Private Suitcase on Naboo

[Lark]

Being a bartender was such a beautiful profession. Though his role was to craft a cocktail that was intoxicating enough to warrant the purchase of another, Lark felt as though he was a central figure in the lives of every patron that strolled through the preppy little club on Naboo. Men ten years out of college pretending they were twenty-three moaned about how they wanted to marry rich, young businessmen enacting laws that would work to their own favor complained that socialists were taxing their wealth away from them. And next to those greedy patricians were sorority girls convinced the fraternity brother who invited them was the one. And perhaps he was, so long as he never divulged what happened that night when he fulfilled his pledge to that absurd brotherhood. Who was Lark to judge? He had seen so many people he'd never give a second thought find everlasting happiness with one another.

The bartender was the eternal spectator. They saw every bribe and heard every whisper. A perfect career for Lark, what a shame it took so long for him to discover it's charm.

It was one of many pastimes he had taken in the past few years. Ever since the Sith Empire had collapsed, he had been travelling from planet to planet, odd job to odd job. He had pretended to be a biologist on Hoth, and after that he had studied at Dantooine. At some point he had grown bold and worked in construction on Coruscant, even though the Jedi likely hunted him as passionately as the Sith did. And yet, here he was. Crafting an Old Fashioned for some drunk fraternity brother whose girlfriend was turning twenty-two.

And oh, how much fun it was. The birthday girl was such a sweet thing, and a friend of the other bartender working Keffler's Tavern. Lark and Kyn, the other barkeep, would be heroes for an evening.

He still found the shift towards a more civilian lifestyle strange. Sometimes, as he lay on his bed in his one-room apartment just a ten minute walk from Keffler's, he wondered whether or not he actually fought for the Sith for so many years. All the blood he had spilled, the wars he had fought in, that all seemed so long ago, and so very far away. The duels, the training, the missions, strange excursions towards otherworldly dimensions, conflict against beings that shouldn't exist. Somehow, all of that had led him right to where he was now. Behind the bar near Theed University, getting prospective lawyers drunk while doing some civic studies of his own.

Suited Lark just fine. He had a small circle of friends, most of whom he met through Kyn. The bubbly woman was in all honesty a poor bartender, but she made up for it with a genuine positivity that somehow never managed to grate on him. He had made up some story about his past, almost on a whim. Here, his name was Forrest. He had been born on Naboo, but spent most of his life traveling with his merchant uncle before the man passed of sudden illness and was forced to return home. That, at least, let him handwave away any peculiar knowledge he had regarding the galaxy. I was there with my Uncle, he'd say, in response to someone regarding upon his intricate understanding of that Kadavo's lava mines. And his friends would accept that, delighted to be in the company of someone so well-travelled.

His life was so routine, he even began to border on indifference regarding galactic news. Wish the Alliance made their way over here, one professor would say, to which Lark would simply respond with; That so?

Looks like the Sith are making a comeback. Wonder what they'll call themselves this time, another would posit. Something unnecessarily dramatic, Lark would passively suggest, before letting the conversation move to another topic.

A temporary break in the crowd let Lark get a quick glimpse of Kyn, who looked back at him and mimicked the motion of someone talking with her hand. The patron she was serving had nearly drank a whole keg of their draft beer, and was at that obnoxious intoxicated stage where he thought everyone wanted to hear about whatever it was he had to say. "That's embarrassing," Lark said as the man excused himself to use the bathroom. Hopefully he wouldn't have to be cleaning anything up at the end of his shift. "You need me to take some of the conversation?"

"Nah, I got it. He's an ass, but he's happy so long as I nod my head every now and then. Was slurring on about his buddy's dog-sitting business, of all things." Kyn's positivity was matched only by her patience. "About time for a shot though."

"You read my mind." Keffler didn't mind if they had a few drinks throughout the night, so long as they didn't indulge to the point to where they couldn't tell the difference between white wine and champagne. "Whaddya want?"

"Vermouth, my good sir. And it's your turn for the toast."

Who the hell does a shot of vermouth? Kyn really was that wonderful sort of enigma that one couldn't help but be fascinated by. Lark complied, and poured himself a shot of whiskey. "To pet-sitters everywhere," Lark said, mocking his coworker's dreadful conversation. They had long ago ran of of subjects to toast to, and had decided to take turns coming up with a new cheers every night.

The drink went down smooth, and the two spent another minute chatting and laughing before it was time to check for any refills. Yes, Lark thought, as he let his muscle memory take over wiping down the counter. This is nice. Not sure I deserve the simple life, but here I am. It won't last forever, but I'll enjoy it while I'm able.

For Lark was always ready to leave for a new life whenever he decided it was time, leaving everything he had built behind him. Fifty years from now Kyn would be rocking in her chair, perhaps enjoying a drink that strange old coworker once taught her to make. One that she couldn't make quite as proper as... whatever his name had been. What had happened to him, she would think. And then she would go on with her day, only thinking of whatever his name was every now and again.

Right underneath the bed in Lark's apartment, where he spent his free time ignoring the news, lay a weathered suitcase. And in that suitcase were the only possessions he'd carry with him from life to life. An old novel he was fond of from Typha-Dor. A flower that matched his eye color. A color that matched corrupted gold, not the colored green contacts he wore to hide his past. And an enchanted Sith dagger the color of frost, his most eternal companion. One that he just couldn't bring himself to get rid of.

The suitcase was never unpacked, and was always ready to be taken wherever Lark went next.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

The Mid Rim was far too close to the core for his liking, that was something that Alisteri had decided far before his shuttle had ever emerged from hyperspace and into the Naboo system. The worlds of the Mid Rim were often far too calm and organized, even without a larger entity overseeing them they were governed effectively enough to maintain the peace and ensure order. That meant having to use formalities and official channels just to land on the planet, an issue that the many covert agents of the Tsis'Kaar and Inquisition were more than happy to asist him with given the task at hand.

If it weren't for said agents having arranged a landing in one of the spaceports for him already then Alisteri had no doubt that he would've already started threatening the local officials due to the hassle they presented with a mere landing. Part of being covert was being agreeable though, not causing a fuss and no threatening or fighting unnecessarily. The masked man stepped out his shuttle, his armor concealed by a black cloak but with his mask still in place and his presence in the Force concealed by his focus.

Not that he expected too many threats on Naboo, but one could never be too sure these days. Better to be safe than sorry.

Alisteri followed the coordinates and instructions listed on the datapad that the agents had provided him, walking until he finally stood before a small but seemingly popular club. A place that was hardly befitting of a Sith. He clicked his tongue and strode inside without further hesitation, finding Keffler's Tavern to be fairly busy at this hour. In order to appear more natural he didn't break stride as he glanced around the room in search of his target. Finally though he spotted that familiar mane of hair across the way, wiping down the counter.

"Bartending eh?" He chuckled to himself and slipped through the little crowd to make his way towards the bar. Alisteri leaned against the counter and idly rapped his knuckles against the surface to get the attention of the familiar man. "Have any specials in this place?"

Lark

 

[Lark]

For about thirty seconds Lark wiped the table without any interruption. Kyn had started playing some silly game on her phone, and the birthday retinue settled into that jovial lull of conversation a party would sometimes experience when their glasses were full and their love of life so temporarily blissful. Even the bar-crawlers who just so happened to be at Keffler's would have noticed that this night was a bit different than their normal weekly visitation. The night sky was clear, the weather mild. Somewhere nearby, a musician neighboring the bar played smooth jazz that one could hear if they focused hard enough as conversations across the table lulled. It was funny how one could fall into a routine so easily, and then all at once the beautiful simplicity of life left one reeling.

Of course, Lark noticed the man at the door. Not because of who the figure was, but because it was his job to take note of all those who entered Keffler's establishment. No one else really took heed of the young man, as far as they were concerned he was just another college student looking to relieve a bit of scholarly tension. Unless Alisteri had decided to change his own life as drastically as Lark had changed his and decided to enroll at Theed University seeking a law degree, the Sith was not here to celebrate some sorority girl's twenty-second birthday.

And he didn't even bring her a present, Lark thought. He wasn't sure what to think about Alisteri's arrival. Obviously, he was here for Lark. There were so many galactic entities that sought Lark out that it was only a matter of time until one eventually caught up with him. No matter how many lives he created, he couldn't outrun the Sith and Jedi forever.

But why Alisteri? The man had made no move to hide himself, and though Lark had been away from The Empire for some time he was no fool. If they had wanted to kill him, they could have sent any assassin that he had never met before, or one that held a previous grudge against him. Instead, across the bar was a Sith that had at least had some semblance of friendship with Lark, however bizarre Sith friendships might be. Maybe it was a trap, and Alisteri had changed so dramatically during Lark's absence that the young bartender wouldn't even recognize his former sparring partner anymore. But Lark didn't think so. Honestly, he'd have welcomed a friend and would-be assassin in the same manner regardless of any prior history.

"Alisteri! You've missed happy hour, but last time I saw you I remember you enjoyed a glass of water as much as I did my rum." Lark danced around Kyn she continued tapping on her phone, the obnoxious patron she had been tending to had returned but hadn't even noticed her obvious indifference towards the successes of his friends. A second later he tiptoed back to Alisteri, and a glass of iced water slid in front of the young Sith. A drink menu followed soon thereafter. "Of course, I'll make you anything you want, on the house. I make a mean Hurricane, or so I'm told. And Kyn over there taught me how to make a cocktail she dubbed the 'Conspiratorial Wink.' Though between me and you, it's really just a martini with extra gin."

Lark sighed, and leaned over the counter to speak more closely with his old compatriot. "But unless this is a coincidence of cosmic absurdity, you're not here to share a drink with the third largest frat house on Naboo." Lark reached for his drink kit, and began making himself an Old Fashioned. No matter how this encounter went, he'd probably need it. He wasn't wary, oddly enough. He didn't think it would turn hostile, and thus his voice was as warm as the smooth jazz that played next door.

"How can I help you, old friend?"

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

The warm tone and welcome were admittedly slightly surprising but Alisteri wasn't one to shrug off or dismiss such niceties. "Your memory serves you well then." He responded with a small chuckle as he watched Lark maneuver around the bar. He picked up the glass and idly swirled it, giving both it and the menu a passing glance. As much as he appreciated the gesture he hadn't come to partake of the establishment too much, even if his new mask had an induction port that could be put to use. "You're too kind old friend, although I must admit I'm not one for mixed drinks. At least not yet anyway."

The Sith set the glass down as Lark began making a drink for himself, his gaze occasionally flickering to the drink as he thought of how exactly to word the answer to that question. "I suppose you could say that I'm here to offer you a...job. One that you're very qualified for, if memory serves correctly." Of the handful of Sith that Alisteri had known, and more importantly had been able to find alive, from the days of the Sith Empire, Lark was one of the most capable. Perhaps too attached to a drink here or there, a sentiment only reinforced by the man's current employment, but nonetheless a competent and able warrior of the Sith.

"Not that your bartending days have to come to an end of course, I merely wished to offer you something slightly more extravagant." Alisteri shrugged as he sat back slightly, propping an elbow on the counter and resting his chin on his fist. "The pay and benefits are lacking though. When to compared to the job itself anyway." He did idly wonder how well of a life could be lived on the run, he had to care for an entire frigate's worth of people after all but perhaps alone it was much more manageable.

"It is a big commitment, and not without risk, but I can promise a very handsome payout by the end of it should everything go according to plan. A plan which would greatly benefit with you involved in it." A plan that admittedly was still being formulated, but Lark didn't need to know about that part yet. The finer details could be discussed at another time. "Perhaps at the end of it I can even offer you a quant place of your own if you wish to return to bartending afterwards. You do seem rather adept at it."

Lark

 

[Lark]

Lark listened, silent as Alisteri explained the offer. So, the Sith were offering him an olive branch once more. Though he wasn't as invested in galactic politics as he once was, it was impossible to avoid the matter altogether. Of course he had heard the whispers and broadcasts stating that the Sith had returned, as they always would. Much like a tick that infected their quarry with some incurable disease, the Sith never really went away for good. It was their eternal course. They'd conquer and pillage and build this vast empire that all the archivists would argue had never been seen before in the history of the Dark Side, and yet it would eventually crumble, as did all of their ancestors. And then they'd come back. And the cycle would continue on and on and on without end.

There was certainly an admirable quality in their stubbornness, however. As he dropped the cherry into his drink and swirled it around one final time, taking a satisfying sip, he truly did consider the offer. He had always had a sneaking suspicion that his life on the lamb wouldn't last forever, but he hadn't exactly ever imagined himself rejoining the Sith. When the Empire fell, Lark felt as though that chapter of his life had closed. He was there when the Empire first rose, and he was there when it's tombstone was laid out for the galaxy to see.

"If you're asking me to rejoin the Sith Order, I was honestly quite worried you'd ask me that," Lark said, only a bit wistfully. "You know I don't care about money, Alisteri. That's one thing about me that hasn't changed. But I'll be honest with you, because I do still consider you a friend, after all this time. I'm not sure I subscribe to the Sith ideology anymore. At least not like the rest of you do." Even when Lark was still in the Empire, there were certain aspects of it he found... distasteful. Their pitiful, embarrassing little inner-squabbles for power. Their bizarre need for total control. Indeed, even Lark's own connection to the Dark Side of the Force had always seemed quite divergent from his peers.

Did he really need the Sith? There were so many spits of rock within the galaxy he knew he could return, planets so outside the sphere of travel he knew even the rightly feared Tsis'Kaar would never be able to track him down. He could become a fisherman again. And lead a quiet, simple, fulfilling life. Rarely ever leaving that quaint little beach, but enjoying what years he had left all the same.

And yet...

Did he not still have something to offer the galaxy? Feats and goals that he did not yet know he needed to accomplish? Some greater calling? Perhaps that purpose did not lie with the Sith, but perhaps they might launch him towards that as of yet unseen goal.

"I can't promise anything," Lark continued. "But you're here now, after who knows how many years. So, tell me about this job of yours."

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

Alisteri actually chuckled in response to the admittance, waving off the remark with a little hand gesture. "Well I didn't think that you had turned to bartending out of some manner of Sith pride Lark. Besides, you're far from the only Sith that grew disillusioned. Alina had almost given up on the Sith herself for some time." It was a response that, while he couldn't understand nor sympathize with, had heard before in one form or another. Given the state of the galaxy up until now there was hardly room for Sith after all, especially if one held ties with the Sith Empire.

The continued interest wasn't too surprising either but the masked man appeared relieved and rather excited nonetheless. "Simple. I'm planning a pest control operation. One with a very dangerous and very persistent sort of pest, the type that has plagued us before." Perhaps such pests and traitors were merely a byproduct of the Sith in general, but that was a thought for another time with a separate solution. Better to cut out the weeds entirely before starting on methods to keep them from returning. "The higher echelons of the Sith have been neither humbled nor enlightened by the loss of our empire, rather I think they've gotten worse overall."

He shrugged and reached into his cloak to produce a datapad, sliding the device across the counter to Lark as he spoke. "Carnifex. Empyrean. Several key members of their power bases. A relatively small pool of individuals but ones that unfortunately hold sway over the vast majority of our reestablished order." The reality was depressing but true. "Already they've proved incapable of defeating anything but one another and a handful of Outer Rim forces. For now they're riding high on their conquests but the fragile peace is close to being shattered just to be established again after they kill enough of the other's armies. Rinse, wash, repeat until the thrones and titles are swapped around just to do it all over again. Nothing new."

Now was where the convincing came in. "Last time they brought down a whole empire, ruined hundreds of worlds simply because they failed to face their own shortcomings and mistakes. They stand ready to do the same any day now. You remember the fall of our empire, don't you Lark? How many people were affected? How much was lost?" He almost sounded wistful about the whole ordeal, as if it were an event that had happened yesterday instead of many years ago.

Then he sighed and shook his head. "But I'm not going to let that happen again. It's about time that the Sith are finally freed from their oppressors and allowed to achieve our rightful position in the galaxy once more. Free from tyrants and their disgustingly selfish missions of grandeur and bloodshed. All that stands in the way of that dream are a handful of 'Sith.' And I want them dead for all that they've done."

Normally Alisteri wasn't so blatant with his desires and ambitions, he much preferred to play with his cards close to his chest as it were. But Lark and a precious few others were trustworthy in his eyes. For they were much like he was, a victim of higher powers in one way or another. Such was the legacy of the Sith Empire.

"So what do you say? A little bit of regicide for old times sake?"

Lark

 

[Lark]

Once more, Lark stood silent as Alisteri spoke. He wasn't too concerned about anyone listening in, he knew the bar well and had made sure there weren't any secret little gadgets recording anything during his first few weeks here. Kyn was once more busy with the drunken dreg asking for more of a beer supply he had nearly singe-handedly exhausted, and the rest of the patrons were to busy trying to get in each other's pants to notice that an odd pair were discussing the coup of some of the most powerful entities in galactic history. Upbeat hip-hop was not the soundtrack Lark thought he would plan a revolution to, but if it worked for those on the dance floor, maybe it would work for Alisteri's grand plans as well.

"That's quite the sale's pitch," Lark said several moments after Alisteri stopped speaking. Upon the striking revelation of what the young Sith was planning, Lark finished his glass of whisky and bitters. No drinking game he had ever played ever had him finish a glass so quickly. And then he immediately made himself another, with a bit more whisky this time. Not because the proposition frightened him. No, Lark was frightened by the fact that he agreed with what Alisteri said. And that he actually found himself going along with it.

"Alina? That's a name I haven't heard in a while. Glad she's still kicking. She dug me out of what was almost an early grave, after some NIO invasion a while back. Still got the scars from that battle." During Lark's life after the Sith, he had always had to wear long sleeves. His choice of attire had always been questioned by his new friends and coworkers, but how could he explain the pink burns from his childhood and the thorny trails on his flesh left behind by jagged crystals?

"The thing is, I agree with your sentiments. The elders who just refuse to die have similarly proven they're incapable of guiding the Sith into the position they think they deserve. They've had centuries to do so, and they've stumbled like petulant little children far before the finish line. But there longevity is not improperly earned. They are powerful, Alisteri. It will take more then a handful of Sith to overthrow them. Sidious had Vader and an entire army in his back pocket, and he still failed to conquer the galaxy, in the end."

"I remember the fall very well. All the worlds that were brought to ruination. And so I'd like to ask you, Alisteri. Right now you're looking at a bartender. The most exciting night of my week is when Kyn's brother-in-law hosts game night, and we'll get drunk and play cards and watch some sports match that none of us really care about, but serves as great background noise while we chat about what's been going on in our lives. The most mundane excitement you can imagine."

Lark gently placed his glass on the countertop, and leaned in to face his friend a bit more closely. Not in a threatening way, but with a certain kindness that implied Lark really wanted Alisteri to think about what he was doing. "I wasn't always a bartender, and I know you're not trying to recruit a tapster."

"Were you at Myrkr, Alisteri? One of the worlds that was annihilated during the war between the Empire and the NIO. It was my homeworld. I was born there. It's funny, I think I've only ever told a Jedi that. The Sith Empire destroyed that world, whatever criminal civilization still existed there was wiped out. And that genocide was done with my will behind it. I wanted life on Myrkr to end. So all traces of my existence would be erased, so no one could ever track down exactly where I came from. So I could one day die a nameless monster."

He left the obvious implication that Lark was not his real name hang for a moment. Honestly, Alisteri was smart enough to have figured it out at this point. Hell, all of the Sith and Jedi probably knew. But his origins had vanished underneath heaps and heaps of ash and cinder. Buried so deep no archaeologist could ever hope to find them.

"So ask yourself if I am really someone you might think will be of genuine aid. For I will not be the Lark that once served the Empire, nor will I be the humble barhop standing before you now. I'm a whole can of worms, Alisteri."

Lark thought about saying something more. There was certainly more that should be said, but nothing left that Lark's heart could pour.

The pop song faded, and for a brief moment before the next song on the bar's playlist stared, the soulful tune of the street musician's trumpet could be heard. That was a bit more Lark's style.

At least, for now.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

There was no rush nor attempts to coerce a response or even an answer from Alisteri, he merely sat and watched Lark down two drinks without batting an eye. He knew well enough that to even listen to such thoughts could be dangerous, let alone being asked to share and partake in them. Not even his cult knew of just how deep his hatred ran and how intent he was on upending the regime in some manner, all their buildup and training had merely been presented as a natural evolution. They had no idea what part they were intended to play in what was to come, and for now he was content to keep it that way.

He chuckled at the remark about Alina and rested his head on his hand with a small nod. "She does that. Were it not for her I doubt I'd have survived the war at all." His Sangnir transformation had been among the least of the gifts and lessons that he and Alina had endured together, even if it was the one that was always useful. "I doubt even an entire Star Destroyer could take her down that easily." Of course he decided not to mention how long he had believed that she had perished during the war, he knew better than that now regardless.

Again Alisteri didn't attempt to interrupt or react very much at all as Lark spoke, listening to the agreement and the rebuttal. He knew that Lark was right after all. Greater foes than himself had attempted to bring down the powers that be, the entire war that the Sith Empire was dissolved because of was more than enough proof of that. What he could not agree with however was the man's testimony of himself.

One did not simply leave or forget the Sith. Especially not someone like Lark, someone that fully immersed himself whatever he put his mind to.

The tale of Myrkr was a surprise, and one that Alisteri actually showed as he briefly sat back as if in shock, but was one that he welcomed and could sympathize with. He briefly thought of his own homeworld, of Kessel and the ever-present stain of slavery and crime that followed the natural spice resource it offered. Unlike Lark however he cared little if or what people knew of his life before he had become who he was now. The Alisteri Haxim that was born on Kessel was a far distant and almost entirely irrelevant memory in his mind, all that mattered now was his life since being inducted into the Sith. No sense in destroying what didn't matter.

Lark's name was something that he had never given much thought to, even as he was tracking the crimson haired man down. There were many that threw aside their name to pick a new one whilst on the run and even when joining the Sith. Whatever the true name was before was hardly important to worry about or consider, not when it held so little sway in the present. The origins of who they were paled in comparison to the potential of who they could become and what they could accomplish, so better to leave what is dead and forgotten where it lay.

Alisteri didn't respond for a long moment and simply appeared to either be thinking or enjoying the tune of the trumpet. In reality he was thinking, but not on what Lark had revealed. Instead he was thinking on what Lark would do if the situations were reversed, if he were the one that had abandoned the Sith and Lark was the faithful yet rogue member of the order. "Perhaps..." He finally spoke, inclining his head in a nod. "...that is exactly why you will be of aid in what is to come."

He leaned forward and rested his hands on the counter, fingers clasped together. "It is the loyalties of the past that I find to be causing the most trouble Lark. My master refuses to adopt different strategies to face old foes in new positions, Carnifex refuses to believe that any but him can guide the Sith to prosperity despite his own failures, and Empyrean is too shackled to the legacy of the Worm to bring about proper unity and cohesion. For all their might and power, they remain the same. The Assassin, the Tyrant, and the Inheritor." His tone nearly dipped into one of disgust and spite, like how one would describe some form of vermin or pest.

"Change is needed. Change in the Sith, not just in the powers that be but in the base of the Sith Order itself. We must adapt and evolve, or else we will be swept aside just like every Sith Order before us has. If you are able to leave Lark behind and become someone new, someone dangerous and powerful, then you are exactly the type of person I need."

Lark

 

[Lark]

Across the bar, a young fellow slid a few credits into a stereo, granting him sole custody of the next song that was to be played across the bar. The selected tune wasn't a bad choice, a poppy ballad about a woman walking down the dance floor in a dress that didn't suit her, a color that disagreed with her hair and eyes and just about everything else that defined her. She thought she was strangely attractive, despite the broken gazes of those judging her. Of course, the unnamed protagonist of the song was in the right. Why should the rest of the club care what she wore? Their judgments damned themselves more than they did her.

An odd choice to play across Keffler's, unless there was some inside joke or unknown story that other patrons in the tavern understood that granted relevancy to the melody. For all that it was worth, Lark thought the story told was unique and that the artist had a decent enough voice. One that, in a bizarre way, blended with what Alisteri was saying.

Lark took another sip of his drink. One day, galactic history might decree that this above-average but not perfect Old Fashioned was one of the most important cocktails that had ever been mixed. For every little bit of whiskey that went down, the former Sith found himself believing more and more in what Alisteri spoke of. Oddly enough, it wasn't the intoxication that had spawned Lark's interest in forming a new Sith order. As critical as he was concerning past Sith orders, kingdoms, empires, confederacies, whatever one wanted to call them, Lark had always thought he'd be best placed at their forefront. For the sole reason that so many Sith were stagnant. Whereas Lark was the complete opposite. He was hardly the same for month than a few months at a time.

"Alisteri, so many of the words you've said this joyous evening have been the right ones. The old heads parroting around as though they are still capable of guiding an empire they've destroyed once already, it's quite a sickening sight. Enough to drive a loyal Sith feral. That infernal trinity you mentioned, they are strong. And they have failed. Far more than once."

"So," Lark continued. "You propose the eternal Sith gambit. That the acolytes of those that have failed can propel the Sith into greater heights than their masters ever could. A scheme so common there is no middle ground between success and failure. When such a coup is successful, the Sith have been stronger than ever before. How many decades has that triumvirate failed? Your criticism of that triad is worthy of the Sith."

"But there is one comment you made in error."

The rest of the drink was swallowed, as easy as a bumblebee consumed nectar. "Dear friend, Lark will never be left behind. I don't know what my mother and father named me. But whatever I was after they abandoned my brother and I was Lark. Whoever I have been since joining the Sith was Lark. Though I've claimed innumerous names, every word I've said was spoken by Lark. He is the template for every persona I enact. Lark created Forrest, Alder, and Piper. And yet, Alder is Forrest and Forrest is Piper and Piper is Lark."

Here, he was Forrest. "If I might tell you a secret, Alisteri, Lark loves the galaxy. And he loves humanity." Forrest said. "He's loved so many more people than you would think. And that love is what makes him such a powerful Sith."

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

Alisteri, in a quite surprising expression for the usually collected man, seemed almost anxious as he waited patiently for his old friend's response to his treasonous and ambitious words. Not even Alina had known the full intent behind his efforts, his cult even less so, but here he had laid it all out to be examined by Lark. Despite his trust in his friend, he couldn't shake the paranoia that had seeped into his mind and actions since the fall of the empire. Eyes and ears were everywhere after all and he had no illusions that he was immune to surveillance. Whether by his master or by others that were far more likely to act on any potential weakness that he displayed.

He didn't pay attention to the music that filled the air, to the other patrons and the drinks that they were nursing, not even to the potential threats that he was so concerned with. As far as he was concerned, all that mattered was getting Lark in on his plans and devices and everything else could be put out of mind for the moment. Thankfully the reply did seem to ease some of the tension in Alisteri's shoulders, his posture slouching slightly as he was seemingly reassured in his efforts by the words of his friend. His head cocked to the side at the mention of being wrong however, confused and slightly concerned until Lark continued speaking and explained the meaning behind the correction that he made.

Lark, Forrest, Alder, Piper, he saw little point in such a variety of names but he did not dismiss his friend's words out of hand. If it was important enough to be discussed then he would listen intently, even if he himself couldn't properly appreciate the full meaning and philosophy behind it. Love was something that seemed to actually catch him off-guard however. Love was something so foreign to the Sith, himself included. He had loved once, and only once, and when that love had died and proven useless he discarded such an emotion. He did care for his cult of course, for the countless slaves that toiled away, and even for the most stalwart and loyal of the Sith Order. But love? Love he did not.

"If Lark has such strong feelings, then I'm sure he can see my concerns and wishes are advantageous to the galaxy that he cares so much for then?" Alisteri chose his words carefully and tactically, knowing that the initiative and drive of the conversation had been turned out of his grasp for the moment. "Perhaps we can please each of your personas friend, or at the very least ease them. I have no intent of forcing you into anything that you do not wish. Whether before or after my plans come to fruition, or if they do at all. Regardless of what you want in return for your aid, I will be more than happy to oblige." There was a small pause before his tone grew slightly teasing and joking, one that was far more familiar to their interactions in their youth. "You may even hold the throne of emperor, should you wish. I have no qualms about having a bartender as the head of state."

Lark

 

[Lark]

Lark gave his empty glass a little shake, the slightly melted ice gliding into the sink. He rinsed out the vessel with warm water before setting it on the drying rack, where it would wait until fresh patrons walked into the tavern the following evening. He didn't make himself another drink, he'd wait until the night concluded and have one final beer with Kyn. The two had become close, but his earlier prediction had come true. Lark's role in people's lives was rarely permanent. No matter intimate his relationship with someone was, he seemed destined to leave them behind at some point or another. And they'd go on and live their lives, thinking of him less and less as the years passed. If Kyn lives a long and happy life, as I hope she does, there will be a time when she thinks of me for the last time. Will she remember me fondly? Or will she be damning me for forcing her to take up a few extra shifts while Keffler finds my replacement?

Once, long ago, Lark wouldn't have cared for thoughts like this. He wasn't sure what changed. How he had gone from a nameless monster to a bartender wondering how a coworker would reminisce about him decades in the future. It struck him now that this was the last time he'd watch her make a patron a drink, something that had become so routine over the past weeks. He caught her eye, and they smiled at one another, with the sort of mischievous aura that only those who served at the frontlines of the service industry understood.

You may even hold the throne of emperor, should you wish.

Emperor, Lark thought, chuckling to himself. What would you think about that, Kyn?

For a moment, he saw himself sitting atop the throne, close allies by his side, those loyal kneeling before him in the court below. His vision extended into the stars, and he saw the galaxy in an era of prosperity and peace. And all of these temporary friendships he had once made would look at their loved ones every time Lark's face graced some galactic news network and they'd proudly boast about how they once worked alongside him. And they'd never believe them. But the Emperor and the Bartender would know the truth.

But that thought only lasted a moment.

"I'm not the man for that job," he said with a laugh. "Not sure I'd want it anyways. But keep that open mind, saviors always tend to come from the strangest of places."

"Never thought I'd see the day where I'd rejoin the Sith," Lark continued. "But I'm in, Alisteri. I'm in. For all of it. There's a packed suitcase underneath my bed in my apartment, I can be ready to depart in the morning. But there's one last thing I'd like to ask you."

"You've talked about how the Sith need too change, and that the triumvirate leading the Sith have failed. But I'd like to know what kind of future you envision. Not just for the Sith, but for the galaxy as a whole. Wanting change now is noble enough, but the true endgame is what the change leads towards. So let's say, however many years from now it is, your plan is a success. The old heads are out and the new ones are in. We've won."

"What does the world look like?"

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

The rejection of the throne came as no surprise to Alisteri, only those closest to it seemed to covet it in his experience. Better that such desires be kept in check for now while everything had yet to be fully set in place and put in play. There was still so much to be done after all. And when Lark announced his agreement, the masked man had to contain his relief before it was expressed fully. At first he seemed all too eager to answer the last question, seemingly the last hurdle between himself and the completion of his mission in coming all the way out here at all, and yet when the question itself was posed he paused.

Now that was thinking ahead. Thinking far in the future, after what would be years of struggle against their current oppressors until finally they and the last remnants of their followers were toppled and executed. In truth Alisteri had only spared some glancing thoughts on such matters, idle wonderings that were hardly worthy of his attention when more current matters had to be dealt with. What was the point in looking out to the rest of the galaxy when the Sith Order had so much work to be done after all?

"Hm." It was a simple response yet one that betrayed what his masked visage could not, one that allowed a glimpse into the cogs of his mind as he formulated a response. A plan. Anything that would serve as an answer really. For a few moments he seemed genuinely stumped and halted in a manner that he had not been in years, always having some clever thought or quick remark swirling somewhere in the back of his mind. Yet for a few moments he merely thought and considered on what the eventual goals would be. To him, the monumental task of uprooting the ruling powers was the end goal. The liberation of the Sith was enough for him, and would be enough of a struggle that he hadn't bothered to consider what to do after all had settled into a proper state and order.

He doubted that he would even live to see such a day, such a revolution would bring death to him just as quickly as it would bring it to any of those that he saw as threats and issues to it. A double-edged blade indeed.

"First, we bring freedom and order to all." It seemed only logical and natural that one liberation should bring about more, a domino of tyrants being toppled and the Sith coming in to help sort out the mess left behind afterwards. "Jedi, criminals, and imperials alike, it matters not. With the Sith truly freed and united under one banner, the great struggle will be over and the claiming of our rightful place as masters of the galaxy is assured. The criminals and imperials shall be stamped out, their slavery and tyranny are unforgivable sins. The Jedi will be overthrown and replaced as the true servants of the Force, all their knowledge and power will be purged and corrupted until only the Sith and the Dark Side remain."

He could almost see it now, bombarding Coruscant and leveling their Jedi Temple while Sith soldiers executed the Senators live on the Holonet. Imperial and Criminal organizations being torn down under the marching boots of the Sith Order, their leaders fit only to be added to the corpse pile. Slaves across the galaxy given freedom underneath the banner of the Sith, their chains broken as the Dark Side promised to all those willing and able to follow the Sith Code. What a wonderous thing it would be. "An entire galaxy of Sith, every person from the Outer Rim to the Unknown Regions and beyond all pledged to the service of the Dark Side. All bringers of order and freedom, all Sith. That is what I would wish for the future to be Lark, I would wish for it to be pure and remade in the image of the Sith as it should be."

Alisteri took a breath, perhaps the first one that he had taken since arriving in the bar. "As it should be." A mutter to himself, one in awe and reverence at the glorious future that he had conjured up with his words.

Lark

 

[Lark]

A patron that Lark was familiar with entered the tavern, and made a quick signal of the hand indicating what it was he would want to drink in two or three minutes time. Grabbing a bottle in each hand, one of gin and the other blue curaçao, he deftly mixed the liqueurs into a shaker, tossed in some ice, shook hard for about ten or twelve seconds, and poured the liquid through a strainer into a martini glass. And as Alisteri spoke with relentless fervor about the what his imaginings for the future of the galaxy looked like, Lark drowned a thin black straw in the azure concoction he had crafted. With the gentle grace of a lithe ballet dancer, he placed the drink on a coaster across the counter, where the young man who was essentially a native species of the bar lifted the handle, took an introductory sip, nodded his thanks, and passed Lark a handful of credits.

God, he'd miss this.

Of course, he heard every word his friend had said in the meantime. For even before Lark was a bartender, he had made it his mission to hear every whisper that danced within the walls of any establishment, whether it be a cantina or courtroom. It was that beautiful diversity that allowed Lark to feel at home within any saloon or senate hearing.

For the most part, he had agreed with just about every word the young Sith had espoused. Save for his disparagement towards criminals. For Lark and his brother had been criminals, orphaned together so long ago and forced to resort to deceit and pocket-picking in order to survive. For so many, crime was a necessary means of survival. The desperate and the hungry should never be identified as criminals. Of course, crime existed in a spectrum as wide as the galaxy itself, and Alisteri had not specified whether or not he'd punish common thieves in the same way in which he'd punish murderers or abusers or others of their ilk. The man seemed to have a fixation on slavery, of all things, and though Lark did not know too much of Alisteri's past this was not the time to inquire. All Lark knew was that one should venture to be as creative as possible when it came to executing anyone who ever owned slaves. Carve their head in with a brick, or a stone, or a sledgehammer. Let the mind run wild!

When following this thought process, Lark found his second criticism of Alisteri's future. It would remain unspoken for now, but if the man were serious about his aspirations Lark would have to confront his friend about the point sometime in the future. Alisteri spoke of how all beings in the galaxy, people from every planet and every alleyway, would be pledged to the Dark Side, and to the Sith. But was this subjugation not the same as slavery? Lark had always hoped to see the Sith as protectors, that the Dark Side might be used to shield those who wished not to utilize it's tempting powers. That they might go about their daily lives as they would under any other government, knowing that the reliable, benevolent Sith would offer them security when the need arises.

But that was guidance that Lark would provide in the future, if necessary.

"Hopefully, years from now, we can return to this humble establishment as we lead the galaxy to a brighter future, reminiscing on the fact that here is where it all started. That a dirty little fraternity bar on Naboo was where the future of the galaxy was counseled. Who would have thought that a planet rife with such a nauseating aristocracy would play host to a universe's liberation?"

The musician outside started playing a song about love, and Lark took an inadvertent glance at Kyn. And damn the woman, she returned the stare. In a weeks time, she'd hate him for disappearing without a word. But it had to be done. And both their hearts would cry for it.

I'm so sorry, he thought, as he looked at her for what might be the last time.

And then bless her, she seemed to understand. Who knows what the coworkers might have become, in some other reality. But the story of the galaxy demanded they never be anything more than they were right now. "So I take it... this is your last shift?"

"It is. I'm sorry, Kyn. But I want you to know that I'm proud of you. Prouder than you'll ever know."

Kyn nodded, bravely fighting away the tears threatening to suffocate her eyes. She didn't ask where Lark was going, she was too good a person for that. Instead she gave Lark a hug, making him promise that they'd have one more drink together before he departed and that they'd stay in touch. A courtesy Lark hadn't expected. And then she turned to Alisteri, bowed her head, and thanked the masked man for being a good friend to Forrest. A man who didn't exist, but was the only version of him that she had ever known.

"I'll need to finish up my shift here, then grab my belongings," Lark said as Kyn stepped away to aid a customer. "Then I will rejoin the Sith Order wherever they need me. I hope that they aren't already calling for my head, after years of absence."

"And then, dear friend, I look forward to our next meeting. Unless you don't want to cut the night short, and would like Kyn over there to make us all a drink? Though she doesn't know it, seems like the time for it!"

Lark leaned close to Alisteri, across the counter. "Your choice, friend. I always try to force moments of celebration into existence, but in the future they might be hard to come by. I'll toast to whatever you'd like."

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

In the moments before Lark responded to his grand vision of the future, and one that seemed indeed too grand to be worth pursuing with fervor alone, Alisteri collected and recomposed himself. Such speeches were usually reserved for the sermons and lessons that he gave to his cult, things that revealed his intentions and gained him loyalty from both supporters of his vision and those that simply agreed to work towards change and enjoyed the honest words. He was certainly not given the title Strosius without having earned it, for in those moments of the sermons and speeches one could not help but see the Sith as the zealous fanatic that he was.

Composure brought back his more relaxed and civil posture as it returned in full and displayed Alisteri as a calm and ordered Knight once more. Perhaps the one on his face was not the only mask he adorned after all.

"I've heard that dissention grows best in inebriated minds, freed from sober responsibilities and limitations. Perhaps one day the nobles of this world will understand that lesson as well." He held no more love for the nobility of Naboo or any other world than he did for the higher authorities of the Sith Order. One day they would all realize just how fragile their grip on power really was, just how much the complacency of the many kept them in their ivory towers and gilded thrones.

Alisteri mused on such thoughts as Lark spoke with one of his coworkers, doing his best not to overhear out of respect. Eliad came to mind, a world of nobles and their holdings which had fallen under the shroud of the Sith Order and sworn to the service of the Kainite cause under their new queen. There were indeed nobles within the Sith that had to be taken care of first before he could ponder on a wider and far reaching plan to upend the ruling classes across the galaxy. It could, and hopefully would, be done with proper planning and time but none could even begin to be spared for now. There was still so much to do before they were in a position to think about such ambitions in any serious manner.

Despite his inner focus, he did return the nod from said coworker with one of his own. He idly wondered how much she really knew of Lark, of his past and his previous loyalties and conquests. But then, how much did he himself know of the red haired man? Regardless, if she was a friend of Lark's then he would not question her. Hopefully there would not be too much disruption of the bar without Lark there to help.

"The memories of the Sith are short these days it seems, and ill will is far too little to be of concern. I doubt your return would even be noticed unless you did so in a...dramatic fashion." It was they who were among the first to abandon the Sith for their own gain after all, why should they judge others for being forced to do the same? "I wouldn't stick too close to anyone of note though, just in case they do recognize you and try to drag you into some dull discussion about themselves."

The offer of a drink didn't interest him much, not that it would do much to him anyway, but Lark's additional remark on the subject made him click his tongue and reconsider.

"A toast to the future then, and whatever drink is your favorite to go with it." Keeping up moral was indeed an important and ever-present task that had to be managed. Drinks and celebrations of this sort normally weren't his preferred method of doing so but he had no reservations against such things. If Lark wanted to have a good drink before they began their work towards their grand goal then he would not bother denying the offer to join in on the celebrating.

Lark