#and two shocking informations over Cassia's head...

[one-half-guy]

🤔I was thinking here🤔 How many times Eggman has possibly used Cassia the Pronghorn as guinea pig in the PostSGW-Archie?

The madman must have been like "Hey Clove, I've installed these new prototypes to help your sister, keep me informed about ANY unexpected effect, both good ones and bad ones!"

And in the very start the poor deceived old sister must've thought "all right, it's happening, it's going, if I do my work right, Cassia's treatment will run with no problem" without even imagine Eggman was just making the final tests before pass on the equipment to the whole egg army... And she was helping...

Without imagine that all the "unexpected defects" were actually expected and Eggman just wanted a quick way to confirm his suspects...

And the thing gets worse after Eggman decide "I haven't to waste my time faking explanations to this subordinate" there by the Eggman's Dozen Arc...

From that moment Clove became fully aware that her dear sister was being just a guinea pig and still she had no options else, she found herself totally helpless with her poor sister at the mercy of the crazy scientist's "goodwill".

Just imagine Cassia learning not only the treatment was being useless, but also that she has been just a guinea pig to Eggman and that her loved sister WAS aware of the BOTH parts.

I always thought the planned plot of Cassia quiting was dark, but it gets darker as deeper you dive...

[atths--twice]

Chapter Twenty Three

Please Don't Leave

New information leads to new theories and thoughts.

Two police cars and four officers were at the scene when Mulder parked the car at the end of the road leading to the cemetery.

Detective Plewett nodded at them as they joined the sheriff who was speaking to a middle aged man wearing a buttoned cream colored henley under a dark blue flannel shirt with a bright orange reflective vest over it, jeans, and dirty, stained work boots.

“Oh good, you’re here. Agents, this is Jesse Ryder. Mister Ryder, these are Agents Scully and Mulder. He’s the one who found Trevor.”

“Found makes it sound like I was out looking for him,” Jesse said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t, not really.”

“But you found him nonetheless, of which his family will be very appreciative. Could you tell us what happened?” Mulder asked and Jesse nodded.

“My job is about three miles down the road and I drive past here every day on my way. Usually, I pay it no attention. I know people have parties sometimes, but again, it’s not really my business. But since those men disappeared and especially since that one came back, I’ve paid more attention as I drive by. Sometimes, I even drive in to see…” He shrugged and exhaled. “I don’t know exactly, but I'll take a quick look on my way to work.”

“Did you do that the day that Peter Blake returned?” Scully asked and he shook his head.

“No, ma’am, not that day. I was running late and I didn’t have time.”

“How was Trevor when you found him?” Mulder asked and Jesse looked to his right and pointed.

“He was standing right there, just staring straight ahead. I thought at first it was a kid from one of the parties, too hungover to think properly. But then when I rolled the window down and called out to him, he looked at me, I knew who he was.”

“Without him telling you?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “A week after the first two men went missing, Trevor’s sister came by my house, asking if I’d seen him and to keep an eye out when I said I hadn’t. She gave me a flier and I’ve had it hanging on my fridge ever since. I’ve seen it every day for the past three weeks, I know what he looks like. Except…”

“Except what?” Scully asked and Jesse shook his head.

“He looked different. Thinner for one thing. A lot thinner and pale.”

“He did?” Mulder asked, looking at Scully quickly and she frowned slightly thinking of Peter who bore hardly any signs of having been missing for a month.

“Yeah. It was a shock to see him at all, but… and I know he’d been missing for a while, but still it was a big change. Like he was a completely different person or something.”

“Did he say anything to you? Say where he’d been?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“But he was… conscious? Aware of his surroundings?”

Jesse sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s the way I would describe him.”

“Okay,” Mulder said, his jaw clenching as he drew in a breath through his nose. “Could you tell us exactly what happened, please? From the beginning one more time.”

“Like I said, I was driving down the road here and I saw him there. Just there,” he said, pointing again. “I pulled over and stared at him, honestly ready to tell him off for being there when men had been disappearing and he should have had more sense. Then when I saw his face, I froze as I realized it was him. I called 911 asking for the police and an ambulance.”

“And he didn’t speak to you?”

“Not exactly a conversation, no.”

“Was he dressed?” Scully asked and they all looked at her. “It’s been a month, it wouldn’t be unlikely that he wasn’t.”

“No, ma’am, he was dressed. But the clothes he wore were way wrong for this time of year. He was in late summer type clothes. Khaki shorts, short sleeve shirt, no jacket, and only socks.”

“No shoes,” Mulder murmured, frowning as he looked down at the ground still covered in a light covering of snow and then down the length of the road.

“What did he say to you?” Scully asked.

“He kept mumbling names, I think. Cassia, Valeriana, Philip Ulmaria… and some others I didn’t catch.”

“Filipendula ulmaria?” Scully asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Maybe,” Jesse said with a shrug. “I apologize ma’am, but I’d never heard those words.”

“It’s Latin. They’re the name of herbs,” she said, looking at Mulder. “Used in different medicines. For sedation, fatigue, infection or fevers, respectively.”

He stared at her, understanding what she was implying, and nodded as he reached into his pocket. Taking out the car keys, he handed them to her.

“What?” she asked, frowning as she looked at the keys.

“You need to go to the hospital, see if you can talk to Trevor,” he said. “Sheriff, we need to search this area again. See if there’s not a… a cabin, a bunker… something that we missed yesterday. There has to be a connection somewhere.”

“I got three guys here, Agent Mulder. It’s not enough to cover it. Last night we had-”

“More people. We need more people. I agree,” Mulder said, looking around and nodding. “Jesse, if you’re able to stay, please don’t leave. Sheriff, I think it might be time to make a few phone calls.”

“Agent Scully,” Doctor Huron said with a smile as he walked toward her, medical charts under one arm, extending his hand. “Pleased to see you again, especially under these circumstances.”

“You’ve seen Trevor then?” she asked, shaking his hand.

“I have. I treated him myself as my curiosity got the better of me to see if his injuries and treatment resembled Peter’s.”

“And did they?” she asked as he led her into an empty break room. Picking up a half full coffee pot, he gestured to it and she shook her head. “No thank you.”

“Probably for the best. I can’t say for sure how long it’s been here,” he said, pouring himself a cup anyway and sighing as he replaced the pot. “Trevor is unexplainably thinner than when he went missing.”

“Not so much, considering the time frame,” she said as he added some powdered cream and stirred it with a thin black stir straw.

“That is true, but compared to Peter, it’s night and day,” he said as he sat down and she sat next to him.

“You have his chart?”

“Yes, but there’s not much to know right now, we’re still waiting on the test results. He was dehydrated, expectedly. Some bruising. Cold to the touch, which is the opposite of Peter as he was warm, a fever of a hundred and three, blood pressure unstable…”

“Was that after he’d been here awhile?”

“No, not all of it. But, Trevor… he was almost hypothermic. So odd.”

“May I see his chart?” she asked, and he nodded, handing it to her.

She read through the chart, humming at things that drew her eye.

“The bruising pattern on his back is opposite of Peter’s as well, nearly identically opposite,” she said, remembering the placement on Peter. “His weight, temperature, bruising… Did he speak to you?”

“Not exactly. Not… not like a conversation.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was mumbling names,” he said, shaking his head and she drew in a deep breath. “But, not people’s names. It was the Latin names of-”

“Medicinal herbs,” she said, finishing his sentence.

“How did you know that?” he asked quietly.

“The man who found him said the same thing.”

“Why would he be saying that?”

“I don’t know,” Scully said, continuing to look at Trevor’s file. “Were there any outlying pre-existing health problems that you could see without any testing?”

“Like physical deformities or something brought on by a disease?”

“Something like that yeah,” she said, closing the file and looking at him.

“No. Other than the very obvious weight loss and dehydration, he seemed in good health.”

“Yeah,” she whispered and then something occurred to her. Something crazy.

Spooky even.

“Peter, with the prognosis of roughly six weeks to live, disappeared for four of them.”

“Right.”

“Yet he came back in more than perfect health, no sign whatsoever of the cancer in his body.”

“Right,” Doctor Huron said again with a nod.

“Trevor, on the outside at least, was not ill and facing the end of his numbered days.”

“Okay. I think I’m following,” he said with a confused smile.

“What if, and believe me, I understand how this will sound, but what if Trevor was taken along with Peter because he could… because there was something in him that could be used to help Peter? What if…” She sighed, knowing what the doctor would say. “… what if Trevor unwillingly and unknowingly helped to save Peter’s life, leaving Peter robust and healthy and Trevor thin and possibly with a lingering illness?”

Doctor Huron stared at her and then stood up, pacing in front of the coffeemaker.

“Are you… are you suggesting that you think a… a doctor is responsible for their disappearances?”

“I am. As hard as that is for me to believe, being a doctor myself.”

“A doctor… Someone with a God complex wanting to save people?”

“Or possibly someone who is practicing with some other sinister motive?”

“But.. a man was healed…”

“As another suffered.”

“That’s… the opposite of how a doctor would behave and treat patients.”

“Precisely,” Scully said, her breathing increasing.

“I… I need to run more tests,” he said, reaching for Trevor’s file. “It seems impossible, but…” He glanced at her as he hurried to the door, leaving her sitting at the table, staring at the cup of coffee he had not even touched, her thoughts jumbled and troubled.

[thereluctantherosrose]

Creed of Blood: (Alexios x Nyxera) Ch.5

     "PATER!!!" Nyxera screamed as she saw her father bleeding on the floor. Two men in silver grotesque masks hovered above him. Soon as they heard her scream, they turned around to her, pointing their blades at her.

     " That's her! They told us to bring her to the Ghost. Grab her and let's go. Finish off the old man" one of them said to the other.

     " No!" Nyxera growled and unsheathed her spear. "You will not take me. I will kill you for what you did to Pater"

They laughed " You are funny, little girl. You are lucky the Ghost has taken interest in you. Otherwise, you'd have been killed by now. And soon...your eagle bearing friend will follow once he finishes off his own pater"

     "Alexios…" her eyes widened. "You will not see the light of day!!!!" She roared as she swung her spear, knocking down one of the men with a powerful kick while skewering the other in the throat with her spear. Blood sprayed everywhere and a sickening gurgle came from the impaled man as she dislodged the blade of her spear. 

The other man stood up and growled " You will regret that, bitch!!!" He swung his blade at her with wild swings, catching her arm slightly, causing her to let out a hiss. 

Blood dripped from the shallow wound, which didn't hinder her abilities, but only pissed her off more. With a winding kick, she kicked out his knee, causing a snap as his kneecap was shattered. He screeched and fell to the floor before she put her boot on his head and held him to the ground. 

     " Who do you work for????" 

    "Fuck...you...The Cult of Kosmos...will take over the Greek world...there is nothing you...nor the eagle bearer can do to stop it" 

She growled and pressed her foot harder into his head. "Fucking scum. You will die like the pig you are. Where is this cult?"

   "We are everywhere and nowhere. We control everything from the shadows, but soon...we will have our day in the light" he smirked as he coughed off blood onto the floor. 

She growled " Too bad you won't be here" Nyxera thrust her spear into his back, causing him to gasp before letting out his final breath. 

Her eyes went to her father and she ran to his side. "Pater! Oh my gods"

   " I'm alright, pup...I am bloodied and bruised...but nothing I cannot recover from…” he smiled and coughed, holding onto his side.

   “Come on Pater...Let us get you to your bed and I’ll clean you up…” she helped him up gently, letting him lean against her. She was so grateful that her father was ok. She wouldn’t have been able to forgive herself if anything worse had happened. Still. It seemed they weren’t after him, but really after her. So even unknowingly, she knew it was her fault that this happened. But who was this Cult of Kosmos? And why were they after both her and Alexios?

She gently set him down on his sleeping mat and propped him up so she could properly take care of him. Once she got all of the supplies she needed, she took a seat beside him. He had a cut on his brow. It wasn’t too bad, but it definitely was going to bruise. She dipped the cloth into the bucket next to her before gently cleaning the blood from his head. “Pater...who is the Cult of Kosmos? What can you tell me about them?”

He frowned slightly and sighed “I suppose...I can no longer hide it from you...It’s no longer safe to and you need to know...the Cult...are the ones that killed your parents”

Her eyes widened in shock “They...killed them? Why? What did they do that was so...terrible?”

   “They didn’t do anything terrible...in fact...they did something great...Not only were they an example of how Spartans and Athenians can coexist and love each other, but they had you”

   “But I’m nothing special. I’m just...me”

   “On the contrary, you are more special than you know. You are the child of two worlds. A prophecy long ago stated that a child of the worlds of Sparta and Athens would aid in the restoration between Chaos and Order, not alone but with help, but you still posed a threat”

   Her eyebrows furrowed “My visions…”

   “You and Alexios are bound by fate. You’ve been picturing Alexios in your visions even before you knew him. Your visions are also what is valuable to them. That is why they want you alive. They want to use you to bring the Cult to higher power. Both you and Alexios are blessed by the gods. Don’t you see it?”

She bit her lip and thought it through for a moment. She always had been close with Alexios, and felt like they had a special connection, but now it all made sense. “I do...Do you know about this Cult?”

   “Very little I’m afraid...They make it a point to keep their organization a secret. But they have a hand in every single political organization in Greece. All they want is war, for the Spartans and Athenians to destroy each other so that they can take complete control. Divided they are weak. Your parents loved you very much...They wanted you so badly. To the end they defended you. Cassia with her last breath made me promise to protect you, and I agreed wholeheartedly” he gently put a hand on her shoulder and smiled “You are the best thing that has happened to me. We may not be blood, but you are still my daughter. You are my heart”

Nyx smiled and leaned her head onto his hand “I love you, pater. You have done an amazing job as a father…”

   “As I love you. I made mistakes in my life, but you aren’t one of them. But I know I have done you wrong by not telling you of this sooner”

   “You did what you thought would protect me. I cannot fault you for that. But...I need to leave. I cannot stay in Kephalonia. Everyone is at risk with my being here”

   “Most importantly you are at risk. But I will not abandon you. I made a promise”

   “Pater…”

   “Nyx...I have connections in Athens...connections that can help. You need to know more about where you came from...and about your parents. You will get answers there. We will be able to get to Athens...and from there...once you have what you need...then I will at least know you are safer...I will remain in Athens and collect information, and from there a contact of mine will be able to transport you to Lakonia, where you will be able to find out much more.”

She frowned and nodded “If you think that is best…”

   “It is. I wouldn’t be going back to Athens if I had a choice. But, it is our best chance”

   “Alright”

   “I will make arrangements to leave in the morning. For now, pack only what you need, and we will leave at dawn”

[anghraine]

“whatever we deny or embrace” - part three

I forgot about doing this, but a difficult day reminded me, so:

title: whatever we deny or embrace verse: queer Rogue One/f!Cassian AU (4/6) characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso; Jyn/Cassian stuff that happens: For Cassia and Jyn, touch carries a weight of its own. previous sections: prologue, part one, part two

Cassia disliked physical contact.

That didn’t stop her from performing it, of course. She was a spy, and no matter the species, sentient beings communicated through touch, in part or in whole. She couldn’t afford to stand out, couldn’t afford to alienate people, and certainly couldn’t afford to restrict information from herself. 

Sometimes she needed to be approachable, sometimes menacing, sometimes charming, or forgettably present, or something else. Regardless, each required contact or proximity in some fashion or another—a clap on the shoulder, a warm handshake, a step into someone’s space with a hand on her holster, a casual brush of arms.

Assassinations and other murders didn’t often require it, thank the Force. Cassia would shoot an enemy from a foot away before stabbing or bludgeoning or otherwise breaking them. But some killings, the kindlier ones, required a reassuring touch before the end. 

—No. They didn’t require anything but a blaster bolt through the back. Touch just helped ease the way, a little. A very little.

Those times were the worst. Selfishly, the second-worst was tolerating—with a smile—the sort of contact that, among Rebels, would have had her stunning the offender and turning them over to Draven’s tender graces. In the field, she could sometimes prove herself with a satisfyingly violent response. More often, she had to lean into the touch, infuse her face and body with warmth and welcome. Rarely more than that, but to someone who had to repress a jolt of raw loathing when someone bumped into her on the street, it felt … unpleasant. Profoundly so.

Distance, she always thought, was a privilege.

Jyn Erso did not alter her opinion on that point. Distance and detachment were privileges. No, Jyn only altered Cassia’s longing for them.

It was one thing to stay near enough to maintain a guard on a reluctant ally who might run at any moment, and who kept trying to a) maul or b) befriend strangers in the middle of Jedha. Any time Cassia relaxed her vigilance, she almost immediately found herself facing Jyn-shaped problems, forced to fall back on apologetic smiles or brusque demands just to get them through the marketplace. But she wasn’t altogether sure how or why she kept ending up close enough to feel the warmth of Jyn’s body.

Jyn kept her distance, without keeping much distance at all.

Even on the flight from Eadu, as Cassia curled her mouth into a cold smile, they somehow ended up so near that she felt Jyn’s breath on her face. And it happened again at the Massassi Base, when some inexorable pull had Cassia curving her path towards Jyn like one star to another, Cassia’s downtilted head half-eclipsing Jyn’s face. She didn’t like touch, yet she drew near over and over and over again, close enough that a nudge or dip of her head would have them touching in earnest. Cassia found herself smiling down at Jyn, too, slight, easy smiles that she didn’t even intend.

She didn’t smile in the turbolift on Scarif, too ground down by exhaustion and fear and the pain piercing through every part of her body. But Jyn’s grip on her softened the anguish rather than worsening it—Jyn herself did, in her survival and her being—and Cassia readily sank into her embrace.

She sank into Jyn’s kiss, too.

It was a cautious, hesitant thing, gentler than she’d imagined they could be, pleasure prickling over the roar of pain. Cassia’s mouth pressed back against Jyn’s, Jyn’s against hers, their lips warm and clinging. More than ever before, Cassia wanted this. She wanted this touch, this intimacy, this … Jyn. She wanted Jyn.

She might well be dying, inching closer to the end with each kiss. But Force, she wanted to live.

Jyn had nightmares long before she went to Scarif. She had them during the long days when Cassia hung between life and death: some unfamiliar and vivid, others worn stale but never easy. And she had them afterwards, old and new swimming together, though less often.

That, she suspected, had something to do with Cassia’s soft(ish) bed. Of course, she’d slept in it before, while Cassia floated in bacta: no point in making do with a square of ground or the miserable barracks when she knew a perfectly fine bunk was available. It hadn’t done much for her then.

Sleeping near other people didn’t generally improve things. Jyn avoided it whenever she could, and slept with a hand on her blaster when she couldn’t. But she hadn’t trusted any of those people. She hadn’t trusted anyone since Saw left her, and hardly anyone before that. Cassia, though—Cassia who had Jyn’s back without need, who showed up with naked vulnerability and a strike team, who climbed after her with cracked vertebrae and torn knees and fire in her side—Cassia was different. And when Jyn fumbled through an explanation for the rumpled bed, Cassia hurriedly replied that she didn’t mind, the barracks were awful, Jyn could stay whenever she wanted, keep staying if she’d rather.

As it happened, Jyn would very much rather. Her inarticulate mutter of assent probably gave the opposite impression of the one she intended, but it was assent. She’d carved out space for herself in far less palatable circumstances. Jyn readily marched into Cassia’s quarters with everything she owned, namely the clothes on her back, her mother’s crystal, and Cassia’s blaster.

Mine now.

Cassia herself looked startled. Between one instant and the next, though, her look of surprise melted into tentative pleasure. Another moment smoothed that over, too, but Jyn had caught enough glimpses of it in their time together to recognize the expression at full blast. Relief swept through her—not that she’d worried that the offer might be only words, that Cassia would withdraw her welcome, but—but it was good to know for sure.

Reassured further by Cassia’s offer of her clothes, Jyn immediately took her up on it. They fit her better than Cassia herself, in fact, though she had to roll up the ankles of the sleep-pants to keep from tripping on them. Whatever Cassia had been doing before they met, it must have involved fewer meals than Jyn got in Imperial captivity. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Jyn wasn’t sure she wanted to leave the fresher, either, wearing nothing but thin cotton before a woman she’d kissed. Just once, in the turbolift, and she could have marked it down to the wild blur of victory and loss, to desperation, to giving or taking something before very probable death. She could have, except she knew it would be a lie.

Almost from the first, they pulled at each other like stars. By the time she admitted to uncertainty in the hangar, she could feel them swinging into orbit about each other (“welcome home,” Cassia murmured, dark eyes alight, and Jyn—wanted). A shared smile had them both shaken from the impact, shocks jolting through her body at a brush of Cassia’s arm, and … and she couldn’t even think of it all. The details didn’t matter. Only the simple truth that she’d kissed Cassia because she wanted to. She still wanted to.

Maybe. Probably. Force, she didn’t know. Everything was more complicated now, even if she hadn’t decided to take up residence in Cassia’s quarters. Cassia’s bed.

Jyn stared at the door and told herself not to be a fool. This was Cassia, not some attractive stranger in a cantina. She didn’t want to snap any bridges, anyway.

Thankfully, Cassia had turned down the lights and climbed onto the far side of her bunk by the time Jyn emerged. Despite the inescapably humid heat, she lay under a thin blanket. Jyn just shook her head as she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to look unconcerned as she calculated how far she could sprawl without touching Cassia.

Jyn tugged up her side of the blanket and pushed the whole thing towards Cassia. “You don’t need to share. I’m already melting.”

With a sleepily grateful sound, Cassia pulled the rest of the blanket around herself, ducking even her head into the layers. Jyn could see nothing of her beyond the distortion of the blanket and the spill of her hair over her pillow. Altogether, she looked silly enough that Jyn managed to lie down with only moderate nervousness.

“You’re still not warm?”

“I’m never warm”—came from the Cassia-shaped lump. Sounding a little more alert, she added, “I should have told you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jyn, meaning it. She’d been perfectly comfortable on Jedha with nothing but a scarf added to her usual clothes. Cassia, of course, had buried herself in a fur-lined coat that could have contained two of her. “I’m a furnace, anyway.”

Cassia’s fringe and upper face emerged, eyes heavy and blinking. “Good.”

“Right,” said Jyn inanely. “Good.”

She almost laughed as Cassia withdrew into her cocoon, her breaths evening out within a few minutes. It could be a trick, or at least a deception, but Jyn didn’t see any purpose in that. She chose to believe her asleep, and chose to lie there in the quiet, letting her mind drift from the urgency of the last month to this small, peaceful corner she could call home. Not in itself, of course. They might well be gone in a month. The person, though, sleeping with easy trust beside her—

Well.

Jyn had no nightmares that first night, probably because residual nerves kept her awake for most of it. On the second, she slept in longer fits and starts, lulled by Cassia’s slow, steady breaths and occasional murmur. She kept waking in a sweat, since her body seemed to move from the edge of the bed every time she fell unconscious, tangling with the side of Cassia’s blanket. But she slept.

On the third night, she dreamed.

She didn’t remember most of the dreams; perhaps they were even innocuous. But she remembered the usual return to Eadu, water drenching her as fire rained from above, her father dying in her arms. He knew her, and that seemed her only consolation—she couldn’t leave him, but Cassia was there, pulling her away like she’d pulled her from Saw’s bunker. Cassia had talked her into that first escape by promising that she’d found Galen, that she’d bring her to her father, and now! She’d say, she’d say that she had done it, that this was … oh, some wriggling Rebellion lie, like Saw always said.

Always, except at the last. Save the Rebellion! save the dream, he’d cried, but this was the Rebellion, and she couldn’t think of Saw with her father here, struggling for breath, the smell of his blood in her nose. Her father who had only left when forced, only—Cassia was still tugging her, Cassia who never left her at all, but who had used and betrayed her, and she wouldn’t run, she’d been the Alliance’s pawn long enough.

Another bomb exploded, near enough that Jyn threw herself back. Cassia didn’t.

In some perversion of irony, the explosion flung her body towards Galen, sprawling in a lifeless heap beside him. Jyn’s rage sank into horror as she stared down, grey-brown and near-black hair plastered to dead skin, blood soaking through Imperial coat and Rebel jacket alike.

That wasn’t right, she thought dimly—it hadn’t been—but the cool intrusion vanished as Jyn screamed for them, not even knowing if the water rolling down her face came from the sky or her own eyes. Who cared? Cassia—Papa—no, no, not—

Jyn wanted to climb down after them, but she couldn’t. She had to get the plans out. She had to, they’d understand, but she couldn’t turn her gaze from the broken bodies below her, limp on the sterile Citadel platform. Couldn’t, except someone was grasping at her, jostling her grip where she’d climbed, and she had to get out, she had to, or none of it mattered.

“Get off,” she snarled, somehow already at the top of the tower, still dogged by her hanger-on. She didn’t have time for this. Jyn leapt forward and tackled the stranger, the—

She blinked down at the woman beneath her. “Cassia!”

Dazed, she said, “Jyn?”

“I …” At some point, Jyn had leveraged her entire body against Cassia, holding her down with her weight and clenched thighs, her hands gripping Cassia’s wrists and pressing them to the mattress. Quite evidently, Jyn had won the fight, but she didn’t understand why it existed. Even at their most antagonistic, she’d never dreamed of attacking Cassia. Yet here she lay, yielding and defeated under her.

The vibrant light of Scarif had vanished, the dark of night brightened only to a paler dimness. Shadows flickered over the bed, over Cassia’s face, obscuring and illuminating her as Jyn remembered from … from the lift? But that didn’t … that …

Oh.

“Sorry,” Jyn muttered. “Nightmare.”

“I guessed,” said Cassia, dry even now, pinned to the mattress. But her eyes were wide, or seemed like it. Jyn couldn’t be sure in this lighting, the way it heightened the dramatic lines of her face. Even her hair spilled into monotones, fanning black about her head. Softer darkness shaded over her left jaw and traced the line of her throat, deepened where her pulse beat.

Jyn neither knew nor cared what she looked like at the moment, yanked out of a nightmare after hours of sleep, still un-threading her confusion. But Cassia, Cassia was beautiful.

Wildly, Jyn wondered what would happen if she let go of Cassia’s wrists and leaned down, if she followed the impulse to drag her mouth over the shadows of her throat, to scrape her teeth over the dark hollow of it. Would Cassia push her away, or—? She almost shivered, a heady mix of guilt and desire and lingering adrenaline running through her. Not that she should feel guilt over anything. Apart from attacking Cassia in her own bed.

Fuck. She hadn’t slept enough for this.

Cassia, meanwhile, remained calm and relaxed, her skin pleasantly cool. Jyn half-envied that and half-resented it. She’d felt no resistance from her, not for a moment. Which meant Jyn hadn’t really won.

“You can fight better than that,” she said, disappointed. “You didn’t even try.”

“I don’t get into fights I can’t win,” said Cassia. Her voice was hoarse with sleep; Jyn usually stayed silent through nightmares, but she might have woken her this time.

In fairness, she doubted it took much. Either way, Cassia must have been trying to help.

“You’re a Rebel,” Jyn pointed out.

Cassia just blinked up at her. “We can win. You know that.”

She sounded a little breathless, probably because she had a hundred-odd pounds of Jyn on her. Belatedly, Jyn realized that it must seem strange that she’d just stayed there, holding Cassia down. And she could think of about a dozen ways it might turn infinitely more awkward.

Jyn released her and climbed off, cheeks so hot that she spared a moment’s gratitude for the poor lighting. Since one apology more than filled her week’s quota, she confined herself to a skeptical,

“I’m more formidable than the Empire?”

Cassia rubbed her wrists, neither concealing nor making a production of it. “Only in hand-to-hand.”

Smiling in the dark, Jyn laid herself back down. “I’ll take it.”

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep again, or to see more horrors through the night, variously real or magnified or spawned by her mind. Less of them, though. And once or twice, they slipped into something altogether different: Cassia, soft and pliant beneath her again, her pulse thrumming against Jyn’s teeth.

[pandacommander24a]

A brief summary of what has happened for the last month in my Rogue Trader game...

The ship pulls into Zlatan's Luster to refuel, rearm, and crew up. It's been a hellish three months, first trapped in the warp, attack by a demon, attack by dark mechanicus, and finally almost eaten alive on a plague planet filled with zombies controlled by a greater daemon. Its enough to make someone turn to drink.

So, Octavius goes for a drink, that's right, the crazy demon slaying Astropath goes for a drink. He thinks he can find a job, mostly he finds booze. He asks the sheltered Astropaths that he just got to replace the poor fellows who kind of mentally exploded, both literally and metaphysical, for cool places on the station.

 So armed with shut in knowledge Octavius goes for drink, but he understands he is important, and important people don’t drive. No that’s plebe work. He requests a driver. He gets Veremund, the Petty officer sort of reassigned to help Command Staff when they set out several months ago. Well everyone seemed to forgot about him, so he has been doing whatever he wants on the ship which mostly has been taking levels in badass because of all the crazy shit that has been happening.

So Octavius goes to a snazzy bar to drink and a quiet evening with other Psykers. Meanwhile outside the snazzy bar Veremund has kicked the shit out of the Valet for daring to suggest he move the ship’s car. The Valet calls the Arbiters about the beating. They show up demanding papers and start telling Veremund to move the Car, because they are the law. Veremund kicks the shit out of them as a rebuttal. A group of riot squad shows up, Veremund demonstrates his point to them as well. Octavius finishes up inside comes out to the scene, saying nothing, they leave to go on further drinking adventures before the Arbiters can call for backup.

Normally this would have been it, but the ship’s marines, not the Astrates, were given shore leave only hours before, which leads Octavius to realize he could score free drinks since he is like the coolest person on the ship. So he has Veremund take him to the dive bar where the marines are drinking for fun and drinks. Well, while Octavius is retelling the story of how much of a badass he is, Veremund is outside with the car.

Now this seedy backwater of a port in the middle of the space lanes is a good criminal spot, lots of space, lots of ships coming and going, no one really does anything to mess shit up. However, that’s come to an end. See the signal the ship picked up that brought them to the Demon Zombie plague world was an Inquisitional Coded broadcast. While the crew never learned what it was, it was still important. It was a distress code and a dead man trigger that the world was compromised. So an Inquisitional Task force, namely a crusader fleet, assembled and is on their way to liberate the world. Good news, they don’t have to. Bad news, they don’t know that. The inquisition however is using a Crime Syndicate to take over the back channel methods of transportation and information spreading, in a way to keep everyone one on the down load and control the responses of world along the way to the planet. 

This Syndicate’s local boss is a man named Merriweather. Now Merriweather thinks he is a badass because he’s the biggest dog in town, spoilers he isn’t. With the Inquisitional backing Merriweather can do no wrong, using this notion for inspiration he goes on the offensive and takes out the other gangs, either absorbing them or destroying them. A few months of brutal gang fighting and it’s clear that Merriweather is on top.

Merriweather goes out for a stroll this particular night. He wants to be seen as the biggest and baddest, so he goes out to peacock his way around town. People avoid him because he is kind of big deal. They get out of his way, except Veremund.

Merriweather and his goons cruise up, first because the car is snazzy, and it’s weird. Like foreign car from another planet weird, it is. They ask about he car, Veremund is a petty officer on a ship that literally went to hell, he does not care about these guys and ignore them. Merriweather gets upset. He touches the car. Veremund cares about the car and smacks Merriweather’s hand off car, and goes to wipe off the hand print. Merriweather’s goons are not going to stand for this disrespect. They get loud. The marines come out, because someone is shouting in a now mostly quiet street because everyone has gone quite after Vermeund hit Merriweather. Octavius comes out, drink in hand, wondering why he has to buy the next round, because that’s plebe work and Octavius is not a plebe. The marines shout at the goons. The goons shout at the marines, and Veremund. Veremund wipes the hand print off the car’s finish. Merriweather backs off, he can sense what’s going to happen. Octavius runs out of drink, the straw making a pitiful noise and the ice rattles. A Goon go to touch the car. Veremund breaks that idiot’s hand. That idiot screams. The goons go for their guns. The Marines go for the goons. The next few minutes are a literally curbed stomped as a bunch of drunk, pissed off combat vets that have been needing a good blow off event have a blow off event. The goons provided wonderful volunteers.

Anyway after the fight, a bunch of Crime boys are dead for picking a fight with a group that basically seen the bad side of the warp’s anus for the last few months. Everyone still alive fucks off. Our party of marines, the helper and the psyker go back to the ship after the fight because it soured the mood. Merriweather runs to the hills in the confusion.

Meanwhile Master Petty Office Konrad goes out for a night of fun as well. He sees the fight start and ignores that tall glass of Nope, but he wanders down the street. He too is looking to find a good information source for jobs. He wanders into an odd bar down the street and while pretending to just be getting information learns about the Syndicate however he is soon involved in the group he was dropping his ease on. So there is Konrad drinking, telling stories about the ship, drinking, talking about this and that, and drinking. Soon he has drank too much, and spoke too much and he is told to leave as it is morning and the bar really does need to turn out. Well Konrad shouts his opinion at the bar man and leaves wandering down the street.

Since the fight from what is now last night Merriweather gets some of his boys and goes back to the first bar. Well everyone has pissed off in the morning so Merriweather is mostly shaking down a poor bar owner for someone else’s social faux pas. Merriweather is a cruel, stupid man but he knows his position is only as strong as it is perceived.

Enter mostly drunk Konrad in the same style uniform as Veremund from last night. Merriweather stares, the goons stare, while Konrad looks around in confusion of a man who forgot where he parked because he doesn’t have a car. Merriweather tells the goons to grab that man, Konrad, for questioning. Konrad pulls his bolt pistol out, and shoots one of the goons. As that goon’s head explodes sending bits and pieces into the air and on everyone nearby. The goons pull their guns and return fire. Konrad is soon pin down by automatic fire in an alley with dwindling ammo.

He gets on the vox and demands/requests aid. A nearby Marine sleeping it off on the bar helps. Climbing up onto a nearby roof the marine throws a Molotov at the goons. Merriweather serves being set on fire but several of his men, and the car they came in do not.

While this plays out we cut to several hours earlier. Where Cassias Thule is visited by an old friend who pays off an older debt and tells Thule to get off the station. Thule use to belong to the Syndicate on a footfall station years ago, things went bad and Thule is lucky to be alive. Merriweather however feels it makes him look weak. Again see the poor fella whose bar is now on fire. So The Patriot’s Glory, who is taking one everyone with a simple question, can you read, join well it’s in the bag and a good idea to get off the station where the most powerful organization wants you dead for very stupid personal reasons.

Thule quickly gets himself hire and presents himself as a man to help with security on the ship. Thud is happy to have an ace in the hole following everything, makes arrangements. Thule is now the master of whispers and it pretending to be the Vox master so he can monitor all communication on the ship.

Well several hours later everyone is one this ship when a Messsager from the Syndatic shows up to talk to the head man. The captain is resting, so he’s out. The XO is mostly dead, so he isn’t going to work that leaves Konrad. As he goes down, Thule who is known as Holt on ship and to Konrad, tells Konrad not to trust these guys as they are lying cheats and are armed. Konrad thinking it’s a setup orders more Marines down to the gang plank. Konrad arrives moments later and tells the marines to be ready. The Marines already put onto high alert by the order of more bodies nod in understanding at this new order. Konrad goes out to talk with the messenger.

The messenger opens his mouth, shows his hands are empty and then a sharpshooter puts a bolter shell into his skull. The Marines swarm out of the ship firing their weapons. Before the massager bodyguards get a chance to react, they are gunned down by stubber rounds, las shots and bolter shells. One of the cars tries to make a break for it. The Marines shoot the driver. Tear open the doors and pull out two screaming women. One of them too loud and too much in shock of the rapid turn of event takes a rifle butt to her nose which breaks it and knocks the poor woman out. The Marine shoot everyone not a prisoner again to be sure. The two prisoners are dragged out of the station into the ship as the marines set demo charges and blow the cars before retreating back into the ship. Under the cover fire suppression systems and fire alarms no one notices the security cameras watching all of this silently.

Dragged into a now unused shower the two women are looked after briefly while Konrad does his best interrogation and intimidation attempt on two brutalized and scared women. Octavius, using his psychic powers to mind probes the one that didn’t get assaulted to find out who she is. Her name is Maggie, she is the daughter of the boss of the whole crime syndicate, who is on his way with Inquisition Crusader Fleet. Why Merriweather has been the queen of the ball he knows he has an army to get his back never mind the Judge or the other organizations. The Syndicate has pack up everything and now every criminal under its umbrella is going to fight as soldiers in a holy war to buy indulgences for the organization's members. The massager that the marines vaporized? He was Donnie, the boss’s son. The woman the marines assaulted, his wife, and the Boss’s beloved Daughter-in-Law. Donnie was coming to talk peacefully about coexisting and hopefully sort out the disrespect the organization clearly showed to the Merritt Family’s crew. There is a moment of silence for peaceful respect being shot like Franz Ferdinand on parade.

Konrad only gets like half of this, Maggie is less than pleased and likely thinking that information or her worth is the only thing keeping her alive. Octavius tells Thule, because he mind probe him earlier and learns all his secrets, everything. However neither of them tells Konrad. Likely because Konrad is who everyone is letting be in charge and make decision, regrets are twenty/twenty. Konrad in the meantime goes off to think about all this, and figure out what he can do.

While the Crew was assaulting family members of a VIP Inquisitional Asset. Thurd was getting more soldiers for the ship, namely sanctioned Kroot Sell knives who were contracted to deal with the WAAAGH to the south but got stuck on the station. He reaches a good deal and recruits Cyrax the first Prime, and first amongst equals to the ship. As they are returning because it’s believed that the massager was kidnapped by the crew, the group is stopped by angry Goons, a fight breaks out and everyone leaves with a bloody nose. The Kroot settle into the ship without any other issues.

Well while everyone is trying to figure out what to do about Maggie and Margie. The Judge has figured out what to do.

Since the crew has assaulted Arbiter officers, started a bar fight that killed people, started a gun battle, not once but twice, set fire random buildings, again not once but twice, responding with overkill to pretty much everything including just ringing the doorbell, has aliens aboard their ship and now kidnapping VIP Nobles off the Station. The Judge has a clear understanding of how to approach the ship.

Namely with an army of soldiers. An army of Arbiters with any weapons he can get like tanks. So he does, with a subpoena for the Captain, and demands the captain show up so he can be arrested and charged for the crimes listed above. Konrad is informed of this several times as he comes down to the gangplank to find the army waiting and ready to try and take the ship. In any case the Judge is not taking come back later as an answer.

However, Thule has a cunning plan thanks to the memory mind probe he dresses up as Maggie and gets Octavius to sync his minds up to Maggie’s. For Thule is a Master of Disguise, it is how he made his living on the station. He leaves the ship escorted by one of his Agents to save the ship, unaware a of critical detail he has missed...