Private Spillingardans

[Beatrice Govan]

FADE, New Vertica, Nar Shaddaa

Oh, now this was too far to fall.

Even for her standards.

It wasn't enough to simply continue bearing the standard of abject familiar failure, no, nor did misfortune find it satisfactory that the barbarians of the New Imperial Order had reduced her to a wheelchair-confined cripple, no, no, life wouldn't be content until it had crushed her mind alongside her spirit and body.

Lacking a tongue, mired in shame, fleeing accountability and without a credit to her name the woman had begged, stolen and mind tricked (and mostly mind-tricked at that) her way to here:

Nar bloody Shaddaa.

On one hand, nobody would ever think to look for her here, the royal daughter of the Sith Empire slumming it on the garbage moon? Absolutely not, it would have been such an outrageous concept that it was practically treason. But on the other hand, well, it was Nar Shaddaa; Coruscant's crime-infested, refugee-riddled and drug-addicted little cousin. The Sith felt physically dirtier with each passing minute of existence here.

Her new coping mechanism was living vicariously through the sins of others, which as a hobby involved wheeling her way through (the nicer) nightclubs and drinking in the intoxicating atmosphere that whirled around her like a bass-infused storm.

It was...barely adequate, like fingernails lightly grazing a great, hungering itch. Partaking in a drink or five helped. Almost.

Another night came and with it, another club, the obnoxiously named FADE, which was for some reason was writ large in all capital letters. However, Evelynn did find that obnoxious was preferable to some of the moon's shadier establishments, which held that peculiar stench of impoverished desperation.

She'd found herself a prime spot on the second floor of the club, it was a small alcove overlooking the entire spread of the dance floor. Far enough away from the speakers that you could hear yourself think, while still in the thrum of nocturnal life. Perfect for the discerning pervert or crippled spectator and Evelynn wasn't entirely sure which category she came under anymore. The only issue with such an ideal spot was...

"Whoa! Sick wheels!"

...other people wanted to sit there.

"Heeeeey, my friends were like, wondering if like y'kno-"

"Yeah, you're not using that table anywa-"

"Would you let me ride the chai-"

Why the group of imbeciles all decided to talk at the same time was beyond her. Why they thought the drab, blonde girl dressed in all black with her hair tied up like a conservative funeral attendee was approachable also evaded Evelynn's comprehension. In fact, everything about them just mystified her. The bloody youth, invading her space, breathing her air, stealing her time and just having the gall to exist around her in this blatant, flagrant, offensive manner! What a bloody liberty!

She could have killed them, so easily and without a second thought. One moment between her golden arm and their willing flesh and they could have been reduced to black ash and, no doubt, many inebriated memories.

Which entirely defeated the point of keeping a low profile.

Her sharp, gaunt features ignored the group and instead stared outwards into the blast of pulsing strobe lights, each change of colour changing the way that the woman's face appeared to sit.

"Yo, maybe she's deaf..."

"What if somebody left her here as like, a prank?"

She sighed, eyes withering and rolling back into her head with a force so powerful it could have detached retinas.

"Wheeeere's Bruk with my driiiiiiiink?!"

"DO. YOU. SPEAK. BASIC. LADY?"

Her head turned, face equipped with her best vindictive sneer of absolute outrage and loathing.

"Kark it, just wheel her over there, what's she goi-"

G O. A W A Y.

And just like that, not knowing exactly why the group left.

 

[Mercy]

Mercy was far too busy getting drunk to notice Beatrice Govan at first.

Until two things happened.

A surge in the Force. She might not be the strongest Force practitioner, but you don't have to be when a Lord of the Sith mind tricks a whole crowd right next to you.

The whole crowd almost bowling into her as she rose up and they (full of confusion) trundled away from...

Mercy looked towards the source of the disturbance and... blinked. Then Mercy blinked again, because that couldn't be right. A crippled lady in a wheelchair would be odd enough as is. But blonde... almost blonde enough to be white. Those eyes. The gaunt figure. Yes, that was... oy vey even here on Nar Shaddaa Mercy couldn't escape them.

"Princess Evelynn?" She called out cautiously as the Sith Apprentice (in name anyway) approached the wheelchair. "It is you, isn't it?"

A look around.

There did not seem to be the usual Crownguard attached to her persona. Which was distinctly odd.

But it did made Mercy grin and perhaps receive a surge of confidence that was not wise here. "Playing hooky too, eh? Feeling the wear an' tear of the usual Court shenanigans get to you? Ah, well-"

Then Mercy blinked a third time when she realized she hadn't introduced herself.

"Mercy." Pointed a big finger to her own chest. "Sith Apprentice to the Lord Phelmium." But there Mercy grew thoughtful as she took another deep sip from her bottle of beer. "Or was it Khalsium? A bit difficult to remember, but he was part of your father's court? Portly old man, big bush of purple hair and eyebrows to boot? Hard to miss."

A deeper grin here.

"Can I buy you a drink while yar here, m'Lady?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

There, now that would hopefully suffice for the rest of the even-

Princess Evelynn?

Her head turned in slow and perfect rhythm, like an owl who had just heard the vulgar taunts of a nearby mouse, eyes half-widened but mostly just inwardly aghast that even here, of all places, she could be found and worse still, spoken to on a first-name basis.

The abject horror and humiliation of it all.

This creature kept speaking and filling the gaps between chest-thumping hits of bass with almost smug accusations of playing 'hooky', which gave Evelynn more than enough cause to clasp her gloved hands together and silently tilt her head forward, that frigid emerald stare withering upwards at the beer-swilling giantess who had apparently considered their connection to the Dark Side as an invitation for conversation.

Evelynn felt a deep-seated pang of rage echo out from within her core at the notion of the usual court shenanigans that seemed to imply that the woman spent her time politicking in a cape within the confines of a brooding, black castle. As if her very soul had not been dragged from the depths of the void and into the eye of madness once again. A screeching, self-destructive wretch of chaos and mania, forcibly dragged back into sanity's clutches by her Father after decades in the abyss.

The wear an' tear indeed.

However, before Evelynn could summon the will for a devastating, venomous retort the creature spoke again and revealed her name as some great irony that caused a second head tilt to the side, accompanied by an entertained smirk.

M E R C Y.​

She sounded it out with her mouth, slowly and deliberately, revealing for better or for worse, her complete lack of tongue. Decrepit old Masters were of little interest to her now, but the behemoth had at least earned five minutes of the cripple's time if for no other reason than having a figure like that but a name like that.

The free drink admittedly helped.

You certainly may, Evelynn finally spoke, her telepathic words an icy chill that would scratch themselves into the larger woman's head, I shall permit you to guess what I would like. No pressure.

Perhaps it might have been prompt to correct Mercy in regards to all that princess and milady nonsense, being that there was a strong chance that Evelynn was either currently considered a coward, a traitor or simply disowned and irrelevant (perhaps even non-existent) but, well, why would she?

So, indulge me, the blonde continued, leaning back into her chair and folding her hands into her lap, is Mercy a self-inflicted nickname? Or are your parents now severely disappointed in your life choices?

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

Her eyes cast down to Evelynn's mouth.

An ah there. She had wondered why Evelynn was so quiet. When did the Sith Princess lose her tongue? Or... maybe that had been the case the entire time and Mercy simply wasn't told? Either was possible, since it wasn't like she had been very high on the Sith hierarchy. Why would anyone inform a walking bunch of muscle about a thing like that?

About to say something about it - Mercy wasn't exactly tactful or considerate - when something shifted in her brain.

She blinked.

Looking around.

An icy feel against her mind. Scratchy voice, wispy. Then it reached his mind a moment later and making Mercy grimace. "Ah, yar one of those." The large woman muttered while rubbing her temple. In that intimate proximity to Mercy's mind Evelynn would find exactly what was presented. A large oafish mind, bouldering down a pre-chosen hill without any ability to move away from it.

"You?" Eyeing her intensely while trying to suppress the urge to scowl. "Yar a fancy lil' lady." Mercy murmured finally. "So probably an appletini or some other fancy arse cocktail with more fruit than alcohol."

This is what Mercy would order for Evelynn.

Unless Princess Fancypants decided to correct her.

"Inflicted?" A thoughtful glance there as Mercy came back with their drinks. One in front of Evelynn, her own in her hand, as she leaned onto the bar with a big meaty elbow.

"You say it like it's not the greatest name ever." Smug tone as the Big Muscle took a deep gulp from her ale. "It's an ironic promise and threat all wrapped up into one. What can be better than that?" And yet... not giving her a direct answer. Was it just a nickname that Mercy had picked for herself? It could explain her love for it. Had it been picked by her parents, but remained with her out of stubbornness?

Who could really say.

"So what is My Lady doing on Nar Shaddaa? I'd presume the palace on Dromund Kaas is far more comfortable than this hive."

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Evelynn just had to stop and marvel at the brute, who acknowledged royalty and yet in spite of this chose to speak to the blonde as if she was some variety of vapid painted party girl. Yet perhaps this was Mercy's earnest effort, her truest concept of fancy:

Appletinis.

Which funnily enough, contained more alcohol than Mercy's grain water ever could.

She observed the wall of muscles trundle over to the bar to order their beverages, inherited green eyes staring a hole through Mercy's back as she considered potential escape plans, should the beast prove too boisterous to cope with. From the brief minute or two of their interaction, Evelynn had gathered that the larger creature was a shameless braggart, a recipe for irritation in the face of her own snide conceit and quiet loathing.

Head turned, looking back through the bars of the balcony at the thrum of bodies gyrating down below. She could throw herself over the railing, hopefully, land on her neck and finally end this accursed charade.

She remained staring out towards the living as lout returned with their drinks before having a small internal schism about Mercy's concept of fancy once more. The potent green concoction handed off to her smelled like apple-scented shipping grade fuel and was no doubt just as flammable. With her diminutive frame and empty stomach Evelynn imagined that she could get heavily inebriated off of four of these cocktails.

When in Nar Shaddaa...

And is that what you wish to be known for? Your great sense of 'ironic threat?' Evelynn asked while she tipped her chemicals into her mouth, the sourness of the artificial apple punching the blonde in the throat.

By the void.

You presume incorrectly, she replied, having to crane her neck upwards at the larger woman, her lip curling into a half-sneer, I am here to bear witness to inebriation and fornication, just like anybody else.

Or in layman's terms; get drunk and fuc-

Now why are you here and so decidedly absent from the front line, hm?

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

A shrug as Mercy took another gulp from her ale.

"Haven't really thought about it." Blatant lie. If there was one thing Mercy was a hound of, it was glory pure and simple. "But it amuses me and sometimes that's enough. Isn't it?" Her eyes shifted away from the crowd towards her royal drinking partner. All of this was kind of weird. Mercy hadn't exactly planned on finding a Zambrano princess here.

Much less drink with her.

It surprised her to hear that the estate on Dromund Kaas was less comfortable than this place.

Oh, sure, Mercy knew the Sith were kind of intense and the Emperor himself was uh... well... a piece of work as far as she had heard. Still though. It had to be some really nice digs.

"Inebriation and forni-" Okay, Evelynn got her there. A moment of silence passed and then Mercy tipped her head back in a barking laugh. It was hard enough to cause the table near them to shake in fright. "Oh, gods, really now?" A smirk playing on her lips as she leaned in and studied Eve a little bit closer.

Presumably to make sure she wasn't fucking with her.

"How much success have ya had with that, either of those?"

Mercy was about to say more but then the Princess asked the Million Dollar Question. "Well, cupcake, I was bored mostly." Mercy drawled casually in return... but some tension returned to the large shape's shoulders.

"There is only so many cafs you can bring back and forth to your Sith Master, before it gets old." Which clearly underlined that whatever else was the matter she had not been on the frontlines. No, her Liege was an academic and kept himself to the crown worlds of Dromund Kaas and Ziost. All to further his studies in the Dark Arts.

Boring.

"So, I came here for a vacation. Get sloshed, kark my nights away. I guess we are both here for the same reasons."

And there the giant waggled her eyebrows at Evelynn.

How dare she.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Mercy's studious look was met with a sardonic eyebrow raise as if Evelynn could scarcely believe that the oaf would question such a thing. Perhaps she might have been motivated to spend more time ascending the ranks had she known that having numerous trysts was a staple amongst more exalted Sith.

All that passion had to wind up somewhere.

Never mind her own scenario, a royal branch of a colossus family tree, fornicating with a view to procreate was a part of the contract.

How much success do you think I've had? Evelynn snapped back, her features sharp and interrogating, eyes deliberately scrutinising the larger woman's face, trailing along the brow down the jawline, then up over lips, nose and then finally settling upon eyes.

If Mercy thought that cupcake would provoke, then she truly had misjudged the so-called princess.

Well, rump roast, are you to tell me, she started with an eyebrow still poised and raised as if it was a weapon, that while you were here on 'wartime vacation', she tipped the martini glass into pursed lips and drained the rest of the liquid in one fell swoop and continued, I was out there, being crippled by Imperial assassins?

She gave a haughty sniff in the face of waggling eyebrows, and gently placed the empty glass down upon the hottest, empty table in the club. Perhaps tormenting the brute would rescue the evening after all.

In your own words, if you are so capable.

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

A smirk was all the response Evelynn got to her initial question.

Something told Mercy that responding with probably not very good, because you look like a walking corpse would not be appreciated. There were moments where the giant wasn't completely suicidal. Just mostly suicidal. Since she still smirked, instead of wisely assuring the princess that she probably had a lot of reach.

With that... wheelchair.

Bling... bling?

Rump roast on the other hand made Mercy laugh out loud. Just. It was so unexpected. The laugh included half of a spit take. Which was a shame, because the ale wasn't that bad. "You are kinda cute when you are upset, you know that, right?" Mercy drawled lazily in response.

Not exactly the sort of thing you'd answer to someone who seemed just about ready to skin you alive.

And Mercy was certain of it- Evelynn could, if she wanted to.

But if she wanted, she would do it. The last moments of Mercy wouldn't be spend on her knees... probably. "I doubt I would have been much use to protect you from Imperial Assassins." Spoken as lightly as anyone would who hadn't been crippled by assassins. "Not while I was on the front lines anyway, so really, it doesn't matter what location I would have been at." That had almost looked like humility, until that last line.

"Ends the same with yar in that chair." A glance to the wheel chair. "You ever consider adding some stars to it? Maybe some rims on the wheels?"

Sip sip.

Smile.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Evelynn sneered at Mercy's doubt, rolling her eyes with enough passive-aggression to drown a small yappy dog. Such a bold and boisterous boulder who played big boy at the blonde's own expense.

In fact.

Her gaze shifted out into the lights and that sneer slowly turned pleasant, so to speak, twisting into an exceedingly polite yet tight-lipped smile that spoke of nothing other than ill intentions. There was something so hateful in the expression that made gnashing teeth and furrowed brow pale in comparison like the weakest tea.

Why would any child of the Sith Empire approach the daughter of its Emperor and so blatantly insult her? Yes, astounding arrogance was a possibility but it would have been a death sentence under pettier circumstances, especially given her father's capability for undue cruelty and torture. No, these were more likely words from the mouth of someone divorced from that Empire and Evelynn would know because she was already there.

Going back to address the creature's earlier point, Evelynn's stare remained fixated elsewhere. Then it is such good fortune that I am nearly always upset, no? Not a falsehood, the woman had grown weary of their universe long ago and found nearly everything in existence to be a farce.

Intentionally, she avoided any further discussion of the war and the front line.

Later.

Hurry up, she scolded an errant gloved hand gesturing to the woman's ale, I require another drink and you're buying.

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

Still.

It seemed odd to Mercy that Evelynn was all alone here. Why were there no guards here? The Crownguard at the very least. They shadowed every Zambrano family member after all. Bar that, there should have been Sith Legionnaires stationed in every corner of the bar to ensure the safety of one of Carnifex's progenies, right?

Mercy wasn't... smart. Not dumb by any means, but the usual wheeling and dealing of court kind of went over her head. She preferred direct and forceful approaches that often were lost to the subtleties of emotional machinations.

Yet even this boulder knew that something wasn't entirely right with this picture.

Caution? Maybe a little bit, because that polite smile managed to draw a cold shiver down and up her spine. What was said about the Zambranos? They bathed in the blood of their allies and ate their enemies alive. Something like that. Mercy didn't scare easy, but against all obvious evidence the Sith Apprentice did enjoy her continued life.

"I suppose." Mercy murmured pleasantly. "If you are about looking attractive, my Lady." Nothing from Mercy's demeanor suggested she cared about anything OTHER than aesthetics and appearances. One big shallow mountain rolling down a hill.

She was about to say more, but Evelynn hurried her.

It made Mercy blink, but also smile around the edge of her bottle.

"I have a feeling my pocket is going to feel far emptier by the end of this night, Princess." Even still the bottle was polished off without further ado. One large deep swig that just kept coming as Mercy downed half the bottle in one go. Then burped for good measure while leaning back against the bar's edge.

No chits given.

"You want another appletini then, or something else? And uh." Another smile and this one edged to innocence. An expression that had no place on that devilish face.

"...should I order something for your guards... or are you all alone here?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Evidently, I'm all about looking attractive, she mind-muttered with a withering glance.

It didn't take a genius to understand that Evelynn's remark was not sincere in the slightest, her gaunt face and tired expression the very hallmarks of somebody decidedly not steeped in the world of personal vanity.

I'm more than happy to lighten your burden, Mercy.

Out of context, it was a wholesome and supportive statement. Within the context, the blonde really didn't care about the boulder's wallet. A steady stream of drinks was the price of her company, after all.

Naturally, Evelynn recoiled at the burp, a flash of disgust twisting onto severe features upon witnessing such a feckless display of ill-manner. Good grief. Where did the Empire even find this creature, elbow deep in Mos Eisley's annual bantha burrito eating contest?

Surprise me, Evelynn replied, her gloved right hand massaging the back of her own neck as if their interaction had already caused knots to form, oh, but get it in a pitcher, so you don't have to keep clodding back and forth, yes?

She allowed silence to mingle between them for a few seconds, giving Mercy's tacked on question time to steep alongside a slow and spiteful smirk.

Yes, I'm afraid that I'm all alone, is that quite alright with you, My Lady?

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

Another long look at Beatrice.

It honestly looked like she had died and then crawled back out of the grave.

Then again, if the stories were accurate... that was exactly what happened. Zambrano dragging his dead daughter's spirit out of the Netherworld and shoved back into a body. Probably not a corpse though. Most likely a clone body formed specifically to serve as a vessel. Still though. You'd think leaving her dead would have been a greater kindness.

Not that Kaine Zambrano was known for being kind.

"I am sure you are." Dryly as she dug out another chit. "I might have to beat up a few more fighters to afford you." Then pausing there, because it about sounded like Mercy considered Evelynn a whore. "Afford your drinks, I mean, of course." Coughing awkwardly there as she took the moment to sliiiiiid out of there and back to the bar proper.

The order of appletini in a bucket was taken in strides.

Surprisingly so.

Mercy figured they'd say there was nothing like that here. But there they dropped the pitcher in front of her. All acid green and bubbly. She glanced over to it and gave it a sniff. Then shuddered.

Maybe this was exactly what Evelynn needed to unwind though.

For herself she got a bottle of whiskey. Which... oof, yeah, that was about all that she had left of her winnings. Then again. It meant she'd get to beat people up again, so it wasn't all bad. "There ya are, my Lady. Pitcher of appletini. Do you want some pretzels with that?" A dubious glance was thrown towards the green-y pitcher before she popped open her own bottle and gave it a nice swig.

Oof, that hit just right.

"So, seriously though, how did you manage to leave both yar dad and his guards behind?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

You'd be surprised what such violent delights can afford, she whispered into the brick's mind with the barest hint of actual mirth, implying that she could actually be bought.

Although perhaps not in the sense that Mercy understood. As a person the larger woman seemed exactly as advertised; muscular, vain and simple. It would have stood to reason that would only see the base worth in plainer terms. Sex and credits, the most base of carnal pleasures and what the festering idiots that surrounded them craved on a daily basis.

Pain.

Pain was pleasure power more.

Such sensation had dominated Evelynn's two lives, sometimes as a tormentor, oft as a friend but most of all as a companion. Pain understood, it didn't judge and it excepted both her former madness and newfound sanity in return. To say it didn't quite feel the same since her marbles had been returned to her was an understatement but it still spoke to her like nobody else ever could.

Her head turned and eyes focused upon Mercy's meaty, primal fists as they carried over greater quantities of alcohol and for a brief moment she imagined what they might have felt like around her throat.

No, no pretzels. This...concoction will suffice, she answered plainly, gripping the pitched in a gloved hand and refilling her empty glass with it, it is good fortune that I already come with my own seat.

When you were that size, you had to make considerations about how little alcohol it took to get you drunk.

She raised a perturbed eyebrow as Mercy kept going down the same line of questioning, the martini glass held right under Evelynn's nose as the sickeningly sweet vapours punched the blonde in the face.

Presumably, they do not know that I am alive, she answered with a small shrug and a generous sip of her cocktail, come now, dear, do you really believe that I would be here if that were the case? It seemed to be a question until a second and a half later when Evelynn decidedly answered it for the brute in a snap. No, of course not. It would be courtesans, wine and actual functioning medical care.

Well, that and impending death by firing squad courtesy of the Imperial menace.

Why is that so important to you? Do you wish to assault me while I am so defenceless? Feel free, I am in dire need of a giggle.

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

"Assault you? My Lady, I wouldn't dare." Mercy drawled after a moment of puzzlement. So, Evelynn was a refugee of a sort herself here and the Empire didn't know she was here.

That was... rather amusing, was it not?

The two women were diametrically opposed to one another and yet... they were very similar in this regard.

A mistake would be to assume they had similar objectives. That their team was similar. It was not. Both of them played for their own goals and wouldn't hesitate to kark each other over, if it became necessary. The question then... to be honest with her or not? "Mostly I jus' wasn't sure if I ought to look over my shoulder for chasing guards and the opportunity to throw myself out of a window."

Shrug there.

So honesty after all.

Mercy wasn't complicated enough to try and make up some fancy lie. This time anyway. "Don't get me wrong- I am still planning on returning at some point. Just..." A wiggle of her ale glass. "Am having a good time right now, you know? The war was there when I joined and uh... pretty sure it will still be there by the time I return."

Another sip from her ale and an ah to punctuate.

Once it became clear that Evelynn would not take the pretzels even after having some more alcohol... Mercy shoved a big meaty hand into the bowl and grabbed a merciful chunk of them. Shoveling them down while inhaling more ale in between.

"So what happened? You mentioned yar got crippled by Assassins?" Seemed like Mercy listened after all. But perhaps selectively. "That was when you left the Empire or was that not linked to each other?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

A pity.

Evelynn internally wilted as the brute continued to speak, mostly about herself as if she had to justify her lack of work ethic to her fellow deserter. At least the wheelchair-bound woman had abandoned duty due to the consequences of her own personal failings, Mercy's dereliction of duty was rather more hedonistic in purpose.

She shot the woman a knowing glance as justification tumbled out like useless hot air. This absolute cretin either didn't keep up with the news, or she had absolutely no intention of going back.

Gaunt features twisted with disgust as the beast practically fisted the bar food into her gaping maw, the half-masticated salty snacks swimming alongside amber ale in a sea of ill-manner. The blonde just sat aghast for several moments before bringing her martini glass up to her lips and tilting everything back, draining the rest of the green drink in mere seconds.

Alcohol would be heavily required.

One assassin, she stated sharply with a sneer, New Imperial Order. Missed her shot and went for the capture. We fought, and she broke my back over her knee.

Plain and informal truth.

I am in self-imposed exile out of fear, and shame as the imperial butchers had fused her spine together, shoved her in a wheelchair and then in a humiliating twist, deemed her as a non-threat and surplus to requirements, it's not all wine and high society in the upper-echelons. The weight of expectation is lethal. Such failure is unacceptable and I shall not be returning home for the consequences.

The cripple poured herself a new drink, her face echoing that bitter sentiment of her words. Her existence a curse. This inner-seethe in turn was redirected and released upon Mercy instead.

So what are your real plans? Stay on Nar Shaddaa and live like this until you're washed up, used up and begging strangers for a good time?

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

A knowing nod there.

Not that Beatrice would know and Mercy wasn't about to tell her. But Mercy hadn't always been Mercy after all. Once upon a time she had been a... well... princess was probably too big (ironically enough) a word for her. Something close to that. In the Tion Cluster her hand had been most desired and noblemen had been fighting over it for years.

The snippy cutthroat business of court politics were not new to her. Even then it had chaffed and exhausted her however.

There was something honest about a pit fight. Honest in a way the court life never had been.

"One assassin?" Brows furrowed there as Mercy looked her over. "Must have been quite the killer, if they managed to get the best of you, I 'eard ya were a right powerhouse back in the day."

Queen of Ratatatatatakakakakakakkaaaan or however it was spelled.

Enslaved millions, shite like that.

Something for a young noble lass to aspire to really.

Mercy was about to say more, but then Evelynn's next question came and it actually briefly paused her in her metaphorical stride. She actually blinked behind the shades as she processed the question. For a moment at least. Until her head tipped back and she barked out a laugh that made the table (and the booze on top of it) shake in stress.

"Please. Me? Washed up, used up and begging? You see these arms?" She lazily flexed one. "See these hands?" Made a fist the size of a... large fruit or oversized rock.

"I am gonna be here til I get bored. Then imma move on to other more interesting places. I am at the top of my game, Princess, and there ain't no soft boy or sharp girl that will use me up."

Proud before the fall perhaps, but it could not be argued that Mercy was an impressive creature.

Just a shame she was so aggressively aware of it herself.

"And what of you then? Gonna hide out on 'Shaddaa, 'til your father finds you? Or you gonna make some moves of yar own like the jolly ol' good days?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Was that a slight?

A single eyebrow rose in the face of Mercy's words, her supposed former status as a powerhouse feeling like more of a slap in the face rather than speculation of truth. Everybody knew who was the real source of power on Rattatak and it wasn't the Silent Sister.

Or so the story went.

It was an ambush, she sniped back with a sneer now equipped upon sharp features, I was caught entirely unaware.

And naked.

The boulder barked and rumbled, flexing muscles and fists like some form of crayon-eating brute. Evelynn's gloved hands made sure to procure the safety of her glass and pitcher (the correct priorities in such a scenario). Horrified offensive replaced the sneer, although the expression wasn't too far removed on the family tree of loathing.

Are you a Sith or a bloody Mandalorian?!

The blonde rather pointedly did not divulge her plans for the future, likely because they didn't exist.

 

[Mercy]

Beatrice Govan

An ahhhh with the tone of total understanding.

Which hinted that Mercy hadn't been karking with her at all.

"That's the only way they can take folks like us down, Princess." She murmured with clear measure of distaste. "The weak can only play silly little games to break us." A not-so-subtle glance over the rims of her shades down towards the wheelchair. "Hope ya made them pay at least a little bit for what they did to ya, entirely karked up."

Mercy wasn't sure what she would have done.

If it had been her in the wheelchair.

A shiver was barely suppressed there. Sounded like her own personal hell. Being incapable to move on her own. On strong legs and stronger purpose... no, that was certainly a nightmare. Better to just die then. "Sith? Mandalorian?" Bemused there as Mercy tipped her head back and laughed.

"I am Tionese, Princess. We invented grace and refinement while the Sith were baking sand bricks in the desert and the Mandalorians were riding dinosaurs in their jungles." Her accent shifted from the rough an' tumble Nar Shaddaa vibe into something else. The High Tionese weightlessness that felt oh so off coming from someone like her.

The words too didn't seem entirely Mercy.

That's because she was quoting her own dear mother, of course.

"I am who I am." Shrugging there, entirely unbothered by the sense of disapproval. "Anyway- so ya said ya came here to rut an' drink like the best of 'em." Mercy glanced around at the club. Not a lot of choice, but maybe that's because she was picky as feth.

"If ya want, I can help ya get laid. Easy as pie."

Had there ever been a blunter proposal?

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Evelynn had not, in fact, made them pay but instead made like a good wretch and had resigned herself to this tragic and crippled obscurity. Oddly enough, while she held a grand contempt for the blue brute who had broken her back, the notion of revenge had grown stilted inside of her, turned to equal parts outer-contempt and self-loathing. Not that she would mention any of this as she casually tipped more of the electric apple nonsense down her throat.

Still, there were worse fates, and she would know.

Hopefully, they shall invent brevity soon, Evelynn sniped in retort as she doubled down on her drink, descending into chain-sipping, her eyes rolling in the face of Tionese grace and refinement. At least being a tragic exiled cripple meant that she no longer had to endure these kinds of snide court games any longer.

She had, of course, been entirely caught in the act of judging Mercy's seemingly empty book by its offensively meaty cover.

C'est la vie.

The boulder assumed the role of wingman, indicating that she was not at all interested in a cold and broken wraith for the evening. More's the pity, those thick hands might have felt oh-so cosy wrapped around her neck.

I'd rather you didn't, she waved a dismissive hand and offered a sneer, I'm looking for something special, she lied, eyes peering over the balcony onto the thrum of gyrating nobodies, and I have a feeling that what you like and what I like is vastly different.