#Caspira | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

awkwardtimezone · 8 years ago

Text

Sparring Practice (Caspira/Laz’ab)

((Another oooooooooooooooold RP log I should have gotten around to editing way sooner. Following his doctor’s orders, Laz’ab needs to prepare his body for the upcoming stress before he can receive his new cybernetics. Caspira, as usual, becomes his reliable punching bag.

Really just an excuse to see these two duke it out.))

The shadows were long and the sun had since dropped below the horizon of cramped buildings, cliffs, and ramshackle lots by the time the hooded figure made his way down the boardwalks of Rishi. Despite the pirate hub’s tireless energy he mostly ignored the jeers of the locals, the hawking of the marketplace, walking with purpose through the labyrinth of sordid characters. Somewhere a merchant heckled him for refusing to glance at his wares, a man barked offense but was met by his retreating back when attempting to goad a fight, and a Kowakian monkey-lizard brought a brief flash of familiarity to those red eyes before they swept past.

Finally, he found it.

The last glimmer of sunset had bruised the sky a thick blue-black by the time he pulled up in his speeder, having left the heart of the city behind him. She’d done a right good job disguising the exterior of the cave, lush foliage and old transport crates hiding the gleam of a ship’s sleek sides beneath. It’s once impeccable slopes had dulled over the years, marred by filth and paints. But it was her ship alright, and Laz’ab always found his Shadow.

There was a knock at the door that Caspira wasn’t expecting. Visitors were not only rare but entirely unwelcome, and she’d gone to great pains to be as unfriendly as possible short of some serious stabbing incidents out on the docks. Less-than-serious seemed to serve a good enough indication that she wanted to be left alone. Nobody had bothered her in weeks and the knock at the door had her hackles up almost immediately.

Rishi had been the safest place to relocate and it had been with a serious amount of thought that she had grounded her Phantom years ago. It avoided unwanted attention from the major powers of the current galaxy, but put her in a more vulnerable position. Swiveling away from the medbay’s workbench she pulled her beaten jacket over her shoulders and shoved her hat down over her head, grabbing up the blaster set on the hook near the door, and flipped the safety off as she reached the handle.

“Piss off!--Oh.”

Tattooed brows arched upwards as he shot her a dry glare. “... Your hospitality is somewhat lacking since last I remember it.”

Caspira decided not to touch that one, instead flicking the safety back on and opening the door wider by way of invitation. “I wasn’t expecting anybody worth offering hospitality.”

He followed her into her ship as she set the weapon back in its handy spot by the door. “Nice place. The smell of grophet shit almost completely drowns out the odour of unwashed pirates.”

“The locale isn’t ideal, but it is out of sight from those who might cause trouble. Pirates are far easier to deal with than Skytroopers.” It had been a little while since she’d seen the Sith, and last time he had been little more than a skeleton propped up on wires. Laz’ab up and about on his own feet once more was … well, she wasn’t entirely sure. Good, yes, but until she could shake loose his intentions and goals she wasn’t sure how to take his little visit.

“It’s good to see you up and about, my Lord.” It was sincere enough, and as she closed the door behind him she took the opportunity to give him a brief once-over. “What brings you to this corner of the system?”

“You, as always,” Laz’ab drawled. The sarcasm was strong with this one. “What, can’t a Dark Lord visit his Shadow just because he misses her?”

Caspira had briefly forgotten how close his call in the tombs had been. She was reminded sharply of the limb he’d lost when his single remaining arm reached out and ran a hand over the walls of her ship, his other shoulder ending in a folded sleeve. Though looking much healthier than he had been in the recovery ward, his plain black robes did little to hide his ribs, and his spine appeared like rows of small spikes when he arced.

His sharpened nails traced over panels and curves as though checking they were actually there, basking in the ship’s familiarity.Things had been so up in the air since he was pulled out of Korriban he’d hardly had a moment to rest. His estate on Dromund Kaas was a ruin at best, and his chief of security saw them constantly uprooted in an effort to remain undetected.

With a hint of a smile the twi'lek made his way to the sofa in the far corner. He’d spent more than a few sleepless nights on this thing … it seemed like forever ago now, but he could still see the stitches where she’d had to repair it following one of his more extreme episodes. After a moment of indulgence to soak in the memories he turned to face her, leaning against the couch.

“Looks like you’ve been doing well for yourself.”

Caspira had trailed him into the ship like the Shadow she was, watching him circle through the main room. He seemed calm, collected, put together … her eyes inevitably roved to the shoulder of his missing arm but the robes disguised whatever loss he still suffered. Deliberate, she knew, and wondered how he might be faring with that particular detail.

Eyes moving to his own she shrugged out of the beaten jacket and hat she kept around to better look the part of the pirate. “I’m faring well enough. I’m alive, I’m safe, and I’m off the radars for the most part. The downside to remaining this quiet means I haven’t accomplished anything either, though. Whispered information, small actions. It doesn’t seem enough.”

There was no reason to be evasive with him. What she had to say was mostly the truth. “Helping little rebellions, hoping they’ll grow into larger ones. In any case, you look like you’re adjusting well to being back in action.”

“Being confined to a sickbed for months does make the body jittery,” he muttered in wry agreement. If he felt any loss at the absence of his arm he masked it well enough, though the shoulder would occasionally shrug as though attempting to perform a gesture it no longer could.

His remaining arm swept out in a broad arc. “In any case, this is good news for me, because if you’re not up to anything then maybe you have time to help me with something …”

“Inactivity can be a challenge.” Lips pursed thoughtfully, Caspira stepped towards him while staying outside of the personal bubble he always maintained. Clasping her hands behind her back she assumed a relaxed position of attentiveness. “You know you can always count on me to assist. What is it you need me to do?”

Laz’ab’s lips cracked into a grin. “I have a cure for inactivity, but I need your help finding a place. I’ve been instructed to train in preparation for receiving the cybernetic replacement for my arm, but my base is little more than a crater in the ground. Sorvik and I have yet to find a new location suitable for our needs.”

A finger tapped thoughtfully at his chin. “You must keep in shape, Cipher, despite severed loyalties. Show me where.”

“New arm?” Her expression shifted to curiosity as she leaned to the side, as if looking from another angle might afford her a better look. Knowing Laz’ab she was prepared to see any manner of monstrosity attached to the stump of his missing arm, something nightmarish and metal, maybe with an arachnid theme.

He squirmed a little under the gaze, wiggling his stump beneath the robes. “It’s not with me. I had my first appraisal from the new doctor, Sorvik and I just got done commissioning it,” he explained somewhat dejectedly, clearly hoping to have resolved the issue sooner. “She doesn’t seem to think my current … physique will be able to handle the extra weight. I’ve got all sorts of fun supplements to take and homework to do.”

Clearing her throat she straightened back up. “I don’t have as much space here as I did in my apartment on Kaas, but the cargo bay does double duty as open space to keep in practice.” Giving him a small wave to follow, she turned and headed back down the hall to the back of the ship.

The Sith slunk after her, his footfalls barely audible as he utilized his training on Korriban. He peered around the corner, appraising the room. It was typically a very cluttered cargo bay, but there was some order to it now, crates and boxes stacked wall to the ceiling while the open floor was padded with thin training mats. With the ship stationary for so long there was no need to anchor anything, and a few bits of equipment were scattered about the open space. It was a lot smaller than he had hoped for, but it would serve its purpose.

“Though if you’re feeling in need of a more realistic target, the wilds out there are full of all sorts of beasts. Those on two legs and otherwise.”

He followed Caspira into the bay and unclipped his cloak from his shoulders, tossing it into the corner on top of some of her things. Out there the planet was crawling with all manner of nasties, he wanted to control the variables as he eased himself back into the fight.

“That’s alright,” he said, “I have a realistic target right here.” A flash of red eyes and a grin.

“Hm, I suppose that makes enough sense, though a mock-up might be more helpful in assisting you, regaining ability and balance with that side of your body.” She moved to the other side of the room and began some warm-up stretches, eyes on Laz’ab as she dipped and bent. “But you know you can count on me to help you regain some of your former limber speed.”

Grinning in return, she scuffed her feet on the mats and flexed her fingers. “I’d recommend doing a bit of stretching first if your goal is to avoid undue strain.”

“She only just got the blueprints. I was only satisfied once I’d handed them over in person.” Circling around the room, he took a place opposite the former Cipher agent and stretched, imitating some of her routine. It felt awkward at times, and his lips curled absently with every sensation from his phantom limb.

He was still still clad head-to-toe in his long robes, brushing just past his ankles. Despite the extra maneuverability of Caspira’s more practical ensemble--flexible pants and loose shirt--Laz’ab was stubbornly fond of his robes and insisted on fighting in them, though he pulled off his boots. He set them to one side and swept up a long wooden staff from among the bundle of practice dummies and weapons.

“What do you think, Twelve? Think you can take me?”

Caspira bit her tongue as the first acidic response came in reference to his missing arm. While they were typically almost ruthless with their conversational sparring that seemed a mark too far just yet. “Is Rishi full of pirates?”

Kicking off her boots, she grabbed up a shorter sparring blade more representative of a standard length saber, giving it a quick twirl to gauge the balance. “I think this will probably benefit the both of us, it’s been a while since I’ve gone up against anyone of your particular talents and skills.”

Giving him a quick little beckoning gesture to begin, she lunged in first. Starting slow a bit easy to give him the opportunity to find his balance, she swept the blade toward him a smooth arc. He ducked away easily, twirling backwards in a graceful half-pirouette but for a slight stumble in footing. Easily rectified and hardly noticeable, the twi’lek flicked his wrist and brought his own staff up to knock hers aside with a quirky little sneer of his own. He crossed his legs in another sidestep and threw a few more jabs in her direction. They were short, harmless passes intended to get them both in the motion, slowly acclimatizing to using his non-dominant hand.

Unencumbered by a missing limb and time lost in limbo, Caspira was still rather well in her prime so far as fitness and ability went, sidestepping and bringing her blade up to block his own, sliding it harmlessly off to the side as she flowed into a familiar old fighting stance. Gradually working toward full speed, she kept slashing and swiping at the Sith lord with the practice blade.

“Better than I thought, keep at it.”

Laz’ab bared sharpened teeth despite himself when the practice staff wobbled with the blow, the unfamiliar weight cumbersome in his untrained hand. The frustration was only compounded by his inability to reach out with the other, to grip the handle with both and attack as he would have. The rest of his skills, however, had only been sharpened in his fight to survive in the tombs. His feet moved with a mind of their own and fell back on memorized feints and steps. He ducked beneath an oncoming blow, racing past the former agent before spinning, straightening up in the same movement, and lashing out with the staff at her unprotected back.

“Thank you, I did practice. Five years is a long time to go mad with boredom.”

The movement was not entirely unexpected, Caspira had sparred and fought with Laz’ab before, but she hadn’t figured he would move into that sort of combative aggression quite so soon. Bringing her blade up and about, she managed to catch the edge of his staff, clipped by the blow instead of taking it fully. Hissing, she crouched and slid back away, practice blade flashing toward him with an expert twist of the wrist. Bringing her free hand around to lock to the hilt, she increased the ferocity of her blows bit by bit.

“That makes sense of course …”

That arrogant smirk was slowly creeping back across his face when she came at him more aggressively, though he was forced to take a step back as he found himself struggling with the parry. The edge of her blade nicked him more than once and he lunged to press the attack, and if he still had both hands he might have lashed out with his claws by now on impulse. As it was he was forced to rely on his training, and was breaking out in a sweat.

“You’re not bad yourself, for a former agent with a penchant for firearms. Been practicing with your trophy lightsabers while I’m not around?” That sounded a tad dirtier than he’d intended.

Two arcing blows on either side, aiming to knock her arms before he spun, locked the staff under his arm, and shoved it backwards into her chest.

“No, without the Force using a lightsaber is a danger,” Caspira huffed as she backpedaled and dodged the first of his blows. “I’m as likely to hurt myself as achieve anything--”

If she’d meant to say anything else it was lost when his staff struck her square in chest, driving her back a few steps but more importantly driving the air out of her lungs in a sharp ‘whuff’ of breath. Even so she backed off with a quick snap of a counter-blow, batting his staff away with her blade and ducking down to draw in a lungful of air.

He pranced away to the back of the room like an elated child when his blow struck home, watching with a glint in his eye as the former agent caught herself, hands on knees, sucking down air. “You never were one to let risk stop you,” he grinned. “You throw yourself head-first into danger all the time!”

“Good hit,” she wheezed, holding a hand in a gesture of timeout as she stopped to catch her breath. He used the time to better acclimatize with the staff, hewing it through the air. Perhaps jumping straight to the saberstaff had been a bad idea, he usually needed both hands even when he was using his own saber, but he wanted to prove so badly he was still just as capable as before.

After a moment Caspira dropped back into a ready posture and nodded at the Sith--point to Laz’ab. Her eyes narrowed as she took a good look at him, grinning faintly. Time to step it up. And once he was ready she lunged in with a rapid series of feints and strikes, attempting to drive him back and get past his strained guard.

All future thoughts were dashed out of his mind when she came at him again, landing a few knocks on his arms and smacking his knuckles so he hissed and twirled back, feeling his fingers ringing. They were doing well, both of them calm and collected and holding their tempers evenly. Even as she drove Laz’ab back, the agent kept an eye on him, gauging his mood with each pressing swing even as she kept herself in check. There was no need to escalate things emotionally when all they were doing was a bit of practice, a bit of training.

Distracted as he was by holding her off, he didn’t notice how far he was backing him up until it was too late and his back came up against the wall. Struggling with the weight of his weapon there was no room for comebacks, he had to lock one end of the staff under his arm for stability and huffed as he just barely blocked another blow. Pinned against the wall and desperate for space, he brought up one foot, planted it on her chest, and shoved.

Braced against the wall as he was, his foot caught her square in the chest and she rolled with the kickback, hitting the ground at her hips, rolling to her shoulders, and off in a practiced little hop that landed her a bit unevenly on her feet. Hissing, she straightened and took a moment to stretch sore muscles. He was certainly providing her with a good workout. Blade at the ready, she began to circle about his position on guard and waiting for when he threw himself into action once more.

“Calculated risks, yes …” Her eyes remained on him, grip changing to one hand as she rolled her wrist and the blade with it. “But not careless risks …”

Laz’ab, for his part, found it interesting to experience first hand how Caspira moved. He rarely got to witness her at work in the field, if ever, and it had been such a long while since they last sparred. He could see at once what an asset she would have been to any of her previous Lords, such a pity it had never been him.

He also made mental notes of her techniques, similar to his own training in some regards but less … erratic? Her movements were precise, practiced, and calculated, her recovery elegant and fluid, not at all surprising considering the individual she was and her line of work. He got the sense some Sith relied too strongly on the Force and let their technique get sloppy.

Well, he wouldn’t be like them. After circling each other he sprang at her once more, cleaving downward through the air in an arc that made the staff whistle with frightening speed. He cleared the room in a single leap that betrayed the agility hiding beneath the loose robes and skinny physique.

Laz’ab always had been a dangerous mix of Force and fury, Caspira thought, more apt to unpredictability than what she (or anybody, really) could consider classical fighting. What he practiced and used as a fighting style should never have been quite so successful but it had always served him well. There was something new to it now, though, whatever order and finesse he’d picked up during his later training on Korriban had honed that wildness down into something dangerous.

She darted back as he cleared the length of the room, cursing herself for so trained a reaction when she could have gone forward instead. There was no blocking the staff but she diverted the full energy of the blow off an angled guard and fell back a step before trying to press in and take away whatever he may have used as recovery time. Blade shifting, she came in low and swung at his legs, dropping an elbow to try and get in past his guard.

The Sith hissed when she swung, cussing audibly as once more the weight of the staff and his missing limb culminated in a clumsy defense. He just barely stopped himself from lashing out with the Force out of reflex, instead blocking at the last minute. He was unable to stop both their staves from knocking him behind his knees, dropping to the floor before swerving and locking her staff in the crook of his leg. In pain from the attack but quick to recover, he twisted himself into a roll that disarmed them both.

If he had both hands he would have taken up her weapon. As it was he merely kicked them both aside and got back to his feet, using the quick break to wipe a claw across his brows.

“Not bad,” he huffed, visibly warmer beneath all his layers. He tugged at his collar for air, which hugged his neck right to his jaw, grimacing when he was unable to undo his own clasps. His form may have been streamlined in Korriban, but his anger and unpredictability was still very much there and cracked through the façade with each inconvenience.

Shoulders hunched and knees braced, Caspira was grateful for the break herself, huffing out a flat chuckle and glanced over to where her blade sat off to the side of the room. “You’re doing well. I don’t think we need to spar much. We might be going about it the wrong way.”

Moving off to the side of the room, she kept in motion. Stretching, hopping on the balls of her feet and bouncing her steps. “We don’t want to get you too used to fighting one-armed when you have a replacement coming, and if that doctor you saw just wants you to be in shape maybe a bit of target striking or stationary physical exertion will be enough to get you into whatever physical shape you wants you in.”

Pacing along the side of the room, she rifled through some of the other gear she had stockpiled. There would certainly be something close enough to a strike pad for her to wave around at him while he struck out at it. Making sure her intentions were casual, she gestured to the clasps he couldn’t quite get on his own.

“Would you like me to get those for you?” It was an easy offer, passing, easy for him to accept or decline.

“You want me to hit you without fighting back? That’s a first.” Still fumbling and scraping with his clothes he shot her a sharp little glare, pursed lips tight. Then his shoulders sagged in a submissive gesture. “Fine. I could use the Force but that would defeat the purpose of me being here,” he added almost defensively. “You’d think my time in the tombs would have helped me get used to this … problem.”

That was about as much heart-to-heart as Caspira was going to get. He allowed her to help him out of his shirt, discarding it with the rest of his effects. He retained his headgear, a vital piece he rarely took off. She knew vaguely that it was supposed to subdued the noises in his brain to manageable levels, but that was all he had told her. It also helped dampen the feeling of nakedness that washed over him for a moment. He kept his elbow-length wrap on the left arm, ending in his signature fingerless gloves, and his lower robes and belt. The rest was a jumble of straps, rings, clips, and fabric designed to make him look more imposing, small wonder he struggled to dress himself.

Now the agent could see for the first time the full extent of the damage. His torso was riddled with fresh, pink scars so large they were still in the process of healing even months after his stint in the hospital. They interrupted several tattoos, upsetting the symmetry of his body, but the Sith’s markings had never been a point of pride with him. Just another form of torture his master had subjected him to, nothing he earned, and they served as a constant reminder of his past. The most noticeable scar twisted through his right side, mutilating his flesh into a lumpy knot where presumably one of the creatures had literally bitten off more than they could chew. Despite numerous grafts it would take several more reconstructive surgeries to avoid hardening into a fleshy, uneven mass.

And then of course there was his right arm, missing almost entirely but for a superficial stump that twitched with some phantom gesture. It was wrapped in specialized gauze that stretched across his chest, keeping whatever tourniquet in place as he moved. And he was thin. Far too thin. No doubt this was what concerned the doctor, and it was clear he would need to put on much more weight before he could dream of attaching cybernetics. Caspira could practically count each rib and vertebrae on his back. His clothes hid his emaciation well enough, with his headpiece giving the illusion of broadening his shoulders, but without the rest of his ensemble it just made him look even more disproportionate.

The agent took her time taking in the Sith’s appearance, though didn’t linger so long as to make him uncomfortable, something that would have ended poorly for them both. Folding the shirt across a forearm, she moved to the other side of the room and laid them atop some stacked crates, digging into the contents until she found a chest plate that was light but still thick enough to do double duty as a strike pad. Turning back to him, she cracked a smirk and tossed her head a touch.

“You look as though you’ve been trying to survive my cooking,” she quipped, and hooked her arms into the plate’s back straps, bracing it in front of her. Despite being a whiz with a centrifuge and chemical compounds, the agent was an abhorrent cook … something Laz’ab had learned earlier in their partnership. A good portion of the stacked crates were standard bagged and canned survival rations: high calorie meals that would keep a person well fed if not gourmet.

“I’m not going to make myself a stationary target, but you should get a bit more of a beneficial workout this way than trying to learn to manage one-handed. That’s going to change soon enough. Once you’ve got your other arm set, come on back and we’ll go put it through the motions.” With the armor padding positioned in front of her chest and vital organs, she began to circle about the scarred twi'lek, inviting him to action. “Maybe even go wipe out some of the scum lurking about in the jungles.”

“Your cooking would have been preferable to the shit I had to eat in those caves,” he muttered, shooting the staves a morose look before reluctantly taking position across from her.

Though his previous saber ‘technique’--or lack thereof--had consisted mostly of desperate flailing, scratching, and savage mauling for his life, Laz’ab had returned to Korriban to complete his training prior to Zakuul’s invasion. He had taken his studies very seriously, actively improving both his understanding and connection to the Force and practicing his technique with a lightsaber every day. It felt odd going back to physical sparring now. Nevertheless he hunched down, bounced light across the balls of his feet, and lurched out with the first few hits.

“Raw k’lor’slugs … tuk’ata … shyrack or … squellbugs!” He lashed out and struck the pad with each name, a grimace on his face. “If I was lucky I could keep the corpse of the bigger creatures for maybe two days before drawing unwanted attention.”

Caspira made a face as she sidestepped about the area, giving Laz’ab a slowly moving target to strike at. Each swing he made, she braced for, at times shoving back with the padded plate to spice things up a little.

“I was stuck on this godless little swampland planet over the occupation,” She huffed, braced her arm up to absorb a strike and continued to move. “Just myself and one other agent for weeks. Supplies ran out, Skytroopers and Knights all over the place so no chance for extraction or resupply. Ended up eating these nasty little local bugs.” Another strike, another grunt. “Hard shells, slimy meat.” It wasn’t even close to the near-five-years of horror the twi’lek had suffered through, but those close calls and long missions had stacked up over time.

“How are you feeling? Sore, tired … ?”

Laz’ab grimaced briefly at her story, swiping and swinging and occasionally missing. He recovered quickly and corrected his mistakes. “At least you got out of there.” It sounded like the closest thing to genuine concern she was going to hear. The Eternal Empire had screwed everyone over and he wasn’t sure if he could quite come to terms with it. It still felt like he was standing in the middle of the fallout, his home and everything he knew in pieces around him, and yet some corners of the galaxy remained untouched, and life went on.

“I wasn’t in any fatal danger, not like you,” she explained between parries, finding little comparison between her own strained missions and the hell he had survived trapped in those old catacombs and tombs. “I had another agent there to watch my back for me. It was a relief when you were finally found.”

The Sith pursed his lips, lapsing into momentary silence as their separate fates mulled over in their minds. Eventually he changed the subject. “I see you’ve learned from your mistakes.” He nodded towards the stacks of preserved rations, and when she was slightly distracted he thrust his weight into his leg, landing a swift kick in the centre of the plate.

“I feel fine,” he added with a cheeky grin.

His kick connected with enough force to send her staggering back, feet scuffing on the hard flooring as she caught her balance once and let the plate drop, rubbing the sore spot at her chest with a wry smirk. Though he was itching to move after so long in a medical bed, Laz’ab relented, taking a step back and giving her time to recover. He was a little out of breath himself but, apart from the few snags with the staves, was satisfied that his form hadn’t completely gone to shit.

“Yes, you certainly seem fine. Is there anything specific that you’d like to work on or practice so long as we’re here?”

He idly picking at a scab on his chest. “Did you just say it was a relief to see me? Never thought I’d hear you say that … except if maybe you were held at gunpoint.”

He flashed teeth. “Force knows they tried. As for exercise, I don’t know. I’m supposed to be building muscle and putting on weight before the doctor will even consider fitting me with implants. Can I even put on weight?” He’d always been a waif of a Lord, something other Sith sometimes mistook for weakness. And paid for dearly.

“How much weight does that doctor expect you to put on before she gives you this arm of yours?” Scuffing the pad aside with the toe of a boot, Caspira turned to regard the always dangerously-thin-looking twi'lek with raised brows. “Or muscle for that matter?” Knowing at least a moderate amount about cybernetics and limb replacement, she moved to sit on one of the shorter crate stacks and rubbed her knuckles thoughtfully against her breastbone. “Enough to support the weight of a new arm, certainly, but unless it’s made of some truly heavy alloys it shouldn’t be too much.

“I would think that some nutritious food, a bit of physical exertion here and there in the form of workouts, sparring or even hunting would be enough to help you regain some of your former ability and mass. If she’s expecting you to bulk up to standard proportions for a male twi'lek, she’s going to be waiting quite some time.”

He looked less than enthused. “That’s what I was hoping to avoid. The sooner I’m whole again, the sooner I can focus on more important things. But it’s one of my own designs with several internal components. Doc reckons she’ll need to reinforce certain bones and muscles for me to even move the thing without tiring myself out.”

“Augmentation cybernetics should help to solve some of the weight distribution problems, and there are adjusters that you can map to nerves and tendons. It’s invasive though, I don’t think you’d want that sort of deep-surgery done. Which is likely why this doctor didn’t bring it up.” His torso was scarred enough, she doubted anybody that elected to put him under the knife really knew the entirety of what they would be dealing with. Replacing a missing limb was one thing, opening him up to install cybernetics would go beyond what was necessary and edging into excessive.

Rummaging through his utility belt, Laz’ab tossed a data chip her way. “If you’re curious, that’s the full design. I haven’t trusted her with it yet, she’s got a modified version of the file without the insides. The fewer who know of my intent, the better.”

Catching the chip, she pulled out one of her many datapads from around the room and fed it into the system. The three-dimensional hologram of a mechanical arm flittered into focus in front of her. It was sleek, mostly made of reflective materials overlapping and fitting together while imitating the direction and shape of where his muscles should be. Several indentations and patterns were etched across its surface, callbacks to the twi’lek’s deadly Widowmakers, and no doubt intended to glow their same warning colours. The design was simultaneously sharp and jagged, and sleek and practical. It boasted an optional shoulder piece capable of expanding or collapsing, that he could manipulate based on mood or intimidation tactics.

The hologram then deconstructed before her eyes and the plates fell away, revealing the intricate internal workings Doctor Odolys had not been privy to. The main hand, already constructed to resemble a claw and armed with spring-locked blades for nails, fell away and was interchanged with a series of even more brutal blades, needles, and hooks. It looked like he intended to carry some sort of poison or hallucinogen inside the compartment, and all the weapons could splay out at once in a grotesque bastardization of arachnoid horror. The entire structure was a weapon in and of itself.

Caspira opted for casual optimism. “That’s a lot lighter than the average models, but I can see why you would want to keep it that way. I’m not an expert in construction or installation of course but it seems entirely capable of meeting any needs you might have.” She set the datapad aside once more, ejecting the chip and offering it back.

Laz’ab caught the chit in midair, fingers folding around it. “That’s the intent. It has to be light, I need to be quick and quiet when I work. But all the special modifications could mean that by the time the insides are done I may need special counterweights just to balance it." He briefly considered his stump, as though mentally mapping the cybernetic horror on top of it. “I designed it with feedback from my engineers. I knew what I wanted but how to make it all work, that’s all them.”

“A shoulder harness will probably be a necessity for a while anyway, something to keep it comfortably in place without it pulling on all those newly altered muscles and nerves. I’m certain the Doctor already discussed that with you.” Caspira wasn’t a pro when it came to cybernetics, far from it. But she’d watched and observed a certain mercenary Commandant renew and adjust and even add to his collection over the years. Though Jean’s arm hadn’t been severed so close to the shoulder, there was still a lot of work that gone into proper seating, balance and functionality.

Not that she was going to bring up Jean here, no sir.

Knuckles brushing across her jaw as she considered, her glance dropped to the gaudy looking bracer she always wore. “Have you considered adding alchemical means to it? A little bit of Force anchored here and there might make it lighter or at least easier to handle.”

The Sith tilted his head and considered her with renewed interest. “You know about such things? The doctor we sought is Force blind. She seemed to think relying on the Force to would be tiresome and might risk an accident. If there was some way of doing that without maintaining a constant link to the Force, though …”

“There are all manner of different artifacts and talismans dealing with the Force, I’m sure there’s something that could be applied to the arm or the design to help it function in the way I’m thinking. Though she does have a point, there could be involved risk if you were to get over-stressed. Building in some sort of failsafe may help.”

Inquisitor Craiken had one of the largest collections of old antiquities she could think of, it would be possible he might have something she could use for this very purpose. “Sith of the past were fairly creative when it came to solutions for problems and considering that infighting, war and the injuries caused by both have been around forever … it’s not too far fetched to think there could be a focus or even an alchemical design that already exists. And if not, given time, one could probably be made.”

Laz’ab hugged his chest despite himself, absentmindedly seeking comfort as uncomfortable memories came trickling back--darkness, the echoes of his own screams ricocheting down writhing corridors, purple smoke seeping from shards of artifacts like claws as their secrets leaked into the air. They filled the room, filled his mind, crawling into his eyes, creeping down his throat to smother him.

A lekku twitched.

“Probably,” he echoed, as if he was elsewhere. He blinked and the red glaze cleared from his eyes, straightening up. “All the more reason to recover quickly. I’m going to need a proper base of operations before I can even start to research this. I haven’t been back to Dromund Kaas yet, but from what Sorvik tells me, there isn’t much to go back to.”

Caspira watched carefully as the twi’lek divided out from himself, dragged back to something she could only guess at. It wasn’t too difficult to think of what he might have been thinking about or even reliving and she mentally kicked herself for not considering his past versus her proposal. Hard times for them all. But he snapped out of it without much more than one little twitch, and she continued on as if nothing had happened.

“Dromund Kaas is the same as it always is and always will be. From the outside nothing has changed and the leadership pays the Eternal Throne their dues while Sith jockey for position and power. Darth Acina has a tight grip on the Imperial Throne.” Caspira sighed, an old and familiar frustration building. “Everybody goes about their lives pretending that we aren’t being watched, observed, searched. Pretending the Empire is still in charge of their own fate.”

Jaw clenched, she glanced up at Laz’ab. “I might suggest Tatooine, or even Alderaan. Zakuul’s glance isn’t so keen there anymore. Or here, of course. As long as you don’t mind the occasional interruption or attempt at piracy.”

Sitting now on a crate across from her, the twi’lek arranged his head-tails around his shoulders while she spoke, idly tracing over the patterns of his tattoos “Tsssk--typical of the Empire,” he hissed. “From what I’ve been told my compound was pretty much wiped off the map after Zakuul thought they finished me on Korriban, just tying up loose ends no doubt.

“Tatooine or Alderaan you say … pirates wouldn’t be a problem, at least I’d get frequent target practice. I doubt they give much stock here if their civilians go missing or turning up with their body parts rearranged.”

A poor attempt at a joke or dead seriousness, it was hard to tell.

Even knowing his sense of humor, Caspira was prepared to take the remark at face value. “I think it depends,” she hazarded with a faint little grin. “If they’re stupid enough to blunder into danger without taking proper precautions … well, I don’t think they spend too much time searching. If you start making a spectacle of the deaths and disappearances though, that might prompt somebody to start looking deeper. Still, it might be worth it to see.”

The last was a bit more hesitant. She’d seen what Lazab could do and had done to people during her stays and visits to the compound. It was a shame that it had been so badly damaged, over time it had almost become a second home.

“Pirates are predictable. Either nobody misses them and you never hear of it, or you get their crew suddenly out for blood but mostly too dumb to plan beyond a forward, head-on ambush. Eventually they wise up and leave you alone.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience,” he remarked dryly. “Do you need someone taken care of, Twelve? Been bothered by the locals?”

“Not anymore, no. You know how it is, I’m sure. Pirates operate quite a bit like Sith: a newcomer arrives on the scene and you need to test their ability, their drive, their willingness to defend themselves. Find out where they sit in the pecking order.” Caspira shrugged and absently nudged a bit of garbage away from the crates with a toe. “I was an unknown. Now they know that I’m a fixture here, not to be messed with but I’m not aggressive or planning expansion either.”

“Still,” she sighed with a touch of amusement. “You do get the dumb ones that can’t take a hint. They tend to come around every now and then. Hence my greeting you with a blaster earlier.”

He smiled wryly. “That could have ended badly. You’re lucky I’m so fond of you.” That one was definitely sarcastic.

With a groan Laz’ab stood up and stretched, feeling his muscles complain as they were finally put to good use. He folded back into his usual posture when his scar tissue tugged, hunched over with his hands like claws fidgeting by his sides.

“Since you don’t seem so keen on facing me again I guess we could call it quits tonight. Score one for Laz’ab,” he added under his breath.

Caspira chuckled as he finished and took the opportunity to stretch as well. “I could go on sparring with you if you wanted, but I don’t think it would benefit you. Why get you used to fighting one-armed only to have to do it all over again when you got your cybernetics?” Her wry smile was a little teasing.

“You’re welcome to the couch if you don’t want to trouble yourself with navigating this place at night, although I don’t think you’d be bothered if you did. I’d only watch out that you don’t hit a grophet. Those things can destroy a speeder, the dense little pigs.”

“You mean the target practice I saw dotting the landscape?” He raised a brow, collecting his clothes from the crate. He struggled to pull them on, using his teeth as he tried to maneuver his arm through the sleeve. For a while there he was little more than a flailing hand wriggling about as he gnawed and pulled at the fabric. “Fey fidn’t loof life fusch!” he grumbled.

Stepping over decisively, she hooked Laz’ab’s shirt up and over his skinny frame with much the same detached professionalism as she’d shown when she helped him get rid of it earlier. “You’ll rip something, either that shirt or a muscle.” A wry half-smile sneaking into place, she helped him wrestle the shirt into place before stepping back to let him rearrange it. “And yes, the little ones aren’t much a problem but they get large. Mostly they’re just too dumb to move when you come at them.”

“So like you when you’re sparring,” he drawled, returning her dry wit. “But since you offered, I will stay here. Remember that you have only yourself to blame when you wake up in the morning to a Sith sleeping on your sofa.”

“I move!” she quipped back and folded her arms across her chest, fingers tightening around her biceps as she thought briefly back to some of their old sparring matches, and the less friendly attacks of opportunity that seemed to happen when they got onto the wrong foot.

Smirking, she shifted her arms about and deftly curled her braid back around her neck as the coils snaked loose. “It’s been nearly half a decade since I woke to that particular sight. I might even be convinced to go out and net us some of that greasy dock chow.” Better than rations, anyway.

“Ooh, you really are settling down! First the cuisine, next showing me the sights … I don’t know if I trust your taste, after that sludge you call ‘food’.” He tapped his jaw mockingly, as though weighing the pros and cons of accompanying her.

“Keep that up and you’ll be having rations instead.” Moving to the stacked crates, she rifled through several of them until she came up with a spare blanket. Still bantering, she led the way down the hall and into the common area. That too had seen better days since being grounded, though it was still in good condition. The entire ship had taken on the loose-item clutter of a stationary home. “I’ll even be nice and let you pick out which flavor of protein bar you want.”

“Something fruity,” he drawled, trailing after her lazily as she made her way around the ship until she had finished setting everything up. “I’ll stay here and continue practicing with one of your dummies, let you pick tonight’s mystery meal.”

Caspira shrugged. It was almost starting to feel like old times with the bickering and snide remarks. “Alright. I’m taking my rifle, I’ll leave the blaster at the door in case it’s needed.” Her jacket and hat were where she’d left them and in short order she was suited up and looking very little like the capable agent she was. Looking ‘local’ in the somewhat battered clothing, she slung the rifle over her shoulder and looked back at the ship with a thoughtful frown.

“Just don’t dry anything electrically while I’m out.” Smirking, she left on that note and headed out toward the docks.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She paused at the door, looking unconvinced. It sounded like there was more to that sentence.

A flash of teeth, but one could hardly call it a smile. “ ... It’s much more fun to mess with your things and watch you try to figure out what’s changed.” He wiggled his fingers in a sarcastic goodbye.

“Good hunting, Twelve!”

36 notes · View notes