Private You've Goth Something I Want

[Vella Forte]

Unwilling victims had been on this chair. It was meticulously cleansed thereafter, then. The whole room looked like it had just been unpacked and created for today. Sparkling in it's opalescent purity. Her eyes widened at high dosage. Shouldn't they start of mild? A brief flicker of panic danced in and out of her mind's eye, and she exhaled to calm herself. Evelynn seemed like a weird woman, but she also seemed invested in advancing Vella. And she'd done this before...but...with unwilling participants you usually wanted to sedate them very quickly and a high dosage would...calm the mind. She exhaled again, though felt it restricted when something clamped over her throat.

"This seems a little excessive..." The Vahla murmured, giving a test of her strength against the restraints. They were tight enough that only her shoulder blades and butt moved. Everything else remained stationary -- which inspired little confidence.

She grimaced when the droid approached, despite her best interests. Any strain to turn away only revealed the vein the droid would have looked for, and the puncture of the needle found it's spot quickly and cheerily. There was no time for regret now, nor the ability to make a face at the term tough old cookie. She had other things to deal with: The serum penetrating her veins. It integrated seamlessly with her blood flow. At first, she could feel the difference. It was cold and started in her chest, pulsing down through her shoulders, stretching down to her fingers. Her torso was next, chilled while it coursed through her core and down through her hips, legs, coalescing for a moment around her knees, and then down to her toes. When the brisk sensation had covered the entire ground of her inner workings, she tensed involuntarily as it seemingly tightened its grip to reveal its potency.

Her training typically implied that any sort of external threat would cue the mental gates to clang together; barring the entry of any threat. This created a temporary battle in her head. Such concentration wasn't a luxury she could afford while her eyes rolled back into her head and she lulled, giving into the beckon of the intruding liquid in her body.

The sterile walls of the room flickered in and out of focus, being replaced with kaleidoscopic fractals of other sorts of images. Any consciousness she was able to retain focused on hate and the discoverability of the root. It was hard to do, to try and keep a focusing thought with each laborious breath. It felt like she was hanging from the ceiling and spinning around, completely out of control. A feeling she could get hooked on.

The first shape began to take form. Everything about the room vanished, morphing into the almond-shaped eyes of The Goddess. There were no irises, only blackness that stretched through the frame. The eyes zoomed out, surrounded by pale skin; bleached and impervious to light. Brilliant flames curled from the centre of the silhouette, rolling in and out and stretching to an all encompassing everything that the bladeswoman could see. It felt like the tattoos on her face were scorching and venemous, burning against her skin.

Several other silhouettes started to form within the flames, twisting and bending; as if they were dancing. The view was from first person, as if she were there amidst the flames. They licked against her clothing and flesh, but she remained unburnt.

In the real world, Vella gasped involuntarily.

Those dancing turned to look at her - but they had no faces. Only outstretched hands with fingers that moved as if gesturing an invitation. The Vahla's steps were tentative, and as she approached a sweeping breath overwhelmed her sensations. She saw hair cover her vision, and the silhouettes bent against the onslaught. Their long, inviting fingers dug into what looked to be the ground. It wasn't solid enough, only heaps of coals that were ripped up from the torrential wind. The dancers and the white woman spiralled and spun out of view; a choatic overwhelming chuckle replacing their visual.

It was dark again, until a new figure emerged. Flames roared, although this time instead of engulfing everything she saw, they were contained within the shape of the person. A controlled fire. The orange and yellow parted around what would have been the chin of the person, a wicked grin evidenced. Lassiter , the breaker of chains revealed her face.

Another Vahla -- but why..why were the flames so contained? She was The Sword of Vahl - a fighter for the goddess.

The serum inside her spiked. Fists clenched, and she jolted beneath the restraints - physically pacified.

Lassiter became the focus of the story now. The only other Vahla Vella knew since her parent's death. She watched as the woman danced with her blades, never fully embracing the fire. Or when she did, reporting back to another shadow beyond.

What was the shadow?

Why was she, a master, so evidently controlled?

 

[Beatrice Govan]

You will be fine, Evelynn reassured as she continued the grim task of repairing and resetting the bones of her own hand and wrist, nobody perishes in this room unless I allow it, a fairly believable statement given the precise yet autopiloted manner in which she operated the bone-knitter, ah, that sounded sinister, what I mean is that I will be here, monitoring.

IT-O was already primed with an antidote, ready to drag the inquisitor out of the hallucinations were the situation to turn dire. As far as things went, this was as safe as losing yourself could get.

With the drug now coursing its way through Vella Forte's veins, Evelynn silently finished her own repairs. It was almost calculated in timing, with the window between the start of the soul searching and the beginning of madness being the perfect time to shore up the self-inflicted injury. With broken bones mended, a tight glove was applied, the inside coated with a bacta salve to deal with the mess of broken flesh.

Now, all of her attention could be directed towards the creeping hallucinations. They would be needed, after all. Were the Apprentice at her former strength then it would have been like seeing through the cultist's own warped eyes, but unfortunately, this was not to be.

Emotion and sensation would be the guides that allowed this experience to be shared.

Standing off to the side with her arms folded across her chest, Evelynn closed her eyes and poured her focus into the presence before her.

What came was unsurprising:

Heat.

Like standing too close to the firepit, the prickle of heat touched upon the frigid metaphysical flesh of the Emperor's daughter. It was not entirely pleasant, at least for the Zambrano in her complete lack of devotion. It spread like a great discomfort and in her awareness the Sith already wanted relief from the passion of another.

Foreign flame invading her meagre form like fever, she was gritting her teeth just trying to stomach such sensation and yet...

...it was tempered.

Frustrated.

This was not unbridled passion, and the sound of the inquisitor bucking against the restraints caused Evelynn's eyes to snap open to observe the taut form of her charge with an inkling of frustration, her pallid flesh still squirming under shared heat.

Perhaps it was time for a push.

Stepping forward the blonde moved directly in front of the hallucinating Vahla and leaned her face in uncomfortably close, the inherited green eyes of her father attempting to pierce through the blaze, the golden hand suddenly gripping the woman's chin with the cold, unfeeling touch of metal in deep contrast to her flame.

She pushed, frozen presence forcing itself into the Vella's subconscious. Perhaps antagonising such a vision was unwise but then, of course, this was not a pursuit of wisdom.

WHAT HOLDS YOU BACK?

Vella Forte

 

[Vella Forte]

That's okay, let's see how you do it.
​

Lassiter's well known silhouette continued to dance, cut, stab and other weaponized machinations. They manifested brilliantly until flames licked out where the whirl of light would be of her lightsaber. Vella could feel the heat of it, her own weapons materializing in her hands. Soft whispers licking up the nape of her neck and into her ears. The words were cold and and slippery, chilling through her canal until they touched her mind. They sounded like orders, instructions. Suddenly, the actions of her arms weren't by her own volition. They were uncannily in tandem with the woman that had once taught her. Left, right, up, down. They sliced through manifestations of bone, bodies, other silhouettes that were warm and then cold when struck down.

Who were they? Why were they doing this? There were other things that needed to be done.

It took surmountable effort for Vella to look at Lassiter and stop moving with her, observing the woman's prowess for what it was. She was a machine. Behind her, a black orb of destruction similar to the one Vella had noted in herself earlier. But there she was -- The Sword of Vahl operating at her finest until she was crunched beneath something metallic and cold. A reaction to the striking chill that crept up her chin in the real world. The blend between reality and her vision completely mystified. The sphere behind Lassiter dissipated into the void.

Vella choked out a wordless sound, rocking back and forth against the restraints again.

That ball of destruction she'd identified in the study glowed and hovered behind her. Looking over her shoulder. It reached out to touch her, but was yanked back. The dream Vella scolding it, informing the rage to stay within the cage. To only come out when called.

Mindless orders. She'd been conditioned to follow mindless orders until...until she was no longer needed. That was Lassiter. Vella's hands were curled around the chains her master once bore, and she clenched her fists against the metal. In real life, her teeth tight as a mirror to her metaphysical representation.

Emerald eyes faded in from the blackness, materializing at a distance that suggested they were responsible for squashing the other Vahla. WHAT HOLDS YOU BACK.

The rage ball quivered.

Those eyes. Those green eyes. The eyes that gave out orders. Told her what to do. Reigned in Lassiter. Reigned in.......her.

The ball trembled, the darkness of it falling away like ash to reveal the fire inside. Tightly wound up into a sphere of orange and yellow that rolled over one another in turmoil. A power in itself. Untapped.

YOU.

The ball was delighted! Vella's outburst was a scream in the drug world and in the real one. Those were Zambrano eyes. The holder of the leash - keeping it purposefully short. That destructive power giddily erupted around her, expanding out in a wild torrent and outburst. Everything she'd seen before turned to onyx, eclipsed by the brilliance of the flames that spiralled out of her person.

In the little lab room of Beatrice Govan 's basement, Vella's restraints were catching on fire.

NO MORE ORDERS.

The destructive power seemed satisfied with this proclamation of the ember seeker, and hurried back through the darkness. It didn't take its original shape again, it was too wild for that. It rushed in an impressive torrent into the form of spirit Vella, knotting through her stream and overwhelming her senses with emissions that rivalled an orbital bombardment.

In the real world, with her restraints on fire, Vella was shaking. A single hand pulled through the leather, now turned to ash, and snapped against the porcelain chin of the Sith apprentice. No more orders from your kind.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Reaction.

In both vision and in reality. The physical flesh opposed the restraints once more and it was not so dissimilar to the agonising struggles that usually took place upon the interrogator's table. In sensation, it was frustration, flames dampened by the cold that teased mental shackles.

The resistance surged. Evelynn felt it, saw it. In this cruel realm, her eye was trained, and it knew exactly when her victims were holding back and when they really meant it. Teeth clenched, facial markings flexing alongside a taut jaw. The Emperor's daughter could sense that the Inquisitor was so close to the core and in response gripped her chin a little tighter and pushed a little harder.

More, it grew. Like liquid reaching boiling point. That's it. Ever hotter. Perception melting. Yes. Chains burning. More. Footfalls reaching the summit of volcanic eruption. Ever closer.

A SCREAM!

It hit the blonde in both realms, causing her to flinch at the suddenness of the outburst and through shared vision it felt as if the Zambrano had actively stepped into the FLAMES, the skin of her soul being SEARED by the ERUPTION. It distracted from the accusation in the crescendo and left no room for the woman to be offended by the notion that she was holding anybody back.

Glowing embers caught her eyes, her physical eyes as Evelynn grew witness to the restraints incineration. Sensation so strong that it was burning reality around her. In shared PASSION, she felt victory but in common sense, concern.

The bindings were BURNING and with it came a greater possibility for unpleasantness. Risk and reward. She didn't wish to end the woman's experience and held back the droid from attempting to administer the antidote.

This view, however, changed swiftly as the cultist's hand, now unburdened by its bonds shot out to grasp Evelynn's own chin. Remarkably, even the physical touch seemed to bring H E A T and in that instant, the Apprentice was forced to evacuate from Vella Forte's shared fervour.

“Guh geef!” She exclaimed out loud in surprise, her prosthetic swiftly shifting off of the woman's face and wrapping around the offending wrist of the duellist, the alchemised crushgaunt more than prepared to try and break her wrist if needed. Luckily, they had already established the presence of a bone-knitter for such a circumstance.

A quick hand gesture to IT-O signalled that it was time to end this trial, of course, there was a worry that the droid would be unable to apply the serum with the restraints turned to ashes.

Ah, we'll burn that bridge if we get to it.

Vella Forte

 

[Vella Forte]

A sizzling hiss of steam spiralled into the air when Beatrice Govan 's golden claw pressed against the burning skin of the Vahla. The dark-haired duelist was still deeply sedated, and not fully able to process the distinction between the blonde daughter of the butcher king and the dread lord himself. The connection of the pressure relative to the action she'd taken against the chin of her hostess wasn't completely clear in this induced state. She was more conscious than she'd been when the fire dancers were present, but complete clarity was still a ways off.

She increased the threat with her fury, pinching her grip on the distinct jawline of the woman in her clutches.

Meanwhile, IT-O approached her from the side, heeding the instruction of his mistress. The power within her had not settled. The violence of the flames had been captured and engulfed in the inquisitor's body. It was tempestuous, thrashing about without control. It gave a protective, warning suggestion to her. The burning sensation within her manifested again, and while she held Evelynn's face - her other hand lifted from it's binds. The straps that had been around her neck and torso also burned away to ash while a cyclone of flames screamed out of her fingertips to engulf the service droid.

While flames belched, a newfound power, she sat up on the table -- eventually relinquishing her hold on the other woman. Her red gaze concealed under an opalescent veneer; a physical reminder of her drugged up state.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

As the steam escaped from her golden grasp, Evelynn couldn't help but stare at the Inquisitor with widened eyes, emeralds brimming with one part alarm and the other, intrigue. Evidently this experiment of self-discovery had come off the rails somewhat but let it not be known as a failure, the Sith Knight had definitely found her passion.

The molten grip upon her own chin grew ever hotter alongside the intensity of the Vahla's zealous hand, the touch of skin actually burning the p a l l i d flesh of the blonDe, causing teeth to GRIT and a hiSsss to escape from th em.

Far preferable to the fate of the interrogation droid, however, as the black orb otherwise known as IT-O was consumed by a violent torrent of flames and fell to the ground as charred scrap-metal.

W H A T P O W E R.

It was undeniable that this was a rousing success, the Inquisitor's passions now a towering inferno willing to cremate all who dared oppose it.

The only issue was now was how not to get cremated.

When the accomplished duellist finally relinquished the grip upon Evelynn's face the Emperor's daughter was left with aNGry red m arks upon her j a w and in the remainder of heat, she couLd already feel her skin BLISTE rIn G. This did not deter her own golden grip, as her cybernetic remained firmly clasped around the warrior's wrist.

That's enough, Vella Forte!

Doubting that her mental shout would be enough to fully penetrate the now explosive presence of the Vahla, her prosthetic hand began to squeeze, the alchemised phrik crushgaunt doing what her own paltry flesh could not. The grip grew ever tighter in the hopes that the PAIN would dampen this imminent rampage and find some sense in the woman.

She would crush the bones in her wrist, and either such a method would find sense in Vella or would give cause for retaliation.

Vella Forte

 

[Vella Forte]

The fuse within was lit, and out of control. Flames engulfed everything in her sight -- even those emerald eyes. Every instinct reverted back to nothing more than primal fury - so animalistic that even her name, her own name, was so faint and distant that she recognized it not. She was bladeborn.

Ignited.

Igni---OUCH!

In the room with Beatrice Govan , Vella's lips curled back in a snarl that reacted to the painful sensation that reverberated from her wrist to her brain. The pain was excruciating. She frantically grasped and writhed to stop the agony. The fire within continued to burn, damning the heathen that dare defy the growing wrath within her.

Soon the affliction was overwhelming, where she thought the tendons, bones and sinews would snap and smoulder and she gasped loudly. Her wide mouthed start brought her choking upward, gagging at the oxygen that flooded her lungs. In the golden hand of the Sith, her wrist was limp and wretched.

The dark haired inquisitor stammered in shock, wild red eyes darting about the room in abject horror. Smoke rose from the floor next to her, otherwise things looked unharmed. The white tile and sterile decor of the room a stark contrast to the dark chaos she'd just emerged from.

"What did you do!" The demand was ferocious and confused, fixated on the limp hand in Evelynn's grip and giving an attempt to kick. The restraints around her ankles had not turned to ash, and remained taut to prevent a toe to the blonde woman's gut.

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Oh, thank goodness.

As the cultist was dragged out of fire-born fury and returned to reality with a crunch Evelynn breathed a small sigh of relief. The woman was more than happy to help the woman find her inner-flame but being incinerated in return was decidedly not on the agenda.

What did she do?!

When Vella's accusation hit the Emperor's daughter she found herself actively dumbfounded. Her mouth opening instinctively to respond before closing again as her eyes travelled to the smouldering droid upon the ground and then back to the duellist. All she could do was blink, left lost for words at the notion that somehow she was in the wrong here.

Oh, calm yourself, came the eventual response from Evelynn, as the angry red handprints upon her chin continued to sting, you're still alive, are you not?

The golden hand finally let go and Evelynn stepped back, returning to the medical supplies with little fanfare. A new syringe was plucked from the table, a local anaesthetic, not a kindness that was usually granted to those who came to this room. At least the blonde had established that she was quite adept at repairing broken bones.

Nothing that I cannot fix, she continued, returning to the perturbed woman with a quizzical eyebrow still lodged upwards, my droid on the other hand. Shall I send the repair bill to your Goddess?

A touch cheeky.

She nodded at the woman's broken wrist, requesting permission instead of just jabbing Vella with an entirely new needle. Seemed that trust was on slightly shaky territory in that moment.

It'll numb the pain so I can mend your wrist.

Vella Forte

 

[Vella Forte]

Beatrice Govan 's chiding tone impressed in Vella's mind once more while she stared at her mangled wrist, unable to fathom how that had happened. Her teeth were grit to wince through the pain, and she reached up cradle the limp hand with her unaffected one. Red gaze tracked the blonde as she moved about the room, suspicion high but the need for relief was higher.

Send a bill to her Goddess?

"Are you mocking me?" Vella's eyes narrowed, suddenly defensive about the holiness of the Vahla's north star. The Goddess of destruction was everything to the cultist nation - the suggestion of her managing accounting or receipts was insulting.

Whether or not the Zambrano heir was serious was left unanswered - it wouldn't resolve the droid. Vella also had no idea how to repair anything mechanical, she was pretty well only proficient when it came to slicing and dicing.

Her bottom lip jut out slightly, and she slouched. "I apologize for the droid - and thank you for the opportunity to tap into that wildness.

That destruction from earlier, that you asked me to succumb to - I'd been caging it too long."

She supported her wrist still with her good hand, and stretched it out for the woman to access and administer some pain relief. "Yes, please."

 

[Beatrice Govan]

It probably wasn't the wisest course to mock the faith of the woman who could set the world ablaze with her devotion but Evelynn found most superstitious doctrines to be laughable at best. She had tasted death and the promised afterlife had been nothing more than a crippling void of nothingness and really now, what kind of monstrous deities would be responsible for such a terrible universe?

With permission granted, the Sith made short work of numbing the cultist's broken wrist, her gaze inspecting the injury with a clinical eye that held the slightest glint of satisfaction. Old habits really do die hard.

Yes, I could tell, she responded through the Force absent-mindedly as she continued to observe the damage from the outside before hurrying back to the medical table of wonders to pick out the bone knitter, you were rather incensed.

That was one word for it.

Hold, the blonde continued, handing Vella the bone knitter as she flexed the fingers of her wondrous prosthetic, the Force flowing through its golden digits as it shifted before them, changing from a hand to a very delicate and sharp blade. It really was a wonderful creation, she had half a mind to lop off the other arm and grant Darth Maliphant a second visit, although she doubted very much that he would have appreciated such a thing.

I was rather concerned for my well being for a moment.

Knowing that the local anaesthetic would have taken effect by this point, Evelynn sliced into the broken wrist with little warning, needing access to the bone in order to mend it.

So, indulge me, where is your hatred really rooted? The Zambrano probed casually, knowing full well the implication of 'no more orders from your kind' but wishing to hear it straight from the duellist's mouth instead. An awkward moment for her, no doubt, but honesty was usually the best policy mid-surgery.

Vella Forte

 

[Vella Forte]

With her good hand, she obliged the curt instruction and took the electronic device into her grip, turning it over one-twice with a lofted brow.

Transfixed by the transformation of the hostess' digits, Vella blinked. She could no longer feel any ministrations on her hand, which was probably a good thing given the slicing into flesh and whatnot. "That's impressive."

Beatrice Govan alluded to Vella's performance while otherwise disposed. She knitted her brows in contemplation, the residual effects of the drug slowly waning as she continued to sit on the torture stretcher. Her memory of the event hadn't gone away, she'd just suffocated it while realizing that it was not real and she was truly in this weird little medical space. For a moment, she was lost again. The flames engulfing her with no heat, the emerald----oh. Her gaze snapped back to Evelynn, who bore irises the same colour that stained her subconscious.

Those Zambrano eyes.

She tucked her lips together in consideration, appraising the woman who worked on her wrist without any seeming care for the venomous outrage the inquisitor had just displayed.

"Restraints." She responded finally, through her teeth. "And control. Destruction is not something that's supposed to be controlled. It's supposed to be respected.

I've been an Inquisitor since I was young, working for the Empire. The power I felt just now..I've never realized. No opportunity to with such...manufactured missions."

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Inwardly Evelynn smirked at the woman's words, all the while keeping a perfectly impassive expression fixed upon her severe features. It was a face that offered very little insight into her feelings upon such a matter, it was, after all, her own father's Empire that seemingly held the Inquisitor back.

She could sympathise, really. One's own ambition held back to fulfil his.

I see, finally came the icy reply as her bladed arm finished its gory duty and swiftly morphed back into sinister fingers, ones that took the bone-knitter from the cultist's grasp and began the procedure of repairing broken bone without another word spoken.

Perhaps it was quite cruel, to stand there letting Vella Forte believe that she did not approve of her feelings. Allowing potential paranoia to sink its teeth in for just a moment. Would Evelynn report such a thing back to her father? Would the duellist be reborn from the ashes as a heretic to be hunted down for such treacherous thoughts?

Ah, that was long enough.

The mask suddenly broke and strange laughter emerged from the woman's tongueless mouth, finding great hilarity in letting a supposedly tense moment stew. A small measure of harmless payback for her destroyed droid.

You strayed from your divine path, she finally spoke in telepathic tones that were more personable than before, understandable really, given the wealth of opportunity the Empire offers to those willing to reach out and grab it.

Evelynn's eyes never budged from the wrist, which made sense, it was all very precise work and within these four walls, she was nothing if not a professional butcher surgeon.

One Zambrano to shackle you, Evelynn continued, finishing up the skeletal repairs and heading back to the bench once more to swap the bone-knitter for a laser cauteriser, and another to set you free. I won't tell if you won't.

A coy smile crested as she returned to the woman with her new tool in hand. Just needed to close the wound now.

What is your plan now?

Vella Forte

 

[Vella Forte]

Vella remained transfixed on the minor operation taking place on her wrist. The silence strained between them she reasoned as Beatrice Govan coming to terms with the implications of her sentence. Of course The Empire was made up of a thousand moving pieces, but they didn't operate autonomously. Everything ended up being controlled, recorded and ultimately reported to a single figure head. After all, that's how Empires work. Under the influence of a singular Emperor -- the very man who happened to be the co-creator of her ever-obliging hostess.

She suddenly got uncomfortable.

Her crimson gaze lifted from shattered bones up to the woman when a hoarse, wretched sound came from her throat. There was a sense of mirth to it, but without the main muscle to shape the sound it was a rather unpleasant echo in the end.

"The Empire took me when I was very young. I forgot what I was supposed to be." Her story wasn't unlike many other warriors of the Sith. It was easier to influence and control those who knew no other alternatives. Continuing to sit there with her skin parted, she frowned in contemplation. One Zambrano to chain her, the other to break her free. The debt of both of them didn't sit easily with her, no matter how likeable this Evelynn was.

And then she prompted her for her plan.

Ultimately, she didn't have one. She'd only just finished her vision quest -- but she had ambitions. She supposed that would be a formidable equivalent.

The one good hand rotated for her to flex her fingers, and she looked at her palm. She visualized flames dancing along her skin, and looked at their volatile movements. The answer had to be in the fire. What was she to do now? a Vahla's purpose was always in power and destruction, and destruction was most effective when spread.

"I don't know." The pale skinned cultist admitted, welcoming the heat of the cauterization. Unlike the machinations of the bone knitter (which were to aid), the scorching of flesh was negligible. "I have to build this power. Spread it.

Give it to others.

But that would be insubordination." She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Which seems to be trending..." Dark eyes flitted over to the emeralds of her companion, arching a brow curiously. Did the woman know of the encroaching schism?

 

[Beatrice Govan]

In truth, Evelynn could sympathise with the woman's plight. Even beyond her father's Empire, how many Sith actually stayed the course of their own personal ambition? The Dark Side of the Force had a way of making people... forget why they sought such power in the first place. An uncomfortable truth, but a truth nonetheless.

In Vella Forte's case, she seemed to have very little choice in what she was made to be and in that the sympathies grew. Take them when they're young, it's easier to indoctrinate minds that have yet to be moulded.

Even the Jedi knew that.

The laser cauteriser buzzed as it sealed the incision, the unique yet familiar scent of burning flesh pervading the air around them, the woman's coy grin having faded away to be replaced by steadfast concentration as she listened to the cultist's potential plans for the future. Nothing solid, no who, where and when but it was a start. At least now the Vahla held greater clarity in purpose.

The bantha in the room returned, crashing through the wall the moment the word insubordination left her Vella's lips, causing Evelynn to pause and lock eyes with the woman for what was a weighted couple of seconds.

Quite.

Eyes returned to the cauterisation, and a small scoff escaped the blonde's lips. Yes, she was aware of the rumblings. The defections. The apostates. It was all starting to foray into uncomfortable territory. The Emperor's daughter could already feel the laser sight of misfortune that was no doubt already trained upon the back of her head.

In the eyes of some, we have already committed treason here today, she responded plainly with a slight frown, you have realised resentment towards the Empire and that your purpose lay outside of it, and I helped you get there.

With the wound sealed, the cauteriser's droning ceased, leaving them both to stew in a stifling silence.

No matter what happens, Evelynn finally continued, going back to her table of tools to switch out the laser cauteriser for the much friendlier bacta tape. Her back was to the other woman but no doubt she could sense the grim line that was her mouth in those telepathic tones, I will suffer.

Such a notion wasn't met with fear, only acceptance.

Daughter of the much-despised Emperor. There will be those champing at the bit to grab a Zambrano scalp and yet, it is still a brighter prospect than what my father would do to me if he knew what we had just accomplished.

At last, Evelynn returned to her patient, still bearing that same bleak expression that came with the notion of one's own demise and with little hesitation began to wrap the cauterised wound. It wasn't a necessary touch, but it would minimise scarring and at the very least she was a professional in this setting.

Your time is now, Vella Forte.

A crooked smile finally cracked upon the gaunt face of Evelynn Dorn. Gallows humour at the worst of times. Or were they the best?

Don't let this be a waste of my time. I would never forgive you.

---

Vella Forte