Private Woe to the Witless

[Grisha Fletch]

“I’ll add the fact that pants do not, in fact, come in just ‘tall’ to the list of things I’ve learned today then.” Grisha chuckled, though he felt strangely nervous about the idea of reading off his own measurements to her. In another life, he probably still wouldn’t have had a clue how to do what she was asking. His mother had been a spacer, and there hadn’t been any force attunement in him, he probably would’ve followed in her footsteps, trading fine robes for dingy flight suits.

In short, it was a good thing he had her there to help, or he’d have been lost no matter what he was.

Grisha took the measuring tape with a slight, but confused smile, listening to Iayn as she explained where and what to measure, his eyes following a little too closely as she went for the pen, though he shot them forward the moment he realized, hoping no flush of red had found its way back to him. If it was a game to see who made the other’s cheeks go red more, Grisha didn’t intend to lose.

First Grisha took the tape, wrapped it around his hips, and called out the measurement to her. Then, he shrugged back off the top section of the robe, and called out the measurements of his shoulders, though he handled the measuring tape with a deal less grace than he did a lightsaber.

“I always thought it was easier than this. Just grabbing something in a small, medium or a large.” He mused, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. Grisha felt compelled to change the subject, to keep any further attention off his own inexperience.

“Who taught you all the magic by the way? I’ve never seen anything like it before. If you don’t mind me asking.” There was a trace of wonder in the inquiry, Grisha had thought he knew almost all there was to know about utilizing the force, but everything from the voice in his mind to the illusionary glamor was new to him. He’d heard of witches and their power, but only as an extension of the Dark Side. She didn’t seem dark to him.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

If it had, she didn't notice.

"I did," she said, truthful whether he could believe it or not. Once she had written down the last measurement, she glanced up at Grisha. "Don't tell the academics." With a hint of a smirk, she took the tape from him and put it, along with the pen, on the kitchen island. "Self-education's the real witchcraft." Her coat from last night and a crossbody purse she hadn't worn yet were on one of the backed bar stools. She took both and slid them on one after the other. "I'll be back soon. Romance books are on the shelf. Don't embarrass yourself too much, dude."

Then she was out the door.

---

She returned in an hour with a plastic shopping bag hanging from her forearm. "Grish?" She had done her very best to find him something comfortable to wear in his size, plus some basic toiletries. Unless that lightsaber doubled as a toothbrush and shampoo, she was guessing that he had brought anything like that along from Coruscant. "Hope these fit. I'm not going back to Upper Promenade today."

She shuddered a little as she handed the bag over, remembering how many sleazy people had recognized her even like this: in street clothes. "I'm not even the pretty twin," she added, not really even aware she had said that out loud.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

He probably should’ve just ignored the romance books entirely, caught some extra sleep perhaps. Grisha would end up asleep, but with a half-opened book on his chest. Of all of the romance novels he could’ve picked, this one was particularly cheap, and he’d been laughing at the dialogue between the lead and her Jedi love interest when sleep had come knocking oh-so viciously. When Iayn opened the door, he shoot up, book sliding down into his lap as he forced his eyes to seem open and alert.

“Hm?” He answered her call, looking to the bag she’d filled on his behalf and feeling a sense of gratitude tinged with embarrassment. Some part of him wished he’d have been able to go out and do it for himself, it wasn’t like he was the only one who’d pushed themselves to the limit the night before. Thankfully, her off handed remark gave him an out.

Grisha scoffed, raised a doubtful eyebrow, and doubled down. “Uh-huh, and I’m actually super great at this whole blending in thing.” He didn’t miss a beat, rising up from the chair and setting the book neatly down.

“Thank you though Iayn. I’ll pay you back when I figure out how the order handles field funds.”

They’d had to get back to business soon, and he knew it, but Grisha had to try and let himself enjoy the time he had left until then.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

She beamed at him. "Nah, I only take—" —blood money. Not time for that joke. He'd probably never be ready for that kind of humor. Grisha didn't strike her as a have-fun-on-the-gallows-since-you're-here-anyway kind of guy, but she had to admit that as much as he had loosened up already had surprised her. She shut her mouth abruptly, just to begin a whole new sentence. "Never mind. That'd be great.

"And you're welcome. I think I'm going to try to sleep again. If I'm not kicking around in a few hours, you can come check on me."

Exhaustion wasn't the only thing that pushed her face-first into bed as soon as she had gotten two steps away from it. A short, sharp cry escaped her lips when the mattress butted into her nose. "Fethin'... lightsaber..." she exclaimed, and then mumbled though clenched teeth as she rolled over onto her back. The ache of the headache she had had since last night was now pounding in her ears and behind her eyes. "'M okay!"

Even as she said it, she smelled metal.

Feth.

Though she touched the side of her nose as gingerly as possible, the pressure still made her groan. She retracted her fingers into the air a foot or so from her face, displeased when the pain did not lessen and she saw a small amount of blood.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

"Iayn?" Grisha called when the cry rang out, looking up from inspecting the bag of essentials and the new set of clothing. Grisha was usually one to take people at their word, when they said they were fine, they were fine, but that was often because he could simply rely on the Force to tell him if it were true. She wasn't dying, but the cry had sounded genuine enough for him to rise up from the chair and make his way to the door, gently nudging it open.

His gaze honed in on the crimson trickling down her fingers, then to her nose where it had been drawn from. Something inside him twinged with guilt. It wasn't the work of one of their foes from the previous night that had left a lasting injury, but him. She'd told him to do it, and he was rather certain she wouldn't care for him wallowing in self-pity about it, especially in the present moment. So he acted instead.

"Can I see it?" He asked the humorous edge in his voice replaced by something softer. Grisha wasn't a healer; he could not close the wounds left by other lightsabers, blasters, and beskads, and he probably couldn't even fully fix her nose. But he had some basic proficiency, and so he had to at least try. Still, he didn't approach her or the bed without leave.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

"Yeah, sure," she muttered, managing to sit up and pull herself further onto the mattress, crossing her legs into a pretzel, to make room. As he approached, she looked at him through blurry vision, her eyes pricked with involuntary tears. "You have healing hands?" It seemed to her to be a safe guess. "That's fun." She meant it seriously, but pain made it impossible to speak with sincerity. It was, to a degree, difficult to speak calmly at all. One might have thought that Iayn's body would have long adapted its pain tolerance to a superhumanoid level, but, unfortunately, it hadn't. Instead, she had only force herself to improve on the ability to grin and bear it—whatever it was. Right now, she wanted very badly to yell out of the window behind her into the hovertraffic, but also knew that would only further irritate the injury.

She moved her hand away and tilted her head up, both to help him see and to do admittedly very little but still something to keep the blood running slowly down her nose out of her mouth.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

“Healing hand? No, I just figured we’d go ahead with the amputation.” Grisha replied in a well practiced deadpan as he approached, a wry smirk breaking through the facade as he came up alongside her. He set hand just above her so as to avoid pressing down on the break.

He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let the force flow through him. It did not mend the deep, structural damage, but the burst capillaries and split skin wove themselves back together as he willed it to happen. The nerves that screamed out in pain seconds before would be soothed, at least for the time being.

For a moment Grisha felt tempted to try for more, to push his limits, to see if he could mend bone and cartilage the way he did flesh. But that was something better saved for testing on himself.

Grisha pulled his hand away, eyes fixating on the bit of blood that still trickled down from her nose, and without think reached out and ever so gently wiped away the red stream with his thumb. “There, that should help.” He said, stepping back from the bed and wiping the blood onto his robe without thinking.

“Oh damn it all-, well, guess I was gonna have to wash them anyway.” He muttered, though without any real frustration in his tone.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

Relaxation was instantaneous. She closed her eyes to melt into it. In fact, she was so lost in the lack of pain that she didn't notice Grisha wipe away her blood.

When he cursed, she looked at him. A joke began to form in her throat until she thought this one, also inappropriate. It wasn't gallows humor but the timing stuck her as wrong still. "Yeah, I..." she began, glancing to the newest stain on his robes before looking back to him. "I'm really sorry that this place is not... congruent with you." She knit her brow one moment and then undid it the next when pain ripped up her forehead. Fortunately, the sensation didn't last any longer than it took her skin to smooth out once again.

Right, he wasn't that good.

That was alright.

She gave a lopsided smile. If he could not see the apology in it, he might be able to feel it in the Force emanating from her. "But thanks for having an open mind, giving me a chance. I'd hate to see you not make it."

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

"I'll figure it out, seems like I've got a good teacher. Besides, it'll be a lot more congruent thanks to us, eventually." Grisha replied, hope in his voice and the smile he gave her. The smile faded as he watched pain seize her features again, if only briefly, and he looked down at his hands with a newly ignited desire to improve on his abilities as a healer. For the mission of course, after all they'd doubtlessly be injured again during their little crusade, and he'd take wounds beyond Nar Shadda to be certain. It was just practical.

Grisha didn't sound like a man in need of apologizing too, if anything he sounded more grateful than before.

"Don't mention it, thanks for, uh-, not being what I expected. I was gonna go about this whole thing wrong, and thanks to you, we might actually make a difference. Oh, and thanks for not rupturing my liver, and the place to crash, and the food and the-," Grisha didn't ramble, yet there he was, doing exactly that, his cheeks hot. "Well, you get what I mean."

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

She smiled back and made a promise to him, more hopeful than she'd been in a long time.

“We'll do our best, alright.”

She uncrossed her legs and folded them to one side instead. “I do, no sweat. I'm actually going to sleep now. Laundry machines are communal here so you'll have to do it the old fashioned way. You can use the bathroom sink or tub. I have detergent in the linen closet.

“There's also that datapad.” She nodded to where she had set it on top of her dresser last night. “If you want to start brainstorming.”

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

Grisha nodded along, as if he knew how to operate one of the devices in the slightest. His robes were washed by hand, his own to be fair, but by hand all the same. He figured if he used the sink and some elbow grease, he could probably take care of it. Drying would be another issue entirely, but he'd figure it out, somehow. She'd walked him through enough of the steps for surviving outside the temple in the past 24 hours, her rest would be well earned.

"Right." He conceded, taking up the datapad with an appreciative nod. "I'll look it all over."

Grisha turned, and made for the door, stopping just before he crossed the threshold to look back at the woman. He could've done far worse as partners went, she was capable, strong, kind when she showed it, and had a mind for the sort of work they'd be doing. And she's real easy on the e-, Grisha silenced the thought out of fear he might unintentionally share it, and instead flashed a smile. "G'night Iayn, just yell if the nose starts bothering you again."

With that he stepped back out, and shut the door behind him.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

Sleep came more quickly then Iayn had expected it to, but she should have. She wasn't just exhausted, she had been pretending like she wasn't. She hadn't used so much magick in a week in a long time, let alone in a single day, and she hadn't played host to a lost Jedi out of his depth before. Plus, as she had vocalized before, he was a man and, given her storied past, she didn't think that her body would grant her reprieve from the last 24 hours so readily. Her experience was that it didn't—it had taken her approximately a sleep-deprived week to get used to Mal's trusted guards at The Guesthouse while attending fight clubs most nights in the Underworld—but there was something different about these circumstances.

Though she hadn't been naïve enough to think herself completely save around anyone in this Galaxy for a long time, she couldn't deny the benevolent undertones of Grisha's presence. Whenever he was near, she could pick them out of his aura like warmly-glowing gold threads. She was not sure if he would go as far to protect her, but that was both understandable to and alright with her. He clearly didn't mean her harm anymore, even if he had yesterday, and that was comforting enough for the former slave.

She slept through lunch and dinnertime, leaving Grisha to his own devices.

Perhaps he didn't notice the hunger. There was a lot recorded on Hysio's datapad: his slaves' names, stats, buying price, projected worth, current locations, past locations...

What's more, hers went off in her purse hanging down over one of the bar chairs' back rungs.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

Grisha was lost, looking through the list of locations was about as far he’d gotten. Though unencrypted now, Hysio’s pad was still a confused mess of chaos, absent any real organization that frustrated him to no end. Eventually he’d come to realize that without Iayn, he was never going to figure the mess out.

She should’ve made him uneasy, her willingness to bend the law and play along with the scum of the underworld should’ve unnerved him, just as her self-trained magick should’ve made him wary. But somehow, he trusted her. It was a gut feeling, impulse more than intuition, but all his training either made him cocky enough to think he could survive her betraying him, or wise enough to know she wouldn’t.

Thus, it wasn’t paranoia that drew him up and to the sound of a ring. In the temple, personal possessions had been few and far between. Most things were shared, and he’d lived that way, as he’d told Iayn, since he was in diapers. So when he reached out in the force, and lifted the pad out of the bag and to his hand, he had every intention of just seeing what the message was, and if it warranted waking her.

When he turned the pad over in his hand, he quickly found out.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

<< I don't have that many beds free, darling, >> the message began. << You've made yourself and this boy a promise that will be very hard to keep. >>

In the next moment, another message came. << I will help you this once. Give me more notice and fewer survivors next time. >>

Another followed after shortly. << This works by being selective. >>

Sounds of stirring began to come from Iayn's room.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

There were questions raised by the message, and Grisha knew there would come a time to ask them. Nothing in the words gave him any indication that Iayn was going to come out of the room swinging. There was just more to the process of what they were doing that he didn’t understand, she’d made that clear enough to him down at the docks, but he felt his eyes linger on the last words. He didn’t intend on being selective, he was going to tear it all down, brick by brick if he had to.

Grisha gently sent the pad back to Iayn’s bag and let out a sigh. Fewer survivors, that bit lingered too the more he thought on the message. Unconsciously, he reached out and touched the hilt of his saber in the force, turning it where it laid.

It’d be used again soon enough, that he knew for sure.

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

In the next few minutes, Iayn padded into the kitchen. She poured herself some water as she had done the night before. As she rose the glass to her lips, she glanced at her watch on the other hand's wrist. "Happy anniversary," she said before taking a drink, though it was a little later in the day than it had been when they had met.

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

Grisha chuckled at her remark, shaking his head as a few loose strands of dark brown hair tumbled loose over his brow. Today marked what would be the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one that would hopefully close with his triumphant return to the ranks of the Temple Protectors. The ramifications of his eventual return for the slave trade, and for Iayn potentially, were lost on him in that moment.

"You remembered!" The Jedi teased, as though they were a pair of lovebirds who'd met on the lawn of some galactic university and not warriors with a lifetime of training and experience between the two of them. "You get me anything special?" Grisha flashed a grin before calling Hysio's datapad back to his hand.

"I found a holding facility, cute venue really. Might have to plan a date there."

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

Iayn couldn't help but crack a smile when Grisha played along.

"I think I can do tomorrow night," she offered, "if you can. It's good to rest, but it's good to run with the momentum and adrenaline before its all gone too." She stretched over the bar for her purse; hooking a finger under the strap, pulling it off the chair's back, and then over the counter to her. The bag itself slid easily in front of her and she took out her own handheld.

She powered on the screen and scanned the message string that Grisha had only moments before. Her face fell. She gave a sigh alike his previous. "My contact," she explained as she set the datapad down, nodding to it as she did if there was any question to what she was referring. "Actually, the woman who saved me from dying of skull infections.

"The good news if that she can help rehome the slaves we recover this time."

Grisha Fletch

 

[Grisha Fletch]

"What about the ones from yesterday, is she gonna help them?" Grisha asked with a raised brow, cocking his head to the side. He wondered if it was worth revealing what he knew, or if he was better off keeping his silence. Ultimately, he chose to let Iayn give him an explanation, and if that meshed with the things he'd read. He didn't know what he'd do or say if it didn't, but Grisha would cross that bridge when he got there.

"I can do tomorrow night, I'll be more than ready." Grisha assured her. "You always take me to the nicest places."

Iayn Dystraay

 

[Iayn Dystraay]

She smiled despite herself. He was just teasing, she was sure, but nonetheless hung to the implication that her chitty appartment was one of those nice places to which he referred.

"Which ones from yesterday?" Iayn asked, question sincere. "I just fought free fighters at Hysio's. There weren't slaves on the roster as far as I know." Her brows knit, recalling the second part of his ask. Did he mean that to sound so accusatory?

"We do what we can," she said, trying to keep her voice calm and even. She didn't want to come to the verbal border of a fight again, like they had last night. "Maybe it's not what the Jedi would do, but they're not here. What is here is a Jedi and a well-meaning gladiator. Setting slaves free requires things that we don't have between us: space, food, money." She gestured to her datapad. "She's got limited resources too. Neither of us like it, but we've got to acknowledge that."

She barely resisted the urge to ask him to acknowledge it as well; she had already told him to break her nose, and would try to not demand anything more of him, even in a polite tone.

Grisha Fletch