From Coruscant to....(Closed for Apollo Wilde and Naphalm)

[Apollo Wilde]

It wasn’t often that Madoka took a vacation. Well, a “vacation” insofar as a drug runner/smuggler could have. But, for the past standard week, she’d been lounging around the beaches of Borleias - a new swim suit for each day, her fill of fresh seafood, and plenty of eye candy to ogle.

And occasionally bring back to her suite.

True to her nature, though, she’d change hotel rooms every night. Wanted a new experience. Wanted to experience the best in the short amount of time that she’d have to herself. Business was about to start booming again, if the holocasts were anything to go by. She’d caught bits and pieces whenever she’d enter a cantina or a beach-side bar. The galaxy was going to hell in a hand basket - the war between the Separatists and the Republic seemed to be reaching a breaking point. As much as these things could. Funny, how the entire galaxy could be at war, and unless you were (magically) one of the key players, it may not even affect your life all that much. For her, it’d just added a few more planets to her list of “Places to Avoid”, and really, that was all in a day’s work for her. She’d had more than a few friends try to loop her into being a weapons runner, but that work was entirely too unpredictable. Unpredictability got a fat bounty lined up next to your name or shot dead in the middle of a cold beer somewhere. With drug running, there was a science to it. Almost an art. Regardless of the state of the galaxy, someone, somewhere, needed their fix. Consistency was a beautiful thing.

Now, though, she was alternating between sipping a frosty beverage (with just enough booze to keep her buzz pleasant and not overwhelming) and leisurely eating a fillet of fried fish, topped with deep fried tubers and slathered in a coconut mango salsa. Her ship was safely stowed away in one of the many docking bays, and for once, she was actually here on pleasure and not business. Even if security decided to do some off the books snooping, all they’d find were masses of shopping bags and the occasional “adult” toy - of varying speeds, colors, and textures.

Hey, a girl had to keep herself entertained on those long hyperspace journeys.

Her time here was growing short, though. She had another two days, then it would be time to head out to Hutt space for the next load of whatever to be delivered. She’d long since stopped caring about the particulars of what she was carrying - as long as she was paid on time and she could expect a reasonably “peaceful” drop and then on to the next load. Well, that wasn’t quite true - she didn’t transport weapons (even moreso now) and slaves were a no-go. Even the worst of scum had to draw a line somewhere.

“And now, footage from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant from a few hours ago - the Jedi have attempted an uprising against the Republic -“

The straw dropped from her mouth and she sat upright.

“Hey, bartender, turn that up, wouldja?”

The bartender, a mournful Duros, turned up the volume.

“The Jedi, long since believed to be protectors of the Republic, have now turned against it without any rhyme or reason,” said the newscaster, a Falleen that was trying his best to keep his personal feelings from coloring what he was reading. “The Republic has effectively smashed this rebellion, but we advise our readers that any contact with Jedi is now illegal. All Jedi must be reported to the nearest authority. Be warned as they have a myriad of skills to help themselves elude capture, and must be considered extremely dangerous. Anyone found to be harboring a Jedi will be persecuted to the fullest extent of the law. And now, back to you, Mir’alanda.”

“Such a tragedy,” clucked the Rodian, before turning her luminous dark eyes back to the camera. “And now, in pod-racing-“

The Duros, shaking his head, muttered, “I don’t understand what goes through those folks’s heads. How about you?” He’d raise his voice a little, turning back to where Madoka was sitting. He was greeted by her empty chair and the cost of her meal (with tip) on the bar top.
________

Carelessly throwing her hastily packed bag into the empty co-pilot’s seat, Madoka dug through her belongings. And sure enough, half-way buried beneath a pile of laundry, blinked a com link. There wasn’t too much that a smuggler could keep “secret” - people had to know how to contact you. And they did, for the most part. She was sure to keep a special comm set aside for “personal” calls - and hardly anyone had the information to access it. As buried as her normal information was, this was under layers and layers of dead ends.

Flipping it on, she sat down heavily in the middle of lacy undergarments and utilitarian body suits and fatigues and her hand went to her mouth. An older, graying at the muzzle Shistavanen filled her screen. He’d cough once, twice, blood flecking his jowls, and he spoke, his Basic low and guttural.

“Hello, Madoka. I’d hoped that we may have met on better terms, face to face. It has been quite a while…” His great golden eyes dimmed, lost through the patterns of memories. An explosion sounded behind him, and he jerked away from the comm, looking to the distance. In profile, he seemed as young as ever, alert. He looked back to the recording, a new sense of urgency in his eyes. “My time is short. I have a padawan. Please take him to a safe place. Our world, no, the time of the Jedi has ended. I only hope that it is a temporary end. He will need your protection.” His expression softened, folding on the edge of concern, care, and a wistfulness that was odd against the ferocity of his face. “Please, Madoka. It is much to ask, but please, come here. Come take him. Take him to a place that he can be safe and live his life. Whatever you have against me, against what has happened, please, put it aside. This is my last request.” Voices sounded in the background of the comm - the sound of clone troopers growing closer. “They’re here,” he said, nearly to himself, his eyes darting to the side, focusing on something outside of her range of view. “Madoka. Take the boy. My death here has given him time to escape to the lower levels of Coruscant. I have told him to meet you at the Golden Hill Cantina. Take my padawan, as one last selfish wish from a father to a daughter.”

“He’s over here!” Came the shout from off screen. The Shistavanen turned, a lightsaber thrumming to life in his clawed hands. A snarl, unlike one she’d ever heard the creature make, left his lips, and the comm was shut off, amid the sound of blaster fire and shrieks.

Her hand still over her mouth, Madoka hardly noticed when the coordinates of the Golden Hill popped up through the comm. All that mattered was that the creature she once called “dad” was dead.

It was strange, for a Corellian human to think of a Shistavanen as her father. It was just one of the many things that crossed her mind as she punched in the coordinates to Coruscant without thinking. There were so many questions. So much anger. So much sorrow. Everything was warring against her, waves beating against the smooth stone of logic in her mind. So she did what she could - which was work. It didn’t take long for her to change out of her suit and into her usual “working” attire. Luckily enough, she wasn’t far from Coruscant so whoever she had to save, well, if he had any sense, he would have listened to the Shistavanen, old Is’aevi, and gone to the Golden Hill.

Only when she sunk down in her chair, still overwhelmed, did she realize that she had no idea what precisely she was looking for.
________

Bypassing security on Coruscant wasn’t as “easy” as it used to be, but a quick lie here, a greasing of the palm there, and she was planet side. The pillars of smoke from the ruined Jedi temple still curled thick and black against the sky, visible enough at night time. It left a large blot against the myriad dancing lights of the city line. Grimacing, she pushed through the crowd into the Golden Hill. Despite its name, it was quite run down, skirting that fine line between cesspool and “nearly” respectable as it sat, oddly enough, on a small manmade hill that dipped into the terrifying dark recesses of the lower levels of the city-planet.

Well, how good of Is’aevi to find a place where she’d blend in. Sitting down at the bar, she raised her fingers, ordered a Correllian microbrew, and waited for the place to tell her its story. A few clone troopers stood near the exit, two more sat at a table, helmets off, deep in their cups. Switching of the guard, she supposed, looking at them through the reflection of her glass. She was innocuous enough here; there was nothing about her that anyone would really consider exotic. Not in a galaxy this big. With her deep copper brown skin, dark brown hair that was a mass of dense curls around her face and shoulders and her beat up attire, she certainly didn’t look like she was the type of woman that would enjoy unsolicited male attention or was there selling something.

And so she sat and waited.

 

[Naphalm]

The wood clacked together in repeated rhythm, an echo as old as the Academy itself. Each sweep of the stave was as natural to him as if he were kicking and punching, the practised swings flowing with skilful precision. His Master met him step for step, countering each move patiently. It was a dance, unscripted yet constantly flowing from one move to the next, guard, strike, deflect, riposte, dodge, twist, strike again. Time was different in this epic combat and the minutes seemed like seconds, and the dance seemed endless...

That's how he'd like to think of it. In truth, it was another five short minutes of flurried combat, ending with his Master completing an unexpected twist, causing the Apprentice to thrust off-balanced. The Master instantly capitalised and with one powerful swing, the wooden practice saber stabbed out, tapping the Apprentice on the leg hard enough to take it out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt and before he could get his guard up, the Master rapped him on the head.

Laughter filled the practice arena, three different voices yet seemingly the same. The Miraluken Apprentice, holding the side of his head, glanced at the three armoured figures and glowered at them. He was on the verge of saying something in spite, but the ever gentle hand of his Master on his shoulder stayed his tongue.

"Calm, Daciude. Do not let yourself become frustrated." His words a soft reprimand, yet their meaning is all too firm. Dac bowed his head in deference and got to his feet, brushing off the dust from his cream white Apprentice robes. He tucked a loose bit of Jet black hair that had escaped his tight braid behind his visor as he regarded his Lupine Master. Those great golden eyes seemed to look right into his soul, and the old man clucked his tongue.

"You focus too much on impressing your friends than with the precision of your blade." He said in harsher tones and threw an annoyed glance at the three clone troopers standing idly watch. "You promised that their being here would not disrupt your training but I believe it to be otherwise. Say your goodbyes, our session will continue on their departure."

Dac stood and listened with an expression of humilty. It was all true, he had wanted to impress the men, they were always talking of war stories and Dac had spent the twenty-five years of his life training with wooden swords. He bowed his head once more and turned to the three men with a sheepish grin.

"Your form is pretty tight Dac, you're improving everyday," Johnix said with an encouraging smile. Some people were off put by the clone troopers, how they all looked and sounded alike, but Dac could easily tell these three jokers apart, even without the colourful squad markings on the armours. Johnix wore a faint scar under his right eye and kept his hair just over regulation length. The other two, Sam and Hubb, were completely bald. But Hubb was about fives sizes bigger than the other two. Hubb was heavy weapons and he worked out any time he had the chance so that he could heft the massive blaster rifle he currently wore on his back with ease.

"Thanks for coming guys, sorry about the Wolf but we're going to have to cut this short." Dac said as he arrived in front of the three. Sam clasped the young Jedi on the shoulder. That was another thing, despite the fact they all came from the same person, they all had varying personalities. Sam was by far the friendliest and was in fact Dac's best friend. The three had been posted at the Academy for the past three years and had really hit it off with the Apprentice.

Hubb gave him a nod and Johnix winked as they turned to leave.

"Let us resu..." The Shistavanen Master's brow creased as he trailed off. Despite the fact that as a Miraluken, Dac was technically blind, the Force allowed him to see pretty much everything as normal. This now included the concerned expression of his Master, whose own golden eyes drifted to the corridor the soldiers had just exited.

Everything from this point was a slow motion blur. The Wolfman's blade spun into his hand and ignited with yellow light. He charged towards Dac, calling out. Dac's own blue blade was in his hand as he spun towards the door, but the only thing he saw was his three armed friends burst into the room. He was busy looking behind them to see the threat when they opened fire.

Is’aevi leapt in front of his Apprentice, his blade whirring as he seemingly deflected an insane amount of blaster shots. Hubb had unslung his Light Repeater, the barrel spinning wildly as he rained fire into the room, just as Is'aevi pulled cover in the form of containers. Suddenly the sound of protesting Durasteel assailed them all.

The two crouched low, and Is'aevi pulled Dac close to him, so close he could make out individual hairs on the man's muzzle. There was something in the man's eyes though, some lost or regretful thought. Dac remembered that moment very clearly as the man spoke the words he feared the most.

"You must run, my Padawan. Flee the Academy. This is not an isolated incident, I can... feel them all... dying, everywhere... take my speeder. It's in the repair dock so it should be away from the others. The Golden Hill Cantina. Go there, it'll be safe."

"You'll meet me there right?" Dac said, though from the look in the old man's eyes, he already knew the answer.

"Of course I will." he whispered. "Now Run!"

With a powerful force push, Is'aevi pushed the make-shift cover at the soldiers forcing them to take cover themselves as barrels and weapon racks bounced off the walls. Dac sprinted for the exit at an unnatural speed before the men could recover, darting down the corridor before they could open fire.

"Stay on the Master, leave the Apprentice." he heard one of them say, and his eyes glistened with unbidden tears.

*******

Dac awoke with a start, tears wetting his cheeks. He pulled the foul smelling coat tighter to his body, and slowly uncoiled himself. He'd felt the death of his Master like someone had plunged a knife into his heart. He was physically and mentally cold, and he shivered uncontrollably. He continued his walk through the dark alleys, trying to avoid meeting the eyes of the various lifeforms that glared at him as he walked by.

He thought back on his flight from the temple.

*******

It was just as the Old Master had said. The repair dock was empty save bodies of Jedi and soldiers alike, although a lot more of the former. The Clones had caught the Jedi completely off guard, and the evidence was all around them.

"There he is!" Blaster fire burst from the entrance to the dock, and Dac didn't waste any time jumping into the speeder. The craft shook as he powered it up, and he took off with them scoring hit after hit on the vehicle. It sputtered and coughed, and he spun down into the streets of Coruscant.

The Force must have been with him, as somehow he managed to avoid the numerous pedestrians as he hit the street, the speeder tumbling end over end and coming to a graceful spin as it slid to a halt. Groggily, he climbed from the cab, but the alarmed voices soon cleared his head.

They were already upon him, the white and blue armour of the Clone troopers standing out against the drab appearance of the Coruscant passer-bys, desperately trying to move the people aside to get a clear shot. The young Jedi took off, using his instincts to dart through the crowd. One street after another, down one alley and then another.

He spent hours in the lower levels of the murky city, working his way through the crime filled streets where the only light was the neon glow from advertisements for cigs or some other pharmaceutical cure all. Somehow he'd managed to pick up a dark coat to cover his Padawan robes, the black leather smelling of the foulness that permeated the air.

**********

Miraculously, Dac found himself at the glittering dump that was the Golden Hill Cantina. Already he could see he was in trouble as more Clone Troopers stood near the door. With a deep breath, he turned up his collar enough to hide his braid, and with a low head, he went for it. He hoped that he would just pass for another low-life wanting to keep his head down from the law.

Surprisingly it seemed to work. He passed the two men without them even glancing in his direction, at least that's what it seemed, and he quickly found a seat in the corner of the room. His heart pounded in his chest as the humid air slowly warmed him up.

'Well... now what?' he thought to himself miserably.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She lifted her fingers at the bartender, an older Twi’lek male. “Y’know, instead of drinking this warm piss from a glass, I’ll take it in a bottle.” As the bartender scowled at her, reaching for a bottle, she tossed him a lop-sided grin. It wasn’t particularly charming - in a matter of speaking, it was actually close to insufferable. Smug known it all type of expression that made you just want to slap her - well, she knew the power of it. The bartender slammed the beer down on the counter, causing some of the suds to ooze out over the slick mouth.

“Thanks,” she drawled insolently, mopping up the spilled beer with a handful of bar napkins. During the exchange, she’d noticed the hooded, totally conspicuous guy walk in. Well. That probably was her cue. But apparently she hadn’t been the only one to notice the “new” guy. The clone troopers (thankfully down to two, the ones sitting at the table and drinking) had also caught sight of him, and were both standing.

“Welp,” she said with a long sigh, letting the sound trail off. She laid down a fistful of credits - way more than the tab she’d run up. Hopefully it’d take some of the sting out of what was about to happen. Psst. Who was she kidding?

And, without further preamble, she hurled the beer bottle at one of the clone troopers. It hit the one sitting closest to her, exploding in a shower of foam and glass. Blood trailed from deep cuts to the trooper’s scalp as he stood up, yowling in anger. “What the slag?!” He stood up, drawing his blaster and pointing it square at her. She held her hands up, a sheepish grin on her face. “My apologies, gentles; I was totally aiming for a garbage can. I guess I got it mixed up with your face, with both of them being so similar and all….”

The rage on the bloodied clone trooper’s face was nearly palpable. “Why you…” he snarled, moving closer to her. She still stood, completely unfazed. She did, however, add a slight waver to her walk, suggesting that she may not be the most sober individual in the bar. As she “staggered”, she scanned the room, locked “eyes” with the man in the robe. Oh, great. That sash over his eyes….he was blind. So now she was really up the sewer. Aw, Hell.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she drawled heavily now, shambling towards the bloodied trooper, “I’d swear you were maybe kinna hittin’ on me. Even though I hit you. See what I did there? HA!” She’d lean forward now, “stumbling” into the still enraged clone trooper. His buddy, once annoyed, was trying his best to hide the grin that was steadily forming across his face. The bloodied trooper , not the most sober being in the bar either, clumsily dropped his blaster in favor of trying to catch her. Luckily for the both of them, the safety was still on. “There, there,” she slurred, patting the side of his face, running her hand across the close buzz of his dark hair. “See, I’m sorry, saaaaahhhhh-rrreeeeeeee,” she sounded out, pressing her body closer to his. Again, her eyes darted over to the man in the robes. Hopefully he’d get the hint; make an escape while she had the clone trooper distracted. “I’m shy and I don’t flirt too good,” she demurred, curling into him. Though she was dressed in battered clothes - black pants, black boots, a loose white top-, they didn’t do anything to spoil the curved lines of her figure.

The clone trooper, his hands suddenly full with her, started to stammer. “Ma’am, ma’am, no, that’s okay,” and he tried to untangle her from him. She’d press closer, pushing her breasts against the white plate armor. “Your face doesn’t really look like a garbage can. It looks like his,” her arm flailed, before finally pointing squarely at his partner. “And y’knno where your face would look best?”

His buddy, long past the point of trying to hid his smile, was now trying to choke back laughter.

“Uh, where, ma’am?” The bloodied trooper spoke with all of the hesitancy of one caught in the most delicate of situations. On one hand, he’d taken a beer bottle to the face. On the other hand, he had his hands literally full with, on a much closer inspection, a fine piece of woman. That didn’t happen all that often. And despite his better interests, his baser instincts were…peaked.

“Between my legs.” Her lips were close to his ear now - and, maybe, if she didn’t reek of beer, it could have been appealing. Even now, it was clear he was humoring it. “And there’s always room fer on’ more,” she added, leering over at his partner. She ran the tip of her tongue ever so slightly against the smooth shell of the clone trooper’s ear, pausing to press her lips against the round drop of his earlobe. Again, she looked over at the door - hoping to see the cloaked man leave. It was a win or lose gamble now - the trooper could either be a complete Hutt and take her up on her “offer”, or be a gentleman and leave her be. From his insignia, he looked like he may have been high ranking enough to have manners.

And, for once, things went her way. The bloodied trooper, long past flustered and struggling to see through the beer and blood trailing into his eyes, gently unwrapped her arms from his body. “While that is flattering, uh,” and he’d caught a lingering look at her body, “ma’am, it’s unseemly. Apology accepted for the beer bottle,” and he looked at his partner, begging him with his eyes for help. The other trooper, now, outwardly guffawed at the sight. What a way to end the evening - the other boys would love to hear THIS one.

___________

She was cautiously escorted out, tripping over her boots as the trooper gently guided her to the nearest holo booth. Once assuring him that she could call a transport to come get her, she gave him an explosive kiss against the “boo-boo” on the side of his head, and sloppily waved farewell at him.

Waiting until he was out of sight, she continued to lean heavily against the walls of the holo booth. Once he was long gone, she straightened up, straightened out her clothes. The best fights were the ones that she didn’t have to pull her blaster or vibro knife to win.

“Kid, I hope you have enough sense to be somewhere out here, because I ain’t got a whole hell of a lotta time ta getcha outta here,” she spoke into the darkness, running a hand through her mass of wild curls.

 

[Naphalm]

Where had his Master sent him? The place was a complete dive, and totally unbeffiting for a regular person let alone a Jedi. He idly wondered where his Master knew this place from. Somewhere in the back of his mind he also knew he should be thinking in the past tense but the pain was still so fresh and he needed to keep his wits about him.

The Cantina was filled with an odd assortment of patronage, a motley crew of cut-throats and criminals, he imagined, each with his or her own desperate background. A benefit of seeming blind was that through the force he could examine everyone he walked past, a skill he employed a he made his way through the establishment to his destination, a dark corner of the room.

He was almost there, squeezing round a particularly mean Devaronian, when the rauctious laughter suddenly ceased at the sound of smashing glass. He spun, his breath catching in his throat, his hand clasping at his waist in preperation but it was just some kind of bar brawl. Except it was incredibly fortunate that the drunked woman had stepped in as clearly the Troopers had been aware of Dac's precense. Dac, of course, did not believe in luck.

The woman was putting on quite a show, and Dac was starting to think perhaps it had been luck, or at least the Force's will that had intervened. Until the woman threw him the look.

It was a searching look, one that definitely ended with him. It was a look of surprise and confusion, something which Dac was used to as people stared at his solid silver visor that should inhibit his vision. A look of sobriety and careful analysis of the situation, but most importantly it was a look that stunned him to his core. For the look said 'Run'. Like his Master's final wish, there was an imploring sense to flee.

He didn't, he couldn't. Dac's feet were planted in the ground, taking root, or so they felt. He watched helplessly as the woman threw herself at the Trooper, draping her lithe figure over him like the holoVids he was not supposed to watch. Dac began to doubt he'd seen that fleeting look, told himself his mind was dwelling too much on the recent events and his judgement was clouded.

But it happened again, a non too subtle glance at him then the door. Everyone else would have just seen her happen to look around in her drunken display but the meaning was crystal clear to Dac. Finally he moved, following his gut and trusting in the Force, slipping back through the crowd who were too engrossed in the lewd display to notice the hooded figure slip through the ranks.

***********

From his vantage point, Dac watched the lady carefully. It was like she simply discarded the 'other' person, the drunken wretch, and became someone new like throwing off a coat. Her voice, while a hushed whisper, drifted lazily to his hiding place in the shadows.

Despite himself and all his Master's wise words, Dac was desperately trying to think of a cool entrance. He knew he shouldn't care about the impression he made but there was something about this woman that told him he needed her to at least like him.

Inevitably, however, when he emerged from the shadowy hideout behind the garbage dumpster, his first words were guarded and untrusting.

"Who are you?"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Madoka Vultur Volans Al-Tair. It’s a mouthful. Save us both time and energy and call me Madoka. C’mon out; I’ve bought us some time, but there’s no telling how long those clonies’ll be in their cups.” Bright blue, red, and white lights advertising love, liquor, an escape from the troubles of the real world caught in the wild frizz of her hair, a multi-colored halo settled uneasily about her head. Jizz, electro, nu-wave music wafted out of open doors, competing with one another against the backdrop of laughter, cheers from the sports bars. A microcosm of a world, seemingly untouched by the smoke that still rose from the smoldering temple. More insult to injury – the rest of the world moving on in the face of his loss.

Backlit, it’d be hard to pinpoint her facial features, to make a determination if she was attractive or not. She’d make no move forward to him; instead, she waited where she was, half-way in the holo booth, half-way out into the street. Under the ever changing flashing neon, the well-worn grip of a heavy blaster peeked out of a low slung holster at her waist. Dull green light reflected off of her black boots, ringed round the edges of her sole in the shallow puddle she half-way stood in. His reluctance to move forward was not lost on her, and her chest lifted with a heavy sigh.

“The old wolf-man sent me. You probably know him as Master Is’aevi. Look, we don’t have a lot of time to debate the matter. Use your creepy magic powers and Force probe me or whatever it is that you people do to show I’m not lying.” Urgency met with forcefulness as she spoke, but she still made no move forward to touch him, to bring him closer. She didn’t outwardly fidget, but her eyes didn’t stay on him. They’d glance to the side, to the door of the Golden Hill, to the muted roar of the busy skyways behind her, to the curl of steam that rose from the grated sewers that flanked either side of the permacrete walkway. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jedi are public enemy number one right about now.” She’d toss her head towards the sky ways. “I’m not docked too far from here – and we have the opportunity to get out real easy like if you just come on. We can do all of the sweet getting to know yous once we’re in hyperspace and th’ hell away.”

Her words had a drawl that came and went – a conscious effort of her trying to control her rapidly waning patience. Exasperated, she sighed, more to herself than to him, and she turned to face him fully, forcing her attention away from playing look out for precious seconds. She’d have to treat him like she would a stray street dog. She held out her hand, forced softness into her voice. “If Master Is’aevi sent me, then that means he knew he could trust me. And more along th’ lines of he knew that he could trust me with his most precious asset – you.” It hurt her to said it, but she fought past it. The ruckus in the Golden Hill was rising, sounding like a chorus of good-byes. “Come on, kid. Please.”

Her outstretched hand still beckoned to him.

Too little, too late – she heard the tell-tale clanking of armor before she saw the troopers leaving. With seconds to react, she quickly closed the gap between the two of them, and pressed her lips firmly to his, forcing his mouth open. Before he could hesitate or pull away, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and subtly, moved one of his hands to rest squarely on her backside. One hand wound its way through his hair, gently tugging on the roots to pull him closer to her.

Under the tang of beer, her mouth was sweet, tasting mildly of honey and spice. Still dotted with the blood and beer of the trooper beforehand, this close to him, the smell of her body wafted through, heavy with machine oil and ozone from her blaster, with the thinnest thread of a perfume, redolent of fruit nectar, wound through. She forcibly turned his body away from the door, pressing him against an alley wall. The exiting troopers, only seeing her from behind, chuckled. One gave a low whistle as she enticed the hand on her rear to squeeze.

“See, Trix, that could’ve been you,” the non-bloodied trooper said in a raised voice – making sure that the couple overheard. The other trooper, not quite as bloodied and a few more drinks for the worse, just clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“I’ve got enough regrets in life as it is,” he sighed, comically, and the two burst into laughter. Gradually, the clanking of their armor and their voices grew further away, and ceased all together under the roar of transports. It was only then that she’d release her grip, taking a deep breath, fixed on where the troopers had made their exit.

“We’ll be goin’ th’ opposite direction,” and she jerked her head through the alley. Dimly lit, it wasn’t quite a total horror. The Golden Hill was far from the only bar on this level, and the others sang dull siren songs in shades of pink, green, and orange. “We should be able to move a little more casually now. Y’good?” She looked back at him, her eyebrows raised. It was still too dim to really make out her features – only that she was a bit shorter than him, and that in close quarters, she was very much female. Compact and muscular, with softness all in the right places – “sleek” would be a good word for it. She started to pace down the alley, before pausing to look behind her. "Ya comin' or what?"

 

[Naphalm]

Dac knew the sense of urgency was great. As inexperienced with life outside the academy as he was, even he could tell the peril that he was in on what was undoubtedly a galactic scale. Yet here, in this dark, dank corner of the world, it seemed like they had all the time in the universe. He would be essentially placing his life and possibly the lives of all the surviving Jedi in the hands of this woman, should he somehow be the only remaining member of the order left to carry on the traditions and teachings.

From what he could see of her, and how she appeared in the bar, she was more than capable of looking after herself. Carefully, he stepped from the shadows to let the neon cast fall across youthful visage, his lips moving to form the shape of ‘Madoka’ as if he were trying it out. He still hesitated to approach fully, he wasn’t about to jump in if this was some sort of trick. It was entirely possible that the Bounty Hunters were jumping on the Jedi attacks with zeal, hoping to sell the Jedi for the highest price, and from what he’d seen so far, Dac could definitely picture the woman as a Bounty Hunter.

His line of thinking went cold as if he’d been doused with a bucket of ice. It was possible she’d recognised him and had researched who his Master was but it was quick work and he was pretty sure that only a few people would know the old Jedi Master didn’t mind being called the Old Wolf or Old Wolf-man. Still, her suggestion was good even if her knowledge of the force was way off. Maybe some Knights could sense a person’s motives through the Force but not Dac. He could only sense a person’s emotional and mental state which only hinted at deceit, and he’d been doing this the moment he stepped into the light.

Her reasoning and argument was good enough though. His Master had sent him here, and sure enough, someone who supposedly knew of him was looking for Dac.

He reached for her hand.

The next few moments were as blurry to Dac as his harrowing escape from the Academy. A Jedi is taught that love and attachments were forbidden, and so young Jedi Padawans never really explored sexually very much and in Dac’s case, not at all. His body reacted before his head caught up and as Madoka melded against him, his arms seemed to enfold her. It was only as their lips met in a fierce kiss that every detail became sparklingly clear for a few moments - the taste of her tongue, the smell of her body, the feel of her firm buttocks under his hand. It was all too much for the poor boy and it was all he could do was to kiss back. Because of course he knew what it was about, he’d heard the soldiers approaching and knew that Madoka was employing the same ‘character’ as she had in the bar. That didn’t stop his body from reacting in a very male fashion.

And then it was over and she was moving away like it hadn’t happened. “Uh… fuh… yeah…” he mumbled as he followed after her. “…Dac…” he said suddenly as he caught up. Feeling that needed more, he continued, “My name…” then after a pause, he put everything together. “Daciude is my name… but you can call me Dac.”

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Um, wow.

There was a first time for everything. She’d never kissed a Jedi - she’d hardly done more than hug one in the past. And even before all of this madness, it wasn’t like Jedi were too particularly common in the universe. She’d honestly expected him to fight her the entire way. When he pressed back against her, his arms holding her close, there was a visible slip in her composure. The line between “act” and “reality” blurred, and for longer than she would have liked to admit, she indulged in the kiss. It was a relief - was it really?- to break the kiss, give them both some room to breathe.

“Sorry, kid. Kissing’s an occupational hazard. Makes people uncomfortable, n’ uncomfortable people don’t stick around,” she supplied, as an attempt to soothe his obvious unease. Figured he’d have an issue with it. Not that she took it as an insult or a slight on her attractiveness; she did what she had to do. There was really no other scenario that wouldn’t have garnered a whole lot of attention that neither one of them wanted.

“Nice ta meetcha, Daciude.”

She’d remain quiet, watchful, as they continued through the alley. Her pace was brisk, but somehow managed to be casual at the same time. Right now wasn’t the time for conversation. She had to get him off-planet and then, again, once in space, they’d have time to catch up. There was no way in hell that she was going to take this little mission without some sort of payment; death or no, she still had a business to run. A very lucrative business at that. People relied on her.

He’d almost run into her as she stopped short in front of a clothing outlet. Although it was considered late - close to hour 24:00 - for the city that never slept, business was still going. She’d not so gently push him inside, stepping in close behind him. At his ear, she said low enough for him to hear, “We gotta get you out of those robes. Before you even start, you can keep ‘em, ya just can’t wear ‘em.” Louder, she let out a giggle, signaling over the salesperson, a diminutive Sullustan. The Sullustan looked up at Madoka with large wet eyes, and clapped her hands together. “Such a lovely lady! You honor me by coming in my store! Please, please, look around!”

“I’m not here for myself,” she said with a wry grin, gesturing to Dac. “He needs a new wardrobe.” She knelt down to the Sullustan’s level, holding out a wad of credits thick enough to nearly strangle a bantha. “And you get double this for keeping your mouth shut. Savvy?” The natural progression from the credits was to the heavy blaster sitting at Madoka’s hip, carrying with it an unspoken threat. The Sullustan’s eyes grew a tad larger at the sight of credits, and, with a slight smile, she nodded.

((You make an interesting bargain,)) shot the tiny shop owner in Sullustese. ((The Jedi have helped my family for generations. The money helps what my honor would already have)), she said, and placed a tiny hand over Madoka’s, deftly lifting the credits from her.

“Glad to see we’re in agreement,” Madoka replied. The store was small, but had a warm, homey feel to it - a semblance of class among the seedy lower levels. Brightly colored cloth hung from the ceiling, and the smell of greasy home cooked food clung to the clothing and the racks. Madoka strode through, grabbing items of male clothing, occasionally glancing back at Dac to get an eye on his size. She grabbed things that were similar, but not enough so to make him stand out as much - flowing tunics, tighter breeches. She’d pause here and there, weighing the varying options in her head before plucking up another garment or setting one down.

“Changing rooms?”

The ship keeper waved her hand to the back of the store.

When Madoka had an armful of clothing, she nudged him towards the rooms. Rather than proper fitting “rooms”, the store offered large “cubby” holes, each portioned off with a thin slat of wood and a curtain for “modesty.” Picking out the largest of the “rooms”, she pulled back the curtain gingerly, not wanting the whole thing to come down on her. She nudged him into the room in front of her, setting the clothes down on a rickety stool within.

Drawing the curtain behind her with a snap, she lifted her chin. “G’wan and strip.”

 

[Naphalm]

Dac's heart raced, his blood pumped hard through his veins and there seemed to be a distinct lack of words his addled brain could actually get out. The kiss had been... intoxicating. How something so small could fire so many senses at once was beyond him. And now, as they walked through the streets, that moment already passing, fading into memory, and Dac wasn't sure how he felt about that. All he knew was that he was being hurried along as he fled danger after potential danger.

He followed on Madoka's heels, letting her lead the way. He was putting faith in her now and that meant following her like some kind of dog. So when she stopped suddenly, of course he nearly crashed into her. He looked around with confusion, wondering why the sudden change in course, but it immediately became clear when she headed into a clothing outlet.

A Jedi was given his robes, mostly as a symbol of his station, but also as a practical and easy to manipulate article of clothing that both protected him from the environment while giving him the freedom he would need in a lightsaber fight. Being told he had to change was like removing a second skin, and not something he was happy about. But he understood the need. This was his life they had to save so sacrifices had to be made.

Reluctantly, he followed Madoka into the store and watched curiously as she darted about place picking up clothing for him. Finally she directed him to a changing room and before he could complain, she was marching him into it. What surprised him was when she drew the curtains, while she was still inside the room, and her no-nonsense declaration made his jaw drop.

His mouth opened to say something but every argument hit his subconscious anyway. Time... protection... etc etc. There wasn't time to argue, and so with an expression that showed off his displeasure, he turned away from her and began to remove his clothes.

It was a relief to discard to horrible cloak, but as he started to slip off his apprentice robes, it really hit home just what had happened. He sighed as he pulled it all off, slightly awkwardly, leaving him in a simple under-robe garment that wrapped around his waist. He was in good shape, the muscles over his shoulders and back were just beginning to define. He had the sort of body that if you ate right and exercised every day since you were little, you could easily achieve but he wasn't exactly a massive bunch of muscles either.

Without turning around he pulled on whatever Madoka gave him to wear. As he pulled on the coat, he turned and to both his and Madoka's surprise, his cheeks burned crimson.

"How do I look?" he asked honestly.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

If it hadn’t been for the slip of mirror that was propped up against the wall in the dressing room, she would have missed most of the “show.” She stood near the edge of the curtain, surveying the room from the narrow gap between the curtain and the wall. The flicker of his movement caught her eye, and momentarily, she looked at the mirror. Dull honey colored light traced lines down the developing muscles of his back, across his broad shoulders. And, unwillingly, she let her eyes linger on him just a little longer than she would have wanted.

When he asked his question, she turned her full attention to him.

“Ya look fine, kid. Enough to get us off planet anyway.” Reaching past him, she grabbed his discarded robes and rolled them into a tight ball. Yanking back the curtain with her free hand, she held onto the bundle firmly. Striding down one of the aisles, she grabbed a knapsack and shoved the robes into it, before slinging it over her own shoulder. “Lemme carry ‘em for a while. Less suspect if they see me with them than with you. We’ll figure out the hair later.”

Kneeling, she fished within the loose billows of her shirt, and produced another large sheaf of credits. Handing it to the Sullustan, she tossed her head towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
___________

Whatever he may have thought her ship would have looked like, what waited for them in the dock bay wasn’t it. The sleek CEC HWK-1000 Light Freighter, with its name, The Alto, elegantly scripted on the side, looked…well, normal. No flying hunk of junk, but clearly no luxury ship, either. There was something about it that was similar to her - nondescript at first glance, no frills, and utilitarian. The mere fact that it was a HWK-1000 spoke volumes - the ships were so rare, a clerical mistake, that they seemed like mere phantoms. Still, no one had really given it a second glance. Maybe she’d done something to it; some sort of modification that obscured its true make. Whatever it was, the two of them were easily able to get in, on board, and in no time, were in the comfort of space.

Sitting down in the pilot’s chair, this would be the first time that Dac would really be able to get a good look at her. She was a head or so shorter than him, with dark brown hair that framed her face in tight, wild curls. When it caught the light, it had a faint reddish tint to it. Her skin was a dark copper brown, warm and smooth save for a single scar across her swan-like throat. Her cheekbones were high, her mouth full, and her nose was broad. In the left nostril, she wore an ornate gold hoop that drew attention to her dark brown eyes. There was too much strength in her face and mannerisms to be considered a traditional, or even a delicate beauty. No, her attractiveness lay in her causal manner - cute at a passing glance, pretty if the eyes lingered longer. But no ravishing beauty that made men forget themselves. Her shirt was loose, with billowing sleeves and a loose set of laces across her chest that seemed to invite the hand to pull a lace free. As she moved, the dark red edge of her undergarments peeked from the dip in the shirt. Her pants were second skin, black, and her blaster holder sat low on her hips. Her black soft boots were shiny, but clearly worn.

She punched in a few coordinates; pointed at the long abandoned co-pilot’s seat. “I’m taking us to Zeltros. It’s the last place anyone would look for a Jedi - and we’ll figure things out from there. Sit down. It’s going to be a bit of a flight.” She leaned back in her chair, and the weight of the day finally seemed to come crashing down on her shoulders.

What had she done?

 

[Naphalm]

Upon turning around, he was pleasantly surprised to see Madoka had looked away while he had changed. It was a small thing but it was enough to make him realise that perhaps there really was more to this Woman then he initally thought based on the way she'd acted atthe Cantina.

A wrinkle creased his brow as she called him Kid and not for the first time, she couldn't have been that much older than he was but he supposed that he did have a youthful face, and his milky eyes were hidden beneath the solid shades. He didnt have too much longer to contemplate matters as Madoka was off once more, barely giving him time to keep us as she generously paid for everything and together they left. It was obviously clear the woman had money but Dac still had no idea what this woman did or what her connection was with his former Master. As a Jedi Padawan he had no money of his own, so was effectively relying solely on Madoka to get him offworld, a thought that made him queasy if he really thought about it.

With his mind all caught up, he almost didn't hear about the comments regarding his hair. He opened his mouth to complain, to tell her that there was absolutely no way he would cut off his braids, but once again she was already moving, leaving his words unsaid as she ushered him out the door.

**********

One short and uneventful flight through the streets of Coruscant later and the two end up at one of the many space docks that litter the city. It's clearly not a public one as there suddenly became a lack of of other people. When they first caught sight of the ship meant to take them to freedom, Dac didn't really think anything of it. To Dac a ship was a ship. But as they approached, he noticed details that reflected Madoka's own personality in subtle ways. The way it was non-descript, possibly hiding its true capabilities, things like that.

They boarded and they quickly moved through to the cockpit. Madoka took the pilots chair, her hands moving across the controls with a confident ease, as if she were playing a piano. No-one challenged them as they lifted off and rose through the murky atmosphere into space. Dac stood behind her, an arm resting on the head of the seat as he looked out the large bay windows, wondering just how they had got past all the security checks so easily.

Then gently, his conciousness drifted onto Madoka herself. He took in every detail, his Force Sight allowing him to notice even the smallest of details. He still didn't know wha to make of her, but as he watched her, he focused on her lips. He was almost staring, not that you could tell, but his mind was fixed on the memory of them pressing against his own hungrily. Perhaps it had only been fake, but it was the first true kiss he'd ever had and he didn't know how to even begin to feel about it. They were so.... full... and appealing...

He slumped in the chair beside Madoka before his staring became noticable and watched as Madoka plotted a course for Hyperspace. He frowned once more, the system she had named wasn't familiar.

"I don't know this place..." he murmured as if to confirm his own thoughts. It was strange because as a side hobby, Dac enjoyed learning about the galaxies systems and their cultures, but had yet to come across this one. Finally he shrugged, it wasn't like he had any better places to be.

The two seemed to sit in silence as Madoka worked on getting them into Hyperspace, while Dac had time to relax, which allowed his mind to go over the preceding events. The death of his Master and his escape from Corescant threatened to overload bis emotions, so instead he broke the silence with a simple question that were his first ever words to her.

"Madoka... who are you?"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“ I wouldn’t expect you to. Zeltros is the flesh pot of the galaxy; th’ furthest thing from what it is to be a Jedi. That’s why it’ll be perfect. At least for a little while.” She wasn’t looking at him while she spoke, her eyes focused on the long white streaks of the stars in front of them. Zeltros wasn’t horrifically far away – thanks to the additional modifications she’d made to the already swift Alto, some trips, she was able to shave off a full standard day. They’d have enough time to actually clean up, change, eat, and get some rest before they made planet fall. They’d be safe – for a little while. Maybe long enough for the buzz of her thoughts to settle into something close to logic. With the adrenaline dying hard, she was having a hard time focusing even on the mingled black and white blur in front of her.

At his question, she stopped in her absent minded fiddling of the buttons on the console, and grinned. It wasn’t a pained expression, but it wasn’t a happy one, either. It was fatigued, propped up round the corners. “Me? A sentimental fool.”

Leaning back in her seat, she propped her feet up on the dash, crossing them lazily at the ankles. She’d turn to face him now, getting her first good look at him. Ah. So he wasn’t a blind kid – he was a Miraluka. Now things made sense. She wouldn’t have to treat him with kid gloves, and that’d make things easier for the both of them, no matter where this insane journey took her. Folding her arms behind her head, she stretched lazily.

“I guess you mean ‘Who am I’ in that why I’d save some random Jedi – or padawan, actually-,” she added as an afterthought, taking another look at him, “Because I’m clearly not th’ kinna person that would do something like this outta the kindness of their heart. And yer right. The only way I do anything for anyone is ‘cause of credits.” She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of an old truth more than freely volunteering information. “Yer master was a friend of mine, long ago. Actually, more like an adopted father. But there was bad blood between him and me. Been there for a while. Is’aevi got my sister killed,” and her voice tightened with remembered rage and sorrow. When it emerged again, her accent had faded, beaten away by the raw emotion of remembrance. How Is’aevi had merely stood there while she sobbed. The bastard hadn’t even offered a comforting word or a hug.“….Hadn’t spoken to him in years. I get a message from him earlier today asking me to come save you. Doesn’t tell me how you’d look or anything. Just assumed I’d know who you were.”

She paused, licked her lips. Odd. It felt like she could still feel his, faintly, against her own. Come to think about it…could that have been his first kiss? The thought quirked the corners of her mouth, giving some life to the slow grin that was beginning to tiptoe across her face. “I couldn’t honestly tell you why I came. I really had no reason to. I don’t owe Is’aevi nothin’, even moreso that he’s howled at his last moon. But here I am and here you are and now I gotta figure out what to do with you. I don’t suppose ya have a family somewhere, anywhere? Have you been at the temple your entire life?” And now that tentative grin became a blatant, all out leer as she looked over at him. “And was that yer first kiss?”

 

[Naphalm]

Daciude nodded and gave a grunt. He hadn't heard of the planet but her logic was sound he guessed. The lights blurred and the ship jumped, pressing him into the seat as stars became streaks of whites and blues. Slowly the acceleration eased to normal again. They'd made it, and hopefully undetected.

In response to his question, she seemed to drop into a relaxed posture and a nostalgic expression crossed her pretty face. He listened to her story, silently trying to contain himself. A Jedi is trained that there is no emotion, only peace. But the journey to this point, the loss of his Master, the powerful and confusing kiss... his control was in tatters.

He went through a range of emotions from disappointment -

'...The only way I do anything for anyone is ‘cause of credits...'

Anger at something that he couldn't possibly comprehend -

'...Is’aevi got my sister killed...'

Honour and pride at what really happened in the last moments of his Master's life-

'...message from him earlier today asking me to come save you...'

and Sadness that he was truly gone, and despite Madoka's presence, he had never felt so alone in his life.

It was only at silence fell that he'd realised she had asked him a string of questions and was waiting for a response. He was simply staring frozen, his face an impassive mask, the only thing that would have given him away was his eyes, which was a good thing she couldn't see them.

His mouth opened as each question bounced off his consciousness, but it was the last one that finally pushed him over and his cheeks filled with blood. Why, with everything that had happened, was he so unable to stop dwelling on those fleeting moments where she'd pressed her lips to his. It was just a singular act, and it clearly meant nothing, and yet it had been so... intoxicating. So he decided to answer that question last.

He cleared his throat, aware that he hadn't said anything in several moments with just his mouth hanging open.

"Uh... family... right..." he wiped his brow and tried to take a more relaxed posture. "I don't have any family... well... that I know of. Most commonly, Jedi take infants who show potential before they really gain much attachment or remember their families. Attachment is dangerous, it can be a weakness in a Jedi's mental armour. We are taught not to love or have any emotions..." Now it was his turn to sound like he was trying to remind himself of that fact. "So, I suppose I must have a family somewhere, but my real family is... was... the Jedi order. They raised me until I was old enough to become a Padawan, and then I was fortunate that Master Is'aevi..." his voice cracked a little as he choked his name, but he tried again. "That Master Is'aevi took me as apprentice. I tutored under him for a decade or more. I didn't know he... had another family..."

He threw Madoka an apologetic glance and continued, "We travelled a bit, I have an interest in Cultures and Planetary systems and he would take me along when he had business on interesting worlds. But, my actual experience with those cultures is limited. My Master was a Consular mainly, if you knew him, you probably know that. He was both teacher and diplomat, so we went from one Senate meeting to another as one of many liaisons for the Jedi Council. So yes, I spent the majority of my time in the Temple. I barely even ventured into Coruscant, other than from what I've learnt in the texts."

Attempting to maintain his composure and 'relaxed' outward appearance, he continued,

"And to answer your final question, yes. As I said, Jedi are not to form attachments so physical contact like we... it is forbidden." he said finally. "I understand the circumstances were dire but..." he trailed off, unsure how to really finish the statement. He ran a hand over his dark hair and let out a long breath. It had felt good to talk.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She’d remembered hearing long ago that the Miraluka didn’t actually have eyes, and therefore couldn’t “see” in the same way that sentient beings that had eyes could. When he started speaking, that’s all she could think about, as she slowly swiveled in her chair, back and forth, letting her eyes wander over him as he drifted back into her line of vision. She found herself idly wondering how he processed the world – if he could see colors, could sense intention. It’d only be fitting that the only Miraluka that she’d ever been in close quarters with was a Jedi.

Or padawan, rather.

As he spoke, her mind drifted from his ability to “see” to how good he’d be in a fight. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to find out first hand. The odds didn’t look too good. What she’d gleaned –because she was listening, even if it didn’t look like it- was that he was one of the more “sheltered” padawans. It would make sense. At least Is’aevi seemed to learn from his mistakes. In the time that she’d known the old wolf-man, he’d been all about travel and exposing his pupil to whatever the galaxy had to offer – bad, good, otherwise. It’d been on one of those adventures that her sister, Yogensha-Soon, had gotten killed. She was tempted to elaborate on that story, to drive home that knife that his master was less of the saint than Dac thought, but she stopped herself. That’d be cruel. And she was a lot of things, but she tried her dandiest not to be intentionally cruel. Besides, this kid hadn’t done anything to her personally. Look at him. He was lost – had no family, no experience out there, and absolutely no means of taking care of himself.

Against her better interests, she actually felt bad for the guy. So clueless in a galaxy that would chew him up and spit him out without a second thought.

“So you ain’t got a home. Any idea, whatsoever, on where you might want to live…? Anywhere that you’ve ever read about that you’re itchin’ ta’ see?” Even though she’d turned around in her chair and wasn’t facing him, her tone was surprisingly gentle. “It’s a big place out there. Zeltros can give us a cover, but only ‘fer so long. Can’t stay there forever, and I gotta get back to my trade.” The last was said with a bit of pressure – a reminder to both herself and to him that even with all of this insanity going on, the planets would keep turning and money had to be made. “Y’kno,” she said, turning around to face him again, “Ferget I said anything. It’s been a day. Why don’t you shower and settle up and we’ll figger things out from there. ‘Fresher’s the last room on the right. Lemme know when you’re gettin’ hungry and I can make somethin’ for us real quick.”

Of course it’d been his first kiss. That pang of guilt pricked at her, ever so lightly. Poor kid. She’d hold off on teasing him about that – at least for a little while. Until the guilt got easier to deal with. Realistically, logically, she had nothing to feel guilty for. She wasn’t his mother – she hadn’t dropped him off with some strangers because he could move things without touching him. She had nothing to do with the politics that had gotten him ousted from the only home he’d ever known, and furthermore, she had nothing to do with the teacher that had made the choice to keep his pupil from all aspects of the galaxy save for the Jedi order. She’d cut those ties years ago.

Then why do you feel so guilty, sister?

+++++++++++

For everything that’s gained, something is inevitably lost. For all of The Alto’s speed, the tradeoff was space. The hallway was still littered with the shopping bags from her interrupted vacation, the occasional lacey undergarment a froth of red or purple lace spilling from the edges of a bag. On his way to the refresher, he’d pass up her “bedroom”, the first room on the left. There was only the one room onboard.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; the ship had come with two bedrooms. She’d converted the other one into yet more storage space. The bigger the haul, the bigger the credits, the faster her ship could go. The rest of the space she’d converted to secret storage – and since she didn’t run sentient beings, the storage couldn’t really be converted into another sleeping space without some major investment / moving about of funds. Once on board, with all of the hidden storage, the ship had an almost sterile feel – nothing felt out of place. It felt, really, almost like a waiting room in a clinic.

Past her room, in the center of the ship, was a small kitchen / dining area, a rounded compartment amid the squares of her room and the door way into the cockpit. She’d crammed a few shelves in the area, giving it a slightly claustrophobic air. The kitchen area would be the first to greet his “eyes”, and directly past that, a small table next to a comfortable looking lounging chair. Not too far in front of the chair was a screen – meant for viewing holos. The shelves were stacked high with holo discs and books – and it was clear by the slightly worn look of the room and the lingering smell of spices that Madoka probably spent most of her time there in the midst of flight.

The innards of the Refresher was a little bit of a mess. She’d kept a plush rug on the floor (as the floor was the same chill steel as the rest of the ship), and rumpled towels dotted the floor. Across the top bar of the shower hung about three bikini tops and bottoms, each of varying size – one suggesting little more than a collection of strategically placed string. Clipped next to it was a small, circle shaped drying rack with clamps, each holding the strap of a bra or the side of a pair of panties. Well, for all of the mess, it at least appeared that Madoka was clean. Within the shower itself sat a variety of shampoos and shower gels.

“There’s a clean towel in th’ cabinet behind the toilet,” she shouted down the hallway. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how ill prepared she was to actually have another being on the ship for an extended amount of time.

Well, this is all just fantastic.

 

[Naphalm]

'I gotta get back to my trade'

Said with such... emphasis. Dac was slowly getting the idea that Madoka wasn't entirely enjoying the idea of his being there. While she clearly wasn't about to ask him to leave, it was obvious she was resigning herself to a short while of concealing him while the heat was on. But with those few words and the tone with which she used them, Dac knew that his welcome had an expiry date.

"Zeltros is fine for now." he answered, "I... trust your judgement in this." and he really meant that. He wasn't sure what her 'trade' was, or even of her true allegiance, but he did trust that she really did want to keep him safe.

The mention of a shower perked him up. The series of training before the 'event', the run through the streets of Coruscant and that awful coat had left him with a lingering sense of disgust about his current state of hygiene. He glanced down the corridor which she gestured down and then back at her to smile politely as he stood.

"I... don't think I've properly thanked you." he said finally, after a moment of indecision. "I realise this was dangerous and inconvenient but I think... no, I believe that I owe you my life." He bowed his head slightly, it was a very 'Jedi' thing to do of course but it was the highest sign of respect he knew.

He turned to pick his way through the clutter that littered the corridor floor. He had paid no attention to it on his journey to the cockpit, more interested in getting off world, but now he took everything in. He stepped over the hastily packed bags, casting a critical eye over the contents that threatened to spill out. Madoka must have reacted with urgency from where ever she was when she heard the call.

He walked through the rest of the ship, taking in sights and smells. With even just the two of him there, he knew it'd be quite cramped. The first thing his Master taught him was to find a space to meditate but finding that space here would be a challenge.

He stepped inside the Refresher, noting it was in the same state as the rest of the ship. The door slid closed behind him, but was instantly stuck on a towel that had been discarded in the doorway. He glanced up at the laundry and his brow furrowed as he examined the garments. His gaze fell across the tiniest of materials, tilting his head as he tried to determine why Madoka had essentially hung string up to dry. He couldn't help but reach up and pulled it from the shower bar. It was dry now, and after a few moments fiddling, he held it up as he realised what it was. Suddenly his mind was filled with the image of Madoka wearing such a thing and instantly his cheeks were flaming.

With all the car in the world, he folded it neatly and found a place for it on the top of the cabinet. Idly, he set about doing the same with the rest of the laundry, as well as folding the wet towels and placing them by the now closed door. He even straightened the rug so it was exactly centre of the room. He took a deep cleansing breath that smelt of fruity shampoo and damp towels.

He just took a moment, closing is 'eyes' and just pushing out his awareness to sense his surroundings. It was his way of connecting with the ship, to some degree. He could feel the buzz of the engine, the whirring of all the parts connecting and moving to propel the ship... and then there was Madoka. She was hard to 'feel', to read her emotions, she was too well guarded. Perhaps her experience with Jedi has allowed her to learn how to mentally block any form of connection, or maybe that was just how she was.

He used those moments as well to collect his thoughts and regain his composure. He accepted the fate of the Jedi, and knew that they were not so easily defeated. If he could escape, he was sure there were others. The whole thing with Madoka had rattled him, but he put it down to the fact that his experience with women was limited. Seeing how he'd be stuck with her for a short while would be a learning experience.

Dac opened his eyes and found the dry towel where Madoka had said they would be. He stripped the purchased clothes, the casual trousers and shirt and hooded jacket, and folded them neatly along with his undergarment. He stretched, feeling his athletic body flex and stretch. He pulled out any remaining ties in his hair and let it flop against his back. The jet black strands matched the rough and patchy body hair that adorned his chest and the soft, yet neatly trimmed fuzz around his genitalia.

Finally, he unclipped his silver visor and pulled it off his head. It was true, as a Miraluka, the only difference between him and a Human was that he had no eyes. Instead he had two vestigial eye sockets that were covered in smooth unblemished skin. Dac never felt quite so naked as he did when he removed the visor. He didn't need it to see, far from it, but the eyeless sockets freaked people out, even with all the weird and wonderful creatures in the galaxy. So it was a cultural affectation that he wore out of habit.

He climbed into the shower and felt the tension was away...

 

[Apollo Wilde]

She idly listened to him, still turning back and forth slowly in her chair. And, as she continued her slow circles, she’d wave her hand, effectively waving off his thanks. “Don’t worry about it.” Not that she expected that he would, or, well, was even all that thankful at the moment. He was still in shock; it’d be a few hours before the enormity of what happened would fully sink in, and then she’d have a wreck on her hands.

Or so she assumed.

Really, she was the one that was trying to hold it together. She’d assumed that once she was back in space, headed somewhere, things would become clearer to her. Now, they were just as muddled, if not moreso, than they were before.

Only when his back was completely to her did she allow herself to watch him walk off. Well, the shower would keep him occupied for a while. With one last glance at the ship’s console, she sighed and stood up, following him back down the hall. Rather than join him in the Refresher, she paced to the kitchen. Opening up the cabinets, she absent-mindedly started pulling a few boxes down.

++++++++

By the time he got out, there would be a delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. She was sprawled out across the chair, leaning over to eat from the table. It was clear that she was used to eating in a semi-reclined fashion. She had, at least to her credit, made a makeshift sitting area for him with a pile of cushions at the table. Where she’d gotten them from would be anyone’s guess. Waving him to sit, she finished her mouthful, washing it down with a long drag from a green bottle with a long neck. More than likely some sort of ale - her current situation called for a drink. Depending on how this little dinner “chat” went, she’d make the call if she needed to move to something heavier in the future.

“I can’t remember what Jedi eat, so it’s just Nuna with green sauce and rice.” Fixing it for two people had put her a little lower on rations than she liked, but there was enough for the two of them to eat well until they got to Zeltros. Well, provided that they rationed within reason - two large meals a day and a small one should take care of it. Or something like that. “But we gotta figure out some sorta long term goal for you. Can’t run yer entire life and you need to work on developing some sort of a skill. What are you good at?”

 

[Naphalm]

The water cascaded down his body, taking with it all the grime and worries and for a short time, he was at peace. He was reluctant to move, not wanting to leave the comfort of the hot shower and face the reality of the galaxy, but the room was filling with steam and the hot water threatened to run cold, and so he switched it off with a sigh.

With two wet slaps, he stepped onto the cold metal floor and shivered. The air was rapidly cooling as it was cycled through the ships ventilation, the droplets of water on his firm body beginning to sting. He quickly stepped onto the rug and grabbed his towel to dry off. His movements were mechanical as his mind once again, drifted unbidden to all his current troubles.

*************

He stepped out of the Refresher in a great cloud of steam like some rock star. He was fully kitted out again in his new clothes and his visor affixed once again around his head. As the wonderful odour reached him, his belly gave a great rumble and he realised just how starving he was. Cautiously, he approached and sat down where she indicated, which was the only space available anyway. Madoka seemed more relaxed now, not that she wasn't relaxed in the cockpit earlier but she'd still been a bit... fidgety, a little uncomfortable. Now, with something to eat and some time to absorb things, she seemed much... happier? That was the impression Dac got. Perhaps it was the liquid she was currently consuming?

He smiled faintly as he glanced at the food she placed before him. "I'm sure this will be sufficient, thank you." he replied softly. He was in the middle of taking a bite when he question caught him off guard, he looked up at her with his mouth open and a forkful of rice dripping green goop hovered above his plate. Slowly he put it down, his brow furrowed.

"What am I good at?.... I... am not sure how to answer that question. I am a Jedi, a guardian and diplomat for the republic. I'm no pilot or mechanic or anything like that, I..." It was dawning on him that she was right, he really was unsuited for any life other than a Jedi and a sudden feeling of uselessness came over him. The fleeting thought that he wasn't even that good a Jedi, as he hadn't even been able to save anyone crossed his mind but he shook that dangerous thought away.

"Don't get me wrong, the Jedi academy gave me an education as good as any school. I know the basics of science and maths, of rudimentary mechanics and technology, I am even fluent in eight different languages... well, seven... my understanding of Shyriiwook is still a little rusty. But I don't have what you might call any 'trade skills'.

Suddenly, he leapt on the opportunity to glean more information from Madoka. "What is it that you do... exactly?" he asked, trying his best to sound innocent as he finally eat the mouthful of rice.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Huh.

She’d almost figured him incapable of smiling. Most Jedi were horrifically stoic, after all. As he spoke, she wouldn’t look at him, focusing on a spot of nothing on the wall across from her as she took another long drink from her bottle. Her mind ticked back and forth between what she’d assumed about the young man across from her and what was confirmed. Setting the bottle down, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I was always under the impression that you all at least had some political training. Not like we could push you into any political field right now. Be too sudden. First thin’s first; we have to figure out what it is that you CAN do, and then ya to the point where ya can be proficient enough in that to make your way. Everything in this system, any system, costs money, and sentients ain’t the most charitable. The good thing,” she took another sip from the bottle, this time opting to hold it, “is that at least yer green. Kinna of an open book. That’s good. Can keep yer trainin’ and meditations an’ all, but for now, yer gonna have to stop all that. Here’s the thing about Zeltros,” she leaned across the table now, looking directly at him. “It’s a paradise planet. Most folks wouldn’t think to look for Jedi there. Note how I said, ‘most folk.’ I’m sure there’re crafty folks workin’ under this new Empire thing, and they’re the ones we gotta worry about. The time on Zeltros is meant to wear off some o’ them Jedi ways so you can blend in easier. Pick something up. See what the rest of the galaxy has to offer. Get you used to some o’ the depravity that’s out there. At least I ain’t draggin’ ya to Hutt space. Wouldn’t do that to ya so soon.”

Her tone would shift, from the quiet of uncertainty to the moderate tone of confidence. It was clear that the food and ale had soothed her mind a bit, and in her talking to him, she was starting to hammer out the details of what exactly she was going to do with him. Is’aevi had saddled her with a complete greenhorn to the galaxy; in any other situation, this would be a nightmare. So far, though, he’d gone along with everything she suggested (or, realistically, ordered him to do) without so much as a complaint. Even that kiss – he hadn’t brought up of his own volition. It seemed that he was someone in life that was…almost content with things happening to him, as opposed to someone who made things happen for him. Whatever. He was compliant enough, and that gave her something to work with.

“Here,” she reached down, and held her blaster out to him, hand grip first. “Can’t go around flashin’ that lightsaber anymore. Before you start fussin’, I didn’t say a thing about getting rid of th’ thing; just gotta conceal it. Keep it on ya if it helps ya sleep better at night. Makes me no never mind. But the first thing ya gotta do is learn how to use one of those. And as to what I do…” a grin curved her mouth, and she looked away from him for a moment – more to gather her thoughts than out of shame – “I’m a jack-of-all-trades. I supply people with what they want and transport items from one end o’ the galaxy ta the other. I don’t deal with weapons or with slaves,” and the last was said with enough vehement finality that it’d be clear to Dac of what she thought of those transactions. But, to be perfectly clear, she added, “I hate slavers – scum off a Hutt’s backside. Weapons running is too risky and dangerous, especially with the way things are goin’ nowadays. The quicker you learn how to be a half-way decent shot, the better it’ll be for the both of us. I suppose I need to show you how to pilot as well. We can start ya on some sims here on board. No matter where ya go, ya need to know how to fly. And no, I ain’t tryin’ ta make ya into what I am. But that’ll be yer cover for the next couple of weeks until I figure out what it is that I need to do with you or where you need to go. Yeah,” she stood now, picking up her plate and walking it to the sink.

“We’ll get you on a new training schedule. Sims most of the day. Blaster practice here and there. I don’t expect ya to handle the kick on mine; it’s modified. I think I’ve got a standard blaster around here somewhere.” The slight chug of pipes, a second of a wait before the tepid water came through the tap, and she began to wash her plate. Beside the small sink was an even smaller drying rack – something she’d built in herself. She’d learned quite quickly that the kitchen area was too small to be kept messy, and keeping things sitting was a quick way of making the entire ship smell awful.

“But before all’a that, let’s get some shut eye. There’s just the one bed, so it looks like we’ll be sharing.”

 

[Naphalm]

He listened politely, eating as she spoke. When she paused, he answered. "Politics... yes, still fairly basic but yes. A Jedi's training is so varied, but despite taking a keen interest in the different cultures... even if I did mostly read about them... my Master never ventured into the Senate. His role was mostly diplomacy with officials on their own worlds." He stopped, not wishing to say out loud is growing opinion of their current destination. The more she spoke about Zeltros, the more he knew he was not going to enjoy the place. He vaguely wondered how other apprentices tackled the more depraved issue, surely he was meant to have some exposure? But then Is'aevi was never one to talk about those sorts of issues, so that had left him inexperienced.

Something told him that Madoka was planning on trying to change that.

He was brought from his thoughts by the back end of a blaster being shoved in his face. He dropped the fork and gingerly reached out to grasp the hilt. It was known that some great Jedi Masters had uses for blasters but they were generally reviled by the general Jedi population as an uncivilised weapon. Still, he gripped it with purpose, feeling its weight. There was no harm in showing willing, even if he didn't think he'd actually use it in a live combat situation.

He also understood the need to hide his heritage, although he'd never give up the blade but he was happy to conceal it. He wondered if Madoka would mind him using a vibro-blade instead, but until he had the opportunity to show off his training, he kept quiet and simply hefted the blaster as if he were getting used to holding one.

"You're a smuggler..." he said with unusual insight, he looked up to see if he'd surprised her. "I've read a fair bit about the general accomplishments of various Jedi Masters and there were a few that were involved in taking down various gangs..." he said in way of explanation.

He stood with the intention of handing her his plate, but her comment about the bed made him freeze. Suddenly he was blushing again. "I... uh... can sleep on the floor... you know.. if you wanted me to..."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Fishing through the small refrigeration unit, she pulled out another green bottle, and popped off the top with some ease. The small circle pinged against the floor, spun, and was quiet. She’d look for it later. Pressing her back against the refrigeration unit, she was facing him again. Maybe about a half a foot away, if that, with the tightness of the quarters. Taking a long drink, she sighed. It was almost meditative; that long exhale of breath from her, lips slightly parted, eyes closed. The ornamental gold hoop caught the light and toyed with it, bringing spots of light to her face.

“Well, then, Dac, what ARE you good at?” She crossed her ankles primly, still leaning against the fridge, leaning backwards, arms crossed, bottle bleeding lazy emerald drops of chill water. “Of course Is’aevi never went into the Senate,” said more to herself. Just as she had with Dac, she was combining the new truths of her former father with the assumptions she’d carried for years, or rather, those faded truths and stories that she’d clung to as a child. It’d been hard going, trying to reconcile that jolly creature of her youth with the stern, almost mournful figure that he’d metamorphosed into. How badly had Yon-Yon’s death affected him?

There was no surprise when he sussed out she was a smuggler. That was one way of putting it – a nicer way. And if he thought less of her because of it, well, clearly that was his sheltered problem and not hers. There was no complaint when she’d saved his life and provided him with a place of safety. It was almost amusing (certainly made funnier by the warmth of the ale in her system), his unflappable self-righteousness, that same self-importance that came from being bubbled away from the rest of the world. He’d learn, and then some. But not all lessons would be taught by her. Watching him fumbling with the blaster as if it were vermin was proof enough of that, and a short, bitten off laugh escaped her as she deftly took it from him. Without changing hands, she holstered her blaster in a lazy swing of the hips that suggested that it was a much practiced motion – the speed and lightness of her touch suggested volumes of the quickness of her draw.

“Well, then, Twinkle Fingers,” and it seemed as if this would be a nickname that would stick, all the more than “kid” would, “It’s not nearly as ‘refined’ as that fancy lightsaber of yours, but if you want to live somethin’ close to a long life, you’d better become real quick friends with one. Doesn’t have to be this one – in fact, it won’t be this one-, but one. And ya don’t have to kill with it. Set it to ‘stun’ if it tickles your cock. Whatever. You’re not in the temple anymore. You’re out here now. And keep your shirt on; no one’s sleeping on the floor. There ain’t room for it anyway. You’ll see.” She took a last, prolonged swig, downing the bottle in two breaths, before chucking the bottle into a small trash receptacle on the other side of the room. From the precision of her shot, it was clear that this was a ritual of hers. “Clean your dish when you’re done,” she called over her shoulder as she walked out.

++++++++

She’d taken the opportunity to shower –chuckling to herself as she noticed his impromptu cleaning job-, and was now entering her bedroom. The room, true to her word, was small – nearly bare. There was no clear indication of her personality – no photos, no books, no blaster cleaning tools. Just the bed – a massive, circular thing, decked out in deep red sheets with gold and orange trim, reminiscent of a sunset. Towards what would be the “head” of the bed, or rather, the top of the circle, were a collection of plush pillows. Clothes of hers scattered across the floor, almost serving as a carpet from the doorway to the bed. The suggestion of waking up, pulling something off the floor and getting dressed was apparent. Already, her attire from the day had joined the pile, her boots a jumble next to the doorway. Squeezing into the doorway –nearly blocked by a dresser; one of the walls in the room was a closet-, she flopped down on the bed, spread eagle. Despite what he may have thought, she’d actually covered up – she wore a long, yellow gown that fitted tightly at her throat and chest before flaring out into a series of diaphanous skirts. It looked to be woven out of almost gossamer, so lightly did it move around her. Her arms and back were bare – there would be no helping that. She thought she’d done well; it was probably the most modest sleeping attire she owned, considering that she generally preferred sleeping with nothing on.

Another long sigh as she looked up at the ceiling. Okay. She had a handle on this. She could do this. They could do this. She’d train him, get something of a co-pilot for a bit, and rub that Jedi luster off of him so he could actually function. That damn Is’aevi. The creature had to have known that rescuing Dac was so much more than just getting him out of bodily harm. It was about setting him up to actually live a full life, some perverted way of passing on his “Master” title to her. And like a giant idiot, she’d just picked it up without a second thought.

I don't have the slightest idea of what was going on in your mind, but this makes us even, you old bastard.

 

[Naphalm]

"I guess we'll have to find that out..." he muttered in reply as he watched her every moment, unable to prevent himself from noticing even the smallest things, such was the intensity of his gaze. It was like looking at the sun, the image of how she looked in that moment with the artificial light casting across her delicate features, the relaxed almost orgasmic expression as she enjoyed the flavour of her drink, would forever be etched onto Dac's mind for years to come. That is if he was still alive in the years to come.

As she took the blaster from him, he was reminded on the fluid way a Jedi handles his saber. He flushed a little at the laugh though, clearly she saw him as a fumbling buffoon and he longed to prove himself, the display his hard trained prowess with his blade. But somehow he felt that it would fail to impress her, and despite Is'aevi's words ringing in his ears about showing off, he found that he really did want to impress her.

Before he could complain about the new nickname, or the fact that she was determined he share her bed, she had finished her drink and was gone. He pulled himself together just in time to turn and see her disappear into the Refresher.

*************

It had taken him longer than it should do to clean the plate and cutlery but he simply wasn't sure what he'd find when he went to bed. His pulse was racing at what felt like a million beats per minute and his face was a constant burning red. Not that he thought that anything would happen but it was just the idea of sharing a room with a woman that was, lets face it, incredibly attractive.

With a sigh as if he was off to complete some hard chore, he keyed open the door that he'd been stood in front of for the past five minutes and let it slide open to reveal the dimly lit room. She was right, of course, there was barely any floor space and what little remained was covered in clothing that Dac itched to fold and tidy. He stepped inside, squeezing around the closet and instantly had to look down as his boot was caught on yet another stringy garment with a small triangle of colour and lace.

He glanced up at the bed and tried hard to swallow the lump in his throat. Her idea of 'modest' was hardly the Jedi sleeping robes he and the other students were used to wearing. He simply decided it was best if he didn't look at her so much, so he tiptoed through the room, trying to tread gently on the pieces of attire or squeezing his foot onto bare floor sections.

Silently, he began to remove his clothes, folding jacket, shirt and trousers in a neat pile in one corner of the room along with his shoes. This left him standing rather awkwardly in just his tight fitting shorts. They were designed to go under the Jedi robes, and keep tight to his body so that it didn't restrict movement. Unfortunately this left him looking like he was about to go swimming rather than sleep.

Since Madoka was right in the centre of the bed, he just picked the side closest to the door and sat on the edge. "I can run..." he said finally, his tone soft and quiet, as if the room was swallowing the sounds of his voice. "I'm really fast and that's even before I use the force to propel me."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The bed shifted as he sat, soundless. Sitting up, she was careful to put a few inches between them. Not so much for her sake rather than his; she’d long figured Jedi to be sexless. Though the gown, she felt, was modest, sitting this close to him, suddenly aware of the smooth bareness of his body, she had a flutter in her stomach that surprised her. Something that flitted under the thin veneer of lust – but upon closer inspection, was really closer to…the eager thrill of that first kiss. The uncertainty of being close to a new body.

She hadn’t felt that way in years.

“Running’s…good,” she said at length, doing her best to cover up that flutter. She stood up from the bed, walking to the closet in a whisper of fabric. Maybe she had something else in the depths that would cover her up a bit more. Again, that close to him, the chill of the air had brought goose bumps to her arms and bared back – and she felt the overwhelming need to cover up. Did she have a robe to go with this? Maybe another pair of pants….? The closet, unlike the rest of the room, had some depth to it, and she’d slowly vanish into it as she kept digging. With some insight, she’d closed the door behind her.

A few moments later, she’d step back out, in a loose, baggy long sleeved stained with the collar cut out, leaving the garment to lazily slip off of one shoulder. She’d found baggy pants to go with it – they were freely loose until her ankles, effectively leaving only her hands and feet bare. Gods. She was going to roast alive wearing it, but it’d be a small price to pay to feel…comfortable. She was troubled at that flutter – why did she feel that way? Was it because of his overwhelming innocence? Though she knew that Miraluka couldn’t “see” in the same way that she could, she knew that he was far from blind. What did he see? How did he see? Did he notice her brief appraisals of his body? Her gaze had traveled down the lines of his throat to his arms, the veins across the backs of his hands, down the smooth stomach, across the compact thighs. She’d never get to the point where she outwardly stared or gaped at him; she’d had too much life experience to make that sort of a mistake. But, as her eyes had lingered on his pectorals, following the lines of muscle to the indent of his navel, she began to wonder if maybe she’d underestimated her ability to share a bed with him.

Sitting back down on the bed, she kept some space between the two. For his sense of modesty, she told herself – fair chance of convincing herself, as she stole another glance at those tight shorts. A flare of pure, unbridled lust rose, drowned out the flutter of childish shy interest. She almost gave a sigh of relief – lust, she could deal with. That other feeling, not so much. Just one more look, she’d silently chide herself, as she found her gaze kept drifting to those shorts. The urge to tease him rose, but she swatted it down. Teasing would make it all too apparent that she too, was mildly uncomfortable – and that she was trying to behave herself. Jedi had those rules. And Dac had proven himself to be very much that. And, as much as she disliked the organization, she had to respect it, well, anyone, who dedicated that much of their life to anything.

“It’s good,” she said, a little louder than she would have liked, “when it’s time to run. But it’s a good way to get yerself killed in a blaster fight.” Flopping back down on the bed, she lay on her side, still turned to face him. Mmm. He even looked good from behind.

“We’ll figure out what else yer good at over the next few days. Believe it or not, I used to be a terrible shot with a blaster. Nobody’s ever really a natural at anythin’, even if they swear to the contrary. We’ll make somethin’ outta ya yet.” Her tone, far from the insolent drawl that characterized her speech, was meant to be soothing.

Maybe she’d had a slight change of heart, looking at him bare like that. There was a certain rise of tenderness with that initial flutter – responding, perhaps, to the vulnerability he showed her now. There was plenty for her to work through, emotionally – the familiar charge of lust, the strange sensation of nervousness, the strong unbidden desire to protect. Why should she want to protect him – why should he be any different from anyone else?

Luckily enough for her, rather than having to deal with all of the other conflicting emotions, she chose to focus on lust. It was familiar enough for her to have an idea of how to handle it. And that she did – with a fervent denial. She couldn’t want what she couldn’t have. And on a logical front, getting involved with him, even if it was just on a sexual level, wasn’t in the best interests of her, and certainly not in his. On a more basic level, she would have to teach him – and that task didn’t appeal to her. She was more of a “quick roll in the in the Naboo fields” type of woman: her affairs (though not as numerous as may have been assumed) were fun and brief – the former made the latter all the more possible. Attachment wasn’t her thing either. So perhaps they had at least that, in common.

“Here. We’ll sleep back to back, if that’s easier for you,” she shifted, slipping beneath the sheets, her back to him.

 

[Naphalm]

Dac jerked his head up involuntarily, just a slight movement as something caught his attention. The thing with the Force is you can never really turn it off, it's always probing and alerting him when something happens, in a very complex and roundabout way. What had just made Dac start, was a small, split second slip in Madoka's mental guard. It was only for a moment, but that moment may have been a lifetime as her emotional state appeared for him to read.

But he couldn't understand any of it. Outwardly, Madoka had always seemed so cool and collected but inside, it would appear she was a mess of conflicting and jumbled emotions that threatened to explode. He had no idea even where to begin with identifying them individually, and then the door slammed shut and her mental 'shield' was raised again. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her making a hurried escape to the closet, and he wondered whether he'd felt his accidental intrusion. It was unlikely, since really only another Force user would be able to detect such an event, but it wasn't uncommon for some people to have a stronger, unknown sense of the Force.

She went deep into the closet, and when she returned she was suddenly completely covered. He didn't understand why or what had changed but some of the tension left his body. It was easier to relax and concentrate without the minor display of flesh she'd been putting on.

They continued the conversation as if nothing had happened, which, in fact, nothing had. He nodded slowly, accepting for now that until she saw what he was capable of, her opinion of his ability would be low and her tone would reflect that. He considered pressing her on the matter, going into details about training and skill sets, but it was getting late and there was no use getting bogged down in specifics. He had trusted her this far and so he had no reason not to trust her further.

Besides, apparently she was just as messed up and confused as he was, although he knew it was more dangerous for him. He was walking a treacherous line, and now more than ever, he craved for the guidance of a Master. He guessed that Madoka would just have to make do.

He nodded his thanks and spread out on the bed, laying beside her but away from her, pulling the sheets over his body. Slowly, as if coming to some big decision, he reached up and unclipped his visor and pulled it from his head. He hated sleeping with it on, but had very nearly left it out of... what? Some sense of not wanting to freak her out or repulse her? Ultimately he had decided that she was a woman of the galaxy and had probably seen worse, but that didn't make him any happier.

"Goodnight Madoka..." he mumbled quietly.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The problem with having a warm body in an otherwise single occupant bed was the inexplicable urge to cuddle. Several times through the “night”, Madoka would awaken to find that she’d tangled herself up against Dac. An arm here, a leg carelessly thrown across him. Nothing quite so intimate as spooning, but a casual possessiveness, a need to feel him near to her, to wrap him up.

When she awoke with her head resting on his side, that was when she decided enough was enough. Without looking at what “time” it was, she slipped out of bed as quietly as she could. As she was used to the clutter, she was able to tip-toe through the darkened room without once bumping into anything. Even the hiss of the door as it opened seemed muted. Standing out in the hall, she ran a hand through her sleep mussed hair. There was no sudden piercing glare of full strength lights – she had arranged for the ship to recognize sleeping cycles and dim the lights accordingly. The hallway was bathed in the soft off-white glow of several light “portholes” that lined the walls, the pathway lit by brighter pinpoints of blue-white light. Sweat added a sheen to her skin; the combination of his body heat and the extra clothes she wore left her with large sweat circles under her arms, between her breasts. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she blearily made her way to the small kitchen unit.

++++++++++++

It wasn’t until the holo screen popped on that she began to even stir from wakefulness. The Alto was set to monitor sleep cycles (another little modification she’d made), and would “wake up” upon detecting a change in heart rate from any of the passengers. The holo screen defaulted to a news channel; Madoka usually attempted to keep up with the news to help her get a better idea of what was happening at various points in various systems. It’d always struck her as amusing that many other smugglers didn’t do the same; it was a great resource and was free to boot.

During her attempts to get comfortable, she’d taken off the baggy pants, leaving her delightfully bare from the waist down. “Delightfully” in the sense that she was now actually much cooler and able to sleep. In her haste to get re-dressed last night, she’d foregone underwear, and lay curled up in the cup-shaped chair in front of the holoscreen. Reflective light from the broadcast danced across the smooth expanse of her thighs, the shirt rumpled high across her torso. From the view of the door, the only thing that was really visible of her was her cloud of hair and a few inches of her hip, a bare curve before vanishing into the deep violet of the cushion.

“We took to the streets of Coruscant to ask those that lived there about how they felt about the destruction of the Jedi Temple…”

Footage of the attack on the temple ran, plumes of smoke bellowing from the once high towers, the prone bodies of Jedi and clone troopers alike dotting the walkways with white and brown dots. A particularly loud reply of an explosion brought her to full wakefulness, and she jerked up, wild-eyed, vibroblade already in hand. Realizing that it was the holo screen, she leaned down across the cushion, tucking the blade away in its hiding spot (she was never too far from any weapon, even onboard her own ship), her bare ass lifted above the rim of the cushion. The shirt, large as it was, hung loosely around her torso, exposing the underside of her breasts as she moved. Sitting back up, she idly tugged the shirt down before leaning back in the seat again, pulling her knees to her chest and re-settling in to continue watching the broadcast. The chaos of the prior night was starting to come back to her, and as she lazily stretched, she realized that it hadn’t been her heart rate that had woken the Alto up.

“Hey, kid? You up?” She called, making no move to leave the comfort of her seat.

 

[Naphalm]

"Hello?" His voice rang out, echoing into the pitch blackness. Daciude was in some kind of metallic corridor, like the ones in the upper levels of the temple. Except the electronic lights were all broken, glass crunched beneath his boots as he made his way along. One hand gripped his only light source, the blue glow from his saber that hummed reassuringly in his fist. The other traced the wall with barely a fingertip, the slightest connection to the world.

"Is anyone there?" he called again, but this corridor was just like the last, and his voice was simply lost in the unending twists and turns. Of course he knew the answer though; he felt the presence, lurking just beyond the darkness. It was a feeling he'd only ever read about, but knew it instinctively, the coldness, the malevolence that was the dark side of the force.

He stopped when that feeling grew stronger, and he raised his Lightsaber, holding it in two hands as he took a familiar stance. The figure emerged then, swirls of darkness wrapped around the cloaked figure. It wasn't surprising that this dark figure wore Daciude's face. Dac tried to stay calm as the duel began.

It went on for hours, blow after blow, back and forth, equally matched in both skill and agility. But suddenly, the figure faltered and as easily as if cutting into butter, Dac slipped his blade straight into the dark Dac's guts.

But it was no longer Dac's face, but his Master's Is'aevi. The Old Wolf looked up at him in pain and surprise, clutching a bloody chest as he slid off the blade and onto the floor. Dac wept openly, a cry choked back as he tried to hold the blood in.

"You killed me…?" the Lupine Man whispered, a question that he couldn't fathom.

"No! No, I'm sorry, please don't die, please!" Dac called out, but then a hot flush of anger welled up inside him so hot it felt like his insides were burning. He roared at the dying figure, "Stop it! Why did you leave me, why??"

A hand fell on his shoulder, pulling him up and the scene shifted as he rose and he was faced with the beautiful Madoka. She wiped at his tears with a chiding expression and after a moment's hesitation, leant forward to kiss…

******************

Daciude's eyes flicked open. His heart was hammering and sweat dampened the mattress where he lay. He noticed he was alone as he pulled himself up, so he used the opportunity to cross his legs and close his eyes. His body reacted like a well-trained pet, instantly calming and relaxing as he took several deep breaths. With the Force, he was able to control things like heart-rate and breathing, and put himself into a near comatose trance. He cleared his mind and just let the Force flow freely.

It was difficult, his body and mind raged with thoughts and feelings he couldn't dispel, till eventually he gave up and stood.

“Hey, kid? You up?” drifted Madoka's voice from the other room.

"Be out in a moment." he called back. Seeing how they would be alone on the ship all day today, he pulled on his Jedi Robes. It felt good to back in the familiar items, it gave him a confidence he would need for the training later, and made him feel like a Jedi again. He vowed not to let his emotions get the better of him again.

He may as well have been vowing to lift a planet with his bare hands. The moment he wandered through to the Kitchen's portal, his eyes bulged at even just the slightest hint of bareness that he could see. It wasn't all that much but it was enough to stop him short and his face flush as his eyes drifted to the discarded baggy pants on the floor.

He took several steps back into the corridor, cleared his throat and called out, "I uh… um… Morning…"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

It was only when she heard his footsteps make an abrupt stop that she remembered that she didn’t have her pants on. Far more flustered than she wanted to let on, she snatched them from the floor and shifted, twisted to get into them while remaining largely hidden by the chair. The merest flicker of her bare rear peeked out before vanishing beneath the coarse black material.

Smoothing her hair back with her right hand, she looked over at him, trying the world not to feel sheepish – and then angry at herself for feeling embarrassed. It was her ship after all, wasn’t it? Something about seeing him peeking timidly around the corner, looking all the world for a lost child in his Jedi robes plucked at the same part of her heart that humored the flutter from the night before. Ugh. It was too early to be this conflicted.

Masking her embarrassment by pretending to be riveted by a particular snippet about the marketability of nunas as pets in addition to a food source, she cleared her throat. “Sorry I didn’t get up earlier – I figured with what all happened last night, we both could sleep in a little.”

It sounded lame; a flimsy cover up to what just happened and her own inability to stay organized. It hadn’t been that long ago that she was telling him about a schedule, and now he found her, half-awake, half-dressed. Some example she was leading. She couldn’t tell what was worse – feeling that she was giving him a poor example, that she felt like she needed to be an example of anything to begin with, or that for the first time in years she felt put off of her center. Okay, so the last point was fair enough. A lot had happened in the last standard day. And there wasn’t anything she could do now, working backwards. The only thing she could do was move forwards.

She swung her legs over the side of the chair, standing up. Moving to the kitchen area, she put on a pot of vine coffinee. Soon, the little area was filled with the rich, vaguely smokey aroma. As she watched the dark liquid brew, she bit her bottom lip, then ran a hand through her hair again. She looked frightful; hair all over the place, sweat stained clothing. And now, she was fairly certain that her pants were on backwards in her haste to get them back on. Fantastic.

A few moments passed between the two of them in an uncomfortable silence – save for the low murmur of the news and the popping bubble of the coffine maker. “…Let’s eat first, and then we can start with vibro blade training. I figure that’s close enough to a light saber to start you off with. Well, eat and change,” she added, giving a slight wave to her worse for wear clothing.

+++++++++

It would seem that there wouldn’t be any room for them to practice. During one of her restless bouts the night before, she’d gone into one of the lesser populated storage rooms and moved some boxes aside. It would still be close quarters – but she’d cleared enough space for there to be a little sparring room. The circle that she cleared out had to have been at least ten feet – the boxes stacked up to serve as a kind of ring.

Walking into the storage room now, she was dressed in her usual second-skin black pants, boots, and a dark red sleeveless shirt under a black vest. The shirt had laces across her chest, carelessly tied across the rise of her breasts. While she waited on him, she idly tossed a vibro blade up in the air, catching it each time by the handle. Across from her, on the wall, was a much battered and worn target, the edges frayed. In her shifting around of boxes last night, she’d found it and promptly hung it up on the wall. From the worn markings on the floor and from what was visible on the walls, it was clear that she had, at some point, used this room as a place to keep her skills sharp.

When he entered, she paused in her catching and throwing of the blade, holding the handle lightly in her palm. “Truth be told, a vibro blade ain’t much good in a blaster shoot out. Small steps fer tender youth,” and with some amount of ease, she tossed the blade in the air again, catching it by the handle mid-fall and sent it hurdling towards the target. The blade landed a slight left from dead center, and she sighed. “I’m outta practice,” she said. Still no small feat, from her distance of twenty paces away, and considering that she was unable to use the Force. “Most targets don’t stand still long enough for you to do that – so it’s a pre-emptive move. When you need the element of surprise, to buy you some time, or to take care of someone at a distance when your hands are full. I haven’t had to do it many times since I’ve been on the space lanes, and I doubt you will. The trick will be for you to master hitting a target without using the Force – or use it as little as you can. Right now, you need to assume that anyone you’re around could be a spy. Walls have ears and eyes. Too flashy of a display,” and she was walking away from him now, to retrieve her blade. Her hips had a slow, indolent swing that begged the eye to follow, even without the blaster holster to draw the eye to the clench of her waist. She stopped in front of the target, wrenching the blade free, “And folks’ll pay attention to you, and not in th’ way that you want.”

With that slow stride, she paced back to him, standing directly in front of him. Showered and in clean clothes, she exuded a faint fragrance of tropical flowers. Odd, such a undeniably feminine fragrance on someone so clearly rough around the edges. She looked up at him, her eyes settling (ever so briefly) on the dip of his lips before finding their target of his silver visor. Although she called him “kid”, this close to him, she was surprised that he still stood a head taller than her. Funny how that worked out.

Holding the blade carefully, she extended the handle of the vibro blade to him. The grip was still warm from her hands. “Give it a shot.”