Something Wicked This Way Comes

[Azrin Shadowstar]

It was dark, by design, illumination distributed to create isolated pools of light within the vast subterranian space. Though this space hardly seemed like the proper surroundings for scientific advancement and inquiry, it was a vast improvement over the dank and cloying artificial lights of the grimy abandoned motel on Terminus that he had liberated them from. The surroundings belied the extent of technology and sophistication that conspired to fill the air with a persistent hum: relics and artefacts from countless Imperial projects, each lost, forgotten, or abandoned as the result of death, defeat, or regime change within the Imperial ranks. Binring, Death-Hunter, Hidden Eye, the Cylo Directive - strands of wasted potential now woven together into a garotte to wrap around the throats of the Empire's enemies.

Azrin appreciated the darkness - in general yes, but especially here. It was a reminder of what had come before, and of what the Grand Inquisitor and his guardians had overcome decades ago when they had been lured to this barren rock, floating in the remnants of what had once been the planet Anaxes. Jedi had lured them to PM-1203, but it had been the shadows and their occupants that had provided the Inquisition with their challenge. The Grand Inquisitor had been alone, surrounded by sundered fyrnocks when reinforcements had arrived to retrieve him, but rather than abandon the facility, the Inquisitorious had taken Fort Anaxes as a trophy, exterminating the worst of the fyrnock infestation, and enslaving the rest for testing, protection, and the satisfaction of asserting dominance over such a potent force of nature.

"Excuse me, Krayt, sir?"

The ininvited voice salvaged Azrin from his thoughts, the use of his covert alias - the only name these scientists knew him by - wrenching him back into the mindset that was required. The man who spoke was small and feeble: physically average for a man from Hays Minor perhaps, but his presence shrank beneath the weight of anxiety and cowardice, an odd trait for a man whose chosen field was the ruthless and unfeeling theft of humanity and free will from those whose blood currently coated the sleeves of his medical scrubs. Fortunately, that weakness of character was offset by insatiable greed, and it was those aspects of his nature combined that allowed him to be bent so freely to Azrin's will.

Azrin allowed his silence to stretch for an agonising moment before slowly turning away from his vantage, looming above the scientist who approached him. Everything the Haysian man was not, Azrin Shadowstar was: towering, imposing, unnervingly calm, and fixated on objectives far above the petty acquisition of wealth and power.

"Speak."

The air seemed to resonate with his words, the dark side seeping eagerly from the surrounding shadows to provide a sinister escort to Azrin's voice. The Haysian shrank further, and though to his credit he did not retreat even a single step, he visibly recoiled a little deeper into the protective folds of his clothing.

"Subject Five is conscious and responding. We have completed our initial phase of testing, and it seems to be adapting to the new cybernetics well. Should we contact Rancor, and inform him that this batch is ready for collection and transport?"

It. The faintest curl of a smile tugged at the corner of Azrin's mouth. The Haysian had reached within the innards of the creature of whom he spoke, and yet after all that intimacy, Subject Five was merely an it. He, Azrin's thoughts gleefully insisted. Perhaps the Haysian felt compelled to shy away from the fact that Subject Five had once been a person, but Azrin had no such qualms. This was another fyrnock, another ruthless creature shackled and collared, ready to be bent to Azrin's will. He would be willful, stubborn, resistant to commands; but that was to be expected. The man Subject Five had once been was a beast, and Azrin knew all about motivating such creatures. When one broke an animal such as this, one did not seek to tame and declaw it: one merely learned how to convince the beast that his desires aligned with yours. In this instance, Azrin knew it would be almost effortless.

"No," he replied, stern and certain. He let the following silence linger, peering off towards the island of light that surrounded Subject Five and his attending medics, watching as his new pet flexed the new technological limbs and muscles that they had graciously provided, testing the weight of his body on his new metallic bones. "Prepare him and the others for deployment. I have a task for them that is too urgent to wait for Rancor's attention."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

If there was a feeling of godhood, if anyone came close to knowing what it was like to be worshiped, loved and awed, it was this. The undulating crowd, just a few feet below where they stood but for all respects folks could have been on another planet, watched from above from their idols. It were power, true and well and even if it only lasted for a fraction of a day, these precious two hours were the embodiment of damn near all. Sadie felt herself pouring into the crowd, emptying of woe and misery and filling back up with light and sound and everything a body needed to reach divine. Yet she weren't the control. Weren't the focus. Her and the boys, they were just there to help direct it all, feed the source to their leader, their head of this little pantheon. He could start a damn war with the snap of a finger, give his new followers orders to snuff out the lives of others and their own.

And Bog'el Xcreth loved it.

The Zabrak's voice was like lightning and the music she had written that flowed from Rex and Ronan and her was the thunder. It pulsed and the crowd bowed and swayed and stomped to it's command.

This were eternity.

But then eternity took one of them downright bad turns. A chord missed and the strings on her bass quetarra snapped reaching out and winding themselves around her wrists, the metal biting and presenting it's offering. The surprise came, the blood followed, the pain was absent until Sadie looked up to realize that the crowd was still pulsing but to a new beat, to the stuttered echo of her heart thudding in her ears as Bog stared at her across the stage. Two strides was all it took to separate and with a wretch he pulled her forward to the center, to the spotlight, tugged by the instrument in his hands, strings pulling her like a puppet into position.

"This is all a show, kid." Lightning struck and the near manic cheers of the crowd were the reply. "Meet your replacement, my dear."

The Zabrak nodded his head towards the side of the stage and Sadie screamed with no voice, another string of her bass ripping itself free to wind around her throat as the figure approached. Long claws hit first, brought scales into light and a narrow reptilian face that towered over all of them.

Sadie tried to pull away from the hold but the crowd, their power gifted by their gods held her, a light sweeping over dulled faces that revealed alien tech reflected in their eyes. Escape impossible, she looked back to the approaching figure who reached out towards her ensnared head. The claws of the Ssi-ruu cradled her face, breath hot as it inhaled and exhaled her very self.

More struggle only to be answered by one of the clawed hands raking down across her stomach. Her reply was to attempt another scream, the Ssi-ruu answered with a grin, a maw opening, razor teeth obscuring the crowd.

"Be seeing you, kid." Bog's voice from behind.

Jaws opened wider, wider still.

Snap.

"NO."

Whether it were her scream or the crashing of something going flying across the room that was what woke her up, Sadie was thankful and disoriented and all ten kinds of fracked up before she got her baring and went and realized she was so damn restricted on account of the blanket having wound her right tighter than some trash food burrito.

No stage. No lights. No Bog. No kriffing lizard asshat. Just... Home.

"Frak." Sadie grumbled as she detangled herself from the loose fabric, still breathing too damned heavy, heart still pounding away too damn hard, to feel like it was okay to lay back down and relax proper.

Instead, in the dim light that filtered in from somewhere in the hallway she went and allowed herself the over guilty look at the person she no doubt had done and gone ruined a night's sleep for. Again.

"Sorry." Was a standard reply, one Sadie knew she didn't have to make to Vitt. Not for this, not for nothing else, yet it still weaseled it's way out of her all the same.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore's hand was half way to the blaster beneath his pillow before his eyes had even opened. It took all the self control he could muster to stop it from making it all the way when that sheepish apology tumbled out of Sadie's lips. In an instant, he knew what was happening, what had happened. In that instant, his heart sank. Blasters under the pillow weren't much use against the kind of monsters Sadie had to contend with.

He shifted, disguising his reaching arm as a stretch, rolling himself onto his side to face her. A smile formed on his lips, and while it was one he ushered forth deliberately, there was nothing fake about it. There never was when he smiled at her. It was stupid, and made him feel like some dumb kid, but it was what it was. He hesitated for a moment, feeling his subconscious fight against the urge to reach out towards her. He muscled past it, the backs of his fingers gently brushing against Sadie's shoulder. His hesitation didn't come from an aversion, or some lack of desire for contact: it came from respect, of understanding that Sadie had boundaries that her past had helped her to build, and that there was a whole mindfield between those boundaries and her that all the well meaning in the world couldn't always avoid setting off, if you didn't have her inviting the way. They were making progress, though. He was starting to learn the terrain, learn what was okay and what wasn't.

"You've gotta stop doin' that," he countered quietly, fingers trailing down her arm, gently leading her hand towards his lips for a brief kiss against her knuckles. "I've told you b'fore, wakin' up next to you ain't somethin' I need an apology for."

His eyes lingered on her features, straying for a moment here and there to reinforce the mental recording of the details of her face. His smile lessened, but remained in place, a note of worry tugging at his brow.

"I don't need to know," he said, the words almost a rehearsed catchphrase at this point. Nightmares weren't uncommon for either of them; but reluctance in sharing them was. Vittore understood it completely. Dreams were your mind's way of torturing and taunting you, of reminding you where your weaknesses and vulnerabilities were. People with lives like theirs didn't need or appreciate the reminder; and having them was bad enough without having to admit it out loud, no matter how understanding the person next to you was. It wasn't a lack of trust, or a desire to hide those details from someone who cared for you: it was about not wanting to be what your mind tried to convince you to think that you were. Maybe it was shame, or something similar. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't healthy. But it was what the both of them did, and both of them knew that all that was needed was for the other to just be there. "But I'm here if you want me to."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Jus' th' usual dren." Weren't an avoidance or one of them non answers, more of hitting the pause button, maybe something to work out over caf and pancakes in the morning rather than some unholy hour of the morning.

Weren't a lie, neither. Bog showed up a whole heap load more nights than Sadie liked, which really meant any but was a reality of almost all. Was lessening, though, slow like and frustrating, but it were getting better. Sadie figured sharing a bed with Vitt had a great deal to do with that, but it weren't fair to put that sorta pressure on him or whatever scrap of happiness they'd managed to go and find.

For a few ticks Sadie just followed her breathing, trying to make it get back to more calm and respectable like levels. Deep and slow, like some of them meditation deals taught, extend the stomach and breathe from there rather than keeping it all tight in your chest. Worked more than Sadie wanted to admit the mumbo jumbo should.

She'd let her hand linger in Vitt's, fingers soft and avoiding all urges to cling. Not that either of them would have given a damn if she did. Wee hours were one of them sacred places, and special times. Guards could go and be dropped, weight could be lessened, and no judgement were gonna come from it.

Frak it.

Easing herself back down seemed like the hardest bit, letting herself go and be close enough to put her head on Vitt's shoulder and tuck her arms between them was the surprisingly easy part.

"Feels like penance," she said in one of them quiet tones that weren't quite a whisper since normal speak was above and beyond. "Jus' kinna wish th' verse would call it even already, y'know?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Penance. If that was what was going on here, then the universe had done fucked up, and was shooting wide instead of hitting the target who actually deserved it. Sure, Sadie had performed more than her fair share of misdoings over the span of her life, but what she'd suffered through in that same time more than dwarfed the equation into insignificance. Infinitessimal, or something, right? One of those words in one of those books Vitt had been trying to read up on lately so he could ask Sadie how her day was going a little easier. Besides, compared to Vittore Montegue? Hunter, killer, raised in a life of hate and violence? There was no way that she more than he deserved the universe exacting some sort of penance. And if that was what the universe thought was good and fair, the universe could go suck a dick and choke on it, as far as he was concerned.

He didn't say any of that, of course, though his eyebrows and jaw muscles may have gone and given it away without his approval. Normally his sabacc face was pretty rock solid, but it didn't quite work when Sadie was around. With her, everything was like someone had dialed up the control sensitivity. Every tiny gesture, every thought, every feeling, every memory, all of that played out in his head like it was cranked to eleven. Worked out pretty great for him most of the time, truth be told, though there were a few broken noses and cracked jaws scattered around the Outer Rim that might have preferred he be a little less quick to anger at her defense whenever some loudmouthed lecherous drunk tried even the slightest thing in his line of sight.

Now though? Moments like this were something else. A simple smile could make him melt inside, but this? Sadie in his arms, leaning against him so that even with his eyes closed, there was no way he could ever forget that she was there? He wished there was a way to carve that feeling into his chest, to cast the weight and shape of her like lead into his flesh so that he'd never have to stop feeling it. Or maybe they could just lock the doors and never leave this bed again. That would work too.

"Need me t' go punch the verse in the face a few times?" he offered quietly, torn between not wanting to move a muscle, and the desire to pull her just that little bit closer. "Pretty sure my knuckles've healed up from the last few times."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Nah," the refusal came quietly, kinda like brushing off being asked if you wanted sprinkles on ice cream. "Not yet, anyhow. Kinda likin' where you're at right now."

Okay, so the smile that was working its way to her lips was a bit sleep deprived and that was probably why it came all easy. Was funny in a way, if she could somehow go and talk to herself just a fair few years ago and tell her this was gonna be a thing, there was no way she'd have believed it. But this was good, for the both of them, really. But it weren't the sort of thing Sadie would ever have thought she wanted, never mind go and need.

She also weren't against letting Vitt rough up folks on her behalf. Yeah sure, she could take damn well care of herself, problem was that was her only damn option for so long it was kinda nice to have someone else there to have her back, to throw some sleaze out of a window, to just be there. Probably something else her not-so-terribly-younger self would find kinda downright embarrassing, but that version of her hadn't exactly learned just how damned fraked up the verse could go and be when it really had a mind put to it. At least, not where she was considered. Other folks had always been on the table, she'd just kinda gotten used to being down so often she never really figured she'd end up where she had. Should have saw it coming, should have known she weren't immune to true viciousness. Weren't ever gonna happen again though, not with Vitt around, that was for damned sure.

"Jus' lemme get in a shot next time, yeah? Thinkin' deckin' th' verse myself at least once might do good."

[Nen Lev'i]

Contents may be hot when heated.

No shit was the obvious response, and yet it was those words that Nen Lev'i fixated on as he wove his way through the corridors of Cloud City. Partly, it was a side effect of how much effort it was taking to concentrate on the uncomfortably full container of Stratobucks caf gripped nervously in his hand. It shouldn't have been a source of such anxiety for him, and yet it was. He had made this trip, between the Elysian Acquisitions offices and the second-nearest Stratobucks outlet on a daily basis for the last several weeks - second nearest, because there was always a queue at the nearer outlet, and also because of the embarrassing incident with the holocall ID and the cute redhead barista - and at this point had managed to hone the trip down almost to an exact science. Three unopened pods of creamer were clutched in his right hand - it only took two and a half to get the ratios right in an extra large, but sadly Stratobucks did not offer fractional creamer containers - while the left held the precious caffeinated elixer clutched as tightly as it dared. With the three extra minutes it took to reach the more distant outlet, all told it took seven point six minutes for him to return to the offices with caf in hand, and so Nen always left eleven minutes before Miss Shadowstar was due to arrive at the offices, thanks to a handy alert Katie had helped him rig up for when Miss Shadowstar left her apartment in the morning, the other three point four minutes factored in so that once the milk was added and the container passed to Miss Shadowstar, it was somewhere in the vicinity of a drinkable temperature.

The thing was, three days ago it had taken only seven point four minutes. In the grand scheme of things, that was nothing. What's twelve seconds between friends, right? Except that it meant that faster was possible, and that? That was a challenge. In his downtime, which was abundant, and not filled with any pointless distractions like romance or a social life, Nen had begun to analyse what factors may have impacted his travel time on that day. His first assumption had been a measurement error. Twelve seconds wasn't nothing, but his analysis was based off a visual glance at the chrono on his wrist, and the one on his desk. That was the easiest variable to control, and so now his wrist chrono had been deconstructed and reconstructed, and was now synching with remote sensors adhered to different parts of his body, which were measuring his stride and heart rate, and logging other factors like ambient temperature and air pressure. He'd considered that clothing might play a part, a slightly more comfortable pair of slacks allowing longer strides, or a slightly uncomfortable shirt irritating him into a mildly faster pace, so he had purchased and for the last five days worn five identical outfits, and five identical pairs of brand new shoes. His measurements recorded activity through the rest of the day as well, ensuring that each set of shoes and clothes would be subjected to the same wear and tear to allow the experiment to continue in a balanced way, with any step count discrepencies compensated for at the end of the day; but also logged his sleep patterns, his caloric intake and expenditure, approximate volumetric measurements of bowel and bladder movements, and pretty much every variable he could possibly think of.

There was no purpose to it; and yet there was. It didn't matter; and yet it did. The fact that Nen couldn't explain it, the fact that he couldn't convey to you why it was better to stand around for three point six minutes rather than three point four, didn't in any way lessen the fact that it mattered, somehow, to him. The world was a complex and confusing place, and while it was far beyond Nen's power to control or study the larger questions of life, this was something within the scope of his ability to analyse and understand.

And so Nen Lev'i focused on those stupid words, letting their annoying nature focus his mind to avoid the encroachment of music, or numbers, or anything that might cause his strides to shift from the careful steady rhythm that he sought to match every day of his experiment. The tracking doodad on his wrist, with all it's associated fitness bits - he really needed to think of a better name for it - pulsed periodically with a gentle vibration, each one perfectly matching the impact of a foot against the ground. As his subconscious tally of strides reached six hundred and forty-eight, Nen turned down the side corridor that led off the main concourse and towards the Elysian Acqusitions suite, careful to remain equidistant between the two sides of the corridor - the easiest way to ensure that he was walking as close to the same path as possible every day.

A small smile tugged at his lips - only one hundred and thirteen more steps to go! - but it quickly faded, a shift of motion at the very edge of his vision towards him; enough to wrench his attention away from the unfathomable words.

"No."

Rapidly the smile collapsed into an expression of horror, as the malicious decimation of the day's scientific efforts trundled gleefully towards him in the opposite direction.

"Pie, you rusty little assclown," he warned, jaw clenching. "Don't you even dare..."

[R4-P13]

There were many things that could have been attributed to why R4-P13 could be considered awkward. The main being the former R4 unit had little experience moving about on it's own, having only recently been liberated from a Jedi starfighter, another would be that he had to be transferred to a practically ancient C1 chassis. And finally? Well... finally just came down to P13's programing, or lack there of, or whatever it was that made up a droid's personality.

P13 wasn't a jerk per-say, just standoffish until he got to like you. Master Aamoran certainly never had problems with the little astomech, unless of course, P13 had other notions that day. And then there was Master Nen, he and Mistress Sadie had worked together to extract him from the starfighter and give him the ability to roam Cloud City and the properties of The Exchange as much as he liked. And roam he did.

So needless to say, P13 had determined he liked Master Nen. A lot. Which probably explained the excited blissful series of deep toned bleeps that resounded down the hall as the droid sped towards his friend, mechanical arms waving as he set about attempting a friendly nudge against Master Nen, all warnings given having been misunderstood... Or more likely; just ignored.

[Nen Lev'i]

They told him it was a sign of affection. Astro droids didn't have arms or surface sensors, and so couldn't quite grasp the concept of a humanoid embrace. This was their approximation, offering a hug in the only way that a groin-high trundle barrel could. Sadie had teased him about it, joked that P13 was simply showing his gratitude for the part Nen had played in his liberation. Nen supposed, if he thought about it hard enough, that from P13's perspective, the cobbled together mechanical parts that they'd crudely fashioned into a clunky new shell for the R4 unit was maybe akin to restoring vision to the blind, or the ability to walk to an amputee. Nen didn't quite buy it, and certainly didn't feel comfortable with any sort of gratitude or attention for his actions, but at least he could understand it.

Vittore Montegue had been slightly less understanding. Haven't you ever met a baby loth cat before? had been his dismissive remark; he'd seen genuinely startled when Nen had responded in the negative. After all, how could he have? Nar Shaddaa wasn't exactly a hot spot for the expert of cute and cuddly creatures, and if a loth cat ever had made it as far as the Smugglers' Moon, there was no way it would have managed to cross Nen's path before something found it and ate it. Captain Montegue had seemed genuinely surprised by that revelation, and so had done his best to explain how creatures like loth cats, domesticated nexu, and things of that ilk would rub against legs, trees, furniture, all sorts. His explanation of it's probably scent marking or some shit wasn't particularly enlightening, and Nen wasn't sure how the personality or mentality of a loth cat was meant to have worked its way into an astromech droid lodged inside a starfighter for several decades - but then, what did Nen expect? After all, this was the man who had taken one look at the droid's alphanumeric designation, and decided to insist that they all call him Pie.

Three pairs of synthetic beeps chimed from Nen's wrist, as the last few seconds of today's experiment ticked by before Nen had the opportunity to circumvent the droid and resume course. Worse, he had observed, amid his atempts to sidestep the astromech, Captain Montegue had indeed been correct in that Pie seemed to be attempting to leave some sort of residue on his legs - though it was more a matter of rust and grease than fur and odor. An experiment ruined, and a pair of slacks in need of an unscheduled cycle through the cleaner.

A deep, heavy sigh escaped from Nen. Science utterly thwarted for the day, there was only one thing left to do.

"Hey, buddy," he said softly, dropping into a crouch in front of P13. One hand still gripped Miss Shadowstar's morning coffee, but the other rested itself on top of Pie's truncated dome. This was what the droid was after, right? An astromech hug. Contact, and proximity. Despite knowing the droid couldn't really feel it, he found himself gently patting the top of his casing anyway. "It's good to see you too."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

It was far too early for whatever shenanigans were happening in the hall outside her office. It was always too early, but today especially since she had woken up earlier than usual after spending a night up later than usual; both instances purely Vhiran's fault. Okay, maybe not entirely just his, but Emelie was the boss and that meant she got to delegate where blame got to reside. Besides, it wasn't like Vhi was exactly going to be around to defend himself so that meant he'd just have to deal with it.

She watched the Boy and His Droid scene play out for a bit longer, allowing herself another glance at the comm unit on her wrist; the display tapped until a steady and soft blue light pulsed at her. It wasn't much, just a small indication that the tracking device she had Sadie install on Vhi's ship was working. She didn't need to know where he was going, so much as making damn well sure he was coming back.

It wasn't that she was paranoid about it, but as with everything, Emelie never saw anything wrong with a bit of added security as of late. Her little crew was constantly growing, changing, evolving; and while she had never been one to take anyone who could be dubbed as a part of it lightly, mistakes had been made in the past and they were ones that she was all too keen on never making again.

So long as she didn't end up some sort of mom figure, it was all good.

All of that, however, did nothing to stop the eyebrow raise at Nen and the droid.

"You two done cuddling, or should I let you have a moment?"

[Nen Lev'i]

There were a lot of ways one could respond to a situation like this. Embarassment was pretty high up on the list. Your employer finding you having a private moment with everyone's friendly neighbourhood automaton wasn't exactly normal, and most folks would go and get all bashful and ashamed about it, making excuses and rationalisations and all that what-not.

Most people weren't Nen Lev'i, though. He was anxious, definitely. Cowardly, maybe. But ashamed? He'd never quite got that. You were you, and as long as you were being you, that's how the galaxy was meant to be. Acting weird was just part and parcel of it, and he would no sooner modify his own behaviour than he would reprogram Pie to stop his leg nuzzling. Lots of people had complicated philosophies, but Nen's was simple. You do you, kid. Just be yourself.

Without hesitation or batting an eye, Nen wrapped his caf-free arm around P13's chassis, and let his head rest gently against the astromech's dome.

"There's still time if you want to get in on this, boss," he offered cheerfully, stretching his non-hugging arm out in Miss Shadowstar's direction. "If not, here's your caf. This is starting to feel like a two arm hug sort of situation."

[Emelie Shadowstar]

"Think I'll stick with the caf," Emelie replied as she swooped over and took the offered beverage - As if there really was a choice between the two.

Not that she had anything against droids; she even found it positively endearing how much those that had come with Vittore and now P13 (Emelie refused to use that ridiculous nickname) were just as much a part of her crew as any other member. But still, she wasn't exactly the hug a droid type. Then again, it seemed like Nen had that covered.

Emelie had to admit, she missed her old assistant, Trina Windgate, and all her older-sister-like nagging that came along with her. But Nen was a damn good replacement. For one, he actually got her non-spiked caf order frighteningly accurate, and two... Well, he hardly had mastered that disapproving, all-knowing look that Trina had all but perfected. Third, well, third was easy. Nen was downright likeable. True, he was a bit of a goofball, and young, but as far as just company went, with no strings attached? He fit the bill perfectly.

As she walked past P13 and Nen she paused just enough to look over her shoulder at the duo and shook her head and let the amusement seep fully in to her.

"You've got five minutes before I expect a briefing on today's schedule."

[Nen Lev'i]

Oh. So that's how it was.

There were two kinds of people in the 'verse: those who accepted hugs, and those who refused them. Admittedly, dividing the sentient population of the universe into two sections based on that particular metric might not have been particularly useful, but Nen had given it a lot of thought, and if you added enough layers and subcategories to it, you could actually drill down to some pretty useful insight into people. For example, within the subset of people who accepted hugs, you had all sorts of folks: people who were just being polite, people who understood it as a platonic greeting, people whose cultures placed no stigma and implied no further intimacy to the act, people who were having a really bad day - the list went on. The reverse was true too, of the people who refused hugs. Some just weren't feeling it. Some had issues with physical proximity, or social proximity. Some found it jarring with their concept of social propriety. Some thought it was beneath them. And some? Some just didn't like you.

Okay so sure, Miss Shadowstar was nice. Of the people he knew on Cloud City, she was one of the more amiable and less intimidating options. It helped that her name was on his pay slips at the end of the cycle, but more than that, she'd had no obligation to offer him work when Captain Montegue dragged him back here during the whole Sadie escapade. If not for her, he might have found himself working for Force knows who down on the seedier levels of Cloud City, scrambling for enough credits to buy his way back to Nar Shaddaa and familiarity. Instead she'd given him a place to belong as part of Elysian Acqusitions, and within her criminal network, the Exchange. She'd even helped set him up with a pretty bitchin' apartment - not as big, or comfortable, or expensive as some of the other Exchange types, perhaps, but then you had folks like Captain Montegue and Sadie who voluntarily slept in tiny rooms on a space yacht. Nen was nicely in the middle of the pack, and honestly that was where he was happiest. Being a frontrunner was overrated, and the middle was infinitely better than trailing behind.

Still, as great as a sense of career and criminal belonging was, Nen watched the rest of the Exchange with envy as they slowly crystalised into something more: a family. Oh sure, it helped that half of them genuinely were biologically related. Sadie's new Jedi mentor had gone and turned out to be her dad, because he'd banged Atton Kira's sister, which made Sadie his niece; and then you had Sadie getting up to whatever it was she got up to with Captain Montegue. Thus far, Miss Shadowstar didn't seem to be related to anyone, but Atton seemed to have declared her his heiress of sorts, and the rest of them treated her like family, and then there was all of her Pink Moon Syndicate connections - family, family, family. That was how things worked around here. Even the gorram droids were considered part of the family.

Not Nen, though. Sure, Sadie was nice to him. To the others, he was somewhere between a stray kath-pup that Captain Montegue had brought home, and the seen but not heard hired help from some Alderaani noble family. They did right by him, better than anyone else had back in his Black Sun days on Nar Shaddaa, that was for sure; and yet back then, he'd felt like part of something. Black Sun had treated him like shit at times, but that was par for the course, and he'd felt less alone in that latrine than he did up here in the clouds.

A quiet sigh escaped him. At least he knew P13 seemed to appreciate him. On a whim, a gentle smooch was planted on the droid's crimson head.

"Don't worry about her not wanting to hug us, little buddy," he said warmly, as much to reassure himself as the droid. "Some people are just allergic to nice things."

[Atton Kira]

"This -"

Atton's spine creaked a little as he doubled over, rumaging around beneath the bar. It was early, and he was a fool for being here, having only managed to secure a few hours of shut-eye after a night spent tending this very bar. He didn't have to, of course: he liked to hide behind the pretense that the job was part of his cover, a way to make him accessible to potential informants, and a justification for his presence here on Cloud City to avoid any unwanted Imperial attention, but he could easily have taken a management post here at Elysium, to essentially the same effect. No, the reality was that he liked it: for all the exhaustion and frustration it presented, he liked the opportunity to interface with people, in a way that made him almost invisible to them. People would confess things to their bartender, people would say things to others right in front of them without a second thought. It was overt anonymity, and frankly Atton found it more intoxicating than anything served across this counter.

Today though, his presence here was something different. It wasn't anonymity he saught, and yet he still found himself hiding behind the protection of the bar. He'd chosen Elysium as neutral ground, somewhere that he felt at least somewhat comfortable and where she wouldn't exactly be out of her element; and, most importantly, somewhere with a ready supply of alcohol.

"- isn't the real stuff," he admitted, setting down a bottle of what claimed to be Alderaanian brandy on the bar. "They make lots of fancy claims about it, plants grown from real cuttings exported from Alderaan just before..."

He trailed off and shrugged, retrieving a pair of glasses from beneath the counter, and beginning to pour.

"It's like the lies we tell ourselves in order to get to sleep at night."

One copiously filled tumbler was slid across the bar towards his sister, the other raised in a lazy salute.

"Not true, but close enough to get the job done."

[Elira Asael]

Skepticism was the flavor of the day, and would have been present even without Atton's warning, but still Elira drank deeply from the tumbler, half finishing the contents in one go. She eyed the glass in her hand, rotating her wrist as if trying to analyze the contents.

"Remember that time we got that bottle of raava from Chandrila?" Elira began, a hint of wistfulness and nostalgia at the edges of each word. "We were so convinced that because it was exotic that it was going to be the most amazing stuff ever; that simply because it wasn't from Alderaan it had to be better somehow."

Another drink from the tumbler was taken, more cautious this time, a sip really. Just enough to wet her throat and her nerves to continue.

"It was good, though." She raised the glass to eye level and let out a soft sigh. "This though? This is shit. Would be fantastic if it was the real deal, though."

[Atton Kira]

It shouldn't have been as easy as Elira made it seem. They'd talked since her recovery - both from the Empire, and her injuries - and they'd talked, said a lot of things that had gone unsaid for far too long. There'd been resolution, relief, closure, all of those things that you were supposed to get when you reconciled with your estranged half-sister, but then what? All the tropes and idioms never filled you in on that next part. Things were supposed to get all happily ever after, but how were you supposed to do that? After a couple of decades of knowing in your heart of hearts that you'd betrayed a promise to someone you cared for, how did you break the guilty habits you'd fallen into?

Elira was right, of course. Despite the distillery's lofty claims, it was a pale imitation of the authentic liquor that it proported to be. Of course, having a mother who'd been Alderaani loyalty, Atton and Elira had been spoiled with ready access to the finer and more expensive things in life. For the common Alderaanian, nostalgia alone was likely enough to smooth over the flaws and differences. Atton envied that ability, that comfortable ignorance that made it easier for people to be happy with what they had. In Atton's line of work, ignorance - of the knowledge sort, at least - was a commodity he hadn't enjoyed in a very long time.

He let the taste of the imitation brandy linger in his mouth, and wondered if the two of them and what they had was comparable: a pale imitation of the real thing, satisfying only to those who were ignorant of how true family was meant to feel. They had grown up together, travelled the galaxy together, and part of Atton longed to feel that way again; but they were different people now. The pieces of that life had been dismantled, and the fragments repurposed. They would never quite fit together the same way again.

Would be fantastic if it was the real deal.

Atton sighed inwardly at that sentiment. Indeed it would.

"So, are we going to talk about the bantha in the room?"

He took another sip of his shit brandy, smirking a little into the rim of the glass. If there was one thing Atton Kira was truly good at, it was deflection. It had been essential to his occupation all these years, and essential to his survival, but more than that, it had become essential to his character. Many people thought they knew and understood Atton Kira, and those people were all wrong, by design, all misled by the truths and lies that Atton interchanged in an elaborate web. He didn't just state the lies, either, he committed to them, wove them into his actual reality in such a way that they almost became true. He really was just a humble barman working at a nightclub on Cloud City. He really had been a Holonet News reporter. He really was Doctor Atton Kira, an affectation he was oddly nostalgic for these days. He had turned those lies into a deflector shield so effective that these days, even he didn't truly know who he really was underneath.

"You shacking up with the Jedi again? Because if you are, I think I've got a pamphlet around here somewhere to help make sure I don't wind up with another niece or nephew you need me to smuggle into hiding."

[Elira Asael]

Elira finished the definitely not-Alderaanian-yet-accetable beverage in her glass, her face remaining neutral as if she hadn't heard the question. She let the pause linger, stretching out enough to make Atton wonder if she was really going to answer at all.

And for a moment, albeit just a brief tiny one, Elira actually considered just avoiding answering. Atton already knew the answer, but that wasn't why he asked. The answer she knew she was going to say had immediately been on the tip of her tongue, and no doubt Atton already knew precisely what she was going to say, but there was some truly mean part of her that wanted to hold it all to herself, to not give him the satisfaction.

She reached over to the bottle and refilled her glass and topped off her brother's before she finally made eye contact with him, a hmm leaving her mouth as she took a far more restrained sip of the beverage.

"Sure," the silence was broken. "Might as well hand it over since you clearly won't exactly be needing the reference material any time soon."

[Atton Kira]

Atton sat in silence, momentarily stunned by the vicious low blow that Elira had just delivered. He blinked, once, twice, almost unsure that he'd even heard it correctly. His eyebrows furrowed, and then pinched together, and then from deep inside him errupted a waterfall of laughter that cascaded outwards as if a levee had just broken. Laughter shook his body, crinkled his eyes, reddened his face, and unsteadied his legs enough that he had to dump himself onto a convenient stool?

"Really?"

His words squeezed out between chuckles, like reckless pedestrians trying to dodge their way through traffic. Just as it seemed as if the laughter had diminished, a fresh new convoy of chortles raced their way out of his lungs. The back of his wrist rubbed at one of his eyes, and came away damp.

"That's the comeback you're going with?"

He finally managed to muster up a sigh, blinking a few times and enforcing a few deliberate breaths to reign in his amusement. His glass gestured a vague salute before the contents were downed swiftly, the burning flavour of subpar brandy offering some small iota of focus to help restore his composure.

"Not quite the elegant razor's wit my nostalgia was hoping for, but still. That's some classic Ellie right there."

[Elira Asael]

"Yeah, well..."

Another drink was taken as Elira tried desperately to hide the fact that the sudden outburst of laughter from Atton was entirely unexpected. Of all the reactions she had tried to imagine, him damn near peeing himself from a case of the chuckles wasn't one of them. It was an utter relief though. To say they'd been estranged these last chunk of years was a few of the hells of an understatement. That combined with the talk they'd had... Well, Elira had hoped maybe that would clear the air and bring about something normal; but she'd learned a long time ago there was a damn difference between hoping and something being reality. Felt like a punch in the gut when they met, but there you had it.

"Been a while since I've had a decent target to practice on."

[Atton Kira]

Atton nodded along in silent agreement as he refilled his glass. It wasn't necessarily a side effect of the lives they both lived, but it was a side effect of the way they chose to live them. Pushing people away came easily to both of them, and while Atton mostly just held people at arm's length, Elira was more inclined to propel people out of an airlock - figuratively speaking of course; and on the odd occasion, not. He wondered if they had always been that way, always been that broken, saved from loneliness only by the enduring stubbornness of colleagues and comrades who refused to leave for as long as possible; or had they been broken, the newborn Saidra becoming a wedge between them that slipped all too easily into existing cracks, and wrenched their lives into fragments? Atton wasn't sure, and for once, his curiosity wasn't strong enough to overcome his desire not to probe any deeper.

"It must have been hard after Quinn retired. Space is a cold and empty place when you rattle around it alone."

The words were delivered with a mix of sympathy and subtle poetic flair, a tone so carefully chosen that Atton neglected to consider his words before he uttered them. He winced, suddenly off-put by the accidental admission of his espionage into his sister's life.

"Sorry," he began with a grimace, "Perils of being an information broker. I can't help knowing -"

He stopped. It was a familiar line, and a familiar lie. The old excuse that knowledge was his business, and secrets were unfortunate collateral damage. It was bantha shit, and he knew it; but it was such a pleasant, comforting lie, one that helped you sleep at night and live a life free of guilt and reservation. Life was changing, though. Though he hadn't quite handed over the keys to his kingdom just yet, he had forged a second set and placed them in the hands of Emelie Shadowstar. When she was ready, when enough time had passed, he fully intended - or at least, he hoped he did - to step aside and leave her to inherit the network of spies, informants, and whispers that had kept him so occupied and so comfortably financed for all these years. But when he did so, what then? What would be left? Who would he be? At first, he had imagined he would simply fade away, content to be forgotten by a galaxy that already, by design, payed him little mind. Now, things were different. It wasn't just Elira; it wasn't just Sadie; it was everyone, this strange, motley assortment of lost souls and miscreants. It was like a second coming of those old days aboard the Malebius, back when life was simple, and all one had to worry about was ISB patrols and the occasional Inquisitor. He was part of something: a crew, if he was feeling modest; a family, if he was in a sufficiently sentimental mood. It was something he had never expected, nor hoped for, nor imagined a man such as him could ever have. Now, it was here, unbidden and by accident; and it deserved better from him. They all deserved better. Not a man greedily hoarding secrets, but a brother, an uncle, a friend.

"I kept an eye on you all, for as long as I could. You may think that I never looked back when I walked out of that airlock, but I did, and I never stopped."

His efforts to refill his glass were resumed, and as a few seconds trudged past, so too did his moment of sentimental indulgant, surviving only as long as the bottle continued to pour.

"Did you know he's an uncle now too?" His voice lapsed back into something far more conversational. "Some guy went and knocked up his sister a while back, and she went and wound up getting into a mess of trouble; left Quinn holding the baby. Well, teenager, or whatever he is by now."

A breath of amusement crept out from Atton's nose.

"Wonder if he ever followed through on those old threats of his, and tracked down the guy responsible to - what was it again? Arc-weld your wandering balls to the deck?"