Changing Hands

The trip should have been quick, and mostly uneventful. Instead what should have been a simple drop and collect, had become a route of chaos. Captain Lafleche did not appreciate chaos aboard her vessel. The S'emparer de Kurh'n'nor had altered course around the patrols of the Hapan Navy, entering the Ghost Nebula only to be rerouted again. The more she thought about the transaction on Centares, the more her insides warned her against it. Something about the deal felt off, and Marielle was not one to ignore her intuition. She consulted with her First Mate Voleta Carriveau, who concurred with the decision to abort, and seek another buyer.

However, the sale of the Hapan weapons and goods was not her only concern anymore. More like a minor detail she wanted to seal the deal on quickly, to return to the Consortium as quickly as possible with a far more valuable asset. She had consulted with Voleta about that as well. The captain recalled the conversation..

"He makes me queasy." She had stated, regarding their big catch, Dasquian Belargic.

"That's not nausea, captain." Voleta had informed her, and Marielle had listened because Voleta was the authority on the subject. There had been a time her First Mate had worked for the Red Mother, but the lady found piracy more to her liking and that suited them both fine. "He's a bit on the thin side. And I'm not sure you could have picked someone less convinient, but...that glassy look on your face is certainly not nausea."

Marielle had kept a wise silence on the subject after that. She had never succumbed to any such urge before, and she was not about to be undone by...him. She had kept him locked in the brig for the entirety of the trip to Corellia. No one indulged his requests, or answered any of his questions. His cursory attempts to win over her crew to fight for his Alliance fell on deaf ears. The crew was not forced to be here. Some had been waiting for a spot on this vessel for years. It was their privilege, as it was hers. She had smirked at the holofeed and not a second was wasted on worry, not on that count.

What to do with him while she was elsewhere though. She trusted her crew, yes.. but did she trust them with him?

Certainly not.

That was what brought the captain to the brig this time.

She had a decision to make.

The captain’s big catch was exactly where she had left him: sealed in the brig, behind a shimmering energy barrier. No amount of coaxing or cajoling had tempted the Captain's crew into giving up a life of piracy for an honest life with the Alliance, so Dasquian had turned his attention inward. When he needed to think, exercise had always proved a good way to shake out new and unusual ideas. With the toes of his boots hooked underneath the cell’s simple bed frame, Belargic's lips moved soundlessly as he counted his way through sit up after sit up. He caught sight of the captain out of the corner of his eye.

“Captain,” he said, midway through another rep. “What brings you to my... humble abode?”

A table and one serviceable chair had been set adjacent to Belargic's cell for her use. Marielle moved directly there setting down a dark, unexplained bundle on the table before settling herself into the chair. Typically garbed in form fitting pants tucked into heeled-boots buckled high up her legs. The soft linen tunic was cinched tight about her middle by both the corset around her ribs, and the assortment of belts around her slim hips.

Legs crossed leisurely, she deigned to raise her dark eyes to her captive. The look in them was not soft or besotted. Expert opinion or not, she was sticking with - he made her sick. Still, she smiled meanly his way. "Hello, my s'emparer de kurh'n'nor. I do hope you are enjoying your stay with us."

She did not await his answer, largely because it did not matter.

"I find myself faced with a choice. You.. are going to help me make it."

“Am I?”

It was the first time that Marielle Lafleche herself had deigned to favour him with a visit. Dasquian smiled to himself as he continued to focus his attention right ahead, on the slim mattress that was the single concession to comfort his captors had allowed him.

“Will this take very long?” Belargic paused, with a little grunt of effort as he completed another situp. ”I’m… a little busy right now.”

Watching Belargic's apparent disregard for her presence, preferring to keep himself on his task, the lady captain's mean smile only grew meaner as she answered his first question. "One way or the other, yes."

He rose up again.

Marielle was certain he had done enough repetitions to ensure that the region of his abdomen was solid enough to use as a writing desk. Voleta thought him too thin. Admittedly, he did look like he could benefit from some care and attention. Someone to fuss over him and make him eat.

Poor tragic lass.

"Oh, you are hilarious." Dark eyes rolled in sarcasm.

"And here I thought maybe you'd want out of that cell.. Was I wrong?"

Getting out of the cell, and more importantly off the Captain’s ship, was at the forefront of Dasquian’s mind, of course. In all likelihood, it would be the Alliance Navy who turned that desire into reality - but there was always a chance that the right series of decisions and actions might allow Agent Belargic to slip free of captivity on his own. He’d done it before and didn’t doubt that he could do it again. It was all just a matter of understanding what the Hapan pirates wanted and creating the illusion that they were going to get it.

After taking a moment to consider the Captain’s request, Dasquian climbed to his feet.

“I'd certainly be much more useful on the other side of this,” he said, with a glance that traced the outline of the energy barrier that separated them.

When he looked back down at Captain Lafleche, he saw, for the first time, the bundle on the table in front of her.

“How can I help?”

It did not take an expertly trained profiler to sense the chain of possibility that was doubtless forming in her captive's mind. She knew what her first priorities would be, were she in that cell, and so Marielle watched for the same behavior from him. Suddenly much more amenable to hearing her out, Belargic approached the barrier. The captain smiled, drumming her fingertips across her kneecap.

"When we last saw the Argentine some of my crew quite strategically dropped our plans to visit Centares.. So that is where anyone looking for you will get likely begin.."

His Alliance allies topped the likely list.

"Fortunately, that is not at all where we are." The captain said no more about her plans.

Unfolding her legs, Marielle leaned forward, elbows on her knees. The posture implied boredom, but the intelligence and planning three steps ahead in dark her eyes was anything but inattentive. "Useful..hmm. Perhaps you can, at that.. I still have business to attend to, before I can see about your release.."

“Fortunate indeed,” Belargic said, as he leaned against the inner frame of his cell’s door. Centares… The world fell within the Alliance of Free Planets. As long as the pirates continued to operate within the boundaries of the Alliance, there was a chance that they would be intercepted, if not by the Hapan Royal Navy then at least by the Alliance Navy at large. It was a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

“What choice do you need my assistance in making, captain?”

Leaning back in the chair for a second, Marielle eyed up her captive.

Not answering his question, she redirected the conversation. "It bothers me to have to keep you locked up, truly. It would go so much easier if I could trust you, but I do not see that happening." The captain sighed in terrible disappointment.

"You will be with the crew for..oh, I would say an interminable length of time." Another mean smile.

"Better for you perhaps, if you consider yourself one of us. I'm sure we can find someway for you to be useful... when we return to the ship."

While Marielle avoided his question with a sharp smile, Dasquian folded his arms.

“I’d find it easier to think of myself as part of the crew if I were given lodgings with the crew,” he said, matching her expression with a smirk of his own. In spite of her evasiveness, there was a hint in the Captain’s reply that she might have some intention of removing Dasquian from his cell, at least temporarily.

“When we return to the ship? Are we going somewhere?”