To Bury the Castle

[Ara Zambrano]

Location: Coruscant, Slum District G17
Continued from: Young Volcanoes

She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of a world that she's left behind
It's all about the exposure the lens I told her
The angles were all wrong now
She's ripping wings off of butterflies
Keep your feet on the ground
When your head's in the clouds

Well go get your shovel
And we'll dig a deep hole
To bury the castle, bury the castle

Every sound in the lower levels echoed a thousand times before dying away into oblivion. The sirens of police cruisers mixed with the engine growls of passing speeders coupled with the hiss of escaping steam from the pipes running below their feet. The inhabitants of the slums had long ago learned to tune the cacophonous noise out of their daily lives, the beeping, screeching, shouts, and screams a normal backdrop to the lawless underbelly of the glittering skyscrapers and towering structures of the elite.

Footsteps echoed on the damp stone work beneath her feet, the Knight having left the spaceport and her ship behind to trudge deeper into the maze of debauchery she’d once called home. Appreciative looks and catcalls followed her, despite the grim expression and amber ringed eyes that met each whistle or shouted sexual suggestion. She might have cared, taken the time to flash a seductive smile here, a flirtatious comment there, had the girl not come to her home planet with only one purpose, to destroy the last weakness in her personal armor.

In her haste to escape the Bastion and one [member="Connor Harrison"] , she had neglected to change, her long, flowing skirt trailing through puddles of filth and sludge, the hemline ruined within a few moments. Her usual cloak was still folded neatly on her bed, the one settled on her shoulders a simple black piece of fabric borrow from the excess of armor and weapons stored aboard the Crimson Sparrow for just such purposes. It covered her exposed back and sides, as well as gave her a chance to hide the wrapped wrist that was still dripping the occasional trail of blood.

How long had it been since she’d joined the First Order and left the seedy underbelly behind? Five, six months? Her chin raised slightly as she considered the changes in herself in such a short period of time. Her master, Talon Ren, had taught her the ways of combat using both the power of the Dark Side and the saber form of Makashi, utilizing the speed and dexterity she’d acquired in her years of scavenging here among the ruins.

Her hand moved to the place her belt would rest, it’s weight and the comforting presence of her saber missing from the outfit she’d chosen to ignite a spark in Connor after insults had been traded at the end of a training session. Letting her vanity and anger get the better of her, she now regretted the lack of foresight to stop by her rooms and change, or at least retrieve her blade.

A quiet growl had a Togrutan passerby stepping away from the Knight with a concerned expression, his path moving to avoid the darksider at all costs. Her lips turned up in a wicked smile, the fear wafting from him adding fuel to the fire within. They should fear her; they would fear her.

A dark alley opened into a larger street, lined with rundown hovels and drinking establishments, the neon lights flickering in the shadows, cloaked and suspicious figures coming and going despite the late hour. She was one of many choosing to spend the evening amongst the drunkards and gamblers, her destination a den of iniquity she’d frequented often in the last few years.

The stench of death sticks mixed with old blaster fire and the reek of unwashed bodies greeted her as she entered, eyes turning and hush whispers following her path to the bar. A credit chip touched the counter before the bartender could turn and recognize the woman. Blazing orange eyes met hers, a slow smile forming as he took in the brunette and her outfit, eyes roaming over every curve. She had no doubt he’d spotted every potential hiding place for a weapon as well as the lack of any.

”If it isn’t Lady Ara. We’d thought the sewer had swallowed ye up months ago.”

His right elbow leaned against the bar, the patrons around them shifting away at his glare. Eyes crinkling in mirth at the old nickname, she held the credit chip up between two fingers, eyes bright with determination.

"Pleasure seeing you again, Tyrvan. I see you are just as charming as always.” A flash of a smile accompanied her matching his posture against the counter. ”I need information.”

His gaze flashed from the chip in her hand to her own corrupted eyes, lids narrowing slightly. No doubt he’d spotted the changes in her person immediately, but money, and information of his own was far more valuable to the proprietor than a moment’s curiosity. As he moved to take the chip from her, her lips curled up in a satisfied smile, eyes hard.

”Where can I find Issaren?”

 

[Ara Zambrano]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPcxqpMbcSg[/youtube]

I rage against the trials of love
I curse the fading of the light
Though she's already flown so far beyond my reach
She's never out of sight

Now I know she'll never leave me
Even as she fades from view
She will still inspire me, be a part of
Everything I do


Wasting in my lonely tower
Waiting by an open door


Each turn lead to somewhere brighter, louder, more illustrious than the slums that faded behind her. A datapad in her hand guided her path, anger snapping and growing with the anxiety swirling in her stomach with every step. The catcalls and whistles had died out as she left the seedy districts behind, lingering glances far more discreet and subtle on the side of the city that started to give way to the influence of money.

While not the streets of her youth, she recognized a few of the establishments she passed, each one having hosted a social event or fundraiser she’d attended on the arms of some rich budding politician or socialite. Without pause, she continued, ignoring the looks, the lights, the store fronts. Single-minded determination spurred her on, the datapad in her hands lighting her face with an eerie glow. No sign of a friendly expression or sense of humor could be discerned from her face, the expression flat and empty.

This trip wasn’t about memories or gambling, drinking or shopping, it was about finding the one thing that made her vulnerable and sealing it away before it could break her in half.

A curl of the fingers resulted in the sound of glass cracking, the screen under her fingers shattered beneath the strength of an involuntary grip. Cursing, she tossed the ruined tech onto the ground and continued on, the few passing well-dressed couples and oblivious gawkers moving out of her path rapidly, exchanging curious and slightly fearful looks.

Damn him. Damn them all.

Her eyes lit on the building she needed, thoughts swirling and shifting from each interaction to another until her mind didn’t know what infuriated her more, her memories or her mission.

The restaurant was upper-middle class, set amongst the sparkling skyscrapers and gilded theatres of the entertainment district. When she’d asked for Issaren’s location, she’d expected the depths of G17 or even news of the woman’s death, but instead, she’d been given the address of an upper-scale entertainment venue.

The building rose far above, the neon lights reflecting off gilded siding, balconies jutting from the varies levels, couples and small groups in fine dress enjoying a cool evening as speeders raced by overhead. Unlike the lower levels, sirens were uncommon here, the riff-raff kept well away with security and harsh punishments. Posh stores lined the streets and the elite hardly feared walking the streets from one establishment to another.

In one way, her outfit allowed her to blend in, the dirty hem trailing behind the only outward sign that the Knight didn’t belong in this sector. An easy smile and small bow earned her entrance without hassle, the obvious lack of weaponry making it easy for the bouncers to dismiss the girl as a threat to the patrons within, the doors shutting firmly behind her as the sounds of the city faded to a soft croon of classical music and the chatter of quiet dinner conversation.

The address hadn’t given her any indication of the woman’s exact location within the establishment, but something in her gut spurred her further into the building, past the main dining hall and banquet facilities, up a curved staircase with wrought iron railings. More socialites walked past, smiles and nods fading as her stony expression never changed, red-ringed eyes blazing with some emotion foreign to most who frequented such a place.

The rooftop bar was just what Ara would expect from such an establishment. Covered with clear glass meant to give patrons a stunning image of the towers of glass spiraling around them, neon threads of lights flashing in disconcerting patterns within. To her it was gaudy and tacky, the ghoulish lights casting each person in a comedic wash of color that further separated them from the reality of life. They were well-dressed mannequins play-acting at life, unaware of the hard realities of hunger, suffering, war…it was enough to make the power inside her beg to lash out, destroy the lounge and all within.

She stayed her hand, that pressing urgency pulling her away from the crowds, towards a side bar, lit in bright blue hues.

One more step, and she froze, every nerve in her body on fire. Gone were the hollowed cheeks and eyes shining with red veins. Rags had been traded for a nice cocktail dress that hugged every curve, curves that when last she’d seen, had been all but bone and thin, papery skin. From across the crowded rooftop, she spotted the source of her pain and anger. For a moment, every bodily function hanging in suspended animation as the woman turned, smiling at the man beside her. A smile so familiar and so alien lit up the brunette’s eyes as she spoke, a drink in one hand.

Issaren Lightmist.

Mother.