Private You Shouldn't Keep Secrets

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

“I say we cut out her eyes and send them back to that Republic lot.” The voice was barely a whisper, not through intent, but rather due to a rather hefty scar that was running through the man’s throat, clearly affecting his voice box. “You know; as a message.”

Around him stood around seven others, all in the same oil stained clothing that stank a little bit too much like waste and alcohol. Several nods of acknowledgment carried through the group, more than the shakes of disapproval anyway.

“Did you hear that Jedi scum? We are going to…” He paused as he looked at the first of the two Jedi they had managed to somehow capture. “...Cut…your…Oi, listen to me…” He became Irate enough to wave his hand in front of her face, which remained completely and utterly non-chalant towards his threats, or indeed any of them. Instead it was focused purely on the other Jedi sitting across the room.

“Don’t Oi me.” She finally said. “I can’t hear him apologise over your constant blabbering.” The words stung deep, the gathering clearly put on edge at how this Jedi, who was no more than a child to them, was clearly not bothered by being captured. Instead she seemed to have some vendetta against the other, older and more obviously dangerous Jedi.

“Brandyn. Apologise so we can get out of here.” She said again as the lead speaker with the scar looked around perplexed. “Say sorry for not telling me.”

She folded her legs over each other, hands tied behind her back or they would have crossed to.

“Until you do I’m not saving us.”

The group felt like they had to laugh, some of them did, others felt uneasy enough that they didn’t want to. She was clearly insane.

“Just say you’re sorry already!”

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren EQUIPMENT:

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[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The Unblessed had really gone to shit. If this was the level of help they were getting these days, then Brandyn knew that the movement was on life support. Had he not had a sullen, lifeless lump in his chest — courtesy of a missing baby and all the emotions that created — he would have felt a sense of accomplishment for his part in bringing the terrorist network to scraping the bottom staff recruitment barrel.

"You were having a difficult time. I wasn't going to allow my problems to overshadow yours. That's..."

She interrupted him with more pleas for apologies before he could add: "That's what big brothers do." So, it went unsaid.

He rolled his one good eye, the other rolled, but slightly faster, giving a slightly unsettling appearance. "I don't need you to rescue me. These schlubs couldn't tie a knot if their lives depended on it," he said, head motioning towards the illiterate thugs, while not actually paying them any true attention.

"Oi! What you mean by that, aye?" Said one of the smarter ones, stepping forward to investigate Brandyn's bindings.

Just as the man looked behind Brandyn's back, to see that his hands were indeed now untied, Brandyn looked up at him and gave a wriggle of his eyebrows. "Surprise."

The lumbering thug was turning back to yell a warning to his cohorts, but his words were cut short by a swift chop of Brandyn's hand to the throat. The thug stumbled backwards, clutching his throat. Brandyn was already on his feet, hand reaching forward to his lightsaber that was sitting on a table behind the now fearful thugs, who were raising their blasters.

The darkened room became aglow with a sickly emerald light as the Jedi Knight's blade snapped to life. His first action was to slice the ropes binding his sister, and then he moved to deflect the incoming blaster bolts. Within seconds, the remaining thugs lay crumpled on the floor, groaning and clutching their legs.

"You know now. And that is all that matters."

He was going to say more but the smarter thug was regaining his composure and was preparing to jump Brandyn from the side. Again, a chop to his throat sent him stumbling backwards. "Stay!" Brandyn hissed.

"Bastila. I just wanted to help you when you needed help. I knew that time would come where you would help me. And look...helping!"

| TAG: Bastila Sal-Soren |

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[Bastila Sal-Soren]

The chaos that followed Brandyn revealing that he had indeed managed to get through his bindings was quick, brutal and oh so very Brandyn Sal-Soren. She was almost impressed actually, she refused to show it though as she felt the lightsaber cut through her bonds, releasing her hands.

Another body hit the floor nearby as Brandyn said something about trying to protect her feelings or something along those lines, she had stopped listening if she was being honest to herself. She shifted the chair sideways to avoid being hit by another falling thug that Brandyn had just punched to the floor.

“Now is not then.” She threw back at him. Her arms crossed across her chest just as her leg swung itself over the other and avoided his eye contact, she instead focused on one of the nearby bodies. He was still breathing. “I wouldn’t have been so mean about your face if I’d known.”

He stood there, like the hero they all believed he was. He had an air of casual indifference as he surveyed around him, seemingly impressed with his handiwork.

“Helping.” She scoffed. “Really pushed your boundaries on this one.” She did not stand, in fact she sunk into the chair even more than she was before. “Now, I'm not going anywhere until you…” A smirk. “Apologise.”

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Brandyn Sal-Soren EQUIPMENT:

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[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn didn't extinguish the blade. The emerald glow hummed a low, rhythmic thrum that filled the silence Bastila was trying so hard to weaponize. He didn't look at her — not yet. Instead, his focus shifted to the "smart" thug, who was currently trying to crawl away with the grace of a landed fish.

Brandyn took a casual step forward and planted a heavy boot squarely in the centre of the man's back, pinning him to the grimy floorboards.
"You're staying," Brandyn reminded him, his voice dropping the warmth it held for his sister and adopting a cold, razor-edged professionality. He leaned down, the heat of the lightsaber blade just inches from the man's ear. "Now, your friends are going to have very sore heads and very long legal battles. You, however, are going to tell me who's currently holding the leash for this cell of the Unblessed. Give me a name higher than a middle-manager, and I might not let my sister 'apologize' to you herself. She's in a mood."

The thug wheezed, babbling a name through a bruised windpipe — something about a contact in the lower sectors. Brandyn memorized it with a clinical nod, then finally flicked his one good eye toward the woman stubbornly rooted in the chair.

"An apology? For saving your life?" He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. He reached out with the Force, not to pull her up, but to snag a discarded datapad from a nearby crate, tucking it into his belt. "You've got the Sal-Soren stubbornness well covered, I'll give you that. But you're losing your edge if you think I'm the one who needs to say sorry here."

He began to pace a slow circle around her chair, his movements fluid and predatory, keeping an eye on the "smart" thug. "But fine, let's talk about feelings. If we're being open and honest..." He paused, his expression shifting into something unnervingly pleasant. "...how is Dominic anyway? Still as charmingly problematic as ever?"

He didn't wait for the inevitable defensive spark or the shift in her posture. He simply deactivated his lightsaber, the room plunging back into a dim, depressing grey. He stepped over the thug, giving the man one last warning look that suggested 'don't move', and headed for the exit.

At the threshold, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder at her folded arms and defiant pout.

"Looks like your chair is comfortable," he said with a faint, irritatingly knowing smirk. "Enjoy the down time. I've got a lead to follow."

With a flick of his hand, the door hissed open, and the Jedi Knight stepped out into the corridor, leaving her alone with the groaning thugs and her own unanswered questions.

| TAG: Bastila Sal-Soren |

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