Private Sold As Is

[Mercy]

ATRISIA
THE SITE OF THE DEATH STAR III'S WRECKAGE
Arris Windrun
​

A message had been send to Arris to meet an old rival and colleague and ally and perhaps friend to Atrisia. Back to where they had had their last great triumph. Mercy didn't feel that triumphant, the annihilation had been rather boring and she didn't get the glorious duel she had wanted. But they jumped out of Hyperspace with the Throne-Spire with the assistance of Hasuras Na-Gerra 's fleet and missed the destruction of the Death Star entirely.

But soon enough Mercy returned again. Her own people, the Graspborn, requested it and that had intrigued Mercy. They didn't ask anything of her, ever. Too scared that Mercy would reject them or disband them by force.

It had been different this time.

In the wake of the battle and with Thronegrasp's influence, the contagion of the Graspborn was beginning to spread through the Galaxy. It had been the flu before, desperate coughs and sneezes, nothing too dangerous. But now it was becoming a virulent plague. People were waking up after falling asleep to the HoloNews, walking out of their home and finding the first shuttle, being drawn to places they never had seen before.

The site of the Death Star wreckage was one of those meeting places. It was here and above, in space, that the Graspborn turned from a cult into something... more. They had begun scavenging the remnants of the fleeting battle. Picking over ships, patching what they could, breaking apart and welding new forms where they couldn't. And then they called for Mercy, so she could bear witness to their offer for her.

It was that offer that Arris would pass by in her ship as she made her way surface-side.

There was now a fleet in orbit. The Alliance was busy licking its wounds, trying to hold its territory together, they had better things to do than try and fight a fleet that currently wasn't targeting them whatsoever. It was cobbled together, but already there was a golden gleam coming from it. Burnished with rough brands on its hulls, of Mercy's arm.

At the heart of the wreckage Arris would find Mercy herself.

Sitting on something that resembled a throne, also cobbled together, salvaged. She looked... odd, her expression difficult to parse.

"Arris," Mercy inclined her head to her... friend, perhaps. "-Atrisia looks different from the surface, compared to seeing it from orbit." This wasn't like Mercy. Usually she cut straight to the chase, like a knife or perhaps like a tank. Here, however, she almost sounded sheepish. Oscillating between trying to hide a smug, proud smirk and having seemingly second-hand embarrassment about this scene her Graspborn had forged for her.

They had known exactly how to ply her ego... to make her tempted to accept what they offered.

Not just a group of slaves that got out of the way during missions so Mercy wouldn't trample them. But something... more, something that reeked of responsibility, which she had been able to avoid even as a Vigo.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris passed by the sight of battle wreckage on her way down.

For Mercy, it may've been a trophy - an offering to her power, proof of her place in the galaxy. For the Talusian? It was that unshakable feeling that lingered. She could remember it clearly... on the Death Star... plugged into the system. So at risk, and helpless as her very consciousness dissipated between the ones and zeroes.

Just like how it felt to have "died" on Ruusan, she now carried the same doubts.

"Am I alive?"

"Is it really me?"

"Is this my body?"

Doubts that she could only believe away, for there was no definitive proof to her answers, as any philosopher would say.

Still, as soon as she landed and found herself face-to-face with Star-Arm, Arris slipped back into that mercenary's mindset. She kept her feelings closed like a folded hand; better to be discarded than revealed.

"Arris," Mercy inclined her head to her... friend, perhaps. "-Atrisia looks different from the surface, compared to seeing it from orbit."

"Shit, Merce... you don't care about this rock."

She leaned against an eroded support beam. "Nice chair, though. Never considered it your style until now."

As always, her tone was a difficult thing to assess underneath the near-perfect modulation. She could even emulate Mercy if she wanted to.

"So, I take it that fleet in orbit is your doing, yeah?"

 

[Mercy]

Arris Windrun

She had the decency to look even more sheepish when Arris called her out on her utter nonsense. It was true, Atrisia didn't matter to her whatsoever. Could have seen it explode for all that Mercy cared for.

Except it was the start of the rest of the story for Mercy.

"One of the few people who can call me on my shit and I don't even feel the need to tear your head off." Maybe because they had beaten each other to chit during the Galactic Kaggath.

She already had had the insides of Arris staining her hands.

Then a nod.

"Thanks. They heard about the battle and came after it was over." It was rather obvious who the they were. Up in the sky the fleet gleaming, on site, an army gathering and even then only a fraction while the rest was building in space.

"Theirs actually. They asked me to come and presented it to me as a gift... With strings attached to it, of course."

A slow stretch there, uncomfortable while being comfortable at the same time.

"I have been ignoring them for a long arse time, Arris. While playing games in the Black Sun, fighting Jedi, fooling around in the Sith Order, toying with an Emperor..." Mercy licked her lips.

"In the meanwhile they have been building, growing, and now they ask that I acknowledge them. That I lead them and accept myself as their ruler."

There her nose scrunched just a little.

Mercy was probably one of the few Sith who seemed to have double feelings about having to rule.

 

[Arris Windrun]

This was not a side of Mercy she had seen before. What was eating her?

"One of the few people who can call me on my shit and I don't even feel the need to tear your head off." Maybe because they had beaten each other to chit during the Galactic Kaggath.

Arris forced a smirk. Mercy earned it, and in the past, it would've come naturally.

"A gift?" She clicked. "And here all I get are a set of pistols."

She figured the champion would elaborate on what she meant by "strings attached," and so didn't press to ask.

The way Mercy continued - explained her situation, it was very much the kind of talk one gave before going on a journey. The life-altering kind with no promise of return. The scoundrel could sense it... maybe in the force, maybe from experience. The Titan had her foot halfway out the door, and Arris knew it.

"In the meanwhile they have been building, growing, and now they ask that I acknowledge them. That I lead them and accept myself as their ruler."

She pushed herself off the eroded pillar and took a few more steps towards the edge of the makeshift throne. Grey, cybernetic eyes looked up at her with a defiant glare.

Arris made a point to look around the room, for lack of being able to stare at the fleet in orbit.

"C'mon, Merce..." She gestured at all that space. "I sure as hell don't know what this is all about... but rule as a burden? That's just shit people say to convince themselves that they're born for it... Or, or... Destined for it."

The street rat saw it all the time on Talus - lived it, in fact. Local crime lords toppled each other all the time, and some graduated to the big leagues. Point is, power was a sticky thing, and the more that it stuck, the easier it was to pretend all that weight was no longer a choice. That it had to be them, because they just couldn't pry themselves free.

What Arris wished she knew how to say was: "C'mon, Merce. You're full of bantha shit and you know it. You get off to their freak worship - you just want it to mean more."

Those were the words she felt in her gut, words that stirred like poison inside her.