Private Silent Spaces and Frantic Faces

[Wonderworker]

The Border of Sith Empire Space

There were some experiences in the galaxy that never truly became more enjoyable with repetition. Having to go into a hospital for multiple bouts of surgery often left one feeling debilitated and weak, and having to travel frequently to speak with one's attorneys did little to alleviate stress or tension. For the Wonderworker, the bane of his existence, the most irritable activity that he might be forced to pursue on so regular a basis involved public transportation.

Of course, he wasn't so bitter as to believe that it should be entirely abolished by any means. It was a service that allowed him to travel between planets and polities where he would otherwise be entirely stranded. Stranded within the previously-held territories of the Agents of Chaos. For all of their members who had boasted about their financial hoard and all of the credits and currencies that they possessed he still knew of many who were stuck upon the Scintilla or other areas of the galaxy -- not well, of course, but he knew of them at least. He'd been grateful for the opportunity to evacuate the sinking ship and had seized upon it, trading his miracles hither and thither for an opportunity to travel or to eat.

His stomach rumbled, bringing his thoughts back to more material matters. He'd never been one for breakfast which had made skipping that particular meal far easier, but stretching out his luncheons to make what meager rations he possessed last had been more difficult than expected. At times he'd considered grasping at the loose pocketbooks of his fellow passengers, attempting to steal away whatever valuables they had foolishly laid out on display, but his fingers were neither nimble enough nor his confidence so great in his talent at thievery. The masked man -- he'd claimed that the piece was of religious significance and been allowed to bring it aboard -- distracted himself with a glance towards his other passengers, towards the elderly couple of agricultural workers whose clothing marked them as members of that unprestigious and ancient profession.

He didn't notice any mess or dirt upon their clothing, except a slight modicum of mud upon their shoes. Farming was probably a simpler profession when one performed it with alternative laborers, though whether the lack of mess marked them as slavers, intrepid droid users, or simply good cleaners was impossible to tell. His eyes shifted to others, setting upon an agitated lady with a briefcase sitting in her lap, her leg bouncing up and down with the staccato rhythm of a drum. A businesswoman on a trip to give a prototype of a newly acquisitioned product, or perhaps a report on this area or that one.

Another shift, another glance, another person of interest to take away from the tedium and the jostling shoulders, and the abhorrent stink of cramming so many different sapients into so small a container. This new individual was a Duros, a member of that blue-skinned race who supposedly were granted excellent memory. There was another one of his kin beside him, though whether or not they were blood relatives or friends or even just business partners was uncertain. In a human, he might've looked for similarities in facial structures, but irritatingly he found that many of the alien races looked alike. One of them seemed to be far more anxious than the other whose arm was rapt about his shoulders, whispering something into his ear every few moments and giving him a reassuring pat on the cheek.

Not farmers, the Wonderworker ascertained, and certainly not business-people of any repute given their lack of cargo. Perhaps they were simple laborers, or immigrants, traveling from their old homes into an area of Sith control. He might've wished them well and gone on with his guessing-games had his eyes not caught the gentle glint of a metallic piece jutting free from the back of the first Duros. All of the jostlings must've moved the thing down his jacket, letting it slide down the leathery cloth until it was not just slightly visible to the outside. What was that? What was he hiding?

A blaster.

The second Duros must've noticed that the weapon was suddenly visible. He rose to his feet with a jolt, pulling his own blaster free from behind his back, and shouting a command as he directed the firearm about the room.
"Everyone sit down! No one moves!" His companion drew his own weapon, and joined him in the central passageway, looking the other direction.

The Wonderworker hated public transportation.

Darth Acharon

 

[Darth Acharon]

The Ruby Path approached the vessel, its primary engines shutting down as a docking tube was prepared. Earlier that day, Cyrus had been on his way back to Korriban from a brief training excursion to Dantooine. Compared to some of his usual training missions, this one had not turned out too badly. Only a few new cuts here and there to add to his rapidly expanding collection, and a trophy to add to his collection. Some low level crime boss had somehow gotten their hands on a lightsaber and was causing problems for his masters operations on the planet. Cyrus had been dispatched, and he had collected the lightsaber as proof.

The only other person on board the vessel had been a great help during the mission. Luzeri was a woman he had met on Dromund Kaas, and had secured her freedom from the clutches of a harsh master and dark past. Cyrus had offered her a place with him as he traveled the galaxy, not as a servant or slave, but as a free woman. Her immense talent in the realm of assassination and espionage certainly did not hurt her standings in his eyes. They had worked together to defeat the crime boss, and were on their way back when they had received a distress signal from a civilian vessel.

That in of itself was not all that strange, things happened all the time. Some civilian vessels were so poorly maintained that it was a miracle if they could even leave a planets atmosphere without crumbling apart. Cyrus had been tempted to let the signal go to the Imperial authorities in the region, when it had cut out just as suddenly as it started. Now that had peeked Cyrus's interest.

As the Ruby Path came alongside the vessel, Cyrus opened a comm link to Alesha, who was currently at the airlock. "Alesha, we are right along side them, get that connection secured. Once we are locked I will head back there." As he spoke, he felt the ship shake slightly as its docking tune latched on to the civilian craft. A small green light on the control console in front of Cyrus began to flash, signaling a solid lock and clear connection between the two ships. It seemed Alesha was already way ahead of him this time.

Pushing the sliding chair away from the controls, after locking them down, Cyrus turned and began walking out of the cockpit of the Ruby Path. He made his way through the vessel quickly, grabbing a few items from the armory on the way before finally arriving at the airlock. He nodded to Alesha, reaching up to fix fix a small crease in his shirt. Cyrus did not know who or what they were about to encounter, but he wanted to look presentable. "Got any theories on what we are about to see?"

Wonderworker

 

[Luzeri]

Freedom. It was a bit of a new feeling to Alesha. Incredibly new actually. For most of her life she was under the command of others by their choice, not hers. And then, one day, she was offered an out by Darth Acharon . It was something she wasn't expecting, something she didn't even think possible. Yet she'd been given it. And she had no idea what to do with it. She was offered a place with Cyrus, and really she had no other ideas of what to do. So she took it. And now she went with him, helping him on his ventures, but this time, with at least some control over herself. She was still used to taking orders, and much of that was still stuck in her. Yet, she enjoyed the very option to choice. And now the skills she once used in the service of the Risen Empire could now be used for herself or Cyrus.

They were just coming from such an occasions, and then there was a distress signal. She cocked her head, instinctively thinking of a trap or sabatoge as that's what the empire would have made her assume. And then it vanished. And her mind shifted, while those were still options, more were growing. Alesha heard the words of Darth Acharon over the comms at the airlock as she extended her lance but left it unactivated. Seeming to lean on it as if she had a slight limp. She insured the locking process was being done swiftly and properly though, using the local controls until the connection gave the green light.

She nodded in return as he arrived, and asked about her theories, "Two simple explanations, a mistake of the actual crew in multiple systems. Or a take over of people who made the mistake of letting the distress signal out. If I were to take over a ship I'd disable the emergency comms first, if this is a takeover then they may have gotten a signal out before getting shut down."

Alesha smiled, something that once would have to be only fake, but in freedom, she also found joy in things as simple as talking. And that was a surprise to her. "If it's a take-over. What are the limi-" she hesitated, those were the words she would have used while still only an asset, "I mean what should we do? My Handler would have wanted me to just kill the criminals."

Wonderworker

 

[Wonderworker]

In spite of time's steady and consistent onward flow, things seemed to slow considerably as the Duros began their robbery. As suspected, there were only two of them, but that was plenty here on civilian transport. After all, everyone had supposedly been checked for weapons and had to stow them in some unseen cargo area for retrieval after they had landed. The Wonderworker wished that there had been some manner of ranger or enforcer aboard the vessel now who had been given access to these very tools of conflict so that they might subdue the two robbers, but alas there seemed to have been none. Civilian lives were cheap, after all, and hiring armed thugs to watch over one's passengers meant another expense.

At the very least, the pilot and co-pilot of the transport vessel had done well to activate their emergency alert - though it'd cost them a shot in the leg and a smashing blow across the face respectively. The klaxons had been on and off in record time, but perhaps someone would notice the irregularity and come to assist them in their time of need. He supposed that it was always possible that the Duros would simply rob them all, and then pilot the vessel to some piratical haven and then send them all on their way once they'd disappeared, but it didn't seem particularly likely. Their survival chances in space were far lower than on a planet or moon.

The senior Duros grabbed at one of the passenger's luggage, unzipping it and dumping out the fellow's collection of clothes and personal items onto the floor much to their dismay. After he'd finished disemboweling the container, he directed his attention to a passenger at the furthest extreme and began to shout his commands once more: "Put your comms and your valuables in the luggage! If anyone doesn't, we'll blow your head off!" The threat had the expected effect of eliciting cooperation from many aboard the vessel who began to slowly and carefully approach the luggage container and dump off their communication devices as well as any watches, bracelets, or rings that they possessed.

The businesswoman he'd spotted earlier tried to protest at the removal of her briefcase, citing that it was nothing important and irrelevant to them, but the Duros would have none of it. Her attempts at seizing the container as they pulled it away from her earned her a swift crack along the cheek with a blaster. Her eyes instinctively flooded with tears at the pain of the blow, and she curled up upon the bench, clutching at the swiftly bruising spot with her hands. The brutish nature of their actions marked the two as little more than common thugs and pirates.

The masked man shifted down his bench, carefully scooting until he was closer to the ailing woman, albeit still separated by a couple of passengers. A glance at the Duros revealed that they were pre-occupied with picking through the valuables of the elderly couple he'd sighted earlier, and so he gently patted his neighbor on the shoulder, leaning in to whisper: "Swap me seats, friend. I'm a healer." The passenger seemed somewhat confused by his request until he nodded towards the stricken woman, and then nodded his acceptance, allowing a swift transition. Soon, he was right beside the lady.

As he understood it, many trauma victims were sensitive to physical touch, especially from total strangers, and so he tried to be soft and tender with it. His bare fingers ran along the back of her neck, a brief thrumming there of fingers to make her aware that he wasn't intending any harm. Then, with the skin contact made, he began his blessed work. He focused on the fingers, the press of skin against skin, of muscle to muscle, of the complexity of contact. There was warmth being generated by the touch, and it assisted greatly in the focusing work.

Eventually, all organisms could fade away from their wholes until they were merely pieces, interchangeable, and recognizable. All flesh was composed of such similar materials, after all, and it was so easy to see these similarities when one touched another. His attention ran up her neck, bypassing the spinal column that allowed her such a breadth of movement, and then sliding along her cranium until he'd reached her jaw. From there, it was only a slight jump to notice her cheek, still thrumming with pain, an almost palpable sensation of suffering. He could see the broken capillaries, the damage from within, the pieces which had been rent and shattered by the blow.

Skin and muscle began to separate themselves from the afflicted area, and in response, his own cheek's pieces began to match the movement. The damaged pieces ran along her body until they'd reached the point of connection - the finger at her neck and then ran over until they'd joined his own form. Broken capillaries were torn down and dissipated, replaced with healthy ones, and these same pieces filled a now empty space in the Wonderworker's own cheek. The entire process was exceptionally rapid, perhaps taking only a dozen seconds.

Her tears were stifled as her pain completely vanished. Worried eyes looked up at the masked man who had seemingly taken away her pain, and he offered a simple nod in acceptance of what he was certain was gratitude. It had been a painful blow, he considered, feeling the throbbing now in his own cheek - but he'd suffered far worse from lesions and leprous fixations, and even damage to those vital pieces of himself that kept him alive.

His miracle performed, his attention was suddenly stolen by the jolt of a vessel docking with their own. The other passengers felt it too, and though they were filled with worry, he thought he also saw some degree of hope there. The Duros in contrast were possessed of nothing except anguish. They'd clearly not expected anyone to arrive at the transport vessel. Even if rescue had come, it didn't mean that people wouldn't die... the Duros senior in particular seemed to be a vicious criminal, and there were plenty of hostages here to use as bargaining chips to secure his freedom and that of his associate.

Luzeri | Darth Acharon