Ripped Seams

[Auswyn Nothrael]

[Occurs between Hunting Sirens and One Big Dysfunctional Family...]​

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LOCATION​

Nar Shaddaa​

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Nar Shaddaa - Always good for an easy target. Last time I was here, I ended up helping some Zeltron get a fethton of spice off his back. Maybe a little bloodletting makes me altruistic sometimes? Ha ha ha ha... anyway, one thing led to another, and he invited me to visit his little bar on Zeltros, where I met this lovely fellow, whom I allowed the pleasure of poking and prodding me, and... here I am on Nar Shaddaa again. I wonder where the blood will lead me this time...

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1. Giton's Bar

A pretty, soft-looking girl walking into the premier watering hole of the worst scum of the criminal underworld is either one of two things - ballsy, or stupid. The girl? She was betting mostly on the latter.

The girl, a brunette, slid her snugly-clothed rear onto a stool, quite clearly eyeing up a nastily scarred man to her right. Of course, it was hard not to look when someone had a face like that, but the way she was looking at him said she wasn't doing so because of his face, a fact that became apparent when her grey eyes travelled salaciously down his brute, seated form as she finished settling onto the stool. The greys then moved back up to his face pulling an inviting smile along with them, before slipping over to the drink in his hand and coming to rest on their final destination of the moment: the bartender, some five feet away. She planted her heel-clad feet on the bottom ring of the stool and lifted herself up to lean over the bar, the deep vee of her shirt under the unzipped, waist-length leather jacket leaving little to the imagination as she waited for his attention to fall on her. The moment it did...

"I'll have..." she oozed, tipping her head in indication to the right, "...what he is having."

...the game really did begin.

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2. Some Backalley

This was easy. Too easy. A few drinks, and he came along without suspicion. This alley is filth, large, strong hands planted on either side of her as the scarred face snorts and snarfs into her bosom, porcine, hungering. Her own disgust is well-buried under the overwhelming desire and purpose that was the answer to why here, why now, letting him become lulled into the security of whatever made him so easily come along - sense being utterly unable to overrule instinct was largely the case. A junkie walks by, the only notice is his, and hers, scarface so consumed by the greed of his flesh. Her stomach twists, put down to the effect of imbibing on an empty stomach, and it rushes to her head. Eyes lock, and the opportunistic voyeur panics, slipping away around the nearest corner. What did he see, she wonders? A thought she is distracted from by a moment's blurring of her vision, and her insides bearing down even harder. She moans, gritting her teeth. This cannot stop now, simply for a disagreement of her body. It must be seen through.

Scar pulls away from the trough and looks up into her face, rises up and crushes into her face with his own, so roughly, catching a lip, pulling, drawing blood, and when his face pulls away, there is wrong. Writhing, worming mutilation flashes for a moment on his visage, and the ends of her fingers dig into the duracrete at her back, quelling panic at the sight while his attention is drawn away for a moment, as he fiddles with his ceinture.

No... that... no. What have you done you fool.

A distorted monstrous voice warbles in her ears - KILLLLLLL. DEVOURRRR. - and her hands ball into fists.

Not yet. Too soon. Must... have...

KILLLLLLLL. DEVOURRRRRRR. NOWWWWWW.

Her hands creak open, the world before her eyes beginning to twist in intervals with the voice, an alarming frequency, driving her hands to the daggers. Scar looks to her again, his face filled with purpose and knowing...

...and the back of his skull, full of a deeply-sheathed knife. Then the left of his broad, meaty neck, too. He stares, mouth opening and shutting, as the neck is jaggedly worked through. He convulses, panic sets into her, and in one swift motion in the onset of this realized, unknowingly drugged instability, she shoves him, wrenches him around, and sends him as a falling tree to the ground, face first. The world is crushing in on her, churning like a vile orgy of the supposed now, the was, the will be as she retrieves her knives, and bolts down the alley and around the corner while it all overtakes her.

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3. Dark Unions

Shivering, wild and wide-eyed. Blood-caked, choking back the screams. Damp and dark, filth and filth and filthfilthfilthfilth.

Apparitions dance and torment her senses.

A shadow looms over.

Words, the shadow says.

A dagger responds, as she lunges, an animal, an instinct.

Growl, scream, instinct.

KILLLLLLL. DEVOURRRRR. NOWWWWWWW.

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[member="Cat Van-Derveld"]​

 

[Cat Van-Derveld]

1. Devourer's Herald, orbiting Nar Shaddaa

Cat Van-Derveld stood staring out of the viewport at the noxious little moon that he had been born upon. Something had brought him back to this place, something hidden among the filth and bright neon lights that provided such a contradiction. He knew that they would not be able to stay long before attracting the attention of the Syndicate, something he could do without. Time was of the essence, so he quickly dressed in his black leather armor and equipped himself with his knife and lightsaber before boarding one of the Heralds gunships. A fighter would have no doubt been faster, but he sensed he would not be returning from this trip empty handed.

"Sir, we've got a few small contacts heading toward us."

The voice of the Captain of the Herald rattled out of the gunship's comm, causing Cat to curse loudly.

"Raise shields but do not engage unless fired upon. Have the crew at battle stations in case things turn sour. Pray to Erebos for his blessing in the carnage that will follow. I will rejoin you shortly."

"Yes, sir!"

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2. The Alley

Cat stood with a look of disgust on his face as he observed the corpse that had been left to rot in the dark. Filth becomes filth, he mused, examining his surroundings. Finding a small canister of something that smelt akin to oil, he poured it over the body of the scarred man before using his saber to ignite the blaze. In what had been shadows moments earlier, Cat witnessed the trembling form of a junkie, one who reeked of fear, among other, more fetid things.

"Come here..." the Sith said quietly, reaching into the lowlifes mind and compelling him to do so, "Tell me what you saw..."

And so the story was told, the panicked voice of the teller interspersed with sobs. After indicating the direction in which the young woman had fled, the sobs of the junkie were cut short by the hum of a lightsaber.

"Interesting..." Cat whispered, smiling darkly beneath the shadow of his hood, stalking down the alley to seek out this mysterious young murderer.

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3. Dark Unions

It didn't take long for him to find the girl, bloodstained to the extent that the Aesir Ithari would no doubt be smiling down on her. In truth he had felt her presence before he had laid eyes upon her shuddering form. He stood over her, inspecting her slender frame and wild eyes that couldn't seem to be able to focus on him. It almost felt like that she was looking straight through him, until the dagger in her hand flashed toward him. With blinding speed, he grabbed the blade with his bare hand, feeling it cut deep into his flesh before he wrested it from her feeble grip, lowering his hood and crouching before her, smiling.

"I am not here to hurt you, my dear..."

He held the dripping blade out to its owner, feeling her turbulent emotions wash over him through the Force. She was strong in the Force, albeit raw and untrained. So this is why he had been brought home after all this time. It was her that the Gods had guided him through darkness and blood to find.

"The Will of the Aesir is done..." He whispered, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around her.

He could feel the confusion and fear rolling off of her, something that puzzled him. Coupled with the physical signs, he concluded that she had either had a psychotic episode or had been drugged. Neither would have surprised him, given the brutality with which she had dispatched her victim.

"Look at me, child. Focus on my voice..." The Sith said softly, his words gently making their way into her mind, "Can you hear me?"

 

[Auswyn Nothrael]

She breathes heavy, in shudders, the moaning slipping out of her lips at the stopping of her blade switching erratically to a growl. She sucks in air through her nostrils, the heady, coppered scent of fresh blood teasing her sense of smell, tying in with the voice that came from the lips on the face that now revealed itself. A thing, it seemed, that she might focus on.

"I am not here to hurt you, my dear..."

And the blade wrested from her presently weak grasp was turned back her way, in offering. Shaking, she looks at the weapon as if she doesn't know what this means, the same hand that it was taken from tentatively reaching for it, but stopping, her eyes darting back up to his face, as if to look for something - but it would appear she isn't quite certain what that something might be, except...

"The Will of the Aesir is done..."

...except those words, the flavour of them seeping into her ears, the cloak put around her as she wraps her hand around the grip, and slowly curls it dagger back in close to her body, eyes returning to an apparent lack of focus, the things before them not anything that was real, or tangible... yet fading, at the strange, far-off sound of the voice, from the lips on the face. But what did it mean? Her face still puzzled, and furled, and etched with fear, as she looked, noddingly, this way and that, looking for... for a way out?

"Look at me, child. Focus on my voice..."

There they were again, words, but closer, but within, within, within. The tortures of her mind-state feared this, more than she feared them, and it freed her somehow, to sate her curiosity. She could manage to piece together that the form before her was real, and that this voice was not of her drug-induced imaginings. Slowly, as if scaling a cliff-face, her eyes track up, trying to come to focus as they slide up his face. Tears began to well up, anew, at the fragile clarity as she found the other eyes with hers.

"Can you hear me?"

Her lips creaked open, and a shuddering breath entered, with a cracked noise riding the expelling of air, tears streaking down her dirty and bloody cheeks.

"I... I... I..."

[member="Cat Van-Derveld"]

 

[Cat Van-Derveld]

Cat smiled as he felt her breath upon his face. How long had she stifled it, unable to breathe? He couldn't be sure. His eyes watched the tears mix with the blood and dirt upon her face, washing it clean. A sign of things to come. Through suffering she would gain strength; she would become Sith.

You don't need to speak... just think. Think and make me hear it...

Now seemed like as good an opportunity as any to teach her. Her mind was fragile and whatever had caused these effects had a strong grip on her. She needed to know that she was still in control. The more she fought against it, the worse it would get. He needed to act quickly if he was going to bring her back from the brink.

Concentrate on the fear... focus on it, let it flow. The Force will feed upon it and make you stronger. I will help you.

As he felt the Dark Side's caress, he closed his eyes, lifting his bloody hand to Auswyn's cheek and leaning close so that their forehead's rested against each-other. He let the Force flow through him and, by extension, through her, reaching into her mind as he had with the telepathy, feeling her fear and confusion roll across his mind in waves. His eyes opened, no longer their pale blue, almost grey colour. These eyes that now bored into her own were blacker than the Void itself. No irises or sclera were present, just a black abyss that it would be easy to get lost in. This, of course, was the intention. To see into the Void was to see Erebos himself.

You feel it, don't you? It's always there, lurking in the darkness... embrace that darkness and free your mind from what holds you. You have such power in you just waiting to be unlocked. I will show you the way.

Erebos would look within this girl and judge her. Whether she would emerge triumphant or be devoured, remained to be seen. Cat reached down, wrapping his arm around her frail form and smiling, their eyes never leaving eachother.

Stand, little one... Take your first steps and be reborn into a new darkness...

Perhaps he was pushing her a little too fast. He knew this all too well, but their time was limited. If he didn't get her back to the Herald soon, they could well be stuck on Nar Shaddaa for days. The people who ruled over the Smuggler's Moon wouldn't take kindly to a Moross warship hanging over them for too long. Regardless of how fast he was pushing her, he knew she could take it. The Aesir would not have brought them together for nothing. In his heart he knew. He had faith and now, she needed it too. With all his strength he willed her to stand, he willed her to survive and take her true place in the Galaxy; to rise above the filth they found themselves surrounded in and ascend to heights greater than they had ever dreamed of.

[member="Auswyn Nothrael"]

 

[Auswyn Nothrael]

You don't need to speak... just think. Think and make me hear it...

Her eyes were wide, comprehension becoming larger, more real, but the ravages of the drug still danced, harassed, tore at the edges of her vision. She was scared, unique of all other instances - she did not get scared, but this was not an usual occurrence for her. Nothing happened that she did not allow to happen. This... whatever it was that put her in this state where she could barely grasp reality was not sanctioned, not permitted. Were she completely aware, she would be furious. Fear, panic, tried to reign here, in these moments, however.

I.. I.. can... hear.. y-you...

That voice in her mind - his - drove back the demons of the drug in its own way, or rather, it commanded her attention, focusing it to a particular point, focusing it on him and his voice, his shared, directed thoughts. But still, still she shivered, still the screams assailed her ears, still her heart pounded in her chest. Abject fear was etched hard into her face and would not be so easily wiped away. The demons clamoured for her attention, her fragile focus, seeming stronger in their attempts to unseat her little progress, the more she tried to ignore them, the more she pleaded in small whimpers with her physical voice, while her mind scrabbled hard to give heed to this man before her.

Concentrate on the fear... focus on it, let it flow. The Force will feed upon it and make you stronger. I will help you.

The fear? Concentrate on it? Oh, but the touch, the pull of his presence against the induced demons was stronger with this simple gesture, and it allowed her the respite of some relief from that which brought harm to her psyche. She couldn't help pressing her face into that palm, and something approximating a sigh in her frantic state escaped her, but her eyes remained fully engaged with his, yet the colour was no longer the same. It was something that any normal individual would be set into a panic over, those black, black eyes, but she couldn't and wouldn't look away. She was more afraid of what would happen if she did.

You feel it, don't you? It's always there, lurking in the darkness... embrace that darkness and free your mind from what holds you. You have such power in you just waiting to be unlocked. I will show you the way.

She felt the flow of the Force in her, an extra helping in addition to her own raw and largely untrained power. The fear she felt was strong, cripplingly so, and to touch it, embrace it, and let the darkness pour through her in perversely purifying waves was something she wasn't sure she could do. Or was it? There was something about that darkness that seemed incredibly familiar, almost endemic to her very being and existence, and it was unavoidably attractive. It was strong, and it held her mind in rapt attention, longer than anything had for hours.

A shaking hand lifted, reaching, straining at what it felt it must do against that which assailed her. To reach for a way out, to... that face, so close to hers. Fingertips brushed at the jaw, only to hesitate and recoil at the contact, for but a moment, then overtaking that side of his face. In this, she felt more anchored, more steady than she had in a very long time, and with that, the power began to look like the tool it was, much stronger than she herself was, and she grasped, hard, eyes slipping shut... and after a moment, a sensuos, low moan hissed out of her; the power was so heady, like the feeling, the euphoria granted her after a kill.

Her own eyes opened then, and like locked back on to like, abyssal darkness perverting the sultry grey of her eyes, fear turning over to something more purposeful. The effects of the drug still clawed at her psyche, and fear still clung to her like death, but it felt useful now, and it made her feel safe, along with the strong arm pulled around her still-shivering form....

Stand, little one... Take your first steps and be reborn into a new darkness...

...and she stood with him, more his strength than her own bringing her to her feet. She could do little more than rest her weight on him, hand slipping from his face to curl against his chest, eyes never leaving his. The distorted screams filled her ears and forms pulled at the corners of her vision, but she could somehow - barely - manage to resist the hallucinogenic drug coursing through her veins. Enough to just stand there against him, abyss gazing into abyss, until there was only one thing she felt compelled to do, teeth of hers nipping at that lower lip of his, like it couldn't be avoided or helped.

[member="Cat Van-Derveld"]