Private Starfire and Thorns

[Yoru Iben]

"Stop-" Yoru squatted down, bar balanced over his shoulders, and pushed back up with a sharp intake of breath and hiss out as he reached the top. "-stop, you've reopened your wound."

He'd been in a complete trance and hadn't noticed. It was sore, but it'd been sore the entire time since he woke up after having been snacked on. Yoru took a few steps forward and - THUNK - set the bar back on the cage. He ducked under the bar to face her, touching around the soaked-through dressing and looking at his red-slicked fingers.

Yoru met her gaze and gave her an innocent smile. "Heh, oops."

The scrapper's hair was tied into a messy ball except for a loose strand that was stylistically left out. Blood had rushed into his muscles, making him look considerably larger than he normally would. Hypertrophy was a wonderful thing for the ego.

"The kit's in my room."

 

[Blackthorne]

"Heh, oops."

Lips thinned as she watched the man finish his set in order to assess his ...situation, Blackthorne held back an incredulous snarl but not the agitated roll of her eyes.

"The kit's in my room."

He'd hear the words fething idiot as she turned and exited the cargo bay.


She was back within a few minutes and found him mopping up the dribbling blood with a dirty towel. Honestly, how he'd made it this long and this far on his own with common sense as thin as this was profoundly mindboggling. "Sit," Blackthorne pointed at the workout bench, "you have two choices. I patch you up again and you commit to letting it heal before you do ...this again," she gestured to his workout area, "or I cauterize the wound."

 

[Yoru Iben]

Cautery. Wouldn't have been the first time, as evidenced by the large, nasty-looking scar over the left side of his abdomen. Yoru did as told and sat on the bench. Blackthorne snatched the dirty towel out of his hand and threw it on the floor.

"I like the first choice," his hands rested in his lap. Amber-brown eyes calmly but intently followed Thorne as she tended to his neck. "Thanks," he said in the middle of it, voice hushed and void of his normal snarky tone. He almost sounded apologetic, even.

 

[Blackthorne]

For the first time since she'd been on the ship, Blackthorne sloughed off the blankets hung over her shoulders to tend to the mess that was Yoru Iben. This gave him his first real look at her beyond the layers of tundra gear or blankets to keep her warm. For as tall as she was (though still a fair amount shorter than him) and as broad as her personality seemed, she was really quite ... petite.

A dark olive long sleeve shirt tucked into black cargo pants cinched at her waist showed a slender, wispy danceresque figure. The roll of her sleeves sitting just above her elbows allowed a vast array of tribal tattoos to show, as well as what appeared to be a black mar on her left arm that seemed to be spreading in living tendrils down toward her wrist. They coiled when out of direct sight and stilled when stared at. Even at her shirt's collar, beneath a small collection of hide leather and handmade chain necklaces, more tattoos snaked up along the base of her neck.

Her hands were strong but not rough and she very purposefully kept her mouth shut to keep her pointed teeth out of view. Or to keep from saying mean things. Honestly, she was truly turning a new leaf. She did well to focus on the task at hand: retreating the bite wound to get it to stop bleeding, and cleaning it out to redress with new gauze.

"Thanks."

The tone wasn't missed. Blackthorne frowned as she continued her work, "How long have you been traveling on your own..."

It was quite obvious that it had been a while, but she was curious just how long a while it was.

 

[Yoru Iben]

He hadn't made guesses about what was under her layers back on the tundra. No time, then. Even onboard the Compunction, he hadn't put much thought into what hid under all those blankets. Too busy sleeping or getting his blood sucked out of his neck. So even though Yoru's expectations had hardly been set, her slight frame betrayed them.

Watching the muscles like braided steel in her forearms dance, he was confident that even with her smaller body, she could break him.

"Seven, eight years," he quietly answered. "Three years with this ship."

Travelling was much too casual a word to describe what he'd been doing. He was obsessed. Haunted. Plagued by hate and anger that filled his heart to the brim.

 

[Blackthorne]

That was a fair amount of time, to be sure. Almost half as long as she'd been scattering hyperdust across the galaxy as a pirate.

"Bold of you, to go the galaxy on your own," her hands taped the new gauze patch into place and firmly massaged the strip adhesive to make it stick better, "it's not a friendly place to be on your onesie. ...pretty boring, too." She could make small talk and be friendly when she was well fed, well rested, and wanted to. Really.

 

[Yoru Iben]

"Nothin' bold about it." He breathed a single chuckle. As Yoru began to discover the other side of the coin that was Blackthorne, he smiled. "No, it's really not, huh... But, wouldn't say it's boring. You just have to stay busy. I do."

She leaned away from him as she finished with the dressing. The younger man looked up to meet her gaze. Suddenly, he cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "Thanks." He said again and gently slapped his thighs before standing back up.

 

[Blackthorne]

So he was just stupid then. Or lucky. Maybe both. Blackthorne narrowed her eyes at that look from him, expression unsmiling.

"Thanks."

Most people would have said sure thing, any time friendo. Or something to that extent.

"You're welcome," a beat, "but if you tear that open again I will fucking bleed you dry myself," not Blackthorne. So much for the friendly small talk. Quota filled, maybe. She snatched up the med kit and her blankets, tossed the latter back over her shoulder with a stark, shivering shrug, and set off to return the kit back to his room.

 

[Yoru Iben]

And just like that, as he thought that maybe he'd... certainly not become a friend, but at least got on friendly terms, she quickly proved those thoughts to be incorrect. Blackthorne indeed. He wouldn't say it to her face, but for a woman that hated the cold so much, she sure acted it. A tiny bit discouraged, a great bit confused, Yoru tossed his shirt over his shoulder and exited the cargo bay.

He took himself to the second level and one of the spare rooms. A few remained untouched, accounting for potential passengers, like Thorne, but the others were remodeled to accommodate his needs. Such as a small workshop of sorts where he could maintain his gear. It was just about the only organized room in the entire ship, and how organized it was—neatly stacked boxes. A rack of shelves sat next to a workbench with labeled containers pulled up to the edge. Everything had a place. Yoru tinkered there a bit before washing himself up in his refresher.

The scrapper did well to heed Thorne's warning and didn't reopen the wound for the remainder of their trip. Finally, a chime from the monitor in his room alerted him that they neared their destination. He got dressed and went down to the cockpit.

SSSSSsssss. The scrapper entered, black cargo pants tucked into black combat-style boots. He wore a light grey compression shirt and navy aviator jacket. SSSSSsssss.

"You spend a lot of time in here," he said to Thorne, who occupied the pilot seat. "Scoot."

 

[Blackthorne]

She'd been sleeping, conserving energy, absorbing the heat of the smaller cockpit chamber. Blackthorne blinked awake at the sound of the door hissing open, eyes bleary and senses filling with the scents and sounds of her trip companion.

"Heat vent," she tapped the toe of her boot on the vent situated directly in the bulkhead to the left of the pilot's chair, "warmest spot on the ship." Some time spent in the cargo bay had revealed to her that the engines of his ship were externally located and, therefore, inconveniently out of reach as a heat source. Arguably a warm body would have also been a good choice - one lacking clothes and slicked with sweat after a few rounds of hot and heavy might have actually been perfectly ideal.

Those who knew Blackthorne would tell you that it was only ideal to her if it was her idea. Presently she still didn't trust herself not to tear the man apart. Really, she was doing him a favor.

Despite herself, she peeled from the chair with her two blankets and shifted over to the co-pilot's seat. Everything she'd brought with her was already here - her jacket hung over the chair she now inhabited and she wore everything else. No need to be anywhere but where she was.

"Ever been to Exocron?"

 

[Yoru Iben]

Yoru wondered if she was some cold-blooded reptile wearing another person's skin and smirked to himself. He sat down, readjusted the chair to his liking, and repeatedly struck a key on the command console until the screen booted to life. A small sprite of a purple cat idled at the screen's center until it fully booted up.

"No," he admitted, "Frankly, never been out this way. Followed an old trail that went dead at Orto Plutonia." The same place where she'd been following a lead herself.

Vasteel had talked about Exocron, though. Even then, Yoru remembered little aside from that he'd mentioned it once.

"You?"

 

[Blackthorne]

"Cute cat," she eyed it from where she lounged in the co-pilot seat, pupils widening as she watched.

"My older brother used to lead a religious cult from there as a self proclaimed living god," it was just far-fetched enough that most people didn't believe her when she said it. "Well," Thorne gestured to nothing in particular, "half brother."

 

[Yoru Iben]

"Thanks, it's called Vi. I like cats." He typed a bit on the console, and as he finished up, a digitized, happy Meow! pinged from the speaker.

"Small galaxy," Yoru remarked. What even were the odds that out of all the possible planets, moons, space stations, he picked the one she had ties to. Then, it hit him. "Used to?"

Just then, they exited hyperspace facing their destination. A green-blue lush garden planet awaited them. As the Compunction approached, Yoru turned his attention to the sensor scope and gave the planet a brief scan.

 

[Blackthorne]

Meow!

Thorne raised her brows, pupils widening even more, and smirked. Her gaze then flickered to the forward viewport as the streaking stars suddenly filtered out for the image of the paradise planet before them. She'd never actually been to Exocron either, but family history was family history and in her family it behooved one to know as much of it as they could before deciding whose toes to step on out in the galaxy.

"He got bored of being worshiped and decided to be a father instead," curious choice, "the Netherworld event may or may not have sealed the deal. Either way, if someone offers you a Book of Moross, go ahead and take it. Not a bad read."

She leaned forward in her chair, peering out into the space around the planet as they closed in on its outer orbit, "There's a refueling station over there, my drop point."

 

[Yoru Iben]

"Odd," he echoed her thoughts, "But I guess people that would call themselves as a god are just odd in the first place, huh?" Then he remembered he was talking about her half-brother. "No offense."

With a nod, Yoru flipped a switch and disengaged the ship's autopilot. Then, he moved to another console to hail the refueling station.

"Come in, this is the Twilight Compunction, requesting landing clearance for refueling."

After a moment of silence, his speakers crackled, and a woman's soft voice responded. "Roger, Twilight Compunction... Clearance granted. Bring her in, nice and steady."

The station was empty, save for a smaller vessel than Yoru's, though it looked far more expensive, and a second, larger, even rougher looking ship. "Either of those yours?" He asked as he brought the Compunction alongside the station. There, they docked, and the pair headed to the ship's side hatch. The scrapper expectantly looked at Thorne as if to say: It's on you, right?

 

[Blackthorne]

Twilight Compunction.

What a fething mouthful.

Blackthorne bobbed her brows over a sigh as they docked and abandoned the blankets in the co-pilot chair in lieu of her overcoat. She looked over to the two ships in the docks, narrowing her eyes, then shook her head, "No. It's not here yet," then followed him out to the hatch where she stood waiting for the air seal to lock on either end.

His look earned him a look in return, but she didn't clarify. The hatch seal pinged and the locks unhinged, Blackthorne leaned forward to press the hatch open and stride out along the gangway to the receiving end. Once she reached the other side she headed for the Dock Manager at his kiosk, "Full refuel and resupply."

"Name?"

"Jezebel Snook."

"I'll need your datacard-"

"You don't need my datacard. It's already paid for," Thorne gestured at the man. His eyes went vacant for a moment before he blinked.

"We'll have it ready in an hour."

"Peachy," Thorne looked over at Yoru and gave him a look. Satisfied?

 

[Yoru Iben]

The full resupply must've been the "and then some" for his troubles in the bar. Well, it worked for him. He flashed a serpentine grin at Thorne and shot her a thumbs up.

"Cool trick," he said as he joined her side. "I reckon that's not something you can teach, huh?"

Wait, she hadn't used that on him at any point, had she? Doubt twisted his brows and he shook his head and sharply waved his hand to dismiss the topic before she could utter one of her trademark prickly responses. "Actually, forget it, forget it."

Now, what to do for an hour? He gazed down at Thorne without having to tilt his head and pondered the circumstances. She did promise to search her files for what he asked about, but she could just run off once her pickup arrived. She was brutish and prickly, and mostly unpleasant, but her actions on the trip earned his trust.

"I'll... just find a bench somewhere."

 

[Blackthorne]

Blackthorne's gaze tracked him as he thought better of his words, watching unblinkingly as he looked down at her with his thinkin' gears turning.

"I'll... just find a bench somewhere."

Gods he was boring.

"Or we could go back to the ship and kark until my ride arrives." Thorne's expression was light, calm, and completely serious.

 

[Yoru Iben]

"Right, so whenever you're set to go, I'll be around he- what?" And he wanted to ask: Really? But meeting her gaze, asking would have been redundant. Probably annoying. It would most definitely ruin the chance. Cognac eyes gave the woman a once-over. He remembered her lithe frame, the initial feel of her lips on his neck, and her forearm muscles. Her strong hands.

"Um," his wandering stare snapped back up to her eerie greens, "Yeah. Sooounds... good."

As they reentered the Compunction, the short walk felt like several miles. Completely unaware that she'd been able to sense his vital signs the entire time, Yoru did very little to stifle his racing heart as a million things ricocheted in his mind. The degree of his experience with women was... hardly anything he could boast about. Experience with a woman so straightforward? Nonexistent.

They reached his quarters, where, turning to face her, his hands hovered between them, paralyzed from uncertainty. Feth, what was next?!

 

[Blackthorne]

Some time later ...

Blackthorne strode her way across the walks between the warfs, slinging her overcloak onto her shoulders with the look of murder in her gaze. She'd set her sights on a black-striped zabrak of the crimson variety, a varying vocabulary of things playing within her stare as she closed in.

"Hey! What about the data!"

The zabrak pushed off from the small transport shuttle he was leaning against, taking a drag from the cigarette in his hand, "That him?"

"Fuck off."

The zabrak grinned as she stormed by him and up the ramp into the transport. Yeah, that was him. He stepped forward, eyeing the other man up and down, noting his build, his posture, his clothing, his ship behind him.

"Vasteel," he said, digging a databank out of his pocket, tossing it once to himself before throwing it to Yoru, "that's everything we got."

And that was all the zabrak spared for him. He turned into his own plume of smoke and stepped off into the shuttle.