The Epistolary Episodes of a Murderous Mercenary and a Quondam Queen

[Quietus]

Was, a quiet telepathic correction, no longer.

The once-Queen smiled faintly, exhaling sten smoke into the Merc's figure as she leaned over her. A hand reached up to tuck the card into the neck of the woman's armor.

It's almost as if you knew.

She patted the card at Aver's breastplate.

What's for dinner?

 

[Aver Brand]

"I know, right?" She chuckled, pulling back. Wide eyes, bated breath, then: "Uncanny."

Aver shrugged, offering the former Queen an open hand.

"Haven't thought that far, to be entirely honest," she admitted with a furrow in her brow. "No matter. Got plenty of meat. We'll cut through the Souk, buy some spice—"
she paused, making side-eyes at Quietus, "not that kind. And a few, mm... ioaa, it's in season, and those bofa should be just about ripe... a side of lamta..."

"Add a touch of namana liquor, serve over hibbas breast."

A smile, pleased like no other, curled her lips.

"How's that sound, not-Queen? A right royal dinner, innit?"

 

[Quietus]

An odd occurrence to be offered a hand by the Merc. Odder yet to accept it. Quietus did so with the dawning realization that it had been ten years since they first met, and despite ten years being a simple blip on the timeline of her own life it had probably felt like a lifetime for her companion.

A smirk at mention of spice, the reticent woman gestured with a hand to her Marauder's Bag on the ground and felt the strap leap into her grasp. She pulled it over her shoulder and moved to join Aver as she lead the way out, walking abreast of the Merc while describing dinner plans - much of which was lost on Quietus.

It sounds complicated, Not-Vrag, she replied with an easy smile and a coy side glance.

 

[Aver Brand]

She dipped her head, grinning behind the black faceplate once again in place. “Touché.”

“And it’s not. Make no mistake…” she trailed off, pushing through the crowd, “you’ll help.”

Because the next best things after knives in bed? Knives in the kitchen. Bonus points for the both of them preferring it rare. Just thinking about that hibbas made her mouth water.

Well. Not just the hibbas.

“What you got in there?” Aver asked as they stepped out, gesturing to the leather bag.

 

[Quietus]

I profess my skills of cooking are unpracticed for ...several years. What several years actually equated to was left undefined, however. Rest assured it had been a very long time since Quietus had stepped foot in a kitchen of any kind. Since the day of her purification her meals had been taken raw or severely undercooked.

But I can certainly help eat... her grin was that of a predator, briefly baring the mouth full of fangs so rarely displayed for lack of spoken word.

Another glance, she drummed her fingers along the top of her bag, My entire life.

...and maybe something for you.

 

[Aver Brand]

If the merc looked surprised was anyone’s guess.

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” she chuckled and opened the side door of her airspeeder. Or, well, an airspeeder, at any rate. Aver went through many a month for… reasons.

Quietus was about to be introduced to two of those.

Nadir traffic… meet Aver’s driving.

 

[Quietus]

~~~

Did I ever tell you about the time I jumped off the top of the Spire of Tranquility during a Sith invasion of Jedi-occupied Coruscant?

The answer was no, she hadn't.

Well, I... - a pause, Quietus shook her head, nevermind, too long. The point was that I would rather do that again than be subjected to your driving.

They had arrived at Aver's humble abode and Qui needed a moment to regain her bearings after departing from the speeder. Something about being a passenger through what amounted to a massive hot-mess of sky rage was not particularly enjoyable. She'd rather spend an afternoon wrangling rank bull drexls in the unforgiving sun.

 

[Aver Brand]

"Oh please," the merc laughed. "I'm a saint behind the wheel compared to Nadir standards."

Which didn't mean a lot, considering Nadir standards were based on fly-by shootings. Traipsing through the metal endoskeleton of the comet was an experience best partaken in the manner commonly referred to as 'FLOOR IT' – simply because lingering in any shape or form was tantamount to suicide.

"Sounds like fun though – jumping off a temple. Fething sweet. How long ago was this?" She waited for the doors to wheeze open, then continued up the rickety stairs. The whole thing was coated in a fine film of cigarette ash and sentient refuse, and numbers three and sixteen creaked like an old soldier's joints. A single light was buzzing along halfway up the building, flickering in time with the gunshots outside.

Finally, Aver led Quietus down an empty stretch of corridor and unlocked her apartment.

Well. Theirs. Loray was away on some business down in the Rishi system. One cartel or another had asked for help with a cleanup job. Nothing major.

Turning on her heel, Aver spread her arms to encompass the minimalist living space.

"Welcome."

 

[Quietus]

An audible snort followed after Aver's words. Saint. No, Aver Brand, you are no Saint.

Quietus followed without remark of their surroundings, stepping in through the doorway after the Merc and allowing her gaze to wander. It was small and bare and reminded her greatly of her own dwellings anywhere other than her tree home on Onderon. All the important things were there and nowhere else, even still now that she lived abroad. If there was any single thing to remark about her home, it was the smell of the man with whom she lived. His musk was very strong here.

Four...five hundred years ago, she replied to Aver's thoughts while her gaze continued to pan from one corner to the next, well before the Gulag. I was particularly foolhardy in my youth.

 

[Aver Brand]

She gave a tight little laugh. “You’d be surprised what Nadir thinks of Aver Brand.”

With brisk motions the merc removed the top plates of her armor and returned to the counter in a – yes – armorweave undersuit. A knife jumped to her waiting palm, and then everything became a blur of blade and vegetable.

“You trying to sell me, what… that you’re mellow now?” Snorting right back, Aver put the assorted greens onto a low sizzle and stalked over to the fridge.

Enter the meat, stage left.

 

[Quietus]

Quietus found the table and dropped her bag on one of the chairs, taking a seat in another. The blond watched her companion closely, green eyes slithering over the woman's figure in her armorweave down to the deft skill in which she put her blade to work. Cooking was an art, one that she had learned lifetimes ago and practiced for many years. Back before the plague and the long, long darkness to follow.

Back before her last pilgrimage when things had been far more complicated.

An odd smile found her face, the sort that appeared to be rather self-deprecating as she glanced to her hands where they unwound a loop of string from her left wrist.

Maybe, she said as the string pulled free, or just ...less foolhardy. My grandmother liked to call it apathy.

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver stopped for a moment, catching the pause in her speech. She wasn’t emotional by any stretch of the word, but the merc knew people better than most.

“Liked to?” she echoed, tendering the meat with the light touch of her fist.

Didn’t need a hammer with hands like these.

“You any good with a grill?”

 

[Quietus]

Cat's Cradle was a puzzle practiced during moments of otherwise idleness. Two hands wove the long loop of string between fingers, slowly crafting patterns. The string glinted in the dim light of the apartment as she paused.

Liked to?

Yes, returned the woman as her hands began moving again, she does not anymore because she is dead.

The string dropped from all fingers save her thumbs and she pulled the loop loose again, I think a spit over a campfire is the closest I get to cooking meat anymore, if I cook it at all. I'm nothing if not adaptable. Standing from her seat and winding the string around her wrist again, Quietus moved to Aver's left side where she stood at the counter, eyeing the ingredients laid out before them.

 

[Aver Brand]

"Ah."

That was right about the extent of condolences Aver knew – or wanted – to express. "Gulag?"

Instead she gathered the hibbas and carefully replaced it in front of the blonde. Handing Quietus the spices (about twenty, all told), the merc moved to the far end of the kitchen to start up the grill. If there was one piece of advanced tech in the barebones apartment, it was the stove. You could hardly even call it such, what with its ability to burn at temperatures that melt durasteel. "Go to town, then."

Bustling about, an old melody came easy to her throat, and before she knew it— Ygdris was humming.

 

[Quietus]

No, she watched hibbas and spices fall into place before her and moved to look over each one, we were both immune.

A sliver of raw meat cut for tasting. Hibbas was not something she could recall having before but it was pleasant enough. She set to work carving with knives clearly not meant for the kitchen but understandably available in this particular setting. Slices of marbled fat and strings of tendon were set aside but not discarded. The tune of a humming Merc drew a short glance but no further attention. It reminded her of Onderon and a day of work with the tribespeople - a tune was always on the winds and echoing through the valleys.

Allowing the meat to marinate she turned back to the cut sections of grisle and tendon. Spices were applied to the strips of fat which were then rolled and tied shut with the tendon. Quietus placed them on the grill first, turning the heat up.

A shuffling sound from above her head gave the woman pause.

 

[Aver Brand]

"Yg," Aver scolded without turning away from the side dish. Didn't have to look – her armor was as much a part of her as it was a separate organism.

Even if it did spend most of its days lazing about a sprawling terrarium now. They had seen ten bloody years together, in the field and off. It knew her, and she knew it.

"Be nice to the guest. Say hi." With a chuckle, the merc inclined her head in the vague direction of the scrabbling noise. "Quietus, meet Ygdris."

 

[Quietus]

Ygdris...

Brief flashes of memory from Onderon, Iziz... a dark room in the basement of someone's home. There had been a chair, negotiations, and a play for dominance. Ygdris, Ygdris. Fast forward to four years later when a fuming Merc arrived at her tent to demand the removal of a particularly stubborn mark of black. Her armor had changed, she remarked on it. Of course, the armor. Vong armor ... as indicative of her inability to sense it within the Force.

The blond's brow furrowed slightly as she tracked the movement above her head but returned to the marinating meat. She brought it to the grill and placed it, adjusting the heat again and turning the grisle rolls. A chattering sound above her and to the right drew her gaze again.

There sat a creature that looked curiously like a mishapen helmet, watching her as much as a helmet could. Vong technology, still so very much a mystery to her. Quietus picked a roll of grisle off the grill with a pair of tongs and leaned to set it up on the opposite corner of the fridge for the helmet.

 

[Aver Brand]

Dhaladii eyed the new arrival. Beady eyes narrowed as something long, fierce, and hungry reared its head.

"Lammie."

Coils slithered apologetically – muscles poised to strike relaxed. A beat passed, and then a length of sleek scales emerged from the mouth of the skull.
A tri-forked tongue, lapping at the air before the rest of the body followed. In the blink of an eye, two meters of death and poison was staring at Quietus, unblinking.

Aver turned to face her armor, a split grin twisting her lips. She nodded.

The amphistaff lunged forward and snapped up the morsel.

 

[Quietus]

Quietus watched with unblinking interest as this creature went through the throes of feeling threatened, being admonished, and becoming complacent enough to eat the offering. Its behavior drew a strange half-smile to her face, the very same sort of expression she'd worn as a 12 year old while discovering the world of Onderon. Wonder. It was a look of wonder.

I know so little about Vong creatures...

Was creatures even the correct word? Their technology was living, oftentimes sentient - creature seemed fitting enough.

This one is an amphistaff, yes?

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver watched Quietus watch Lammie. Then the blonde smiled, and she nearly succumbed to the sudden urge to kiss those lips. Had to dig her nails into the metal countertop – turn her gaze away.

"Yeah. Her name's Lamashtu," she said in a fond voice. "Feed her some more of that fat and she might let you touch her."

The merc set upon arranging the plates, adding: "Well behaved, that girl. Just like me."