed him with a dull smile. “What are you still doing here? The guy is supposed to be gone by morning, you know.” Ha ha. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the Jedi decided to take his leave just before dawn and skip down before the authorities could catch up, but it was just as well laying low for a bit longer.

“Hope you got some rest, at least. Sorry about hogging the bed.” It wasn’t much more comfortable than the chair, but at least you could lay down and rest your head on a rock hard pillow. Pushing from the spartan mattress, she hobbled her way past him and into the bathroom.

One shower later, she returned looking mildly more awake. Being able to scrub off the grime and blood of last night’s affair had helped to perk up her mood, at least.

“You’ll be heading back to Coruscant then, right?” Her eyes lingered on the oblong red and white pill next to her cup, recognizing its purpose only when she lifted her eyes to Dagon. “Once the heat dies down.” Tossing the capsule into her mouth, she swallowed it quickly with a large gulp of caf. Bitter caf made from low-grade grounds that had been filtered through the cheapest machine credits could buy, but it was caf all the same. At least her tone was more conversational, given that she wasn't trying to shoo him away as she had last night.

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

He scoffed, "To be fair, that armchair's far comfier than it looks." His eyes drifted away at the window as Yula dragged herself to the shower and it suddenly hit him. Hol' up-. This was the second time or rather the second girl, he'd not disappeared on by morning. What am I doing exactly? The question bothered him only for a moment before he turned his mind blank. Rather not think over it much. Right? Really Jedi-esque.

Dagon was halfway through the liquid merely labelled as caf but further from its taste than water when she came out looking fresher. A bit fresher. And less hostile. Ah, the night. The night had a way of letting all demons crawl out until the first rays of light sent them scurrying back inside as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah, today, actually. Heat or not, I gotta go back. Which reminds me - thanks for having me stay the night. Getting me out of that mess was already enough." Dag nodded, paused for a couple of seconds, then surprised himself out of nowhere, "I want you to come with me."

He quickly added, "--whenever you're done with whatever got you here, that is."

No, really, what am I doing??

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

“It’s all good. Glad we didn’t let that schutta win.” And removed tainted drugs from circulating through Denon’s underworld, but that didn’t need to be said. It hadn’t been a boring night, at least.

"I want you to come with me."

"--whenever you're done with whatever got you here, that is."

Her grin dulled a bit, its spark fizzling from her eyes. “I’m not sure when, or if I’ll be done on Denon.” Shrugging the thought down, Yula didn’t want to take a deep dive into what he’d left unsaid.

So you can wrestle the needle from my hand because it makes you sad?

“I’ll tell you what, though.” The liquid in the cup swished back and forth in her hand with idle motions, and Yula was grateful for the return of her dexterity now that the trembling in her fingers had stopped. “The next time you get yourself into trouble, give me a call and I’ll come rescue you.”

The cheesy grin was out in full force. He may have been a well-intentioned meddler, but he was charming and easy on the eyes. Yula got the sense that Dagon was the reliable sort of friend, which was a good contact to have when you worked in the seedy underbelly of a city.

She stuck out her hand. “Deal?"

Dagon Kaze

 

[Dagon Kaze]

Dagon chortled lightly at her 'offer', set his near-empty mug on the desk, and shook her hand, "Deal." he tightened his grasp, inadvertently hinting care, before releasing it and heading for the door. "I'll see you around, Yula."

The Jedi halted briefly on the threshold and turned his head back, eyes serious but also tender, "You take care of yourself, alright?" the implication behind his words was clear - that damn spice addiction. With a curt nod, he closed the door behind him and left the safehouse. One more problem to solve.

One more reason to evade his own.

ok i the_end

Yula Perl