These Aren't the Slaves You're Looking For [Aver]

[Blackthorne]

POINT NADIR
LATE EVENING-ISH
A RATHER UNORTHODOX ENTRY


Usually when arriving to Point Nadir it was within the gleam of her beloved ship; The Harrowbane. Not that Dahldesa Shamalain made a point to visit Nadir often, but given the people it contained and her own personal penchant for illegal activities, the circles crossed more often than not.

Today she did not arrive on the Harrowbane.

As a matter of fact, Nadir hadn't even been her destination - simply a subsequent pitstop. But, while in Rome and near people of renown, familiarity, and use? Make use of them, of course.

[member="Aver Brand"] would receive news that someone was in the Slave intake causing trouble. Like, a lot of trouble. Way more trouble than a slave aught to cause. And then she'd see the camera feed still image of Captain Blackthorne herself slugging one of her men with an unattached arm of ... someone else. There was a lot of blood.

Welp.

 

[Aver Brand]

A throat was cleared.

“Ah— Ma’am.”

Aver didn’t look up. “What.”

Erida Teheron didn’t lose her cool. Being a Nadir kid, she’d shovelled her share of shet in her life. Seeing as she was still alive after three changes in administration and just as many close shaves with a blaster, she’d right earned that ‘cold hard queen’ title.

Interrupting her boss mid-lunch still terrified her, though.

“There’s… trouble. In Slaver’s slips.”

“Well it ain’t just ‘trouble’ if you’re bothering me. Me, Erida. On Taungsday.” Her gaze bore all the presence and warmth of a glacier as she dragged it away from her plate. “Taungsday is steak day, Erida.”

The skeleton of a woman shifted on the spot. Discomfort didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Fine. What is it?” Aver turned fully in her chair, wiping grease and sauce off her fingers.

Erida simply offered a large datapad by way of an answer, showing a certain [member="Blackthorne"] midway through weaponizing a human limb. Full HD, for your viewing pleasure.

Aver could count the blood specks on her face.

“Feth dammit, Qui,” the merc growled under her breath as she pushed away from her desk. “Section off the area, secure the merchandise, and keep away from the girl. Tell them I’m coming.”

 

[Blackthorne]

The good news was that none of the merchandise had been harmed. Well, one piece suffered being within the unfortunate reach of the swinging dismembered arm and was subsequently knocked out, but she'd left the slaves alone. Much to their relief, or horror. Apparently this depended entirely upon how much they wished an end to their suffering and misery.

Regardless of the mess, the guards seemed to be backing off. There was hope that she'd gotten through to someone and, potentially, this whole misunderstanding was in the process of getting cleared up. Dahl paced silently up and down the open intake area, green eyes positively scalding. Bereft of weapons and armor, the woman had been left to tattered traveling garb, shredded and bloodied from the confrontation.

Chest heaving, stare fixed on the soldiers assembled at the other side of open bay windows, Dahl lifted the arm to her face and took a greedy bite. She'd been stuck in a cell for long enough that any longer and the merchandise wouldn't have arrived whole and breathing.

 

[Aver Brand]

She stepped out of her speeder and into a sea of murmuring guards. Normally, slaves who caused this level of ruckus were put down, swiftly and without hesitation. A couple of the men were looking awful itchy-like with the triggers, glancing through the barrier every few seconds.

“Alright, show’s over. Frak off back to your posts,” Aver barked. The guy who recognized her helmet began his frantic retreat – the rest just laughed.

“Who the frak do you think you are, sugartits? Pa Qosta?”

Downside of running a shadow operation: no clout to bulldoze through stupid crowds.
Upside of running a shadow operation: very few people under her direct employ.

‘Anyone else?’ worked much better when underlined by the screams of a guy who’d just been shot in the knee.

After, the throng dispersed right quick, affording her unhindered passage to the electrified fence. On the other side, pacing like a caged beast, were a Blackthorne and her prey.

She pushed away the memory of that steak with a forlorn sigh.

“Dahl.”

 

[Blackthorne]

Another indulgent bite of the arm to the serenading screams of a man who'd said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Nnnf, Dahl shivered slightly as she chewed the muscle tissue, blood freely dribbling down her chin, almost like home. She spat a length of tendon during a turn in her pacing, eyes flickering back to movement beyond the bays and fence.

She liked Nadir. The place had its own charm that - while not exactly the wilds of Onderon, it was a bit more like a modernized Dxun. Life here was savage and merciless. Dog eat dog, she'd found, where only the very smart or very strong survived. Something that the Wildling could subscribe to, but she liked the views of space from the Harrowbane too much to stay for long.

A shadow stalked in beyond the chains and sizzle of electricity bearing a helmet that brought back a handful of memories that caused the woman's hackles to raise. For reasons.

"You-" she pointed the bloodied appendage at Aver, rerouting her pace to stalk closer towards the gate for a better look, just to be certain.

Yep, no mistaking that towering figure of armor, "...here?" The expression wasn't fear, more like ... confused disenchantment. Suddenly the romance of Nadir was turning into a humor number that she didn't find funny at all.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Me, here,” Aver deadpanned.

Three keystrokes later the gates of the fence slid open, deactivated. She didn’t say anything, just pivoted on the spot and headed back for the speeder.

And if she left the door open for a few seconds longer than usual… well, coincidences happen.

 

[Blackthorne]

Dumbfounded, Dahl stood there glaring as the gate opened and followed the walking freight train with her eyes as it skulked away.

A sniff, a mental and physical shrug, another bite of the arm later and she strode off in pursuit of the Merc. The woman paused momentarily at the man still wallowing in pain on the ground, holding his knee.

"Stop bellyaching," Dahl tossed the arm at him and bent over to collect his weapons, "it's just a flesh wound."

Rifle strapped over her shoulder and blaster tucked into the waist of her pants, she hurried off after [member="Aver Brand"], helping herself into the passenger side of the woman's speeder without invitation, letting the momentum of the woman's foot on the accelerator shut the door for her. Sinking into the seat, frowning to herself about this severely odd turn of events, she turned her bloodied face to briefly glance at the woman, "Nice car."

She wiped at her face with the material of her robes to keep from asking how Aver fit inside with her armor on.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Not for long.”

A swoop bike screamed past, skimming the paint off the door Dahl had just closed.

A forceful twist of the wheel pitched the speeder right into the ninth circle of Netherworld – otherwise known as Nadir traffic. Aver was silent as she jumped lanes and weaved between speeding craft with a practiced hand. With a maneuver that would get most anyone else killed, the merc yawed them round the nose of the car and right into a parking bay.

Aver stepped out onto the garish streets of the Arcade, her stride full of intent.

“I’m getting a steak. You want something better than a lousy arm— my treat, or whatever.”

 

[Blackthorne]

If she had known how flustered Aver's driving made her mother on Nadir she might've felt a sense of pride at how nonchalantly she handled it herself. It was a bit like the Harrowbane amidst the frantic chase of a heist, really, only the speeder rode more like a skateboard. Dahl made good use of the oh-shet-bar.

Stepping out and shouldering the rifle, the Pirate lofted a brow at her host for the considerate offer, dour expression leavening noticeably with a raise of her brows, "Oh, ...thanks, mate." Starved for a week in a slave cell, don't mind if she took up a free plate of food while all means of payment were presently several star systems away.

The arm had been rather mincey, too. Apparently not everyone on Nadir ate as healthily as Aver Brand.

Keeping just off Aver's heels the bedraggled Captain of the Harrowbane followed her in.

 

[Aver Brand]

“The usual,” she spoke before the owner even had a chance to open his mouth. The balding zeltros merely grinned and nodded, moving to unlock the blast doors leading to the back room of the Hot Pink steakhouse.

To anybody with an eye for security it would be immediately apparent that the place was heavily reinforced. Enough to tank a few high-yield explosives, and then some.

Aver liked to eat in peace.

The zeltros showed up just as they sat down, a datapad menu in his hand for Blackthorne’s perusal.

“I’ll have the Ohma-D'un bantha steak,” said the merc as she reached to release her helmet. “And the cigarra selection, if you would.”

“Of course, Miss Brand. And for the… lady?”

Aver leaned forward, elbows on the table, and smiled her most poisonous smile. “Oh, I did mean the whole thing, Galen.”

“Oh—! I see. Will you be ordering for the Beastia as well, then?”

“Mm, no. She’s not joining us… today.”

“Very well.” He tapped his datapad, then turned to address Blackthorne. “Have you made your choice, lady… ?”

 

[Blackthorne]

"Captain," Dahl corrected the man, gently, "Blackthorne."

The Captain lifted the holopad menu before her face to hide the incessant twitching of her right eye at the mention of a certain someone's title. A lazy finger scrolled through the selection. Quite a selection, even.

"Ohhhh, you have Vergada prime cut. Yes," food, the great distractor of awkward situations, "and water. Lots of water."

 

[Aver Brand]

“Right, ‘bout that,” Aver picked up as Galen hurried off, “where is your ship... Captain?”

Icy blue glinted with a particular kind of malice that the merc usually did her best to avoid.

Aver Brand, you see, was hangry.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Exactly where it should be," Dahl put the datapad down and slung a glance at Aver that narrowed upon seeing the glint on her face, "waiting for orders at the Cove."

 

[Aver Brand]

The merc lofted a single eyebrow – a gesture she rarely indulged in. In this moment, it was simply a tool, for Aver was a physical creature, and knew bodies well.

Knew their language well, too.

That brow, the slow curl, the slope full of casual doubt – all fashioned as a reminder of a quondam Queen.

“The Pazhic cigarra selection for you, Miss Brand,” Galen cut in with a courteous grin.
“And for Captain Blackthorne…” he winked at the younger woman, “something I’m told is called a sten?”

 

[Blackthorne]

"Wot," Dahl scowled, "you don't believe me?"

Oh yes, she knew that expression well but she refused to see the likeness to a certain someone in it.

Refused.

"Well I'd call them on the comm to prove it but as you can see I'm all pockets. You'll just have to take my word for it," the Pirate stopped short of a shrug as the Waiter returned with something unexpected. A sten. Dahl blinked, looked at the proffered tray, looked at the waiter, look at Aver.

Stared at Aver. Her right eye twitched again and she quickly blinked it away and reached to take her pick, "You got the Queen of Naboo in a Can here, too?" and leaned forward to let the man light her up, "Thank you, Galen."

 

[Aver Brand]

“Thank you, Galen,” Aver parroted with no lack of a smirk, ignoring Blackthorne’s growing irritation.

Feth. Probably how Quietus felt whenever she got under her skin. (Not that those particular memories helped with Aver’s wolfish expression.)

“Maybe,” she shrugged, settling back in her chair with a lazy exhale of blue smoke. “I’ve got many things here.” Her grin lingered for a beat, then retreated under the weight of the glacier.

“Like, say... right now, I got a tattered kid playing pirate who had no business being caught on a slaver ship. You look like shet, Dahl. Smell it, too.”

The merc expelled another plume of smoke, ice eyes clouding up with… well, it wasn’t nothing.

“The frak are you doing?”

 

[Blackthorne]

She was expecting this conversation. Hell, she'd be asking the same questions were she on the other side.

"Following a lead," a deep pull was taken from the Sten, smoke held in for several beats in order to allow faster absorption. The purple haze pooled in her lungs and seeped into her blood, rising to form a foggy haze over those green eyes that were completely the same as her mother's. She exhaled slowly, grateful for the relief it afforded her own hunger pangs.

Dahl wasn't quite as hangry as Aver, but the need for a meal was very strong.

"There's all sorts of rumors floating around the leylines about the riches of the once Pirate King Seresh Mar stowed away in a nebula on a planet that can't be found except by those that already know where it is, guarded by a heathen beast that no man but Mar can control. Mar was lost during the 400 year darkness along with most of his crew except for one man who bears the Mark of Mar and one of the 47 pieces of 8. My lead is a man who has met him and knows where he hides. He also happened to be a slave."

 

[Aver Brand]

“A planet that can’t be found ‘cept by those who know where it is?” Aver snorted. “Right. And I’m a feth-damned Sith Lord.”

“That’s why you delegate, Captain. So you don’t end up eating the fething credits Nadir was gonna make.” By the time she finished her sentence, Aver was leaning far enough over the table to stare Dahl right in those green eyes.

Not that she cared particularly for the lost money. What she cared for was the station, and its wellbeing. She would see it... undisturbed.

She resettled in her chair, pondering for a beat as she worried a pointed tooth. “You know you could’ve just asked me, right?”

 

[Blackthorne]

She considered Aver and her hulking self, her own movements having gone very, very still. There was no love between them, no respect afforded, no friendship really. Just a connection formed by her mother, of all people, many years ago. What that connection brought to the table Dahl really couldn't say.

It brought a beastly woman with blue eyes to the table, apparently.

"Maybe," said the Pirate as the Merc sat back down, she stole another drag on her Sten, "Nadir wasn't originally on the plotted course. The ship I originally took in on was headed to Tattooine, not Nadir. It was waylaid by ... something." She didn't know what had happened to throw the initial ship off-route but here she was.

"And I didn't eat your slaves, that arm belonged to a guard. He's still alive ... probably," exhale purple smoke, Dahl shifted in her seat to lean her side against the back, one arm draped over, "not as though I knew Nadir was a slave trade port or that you were the sort of person to ask questions of around here."

 

[Aver Brand]

“Not my slaves,” Aver intoned, voice plummeting several degrees closer to Hoth.

Slave trade was… tolerated. It wasn’t the credits – she’d never taken a cut of the profits from that – but rather the fact that Aver didn’t lie. Not to herself, anyway. The merc had promised to uphold the freedom of Nadir, and damned if she wouldn’t do so.

Shrugging, she took another drag of her cigarra, relishing the burn of blended Bafforr leaves.

“I figured Qui told you when you decided it was the pirate’s life for you.” Her lips curled into a wane smile as she held the green gaze through blackening smoke.

“You think it’s an accident you get to dock your shiny ship in the safest spot on the Tethers? That the harbormaster gives you a fair price? That you don’t get ripped off by everyone and their mother in the Souk? That your cargo doesn’t get lost, or stolen, or misplaced?”