The Vultures Feast Around You, Still

[Lief]

Korriban City​

Korriban​

Pain, Strife, Adversity...

Months, and months, of indoctrination had begun to take its toll; each misstep, every word out of line, brought with it the lick of a lash, a darkened room without windows or furniture for what could have been weeks on end, and the very real threat of death.

Here she was disposable. She could feel the eyes of the other students, hungry and filled with desire. They would strike her down at the first chance they got, and so long as none of the instructors witnessed it she knew that her demise would go unnoticed, unrecorded. Just another mewling whelp at the bottom of the pile.

She knew that many would have buckled by now. Succumbed to their lies, or lay broken at their feet, but there wasn't much they could put her through that Llevana hadn't already endured. Her whole life had been one great big game of indoctrination at the hands of the ever present Big Brother, and with that veil having been pulled from her eyes she knew the signs. Knew what to avoid. Knew when to simply nod her head and pretend to understand, and when to fight back.

But she was tired of faking it to make it. She did not survive hell in District Thirty-Two for this.

In the dead of night, with the shadows of twilight cast around the grounds, she had made her move. There were no belongings for her to collect, she simply dressed in the clothes she had been provided with, the same that every other individual in this place at her 'rank' wore, and quietly as she could muster she made her way down through the Academy.

Every few steps, every turn of the corner, every place that a guard was typically posted, she paused. Held her breath. There were only so many excuses to be thought of for why she was sneaking around at night, and none of them would prove good enough to avoid punishment.

Down the stairs, through the central chamber, out into the starry night beyond, Llevana's steps were slow and precise, all the while a distinct fear grew within her chest, threatening to press against her lungs and force all of the air from her. A panic set over her, and for a moment she wanted only to turn around and run back to her dorm.

I always knew you were a coward; yes, yes, dance little one, dance for these tyrants, they have you right where they want you. Return to your room, and prove to them that you're as weak-willed as the rest of them.

She huffed slightly at Mr-Know-It-All, before slipping into the night. Orange sand was kicked up with each step she took, but it also helped to muffle her movements. Her mind whirred with all of the information she had gathered, most of it was false of course but some of it bore truths. She had seen it herself, the small docking bay which lay beyond the next rise.

All that she had to do was remain unnoticed. It couldn't be that difficult right?

In the distance came a distinct set of growls, and all of the horrors of this place came flooding back to her mind. Creatures that would love nothing more than to devour her, for her gifts to fuel them... She swallowed back the lump in her throat, and continued to press on. Up through the dunes, and out into the world beyond the Academy.

It felt too easy.

Was this a test? Did they know what she had been planning? Yet one glance over her shoulder showed little, and though she felt eyes on her to her left and right she knew it was the creatures of Korriban. Monsters though they were, they were not as terrifying to her as those who called themselves Sith.

Finally they came into view, those metal beasts which had transported her from the place that had once been called home. A tremor ran along her spine before she could stop it, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat.

A few more steps, and she was upon them. Her eyes ran over each and every one, until she found a flaw in their outer shell. One of the boarding ramps were down. She could see crates stacked up beside it, hear a few distinct voices around the corner, and knew that they were prepping to leave.

Insanity took a hold of her then, and she rushed up into the cargo bay beyond, her eyes darting this way and that to find the darkest corner possible. Behind some of the crates already inside she spotted a gap just big enough for her to squeeze if she tried. Claustrophobia set in, but it beat the alternative so she put her head in her hands and forced herself to breathe.

It felt like an eternity before the tiny bit of light from outside the ramp was removed, and the ship began to rumble as it prepped to take off. Where they were going, she could not say. She did not care. The entirety of this Galaxy was alien to her, she could only hope that the next land she fell upon would be a little more forgiving.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​Orange Sky.

There was something beyond pure about the empty orange hue that filled every corner of the eye. The Matador pondered this beauty, never having seen anything quite comparable to standing on a gas planet before. The marvels of technology were outstanding. It reminded him of how often nature indeed was something to be admired, he recalled himself at the age of eleven; hunting a Zakkeg with the other pupils under the Butchers tenure. They had lost track of the beast near it's liar, which happened to be near a mountain.

​One of the taller pupils, she had grown quicker than a few of the others. She helped him climb up into a tree at the precipice of the mountain. He vividly remembered separating the branches, the sun breaking through the dark shadow of the thick forest. He recalled his friends arms shaking as he pulled himself to a sturdy branch, momentarily feeling intense fear as he was blinded, his eyes adjusting to pure daylight rather than glimmers through hundreds of branches.

​He sat there, staring in a daydream at the endless summit as he did now observe this vast coral abyss that lay before him. He was lost in in it for a moment. However, the cold feeling of the steel against his bare palms returned him to his reality. This massive station was a resort unlike any he had ever seen previously. It was indeed quite impressive, a massive space station floating in the planet's endless sky.

​He looked to himself, pulling tight on a buckler that held his Crushgaunt in place on his arm. What was he in the face of all this? An insignificant speck on the face of the world. But he was still important to some people, the Tol Varen had chosen him as their leader. That was why he was here after all. A government official he had helped get off of Dredd during the lockdown was willing to pour funds into Cerberus. It was a rather tedious task and he would have rather sent anybody else but Tristane had asked for him specifically. He was supposed to meet him here in the Cloud districts lower market. He had arrived an hour before the decided time for good measure, and to become well accustomed to his surroundings. It was likely that perhaps any friends or associates of the Cartels he had wiped out on Dredd had came after the few individuals he had rescued. But, it was not the case.

​Tristane arrived, with a Gungan body guard at his side. He was a lower level business and had likely paid for the service himself, even now away from Dredd he still appeared as shaken and disturbed as ever. Perhaps the terror hadn't left him, but the death toll had already slipped the Matador's mind. But, looking at this man who seemed to be reliving the events in his mind gave him a certain feeling of guilt for the lives lost. It was momentarily as Tristane gave him a nervous smile.

​"Hello again. Matador, it's good to see you."

​The Matador observed him with some morbid curiosity, then looked to his uneasy friend.

​"Tristane, I am here with precious little time."

​In truth, he wasn't. But spending too much time standing idly watching this nervous man twitch made him feel quite awkward and impatient. Even so he was here for Cerberus. Tristane nodded, smiling whilst mustering a façade of understanding his haste within his knowing expression. "Of course." ​He replied, handing the Matador a small Datapad. ​"You can take this with you and sort it out when you have the time, because even though we're in a public place. I'd still rather get back home as quickly as possible."

"Of course."

​"I know it's been a few months, but do you ever think about what happened?"

​"I don't. Neither should you." ​He grimaced with a defeated expression at the Matador, but he didn't wait for the conversation to progress. The Matador marched off with some newly found great haste, he didn't wish to think about Dredd. He dare not. He stuffed away the Datapad within a large pouch on his right thigh, and made his way back towards his ship.

​Upon arrival at the landing pad, two Tol Varen warriors of Might were standing on guard. "We're leaving."​ He gave them both a sort look, and removed his helm as he strode towards the landing pad stretched from the Flayer.

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

Cloud City​

Bespin​

​

Insanity.

That was the only word to describe what lay beyond the metal beast, when it finally touched down and left her with an opening through which to escape into this new land. The sky bled orange, literal clouds billowed in the distance at ground level, and everything else seemed a brilliant white set atop the gaseous backdrop. So bright had it been in comparison to the cargo hold, that Llevana spent the first few moments of her new-found freedom blinking back the intensity of the sun.

She adjusted the black jacket which had accompanied her training attire, zipping it up to her collar, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her trousers. Her skin was pale when compared with the dark hues of her clothes, it made her appear almost spectral... Or sickly, depending on who did the looking.

Her legs felt uneasy with each step she took, it felt like an eternity since she had been able to stretch and her body was feeling it. Every ache, every pain, every crack in her joints. She was like an unoiled machine that sputtered and groaned, ultimately ill fitted for the job. And yet despite this, a broad smile lined her lips, lit up her expression. She had done it. She was free!

Free from the oppression of Thirty-Two. Free from the indoctrination of the Sith. Unable to contain herself she turned full circle, and took in all of the bizarre sights available to her. She had no idea what any of it was, and that just filled her with all the more awe. Had she come here under differing pretenses, she had no doubt she would have found it all intimidating.

Finally she began to move, away from the metal beast which had unknowingly transported her here, one foot in front of the other, a slight bounce to her step. She walked along a promenade filled with stalls, merchants yelling their wares, the alluring scent of food. That made her stomach growl. She had been lucky enough to find some rations stowed away in the cargo bay, but their taste had nothing on the smells which lingered now in the air.

She closed her eyes for half a second, and then...

THUD.

Her backside struck the ground, pulling a pained yelp from her lips before she could hold it back.

"Watch where you're going, Kid," came the short-tempered words of a passerby, who stepped around her fallen form with a jeer. Her shoulder ached, no doubt from where she had bumped sides with the stranger, and as she pushed up from the floor she shifted her hand to rub at the tender spot. Her gaze shot left, then right, and suddenly the world didn't seem quite so clean and serene.

Llevana swallowed.

You stepped from the wolf den into the vipers nest... Don't you feel them, watching you, girl? Still the vultures linger, waiting for the opportune moment to swoop down and take you in their talons. To feast from what remains of your corpse.

"Shut up" she mumbled, which did little more than afford her a few glares from the crowd she was unintentionally being swept along in.

What? Do you think you can survive out here, poppet? Look around, there are no more animals here than there were in that tin can you commandeered from Thirty-Two. There aren't any fields from which to steal ears of corn... Tell me, oh wise one, how do you plan to survive? At least with the zealots you were given a meal a day!

"I said shut up!"

A woman turned to her then, gasping in indignation, and before she could reach toward her Llevana ducked out of the way and began to run through the crowd. Stupid Mr-Know-It-All, thinking he had all of the answers. He didn't, though, did he? Just more snarky comments.

"I told you already, I don't want you any more. I thought you up, I can think you gone!"

Silence. She ran her tongue against the back of her teeth, finally slowing back to a crawl, and let out the smallest of sighs.

"I didn't mean it, Grumpy..."

Still nothing. She wrapped her arms around herself, and pressed on through the crowd, pouting ever so slightly at Grumpy's continued absence. He always did this, angered her to the point that she scolded him, and then ran off to play the victim! Such a swine.

The stalls were becoming less and less, however one of them in particular caught her eye. It seemed to sell all manner of decorative attire, from costumes and masks to props. What a strange thing, nothing that Llevana could ever have expected to find. She stared upon the grim visages presented before her, and wondered what their purpose was.

One hand reached out to travel along the cool coloured metal of one in particular, with tusks and razor sharp teeth. In complete awe, she did not realize she wasn't alone until a voice from behind startled her.

"That's 300 credits, that is, a little more than some of the other pieces... But it's a beauty, isn't it?"

Credits? What were these credits, and how did she get three hundred of them? She reached with both hands now for the mask, hefting it up off its stand, just as another customer approached the vendor and began to ask about one of the mock-blasters.

Stepping in front of a mirror, she brought the mask up to her face and peered out at the reflection of herself. She couldn't even recognize herself, and her free hand which wasn't holding the mask in place traveled along the various grooves, the indentations which made up features such as the nose and the brow.

"Roar..." she whispered, under her breath, before grinning, "Roooar!" It reminded her of some of the creatures she used to imagine at the edge of the Wastes. She set the ties which held it in place over her head, and continued to walk through the stall, absentmindedly poking and prodding at items that caught her interest.

Her stomach growled again, and this time a pain accompanied it. Right, food... Of course. She turned to walk away from the stall, eyes darting this way and that in search of a food stall, when a voice raised in alarm.

"Stop! Thief! Somebody call the Guards!"

She realized, in that moment, that the words had been directed her way. A thief? What was a thief? Regardless, there was an anger to the man's tone, which made her pick up her pace. She did not know which direction she was running in, all she knew was that she didn't want to be near the shouting man. Not for a moment longer.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, more voices raising as others gave chase. A panic rose within her chest then, and she began to find it difficult to breathe. She could feel very slight tears prickling in her eyes, but she held them back for now and pushed past the crowd which stood in her way. Without warning she ducked to her right, breaking through various stalls until all that stood before her was the sight of yet more metal beasts.

She looked over her shoulder, it seemed as though her pursuers had not followed her in her change of direction. But who knew how long that would be for? Not wanting to risk it, she hurried toward one of the metal beasts, one with an open ramp, and scurried up into yet another cargo bay. This time she did not care how small the corner she had to squeeze into was, she pressed herself against the ships hull and pressed her hands over her ears, eyes closed tightly shut.

Thiiiieff.... Came the chiding tone of Mr-Know-It-All. This time she ignored him. What did he know?

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​There was a pause in the doorway to the cargo hold, the main decks lighting blocked by a ominous shadow. A silent man clad in leather and Beskar hurriedly reached for a child, catching her as she tried to side step and bypass him. But the landing pad had closed, and now she was here. Locked away on a cold machine, alien to her.

​"Have the credit's been transferred?" ​A blue shimmering hologram spoke, a tall and broad shouldered trandoshan appeared in a crude shade. His name was Callibas. A reliable brute that was a in-between for the Matador and his fellow Warlord Causstik Rahn. The Matador stood motionless clad in his full Beskar, his long navy cloak brushed against the floor, hanging from just beneath his neck around the left side of his torso and connecting with a insignia dotted on a circular piece of metal on his right Pauldron. ​"The transaction is complete. Tell Causstik to begin producing more Durasteel for..." ​His words trailed off as he heard the chime of somebody awaiting entry at the cockpits door. ​"Relay this information to Causstik."

​He cut the connection, and with a small gesture the door's operation console allowed it to open with a small white light activating on the console in response to his force imbued command. One his men entered, holding his weapon in one hand; the other carrying a reluctant small thing.

​The Matador exchanged glances with his soldier. ​"Where did you find this?" ​The Soldier let go of the girl as the entrance locked behind them, he bowed slightly, pressing a fist against his heart. ​"I found it in the Supply Room." ​The Matador then turned his gaze to the stowaway, and if he was not mistaken. It was a young female human.

​She was thin, dirty and bitter. Her clothes looked well worn, and her appearance implied she was treated ill. He was quite for a moment, as the image of this girl brought him back to his roots. He recalled himself and his fellow pupils and then his own students looking like that. He recalled many times, crawling through the wet mud of the Duxn moon on a hunting expedition. It reminded him of one memory in particular. Of Caleelia, his childhood blood sister. She had died when they were but young in the hungry jaws of a bold zakkeg. He recalled his own expression as if he was god watching himself, his shocked expression as her stomach exploded as it was strewn and pulled limp like a rag doll. He jolted ever so slightly in his mind, reliving how her blood had splattered on his face.

​For some odd reason, he saw Caleelia in this young girl. But as his frown grew, his sympathy withered. He walked over to her, examining it. ​"Do you know where you are?"

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

Onboard The Flayer​

Bespin Cloud City​

​

Two steps.

She had gotten just two steps before a metal bull reached toward her. All at once her will to survive kicked in, and she ducked to the right in an attempt to escape the beasts clutches. Rough hands closed around her all the same, as though having predicted this exact response, and in her haste to flee, with all of the kicking and squirming it resulted in, the mask which had been atop her head fell over her face, covering the features and in truth much of her sight lines.

Hauled from her feet, which shifted this way and that, kicking out to try and get herself some sort of foothold, to get herself back to the ground, Llevana released a guttural growl. She watched the interior of the metal beast flash before her, it wasn't as large as the one the Spider had caught her with, nor as claustrophobic as that which had saved her unintentionally from the Sith. She could not make sense of it though.

No words left her, just further growls, more squirming. She managed to get one hand free enough to lay a punch against the bull's arm, but all she was met with was harsh metal that did more damage to her than to him.

And then all that remained in her vision was a door. A door which a few moments later opened, and through which she found herself dropped and pushed.

She stumbled to her knees, and glanced around like a deer in headlights, eyes wide as she was met with the visage of some tall beast who towered overhead. Swallowing back her fear, she snarled at him and tried to back up, only to be met with the unmoving figure of the bull who had brought her here. Trapped like an animal, and looked upon as though she was exactly that, her breathing began to intensify, chest rising and falling, eyes darting left and right, as she tried to figure a way out of this predicament.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't how it had been last time.

When the large being approached she pressed further back against the legs of the bull, still crumpled on the ground, and stared him in the eye. A question had been sent her way, how she despised questions. She grit her teeth for a moment, whole body tensing, before she looked away from him with a very slight pout. She did not like it here. Was it better than the Sith? Perhaps. But she was getting Thirty-Two vibes from the place and its people.

"No," she snapped, in response to his question, not bothering to elaborate.

Careful girl... Many men live to put a wild dog down.

"Let them try" she muttered, though it was clear she wasn't speaking to the room, her expression darkening slightly. She had to get out of here.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador could see fear in her very movement, she cowered the same way many had in the face of the dark creatures of Duxn. That, was something he understood, something he could recognise. Perhaps she believed she was in danger. Though, he had intention of harming some unthreatening creature for seemingly no reason.

​He recalled how the Zakkeg looked less threatening when examined close. ​"Go see if there are others, or if it left anything." ​He watched her intently as his brethren left. The door, locking behind his as quickly as it opened. He stared at her, silence lingering between them for a moment. Her body language reminded him of a angry Minnok backed into a corner. Any animal, when trapped could become dangerous. Though he had no fear from this thing.

​"Take that mask off."​ He barked, rather than waiting for her to do. His reach was far greater than her own, swiping the mask from her small head. He inspected it momentarily, nothing more than a plaything to him. But perhaps it was a cultural symbol to her, like his second skin to him. ​"I will return it." ​He spoke, his words lacked any sense of good will or condescension. Not whatsoever indicating any sort of genuine meaning to his words. But, he had no reason to be cruel or withhold his intent.

​"What are you hiding from?"​ He recited the words of his elder, they had been taught to have no fear; to hold no grievances with the world as it was. For, if you had difficulty it was to be welcomed, not feared. Your supposed fears were the greatest opponent. He could tell from her body language that she was rabid, now looking at her malnourished face, he saw that perhaps what he saw of Caleelia was a misconception. This was no warrior, not something forged from birth to fight. It was something of a different nature, just a child. A mistreated one perhaps, hiding from cruel masters.

​There was something about his assumption that was true, he could tell by her bruised face, cut up fingers and broken nails that she was a fighter in some respect, or perhaps simply had a tenacity for survival. He crouched down on one knee, bringing himself closer to her level, examining her closely through his iron expressionless helm.


[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

It. It. It.

What was this it they continued to refer to?

She did not like it. It was a stupid word. Again she ran her tongue against the back of her teeth, momentarily refusing to look at the man. When the door at her back swooped open she swiftly turned to dart its way, only its movements were far superior to her own and all she was met with was more metal in her face. Another snarl.

Having her back to the beast was not wise. She shuffled around, pressing herself against the door, and stared up at him. More words, balked like an animal, before the mask was torn from her face. Truth be told she had quite forgotten it was there at all, yet being that it was one of the few things she now had, she was reluctant to part with it. She reached out with a hand, to try and snatch it back from him, though his grip was vice-like when compared with hers.

A glower in her eyes, a fire which threatened to spill up from within her, was sent his way. He said it would be returned to her, but she did not believe that. She did not believe she was going to get out of this situation alive. Not without a fight. It seemed as though she fell from one foul situation into another, would she ever have a moment to simply rest? To process all that had happened? Likely not.

For a moment it seemed as though she would not respond to him at all, her jaw was set, her eyes fiercely fixed upon his, hand back to her side after she realized she would not be getting the mask back, curled into a fist which she beat against the ground in frustration. What she wouldn't give to have her spear with her, it was one of the few things she missed from Thirty-Two.

"Screams," she said, as she slowly brought both hands up to press against her ears. That was what she was hiding from, "The angry men."

You shouldn't have stolen from them, thief. Thiiiefff....

"Stolen?" she muttered, "Thief?" Her brows furrowed, those words were still so foreign to her. Of course, yet again the latter two words, spoken in response to Grumpy, were whispered under her breath, not intended for his hearing at all.

When he took to a knee before her, her expression turned firstly to one of confusion... And then it softened. He was much less intimidating up close, even with all of that metal coating his skin. His eyes, and the tiniest bit of skin, had been made visible to her through the slit in his helm. He was a man, not a beast, he just had a thicker hide than most.

Hands remaining pressed over her ears, she lifted her head just enough to look at him properly. Her heavy breathing began to slow, and the tunnel vision she had begun to experience started to lessen. If he was going to kill her, if he was going to put the mad dog down, then he wouldn't be asking questions... Right?

The Beasts back on Thirty-Two had never asked questions, before they dragged people away, before they made the stars fall to the ground.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador noted that her countenance shifted to a softer one as he knelt down, it was strange to him. She acted like an animal, as if she hadn't even been taught basic mannerisms. He himself was still learning the social etiquette of the Galaxy, but even within the Tol Varen he was taught how to speak. This little thing even grumbled to itself, perhaps it didn't even know how to keep its intentions to her own mind rather than speak them aloud. Even her body language betrayed her, she wanted to run.

​She may have had a survivors instincts but she could not survive a few days in this world. Everything about her was a stark opposite image to what he had been taught. She was undisciplined and reckless. The Tol Varen burned discipline and strategy into the core of what he defined himself as, and with that prowess and strength came respect and admission to a higher way of life, to a purpose.

​This thing had no purpose, no instruction or discipline to it. It was forlorn, and bestial in its nature. He pitied it. It had been robbed it what one would call self. Even the way it reacted to his movement reminded him of an animal. He recalled defending Caleelia from a Boma, a large lizard like creature. He spread out his body, watching it in size to intimidate it. To show he lacked fear, to show his strength, to show power and dominance. He understood now, that by doing the opposite that he had calmed her somewhat. Perhaps that, was what she needed. Some expression of humanity.

​He saw her eyes shift from the mask to him, then directly focused on him. He felt her eyes peering through the Metal at his face. That was something she recognised, a human face. Not his humanoid form, or weapons or power. She understood the basic concept of a face. Perhaps technology was a alien thing to her as it once was him. He considered it for a moment, and slowly returned the mask to within her reach.

​"Are you hungry?"

He asked, without much thought.

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

For a time naught but silence lingered between them.

The girl seemed to ease up, no longer completely pressed toward the door, her tense shoulders slackening and the snarl-like expression which had become a perpetual feature in the time since she had been thrust into this madness inducing room with its blinking lights and oddities melted away.

She could not keep the curiosity from her expression now. Slowly yet surely she shifted forward, using her hands to stabilize herself since she was in a crouched state, and before he had a chance to offer out the mask to her she reached out with small fingertips to inspect the details of his metal face. Through the crevices, along the impressions, her brows furrowed, her nose wrinkled, it was all so cold to the touch, so hard and foreign, yet now that she was closer she could see more skin through the slit.

Was it a mask too? Was something covering his true face?

She did not understand it.

Her studies were interrupted when the beast set the mask back within her reach, and she took it hesitantly at first, before grasping it with both hands and pulling back, afraid it was a trick. A trap. But he let it go, and she swallowed back the fear which had momentarily risen within her chest.

A word cut through the silence they had come to know, or more... A string of words. A question. For a moment she appeared almost perplexed at the way the conversation had shifted. Was this a test? Her stomach answered for her, the same rumbling sound that had been brought about by the scent of all the street food escaping her.

"Hungry..? Y-Yes..." she mumbled, and for once there appeared to be no personal conflict from her, no additional words spoken in frustration under her breath, just a clear and concise answer.

Mr-Know-It-All had claimed victory too early, this day. Llevana would not starve, or at least... It did not seem as though she would. It was a rare moment that she proved Grumpy wrong.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador watched as her complexion changed once more, her curiosity causing her to touch his Beskar helm. It caused him to freeze momentarily, as this child touched him without fear. Her small hands stretched out to his form with no fear, the sudden lack of fear surprised him more than her appearance on his ship.

​She was studying him with a very real sense of curiosity. She didn't know enough to fear him, his expression softened for a moment; and his guard slowly dropped for a moment. However, his focus returned to him as she replied. Finally, a response came from her that made some sense. His mind wondered for a moment, what brought her here. What were this angry men she referred to her.

He doubted that he would get an answer to such questions now, perhaps another show of trust would convince her to speak more. He had no reason not to feed her, he had plenty of food. The Matador stood up slowly, and looked down at her. It seemed she responded better to him on a physical level than simply by words. He searched his own memory recalling how many sickly pupils had been treated, how the elders had held their hands to help them endure their fear. He extended his hand, even if it was massive and metal.

​"Follow me."

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

He hadn't even attempted to stop her when she poked and prodded at his face, which was... Odd. Did he not feel it? Was it impervious to touch? She pressed a little harder, and felt a distinct pressure back against her fingertips. Her brows knitted together. It felt like the ground did, or the side of the great metal beast. Was it attached? Could it be removed? It didn't look at though it was held in place in the same way as the new face she herself had found.

By this point all of her fear had been completely replaced with curiosity and confusion. She didn't know any better, she did not realize that just a few kind gestures didn't mean she was in the clear. He wasn't angry, he wasn't shouting, he hadn't slapped away her hand, or tried to manhandle her. No, he had simply knelt down to her level and watched her. Just as she was now watching him.

"Face..." she mumbled, as she finished drawing her hand over the metal exoskeleton he had, and hugged her own metallic face to her chest. One thing, in the very least, they had in common, though she couldn't remember how to put hers on. She'd figure it out, but right now she wasn't sure he wanted to see her new face, after all he had taken it from her.

A hand was offered her way, and she wrinkled her nose at the gesture. Was he trying to hand her something? She reached toward his just-as-metal hand and turned it over if she could, peering at the rough fingers and palm which held... Nothing. So she turned it the other way, but obviously the back of his hand had nothing either.

Finally she looked to his face, confusion writ on her expression.

"Empty?"

It wasn't that she had been completely free from social constraints, though the latter years most definitely had been, more so the conventions found on Thirty-Two were so startlingly different. It was all about survival, nothing more, nothing less, you didn't hold hands, you remained wary, and you didn't say more than you had to.

After all, who knew if the monsters were listening in.

He asked her to follow, no told her to, and slowly but surely she rose up to her feet, still clutching her new face in one hand, while the other dropped away from his now that it had proven itself bare.

Had there been more to the gesture than she understood?

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador noted that she didn't quite understand the concept of hand holding, perhaps she had endured through this world alone up until now. It was impressive, to survive alone with no training. The Matador knew that when he was young, you were comparable to wet clay, yet to be moulded into something of worth and become a strong individual. She had not been given that opportunity, to become strong. He felt that was an injustice.

​The Matador never knew the concept of home, but even the cold metal walls that surrounded him had a sense of familiarity and comfort to him. It gave him a sense of stability in an ever changing and expanding universe that was forever on the brink of war. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, she was compliant. She knew how to take orders, and listened to his. Perhaps she was afraid of what might happen to her if she had not listened. That gave him some insight into her previous life, the same way you would study a warrior.

​You pay attention to their reactions and their language both verbal and physical, it told you so much about someone if you paid attention to them. He lead her to a small open area in the back of the ship, the area was warmer than the rest of the ship. There was a small brown wooden table in the middle of the room, something of home. The Matador always prepared meals, he didn't eat processed food. Instead he hunted and killed creatures, similar to how he used to survive when he lived on Duxn. The ship was able to slow cook his food until he was ready to eat it. As, circumstances of his livelihood did not allow him to return at a habitual time for a meal.

​There were two long wooden seats on either side fit for at least two people. He pointed to the side opposite of him; ​"Sit down."​ He spoke, turning his back as he flicked his other hand to seal the door leading into the room. He walked over to a small surface opposite the kitchen, there was a small furnace built into the wall, alongside an oven. Above that were two steel bowls, with lids preventing masses of steam from escaping. The Matador walked over to the table, and began to remove the buckles and straps that held his gauntlets in place. He had much practice removing them, it only took his a moment until his hands were bare. He didn't stop to inspect his rough hands, but turned again on his heel back towards the stew he was preparing.

​He rubbed his fingers together, feeling flesh against flesh was a rare occurrence was somehow a comfort. He stopped, pressing a single bottom on a keypad above a series of drawers that allowed one to open with a smooth mechanical movement. He lifted a saucer from within the contents of the drawer, and two bowls. He removed the lid from one of the steel containers, allowing steam to rise into the air. He lifted the saucer and dipped it into the contents of the container, and poured it into one of the bowls. It was a stew that was comprised of the juices of the meat and typically a herb and water. However, that was a bare bones meal. Even, so it was more of a habit.

​He still made the same meal he had when he was on Duxn, however instead of the meat of a Maalrass he was using that of a Gharzr. It's meat was more tender and produced more juice, it always tasted better. The Matador appreciated food more than most. He poured a large portion of the stew into the bowl and took a small spoon into the filled bowl. He walked over with the bowl in his hand, and set it down in front of the girl. "It's hot. Start around the edges." ​He warned, his voice still unchanged as he sat down. He didn't like to eat in the presence of others.

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

The door at her back had opened, and though every bone in her body screamed for her to take the opportunity to flee she refrained. Mostly because of her aching stomach which was grumbling for food, but also because she had seen the entrance to the metal beast close up, and who knew if there was another way off.

She wasn't stupid. She wasn't about to get herself cornered again... No doubt that would bring about far worse treatment than she was currently facing. Likely little in the way of food, or as Grumpy liked to remind her the end. Was she acting like a mad dog? Would they use it as an excuse to put her down?

There wasn't a cat in hells chance she was going to test it.

Following behind him her eyes ran along every visible surface, looking for weakness in the beasts form, a way out, somewhere to hide, something, anything. She pressed the mask to her chest and let out a tiny sigh, the uncertainty she felt at her core intensifying with each step she took. Coming here was a mistake, that much she was sure of, but... He wasn't angry, or shouting, he wasn't chasing her down crowded streets.

That was a benefit, was it not?

His pace slowed to a crawl and she cast her gaze around the space. Confusion became writ on her expression, she had the tiniest amount of recognition, but not much, she had been so young when all semblance of normalcy in her life had eroded, yet this reminded her of the home she had known in those few short years. Most of the memories were obscured, though, by the face she sought to remember.

A slight scowl plastered itself on her expression, as she took in the sights and the sounds of the room. The bubbling food, the hiss of gas, and then the whooshing of the door as it closed, she could feel the glands at her throat begin to tighten uncomfortably, and her free hand lifted to press against her right ear.

The gesture was made toward one of the benches, yet for a moment she did not move. Her brows furrowed, the frown deepening, as she turned full circle, and then back to the door. She stared at it, clenching her jaw... It had not been closed before they entered. Why was it closed now? Was this all a trap? Had she fallen for his scheme?

All colour drained from her expression then, and her breathing became somewhat erratic. She took a few steps away from him, her suspicious gaze falling upon absolutely every item in the room, longing for... Something. Something she could take up against him if the need arose.

His back was to her at this point, no doubt he had expected her to find a place at the table, and she watched as he poured a bowl of something she didn't quite comprehend. It looked hot. How long had it been since she'd had the luxury of a hot meal? Could she even remember the last time at all? Back on Thirty-Two most meals were eaten cold, they couldn't run the risk of fires giving away their position.

The bowl was set on the table, and her gaze followed longingly, a hunger she could barely contain, yet the child only pressed further back from him and it.

"Trap" she said, eyes darting from him to the door, and the same scowl of frustration absorbed the otherwise fearful expression; the mask in her hand was forsaken, allowed to drop to the floor, so that both her hands could rise to press against her ears.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador stopped, examining the girl with some confusion as she continued to fixate on the door. It's red lighting indicated it was locked. Somehow she seemed to understand the basic concept of the technology, he watched her.

​She didn't seem interested in the food, but instead continued to believe her survival was at stake. He didn't understand her, he believed previous to this action that she had. Anytime he had been presented with food, he had felt safe and secure. Even out in the wilderness with nothing but the skin on his back to protect him, with a fire brimming he had always felt a sense of closure with the smell of meat cooking filled his nostrils. He even felt the same now as he studied his stowaway.

​He was entirely calm, even as she remained in a heightened state of alert panic. ​"There is no danger, no traps here." ​He offered his hand, the door to their left's colours shifted to green. ​"Sit and eat." ​He pointed to the bowl and sat down, opposite her.

​He assumed, that approaching this situation with the same tenderness as before would obtain similar results. He extended his hand, offering the food to her as freely and without threat as he thought possible. He even sat back slightly, not hunching over the table as one normally would.

​He opened the door's lock to show her that she wasn't his prisoner, however he would lock it if she tried to run. It almost reminded him of how one would tame a Boma, sitting with the creature in a headlock until it learned it's place. However he doubted that his stowaway even knew the concept of place or pecking order. It was strange, he had never met a child outside of Tol Varen. Yet in many ways she appeared eerily similar to what he remembered of himself and others at her age.

​He didn't know how old she was, but he could guess from her malnourished structure that she might've perhaps been older than she looked. The Butcher made sure his pupils were well fed, by ensuring they could hunt and kill to serve themselves. However this child was left destitute and hiding out of sight. It was no way for a potential warrior to live, scouring in the muck of the world waiting for scraps rather than taking what they wanted. He felt a pang of pity, again this strange feeling exhibited from his own head.

When he saw most people down on their luck, he imagined that in many ways it was their fault. Most people in this galaxy were presented with ample opportunity to become stronger and wiser and to better themselves. However she had not, his mind repeated to him once more that what had happened to this child before it arrived here had likely been a cruel injustice. He wouldn't see it done once more.

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

The beast spoke, and then something odd happened, something she hadn't noticed until that moment, a light flashed from red to green on the door and her eyes widened intently. What in the... What was that? She stepped toward the door, inspecting the weird light, before turning back toward him.

Not a trap?

Nothing to be worried about?

She realized then that whether or not the door was open did not matter. She was hungry, her stomach was complaining, and so without much more urging she took in a deep breath, quelled her fears, and stepped toward him. This time, oddly enough, the hand he had outstretched she seemed to reach for, her brows knitting together into a somewhat confused frown.

Then the food was offered... And she looked to it with a gentle sniff. The heat which was coming off it seemed to make her wary, and she blew at the steam before stepping back. Her hand had taken hold of his free one at this point, and though she didn't understand the gesture she kept it there regardless.

"Hot?" she asked, wrinkling her nose, before setting herself down on the bench beside him. Was that what he had wanted? Who knew. But there was enough space for her smaller form, and so that was what she did!

She took the bowl and again sniffed the contents, before reaching for the spoon. That much she understood, she wasn't a complete savage... Even if it was easier to bring the bowl to your lips and simply drink the contents. She didn't think that was wise, given the heat of it.

One spoonful was scooped, blown on, and tasted. Her eyes lit up, as the warmth spread through her body, making her feel content, and oddly safe. Safer than she had felt in a long time, since she had last seen her Grandpa.

That felt like an eternity ago now.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador sat still, unsure of what to do now. She sat there with his hand clasped tightly in hers. He had known based on his experiences as a child what to do, he expected her to sit opposite him and eat the food in silence. Instead she took his hand, and to his surprise he didn't tense up. He didn't feel some sense of a threat or a lack of strength. Ever since he was a child, he had never felt comfortable when he wasn't under control, if anything touched him or spoke to him unwarranted or without his consent; it made him immediately alert.

​His flight or fight senses kicked in immediately, from employers lacking caution to unlucky drunks in a cantina. The feeling of her small hand in his reminded him of Caleelia, however he had not seen her or spoken with her in many years. When he became the leader of the Tol Varen; he had became obligated to leave all of his past life behind. That included friends, family and mentors. He didn't regret that, he had become stronger for it. He was more powerful for it.

​It was long standing tradition that a warrior of the Tol Varen cast aside his self to become something greater. A weapon for its people, that was what he had become. He slipped his hand away from hers, and it returned him to something cold.

​How his hand had slipped away from hers that night. He stepped back from her, and stood still. He was eighteen, and already the size of a man and had the shape of one. He owed this to a long line of warriors such as himself, he belonged to a heritage of leaders. Thus it was expected of him to become one. But, even with all of his training and his strength he was still seen as weak. His connection to Caleelia, a fellow pupil of the Tol Varen. It was seen as a crude thing, a outlawed thing. He had to banish it from his heart, and according to their laws this was the only way.

​Caleelia was an equal in his mind, she was a year older and slightly taller. A fierce and respected warrior, they were both capable of becoming the leader of the Tol Varen. It could've been settled in many other ways, but the Butcher, and the Elders saw what lay in the depths of his heart. They forced this, and so the two who had known each other from birth were finally at odds. They met in an open field, with the mountains of Deca and Caldorus on either side of them, her silhouette bridged the gap between the two, standing with the valley at her back. She was unmoving and silent, wearing her Beskar plate and carrying her polearm over her shoulder. He on the other end of the field, stood in his leather gear threaded with small plates of Beskar carrying his twin bladed War-Axe. All around them, the Tol Varen people had gathered outside of the ceremonial arena.

​Sixteen torches created the Battle Circle in which they were to fight. The sky was black with a hint of blue, complemented by the white crystalline hue of endless stars. He empathised with the sky, as it felt as though there was this gaping pit in his stomach, a terrible feeling. His eyes swelled, as his frown grew. Even as the people stood silent, praying. He felt their eyes on him, and the eyes of his opponent burning into his flesh. But he couldn't see her eyes, he couldn't see anything of her. Where as he was exposed and felt frail, she was hidden. It made him angry, he felt envious. Perhaps she would cut him down without a second thought, or was as hesitant as he. He had to believe his original assumption, the latter would make victory impossible.

​He drew back a step, and focused on his negative energy. Even as the two of them didn't share words, he felt the tension rise. His eyes seemed to lock on the small black openings on her helmet. He focused on them, that was his enemy. There was nobody within the metal, it wasn't a suit or armour. It was just something standing in his way, no. It's way. He wasn't a person, he was the bull of the Tol Varen. He was their weapon.

​He roared, raising his War-Axe into the air. He felt weak and tired, his muscles were convincing him to give in. Part of him was fighting this, all of it. Something deeply supressed, he began forward. It seemed his body was under his control, and he was able to shut out this second voice, all but completely. Then, she moved. They both did, moving slowly towards each other. He remembered the Butchers speech, he remembered its meaning but not the words.

​His mind flashed back, looking to his stowaway with an unwanted fondness. He returned his hand to himself, watching her eat. He felt profoundly moved by his memory. That voice creeping up again from the bowls of his conscious mind. He snuffed it out almost immediately, his mentality become more relaxed. Yet he was wary of what this child could provoke, even as he simply sat watching her drink soup.

​So many memories, his mind flashed to another. Himself in the child's position. Caleelia and him had been hunting partners in their teens, and she knew how to cook and he did not. He recalled eagerly lifting a bowl of stew and pouring it into his mouth, burning his tongue and gums. Caleelia laughed, he was embarrassed but all the same understood that he was safe with her. Thus, nothing came of it. Yet here he didn't feel so safe, safe was a fools commodity.

​That was why Caleelia and him fought, to snuff out the flame of weakness within their hearts. He felt something edging on a similarity between the two. He felt no hunger, but still his mind made it clear to him that this child deserved some form of nurture. It was unjust otherwise. But he wouldn't allow the memory to trouble him. He looked away, staring into nothing.

Though something urged a change, his head tilting slightly so hat he could observe out of the corner of his eye. She knew at the very least how to use cutlery, that was a start. There was a look of glee about her as if she hadn't known the taste of warm food for too long a time. He couldn't help but feel a morbid sense of curiosity regarding her. His focus lingering on her change in expression. He wondered perhaps if she was still concerned about the door.

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

For a time all she did was sit there; sit and eat, enjoying the odd flavours and the overbearing heat that tingled her tongue and sent a line of fire down her throat. It wasn't unpleasant, at least not after the first time which had brought her close to panic. The chunks of meat were her favourite, she fished around in the bowl for more of them to gnaw on, cooked meat proved to be so much nicer than how she'd used to eat it. Dried, mostly.

Her hand relaxed in his after a short while, her whole demeanor in fact seemed to follow seat as she eased up and let out the smallest of sighs. When he removed his hand from hers she looked to him curiously, before returning to her meal. It didn't matter to her, he had been the one extending out his hand to her, she figured that was why. Who knew.

She could feel her stomach begin to settle, her mind begin to haze over ever so slightly from all of this comfort food she hadn't experienced in what had to have been years. Countless, long years. When there was little more than broth remaining she dropped the spoon and, with both hands, lifted the bowl to her lips, drinking every last bit. Wasting food wasn't something she had ever had the luxury to afford, every drop, even if you didn't like what you were eating, had to be consumed.

Luckily, this was something she had thoroughly enjoyed.

When the bowl was set back down she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, before glancing back toward him. Part of her wanted more, but she was used to that feeling, she was never quite satiated when it came to food. Thankfully her body was used to such, so she shrugged it off and didn't even bother to voice the little bit of hunger which still remained.

She should have said something, remarked on how good the food was, or thanked him, only... She wasn't used to such. Especially not thanking people. Had she ever said those words? Likely not.

Instead she reached out again to his metal face, this time curious about the edges where it met with skin, trying to see how it was attached. Her brows furrowed into a frown of concentration in that moment, not even noticing the way he was looking at her.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador turned to the child receptively as it reached out to him once more. He understood that the young had an insatiable curiosity but perhaps she was curious as to the design of his helmet, or what was underneath. Both were something of design, both were made on the whim of people. However, one had a significance and the other did not. At least, that was the truth he had attempted to hold to throughout his life.

​The Matador stopped her hands by merely leaning backwards slightly, he didn't want this child to touch him. To what end she may have been put on his ship, he did not know. Even as his heart wished for him to trust that she was a mistreated child on the run, his mind still continued to guess as to what her purpose was here. He could not help but be sceptical of this child's intentions, it was not in his nature to be trusting. However, he hadn't killed it yet. Had it been any older, an adult perhaps or not see feeble looking he may have executed it.

​But something about this child brought back memories of his own kin and even of himself. He believed such a child would have ran to its carers had It access to them. Perhaps that was what it was trying to find, something to care for it or to escape too.

​"Why were you hiding?"

​The Matador asked, inspecting her expression of concentration as she tried to understand the anatomy of his armour. He could remember himself being equally as inquisitive regarding the armour he now wore when he was a young pupil of the Tol Varen, it had been past down through the leaders of their clan. When he defeated Caleelia, he forged the armour partially to suit his own needs, and it was as much a part of him as his own body was. To him in many ways it was his second skin, and a very physical link to his ancestors. In other times, he considered it a cage, trapping him within the confines of his identity as the Matador.

​He accepted his cage, he was nothing without it. There was nothing beyond him simply being the Matador, he could not care for a child in the same way a mother or father could. He understood the concept of attachment however felt none for anything himself, he was entirely detached from the world and the identity of self and it bothered him none. However, he knew the gripes of a child and would not allow it to see him as a caregiver. He was simply doing what he believed to be practical and logical.

​In that moment he questioned himself, it had been a long time since a new member joined the ranks of the Tol Varen from the outside. But perhaps he could bring more under his reign.

[member="Llevana Helas"]

 

[Lief]

Just as her hand ought to have touched the metal face of the beast, he pulled away, leaving her suspended in the air once again. A very subtle frown played upon her lips in that moment, had she scared him? Did being touched on the metal face hurt? No... It was none of that. She could sense how wary he was, and in truth she could not blame him.

It had been very rare that she had encountered an outsider on Thirty-Two, someone she did not recognize; from the moment they had broken into their little groups, things hadn't really altered. They had butted heads on occasion, but most died from the falling stars and not one another. It was stupid to fight among themselves, after all, things were tough enough without worrying over the need for more medical supplies.

She let out just the tiniest of sighs and leaned back from him, dropping her hand back to her side. Her eyes fell toward the mask which she had haphazardly dropped earlier, and she pondered on it for a moment. So many strange new things for her to wrap her head around, in this room alone. Part of her wished she could have just remained hidden in the cargo bay, to remain oblivious to it all, but that was foolish.

Llevi had to adapt.

It was that or death.

He spoke to her then, startling her from her thoughts, and she looked back to where he was sitting, still looking at her in a curious fashion. She didn't know what was running through his mind, it was probably better that way.

Hiding... Why had she been hiding?

"Angry men," she said again, reiterating what she had already told him. Her hands both rose, as though ready to press over her ears, but somehow she found the will to stop herself from doing so. Instead she swallowed, and shivered. But there was more to it than the man from the stall who had been shouting at her, chasing her. Why was she hiding? She was hiding, every moment of every day, because while she believed she had escaped the oppressive Sith, part of her knew that she had to remain on the down low. The way she had on Thirty-Two after the stars fell and the beasts came looking for them.

Biting her lip, she gave just the smallest of nods to herself - as though making up her mind - and very cautiously pulled at the sleeve of her left arm. Underneath it various burns and scars lay, hinting at more of the same across the rest of her body, but there was one which stood out from the rest due to the fact it was a symbol and not some random mark.

She could not look at him as she revealed the brand which marked her as property of the Sith. It might not have been recognizable to this man, but it was most definitely a Sith Rune - that much would be obvious. "Run..." she finally said, her voice a tense whisper. What if he was one of them? What if he was going to drag her back to the orange land of sandstone? She grit her teeth and cowered back slightly, drawing her wrist away from his sights in the same instance.

This was a mistake.

Such a stupid mistake.

[member="The Matador"]

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador watched her as she struggled with her revelation, it reminded him of how pupils were forced to admit to their mistakes to the Butcher. He recalled how the old man's hands had firmly clasped on his face, forcing him to look him in the eye when he spoke. However he held no fear in his thoughts for the Butcher just as he had not feared him then and he did not now. Yet it seemed to tremble with fear, it seemed to respond less so to strength and what he understood was known as compassion.

​He had always been taught that compassion was a weakness if shared with those outside of your people, he felt no great frailty grow over him as he extended his compassion to this young girl. He looked at her mark, some form of symbol was burnt into her flesh. He had seen something similar before when he was looking for the Dravala slavers not days before. Brands, it indicated ownership.

​It made something twist in his stomach, the idea of belonging to someone or something. It didn't seem right, slavery in his mind was a form of hindrance. He had seen many holo-recordings of various species rounded up like animals, slaving away until their bodies became brittle and weak. That was what he saw before him, a malnourished hindered child.

He moved forward slightly, and saw her jolt back, teeth bared as if ready to fight. His instinct was to strike at her, she looked like a cornered animal ready to strike. Again, he saw that untamed ferocity in her. Her body may be weak however her mind appeared strong, and determined. ​"Are they here? On this planet?" ​His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling it forward. He clamped down hard, even if he didn't mean to. He pointed his finger to the brand.

"The people that did this, are they here?" ​As reserved as he may have been, there was a strain in his voice. A irritation and malevolence in his words that sounded spiteful and bitter. He had always disliked slavers, even his short time companion Causstik. He was a slaver, and he disliked him even though he was a formidable warrior. The Matador and his fellow pupils under the Butcher were taught the importance of strength in mind and body. They knew its value and were pushed towards mastering its gifts. Slavers, were the opposite. They were slaves to selfish intent of cruel beings. He imagined that it had endured such a fate its entire life. ​"I dislike slavers. Very much so."

[member="Llevana Helas"]