Private Woe to the Witless

[Grisha Fletch]

The man gave him everything so that Grisha might spare him, and for a moment, he did. The Jedi stepped away, will wavering for but a moment, giving the slaver the slightest sense of relief before reality struck once again. It was cruel to give hope where there was none, and yet that was exactly what he’d done. As soon as Grisha’s foot went back he planted it, shifted his weight and lunged forward.

The weightless blade caught the man in the center of his chest, just to the left of the heart. Hysio gasped in sudden agony as Grisha swung the blade outwards to compensate for the miss, gold light hewing through the slaver’s beating heart and out between his ribs in a flash. The light left his eyes, and something grabbed hold of Grisha’s stomach and squeezed.

Hysio was a pitiless man, a worthless being, but his dying brought bile to the back of Grisha’s throat nonetheless. The man had been afraid, agonized, and horribly confused all at once. He was the first, and the knowledge that he’d not be the last nearly brought the Twi’leki Grisha had just enjoyed back up onto the scene.

Instead, he stuffed the datapad back into his pocket and ran. The second death came more quickly than he’d expect, when one of the patrons appeared at the other end of the hall and produced a blaster, firing crimson streaks of energy towards him. Grisha turned the first and batted back the second, the bold slamming into the shooter’s chest and sending him sprawling lifelessly to the floor. The third followed soon after, leaping out at Grisha as he left the hall and re-entered the main bar, a knife in his hands as he dove to strike the Jedi.

The saber came up, and the man went down, a long slash burned through his chest and abdomen. It was getting easier, and that scared him. Grisha didn’t want to be good at this.

“Time to go!” He shouted out to his doppelgänger, seeing it preoccupied with a pair of opponents down in the ring. She could handle it, he knew that, but even still he called another of the bottles from the bar to him and hurtled it at the last man’s head like a rocket with a flick of his wrist.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

Iayn did not need to be told twice. She threw her elbow into the other man's jaw and then bounded away, back up the stairs, and after Grisha. She overtook him by just a step, so she could take hold of one of his arms near his elbow. :: Follow me. ::

As they ran through the threshold, another green shimmer shown out of it. Iayn led Grisha around the corner as two more likenesses of the Jedi continued running away from the bar. The two goons from the pit burst from the door next to follow after "them". Once all four were out of sight, Iayn, now looking herself again, tugged Grisha further down the sidewalk that they were on.

She didn't know what to say, so she didn't yet, as she led them towards her nearby apartment.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

He wasn’t sure when he’d stowed his blade, but by the time Iayn had pulled him after her it was back on his hip, swaying as they weaves through the crowded streets. Grisha didn’t say anything, he only followed, his mind rewinding the change in the force when Hysio’s hope had died the instant before the blade pierced his sternum. It wasn’t guilt that sat on his chest so heavily, it couldn’t have been, but something weighed down on him all the same.

When they found their way into her apartment, Grisha found himself standing motionless just inside the door, his dark eyes somewhere far away as the buzz of his saber through the air filled his mind, drowning out everything else as it grew louder and louder and louder-

His hand touched the datapad in his pocket, and suddenly Grisha was returned to the world. He pulled the device from his pocket, and offered it to Iayn.

“Got this from him.” The Jedi said absently.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

As he stood there, Iayn went to the kitchen, which could be seen over a breakfast bar from the door, to get them both some water. It was an attempt to make herself a good host, one of a few traits that she had learned from Malcoma, but also one to make herself small. She was fairly sure that, given his reaction since leaving the fight bar, that he had made the hardest choice of them all. And for that, she felt responsible. To her, this feeling was much heavier than the consequences of the times she had killed someone herself. She set his glass down on the bar, slid it across the countertop, and began slowly sipping out of hers. Though her body was oriented to face his, her eyes were anywhere that his empty gaze wasn't, jumping from floor to refrigerator to...

When he suddenly spoke up, her gaze latched onto the offered datapad. "Y-yeah," she muttered before setting her drink down and rounding the bar out of the kitchen to come stand near Grisha. She slid a hand of hers under the datapad and, if he let go, pulled the device back. "Do you—could you use a hug?"

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

"I-what?" Grisha's eyes came back into focus, back onto her. He couldn't tell what he was feeling, if it was shame, confusion, or sorrow, but he felt it strongly all the same. She was trying to be kind, to help him through something she must've gone through alone. Who had her first been? Had they deserved it? Had they been afraid? Had she enjoyed it?

He stepped back.

"No, I-Just," The Order had long since thrown out rules involving affection, and even at its strictest an embrace of comfort would've been nothing, but in that moment his mind defaulted to long-dead rules as an excuse. He could've used a steady hand, someone to tell him it was alright, to do exactly what she was offering, but something kept him from saying the words. Grisha steeled himself, and tried to refocus as he took a deep breath.

"Does it have what we need?" He asked, careful to say we in place of you given he'd just committed to staying on the wretched planet. He'd have to find new clothes, and a way to make a space for himself in whatever safehouse she decided to stow him in. It wasn't like she'd keep him here, would she? He shoved aside the thought before he confused himself anymore, and tried to put on the mask of brash arrogance he'd worn earlier in the day.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

Had he asked, she would have told him.

“Yeah,” she repeated, walking back down the entryway. Instead of returning to the kitchen, she split off her direction into the small living space. “At least drink something.” She set the datapad on the ottoman of the armchair set that Damris had sent her. At least he had had the foresight not to buy her something that looked like mafia money had bought it. Grisha may not want physical comfort from her, which was alright, but she wasn't about to go back to business.

If nothing else, they both needed sleep, or the closest thing they could manage to it. First, though—

“It'll help you feel more… humanoid.”

Iayn then returned to her own glass.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

Grisha took a glass, and poured himself something cold. Some part of him desperately wanted to ask her to make good on her offer, he was shaken, and he doubted he'd find his way back to normal until he'd but a night's sleep between him and the death he'd wrought. He sighed after a long drink, and set the glass down.

"Thank you." He said earnestly, looking to Iayn and giving her a small, earnest smile. "So, what next? What do we do for two days while we're 'laying low'?" Grisha asked, trying to distract himself. It wasn't a big place, but it seemed comfortable, cozy even, and it was far more spacious than the small quarters afforded to him at the temple.

"I imagine going back out for Twi'leki is off the table." Grisha added with feigned despair.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

"I can bring it in," she said after taking her own drink. "They didn't see me, remember?" If his mood had been different, it would have been a joke, but instead she said it only matter-of-factly.

She leaned down and crossed her arms over the bar. "I normally read cheap romance novels." She shrugged, guessing that he didn't want to borrow one of those books. "I can fix you a little meditation nook or something."

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

“Right, just two of me.” It was a strange thing to say, even now.

“How cheap we talking?” Grisha asked wryly. He chuckled at the thought of Iayn pushing open her door still in her Gladiatorial outfit, kicking back on the chair with the latest Taris Temptations book. He let the thought linger a few more seconds than he should’ve, but pushed it away and hoped there wasn’t any red in his face.

“Somewhere to clear my head would be much appreciated, and you’re kind to be so accommodating.” Grisha remembered his manners finally, though it’d seemingly taken him all day to find them. They were in this together now, so he supposed being good to one another was going to be important. He’d have to find a way to return the favor.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

Her smile was mischievous and implied that she had seen his blush. “The kind of cheap that misinforms a girl’s expectations.”

He said she was kind to be so accommodating, but he was too, in a different way. Being an attentive host was the very least that she could do for him.

She paused to take another drink of water, standing up so she could finish more easily. “I got you. I’ll give you my room for a few days. Don’t-don’t say no.” She looked at him seriously. “You need good sleep and—yeah, sure—I do too, but I… can’t really relax like that around men.” She gave a tight-lipped smile, almost as if to apologize. “It’s not personal. It’s trauma. I… I know you’re a Jedi up here,” she touched a finger to her temple, “but the rest of my nervous system doesn’t really care.”

She shrugged again. “I’ll get so exhausted by the 48-hour mark that I’ll pass out regardless. Don’t-try not to worry about it.”

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

“Oh, so very cheap then.” Grisha laughed, rubbing the back of his neck until the flush went away.

“I am not taking your room Iayn, I’ve been sleeping on cots since forever, I could get a good night’s sleep on a rock and you’re already doing plenty for me.” He protested, ignoring her insistence that he not argue. The Order and his master both had tried to instill some humility in him, but when that failed they’d settled for at least making him polite. Grisha wasn’t sure what to say to the next remark, it wasn’t the sort of thing he’d dealt with guarding the temple, but he knew well enough to treat the matter with delicacy and respect.

“I’ll do whatever makes you the most comfortable, stick me in a corner and I’ll meditate so quietly you’ll forget I’m there. That magik couldn’t have been easy to pull off, you need the rest more than I do.” Grisha said, taking a drink from his own glass of water, more than willing to go back and forth on who could be more accommodating so long as no one got hit in the liver again.

The pain from the strike flared up again, a tingle of discomfort now, but enough to make Grisha wince. He tried to hide it and took another, longer sip.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

“Alright then,” she said easily, hand running over her head and probably at least one hair-hidden scar. She had already won one argument with him tonight; she wasn't going to push for two of two. “I'll get some comfy stuff.”

She rounded the corner, disappeared for all of twenty seconds, and returned with two pillows and a short stack of thin, folded blankets plus one raggedy bath towel. She took them into the living room and placed them on the armchair before kneeling and taking the throw pillow off of the pile. “I don't have any floor cushions but this'll be nice on the knees.” As she explained, she tossed it into the corner cordoned off by mafia money disguised in a simple furniture set.

After that, she rose, taking the nearby datapad with her. Once standing, she tucked it under her arm, motioning with the other as she spoke. First was the small hall leading past the kitchen. “Refresher is the first door on the left. I’m past that, if you need anything.” She looked at him and seemed to force a smile. Perhaps he could see that it wasn’t dried out sincerity but drying out energy.

“Goodnight, Grisha. I’ll try to get some sleep.”

She did, miraculously, after an hour or so of staring up at her celling, but it only lasted for half as long, which made her wake up even groggier than she was when she drifted off. So, after thirty more minutes of trying to dream again, she decided to do something else. As she slid out of bed, her thoughts went to her closet. She herself followed and pushed her clothes aside until she could get at a durasteel toolbox. She took it from the closet and set it on the carpet near the middle of her room.

From there, the contents entertained her for the rest of the morning until she felt it was light enough to emerge into the kitchen. She took her sliding paint palette off her knee, placed it on the floor beside the papers her paint brush heads rested on, and uncrossed her legs to stand. Then, she cracked her door just enough to peek out. She didn't want to disturb Grisha if he was still resting.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

Sleep didn't come, or at least he hadn't remembered when it did. Grisha had sat on the floor and meditated, trying to reach into the force for some sort of comfort, or guidance, or something he could not name. He'd sat for hours like that, legs crossed, eyes closed, mind anything but clear. He'd peeled down the top of his robes, a white sleeveless undershirt remaining as he tried to make himself more comfortable in the hopes of that allowing his meditation to work. It hadn't.

Instead, Grisha had eventually fallen asleep, slumping back awkwardly against the ottoman until he eventually had rolled onto the floor. It wasn't comfortable sleep, but it was dreamless at the least. He did not see Hysio's wide eyes, or smell flesh burning away beneath the blade of a lightsaber, there was only silence.

When Iayn cracked open the door, he'd only just hauled himself up into the chair. His hair was a mess, his eyes still half-shut, and in truth Grisha hadn't quite remembered where he was yet. But he smiled to her and gave a small wave.

"Morning." He greeted, yawning and stretching his arms above his head to work out any tightness.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

“Morning,” she replied, nudging her door open and padding out into the kitchen. She gave her own yawn, covering her mouth with a hand which, after glancing at it and the smears of red acrylic on it, she added, “It’s just paint.”

She poured water in her glass from last night and took a long drink before opening a cabinet near the refrigerator. “You hungry? I make a mean shakshuka, or do Jedi eat rocks for breakfast too?” she asked over her shoulder even as she pulled a jar of chickpeas from the cupboard, twisted around to set it on the bar, and went back for a bottle of tomato sauce. She was still very tired underneath the momentum paining for a few hours had given her, but had enough energy to cook and try to be funny.

"Come on, Imma share my secrets." She didn't presume to know his level of kitchen knowledge, though she at least wanted to make sure he had some and could fend for himself whenever she was away at meal time for a fight.

When she had finished setting out the ingredients, she began to heat a skillet over medium heat. "Forks are in that—chit." She had pointed to a drawer but then her fingers faltered as she remembered something of minor inconvenience. She really was not prepared to host. "A fork's in that drawer." A spoon was too, and a table knife. "Pick your weapon. The other one's mine." She took a seat on one of her stools, keeping her hand out for the utensil that wasn't his preference.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

In truth he hadn’t noticed the paint at first, maybe he was just waking up, or maybe he was getting sloppy. Either way when he saw the streak of red he just chuckled.

“I’ll have you know we eat very well.” Grisha protested with mock outrage, rising from the chair and sauntering over to the kitchen, tying the upper half of his robes around his waist as he did. His master would’ve given him the chewing out of a lifetime for that, but she wasn’t there, so he figured he was in the clear. “Never had shak-a-shuka before though.” Grisha admitted, butchering the pronunciation on his first attempt.

“Secrets, huh? I’m really getting thrown into the deep end of this Jedi stuff. Stopping slavers, learning forbidden knowledge? I’ll be a legend in no time.” Grisha said, grinning and leaning forward over the counter on his palms, arming himself with the spoon, twirling it into a reverse grip and holding it up like he meant to engage her before twirling it back around.

It was easier to be like this, easier not to think about what he’d done, and would do again.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

Iayn thought so too, that's why she laughed at his antics. "Okay, boy wonder," she began, setting a cutting board on the counter and then the onion on top of that. "Onion fumes are no liver punch but, if you're unlucky, they're still pretty bad. If you light a candle, though..." As she spoke, she took one in a medium-sized glass out of another cupboard along with a book of matches.

---

She didn't dare talk shop while they were eating. Last night had been an exception to her rule of keeping food sacred, something to enjoy without worrying about anything else. However, as she washed up, she asked him, "Alright. Stupid question, but have you worn anything besides robes before?"

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

She hadn’t been kidding about the onion fumes, but mercifully her candle spared his eyes the worst of it. The food was admittedly delightful, unique, flavorful, unlike anything he’d had before. It wasn’t that the food he’d had at the temple wasn’t those things, but they all had a mass-produced quality to them, this was personal, and he could taste it.

“Uh, diapers, I guess?” Grisha answered with a chuckle. “I got given to the order pretty early, it’s all I’ve really ever known, so it’s been robes forever.”

Grisha imagined that would have to change soon, white and gold weren’t terribly well suited to blending in with the underworld. He couldn’t even hope to count the number of strange stares he’d gotten the past day.

“Why, are you saying they don’t suit me?” He jeered. Grisha didn’t ask about her, it didn’t seem right, or polite. Grisha imagined the gladiatrix outfits hadn’t always been her choice, so he avoided that gently, he’d let her say what she wanted when she wanted to.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

"...Oh."

It was all she said at first.

As she had heard it from the woman herself, Mal had been sold to a hutt's majordomo when she was very young too. Aside from some significant differences, acquiring beings of any age, but specifically children, to make either slave and Jedi of them suddenly stuck Iayn as uncomfortably similar too. Perhaps that was part of the reason that The Family's Donna was known to dislike Jedi, and the one Mal avoided many of their kind too.

She forgot all about such thoughts when Grisha asked her if robes didn't suit him. It was her turn to become a little bit red. "Uhh," she floundered. "I, um, your words. I'm just being practical." He needed new clothes if he was going to make it on the Nar Shaddaa fighting scene. It would be better still if he was comfortable in whatever he got and the way he had answered had given her some ideas on what to go buy for him to try out. "You'd probably hate jeans." Cargo pants maybe. "I'll try to find something linen. You probably don't know your size, huh?"

When she glanced at him, any hint of blush was gone.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

For a moment he wondered if the response had been a bit too honest, but the flash of red on her cheeks wasn’t missed by Grisha. He smiled unconsciously, laughing quietly. “Right of course, my words.” He teased, unconsciously rubbing at the back of his neck, testing to see if the motion brought on any sort of newfound pains. Nothing came, and he absently drew the robes back up, sliding his arms back into the sleeves.

“Yeah, can’t imagine having that sorta restriction, how do you move in those things?” He asked, almost shuddering at the thought, though only when he imagined himself in jeans. They could look nice on other people.

“I know I’m tall, comes with being Epicanthix, but no I don’t really know anything beyond that. They sew our robes for us and just us, I’ve never really-,” Grisha chuckled sheepishly, a revelation striking him mid-sentence. “Man, the temple must sound like a real ivory tower, huh?”

Iayn’s own life, even from the small amounts she’d told him, had been filled with more struggles than he could even imagine. Personalized clothes, fresh meals whoever he desired, education, training, all easily and readily available. It must’ve sounded alien, it certainly did to him now that he’d had the smallest taste of the outside world.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

It wasn't too strange. She had had a similar, albeit shorter, experience at The Guesthouse with her sister. Mikka also had shared some of her interests with Iayn then, knowledge that would come in handy now.

"Yeah, well, pants don't come in just 'tall'," she laughed as she dried off her hands. "I need a waist measurement. And chest and shoulders for upperwear." The Dystraay twins, if life had gone differently for the slightly older one, might have become a famous fashion duo: Iayn with her drawing and painting and Mikka with her grand ideas and modelling.

Iayn felt a pang of grief as she moved back into her bedroom. She returned to Grisha with a fabric tape measure stippled with dried paint that did not obscure the tick marks or numbers too badly as to be unreadable, but did add an endearing texture of the ribbon. She gave it to him. "Another lesson." She was not touching him with as embarrassed as he had just made her, but she would tell him were to measure. "Widest parts of your hips. Hip to hip." She briefly touched her fingertips to the widest parts of her hips, but then doubled back towards the kitchen counter. Leaning over the bar, she grabbed a pen. "Let me write it down."

And she did, across the heel of her palm.

"Same deal, but shoulders. End to end."

Grisha Fletch