Private Under Jolly Roger

[Persephone Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
​

Adjusting the backpack against her back better, she took a deep breath. After escaping from the art gallery, a public transport had led her to Corellia which then led her to hopping aboard a much shadier transport service to this unknown shadowport on Kothlis. Persephone was certain it had a name but the documents she literally received were labeled 'shadowport unknown' so perhaps it wasn't important as others? She was unsure of the rules and regulations regarding shadowports. It was her first time ever one, greeted by a holo of a dancing woman, an advert for a nightclub found in the port.

A sense of unease fell over her. Stomach twisting in knots. Who knew if the information received by the private investigator was correct? Not to mention, did she still have the street smarts she had a year plus ago? It was like bringing in a loth-cat, one who got chubby and comfortable and lost some of the skills of being outdoors on their own. There had been no nerves when she left Taris and found her way to the other branch of the Dashiells. Now? It felt like she was going to vomit with each step she took.

[ Miss Persephone this is unwise. ]

Of course she was unable to shake Zee. That was fine - people looked at her less traveling with a droid, believe it or not. Seemed to keep a number of the crazies away. Or at least at bay ever so slightly.

"I have to know Zee. Myra and Makky - they don't understand. Plus, it isn't like I could invite this guy to Joiol for dinner. You think that would fly?"

[ Perhaps. Did you ask them? ]

"No. Doesn't matter. We're close to getting answers. Questions Mama didn't even want to answer. Maybe 'cause she didn't know either."

Looking about, she turned the corner to head to docking bay eight-three-six-one. She recognized it from the holos the investigator sent over. Apparently Ezekiel Dashiell was here often, in the same bay often. It was going to be a crap shoot if he was in his usual spot, but it was all she had.

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

Ezekiel Dashiell lounged atop a stack of crates, one boot braced against the side, the other dangling loose. In one hand, he swirled a glass of something amber-colored, the ice inside long since melted. It wasn't good -- hells, it barely qualified as alcohol but it was wet, and in a place like this, that was good enough.

The docking bay smelled like scorched wiring and cheap coolant, with a hint of something fried wafting in from the open market just beyond.

Outside the bay, the usual scum and cast-offs moved about -- the kind of folk who weren't worth remembering until they made themselves a problem. A pair of Nikto were arguing over a busted speeder, some Weequay was passed out near a stack of stolen crates, and a group of pirates; probably Black Sun affiliates, judging by the insignias lazily scratched into their leathers, were deep in a game of sabacc at a makeshift table, their laughter sharp-edged and mean.

Then came the droid.

Ezekiel spotted it immediately-- too shiny, too damn clean to be anywhere near a place like this. Most droids that wandered through the port were patched together with mismatched plating and held together by a prayer and someone's last credit. But this one? Looked like it had been buffed before stepping off the ship. Maybe even perfumed.

The girl behind it barely registered at first. She walked like she didn't want to be noticed but had no real practice in making that happen.

Ezekiel took a slow sip from his glass, letting the lukewarm burn slide down his throat as he watched them approach. The droid, weirdly enough, seemed to have more confidence than the girl.

"Well, now," he drawled, shifting just enough to tip his glass toward the droid. "Ain't every day I see a droid that hasn't been picked apart for scrap in a place like this. You sure you got the right port, shiny?"

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"Well, now," he drawled, shifting just enough to tip his glass toward the droid. "Ain't every day I see a droid that hasn't been picked apart for scrap in a place like this. You sure you got the right port, shiny?"

The voice reached her ears just as she was trying to ensure she was at docking bay eight-three-six-one. The bay was correct, a vessel in its berth. Near that vessel a dark haired man sitting on crates, drinking an amber swill. The face was familiar. The beard. The scraggly hair. The lack of fashion sense overall. Yet she didn't believe it.

Instead, silently, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the holo the private investigator had supplied. Unfolding the holo she held it up, looking between the holo and the man sitting on the crates.

[ My optical sensors indicate the holo and the sentient in front of us are the same being. ]

Emboldened, that was all she needed to hear. There was the sound of stomping combat boots and the smooth movement of servos as Zee struggled to keep up with his ward. The droid had never seen her move so quickly, his vocabulator couldn't even issue a word of warning.

In no time Persie was face-to-face with the man she suspected was her father. Shaking like a leaf, a finger poked into his chest, feeling rage and disbelief rising up inside her. How could he abandon her and just sit so comfortably? Abandon Mama?

"YOU!" Another strong poke. "You gotta lot to explain."

Ezekiel Dashiell

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

The swill in Zeke's glass barely qualified as alcohol, but it was wet, and in a backwater like this, that was good enough. He swirled it lazily, watching the girl.

Wonder how much her clothes fetched? He was one to enjoy the finer things when he could get his hands on it, and he recognized the fabric. Oh this girl didn't belong here at all.

As he mused, he didn't move. Didn't even let his expression shift. He just watched as the girl came to a sudden stop, digging something out of her pocket. She unfolded it, held it up, and --

Ah.

Well, that explains a few things.

He could see the moment she decided. The way her fingers tightened around the holo, the way her stance shifted from uncertain to locked-in.

Then she moved.

Boots hitting duracrete, stomped out with a purpose that made the droid flinch as it scrambled to keep up.

Ezekiel exhaled through his nose. This oughta be interesting.

Before he could even put his glass down, she was there, right in front of him, jabbing a finger into his chest like she had every right in the world to be doing it.

"YOU!"

Another poke. Harder.

"You gotta lot to explain."

Ezekiel blinked. Took his time about it. Then, moving at the exact pace that would annoy her the most, he lifted his glass and took a slow sip -- Made a face. Still terrible.

"Well, ain't this somethin'," he drawled, finally looking her over proper.

"Y'know, most folks lead with 'hello.' But I gotta say, this is a helluva way to introduce yourself, kid."

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"Hello?! HELLO?" Disbelief crept into her voice. "I'm thinkin' its you that owes me a hello first."

Persephone wasn't sure what had taken over her. In her mind she expected to be cool, calm, and collected. Yet when she saw his stupid face something inside her snapped. Hurt, rage, and disappointment were all bubbling towards the surface in one swift motion. She couldn't put a finger on if it was his overly calm attitude enraging her or the entire existence of the man.

"You run off leavin' my Mama swollen like a tick with me without so much a goodbye or contact and yous is expectin' common courtesy? I ain't got much of that left to give."

Still seeing red, her speech patterns had retuned and somewhere out in the universe her tutor surely cringed. Her finger still poked into the pirates chest, pushing against the fabric, jabbing every so often with a more emphatic word. Upset as she was, Persephone couldn't lose sight of what she came for.

Answers.

"How come you ain't never come and seen me? I ain't good enough for yous?"

Ezekiel Dashiell

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

Ezekiel blinked.

Real slow.

Like maybe if he did it at just the right speed, this entire situation would vanish when his eyes opened again.

No such luck.

The girl was still there. Still jabbing him in the chest like she had a right to. Still flinging accusations like her words weren't slicing through years he'd buried under back-alley deals and half-empty bottles.

And stars, she was loud.

"Hello?! HELLO?" Disbelief crept into her voice. "I'm thinkin' its you that owes me a hello first."

That got him.

His brow inched up, mouth curling slow into something that was halfway to a grin and all the way to are you kriffing serious? The kind of look a man gave when he couldn't decide whether to laugh or walk straight off the nearest ledge.

He took another long sip from his glass. The drink was awful. Burned in a way that suggested the distiller had confused engine degreaser for whiskey. Still, he sipped it like it was the finest Chandrilan reserve, just to give himself a reason not to respond.

Because what did you say to something like that?

More importantly -- what could you say when the kid looked like she might go nuclear if he so much as breathed the wrong way?

"You run off leavin' my Mama swollen like a tick with me without so much a goodbye or contact and yous is expectin' common courtesy? I ain't got much of that left to give."

Another jab.

Nine Hells, the girl had aim.

Ezekiel's head tilted to the side, just a bit. His expression shifted into that worn, weathered kind of sarcastic confusion that said: You hearin' yourself right now?

Because none of this made sense.

She was angry -- fuming -- but the words coming out of her mouth were so sideways, so absurd, he couldn't help the snort that slipped out. Not a laugh. Just a sound, sharp and skeptical.

He turned.

Just like that -- turned away from her, like she was a broken navchart that couldn't possibly apply to his coordinates. A man who'd survived warzones, syndicate betrayals, and half a dozen close brushes with Hutt collectors wasn't about to get dragged into a soap opera in the middle of a docking bay.

Let the girl yell. Let her poke. He had better things to do. The shiny droid was not worth it.

And yet--

"How come you ain't never come and seen me? I ain't good enough for yous?"

He paused.

Just one beat. Half a breath.

Then, slowly, very slowly, he looked back over his shoulder, brow raised like she'd just asked him if Banthas could do calculus.

"You done yet?"

His voice wasn't loud. Wasn't angry. Wasn't even defensive. It was low, like gravel under boots, with that lazy slope of a man who had no patience for drama but couldn't quite peel his eyes away from it either.

"Kid, I dunno who fed you that particular space tale, but I think maybe you got me mixed up with someone else. 'Cause whatever version of me you think did all that?" He gave a shrug, exaggerated just enough to sting. "He ain't home."

He pivoted fully this time, making it clear he had every intention of walking. Not running. Not arguing. Just leaving -- like all of this was someone else's mess.

Because if this girl was who she said she was…?

Well, then stars help him.

Because the past had just caught up, and it had opinions.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"Kid, I dunno who fed you that particular space tale, but I think maybe you got me mixed up with someone else. 'Cause whatever version of me you think did all that?" He gave a shrug, exaggerated just enough to sting. "He ain't home."

Rejection hit her like a bomb. It didn't just sting. No, it felt like her whole world was falling apart.

In many ways, it was worse than when her Mama had died. Persephone had been devastated but she also knew the tales of her father. Woven around her life, knowing that somewhere in the galaxy, he was out there. That she wasn't completely an orphan. That there was hope to move forward and find her place in the galaxy once again.

Living with Myra and Makai was nice, but she didn't completely feel comfortable. Nor did it feel like home. It hadn't been that long but she had expected to at least be more comfortable at this point. Perhaps it was the idea or notion that someone was still out there connected to her in some tangible way. With this crashing around her it was experiencing death all over again.

She was rooted in place, unable to move. Couldn't even muster up the energy to protest. Or try to grab his arm. Or even give one last parting shot.

[ Miss Persephone, perhaps your information is incorrect. Come on. ]

Zee was going his best to shake her back to reality. Metal hand was on her shoulder, trying to pull her back, to get her attention. If needed, the droid was prepared to carry her out, but was also trying to be respectful. Zee also sent communication to El-Three to send a friendly security force to their location as a failsafe. He may have to activate bodyguard mode.

Ezekiel Dashiell

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

Ezekiel didn't make it far.

Three steps, maybe four.

Enough for the sounds of the bay to start rising up again around him; grinding servos, hissing hydraulics, the static buzz of dock chatter and distant market hawkers, but not enough to drown out the silence behind him.

That silence was too quiet.

Not the rage-fueled quiet he expected, the kind that wound up into a final parting scream. Not the flurry of footfalls chasing after him with one more accusation, one more jab.

No.

This was the other kind of quiet.

The kind that made his spine itch.

Oh hell.

He stopped -- not because he cared, feth no -- but because he knew that kind of silence too well.

It was the kind that followed impact.

He didn't turn right away. Just tilted his head, enough to catch the reflection in the smooth pane of a busted loadscreen. The girl hadn't moved. Her hands were still halfway raised, like they hadn't figured out the argument was over. Her droid was this tall, gangly, polished thing, hovering like some over-cautious valet at her shoulder now, one hand on her back, the other clearly sending out some kind of alert.

Ezekiel's jaw clenched.

Just keep walking, he told himself. Ain't your mess. Was never your mess.

But the damn girl just stood there. Frozen.

Not yelling. Not crying. Just… still. Like someone had cut the power.

And maybe he didn't want to admit what that meant.

With a curse under his breath, he pivoted.

Not all dramatic, not like in the holos, just one sharp turn, a tired exhale, and a long-suffering stroll back toward the disaster zone.

She didn't look up when he stopped a few paces off. Didn't say anything.

Zee's photoreceptors clicked and focused on him, mechanical shoulders tensing like a bouncer deciding whether or not to bounce. Ezekiel ignored the droid completely.

He looked at her. Really looked.

And damn it if something in his chest didn't twinge.

It wasn't just the look on her face, it was the whole shape of her. The way her shoulders curled in like she was trying to hold herself together. The kind of grief that didn't scream. The kind that whispered, Don't breathe too hard or I'll fall apart.

He hated that kind.

"Look," he said, voice quieter now, the sharp edge dulled but not gone. "I didn't mean to -- "

He cut himself off.

Because lying wouldn't help. Softening it wouldn't fix whatever that was inside her.

So instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and tried again, slower this time. Almost careful.

"I don't know what you heard. Or what your mama told you. Maybe you got every right to be here, yellin'. Maybe I was the kind of man who walked away from a woman like that and a kid like you." He shrugged, helpless and infuriated by it. "But if that's true? I don't remember it. I don't remember you."

And that truth, that brutal, merciless truth, tasted worse than the drink still sweating in his hand.

"But I know what it feels like to have nothin' left. To want somethin' to hold onto, even if it's just a ghost of someone."

He shifted his weight, boots scraping the duracrete.

"You want answers? I don't got 'em. Not now. Maybe not ever. But if you're gonna stand there lookin' like you're about to crumple into a heap, least you can do is sit down first."

He nudged the crate nearest him with a foot. Gestured at it with a tilt of his chin.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

Vaguely aware of Zee trying to pull her back, Persephone tried to will her legs to move. To at least turn to the droid and argue that she wasn't going to move until she had real answers. Yet it seemed as if her feet and melded into the duracrete, becoming one with the structure, firmly holding her in place no matter what came her way.

Logically she knew she had to move. Knew she had to do something even if she didn't want to. Even if she couldn't. Yet the strength wasn't there to move. Not yet. Even as Ezekiel Dashiell came back to her to speak, she couldn't even raise a hand to poke his scrawny little chest to emphasize her point. There were no more points to emphasize.

"I don't know what you heard. Or what your mama told you. Maybe you got every right to be here, yellin'. Maybe I was the kind of man who walked away from a woman like that and a kid like you." He shrugged, helpless and infuriated by it. "But if that's true? I don't remember it. I don't remember you."

If she wasn't utterly broken already this did it. The fact he couldn't even remember her. That he didn't even seem to care to want to remember her. She was shattered into bits. As if someone had crushed everything that made her happy and let it blow away in the wind. Vibrant and bossy was gone, replaced with nothing but a depressed husk.

But if you're gonna stand there lookin' like you're about to crumple into a heap, least you can do is sit down first."

"No thank you."

Big fat tears began to fall.

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

Well feth.

Ezekiel stared at her, slack-jawed for a second.

Not because of the tears no, he'd seen tears before. Been the cause of more than a few. But there was something about the way she said it. That stiff, stubborn little "No thank you."

Like her whole world had fallen apart and she still had enough steel in her to mind her manners.

It hit different.

He glanced down, rubbed at the corner of his scruff, suddenly itchy under his fingers. Stars, she really was a mess. Not the messy kind who threw tantrums or kicked crates across hangars. No, this was the quiet kind of mess. The kind that just stood there, letting grief hit her in the gut, over and over, without flinching.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

Didn't like how it made his drink taste flat. Didn't like how it made his insides feel scraped raw.

Didn't like her, if he was being honest. Because she looked at him like he was supposed to mean something. Like she was waiting for him to transform into someone who did remember. Someone good. And he wasn't.

He'd never been.

Ezekiel blew out a breath and knelt down with a groan beside one of the crates. Not to sit, he didn't want her thinking they were suddenly equals or friends or whatever fantasy had gotten her this far --but to be closer to eye level. Less looming. More… tolerable.

"I didn't come back 'cause I care," he muttered. "I came back 'cause… you looked like someone kicked your guts in and forgot to tell you why."

He scratched behind his ear, looking anywhere but directly at her.

"Listen. You wanna scream at me again later, fine. You wanna throw somethin', fine. I'll even let the droid take a swing at me, if that's what it takes to get you movin'. But right now?" He flicked his gaze up, real quick, then back to the ground. "Right now, you don't look like you got much left in the tank."

Zee made a subtle movement, something between gratitude and alert readiness, but Ezekiel still ignored the droid.

He pulled a crumpled ration bar from his pocket, glanced at it, then tossed it lightly onto the crate between them like a peace offering. The wrapper was a little dusty, but intact.

"Here. Sugar helps with shock. That's about all I got."

He stood again, slow and a little stiff, like even he wasn't sure what to do with this situation.

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"Listen. You wanna scream at me again later, fine. You wanna throw somethin', fine. I'll even let the droid take a swing at me, if that's what it takes to get you movin'. But right now?"

If that's what it takes to get you movin'.

Nothing else. The man in front of her wasn't even interested in getting to know her. Hadn't even asked for her name. All he seemed concerned about was ensuring that she could move and get out of his way. It became further evident by the fact he threw down the sugary protein bar on the crate, seemingly more clear that she needed to start to motivate.

A slow blink, a look at the bar. She wouldn't have touched it even if she was starving. If it was the only food left in the universe. Persephone hoped the pirate would eat it later and choke.

The hurt was still there. New emotions slowly were swirling in. Betrayal. Abandonment. More than anything a feeling of stupidity mixed with the hurt, reminding her she was foolish. The sheer amount of credits she had wasted on this reunion. The time, effort, and energy poured into hunting down one Ezekiel Dashiell was all for naught.

Coming out of her fog, Persephone squared her shoulders, finally looking up. Her face was a mess from crying but there was something else there, an intense burning hatred for the pirate.

"I see our time is done here Mister Dashiell." Voice was formal and cold as she took a small pause. "Come along Zee, we have far too much to do."

[ Of course Miss Persephone. Let us be on our way. ]

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

Ezekiel didn't move right away.

Didn't speak, either.

Instead, Ezekiel leaned back against the durasteel wall, watching the girl, Persephone, now that he'd heard it, walk away with all the fury of a thunderhead packed into a five-foot frame. Droids at her flank, shoulders square like she hadn't just come apart at the seams five minutes ago. Girl had guts, he'd give her that. Maybe too much heart.

Maybe too much him.

He pulled the protein bar off the crate, turned it over once in his hand, and gave a crooked, bitter smirk.

"Well. That went smooth as a Hutt in a hot tub."

He said it to no one. Said it like it was funny. Like it didn't sting.

The grin faded almost instantly, replaced by something quieter under the shadow of his scruffy beard. He jammed the bar into his pocket and let his boots carry him off, deeper into the gloom of the docking bay.

Another job. Another port. Another mess.

And one kid who hated his guts -- rightfully so.

"Should've stayed in the spice runnin' business," he muttered. "At least there, when somethin' blows up in your face, you know why."