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

[Blackthorne]

"Fine - I didn't eat the slaves..."

Dahl glanced sideways at the woman, minding her freezing tone before moving to prop her left arm along the top of the chair back and rest her forehead against her palm. She didn't look back at the mention of her mother or even at the tirade of all the apparent perks she received on the unspoken down-low.

The young woman's lips drew thin as she neglected to make eye contact with the snarling Merc.

She had no idea, really, that so many favors were being tossed about for her in Nadir. Here she liked to think just maybe she'd been doing something right for a change.

Making her own way instead of riding under the shadow of someone else.

"Thanks for the support Auntie Aver," words expelling sharp plumes of violet, "but Masza and I aren't speaking."

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver barked a short laugh, blue eyes twinkling behind the smoke.

“I—”

Whatever she was going to say got snapped up by teeth clicking together. The merc turned her head, her gaze fixing on the door just a second before the zeltron wandered through with two laden plates of food.

Her mouth watered.

Galen set a steak big enough to choke a houk before her, then delivered her chosen dish to Blackthorne with a sly wink. “For the Captain,” he rumbled, smooth and low. “On the house.”

The low red light of the room glinted on his shaven head as he sauntered back out the door, a certain… sway to his step.

With no more than an appreciative hum, Aver put out her cigarra and tore into the meat.

 

[Blackthorne]

On a normal day Dahl would have followed the view of that man's ass all the way back to the door.

Today was not a normal day. Nope.

Whether it was the sten of the last week finally catching up to her, the Captain had become increasingly aware of the weight of exhaustion settling on her. By the time her meal arrived she considered using it as a pillow for .25 seconds. With a hard blink she reached for utensils and tucked in. To eat, that is, not to sleep. Though if she had the ability to sleep-eat she likely would have put it to use right about then.

Her fervor had dissipated along with the adrenaline and she ate with the complacent fog of sten rolling through her head. No mind was given to the ferocity in which Aver devoured her own food - woman could eat however she liked, she was buying.

 

[Aver Brand]

The steak never stood a chance. Aver devoured the bloody meat within minutes and sagged back into her seat. The aura of satiation was nearly palpable about her as she relit the cigarra, content to let Blackthorne finish in peace.

With warm meat in her belly, the merc almost became… affable.

She’d let the Auntie slide. Not like Dahl was the first to pull that line on her – and had, ironically enough, more claim to it than Onley. Her visits were infrequent at best, but somehow, improbably, Aver had seen her grow up from a raucous child to an angry pirate. Her nephew on the other hand, had matured well into his adulthood before they’d ever met.

Exhaling, Aver knitted her brow, and spoke once more. “Why aren’t you two speaking?”

 

[Blackthorne]

"It's complicated," Dahl replied, expression darkening as she swallowed a forkful of her meal, "and I don't want to talk about it."

A long drink of water followed and when she had drained her entire glass she set back upon her dinner. Not much left now.

Frankly it wasn't any of Aver's business. The Merc had made a point to keep her distance from the Shamalain family affair whenever she visited on Onderon and had never extended an effort to connect. Not that Dahl had any disdain for this - it made no difference to her growing up. Though they'd shared odd moments of interaction over the years, Aver had been to her exactly what Aver had meant to be - a shadowed face that arrived and left with little fanfare. Certainly she'd always been a source of curiosity for the children and though it was known well-enough that the Merc was dangerous and not to be bothered, Dahl had never once felt under threat in her presence.

Just curious.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Alright, kid,” she chuckled and raised her hands in mock defense. “Ain’t gonna force you.”

From the grim set of Dahl’s jaw, it could either be deathly serious or a teenage spat, for all that Aver could tell. Convoluted family dynamics and the mercenary didn’t exactly get along – Nether, they were barely acquainted. All she knew was that Qui had too many children, and that big families begat big problems.

“Well, lunch is over, and I got shet to do. You wanna stay, stay – I’m sure Galen will appreciate your sparkling company.” She rose from the seat and grabbed her helmet again.

“If you’d rather a shower, a bed, and some new clothes… I’ll drop you off, got a safehouse you can use.”
For someone who avoided complex relationships like the plague, Aver sure managed to pick up plenty over the years. Fethers were as stealthy as Ophidia herself, but once they were here… the merc couldn’t say she minded all that much.

 

[Blackthorne]

Lunch ended at precisely the moment the last bit of her meal slid down her throat. For a fleeting second she wondered if the Merc had waited or the timing was simply convenient on her own end. Either way she wasn't going to fuss nor did she have any intention of staying.

Especially not after the word bed hit her ears.

The K'paur hybrid wiped her face and was out of her chair, shouldering the acquired weapons without another word to follow Auntie Aver back out the door and into the speeder.

"So this is all you...?" she said after a time of silence to take in the views of Nadir flashing by as Aver speed-demon'd to the safehouse.

 

[Aver Brand]

“It’s complicated,” she said, tugging them out of traffic into a calmer alley, “and I don’t want to talk about it.”

They weren’t in the Pits anymore. Most of the Nest was behind them now, clawed constructs shrouded by the thick veil of smog – ahead of them, taller spires were rising out of the poison smoke. They passed them one by one, penthouses and flats and whole skyscrapers bought out by criminals who could afford it.

Rifles greeted them when they docked – but it wasn’t with any of those monuments to blood money. The place was compact and unassuming, isolated from the rest of the Nest like an ancient fortress upon its hill. It was defensible, and it was peaceful.

Prompted by the barrel of a blaster, Aver opened the door and stood out. The owner of the weapon lost what little color he had to his cheeks and made a hasty retreat. There were downsides to driving a new, unmarked speeder every damn week, but she was willing to weather them in exchange for the small advantage of not getting blown up, thank you very much.

She tipped her head for Dahl to follow, then headed inside.

Their visit here would be answer enough.

 

[Blackthorne]

Purple smoke filtered out her lips in a prolonged exhale of the few remaining puffs of her sten. Dahl waved a hand at the Merc in return and shrugged off the reply as fair. Aver hadn't pressed the issue, neither would she; content to simply watch the surroundings of Nadir change around them.

If there was one thing to set her hackles it was landing to a greeting committee of very deadly weapons. The Pirate paused in the speeder, the exhaustion in her gaze steeling over with the temerity to put up a fight if need be, but she wasn't about to make the first move. If Aver was ruling Kingpin surely this was all a misunder-

yeah.

Dahl shoved open the door and stepped out, blaster pistol at hand, and moved to stay at Aver's heels. She remained silent but attentive, noting that the guards immediately backed down at the sight of the Merc as she tread in. The place was armed to the teeth. Great, gnashing, reinforced teeth. The further in they walked the more professional the guard became. They arrived at an elevator under the purview of two Maw: definitely not human and definitely indiscernible behind their exoskeletons of weapons, armor, and helmets.

"Interesting safehouse," Dahl commented as the lift doors hissed shut before them.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Emphasis on the safe,” Aver agreed, her posture far more relaxed. Tense muscles, after all, were slower to respond in case of emergency.

Not that Dahl was slow. The merc had learned that one overcast day, many years ago. Royal duties came up, Qui was away, and Aver was bored. Naturally, sparring presented itself as the perfect solution to her problem.

A quiet ding announced their arrival – Qosta was fond of peculiar traditions. She’d stopped rolling her eyes a long time ago, but it was still a source of amusement. After the Equalizers themselves, he was the most powerful entity on Nadir, and yet…

She sighed. Beneath all the dirt and blood, he was human.

Aver didn’t knock. She just opened the door.

 

[Emryc]

Much like the HQ the place was furnished to an old-style fashion. Polished wood and marble tiles - decorative floor runners. Another set of Maw greeted them at the open doors of the lift, beyond them the studio setting of Qosta's expansive open-air living space greeted them. One of numerous floors. A heady smell on the air; aromatic like the zing of a cold brew. It was quiet save for the sound of simmering, bubbling, and a tawdry tune floating in from some far corner off an antique chronophone.

Voices from the right, murmurs in grated baritones that hallmarked discussion between Pa and Archon. Several other Qosta men milled about large glinting copper vats - Aver would recognize them immediately as brewing containers.

"Brand!" barked Qosta from where he stood at a table of ornate carved wooden legs valiantly holding up a flat slab of polished and embossed stone, "you're just in time to taste the new batch. Pull up a seat, dollface, and I'll pour you a glass..." beady eyes looked up from beneath salted eyebrows and over the rim of his glasses, "Who's the whelp?"

 

[Aver Brand]

“Qosta,” Aver replied. Where Pa got all his energy to yell with his age, she’d never know. “I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she continued, grinning through the tired sigh. Her helmet clicked as she set it on the counter and helped herself to the dripping-cold glass.

She glanced over her shoulder at Dahl. Considered telling the truth. Nearly burst out laughing.

“Captain Blackthorne,” was what she went with in the end. If the girl wanted to say anything more, it was up to her.

Instead, cool blues slithered over to the occupant of the neighboring seat. She took him in, raking up and down without a shred of shame.

“Who’re you?” Aver asked, lifting a brow before she drowned her smirk in delicious, smooth dark beer.

 

[Emryc]

"My apologies, Dollface. Won't call you Brand no-more."

Qosta chuckled through a cheeky grin, a sound like stones being ground across duracrete as he placed the glass before the woman. Dark eyes lifted to take in the shabby looking slip of a woman stalking her way in, seemingly confused by his choice of interior decorating. His eyes narrowed, brow furrowing into wrinkles deeper than the trenches dug into warfronts between the One Sith and Republic, "Blackthorne..." a wondering rumble, "rings a bell."

" 'at funny looking ship of yours smashed into one of our trade runners a month back just outside Bleak Harbor," Archon was standing off to the side by the basins overseeing the men making adjustments on the brew, "took off like a mynock swarm after a bloody frigate, set us back a week."

Qosta's grin melted as he drowned out a contemplative "Hmmm," with a drink from his glass, "have a seat, Captain."

Deep-set eyes from the silent man beside Aver slowly turned to take the woman in. As if she couldn't remember him, he remembered her quite clearly.

Cactus.

He looked vastly different now, of course - a scarecrow beaten into solid granite. Years of lessons given at the edge of someone else's knuckles under a hail of blasterfire had a way of honing ones body and mind. Aver knew this, she'd lived it. Emryc on the other hand seemed not to be fully aware of the fact that he was living it now. The chiseled face betrayed only a hint of suspicion; some things simply couldn't be eradicated by blunt force trauma.

"That there is Emryc," Pa answered for him, "you'll have to excuse him, he's a bit shy around the pretty folk."

"Eheh, especially after he's had his jaw dislocated with the business end of a blaster," Archon chortled into his beer, "how's it healing Em, can you taste anything yet? I'll get you a straw."

Aver couldn't see it but the far side of Emryc's face was coated in a fresh bacta patch. His expression was strained though it was difficult to say if it was from the pain or from the lack of amusement.

 

[Blackthorne]

Whelp.

Dahl's right eye began twitching again and she had just taken the last pull on her sten. She released the purple smoke through her nose very slowly, eyes narrowed. If it weren't for Aver's show of restraint she might've put the gun at her side to use. Captain Blackthorne's last stand: shutting the mouth of the great Pa Qosta.

" 'at funny looking ship of yours smashed into one of our trade runners a month back just outside Bleak Harbor," Archon was standing off to the side by the basins overseeing the men making adjustments on the brew, "took off like a mynock swarm after a bloody frigate, set us back a week."

"Oh was that your ship? Thought I hit a Mynock Buoy...those things are everywhere in wild space," the Captain returned innocently as she strode forward to sink into the chair on the other side of Aver, "you must be the notorious Qosta Patriarch I keep hearing about every time I step foot on Nadir. Your reputation is ... excessive."

 

[Aver Brand]

Her only response was a pursing of lips around the lip of the glass. It was simply who Qosta was. Provocateur. Couldn’t blame him – she’d pushed the envelope with greater beasts before, and came out alive.

“Emryc,” she dragged the name over the sharp points of her teeth, syllable by syllable. “Can’t say I’ve seen you around before. How long’s he been working for you, Qosta?” Aver grasped his jaw, twisting his head to the side to take a look. “Mm. Not bad. Forgot how to duck, did you?”

She heard Dahl backtalking in the background. With the merc the girl could afford it, for obvious reasons. But with Qosta and Archie? Aver side-eyed her again, a cut of warning to her glacier eyes.

Bad idea, she thought, holding the green gaze a beat longer than necessary. The camaraderie and joviality were only partly true. They were beasts and animals under that veneer, and they only played nice until you poked them one time too many.

Dahl was in no state to wake the sleeping dogs.

 

[Emryc]

"Long enough to know how to duck, behehehe..." Archon answered Aver with another snigger.

Aver received the glare of a storm on the horizon from the eyes of the man she presently handled, though he was fairly maleable in her grasp. He let her have her look, anyways, jaw wound tight in her fingers.

"you must be the notorious Qosta Patriarch I keep hearing about every time I step foot on Nadir. Your reputation is ... excessive."

"And your's is only just surpassing juvenile," Qosta shot back with a tone just a glass sliver below a snarl. The Captain didn't need Aver's glance to get the point, she was staring straight at the bear and she wasn't blinking. The old man gave a grunt, his griseled face peeling into a sleezy half-grin, "but I hear you've got the balls of a rancor. Word has it there's a hefty bounty on your head with the galactic Orderlies..." he took another drink and drained his glass, setting it on the table with with a smack of his lips, "something about tearing through Panathan space and snagging two of Zambrano's ships. That takes some moxy and I'll pour you a drink for that, Captain."

"Gracious of you," Dahl leaned back in her seat with a frown, too tired to look proud for what just amounted to a compliment from Pa Qosta, "but I'm not big on the drink."

"Oh?" Pa looked equally stumped and surprised but not offended, "it's an odd Pirate that turns down a drink. If you ain't here for that..." his gaze swung over at Aver questioningly, "what are you here for?"

 

[Aver Brand]

Ygdris Val had waited more than two decades to exact the vengeance of her lifetime, once. Served cold was practically her middle name. She had bidden her time with all the Dollfaces and darlings and sugars.

It was payback time.

With what was likely the sweetest smile to ever grace her face, Aver turned to Qosta. Both rows of teeth, ear to ear, a right proper shet-eating grin.

“You got babysitting duty, Pa.” The merc batted her eyelashes – possibly a more disturbing and efficient intimidation technique than any threat she could utter. “She’s undisciplined, headstrong, and willful. I’m sure you’ll get along just. swimmingly.”

“I mean.” She chuckled, winking. “We do.”

 

[Emryc]

As if she had just taken a freshly caught salmon from a grizzly settling in for a meal, Qosta watched her expression prance about with equal parts fury and wonder.

"What does this look like...a goddamn country resort?!" the bear bellowed and his voice rang so loudly throughout the floor that the chronophone actually began skipping. One of his men's glasses shattered in their hand, spilling beer and blood all over the floor.

Dahl would have been offended if it weren't for the show. The Captain sunk a little further into her chair to put just that little extra space between herself and the man seated across from them currently bloviating with rage. She bit her lip to keep from smirking ... it wasn't working too well.

Emryc was probably the only one doing the duty of keeping his gaze anywhere but on Pa. He quietly sipped his beer while looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The only one to dare cross the threshold was Archon who stepped up behind Pa, took his shoulders with a clap and leaned down to mutter something in his ear about Pirates having their uses. Gaskets released proverbial headsteam, the swell of fury slowly leaked away from the swollen bear with a continuous train of grumbling under his breath. Archon poured him another drink and patted the Boss on the shoulder then turned and barked at the men to clean up the mess.

"You got me," Pa expressed a grated sigh through his teeth and smoothed a hand over his bald head, "I mean ... look at this place. It's a goddamn country resort...and I ain't never seen a real tree in my life. Em, show the Captain to a room,"

Emryc blazed a glance at the man, cold clouds rolling over a writhing grey sea, put his glass on the table and slowly rose to stand. Dressed in a nicely fitted, very expensive suit, the coathanger boy who had once slouched in a stolen leather jacket was an imposing sight to behold now. Broad shoulders swiveled as he passed behind Aver's seat and quietly strode off towards the lift.

"Thanks, Pa," Dahl intoned huskily.

"Guns on the table," the man grunted after her, "they aren't yours anyway."

With a frown she set them there and moved to follow after Emryc.

"If you're gonna frak make it quick, you got work to do Em!" more mumbling followed as the pair disappeared into the lift, Pa took a swig from his freshly filled glass and let out a snort, "this is a good batch."

 

[Aver Brand]

A bear. A summer storm. Call it what you like – Aver weathered it with a quiet smile on her face, sipping the beer with palpable satisfaction.

“It is a good batch,” she agreed once the dust had settled and the pair had disappeared upstairs. “Just the right blend of bitter and caramel this time, I think.” The merc nodded and set the glass back down, looking Qosta straight in the eye.

“Keep her safe, yeah?”

It was about as close as Aver got to please. She recognized the impulse for what it was, and didn’t care to delve any further. Dahl was the daughter of a lover she respected. Any conversation which started with ‘My station’ and ended with ‘Your dead kid’ was better avoided altogether.

“Just because Blackthorne ain’t got manners or taste don’t mean I don’t, Teddy. Now tell me…” she said and touched her glass to his, “what does Emryc do for you?”

 

[Emryc]

"Mm," Qosta grunted in return to the request, eyeing Aver grumpily. In the background the chronophone twinged and restarted with a vlrrrrt, "she's in the safest place in Nadir next to your own den," it wasn't an admission to protecting the girl, but Aver knew that particular song and dance. Teddy drew a smile back out of the old bear.

Clink.

"Emryyyyc..." the man drew the name out, easing back into his chair again now that the tiger had fessed up the remainder of the salmon to share. He was complacent to share with the tiger, as it were. They had a good thing going here.

"He works the underground for me, took over the spy network to let Archon focus on the trade expansion. Quiet type," Pa waggled his eyebrows a bit, "mmm, bit twitchy on the trigger, but he knows his job and he gets it done right the first time."