Private The Line Not Crossed

[Malcoma Hesse]

Onique knew that Damris was following her.

And he knew it.

Ever since Iayn had left for Naboo, and then to follow her dangerous dream on to Nar Shaddaa, Malcoma had been keeping a closer eye on all her girls, especially the half-zabrak's closest friends. It was like Mal was postpartum and desperate to keep the rest of her girls safe. Depression was certain to follow soon after, maybe even psychosis. Onique couldn't bring herself to be that mad at her symbolic mother for attempting to shore up the freedom that she and her sister had gotten used to over the last few years, but she was mad at Damris for sitting the wrong baby.

Had she had an entire mind to tell him so, she would have stopped at the cantina door and stomped up to him around the corner in the alleyway. Alas, she had only half, so she only paused to glance over her shoulder, throwing a smoldering gaze into the darkness.

After walking into the bar, she let the door fall almost shut behind her. She pushed back on it with her heel, helping the door back into the crooked threshold until the latch clicked into place. She waved the barkeeper into silence as she scanned the room dimly illuminated by natural light filtering in from rag-covered windows. A few patrons sat around at tables or on bar stools, nursing drinks or dragging on some rusty spice smokers.

Out of all of them, a light-haired woman dressed in all white sitting alone interested her the most. To onlookers, it might have looked like a reunion of sisters as the echani walked over and took a seat across from the other woman. "Ariadne?" she asked just to make sure she was in the company she thought she was. "I'm Onique."

Ariadne

 

[Ariadne]

Coruscant / Late​

Repairs had been slow. The Jedi Cybelle Elyance had done a number on Ariadne when she attempted to flee the site of the Sal-Soren killings. The HRD had no place to go. No haven open to her. The New Way had closed ranks, leaving Ariadne in the wind. She was not surprised. It was the protocol. Disavow and disown. She would earn their good graces again. It was only a matter of time.

Nursing a drink she would never sip, Ariadne put on a great show of a customer lost in their thoughts. Her contact should surely have been here by now. The delay was sending her processors into a frenzy. It was almost as if she needed breathing exercises to calm her spirit.

Deep grey eyes lifted to the door as it slid closed and then belatedly clunked shut. The woman approaching her walked with the gait of her suspected profession. Ariadne’s head tilted to the side in curiosity with the introduction. The woman was attractive by humanoid standards, pleasantly imperfect.

All the droid that was offered was a hand indicating Onique should sit opposite her.

”I was beginning to wonder if my services were of no value. I can insure you…that is not the case.”

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

"I'm sure," agreed the echani. "I meant no offense." Onique cleared her throat and continued, choosing not to tell her new assassin friend about the tail that she had been trying to lose, and which had made her late. Damris' blind loyalty to Malcoma was annoying as all chaos, but Onique didn't want to accidently make him a mark. Or jumpstart another sort of misunderstanding. He was a helicopter bodyguard, not a cop or anything bent on bringing an assumedly cold-blooded killer in.

"I was actually very intrigued but them. I think my...boss," sure, that'd do, "would be too.

"Her name's Malcoma Hesse. Have you heard of her? She's the biggest and baddest in the Core slaving game." That was the word on the streets, even on the hyperlanes reaching all the way into what used to be Confederate space once upon a dream. The narrative had not only survived but grown exponentially thanks to the Family's wide network of eyes, ears, and trusted associates. No loose lips would sink this ship— Ivory Stroud had and would continue to make sure of it.

Onique leaned over the table slightly, lowering her voice. "Unfortunately, we've run into some competition that our usual weeding attempts have been ineffective on. I think it needs your kind of touch."

Ariadne

 

[Ariadne]

“Intrigued?” Ariadne responded with an imitation of coyness that she had been practicing, “perhaps you shall both have your intrigue satiated.”

There was no visible sign given by the assassin that she recognised Hesse’s name. Of course, she did. Most everyone that kept to the shadows of society knew the name. Working for a slave trader was of no concern, though Ariadne was curious as to the moral implications. It fascinated her to see the range of ethics amongst fleshlings.

”Biggest and baddest?” She replied as she matched the lean forward, “there is still competition for that title. Forgive me if I remain open-minded yet unconvinced.”

A calculated smile crossed the artificial features of the HRD. “Well now. Who would that be?”

Malcoma Hesse​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

"Lorn Dara." After working an info puck out of a belt pocket, Onique slid it across the tabletop. "This is all we know about him and his operation." Then she slid it back towards herself. "But first, name your price. I'll pay half right now and the rest when his complete business ledger is on Hesse's desk."

The deed was to be done soon enough: in a week's time.

Onique had only thought to tell Malcoma about the plan on day four.

And Mal had thought it best to excuse herself from her office, then from the Guesthouse, and finally from Monument Plaza altogether. She only took her trench coat from the closet near the door and speeder from the garage before she left. The latter took her to CoCo Town. She hoped that she could lose herself to the various industrial sensory experiences that the sector had to offer.

The smells of homely foods. The solicitation of survey-givers. The clamor of construction. The simmering rage of rush hour traffic jams.

Anything to distract her from her sudden desperation, sudden disappointment—even the din of common life.

As she walked away from her speeder stashed in an alley, she dialed a frequency number on her comm. It chimed, and chimed, and chimed. She let a hiss out through her teeth and stuffed it into an inner liner pocket. It was probably for the best that he didn't answer; she did realize that.

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Coruscant​

Observation had been a skill he had acquired over time. It should really have been called purposeful prolonged staring. It was opposed to the natural wanderlust that beat within his chest. Nevertheless, he had learned it.

Rumours had it that a skilled assassin had been soliciting clients among The Family. There was no description beyond that. There were a lot of killers for hire in the galaxy, and The Family probably partook of their services as much as any ill reputed organisation. Still. It was something.

Brandyn would take anything as a distraction from the hollowed feeling of grief that persisted. Cybelle understood. At least, he thought she did. He needed to be busy. Even if this lead was nothing, it was busy work. Even if this assassin was not the same that killed his parents, and it was almost certainly not, at least he was doing something.

Helplessness be damned.

CoCo town was an interesting choice of venue to which he had followed Hesse. There was a resourceful charm that defied the harsh metallic nature of Coruscant. Perhaps it reminded her of her childhood.

Mom.

He winced. Mentally brushed aside the desire to remember, and pushed from shadows into the light breaking through the spotty wisps of cloud above.

Arrayed in a form hugging red tunic, and neatly pressed dark grey slacks, Brandyn moved into Malcoma’s periphery. He noted frustration regarding comms issues. He allowed a smirk and eyebrow lift. He knew the manner of woman she was. He was easily noticed by one so accustomed to watching their back.

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Malcoma noticed footfalls to her left first, but, once she saw him too, she stopped in her tracks. She wasn't in any kind of mood for this.

Until she realized that this man resembled Wynter. The likeness remarkable enough, other than the dressy clothes and overlong hair, to stay her annoyed remark. Instead, she blinked.

Ah, so that was why he hadn't answer—?

The next moment had her shaking her head of that idea. No. No. Though the scoundrel would have made an entrance like that, and found the timing much more humorous than the coincidence was, she was fairly certain that he was too far away at the moment to be able to pull it off.

She crossed her arms and set her weight slightly onto one hip. "I'll ask you nicely," she began, "once, to scram."

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

He smiled.

”Nicely? Well that defies your reputation.”

He didn’t hide his Nabooian accent, nor the hint of brash Corellian tones that were courtesy of his father. Hand dove into his pocket, only briefly, to pull out a ration bar. He tore it open and took a bite.

”But reputation is usually just a cultivation. Like a Family tale that grows over generations.”

Talking with his mouthful. His mother would be annoyed. Brandyn winced. There was no time for that now.

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Malcoma narrowed her eyes at the mystery man. "Cute," she over-annunciated, referring sarcastically to both his wordplay and manners.

Slowly, she looked him up and down. She was nothing if not cultured; she picked up on his vocal inflections as soon as he spoke his first syllable. "Naboo, hmm? Believe it or not, I've never been, but my daughter quite enjoyed it." It was then her turn to raise her brow. "Now, whatever about your lot in life has brought you here, baby?

"Maybe a little Family drama?"

Hit the nail on its head and she didn't even have a hammer.

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

His reply to her over annunciated comment was simply a two-shoulder shrug was offered with an expression that said, “What can I say?” She clearly knew her stuff. Picking up on his accent, and then commenting on it was an attempt to make him feel compromised. If her pointedness with her observations affected Brandyn, he did not show it.

”Daughter, huh? Maybe we know each other,” he said, taking another bite. They didn’t know each other, but two could play the subtle-loss of agency game.

”Nope. Actually. It was you. You bought me here…Malcoma.”

A Cheshire-like grin revealed a little too much of the remains of his last mouthful.

“Any time a big time outfit like yours begins cross pollinating with a whacko terrorist group,” he said, before scarfing his last bite, “well…it raises eyebrows.”

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

For a long moment, she only stared him down with a squint. If she hadn't been caught off guard, she would have probably replied that she should be so lucky. Instead:

"Did Judah Lesan send you, Jedi?"

It was equal parts a question and equal parts a guess. Maybe a bit of an insult too; she couldn't help herself.

Before he could answer, she added, "I just found out. I don't know how to convince you of that, but it's true." She knew that with her reputation, her word wouldn't mean much to a Jedi or any other do-gooder. What might change that was not going to happen. Even if she let this stranger into her little secret right now, he would most likely only laugh it off. Worse still, if he did by some miracle believe her, she would have to find a way to silence him for sharing it. She didn't want any of them, but that was a headache she would really rather avoid.

"I'm sure I don't have to remind you that big time outfits like mine don't play well with the law, but the one thing we have in common is making a point of not working with terrorists."

At the very least, Malcoma hoped that the fact she was even entertaining this conversation in a public place communicated to this man something about her sincerity.

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

“Lesan?” Brandyn said, lying, “never heard of him.”

He neither confirmed nor denied the Jedi part. Hopefully that would prove to his advantage later.

Hesse was forthcoming. He assumed that her reasoning was that he already knew this much, she might as well get out in front of it all. He listened intently, trying to pick up on any inferences, missing details or subtext. Surprisingly, he felt that she was being rather forthright.

”It isn’t good for business. One would imagine.”

Arms folded behind his back.

”Do all your lieutenants have as much freedom as the one that hired this assassin?”

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

The question earned him another glare.

And then, right as it seemed that she would not dignify him with a response, she glanced over her shoulder in one direction, then the next, and replied, "You leave her out of this." Normally, she would use no gendered pronouns as not let her cards slip, but she could tell that now was no the time to play coy. "I assume whatever you are is no sympathizer to this Ariadne's cause." Perhaps to his advantage indeed, she let go of the Jedi assumption quickly as well.

"Tell you what, baby. I'll get you your naughty girl so you can punish her however you see fit. Then mine's my business. That sounds like a happy ending, don't you think?"

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn’s face grew taut at the mention of Ariadne’s name. You didn’t have to be a Jedi to ‘sense’ the seething rage that ignited with the confirmation of the assassin being the very one that he hunted. The one that killed his parents. “No. I am unsympathetic in the extreme,” he said through gritted teeth.

Revenge. Pure and simple.

“You would organise a rendezvous with this woman?” He said, fueled now by the heat he felt rising up his spine, “some place private, I would hope.”

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Mal nodded curtly. The woman was, after all, being paid out of her coffers. Plus, a meeting at the end of the job was a part of the contract. "Rest assured, no one will bother us."

Next came her conditions:

"Then our business is done. Mine with her and yours with me. If you should continue to monitor me or any of mine after this, I will begin to bother you. Are we clear?"

All were hissed as she stood her ground a few arm lengths away from him. Symbolic.

"Coexist with Hesse?" Dara was saying into a phone meanwhile, pacing around his office in a run down factory building. Slavers that dared to rival the size of Malcoma's operation had tried many things to stay afloat, but no other had been as bold to set up shop in Sector 45-787, which had been condemned in its entirety for many years due to the site's processing wastes growing rapidly out of control. It had been a health hazard then and it was still one now, edge blunted just barely. An air filtering mask is what protected him and his goons from it, but the slaves he had chained up in the manufacturing floor, huddled for warmth around machinery that even now burned with the dying heat of unnatural chemical reactions, were another story.

Mal was going to walk a tour of hell trying to save those poor souls.

That wasn't Ariadne's business though.

He scoffed. "Not even if that was something she'd allow... Why? Why? Well, I'll tell you why..."

Ariadne

 

[Ariadne]

Her mask came off and was tossed casually to the side. What was revealed was an unflappably stoic face, perfectly high cheek bones, hair that seemed to bounce back unusually fast from having straps pressing down, and pert lips. There was an unnatural sparkle in the blonde woman’s eyes.

”Well, then. We shall just dispense with the pleasantries then,” she said with a subtle tilt of her head, “because I don’t really care for the why. I have a job to do. You.”

The two men at the Dara’s side took their cues and approached Ariadne. Each carried a stun baton, and tapped them in their off hand’s like cartoonish thugs. Ariadne’s tongue forced against the inside of her bottom lip, showing a clear dissatisfaction with the challenge they presented.

The first thug to make his move struck quickly at her shoulder. She did not flinch, but instead caught the mans wrist and stopped his swing dead it its tracks. She squeezed. Blood ran from her finger tips, and bones crunched, as her synthetic digits punctured the man’s wrist.

The other thug did not hesitate in attacking when they saw their cohort in distress. Ariadne’s attention snapped to the second attacker, and she let go of the wrist from the first only to pull their stun baton into her own grasp. With exquisite grace, she brought the baton across to block the blow from the second attacker. Her left hand grasped his arms. Again, bones crunched and the man dropped to the ground. He screamed from behind the mask, which was quickly removed by the assassin.

The first attacker, blood rage engaged, turned towards her and grabbed her hair from behind. It took only a microsecond for Ariadne to process the correct response, as she flipped with the motion, landed both knees on his shoulder and twisted, snapping his neck with a loud crack.

The other attacker was back to his feet, looking worried, and considering his options. Before he could decode to flee or fight, Ariadne had the man by his shirt and lifted him off his feet, before slamming him back-first against the corner of Dara’s desk. After a second’s worth of spasms, the man fell limp. Ariadne released her grip, and his lifeless form fell the floor.

It was all over in seconds. Now only Dara stood in the room with her, as Ariadne stood back up to her full height And advanced…

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Dara dropped the receiver at the first real indication of trouble. The speaker cover cracked as it connected with the dirty floor. He backed up towards the windows looking down onto the large workroom, but he didn't reach for a latch to unlock one. Even if he wasn't an indulgent man, too comfortable in his pants size and behind his gossip, he wouldn't have thought about jumping. Too many cowards like him thrived in the Underworld until their loyal protectors were put in their place six feet under.

"Y-you're working for her," he sniveled, looking her up and down nervously as she approached. She didn't look like the headmistress' usual type, who were a bit less... ruthless.

Hesse seemed hellbent on protecting the innocence of those whom she had saved in whatever small ways that she could manage. Yes, the degree to which that was possible varied quite a bit from girl to girl and circumstance to circumstance, but, no, raising a machine was not one of her many ambitions.

"P-please, I'll give you whatever you want!" And so came the begging, but it didn't mean anything.

Mal slid into a booth near the performance stage. She had decided that her club was the best place to hold a double-cross. When the had walked in, the place seemed anything but private, filled with patrons and staff and security, but, as soon as she walked out onto the stage and announced that Eden's Club was closed for the foreseeable future, that changed entirely. It didn't even take that much more one-on-one convincing to get her personal bodyguard, Damris, to leave the premises with the rest.

He cast Brandyn a suspicious look before he did. She had a penchant for bringing home the tall, dark, handsome, and dangerous men.

Now no one else was besides the headmistress and the maybe-Jedi but one: Onique. Malcoma wasn't excited about it but she had to be here. She glanced over at the bar where the echani was leaning back on the counter.

"Tell me your plan," she said as she shifted her eyes back to him. "It'd better be good. I'm afraid that a poor, old woman like me has nothing on a terrorist assassin."

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn had been doing his best to not look at the stage, even a peripheral glance had given him pangs of guilt. A small voice in the back of his head spoke of betrayal’s of trust just being in a place like this. But it was for the mission. The only mission. Nothing else could matter.

When Hesse ordered people’s departure, he was impressed to see how quickly the rooms emptied. Though the glance from the bodyguard changed that feeling of being impressed to a very distinct feeling of intimidation. Hesse was not someone to mess with. And he was messing…a lot.

He centred himself, focusing on the mission ahead. The droid would be eliminated.

Poor? Unlikely. Old? More like mature. Brandyn didn’t comment.

The plan was simple. Hide in a room behind where the droid would be sitting. Stab through the wall with his lightsaber, and into her central processing unit. Assassinating the assassin was not something he had said was on the cards though.

Brandyn pointed to a booth, next to a door that led into the kitchen area. “Have it sit there. Facing that way,” he said, gesturing away from the kitchen door, “I’ll do the rest.”

| Malcoma Hesse |​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Mal pursed her lips. Damris had taught her a little about ambush positions and how they were best to kill, not arrest, from. The man before her had taken silence on the matters, and her guess of an hour ago had been fueled entirely by paranoia since only one terror organization that had been active on Coruscant somewhat recently had come to mind upon their meeting, but Jedi or not, he was someone scorned.

"Oh, you violent boy."

Whether or not he was one, it would make him or break him. Fortunately for him, Mal was not one to scold someone for kindling nor holding rage. She was many things, many of them dark and harsh, but a hypocrite in this vein she was not.

She resat herself with no more prompting.

As Brandyn moved past her into the kitchen, she'd glance up at him and say, "Do try not to get whatever they put in HRD veins on me." Sure, the headmistress did not particularly like to get dirty, but she also would like to keep Ariadne intact as much as possible, for she had her own plans.

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Ariadne]

The room was empty. Too empty. Ariadne stepped outside again and looked over the hulk of a man that was probably half as strong as her. She did not rush her entry. It was not for fear of harm, but a curious sense that something was not quite right.

“The meeting didn’t need privacy last time. What has changed?” She said, flashing doe eyes and soft batting lashes towards the thug.

There were only the two in the room. Onique. And an older woman. That was all that Ariadne saw at least.

”Must be something pretty big to shut down an evening of business.”

She did not await confirmation, but tap the controls to open the door. At least she knew she was walking into a trap.

| Malcoma Hesse |​