#sith fynta/jedi jorgan au

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Alderaan Part Two

Chapter One  |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

You can read it by following the above links (for better formatting), or below the cut (for lazy formatting).

This AU is purely self-indulgent. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Every time Fynta and Aric make a little headway, something reminds them that they have nothing in common. These two need a good mediator, and thankfully, one is on the way. Word Count: 5,522 Special guests: @tishinada​ Ucevi  @kunoichi-ume​ Noara

Alderaan Darth Nemesis Safe House

"Well, that could have gone better." Fynta stared at the darkened archway where Aric had vanished. She still felt his fury and hated that she was the cause. Ironic since she'd spent their first couple of weeks together pushing the Cathar to his limits because. She'd wanted the measure of his temper. Now, she had it.

"He doesn't seem to like me," Nora mused from her position in the opposite entry. She'd held back, keeping Aric at bay while Fynta tried to convince them both not to kill one another. The Chiss hummed in thought, and Fynta silently cursed Ucevi for her secretiveness for once. She knew what was coming before Nora spoke. "He's not Sith, not with the way he wields the Force."

Slowly, Fynta turned to face her hostess. Red eyes widened, then snapped to Fynta. "Please tell me that you didn't bring a Jedi into one of my secret havens."

Though Nora's tone was sweet, the underlying threat was obvious. Fynta blew out a breath and tried to think of a reasonable excuse. "Technically, the Jedi brought me here."

Pale brows reached Nora's hairline, but it was her apprentice who spoke. "Did he defect?"

Noara was still in her early twenties, not yet granted the title of Lord of the Sith. She was strong in the Force, but with too gentle a heart to use it for evil. Thus, she was Darth Nemesis's studious assistant in the public eye. Only a chosen few knew that the girl had once been a Jedi Padawan.

Fynta shook her head. "No, he's still very much a pompous ass." She sighed. "But he's a vital part of my mission. Grandmother approved."

"Does this have anything to do with that information you wanted about Nox?" Nora asked with a wary side glance at her apprentice. Fynta opened her mouth to respond, but the Chiss raised one manicured hand. "Never mind, I don't need to know. So long as Ucevi deems it critical, I'll allow whatever this is." She waved that same hand past Fynta towards where Aric had gone. Judging by Nora's expression, she wasn't pleased with how well the Jedi knew the layout of her safehouse.

Dropping her hand, Nora turned to her apprentice. "Be a dear and activate the service droids. We'll stay only long enough to refuel and restock. Then, I feel as if it's best that we are in the eye of the public while Fynta and her Jedi complete their task."

"Yes, my lord." Noara waited for her master to turn away before leaning closer to Fynta. "Meet me on the blaster range in half an hour. I want to show you my birthday present."

Fynta grinned. She'd taught the youth to shoot once she'd recovered from her stay in Nox's reeducation cells. Noara had come a long way from the skinny child barely holding onto her sanity. Fynta hadn't planned to become someone's hero that day, but she'd never regretted her choice to steal Nox's newest pet. Ucevi had placed the girl with Nora shortly after, and Noara had flourished under that gentle tutelage.

"Deal." Fynta agreed, then she cursed and reached for Noara's arm as the girl turned to leave. "Make it an hour; I need to handle Aric first."

Noara's expression turned serious. "Be nice to him. It can't be easy being surrounded by your enemies. I don't need to know what you're up to, but I'm going to guess it is parsecs outside of his comfort zone. But, he's still here."

"Yeah." Fynta chuckled, then ruffled Noara's dark bangs like she used to. It was hard to see her as the adult that she'd become, rather than the adolescence Fynta had grown to care for. She widened her smile and made a hand gesture of honesty. "I'll be nice, promise." Rolling her eyes, Noara left to do her master's bidding while Fynta followed after Aric.

The walk to Aric's room seemed to be too long and too short at the same time. Fynta stood outside the door with her knuckles poised to knock but unable to make the connection. She had no idea what to say to mend the sort of hurt that she'd felt in Aric before he shut her out. Even now, Fynta could sense the Cathar's restlessness, but it paled in comparison to what they normally shared. He'd walled off his emotions so that Fynta only caught glimpses of what leaked around the seals.

Fynta shored up her defenses and rapped her knuckles against the door. No answer came. Sighing, she extended her senses to confirm that Aric was in the room, then knocked again. Fynta considered breaking the locking mechanism, but given his mood, she decided against it. "You know this door won't keep me out," Fynta called.

The threat worked as expected. Aric's door slid open, but he stood across the room with his arms folded and familiar scowl fixed in place. He'd donned his armor, everything but the trademark cloak. A strange heaviness rose in Fynta's chest at the sight of his chest plate and greaves. "What do you want," he growled, finding a spot above her head to stare at.

To apologize. At least, that's what Fynta meant to say, what came out was completely different. "To see if you're still sulking."

Aric snorted and looked out the window, maintaining a firm glare at the snowcapped scenery beyond. Nora's hideout was nestled into the side of a mountain, according to the schematic that Fynta had found when they arrived. She hadn't ventured into that frozen hellscape. Clouds covered the moon, throwing the room into shadow that left Ari's eyes glaring in the glass. Fynta opted for casual contempt and propped one butt cheek on Aric's bed. "You realize why I couldn't let you kill her, right? That's even if you got close enough to try. You've vastly underestimated that woman's power."

One side of Aric's mouth lifted in a lopsided sneer that revealed the tips of his canines. Fynta thought the expression was adorable, but managed to keep that thought to herself. When Aric didn't respond, she reached for him through the Force.

"Don't," Aric growled, taking a step away from Fynta as if that could weaken their connection. She felt a surge of panic, quickly tamped down, but present all the same. Aric's glare turned to his feet, and Fynta realized for the first time that he hadn't looked at her since she'd walked in. "Just—stay out of my head."

Fynta stood and took a step closer, noting the repeated spike in fear. It wasn't surprise or anxiety, but the raw terror of trapped prey, an emotion she'd become well acquainted with in her line of work. Fynta had never thought to inspire such feelings in the stoic Cathar, though. "What's wrong?"

When Fynta moved again, Aric snarled in earnest. The sound brought her up short. She'd heard him growl in many circumstances, most involving her, but none had ever felt threatening. Aric moved into a loose-limbed defensive stance. "You almost had me," he said, tone low and edged with malice. "You almost convinced me that there was more to the Empire than what the Order thought. But it was a lie. You're just like all the rest."

"I'm—" Fynta sputtered, red coloring her vision and rage boiling through her veins until lightning crackled between her fingers. She bared her teeth and jabbed one of the sparking digits at Aric, holding onto her control by bloodied nails. "You have no idea what you're talking about you self-righteous, pompous di'kutla utreekov."

Fynta had the short-lived satisfaction of seeing the Jedi's brows climb his forehead before she spun around and stormed from the room. She slammed the door hard enough that sparks sprung from the safety mechanisms. It might have jumped off its tracks, but she didn't care enough to look back.

Alderaan Private Residence of Darth Nemesis

Aric stared at the mangled wreckage of his door. Not only had Fynta's outburst short circuited the electrical system, but it had ripped part of the track out of the frame. Without the right tools, Aric wouldn't enjoy the false security of a locked door again.

Sighing, Aric nudged the leaning slab of metal and watched it groan outward. An almost hidden spark of light distracted him. When Aric looked up, the young woman from earlier stood in the hallway with a tray while her pale blue gaze focused on the carnage that had once been his door. "I take it the talk didn't go well?"

Aric snorted a laugh before he could stop himself, then sobered with the reminder that this woman was also a Sith. There was a familiar gentleness in her, though. "Who are you?"

"Oh, right." The woman wiped a hand on silk pants so green that they almost looked black, then extended it to Aric. "My name is Noara Starspark. I'm Nora's apprentice."

Cautiously, Aric accepted the greeting. When their hands touched, he felt the warmth of Tython in the back of his mind. It reminded him of a stream he liked to visit as a boy. A place covered by trees, where the breeze brought with it the crispness from higher in the mountains. "You're not Sith," Aric decided before his higher brain caught up with his instincts.

"Not really, no," Noara answered, then lifted the tray. "A gift from my master, may I?"

"Nothing stopping you." Aric kicked the door for effect.

Only after the shock wore off did Aric realize that Nora must be Darth Nemesis's given name. He kept the younger woman in sight while she went to one of the many tables around the room. Aric folded his arms. "Your master won't be mad that you call her Nora in front of me?"

The young woman waved a dismissive hand. "There are millions of Noras in the Empire, and her birth records are sealed. Good luck weeding her out." Noara set the tray on a dark wood table and removed the lid to show the half drank whiskey from his doomed game with Fynta and two glasses. "You seemed fond of this one."

Aric eyed the gift, wondering what sort of poison had been slipped into it. As if reading his thoughts, Noara smiled. "It's not tampered with. All I did was put the stopper in. When I was cleaning up, my master suggested bringing it to you. I'd hoped that Fynta would be here, but…" She trailed off and left the drink and glasses alone. "If there is anything else you need, please let us know. You are Nora's guest, and thus under her protection. We will leave first thing in the morning to avoid any further stress."

"You said not really," Aric ventured, picking up in the middle of his thoughts. When Noara's head tipped to the side, he reworded his question. "When I said you weren't Sith. What does that mean?"

A small, sad smile pulled at Noara's lips. "I was a Padawan. Nox killed my master and took me for his apprentice." Aric nodded, watching the branches of Darth Nox's control grow before his eyes. Fynta hadn't been exaggerating when she spoke of her former master's reach. "Fynta found me in one of his cells. I don't remember much about how we got out, only that my rescue is what sparked her resignation from Nox's service."

Aric unfolded his arms. There was a lot that Noara left out, but the idea that she and Fynta were so closely connected intrigued him. "How old were you?"

"Thirteen," Noara answered, then shrugged. "I think. I lost a lot of my earlier memories during Nox's intake process. It's why I wasn't returned to the Jedi; I couldn't remember where I was from until months later. By then, Nora had already accepted the position as my new master. They offered me the choice to return, but I preferred it here."

"In the Empire," Aric grumbled, reevaluating the ease with which he accepted Noara in his space.

Noara let out a delicate laugh. "No. I don't care about Empire versus Republic. I chose to stay with Nora because in the few months I lived with her, I learned more about the Force and my connection to it than in years on Tython. She encouraged me to explore, and—" Noara stopped and laughed again when Aric snorted. "Not like that. She taught me to find my way to meditate, to discover where my strength flourished. She was patient and kind."

"That's not the Darth Nemesis from our files," Aric admitted. Fynta had warned him that nothing was as it appeared in the Empire, their Sith included. Ucevi had been cordial and welcoming. Aric had to assume from her relationship with Fynta that the woman was higher ranking than she seemed. Could it be possible that Darth Nemesis was the same?

A kind smile made Noara look younger still. "It's all a disguise. Nora has a real chance to make things better for the Empire, but no one will back her if she appears weak. So, we leak stories to the news to bolster the sort of reputation the Empire expects from their Dark Council members."

"That's barbaric," Aric replied with a curled lip. The thought that someone would use murder and torture to bolster their societal standing made no sense. Then again, he'd never understood the way a Sith's mind worked, even now that he'd spend time with so many.

Shaking her head, Noara poured two glasses of whiskey and lifted hers in cheers. "That's politics." She took a sip, smacked her lips, then continued while examining the glass. "The senators in the Republic are no different, only the reverse. They pretend to be better than they really are. Nora, she just wants to get her foot in the door."

Aric downed his share of the whiskey, hating how much he enjoyed the burn. "What else can you tell me about these Sith?" He needed a better understanding of who to be vigilant around. Though Aric knew it was folly, he trusted the word of this once Padawan. Despite her upbringing in the Empire, he sensed no deceit in her.

Noara shrugged. "You need to trust Fynta as much as she trusts you." Aric lifted a brow, and the girl's smirk returned. "She cares about your opinion. And, whether you like it or not, she's adopted you. Welcome to the club."

With a final salute, Noara drained her glass and placed it upside down on the tray. "If Fynta says they are safe, then they are. Simple as that. Ucevi is a good woman. If you don't threaten her family or her network, you'll be fine. As for my master…" Noara trailed off. "Well, she regrets upsetting you. Fynta mentioned that you hunt Sith and Nora is on your list. For the sake of the Empire, forget about tonight and Darth Nemesis. We need her alive more than you can imagine."

Noara stepped away from the table, bowed the way a Padawan would to her master, then headed for the door. She paused to run a hand over the damaged wall, "I'll send a repair droid."

Then, the woman was gone, leaving Aric with more questions than he'd had before. He'd grown up with two simple truths: the Empire was the enemy, and Sith were evil. The picture Noara painted blurred those lines. And, every Sith that Aric had interacted with so far had been cordial despite knowing who and what he was.

Aric poured another glass of whiskey and swallowed it in a single gulp, letting the burn in his throat signify the fires of this new trial. He had made a promise to Fynta, one that he would keep on his honor as a Jedi. The galaxy would be a better place without Nox. After that, Aric couldn't promise anything.

Alderaan Darth Nemesis Safe House Two Days Later

Aric only left his quarters late at night, when he was certain that he'd be left alone. He walked the silent halls, stopping to admire the snow outside. Fat white flakes drifted lazily onto statues of people he didn't recognize, lending them a ghostly quality.

Closing his eyes, Aric reached out and felt for Fynta. Her chaos was quiet, lulled into the almost peace of sleep. Darth Nemesis and Noara had left the morning following their disastrous introduction, as promised, with the latter stopping by to bid Aric farewell and wish him luck. In return, he had promised to consider the girl's request. Aric had been alone ever since.

Ucevi was scheduled to arrive in the early morning hours the next day. The closer the moment came, the more Aric regretted reaching out to her. When he had agreed to let the Sith Blood shield his mind, Fynta was still speaking to him. As it stood, he'd only caught glimpses of the woman as she drifted through the estate. Aric could find her if he wanted, but he wasn't ready for that conversation. Fynta had invaded his thoughts in a moment of vulnerability, and she'd wrested his control away. He couldn't forgive that so easily.

An alarm chirped, and Aric looked towards the east to catch the drive plume of a small ship. The panel next to him illuminated with a warning of an incoming vessel, then clicked to green when it recognized the access code. Aric's pulse leapt into a staccato when he realized that Ucevi was early.

In the back of Aric's mind, Fynta stirred. He hadn't realized that he was still connected to her, and quickly withdrew before she could accuse him of spying while she slept. He started for the hangar, then thought better of it and went to his room. Though wearing his armor wouldn't protect Aric from a mental attack should Ucevi decide to avenge Fynta's wounded pride, it made him feel better.

Aric had expected the women to go to bed. He knew that Fynta and Ucevi shared a past relationship, though could only speculate on its nature. Fynta hadn't fully admitted to it being romantic, but Aric had his suspicions. So, when someone knocked on his door less than an hour after Ucevi's arrival, Aric jumped.

The void behind Aric's door must have been Ucevi, because Fynta showed up as a mirror, rather than a lack of being, when she hid from him. Squaring his shoulders, Aric answered the door and found himself looking up into the golden eyes of a smiling Sith Lord. "Good evening, Master Jorgan. May I enter?"

Aric stepped back, surprised again by how large the woman was. His mind had made her smaller, stamping the standard female frame onto someone who was anything but. Still, Ucevi moved with a sinuous grace that made the black fabric of her flight armor shimmer in the light. Shaking himself, Aric poked his head into the hallway and found it empty. His chest squeezed, but Aric told himself it was for the best.

"How are you healing?" Ucevi asked, stopping to pour a glass of the whiskey that Noara had brought two nights before. She inhaled the fragrant alcohol with a satisfied sigh, then smiled at Aric. "You look better than when we last spoke."

"Autodoc says everything is good." Aric stood awkwardly in the doorway, hands flexing without anything to do. Eventually, he folded them into his robes. "My DNA is altered, but no signs of transformation. So far, I haven't noticed any significant changes."

Ucevi sipped her whiskey, then nodded. "That's good." She lifted the glass in Aric's direction. "And, we might be able to use that to our advantage. If Nox got a read on you while on Rishi, the rakghoul venom could have fundamentally altered you enough to hide you from his sight. In theory, at least."

"So, you're a specialist on rakghouls now?" The casual conversation eased some Aric's tension, enough that he could move further into the room, at least.

Ucevi shrugged one bare shoulder. Her flight suit left impressive biceps exposed, a trend that Aric had noticed that the Sith Blood employed often. He couldn't decide if it was an intimidation tactic, or because she was proud of her physique. He supposed both were possible. "I read over the thesis of a colleague. The man is a little too interested in rakghouls if you ask me, but his research is fascinating."

Aric spared one more look over his shoulder, expecting Fynta to walk in complaining about lost sleep, but not surprised when she didn't. Sighing, he turned back to the red woman. "As entertaining as this topic is, we should probably—"

"Of course." Ucevi drained her glass, then gestured at one of the plush chairs decorating Aric's room. "If you'll make yourself comfortable. This may take some time since your essence is unfamiliar to me."

Aric did as instructed, perching on the edge of the cushion. "What can I expect?"

Ucevi leaned one hip against the desk and folded her arms. "I'll start slow. It will be uncomfortable at first. I'll need to compartmentalize the various sections, if that helps. I'll see some of your memories, though I promise not to linger. You'll feel my presence, but there shouldn't be pain unless you fight me. If there is anywhere that I should avoid, it's best to tell me now. I will not be gathering intel, so any classified information should remain so."

The brow stalks above Ucevi's eyes pulled together. "This is an unprecedented event. If I encounter resistance, I'll move on unless you want me to push through, but those areas will remain vulnerable. Shielding isn't a blanket process, but a precise, almost surgical practice. It takes trust and time, both of which we are desperately short on. So, I'll ask one more time, are you sure about this?"

Aric wanted to say no. He wanted to walk out of the room, board Fynta's ship, and return to the Republic. Nothing had terrified him so much since his childhood fear of the dark. Now, Aric was inviting the darkness into his soul. Letting out a shaky breath, Aric met the woman's burning gaze. "This is the only way to keep those bastards out of my head, isn't it?"

"Not the only way," Ucevi admitted with a tilt of her head. "But, certainly the most expedient."

"Then, let's get on with it." Aric leaned back in the chair and folded his hands in his lap. "All of it." After all, he didn't sit on the council, and he didn't carry any of the Order's secrets. Aric had never been good at it.

After a few failed meditative breaths, Aric gave up and glared at the fireplace. It was impossible to relax while preparing to let a Sith in. He anticipated pain, because no matter how much he tried, Aric knew he would resist.

A wave of chaos rose in Aric's mind, and he jolted forward to see Fynta stalk into the room. Before he could think better of it, Aric was on his feet. "You came."

"I said I would, didn't I?" Fynta snapped, though the relief of Aric's greeting was palpable. It wasn't until that moment that he realized Fynta hadn't been avoiding him because she was angry, but because she thought he was.

Walking around the chair, Fynta put her hands on Aric's shoulders and pushed him back onto the cushions. When he was seated, she remained behind him. Her next words were directed at Ucevi. "Where do you want me?"

The Sith Blood looked between them, a single brow stalk raised. "There is fine." Aric wondered if Ucevi could sense the conflicting emotions rising within him, or his relief that Fynta had come. If so, she didn't comment on it. "So long as Master Jorgan is comfortable. I may need your help calming him until we've been properly introduced."

"That part sucks," Fynta muttered, squeezing Aric's shoulders. She added a playful wink. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

You need to trust Fynta as much as she trusts you. Noara's words echoed in Aric's ears, and he nodded. Trust was not something that came easily to a Jedi. They were raised to see into people's hearts, and few of those were pure. Then, he'd met Fynta. While she would lie to someone's face to get what she wanted, her intentions were laid out for all who cared to look. Every act of evil was backed by the desire to do good. She was the enigma that he'd been taught to fear. And yet, Aric continuously placed his life in her hands.

Dipping his chin to Ucevi, Aric inhaled until his lungs burned, then let the air out in staggered breaths so that his pulse would slow. Ucevi set the desk chair in front of Aric and lowered herself into it. Her hand hovered above Aric's knee. "I'm going to touch you now. It solidifies our connection and keeps me grounded while I'm in your thoughts. Do I have your permission to begin?" Aric nodded, his focus torn by the warm hands on his shoulders and now his right leg. Ucevi hunched into a more comfortable position. "Now, I need you to enter a meditative state."

Aric glanced behind him to where Fynta stood. "How does she manage this with you?"

"Practice," Ucevi chuckled. "I take it you tried to teach her too?"

"She's a lost cause," Aric answered, letting the banter ease him into a calm mindset that would make meditation easier.

Fynta's hands tightened almost to the point of pain. "You're both assholes."

Ucevi's chuckle seemed to vibrate the air around them, and Aric realized that he'd already slipped into the first stage of meditation. It was like falling asleep, half in and out of consciousness. Sounds were louder, while the rest of the room muted to grey, then black as he went deeper.

Aric lingered in that calm place until he lost track of time, then a flash of green trees and babbling brooks shimmered into view. He stood with his master, overseeing the construction of the Twi'lek village that had barely survived another Flesh Raider attack. Aric wanted to track the culprits down, but his master denied his request. Anger filled him, quickly overshadowed by helplessness as a small boy dug through the burned rubble of his.

The oily sensation of the Dark Side brushed Aric's consciousness, and he was transported to a battlefield. Red filled his vision, and Aric threw his blade up in time to avoid being hewn in two. The Rattataki Sith bared pearly teeth in a snarl. His eyes were as red as the weapon he wielded, his teeth stained with blood. Aric pushed the man back, then Ucevi was there. In the chaos of the moment, all he saw was another Sith. He was outnumbered and desperate. Aric reached for the Force and found it denied to him.

Panic seized Aric. He'd felt this before, remembered the stab of electricity behind his eyes. The memory was barely a fragment of the pain Aric felt, and he cried out. "Focus, big guy." The words fluttered through his mind like leaves on an autumn breeze. Aric breathed the hot agony away, pouring all of his concentration into the target shaped tattoo that hovered before him. It inspired feelings of safety, and Aric clung to it.

"Fynta, back off, you're too close." A disembodied voice ground out. "Damn it, Aric you have to let go."

Aric's vision spiraled, specters overlapping so quickly that he couldn't make sense of them. The sting of a whip against his back. A child huddled in the corner of a tiny cell. The wrinkled skin of a Flesh Raider. A boulder looming in the distance. The shame in dark blue eyes as they looked away. Burning muscles, and the thin air of a mountain peak. Blood pouring through his fingers.

"Almost there," the voice rasped. There were familiar cadences in that strained sound that made Aric feel guilty, but he didn't know why.

"I'm still here," Fynta whispered. Her warmth enveloped Aric, acting as a buffer between him and the onslaught of anguish and rage. "Trust me."

With those final words, Aric surrendered to the gentle pressure of Fynta's touch, and the images faded. He blinked, revealing the solace of an eternal void, his hands entwined with hers.

Alderaan Darth Nemesis Safe House

Aric inhaled as he came out of the trance, then slouched deeper into his chair. Fynta let go of the Jedi's shoulders and went to her old friend. Ucevi sagged against the desk, a sheen of sweat coating her face, neck, and chest. Fynta pushed back the dark strands of hair that had come loose from the Sith's pristine bun and steadied her. "Are you okay?"

When Ucevi's gaze met Fynta's, it burned with something just short of anger. "Do you realize what you've done?"

"You'd have killed each other." Fynta forced a smile and pretended that her stomach wasn't trying to empty itself. "Stubborn as an akk hound with a new bone, the both of you."

Ucevi wouldn't have stopped until she'd shielded Aric, and he would have shredded both of their minds trying to escape. It was in their natures, a nurturer and a warrior. Still, Ucevi shook her head. "I can't undo this."

"You couldn't have stopped it," Fynta countered, sitting back on her heels to give Uveci room to straighten. The woman's deep crimson skin had paled, and her hair hung limp with sweat.

Shaking her head, the Sith Blood pushed into a backward arch to stretch her muscles. "I could have barred your entrance, or—"

"It wouldn't have changed anything," Fynta interrupted, but she placed her hand on the woman's knee to soften the sharpness of her tone. "Something happened on Rishi. A connection developed. All I did was replace a rope bridge with a permanent structure."

Ucevi leaned forward again, taking Fynta's chin in strong fingers so that she had no choice but to look into the Sith Blood's eyes. "A rope bridge can be burned. What you've done can't be broken. Even after death, his soul might cling to yours."

Jerking her chin free, Fynta shoved to her feet and stalked a few steps in each direction. Her gaze settled on Aric, who'd slumped into an uncomfortable looking position. "It's done." She ignored the rapid beating of her heart as she did anything that terrified her. Eventually, Fynta would need to face this issue, but it didn't have to be right now.

The soft expletive that Ucevi released made Fynta wince. She kept her back to the woman so that Ucevi wouldn't see the fear Fynta struggled to hide, but she knew it was futile when the Sith Blood sighed. "Help me get him onto the bed. He needs rest."

So do you, Fynta almost argued, but she joined Ucevi in pulling Aric from the chair and dragged his heavy ass to the plush mattress. Ucevi pulled the blankets back with a wave of her hand, then they deposited their Cathar burden more or less in the center of his bed. Ucevi studied him for a moment, then shook her head. "It seems rude to leave him in that uncomfortable armor, but I doubt he'd appreciate it if we removed it."

Fynta snorted a laugh and tugged the blankets over Aric. He was there, chasing fitful dreams in the back of Fynta's mind. If they weren't careful, these episodes of shared pasts could become a dangerous distraction.

When Fynta looked up, Ucevi was still staring down at the sleeping Jedi. "You'll need to be more careful about how you treat him."

"What do you mean?" Fynta didn't think that a Force bond affected someone's strength, but she didn't know much on the subject.

"No more casual flirting." Ucevi glanced up, and the reprimand was clear in the set of her jaw. "Any feelings from before will be amplified, and given a Cathar's nature, you could trick him into believing that you're his lifemate."

Fynta took an involuntary step away from the bed, which coaxed a rueful chuckle from her old friend. "Exactly. So, either submit to a lifetime of monogamy, or destroy all possibility of him becoming too attached to you. Those are your options."

"Fierfek." Fynta hugged her arms around her torso and glared at the prone Cathar. She hadn't considered that, nor the fact that she'd have to deny her nature to keep them from both making terrible choices. There was regret too, buried so deep that Fynta almost didn't recognize it. She liked Aric, and the thought of pushing him away when they'd come so far hurt in a way that Fynta couldn't describe.

"Fine," Fynta spat, then circled the bed and took Ucevi's arm. The Sith Blood didn't complain when Fynta pulled it over her shoulders, or when she angled them out of the room. For now, she'd take care of the Sith at her side. Later, Fynta would worry about the Jedi in her head.

[kunoichi-ume]

a-muirehen replied to your post “16. Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’ and 17. Regrets, for Noara?”

Oh wow, where can I find out about all versions of Noara?

Oh there are a few now @a-muirehen. I need to be better about writing and actually share some of these. Mostly I plot a lot with @cinlat and we end up with different versions of our characters because we are suckers for the phrase “but what if?” Could I spend more time on other characters? Sure. Could I choose one and stick to it and get some substantial writing done? Probably.  Someday. Until then here are my many versions of Noara Starspark/Lewton who always eventually becomes a Cadera anyway.

Canon Jedi Knight/Outlander Noara

This is the main, original version of Noara. The one who wants to save the galaxy, even if it never did anything good for her and always puts more responsibility than she can handle on her shoulders. This is the Noara who ran missions with Kira, Doc, Scourge, T7 and Rusk and all that other good stuff in game. I have a not totally different version of her in an AU where Torian becomes the Outlander and they actually met back on Taris when their missions there overlapped but she is close enough to main Noara not to get her own entry.

Jedi Sitters AU Jedi Knight Noara

This is Noara in the fic series Jedi Sitters that is a coproject with Cinlat. Noara isn’t the canon JK, instead she is another Jedi that was part of the strike team that took on the Emperor the first time and lost. The fallout of her incarceration landed her in a very bad spot and when the main members of Havoc decided it was time to get off the front lines, Fynta and company were assigned to be her minders and make sure she didn’t go off the rails and kill everybody. That that anyone was willing to word it that way. Instead they get a startling view into the life of a Jedi (particularly appalled by the fact she doesn't get wages for her work, something confirmed by canon and everything) and end up adopting her into the family. 

Soldier Noara

Soldier Noara Lewton’s Force sensitivity was never discovered and therefore never joined the Jedi. Instead she grew up loved and happy with her parents, three younger siblings and grumpy godfather Aric Jorgan. Following her father and godfather’s footsteps she joined the military and trained as a sniper. She thinks she is an amazingly skilled soldier and marksmen but in fact is using untrained Force abilities to achieve her high marks. She is no more pleased to learn this than Aric is to see the tattoos she got without warning anyone so they could talk her out of it.

Bounty Hunter Noara

This version of Noara also grew up with her family but, much like her sister Juli who went into smuggling, rebelled against their military upbringing and decided she needed something a bit more action filled. This is probably my least developed version of her so far, but I love the way that tattoo looks on her so I had to share.

Sith Noara

Springboarding off a drabble I did to explain the scar on her face, The First Brush With A Sith, the idea of what would have happened if Noara had not been saved that day but instead whisked away by the Sith to be her new pet/plaything. This Noara is angry, bitter, aggressive, addicted to spice and pretty suicidal because her life is pretty much terrible until she makes friends with a deep cover SIS spy in Fynta, who later introduces her to Torian and things look up from there until the tragic end. She does totally get to deck Satele in the face and Marr enjoys it terribly.

Trigger Noara

If you read Cinlat’s Heart on a Trigger you might have noticed a certain Jedi being added as one of the background characters. This of course led to me write fanfiction of a fanfic and now a whole new version of Noara exists. This one is a bit older and more jaded than the others, though not as much as Sith Noara. During the 5 years Fynta was in carbonite Noara was sent out into the galaxy to try and slow Acrann’s domination anyway she could. After an unfortunate run in with a Zakuulian Knight on Nar Shaddaa she ended up loosing her lightsabers and being stranded on the planet on her own. She met Fynta while working as a bouncer at a cantina called the Drunken Gundark. After throwing the rowdy commander out on her ass for causing a ruckuss it was a no brainer to Fynta that she needed this lady in the Alliance. I’ve actually written quite a bit for her and might actually post that stuff someday. 

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Alderaan Part One

Chapter One  |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

You can read it by following the above links (for better formatting), or below the cut (for lazy formatting).

This AU is purely self-indulgent. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Things get heated, then they get HOT. For better or for worse. Word Count: 9,563 Special guests: @tishinada​ Ucevi @sleepswithvillains​ Nora @kunoichi-ume​ Noara

The Shershoy Location…Fucked

Fynta jerked awake in her bunk with no idea how she’d gotten there. A hazy memory of Aric Jorgan chained to her bulkhead floated through the confusion, but it had the indistinctness of a dream. There were vague flashbacks of a mumbled apology overlayed with the tangy scent of kolto. Those probably explained the Wookie pounding against the inside of Fynta’s skull at least. 

After a few more breaths to clear the hangover from what Fynta hoped had been a good time, her senses began to register other things. “Fierfek,” she groaned, lifting an arm that weighed twice as much as it should have. She wiggled the numb fingers in front of her face just to make sure that they were still there. Her toes tingled, and an incessant ringing filled one of her ears. The more that Fynta inventoried her symptoms, the more certain she became that someone had shocked the shit out of her.

Finally, the buzzing in Fynta’s ear coalesced into the sound of her comm, sounding somewhere around her feet. Shoving into a sitting position, she let loose several more curses, varying the languages just to make sure that she still remembered them, before attempting to find the damn thing. After a few clumsy slaps, Fynta managed to answer.

“It’s about fucking time.” Ucevi’s blurry features came into focus after a couple of blinks. Fynta would have complimented the woman on the attractive color on her lips had they not pressed into a thin line that almost made them disappear. “Have you arrived?” The woman snapped before Fynta could think of a better greeting. 

“No clue.” Fynta looked around her ship, then remembered that there was supposed to be another body in the rumpled blankets of Aric’s bed. She blinked at Ucevi. “Where am I supposed to be?”

The Sith Blood rolled her golden eyes. “You really were out of it. Where is the Jedi?”

“That was next on my list.” Fynta managed to climb to her feet, with some effort and a lot of grunting. When she was steady, she shuffled towards the bridge while balancing the comm in her hand. “Want to fill me in?”

Ucevi explained the call she’d received, Fynta’s loss of consciousness, and the difficult choice that she’d been forced to make. “You should be on Alderaan, at Nora’s safe house. I’d rather not have brought her into this, but it was the closest one to your position.”

Fynta nodded, bracing one hand against the wall as she staggered through the ship. She’d just turned the corner onto the bridge when Ucevi spoke again. “He asked for my help.”

Pausing, Fynta lifted an eyebrow. “Who?” When Ucevi matched her expression, Fynta’s other brow joined the first. The hazy image of a scowling Cathar fought through her sluggish thoughts. “Aric-I’ll take my chances-Jorgan asked you to shield him?”

One dark rope of hair fell over Ucevi’s shoulder when she nodded. “I think your encounter with the assassin rattled him. I’m en route, but it’ll be a week before I get there.” The woman’s lips flushed back to red as they curled into a taunting smirk. “Do you think that you can manage that long without me?”

Fynta started to snark back, but a hand dangling over the arm of the captain’s chair interrupted her limited concentration. “Shab, I found Aric. Let me call you back.” This time, she waited for Ucevi’s acknowledgement before disconnecting.

Circling the navigation system, Fynta cursed again when she saw the way Aric had slumped into the chair. He’d be a beast to drag out of it. Then, Fynta noticed the fresh splash of red across the green fabric on his chest. Kneeling beside the Cathar, she peeled up the hem of his shirt. Grimacing at the shredded remnants of stitches, Fynta lowered his shirt. “Well, fuck.”

Fynta wasn’t sure if Aric had torn the wound open during their fight or when he’d manhandled her sorry ass into bed. The only thing that Fynta knew was that he had landed them in a private hanger, presumably Nora’s. She stood and tried to sort her jittery thoughts into something cohesive that would benefit her situation. 

Movement drew Fynta’s attention to the hanger door, and she managed a snorted laugh when a meddroid trundled towards the ship hauling a gurney. Once again, Ucevi had thought of everything. It was one of the reasons that Fynta followed the Sith Blood, and why she would never want the woman’s job. Are all of Ucevi’s agents as big of a pain in the ass, Fynta wondered as the droid picked its way toward the ship. 

It took twenty minutes to lug Aric’s bulk out of the chair and onto the stretcher, even with the aid of the droid. Fynta tried using the Force, but her control was shaky at best. Better to strain a muscle than launch the poor bastard into the ceiling. 

Fynta followed the meddroid through a maze of hallways. Nora's crest decorated each entryway, leading Fynta to hope that the Order hadn't gathered that much information on Darth Nemesis. Otherwise, Aric would be a major pain in her ass. 

Of course, Fynta had never spoken to the Chiss about the design she'd chosen to represent herself, but Ucevi had explained the open hand of peace and watchful eye of Darth Nemesis. Fynta liked it, though she couldn't say the same for everything else. While tastefully decorated, the pastels made Fynta want to flee. It suited Noara, however.

The medcenter looked exactly like Fynta expected. A tank sat in one corner, while shiny, modern equipment gleamed around every inch of the room. Even the crisp, filtered mountain air spoke to the precise nature of the woman who owned it. 

Fynta and the droid managed to slide Aric from the gurney to a medtable, complete with scanners and other machines that she had no clue how to work. Fynta set the autodoc to scan the Cathar, then dismissed the droid. As helpful as it had been during the heavy lifting, Fynta didn’t trust them with the finer aspects of medical treatments. She'd seen too many turned against their masters by talented slicers. 

While the machine whirred around Aric, Fynta found a mirror and grimaced at her reflection. Her hair was a matted mess, while splotchy red and blue marks surrounded both eyes from Aric’s centermast strike to her face. With her head clearer, Fynta’s memories filtered back in. Ucevi had filled in any gaps with the explanation that Aric had given her. Their words, coupled with the muscle weakness and splitting headache, left Fynta with a clear enough image of what had happened.

When the machine scanning Aric chimed its completion, Fynta pushed away from the mirror with a huff. As expected, his bloodwork showed an unknown pathogen, but the levels were dropping as she watched. Though the rakghoul venom still coursed through his system, the vaccine seemed to be doing its job. Apart from that, general exhaustion and the reopened wound were his most pressing problems. 

Digging through Nora’s impressively organized supplies, Fynta found a needle and surgical thread. She disinfected her hands and the wound, pulled on a pair of gloves, then applied a coagulant to Aric’s side. He hissed, claws flexing at the end of curled fingers, then settled back into unconsciousness. As a precaution, Fynta added a couple of arm restraints before pulling up a chair.

Once the bleeding stopped, Fynta recleaned the area and examined the wound. Two jagged lines began at the bottom of Aric’s ribs, then zigzagged down his side, coming to a jumpy halt below his hip bone. Fynta assumed the marks were left by different claws as they followed the path around Aric’s armored plates. The armor had protected his organs, at least; scans only showed tissue damage.

Pushing into a standing position, Fynta muttered an apology to her unconscious and probably unwilling patient as she unfastened his pants and pulled back the side that she needed to access. Aric Jorgan was a well formed male with impressive musculature. Fynta assured herself that her admiration came from a place of professional courtesy, but she couldn’t convince herself. The Cathar had a nice body, even battered and broken.

Fynta found a sheet in one of the cabinets and draped it over Aric’s waist to protect his modesty. And so he wouldn’t grow more irritable when he realized that Fynta had cut off his shirt. Once satisfied that she couldn't be accused of salacious intent, Fynta retook her seat and set about closing his wounds.

The first indication that Aric was starting to wake up was the curl of his fingers. Fynta leaned back half a second before he jerked on the restraints. His bestial snarl vibrated through the air. Fynta rolled her head to release the tension in her shoulders and met the Cathar’s glare. “Good morning, no, evening? Shab, I don’t even know.”

“Why am I bound,” Aric growled a second time, ignoring her greeting.

Fynta lifted the Cathar’s hand to display the claws at the end of each finger. “Call it self preservation. If you hold still while I finish closing you up, I’ll—”

“Where are my clothes?” Aric’s tone shifted from anger to indignation, just as Fynta had expected. His jaw worked like there was more that he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the right words.

Fynta unbuckled the restraints, keeping her hand on Aric’s arm. His muscles twitched, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m serious, I’ve only got a few more rows left. I need you to stop moving, because if I have to start this over, you’re doing it alone.”

Aric glared for so long that Fynta wondered if he would demand the needle after all. His gaze darted around her face, landing on the bruises beneath her eyes. At last, the Cathar nodded. Fynta hunched forward over his hip to see where the wound narrowed. The only indication that Aric gave of discomfort was the near constant flexing of his fingers. Fynta kept her eyes on her task, resisting the urge to glance higher to see if her proximity had any affect on the man.

Finally, Fynta straightened with a groan. She’d tied the sutures twice and clipped them. She jammed both fists into her back to stretch out the tight muscles. “All done. Maybe take it easy for a bit.”

“I could say the same for you,” Aric managed as he twisted on the table to examine Fynta’s work. “Not bad.”

“I’ve had some practice.” Fynta removed the bloodied gloves, then offered her good hand to Aric. The other ached with a bone deep pain that indicated she should probably have it splinted. “Sit up slowly.”

Aric took Fynta’s offered assistance, grimacing as he curled into a sitting position. He started to speak, but Fynta cut him off. “The kolto tank is ready. Do you want something to eat before going in? I’ll bet this kitchen is packed with the best food.” And booze, she added silently. Darth Nemesis had expensive taste, and Fynta didn’t think the Chiss would mind if they helped themselves to a bottle or two.

Without answering, Aric took Fynta’s swollen arm in a gentler grip than she’d thought possible. He examined it, turning it over with warm hands that drove away some of the pain. “This needs to be treated first.”

“I’ll get around to it.” Fynta tried to pull back, but Aric resisted. She sighed, even added an eye roll for effect. “Promise, but I’m starving.”

Swinging his legs over the table, Aric pulled Fynta closer and placed the tips of his fingers around both of her eyes. Fynta lifted her brows, but the Jedi ignored her unspoken question. His eyes closed, and the heat radiating off him increased a noticeable degree. The ache in Fynta’s head receded, pulling into the bridge of her nose, then scattered like smoke. Similarly, the pain from her battered arm dissipated, leaving her only with the reminder of an injury. When Aric’s eyes opened, they were brighter. Then, he sagged back against the bed and it was Fynta’s turn to prop him up.

“You can heal?” Force healing was a rare gift, one that needed years of training to hone into what Aric had accomplished. It was apparently exhausting, too.

Aric shook his head. “Your injuries are still there, I just masked the discomfort.” His jaw tightened. “So, remember your promise.”

A memory from Rishi surfaced. Of a dying slaver and Aric's fingers sinking into a bloody gap in the man's torso. She'd been too angry then to recognize the shift in her target's behavior. Aric had known the man would die from his wounds and had chosen an easy interrogation. Once again, Fynta was forced to reevaluate the intention behind Aric's actions. 

Fynta wanted to thank the Jedi for putting what little strength he had into helping her. Then, she remembered that it was half his fault that she was in the shape she was in. Fynta settled for a lopsided smile and offered him her good arm. “Want to help me raid the kitchen?”

Alderaan Imperial Territory Mountain Safe House Sometime That Evening

Raiding the kitchen turned out to be more lucrative than Aric expected. He felt more agreeable after filling his stomach with fine meats and a bottle of red that Fynta found in the cellar. Each time that Aric started to ask whose safe house they were in, he couldn’t bring himself to burst the temporary bubble of kinship they’d developed. For the moment, he and Fynta were the only people within ten miles of mountainous terrain, and that was enough.

Aric stepped out of the kolto tank and stripped off his wet undergarments. A shower stall took up the opposite corner of the spacious room, and he couldn’t wait to wash the residue from his fur. After cleansing, he wrapped one towel around his hips and used another to scrub his head and torso dry. While Aric was happy to be rid of the stench of antiseptics, he didn’t enjoy being wet. 

After eating their fill, but before seeking medical aid, Aric and Fynta had toured the sprawling compound and settled on their rooms. His was larger than anything he’d stayed in before, with a massive bed and private fresher. When Aric opened the door, he’d expected it to be empty. He stopped at the sight of Fynta stretched across his bed, momentarily wondering if he’d gotten their quarters confused. Then, he saw the weathered pack in the corner with his armor piled  beside and growled at his intruder.

Stalking forward, Aric had every intention of sending the Sith nuisance on her way, until he realized that Fynta was asleep. She lay on her stomach, stripped to a pair of indecent shorts and a shirt that had ridden up along one side. In that moment of peace, he considered Fynta’s features. The woman’s sun-kissed hair and bronze skin were appealing, though her battle-defined muscle stole some of her womanly curves. It didn’t make her look less feminine; if anything, it made her more attractive. Aric’s gaze lingered on the curve of Fynta’s ass just long enough to be respectful before tearing his gaze away.

Fynta inhaled, then rolled away from Aric. Her shirt rose higher, and he was distracted by the patchwork of thin scars overlaying thicker ones that covered the woman’s back. They looked intentional, reminding him of the harsh reality that Sith faced. Before he could ponder too long, Fynta flopped onto her back with a groan and blinked at the ceiling. Then, her bleary gaze found Aric.

“Get lost?” Aric asked. He remembered the towel around his waist when he put his hands on his hips. Fynta scanned his body, but Aric refused to react. She was in his room, after all. He had nothing to explain.

Fynta groped around the bed, then lifted a bag of frozen vegetables from somewhere in Aric’s sheets. He hoped that it hadn’t left a wet spot; he’d just gotten his fur dry. Then, he winced when Fynta dropped it onto her face. “How was the bath?” The question was muffled by the woman’s homemade ice pack. 

Aric swallowed his apology; Fynta would wave it off, anyway. That didn’t stop him from grimacing whenever her battered face greeted him. Aric must have taken too long to answer because Fynta lifted one corner of the bag to peek at him. “It was warm,” he responded, then tilted his head. “You should try it.”

The swelling in Fynta’s right arm had gone down, and the autodocs seemed convinced that the bones weren’t broken. Still, Aric worried about the woman’s dominant fighting hand out of commission. She sighed as if reading his thoughts and raised the arm in question, rolling her wrist to prove that she had full mobility.

“Why are you in my room?” Aric finally asked, growing tired of the push and pull of trying to get Fynta to tend to her injuries with more than basic field medicine.

Fynta yawned. “Originally, it was to make sure that you followed through with your treatment. Then, I figured I’d wait to see how it went. Then, the bed called to me and that’s the last thing that I remember.” Her eyes swept over Aric again, and she hummed deep in her throat. “It’s a damn shame I’m so tired.”

“You haven’t even bought me dinner yet,” Aric tisked, moving to his duffle on the floor. He ignored the unnatural rhythm his heartbeat had taken up. 

While rummaging for a clean pair of clothes, Aric heard the brush of fabric as Fynta sat up. “I did sneak you into an enemy camp so that you wouldn’t turn into a rakghoul.” When he looked over his shoulder, Fynta’s head tilted to one side and a lascivious grin lit her features. “And helped you steal expensive treats from a powerful Sith. Surely that entitles me to at least a peek.”

“Out,” Aric growled, jabbing one finger at the door. He kept the other hand wrapped around his towel just in case Fynta decided to get cute.

Huffing, the woman scooted to the edge of Aric's bed and slid off. She made it two steps before remembering her makeshift ice pack. After backtracking, Fynta offered Aric a pitiful excuse for a wink through her puffy eyes, then flounced out of his room. Aric used the Force to shut and lock the door behind her, though he wasn’t sure if it was enough to guarantee his privacy.

Aric ignored the tightness around his stitches while he dressed. He’d calculated that three kolto baths would get him back into fighting shape, or at least, make him not worthless. If only he could convince Fynta to do the same. Aric didn’t understand the woman’s aversion to healthcare. He wondered if Theron had any information on her background.

Finally decent, Aric considered trying out the bed, but he was too restless for sleep. He wasn’t hungry thanks to Fynta’s scavenging skills, so he walked through the compound. The halls were dimly lit, well enough that Aric could make out the artwork. There were no images of who owned the place, but he assumed the repeating sigil was important. He took a picture with his datapad to research later. Aric didn’t think that it was Ucevi’s. She wouldn’t hesitate so long if it was one of her properties; not for Fynta.

Aric paused at a window overlooking a snowy courtyard. Since arriving, he’d been so focused on survival that he hadn’t taken the time to explore their surroundings. The moon reflected off the snow, painting the world in a cold silver that seemed frozen in time. For that moment, he felt peace at the pale serenity spreading before him.

“It’s like hell froze over,” a voice murmured behind Aric. He barely stopped himself from jerking away when Fynta appeared at his side. She sighed, arms folded around herself while clutching a blanket to her shoulders. He hadn’t felt her approach, either through the Force or his other senses. The woman moved like a ghost.

“How do you do that?” Aric kept his voice low even though they were alone in the safe house. The frigid air felt too fragile to disturb with raised voices. He sniffed, catching  a hint of the soap that Fynta had showered with. If he didn’t know better, he would guess that the woman had been working on suppressing her scent as well. 

Fynta pulled the blanket tighter and shivered as she stared out the frost hazed window. “Would you like me to teach you?”

Aric faced the woman, abandoning the picturesque scenery for the Sith who looked somehow small in the pale moonlight. “You’d do that?” Aric squared his shoulders and glared down at her, searching for a trap. “You’d teach a Jedi how to evade detection by other Sith?”

“I’d teach a friend,” Fynta commented, tearing her gaze away from the courtyard to meet Aric’s. “If you’ll trust me.”

“I do,” Aric answered before he realized the words were true. Fynta’s brows rose, and Aric took a step backwards to open space to think. She waited, and he took those seconds to gather his thoughts. 

Aric wondered when he’d grown to believe the word of a Sith, or how Fynta had wormed her way inside his defenses in so little time. He knew that she wouldn’t hurt him, just like he knew that he wanted Fynta there when Ucevi delved into his mind. Fynta would protect him, even from an old lover and friend. Aric didn't know why he believed it, though, and that troubled him more than anything. 

Finally, Aric nodded. “I do,” he repeated with more force. Then, he manifested a playful note in his voice. “With my mind, at least. My body, not so much.”

Fynta barked out a laugh that lit up her face. “Damn shame about that, too.”

Laughter bubbled out of Aric with surprising ease. He relaxed his stance and let his mind open to the possibility of moving with the stealth that Fynta commanded. “Where do we start?”

Fynta crooked her finger with a smirk that tightened Aric’s stomach. “Let me show you how I meditate.”

The earlier ease that Aric had cultivated in Fynta’s presence evaporated with each step that he followed her down the hallway. It vanished completely when she opened a door that led downstairs. Aric spared the Sith a side glance. “Planning to lock me in the basement?”

“If I was going to chain you to something, Master Jorgan, it wouldn’t be in a basement.” The devious chuckle that followed Fynta’s statement didn’t encourage Aric’s confidence. Especially, when she activated the lights to reveal a long, narrow room that must have run the length of the estate they occupied.

Fynta moved around, flipping levers and powering on computer terminals. Aric stopped inside the door and realized where they were when he spotted the targets on a motorized pulley system. “A shooting range?”

Spreading her hands wide, Fynta let the blanket fall from her shoulders and pool around her feet. “Welcome to my temple.” She tapped in a code on the weapons locker against the wall, then curled her fingers into a fist when it rejected her attempt. The lock splintered in a shower of sparks, and Fynta pushed the door open to reveal a decent collection of low caliber blasters.

Aric took a subtle breath to steady his pounding heart, then kicked her blanket under the metal table on his way to join Fynta. “I hope you’re on good terms with whoever owns these.” Aric noticed that she had taken care not to damage anything other than the lock, though. He supposed this particular Sith had the means to replace something so commonplace.

Without speaking, Fynta leaned in and collected a blaster that Aric recognized. She presented it to him. “Have you ever shot one of these?”

“Once, a while ago.” Aric felt the weight of the weapon in his hand. He’d always been fascinated by the inner workings of blasters, and had been taken in by a lieutenant on Hoth one day when everyone was stuck indoors by a storm. 

Felix had shown Aric how to break down, clean, and fire a hand blaster. They’d spent the day on the firing range with a dozen other soldiers. Aric had refused to use the Force, and more than one of the soldiers had been willing to teach a Jedi how to work such a primitive weapon. The day ranked high on the list of Aric's favorite memories. 

Fynta nodded with approval when Aric checked the charge magazine before bringing it up to sight. “Come on, let's see how much you remember.”

Aric followed Fynta to the bench at the start of one of the lanes and held out her hand. “Watch me.” Aric surrendered the blaster and stepped back to do as instructed.

The woman planted her feet, hips squared with her shoulders and arms extended in front of her. The grip rested more naturally in Fynta’s palms than his, but Aric assumed that came from a lifetime of practice. Mandalorians learned how to fire a blaster early. Aric wondered which of Fynta’s parents had taught her to shoot.

Aric studied the lines of Fynta’s body as she settled into firing position. The muscles of her now exposed arms bunched, the tendons flexing in her elbows, wrists, and fingers. He watched her ribs expand and contract beneath the black fabric of her halter top, and realized that her breathing had slowed. Then, the air exploded with a concussive blast that made Aric jump. Green lights flashed down the line to signal a hit, and he couldn’t hold in an appreciative snort at her accuracy. “That’s what, thirty, forty yards?”

“Forty-five,” Fynta answered with no small amount of pride. She lowered the weapon and grinned over her shoulder. “Want to take a shot?” 

Aric stepped forward and accepted the blaster. He remembered the weight in his hands, and lifted it to stare down the sight, careful to keep his finger outside of the trigger guard. When he was satisfied, he tilted the weapon and examined the charge pack. It glowed gold instead of the blue or green that he was used to. “What’s with the color?”

Nodding in approval, Fynta turned Aric towards the target. “Target rounds. The rechargeable kind so that I don’t have to blow a ton of credits replacing them.” She positioned Aric on a pale line painted on the floor. He didn’t register her hands on him until Fynta gripped his hips and yanked him into a better stance. Just as quickly, her touch was gone.

Aric looked back, keeping his body still, while Fynta retrieved a set of noise suppressors from the cabinet. She plopped them over Aric's ears, enveloping him in silence. Then they beeped a greeting, and suddenly, he could hear again. “These have an NRR rating of 30.” When Aric didn't appear to catch on, Fynta waved a dismissive hand. “Noise reduction rating. Basically, they protect those sensitive ears of yours.”

“What about you?” Aric's voice sounded loud in the void surrounding him. It left him with the urge to pop his ears.

“My hearing has been shot for years.” In contrast, Fynta sounded reserved, but Aric didn't know if that was due to her admission, or the protective gear. “Now, show me what you can do.”

Filing this conversation for later questioning, Aric silently recounted the words of his teacher. Take a breath, find your target, then squeeze on the exhale. As a soldier on Hoth, Felix Iresso had been accustomed to long days trapped inside when the planet’s surface was uninhabitable. He'd been a patient teacher, something Aric had tried and failed to emulate since. 

The crack of the blaster wasn’t as loud as before, but it still made the hair on the back of Aric’s neck stand on end. The suppressors muted the sound to a thump that Aric felt in his chest and behind his sinuses. Slowly, Aric lowered the blaster and squinted down the firing line. 

“Not bad.” Fynta folded her arms. She wore a stern expression that Aric had yet to see on the woman. He supposed firearms were one of the few things that she took seriously. “That’s a hit. Not a kill, but he felt it.”

Aric tried not to be flattered by a Mandalorian’s praise, but pride wormed its way to the surface. He lowered the blaster to look at Fynta. “Got any tips?” Her kind were the best shots in the galaxy, after all; it wouldn't hurt to pick up a new skill in case of an emergency. 

“Try this.” Fynta pushed Aric’s arms up, tapping the bottom of his elbows to straighten them. Then, she slipped into the space between and pressed her back to his chest.

“What are you—” Aric started to back away, but Fynta reached back and jerked his hips in line with hers. 

Fynta returned Aric’s arms to the ready position encircling her shoulders, then straightened so that Aric had to as well. “Feel that?” Fynta asked, and Aric had no idea which part of this he was supposed to be focusing on. Mostly, it was the way her ass pressed against his groin.

Looking over her shoulder, a light of amusement entered Fynta’s eyes. “Still with me, Jedi?”

“I’m—” Aric cleared his throat and made himself meet Fynta’s gaze. “I’m not sure what we’re doing.”

“You were slouching, leaning into the shot.” Fynta reached back again to pat Aric’s hip, and he jumped. He tried to cover the movement with a scowl, but Fynta’s continued humor assured him that she wasn't convinced. Her chuckle added to his discomfort. “Feel how straight your spine is now?”

Aric nodded, suddenly aware of how close Fynta’s face was to his, and how easily he could fall into the playful expression that made her look so alive. Then, she ducked out from under his arms, leaving Aric cold and fidgety. Fynta leaned against the counter and motioned down the line. “Again.”

Heaving a long exhale, Aric made himself look at the target. His stance felt unnatural, but when he tried to adjust, Fynta clucked her tongue. He found the steady pattern of his breathing the same way he used for meditation. The noise of the estate drifted into the back of Aric’s mind, and the world tunneled down to the sight on the end of the blaster and the target behind that. Air filled his lungs, then he squeezed the trigger.

“Kandosii.” Fynta clapped her hands and pressed the button that would bring the still illuminated target back to them. Her grin brought on the same swell of pride from before, and Aric found that he’d matched it when she turned to him. “Hell of a shot. That’s a kill.”

With a slap to Aric’s shoulder, Fynta moved to the next lane and lifted her verpine. They spent the next hour side by side in what the woman considered meditation. After losing himself to the rhythmic sensation of firing, reloading, taking aim, and repeating, Aric understood. There was purity in the action that standard meditation lacked. The ability to move changed the experience enough to make it addictive. 

When Aric reached for another charge pack and found nothing, the trance broke. He blinked at the empty bench, then over to where Fynta was cleaning her Verpine. Aric gathered his equipment and followed. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” Fynta said without looking up, but there was a twist to her lips. “Enjoy yourself?”

“That was fun,” Aric admitted, setting the blaster on the table next to Fynta’s. He leaned closer to examine the individual pieces of Fynta’s broken down Verpine. “What is that?”

Fynta pointed to the cylindrical chamber. “Physical ammo.” She rolled it with one finger and metal rattled within. “The Verpine is a slug thrower, effective against people like us. Mine’s…modified.” She gestured to a switch on the side, and Aric noted the file marks along the matte black finish where the security identification code should be.

“Who would have guessed,” Aric deadpanned with a smirk. He pointed to the missing numbers. “I take it this would be hard to explain in most civilized sectors.” Fynta winked, then reached for the barrel of her Verpine and dropped the end of a pipe covered in fine wires into it. 

Fynta nodded to the blaster in Aric’s hand while she scrubbed the one in hers. “Do you know how to break that down?”

Aric set his blaster on the table and watched Fynta tug the pipe through the other end of the barrel she held, stripping grit and black oil from within. Aric was surprised by how dirty it had gotten in a single use. “I assume you want to teach me?” Felix had shown Aric the process, but Fynta’s lessons were usually more hands-on. He found that he wouldn’t mind a refresher lesson in the woman’s company.

A smirk pulled at the corner of Fynta’s mouth. She pointed to a notch near the back of the barrel. “Use the key hanging on the wall to start the process. Disengage the slide first, then remove the barrel. Don’t drop any of the springs that try to pop out once that’s free.”

Aric ran his fingers along the small cylinders, searching for the correct size while Fynta watched. He felt the weight of her gaze and hoped that he didn’t do anything stupid while taking the blaster apart. To Aric’s surprise, the process was self explanatory once he mastered holding the slide and removing the pin at the same time. He used the Force when Fynta wasn’t looking. 

Once all the pieces were laid out on the bench, Aric startled at the feel of Fynta’s shoulder against his. “Good job,” she remarked over his elbow. “Clean your blaster often. After each discharge, if possible.”

Fynta went back to her task, leaving Aric alone with his thoughts. They worked in silence apart from his questions about the tools and Fynta’s quiet answers. Aric had gotten the grime out of every crevice in the blaster and was about to begin reassembling it when Fynta handed him a bottle of lube. “It helps with the friction,” she added with a barely contained grin. “You want a nice, smooth sliding action.”

Aric blinked at the woman, unsure if she was having a go at him or not. When he was able to tear his gaze away, it was to confirm that the bottle was registered for use on blasters and rifles. Carefully, Aric lifted the bottle and turned it. Fynta tutted at him. “A little goes a long way. You wouldn’t want to make it too wet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aric managed, though his throat had grown tight with the heady mixture of pheromones filling the space around Fynta.

With another wink, Fynta moved away, and Aric remembered how to breathe. She reassembled her Verpine, slapped a charge cartridge into it, then tucked the weapon into the holster on her hip. “While you get that put together, I’m going to take my turn in the kolto.” She sighed as if the idea of healing annoyed her, then her smile returned. “Feel free to come rescue me if you get lonely.”

Before Aric could formulate his response, Fynta was gone. He looked at the parts of the blaster spread on the cloth before him and sighed. His body still hummed, like tiny live wires in his arms and legs that left him fidgety. If he wasn’t careful, Fynta would entice him into making a mistake that would condemn him and the Jedi Order both.

Alderaan Emergency Safe House

Over the course of the next three days, Aric and Fynta held to a shaky routine. They took turns in the kolto tank, bickered about theology, raided Nora’s kitchen, argued about sex, spent time in quiet contemplation on the blaster range, and rounded out the evening debating morals over dinner. They were in the middle of one such meal when Aric put down his fork. “Where are we?”

Fynta was surprised that the question hadn’t come up sooner, not that she had a better answer than she would have earlier in the week. She scooped another spoonful of desert into her mouth and chewed. Meanwhile, Aric stared at her, clearly unwilling to back down. Fynta swallowed, then smiled. “Does it matter? We’ll be leaving as soon as Ucevi does her mind thing.”

Aric tensed, and Fynta took another bite of her food. “It’ll be fine,” she added around a mouthful, “Ucevi’s been doing it to me for years.”

“That’s not comforting,” Aric grumbled as he pushed away from the table. Fynta watched the Cathar rinse his dishes and place them to dry. When he turned to face her, Aric pressed his palms against the kitchen counter and drummed his fingers. “I need to know.”

Rolling her eyes, Fynta dropped her spoon into the bowl. “She’s a good person, Aric, like Ucevi. You need to stop worrying so much about where your allies come from and more about what they do.”

“Because Sith are so trustworthy?” Aric asked, folding his arms. It was the same argument that they’d had every night, but this time, he ran a hand down his face and sighed. “Ucevi will be here in two days.”

Fynta leaned back in her chair, waiting for the Cathar to get to the point. Aric glared at his feet. “I’m going to let a fucking Sith climb into my head and hope that she won’t scramble everything that she finds.” Fynta started to argue, but Aric’s expression when he looked up stopped her. “I want you in there.”

“Me?” Fynta felt her brows lift. “You want me there when Ucevi goes in?”

Aric nodded, though he radiated unease. “I need to trust someone if we’re going to kill your old master. So far, I don’t see a reason why it can't be you.” 

There was a moment of silence while Fynta tried to figure out how best to respond, but again, Aric spoke over anything she might have come up with. “I know she’s your person, but can I count on you?”

Fynta finally understood why Aric had been so curious about Ucevi. He thought they were in love, or at least an item. The waves of jealousy that Fynta felt from him weren’t because he wanted her, but because he wanted what he thought she had with Ucevi. The sort of trust that came from years of shared hardship, not love. 

The idea of love, at least the sort that Aric alluded to, had never interested Fynta. She had people that she trusted, people that she had fun with, and people that she used. Sometimes, the lines between those classifications blurred. Love in the context that Aric meant included growing old together and a lot more commitment than Fynta ever intended to subject herself to. 

A memory surfaced, hazy and colored by time. When she’d escaped Darth Nox, the detox and stripping of the Sith’s control over her mind had left Fynta weak and ill. Ucevi had been there, holding her hair back and cooling her fevers. She was the only person that Fynta had ever let that close. Maybe Aric was right about the bond she shared with the Sith Blood, but not in the way he suspected.

“Yeah,” Fynta answered, only realizing after Aric began to fidget that she’d forgotten to answer while untangling her complicated relationship with Ucevi. There would be time for that later. Lifting her eyes, she met the Cathar’s cold glare. “I’ll be there.” 

Aric nodded, and an awkward silence fell over them. While Fynta tried to think of a way to fill it, an idea occurred to her. “You want to play a game?”

Fynta didn’t need the Force to see Aric’s apprehension. She chuckled and got to her feet, bowl in hand. “You grab the booze while I clean up.”

“A drinking game?” Aric asked as he watched Fynta with a predatory smirk. When he spoke, it widened to show the sharp points of his teeth. “You do realize that Cathar have a higher metabolism than humans, right?”

Fynta turned on the water to rinse her dishes, peeking playfully over one shoulder. “And Mandalorians start drinking at thirteen, I think I’ll be fine.”

Leaning so close that Fynta felt Aric’s breath on her neck, the Cathar whispered, “You’re on.” He shoved away from the counter and sauntered into the next room where they’d drank more of Nora’s stash than she’d be pleased with. Meanwhile, Fynta tried to shake away the chills that Aric’s proximity had left her with.

When Fynta joined Aric in the sitting room, he’d pulled two chairs to either side of a low table and placed a full bottle of whiskey in the middle. A shot glass sat in front of each chair. Fynta grinned and took her seat. “You got the good stuff.”

“I’ve developed a taste for it,” Aric admitted, tipping the bottle of Corellian Whiskey to fill each glass. “How does this work?”

“Simple, I make a statement, and if it’s false, you drink.” Fynta lifted her glass in a salute. “For example: Never have I ever lost a bar fight.” Aric tilted his head while Fynta knocked back her shot. The whiskey went down smooth, burning a satisfying trail through her chest and stomach. She sighed and set her empty glass down.

Aric rubbed his chin, failing to cover his smirk. “You lost?”

“Hell yeah I lost,” Fynta laughed. “I never picked a fight with a Wookie again. I was lucky that she was only in it for a good time and didn’t rip my arms off.”

Aric rumbled a low laugh. “Okay, my turn.” He took a moment to consider, his stare locked on Fynta. “I’ve never framed anyone for murder.”

“Oddly specific,” Fynta said, but she drank anyway. Still, Aric’s glass remained untouched. “It was an accident, but I guess it still counts. I didn’t know that the butler was in the house until the news announced that he’d been arrested.”

“How did that turn out?” Aric asked, and Fynta was surprised by the lack of scorn in his tone.

Smiling, Fynta glanced at Nora’s crest. “Ucevi and one of her political allies pulled some strings, and the man went free. We got him off planet, just in case.”

The noise Aric made could have been approval, but he didn’t speak. Fynta leaned forward to refill her glass. “My turn.” She racked her brain for anything that would even the odds before she was too drunk to play. “I’ve never used my personal belief system to mete out judgment on those I perceived as evil.”

Aric lifted his glass, scowled at Fynta, then knocked it back. “Not the way I’d word it,” he hissed around the burn. Fynta allowed herself a victorious smirk. 

The Cathar licked his lips and studied the glass in his hand. When he spoke, he didn’t look at Fynta. “I’ve never slept with the enemy.”

“Yet,” Fynta teased, saluting Aric with her glass before dumping the contents down her throat. Her head felt pleasantly light and her tongue loose. She was well on her way towards being drunk, and her adversary was annoyingly sober. 

Slamming the glass onto the table between them, Fynta grinned. “I’ve never been indoctrinated into a cult as a child.” At least when Nox had her, it was forced servitude with a hint of brainwashing. She’d never adopted his way of thinking. 

Aric’s scowl deepened. “That’s not how it happened.”

Fynta shook her head and snapped her fingers at him while filling the glass. “Drink, Jedi.” He did, then quickly poured another. Fynta found that response intriguing. Aric didn’t argue past the weak defense, leading her to wonder if the Cathar harbored doubts about his precious Orders recruitment policies. 

Aric lifted his glass and looked into Fynta’s eyes. “I’ve never kissed someone for the sake of a job.”

It stung, but Fynta drank. She’d been taught from the cradle to win, no matter the cost. The Sith nurtured that belief, twisting it into a soul shredding mantra. What Nox had done went so far beyond the academy’s teachings that Fynta wasn’t even sure that she had a soul left to worry about. But using Aric without his knowledge had been wrong. Hell, Fynta didn’t even need his consent, but she should have at least warned him.

Spinning the glass between her fingers, Fynta studied the floor. “If it’s any consolation, I regret that.” 

Aric snorted and drank his shot anyway. “This game was a bad idea.” He turned his glass upside down on the table and stood. When Fynta reached for the bottle, Aric grabbed it and walked towards the main bar. 

Fynta followed Aric while eyeing the bottle in his hand. She didn’t think that he was drunk yet because she was bordering on tipsy, but considered separating him from the alcohol before their argument could escalate. Nora would not be pleased to return home to lightning scorched floorboards and claw marks on the furniture.

Fynta held her hand out for the whiskey bottle when Aric stopped by the bar. “I think I’m going to need that before we continue.” To her surprise, he surrendered it. 

Tipping the bottle back, Fynta took a heady swig, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She lowered the bottle and leveled Aric with as serious of an expression as she could manage. “I am sorry.”

Aric ran a hand down his face and released a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh. It vibrated through Fynta’s bones, and she shivered with unexpected pleasure before she could stop herself. Thankfully, Fynta didn’t think Aric saw it.

“Let’s make sure that we’re on the same page from now on.” The Cathar grumbled, reaching for the bottle dangling from Fynta’s fingers. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Fynta watched Aric take several consecutive drinks and winced at the open space in the bottle. She’d have to replace that before Nora found out.

When Aric smacked his lips, the vibrant glow of his eyes drew Fynta in. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, if only to make sure that she wasn’t yelling at him. When Aric didn’t retreat, Fynta lifted her chin and pasted on what she hoped was a flirty grin. “Admit it, you liked it a little.”

Aric glared out the window at the snowy landscape illuminated by a cloudy night. “I’m not into bondage.” Fynta followed his gaze and shivered. She hated the cold, but Aric wore a wistful expression that grabbed her attention. In the pale light, the sharp angles of his face were accentuated by shadow and his eyes glowed a blue that nearly matched the snow outside.

Fynta bit her lip and glanced back at their glasses. If they were going to work together, she couldn't leave it like this. Pouring two shots, Fynta offered one to Aric. 

Perhaps it was the intensity of Aric's stare when he accepted Fynta’s gift, or maybe the alcohol fueled warmth driving away the Alderaan cold, but Fynta lifted her glass. “To new possibilities.” 

After a moment's hesitation, Aric tapped his glass to Fynta’s and offered a tight smile. “And broadening horizons.”

They drank together. When the glasses were empty, Fynta brushed her fingers over Aric’s when she collected it. “It was a pretty shitty first kiss.”

Shugging, Aric let his smile expand just enough to show the tips of his teeth. “I’ve had better,” he agreed.

Taking a step closer, Fynta looked up at Aric. The toes of her shoes crossed the threshold of his boots. Her thigh brushed his when she shifted, and it would take little effort to close the gap between their chests, but she’d leave that to him. “We could always try again.”

The fact that Fynta voiced the offer that had been tempting her all night surprised her nearly as much as Aric’s response. “Why?” He didn’t break eye contact, and Fynta felt the press of his will against hers. She opened her mind enough to let him sense her sincerity, but not so much that he’d tumble in like the last time.

Aric inhaled deeply enough that his chest expanded through the empty space that Fynta had left between them. She smiled and lowered her voice. “Because I think you want to know what it feels like as much as I do.”

“Yeah,” Aric exhaled, his voice dropping low and husky. “Maybe I do.” Then, his lips were on Fynta’s, one hand pressing against her lower back to drag her against his body, the other still supporting his weight against the counter. 

Fynta expected cold hunger, maybe the bite of a predator who had been pushed to his limits. Instead, a gentle warmth suffused Fynta’s body as Aric’s emotions tangled with hers. He was calm, rather than the frostbitten anger and frustration that she normally sensed in him. There was a peacefulness in Aric’s reaction that was as undeniable as the snow outside their window.

Steadily, Aric’s other hand moved to cradle Fynta’s head, fingers slipping through the loose strands of her hair so that he could tilt her mouth closer. A steady rumble built inside of him, pushing through his body and into Fynta’s. Aric’s rough tongue scraped pleasantly against hers, and the overwhelming sense of rightness of the moment threatened to swallow Fynta whole. She knew instinctively that Aric would drive her mad with patient caresses should they ever make it to a bed. 

Fynta pressed closer, rubbing herself against Aric in a way that made it clear how far she was willing to take their new exploration. He growled encouragement against her lips, splaying his fingers across the bare skin of her back. When he’d slipped his hand up her shirt, Fynta had no idea.

A warning bloomed in the back of Fynta’s mind. She ignored it, claiming blissful denial in the fear that if she gave in, the spell would be broken. Aric would come to his senses and remember that she was his mortal enemy, that this was a terrible idea.

The pressure of an intruder grew even as Aric’s hand worked Fynta’s shirt higher. He’d just reached her ribs when she tore her lips free with a snarl. “Fierfek.” Aric pulled back to stare down at Fynta, his heavy breaths puffing against her face and the lust that brightened his eyes faded while she watched.

Pressing her finger to Aric’s parted lips, she closed her eyes to focus on what had grown from a distraction into an annoyance. Then, her eyes widened with understanding. “Fierfek.”

Alderaan Imperial Territory Unknown Mountain Safe House

“What is it?” Aric whispered, pressing his lips next to Fynta’s ear. Their bodies were molded together, and when she shifted, Aric was reminded of how close he’d come to making a grave mistake. He shouldn’t have accepted Fynta’s offer, but looking into her brilliant eyes while moonlight poured through the window to illuminate tanned skin, he’d lost himself.

Carefully, Fynta untangled herself from Aric’s arms. The room felt cold without her body pressed against his. While he’d expected her willingness, Aric hadn’t been prepared for her enthusiasm. She had met every stroke of his tongue, never shying away from what most species considered uncomfortable. The heady scent of Fynta’s arousal still simmered in Aric’s blood. Until her eyes popped open to show alarm instead of lust. “We’re not alone.”

Icy dread doused the flames of Aric’s desire. For the span of a heartbeat, he wondered if Fynta had betrayed him again. Had she lured him into that damn game to lower his defenses? To prove that he was a weak willed Jedi? Then logic rose, and Aric realized that Fynta’s body language was not one of someone who had expected visitors. Her hand flattened against his chest, but he resisted when she tried to push him back.

Aric touched Fynta’s arm, trying not to be distracted by the firmness of her bicep or the memory of her muscles playing under the scarred skin of her back. “Who is it?” Aric mouthed when she urged him behind the bar.

Aric felt the warmth of Fynta’s expanded senses and shivered at the way his body craved more. “A problem,” she answered, then shimmered from sight. 

Aric stared at the place Fynta had been, caught between irritation that he still couldn’t do that and respect for how smooth her transition was. He reached for Fynta through the Force and found a flicker of life, nothing that he’d have caught were he not intimately familiar with her signature. Aric turned his ear in the direction that he assumed Fynta had gone and opened his physical senses. Again, she was there, but muted to the point that he couldn’t pin down her position in the room.

A brush of the Dark Side made the fur on Aric’s neck stand on end. He thought it was Fynta, until he realized how powerful it was. She didn’t present that way, and the sensation from this person felt controlled, like it had been bundled into a box barely suited to the task. 

Aric ducked around the counter that Fynta had pressed him against short seconds ago. A small figure entered the room, her pale skin glowing in the scattered moonlight. She looked young, with hair as dark as the shadows surrounding her, and deceptively thin. The girl glanced around the room, then tilted her head as if listening to some far away sound. Aric risked enough contact to know that she wasn’t the source of the darkness. This one felt more like him in the sense that she carried the Light Side with her. Though it had been corrupted long ago, there was no doubting its touch.

If not for the strength of the person trailing the younger woman, Aric might have approached her. The girl turned sharply, squeaking a startled yelp when Fynta popped into existence. They exchanged playful barbs, which included a shove from the younger one, but it was to the figure yet to show themselves that Fynta spoke.

“You should have commed,” Fynta complained. Aric felt a jolt of apprehension and realized that it wasn’t coming from him. Fynta was displeased by the appearance of their visitor and hadn’t given him the all clear to join her.

“It is my safe house,” a woman laughed, and the blood that had once boiled with desire froze in Aric’s veins. He’d heard that voice, and he knew who it belonged to before the Chiss stepped into the kitchen. “Ucevi sounded worried, so I thought I would—”

Aric rose with a snarl before he could stop himself. Now, he understood why Fynta had refused to tell him where they were. Why she’d dodged every question that could have led him to realizing how precarious his position was when he’d felt a measure of safety. 

Red eyes widened with momentary surprise before he felt the crush of Dark Side pressure against his mind. Whereas Fynta had always been sneaky, tangling him in playful tendrils, Darth Nemesis hit Aric’s shields like a battering ram. Pain spiked through his mind like cracks in the ice. He pushed back, reaching for his weapon and cursing its absence. Aric vaulted over the counter anyway, prepared to battle with teeth and claws if need be.

Then, Fynta was between them. Her words were muffled against the roar of psychic battle. Aric looked into her eyes and saw what she wanted, but he couldn’t stop, not when Nemesis was so close. 

Having failed to dissuade Aric, Fynta turned to the Chiss, who now had the aid of the younger woman that Aric had sensed light in. Neither had drawn their lightsabers, but it was only a matter of time. Aric didn’t know if he could cast Fynta aside and survive this encounter, but he had to try.

A warm hand rested against Aric’s cheek, and heat suffused his body. He sucked in a ragged breath at the images that played out in his mind’s eye. Naked skin under his hands and panted breaths against his ear. The desperate whispers of a lover and gentle laughter after completion. Aric staggered away from Fynta, his attention momentarily ripped from Nemesis. He tried to growl out a warning, but her betrayal choked him. Fynta had snuck into his mind and turned it against him with the same ease that Nox’s assassin had. He felt the violation in his soul.

“Aric,” Fynta whispered. She took a step towards him, and he moved back. He saw the confusion in her eyes and bared his teeth to make his stance clear.

Pointing at Darth Nemesis, Aric snarled. “Keep that away from me.” 

Fury roared through Aric as the window to end one of the greatest threats against the Republic snapped shut. Spinning on his heel, he stalked away from the woman towards his room. With each step, he felt the strands of his connection with Fynta fray and snap. She’d betrayed him.

[cinlat]

Whumptober: Day 5

This is from a future chapter of Whiskey & Tihaar.

5: Every Whumpee’s Needs Blood Loss| Running out of Air | Hyperthermia

Word Count: 303

Fynta blinked, trying to stay awake while her body did its damnedest to shut down. Her breath stuttered in a thick cloud in front of her as a mockery of her weakness. Feeling had abandoned Fynta’s fingers and toes, which had become apparent only now that she was laying on the ground after stumbling over the small emergency heater.

“Ready to stop being stubborn?” Aric asked as he righted the device. He’d drawn the hood of his robe up, hands stretched over the warm glow. He shifted his gaze in Fynta’s direction. “Pretty sure that humans don’t come in blue.

“So you’re a fucking expert now?” Fynta snarled as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Darkness crowded around the edge of her vision, and she breathed through her nose to drive it back.

Sighing, Aric pushed to his feet, and grabbed the emergency heater. “You’re going to freeze.” He set it at Fynta’s boots and knelt behind her. The weight of her armor lessened, but it took her sluggish thoughts a moment to realize why. 

Fynta glanced over her shoulder when Aric set her pauldron aside. “About time.” Her teeth chattered, making her cringe at the unsexiness of her flirtation. “But maybe wait until we’re back at base?”

“Haha,” Aric retorted, never taking his eye off his task. Once Fynta’s chestplate had been removed, he eased down behind her, his legs stretching out to either side of hers, and tugged her against him. “I need you alive if we’re going to defeat Nox.”

The relief was instant. Aric’s inhuman warmth seeped into Fynta’s back, unknotting muscles and relaxing the hitched pace her lungs had adopted. “Better?” Aric asked, but his voice from far away. The darkness rushed in faster than Fynta could defend against, and with that modicum of comfort, Fynta succumbed. 

[cinlat]

This chapter of Whiskey & Tihaar is an absolute beast. But I finally finished the first part of it....which is roughly 24 pages long. So, I’ll need to figure out how to break that up. In the meantime, have some Sith Fynta and Jedi Jorgan being painfully Sith and Jedi.

Shout out to @kunoichi-ume​ (Noara) @sleepswithvillains​ (Nora) @tishinada​ (Ucevi) for letting me borrow their girls for this one. There is a lot going on.

One side of Aric’s mouth lifted in a lopsided sneer that left the single tip of his canine trapped between his lips. Fynta thought it was adorable, but managed to keep that thought to herself. When Aric didn’t respond, she reached for him through the Force.

“Don’t,” Aric snarled, taking a step away from Fynta as if that could weaken their connection. She felt a surge of panic, quickly tamped down but present all the same. Aric’s glare turned to his feet, and Fynta realized for the first time that he hadn’t looked at her since she’d walked in.

Fynta stood and took a step closer, noting that the sense of fear spiked again. It wasn’t surprise or anxiety, but the raw terror of trapped prey; an emotion she had become well acquainted with in her line of work. Though, Fynta never thought to inspire such emotions in the stoic Cathar. “What’s wrong?”

When Fynta moved again, Aric snarled in earnest. The sound brought her up short. She’d heard him growl in many circumstances, most involving her, but none had ever felt threatening like now. Aric moved into a loose-limbed stance as if ready for an attack. “You almost had me,” he said, tone low and edged with malice. “You almost convinced me that there was more to the Empire than what the Order thought. But it was a lie. You’re just like all the rest.”

“I’m—” Fynta sputtered, red coloring her vision and rage boiling through her veins until lightning crackled between her fingers. She bared her teeth and jabbed one of the sparking digits at Aric, holding onto her control by bloodied nails. “You have no idea what you’re talking about you self-righteous, pompous di'kutla utreekov.”

Fynta had the short-lived satisfaction of seeing the Jedi’s brows climb his forehead before she spun around and stormed from the room. In her anger, Fynta slammed the door so hard that sparks sprung from the safety mechanisms and it might have jumped off its tracks. She didn’t care enough to look back.

Alderaan Private Residence of Darth Nemesis

Aric stared at the mangled wreckage of his door. Not only had the force with which Fynta slammed it shorted out the electrical system, but it had ripped part of the track out of the frame. Without the right tools, Aric wouldn’t enjoy the false safety of a locked door again. 

Sighing, he nudged the leaning slab of metal and watched it groan outward. A spark of light distracted him, only because he hadn’t felt it in such a long time. When Aric looked up, the young woman from earlier stood in the hallway with a tray, her pale blue gaze focused on the carriage that had once been Aric’s door. “I take it the talk didn’t go well?”

Aric snorted a laugh before he could stop himself, then sobered with the reminder that this woman was also a Sith. Though, there was light in her too. She was the source of that peace Aric had felt earlier in the evening. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right.” The woman wiped her hand on silk pants so green that they almost looked black, then extended a hand to Aric. “My name is Noara Starspark. I’m Nora’s apprentice.”

[cinlat]

Work in Progress Whenever

I’m just really super excited to be working on anything. I’m in the editing process of Whiskey & Tihaar. This chapter is going to be a monster, so I hope you guys were serious when you said you wanted long chapters. I’m about halfway through editing and we’re sitting at 11,322 words. So until I get it complete, have an angsty sneak peek at what’s happening.

Fynta lifted one shoulder. “Ask me anything. Free shot at a Sith.”

Aric’s body finally relaxed, and his head rolled in her direction. Fynta turned to meet his gaze and found him staring at her face, more particularly, the tattoo surrounding her right eye. “Why a target?”

This time, it was Fynta’s laughter that echoed through the small space. “Really?” The corner of Aric’s mouth twitched at her surprise, and she chuckled again. “All the Sith knowledge at your fingertips, and you ask about my cosmetic choices?”

Aric attempted a shrug, then winced and abandoned it. Fynta widened her grin “I’m half-tempted to leave you guessing. I’m sure whatever is going on in your mind is more entertaining than the truth.”

The Cathar leveled Fynta with his best glare, which she was startled to see had lost most of it’s fierceness. She checked the chrono on her comm and willed Verin to move faster. All the while, she painted on a smile for her companion. “Fine, I lost a bet at the Academy.”

“That’s it?” Aric managed to sound indignant before another coughing fit took him. His fists pressed into his thighs, then relaxed when it passed. Finally, his eyes opened to find Fynta. She hoped that he didn’t see pity in them. “A bet?”

Fynta nodded and shifted to find a more comfortable position until Aric groaned. She froze, trying not to jostle him further. “Who knew Sith Bloods could drink so damn much," she added to distract Aric. "Made a fool out of me. Care to share your theory?”

Shrinking deeper into his robe, Aric shook his head. “Not really.”

“Okay, my turn.” Aric’s eyes drifted shut, and Fynta gripped his arm. He startled awake with a curse, claws snagging in his robe. Fynta carried on like she hadn't noticed. “Okay, here’s an easy one, is it true that Jedi are celibate?”

“Come on, Sith. This again?” Fynta smiled at the familiar exasperation in Aric's tone. She waved for him to answer, hoping that this topic would rile him enough to keep him conscious. Aric managed to show his fangs briefly before answering. “You need a new hobby.”

“That’s not a no,” Fynta teased. She heard the distant whine of engines, but stopped short of a relieved breath.

Aric rolled his eyes, which looked a little sloppy in Fynta’s opinion. His voice was stronger, but Aric’s hands now rested open in his lap. She thought that was probably a bad sign. “Jedi have sex, it’s only natural. We avoid unhealthy attachment. Avoid things like the jealousy or possessiveness that occurs through relationships.”

Fynta took a moment, mulling over his answer and the specific way he'd worded it. Aric took a deep breath and surrendered mre of his weight against Fynta’s shoulder. She kept talking, hoping that a familiar visor would pop up in the opening to their hideout soon. “So, unattached sex is fine so long as it doesn’t mean anything.”

Blinking, Aric opened and shut his mouth, then pressed his lips into a thin line. “That’s two questions, it’s my turn.” Fynta relented, tipping her head to see him better. Aric had started to slide down the wall. “Is it true that Sith are deviants?”

“Absolutely.” Fynta’s immediate answer sparked another coughing fit in the Cathar that she thought might have been intended as a laugh.

Sucking in shallow breaths, Aric bared his teeth. “Damn it, woman.”

[cinlat]

I actually worked on a thing! Thanks @starknstarwars​ for the tag. I legit have no idea who is writing or drawing atm because my life is utter chaos, so I’m going to throw some names into the wind. If you’d like to use this as an opportunity to share your WIP, please use me as a tag.

@dingoat​ @kunoichi-ume​ @dimigex​ @chaosandwonder​ @sleepswithvillains​ and anyone else who wants one

Now calmer, Fynta walked into the room where Aric sat on his bed, legs folded and eyes closed. He still wore military fatigues, and Fynta eased onto her bed to watch the rise and fall of his chest. He looked at peace, which is probably why she’d never been good at the meditation part of wielding the Force. 

The caf maker chimed, and Aric’s ears twitched. Fynta watched the Cathar inhale deeply, then sniff the air. Finally, his eyes opened. “Caf?”

Fynta chuckled. “I assume you want some?”

Aric answered in a yawn, then rubbed his face with one hand. “How long until Taris?”

“Just waiting on landing permissions.” Fynta didn’t move from her spot, watching the way Aric’s muscles relaxed into his posture, how the stress from their earlier disagreement had faded. “Does meditation actually work?”

The Cathar blinked at Fynta, then down at the hands resting in his lap. “I guess. Never thought about it. Meditation is something all Jedi are expected to master as Padawans.” When his gaze drifted up, Fynta felt the weight of it. “Is that not something Sith do?”

“Of course.” Fynta waved a hand and found a reason to look somewhere other than at Aric. “I believe I’ve already explained that I was a terrible student. Never could get the hang of sitting still that long.”

The low rumble sent a chill up Fynta’s spine, and she cut her eyes back to Aric. It had almost sounded like a laugh, but the man’s mouth never opened. Pulling her legs into a position to match Aric’s, Fynta offered a bemused stare. “Tell me your secret, Jedi. What makes meditation so important?”

“It calms the mind,” Aric answered with the immediacy of indoctrination. Then, his lips quirked into a smile. “Something you might benefit from.”

Fynta knew that Aric was referring to their brief encounter on Rishi, where she’d dropped her defenses with enough speed that he toppled into her thoughts. It had been a childish thing to do, a way to scare him away. The damn Cathar had only become more determined to join her on the quest to kill Nox. Now that they were well into the journey, Fynta was glad that he had.

“Okay, so what do you think about when you meditate?” Fynta straightened her spine and propped her hands in her lap. “Teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

Aric’s scowl didn’t budge, but he did answer Fynta’s question. “The goal is to clear the mind. Don’t actively think of anything, but reach for peace in the moment.”

“Peace is a lie,” Fynta quoted, though her joke only earned an eye roll from the Jedi. She cleared her throat. She cleared her throat and beat down her amusement. “Sorry, what do you do with this peace once you find it?”

Instead of answering Fynta, Aric closed his eyes. “Do as I do and listen to my breathing.”

Fynta obeyed, schooling her features to match Aric’s and expanding her senses to reach him. Each breath drew longer, and Fynta felt her muscles relaxing. The galaxy gradually drifted away, leaving Fynta weightless with only Aric’s presence as an anchor. She felt the air in his lungs as if it was her own, the stretch and relaxation of each muscle with the effort. Cool serenity surrounded Fynta, and it sparked a memory of the pool she and Theron had discovered on Rishi. They’d decided to bathe and wash their clothes, then one thing had led to another and—

Aric snarled. “Damn it, woman.”

Fynta realized her mistake too late and peeked one eye open to find the Cathar glaring at her. “Oops.”

Unfolding himself, Aric shoved from his bunk. “I can see why you never mastered the art of meditation. Your thoughts are like a herd of manka cats.”

“Yeah,” Fynta agreed. There was no defense if it was the truth. Slapping her hands on her thighs, Fynta pushed herself upright and headed for the other room. “It was worth a shot, how about that caf?”

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Taris

Chapter One  |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

You can read it by following the above links (for better formatting), or below the cut (for lazy formatting).

This AU is purely self-indulgent. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Aric still can't get a moment's peace from Fynta's perverse humor. They trust a little more, and learn how rumors start. There's some cursing, some fighting, and a lot of blacking out. Word Count: 11,749 Special guest: Ucevi, who belongs to the lovely @tishinada​

Nar Shaddaa The Shershoy

Aric sealed the airlock while Fynta went to the pilot’s seat. She seemed different. Instead of the whirlwind of chaos that normally surrounded Fynta, a thin shell of serenity wrapped her thoughts. Aric wondered how long until the veneer cracked, and she overwhelmed him again.

Shaking those thoughts away, Aric positioned himself behind the pilot’s seat while Fynta guided them into a long line of ships waiting to exit Nar Shaddaa. Neither had spoken since leaving Ucevi’s refuge. As much as Aric didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, he’d reached the end of his limited patience. “How did it go?”

“Good,” Fynta answered. Her attention to the traffic ahead was unwavering, the fingers of one hand curled loosely around the steering apparatus while the other draped over her raised knee. When Aric didn’t speak again, Fynta leaned back so that she could see him. “Curiosity is killing you, isn’t it?” A feral grin slid into place, looking more sinister because of the angle.

Aric snorted in what he hoped was a believable dismissal of Fynta’s accusation. She shrugged and returned to watching traffic until Aric gave up with a sigh. “It’s none of my business, but, what is your relationship with Ucevi?”

“Jealous?” Fynta teased, affecting that upside-down grin again as she looked up at Aric. He huffed and glanced away, already regretting his inability to keep his mouth shut. Fynta chuckled and righted herself in the chair. “Ucevi and I go way back. I’m not entirely sure there is a word to describe our relationship, but I trust her with my life.”

And mine, Aric thought, but he voiced a different opinion. “I didn’t think Sith knew how to trust. Too many unexplained deaths within the ranks, or so the rumor goes.”

“You rely too heavily on Jedi archives.” A notification appeared on the naviscreen, and Fynta eased the  Shershoy out of line. Her shoulders tipped as she guided the ship away from traffic and towards the limitless black of space. Once they were free of the false atmosphere, she continued. “Most Sith aren’t lunatics, just the ones who make the news. Those exist, sure, but most run businesses and corporations. They live, drink, fuck, and sometimes fall in love and start families. Then, you get little Sithlets, and the cycle starts over.”

The last comment caught Aric’s attention, and he frowned. “So...conjugal visit?” It was meant to be a joke, but a part of him was genuinely curious. Did Fynta have a lover? After what she’d said about her strained relationship with other Mandalorians, he doubted it would be one of them, but another Sith, someone who radiated warmth and strength in the same breath…Aric could imagine the Fynta he knew being seduced by that combination.

A wicked grin pulled at Fynta’s lips, and her eyes gleamed with that strange, internal light that made them such an unnatural shade of blue. When she turned, Aric’s throat tightened with the heady scent of her arousal. At least, until Fynta laughed. “ That’s what you took from what I said?”

Aric bristled at the taunting note in Fynta’s voice. “I’m simply—”

“Don’t worry about it, Master Jedi.” Fynta chuckled and returned to the task of setting them on the course for Taris. “I didn’t sleep with her, there wasn’t time. Ucevi shielded my mind so that Nox can’t dig his grubby fingers into it again.”

Aric opened his mouth to change the subject, but lost his words at the sultry laughter that followed. An image flashed through his mind, one that faded before his higher brain function could register it. His subconscious understood, though. Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach and his pulse quickened.

Snarling, Aric shoved away from Fynta’s chair and stalked into the main room. She called after him, and he rounded on the quickened footsteps at his back. Fynta stumbled to a stop, twisting out of the reach of his claws. Aric's fingers curled into fists at his side while one finger jabbed at the air between them. “Stay out of my fucking mind.”

Fynta’s hands lifted in a placating manner. “That was an accident, I swear.” Aric curled his lips back enough to show his teeth, but Fynta ignored his threat. “You stirred up an old memory. Shab, I didn’t even know that you’d seen it until you stormed out. So, who was in whose head?”

“I didn’t—” Aric paused to consider. To his knowledge, he hadn’t formed a connection with Fynta. He’d tested her mood, but that had been it. Some of the anger left him, and Aric lowered his lips into a more comfortable scowl. “I wasn’t actively seeking your thoughts.”

Sensing that the danger had passed, Fynta lowered her hands and studied him. Her jaw worked twice, like she was chewing something vile, then she sighed. “I’m about to say something that you’re not going to like.”

Aric rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Fynta took that as a sign to continue and rubbed her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. “Listen, I was trained to sneak into people’s minds.”

Aric growled, and Fynta ignored him again. “But, I’ve never seen anyone accomplish it with the ease that you do. Sure, I let you slide all over my shields, but I  always sense you, even when I know you’re not poking. Like, a piece of you got stuck when I let you in at the safe house.”

Aric’s retort never made it past his teeth. Though he hadn’t framed it in the same way, Aric understood what Fynta meant. When their minds had converged on Rishi. He’d been pulled towards oblivion so quickly that there had been no way to protect himself. The relief when Fynta ejected him had been instantaneous, but since then, Aric had been acutely aware of her position in the room. It sounded like something he’d read about as a boy, an impossibility that he wouldn’t name for fear of making it true.

“Just,” Aric turned away and waved one hand at Fynta. “Try to control your thoughts. I have no interest in the depravities of your past.”

“Hey, that was a sweet moment, thank you very much.” Fynta chuckled, low and throaty. The sound raised chills beneath Aric’s fur. She let out a soft huff of laughter. “Damn, Jedi, how long has it been since you offloaded all that stress?”

Too long, Aric’s traitorous mind reminded him. He took shallow breaths to avoid Fynta’s scent, but it was no good. She surrounded him, probing at his weaknesses through the Force while using her body to keep him off balance. He banished the agitation with a shake of his head and changed the subject as his last line of defense. “Why Taris?”

“Why—” Fynta blinked, then looked back at the view screen where the stars stretched through hyperspace. To Aric’s relief, she didn’t press the issue of his sexual exploits, but the slight curve at the corner of her lips warned that the conversation wasn’t finished. “Nox sent me there once to deal with a problem in one of his labs. I’m hoping we’ll find a clue as to where he’s holed up.”

Aric nodded, grateful for the segway in topics. Tracking and killing Sith was something he was good at. “Makes sense, start somewhere you know and find the trail.” He paused, teetering on the edge of revealing too much about himself, then deciding it was worth the risk. “There’s a Cathar village on Taris. Some people I’d like to see.”

“I’m sure we can make time.” Fynta walked to her workstation and lifted one of her leg plates from the stand. Aric had noticed that she hadn’t worn it to meet Ucevi, opting for plain black pants and a comfortable shirt. She didn’t look at him while she began buffing out a dent. “You spent time on Taris?”

Now that Fynta was occupied by something other than sex, Aric felt like a fool fuming in the middle of the room. He went to the table, for lack of anything better to do, and sat to watch her work. “I visited the Cathar villages when I was young to learn my people’s customs. It was...enlightening.” The planet stank, carrying the constant odor of fetid swamps and decay. Though the Republic claimed to be rebuilding, Aric knew that it was a lost cause. The planet had been slagged into ruin, and no amount of PR would restore it to its former glory.

Fynta nodded, concentrating on her work instead of him. Aric took the privacy to remove the heavier pieces of his armor since they would be in transit for several hours. He'd just removed his outer robe when Fynta spoke. "How was it?"

“The people were welcoming,” Aric continued while he tried to discern if he felt comfortable enough in Fynta's presence to change completely. Now that they weren’t at each other’s throats, Fynta and Aric had slipped back into the confusing comradery from before. He found the woman easy to talk to, and probably said too much in the process.

Aric decided that he'd shed enough armor for the time being and settled back in the chair next to Fynta's work table. “They treated me like one of their own. When my master and I left a year later, I understood my heritage and was proud to call myself Cathar.”

“Do you know who your parents are or where you're from?” Aric followed the line of Fynta’s reasoning easily enough. He’d thought it himself when he was younger. Maybe his master had taken him to that village because his parents lived there. Aric had spent the first week searching for traces of himself in every face until he gathered the courage to ask his master where he was born.

Shaking his head, Aric smiled at fond memories of his master's gentle explanation. “Rendili. My parents worked in the shipyards.” Fynta lifted one shoulder, and Aric expected her to say something about how odd it must be not remembering where he was from, but she didn’t. For once, the feisty Sith showed an ounce of decorum.

After fidgeting in silence, Fynta sighed. “My clan is on Taris. Well, parts of it.” Her declaration sucked the warmth from the room. Aric’s skin flushed with anger at the thought of a Mandalorian clan being so close to his people. Fynta’s eyes widened, likely catching the shift in Aric’s temperament, and held up both hands. “They aren’t hunting. Well, they are, but not Cathar. It’s some errand for the Empire and a touch of personal business of the Mand’alor’s, that’s all I know.”

Aric forced his voice to remain calm when he spoke. “Is that what your brother wanted you there for?” Fynta nodded and returned to poking at the items on her work table. Aric wasn’t prepared to let the topic drop. “Why tell me?”

“From what I could tell, it’s important to Verin.” Fynta’s lower lip caught between her teeth, an endearing image that Aric refused to be swayed by. “Since we’re going there anyway…” Her explanation trailed off with no hint that she planned to resume.

Then, without warning, Fynta turned to Aric. “Look, I can’t leave you on my ship, and I can’t take you with me. Not unless we can conceal your identity somehow. They aren’t  hunting  Cathar, but I don’t know how some of the old soldiers would react. It’s bad enough that  I’m  going.”

Aric folded his arms and studied his Sith companion. “What did you have in mind?” While he didn’t savor the idea of walking into a Mandalorian camp, the amount of intel he could glean would be priceless once he returned to the Order.

The twitch at the corner of Fynta’s lips settled like a rock in Aric’s stomach. “A helmet.”

It took a solid five seconds for Aric to understand what Fynta meant. This time, Aric didn’t bother to calm his agitation before speaking. “No fucking way.” The idea of sliding that T-shaped visor over his head made Aric sick to his stomach. His lips curled back to expose his teeth again to make sure that Fynta understood where he stood. He’d walk bare-faced into the camp of his enemy in full Jedi regalia before donning the ornamentation of a Mandalorian.

Rolling her eyes, Fynta threw both hands into the air. “Look, Clan Ordo has good people, but they crawled back to the Empire after the Wars. I can’t guarantee your safety if you walk in there snarling at everyone you see. Not many Cathar run with our side, so you’d be under instant suspicion unless you crushed a few throats, and—”

“I could do that,” Aric offered absently. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, hadn’t even realized that he did until Fynta replied with a deadpan stare. After a moment of consideration, Aric nodded. “Your clan was destroyed by that mad man you call a leader, so why not?”

“Because Ordo was one of the few clans willing to take in the orphaned children of traitors,” Fynta answered in a calm that belied the turmoil Aric felt inside of her. Waves of bitter resentment rolled off of her, black against the brightness that normally surrounded the woman.

“Right,” Aric answered. “Then, they sold you to the Sith.”

Aric should have expected violence, but the solid weight against his left cheek, and the sudden ringing in his ears, came as a surprise. When he blinked away the tears, rage boiled from Fynta, and she stood so close that he could see darker hints of blue behind the unnatural brightness in her eyes. “At least my family struggled with the choice. Did yours?”

The familiar, hollow weight of uncertainty tightened Aric’s chest. He had wondered, from time to time, if his parents thought of him. Did he have brothers or sisters, and had they been born with the ability to touch the living Force as well? Though Aric was practiced in schooling his features, some of his emotions must have leaked through. Fynta took a step back and heaved a shuddering breath. “I think that’s enough bonding for one evening.”

“Agreed,” Aric managed in a gruff answer that sounded normal enough. He let out a slow breath. “I’ll visit the local Cathar village while you tend to your family responsibilities. We’ll meet on neutral ground with any pertinent information.”

“Fine.” Fynta spun on her heel and stalked away, the air cooling with her departure.

Running a hand down his face, Aric went to his bunk to meditate. Though he had enjoyed his time on Taris as a Padawan, it had been destroyed by the malice that still clung to the surface. If Ucevi and Fynta were right about Darth Nox’s power, Taris would be the perfect place to draw from the Dark Side. Closing his eyes, Aric focused inward and tried to find peace.

The Shershoy Orbit around Taris Two Hours Later

Fynta scrubbed at a stain on her leg plate that had been there for years. It was less of a need to remove the spot, than an exercise in not strangling her companion. What Master Jorgan lacked in subterfuge, he made up for in righteous fury and biased truth. He was a Jedi, like all the other pompous do-gooders in the galaxy; except when he wasn’t.

There had been moments on this journey where Fynta genuinely enjoyed the grumpy shabuir’s company. Aric made her laugh and entertained her humor in turn, though less willingly at times. Still, the man had a knack for pressing the wrong buttons. If Master Jorgan had a single gift in the Force, it was to annoy the osik out of her.

Fynta dropped the soiled rag onto her pile of armor and closed her eyes. She could always sense Aric now. He was a constant in the corner of her mind, tucked away where she couldn’t reach him unless he wanted, but present nonetheless. Aric sat in his bunk, a cool serenity that draped anxiety and honor like a blanket.

For all her poking, Fynta had yet to unleash the Cathar’s rage. He’d been more frightened by the appearance of the buy’ce, lashing out before anyone else could. Fynta knew that fury simmered beneath the surface. He didn’t banish it, but somehow, Aric managed not to feed off it. Fynta’s mind turned towards how she could use that untapped power to her advantage. If she could find a way to control it, they might be able to—

Hissing, Fynta tossed away the leg plate so that it joined the other pieces. That was Nox’s way of thinking. Even after all these years out of his service, Fynta couldn’t shake the chakaar’s teachings. Find a tool, use it until it is no longer useful, then find another until the job was done. How many lives had Fynta destroyed by twisting them with honeyed words and subtle manipulations? Not just those who died, but the ones who had to live with the consequences of choices  she’d forced them to make.

“That’s why you work for Grandmother, now,” Fynta muttered to the still air of her ship. Ucevi was Fynta’s penance, a way to pay back to the galaxy a little of what she’d taken from it.

With hands on her hips, Fynta blew out a breath and imagined all her sins going with it. She was Mando’ade, they did not seek retribution for the actions taken during war. That didn’t mean that she couldn’t do some good with what was left of her life, though. Having reached the same conclusion that she always did during these quiet moments, Fynta started the caf maker.

“We don’t dwell on the past,” Fynta told the machine, then added another scoop so that there would be enough for two cups. It burbled in agreement, and Fynta left the device to its task. If she could just kill Nox, that would make her feel a lot better about herself.

Calmer, Fynta walked into the room where Aric sat on his bed, legs folded and eyes closed. He'd changed into the military fatigues from earlier, and Fynta eased onto her bed to watch the rise and fall of his chest. He looked at peace, which is probably why she’d never been good at the meditation part of wielding the Force.

The caf maker chimed, and Aric’s ears twitched. Fynta watched the Cathar inhale deeply, then sniff the air. Finally, his eyes opened. “Caf?”

Fynta chuckled. “I assume you want some?”

Aric answered in a yawn, then rubbed his face with one hand. “How long until Taris?”

“Just waiting on landing permissions.” Fynta didn’t move from her spot, watching the way Aric’s muscles relaxed into his posture, how the stress from their earlier disagreement had faded. “Does meditation actually work?”

The Cathar blinked at Fynta, then down at the hands resting in his lap. “I guess. Never thought about it. Meditation is something all Jedi are expected to master as Padawans.” When his gaze drifted up, Fynta felt the weight of it. “Sith don't meditate?”

“Of course.” Fynta waved a hand and found a reason to look somewhere other than at Aric. “I believe I’ve already explained that I was a terrible student. Never could get the hang of sitting still that long.”

The low rumble sent a chill up Fynta’s spine, and she cut her eyes back to Aric. It had almost sounded like a laugh, but the man’s mouth never opened. Pulling her legs into a position to match Aric’s, Fynta offered a bemused stare. “Tell me your secret, Jedi. What makes meditation so important?”

“It calms the mind,” Aric answered with the immediacy of indoctrination. Then, his lips quirked into a smile. “Something you might benefit from.”

Fynta knew that Aric was referring to their brief encounter on Rishi, where she’d dropped her defenses with enough speed that he toppled into her thoughts. It had been a childish thing to do, a way to scare him away. The damn Cathar had only become more determined to join her on the quest to kill Nox. Now that they were well into the journey, Fynta was glad that he had.

“Okay, so what do you think about when you meditate?” Fynta straightened her spine and propped her hands in her lap. “Teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

Aric’s scowl didn’t budge, but he did answer Fynta’s question. “The goal is to clear the mind. Don’t  think of anything, but reach for peace in the moment.”

“Peace is a lie,” Fynta quoted, though her joke only earned an eye roll from the Jedi. She cleared her throat and beat down her urge to poke fun at him. “Sorry, what do you do with this peace once you find it?”

Instead of answering Fynta, Aric closed his eyes. “Do as I do and listen to my breathing.”

Fynta obeyed, schooling her features to match Aric’s and expanding her senses to reach him. Each breath drew longer, and Fynta felt her muscles relaxing. The galaxy gradually drifted away, leaving Fynta weightless with only Aric’s presence as an anchor. She felt the air in his lungs as if it was her own, the stretch and relaxation of each muscle with the effort. Cool serenity surrounded Fynta, and it sparked a memory of the pool she and Theron had discovered on Rishi. They’d decided to bathe and wash their clothes, then one thing had led to another and—

Aric snarled. “Damn it, woman.”

Fynta realized her mistake too late and peeked one eye open to find the Cathar glaring at her. “My bad.”

Unfolding himself, Aric shoved from his bunk. “I can see why you never mastered the art of meditation. Your thoughts are like a herd of manka cats.”

“Yeah,” Fynta agreed. There was no denying the truth, but at least she'd tried. Slapping her hands on her thighs, Fynta pushed herself upright and headed for the other room. “It was worth a shot, how about that caf?”

Aric followed, but Fynta felt his discontent rippling through the Force. He wasn’t going to let it drop, she could tell. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Fynta stopped at the caf maker and glanced over her shoulder while she collected two metal mugs from the locking cabinet. “Why does it bother you so much?” If she’d been a Jedi, perhaps his aggravation would be warranted. But, Fynta was a Sith; her behavior was expected.

Aric’s mouth fell open wide enough to display the tips of his teeth, then it snapped shut with a scowl. “You’re kidding, right?”

Shrugging, Fynta poured a mug of caf. “It was the right time and place.” She added sugar, then turned to face Aric with her mug pressed between her palms. “Are you saying that you’ve never slept with someone you shouldn’t have?”

“Of course not,” Aric snapped, then growled. “I mean—that’s none of your business.”

Fynta chuckled and nudged the other mug towards the Cathar. It might be a peace offering, or simply a way to divert his disapproving gaze somewhere other than at her. She slid down the table and waited for Aric to give in to his desire for caffeine. Once he was distracted, Fynta lifted the mug to her lips and spoke over the rim. “Assuming that you’re not still a virgin, what  is your type, Master Jedi?”

“We’re  not having this conversation.” Aric poured the caf, then lifted it without additives. For some reason, it didn’t surprise her that the Cathar drank it black. She preferred the sweetness to mask the bitter taste, something that Ucevi often declared to be a travesty.

“I’m thinking a nice girl,” Fynta answered for Aric. His face took on the droll expression that he wore any time she teased him, and Fynta continued. “Someone with a boring desk job, but a bit wild behind closed doors. Maybe a damsel in need of a hero, am I close?”

Aric snorted, and Fynta’s brow twitched upward. He tried to cover the slip by examining the caf, as if it were the cause of his distaste. Fynta grinned and the blatant rebuff and pressed harder. “Okay, so not a good girl. Maybe you like a woman who can throw you on the bed and have her way with you. What about—”

“Enough,” Aric snarled, his mug slamming against the counter hard enough to slosh hot liquid onto his hand. He didn’t seem to notice, and Fynta was amazed that the tin wasn’t bent.

Unable to leave well enough alone, Fynta slid closer, her hip propped against the counter while she looked up through her lashes into pale eyes that flashed with annoyance. “What about me, Jedi. What do you think my type is?”

“SIS agents,” Aric answered with more venom than Fynta expected. He stalked close enough that his breath ruffled her bangs when he spoke. “Dishonest rogues who fuck their way across the galaxy because they are incapable of deeper commitment.”

Fynta snorted a laugh and felt the rumble of Aric’s anger in the scant space between them. “You’d preach to me about commitment? A Jedi of the Order who believes that personal attachment is the way to the Dark Side?” She set her mug down with more care than he had and pressed a finger into the thin fabric of his shirt. There was a moment’s distraction when the flesh beneath didn’t give to her prodding, but Fynta recovered. “By your Order’s standard, I’m more Jedi than you.”

A strange expression pulled at the markings on Aric’s face. The tightness in his features relaxed, and he stepped away from Fynta to clean up the mess from his spilled caf. “This is a pointless conversation.”

Fynta felt the tug of resentment, but she wasn’t sure if it originated with her or Aric. Something about her statement struck a long-buried chord with one of them, and given that Fynta felt no shame for her choice of bed partners, it had to be from Aric. Maybe he had wanted a family. What was it like for a Cathar to be told that he’d never find his life mate or produce the offspring that his species needed for survival?

Sighing, Fynta placed a hand on Aric’s arm. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. “Sorry, Jedi. My mouth runs away with me, sometimes. I was only teasing.” Aric nodded, but he didn’t look at her. Fynta wanted to clear the air, but he’d shut her out. The cold between them felt different than before.

The navigation system chirped, and Fynta gave up on mending nonexistent fences with her Jedi companion. She activated the comm with directions to a landing pad. “Received. Thanks Ground Control, we’ll see you soon.”

Taris Spaceport Cantina

The air smelled of mildew and piss when Fynta stepped off the ship. Wrinkling her nose, she glanced at Aric to see if the fetid stench affected him at all. The Cathar remained stoic, refusing to meet her gaze. He hadn’t spoken since their last argument, and Fynta sighed inwardly at how frustratingly common those had become. They were either at each other's throats or enjoying companionable conversation with no room in between.

“See you in a few hours,” Fynta called as she turned towards the cantina. They’d exchanged comm frequencies before Nar Shaddaa, and she’d briefly considered giving Aric access to her ship before discarding the thought. He was an honest man as far as Fynta could tell, but she wouldn’t be the fool who trusted first.

Aric rumbled an unintelligible response, and Fynta didn’t ask him to clarify. She felt him moving away, taking the crisp clarity of patriotism with him. Master Jorgan was one of the rare creatures in this galaxy who knew why he fought. The rest of them were just trying to survive.

Once Fynta was sure that Aric hadn’t doubled back to follow her, she ducked into the cantina and was immediately assaulted by familiar adoration. “Fyn’ika!” Verin’s arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling Fynta into a fierce hug that would have hurt if not for the ability to offset his brute strength with her own. Verin spun Fynta around to face him and held her by the shoulders with a wide grin. “Glad you made it.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fynta mimed supporting her bruised ribs, but Verin slapped her on the back and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. He chattered about his youngest's latest antics, which involved degreaser and shaving her twin's head.

Torian waited at a table in the corner. A set of Twi’leks danced next to the alcove, but he ignored them. Verin winked and slipped the women a few cred sticks to move their party elsewhere. He sighed while Fynta slid into the booth. “I keep trying to get the man laid, but he refuses.”

“I don’t pay,” Torian deadpanned, then propped his elbows on the table and looked at Fynta. “Thanks for coming, means a lot.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Fynta knew by the wave of resentment rolling off Torian that it was a useless argument, but she couldn’t help herself.

Both of Torian’s brows lifted in Verin’s direction, and he held up his hands. “Not me, vod. All I said was that we needed help on a hunt.”

“And, that it would help your status in the clan.” Fynta typed her order into the system, lamenting the lack of proper booze, and settling for a tumbler of whiskey. “My employer has access to all sorts of interesting lists. It didn’t take much digging to figure out why you’re here.”

“He needs to pay for what he did,” Torian argued, a hint of a growl sliding into his voice. Fynta had always known the man to be even-tempered, even with the hazing they put up with as kids. Torian was always the first to call for peace before fighting amongst themselves. Unfortunately for him, his closest allies were the Wolfe siblings, who were belligerent on their best days.

Fynta accepted her drink from the server droid and motioned to put it on Verin’s tab. Her brother snorted, but Torian interrupted any attempts to argue. “He got everyone killed. If he’d just—”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Fynta added while she sipped her drink. It wasn’t bad, impressive given the state that the Empire had left Taris in. She set it down and pinned Torian with a sinister glare. “I was there that night, remember? Verin and I barely got out. All I’m saying is that wanting to kill your buir, and actually pulling the trigger, are two different things.”

“Can you find him or not?” Torian returned Fynta’s challenge with a ferocity that she’d never seen in him. Anger aged her old friend, making Torian look more than the single year he had on Fynta. She brushed his thoughts and found them roiling like a storm on the Kaminoan seas.

Sighing, Fynta took another swig of her drink. “I’ve got something to handle first, but if you can be patient, I’m sure that I can—” Fynta’s comm buzzed, and all three turned their attention to where it sat on her hip.

Fynta unhooked the device and set it on the table. “I’m a bit busy right now, what’s—”

“The village was overrun,” Aric interrupted, then cursed. Fynta heard the ionic sizzle of his lightsaber as it cut through flesh, followed by inhuman screeches that turned her blood cold. “I could use some backup. Shit. I’m at the Endar Spire.”

The call ended, and for the space of two heartbeats, no one spoke. Finally, Verin broke the silence. “Who was that?”

“My partner,” Fynta answered, already shoving her brother off his end of the circular booth. “I need to get there.”

Verin stumbled out of Fynta’s way, only speaking after he’d righted himself. “I hate to break it to you, vod’ika, but those were rakghouls. I’d stake my oldest child on it.”

“He’s right.” Torian grabbed his helmet from the table and slipped it over his head. “You’ll need help finding him, and treatment if he’s been bitten.”

Fynta glanced at the man out of the corner of her eye, and his helmet dipped once. “Clan Fett stole a shipment of experimental vaccines from some Republic scientists last month. If administered fast enough, it negates the transformation. What do you say, me'dinuir?”

“You help me find Aric, and in return, I help you kill your dad?” Fynta waited for Torian to answer with another nod before gripping his forearm. “Damn you, Cadera.”

Verin slipped his helmet on, then clapped both of them on the shoulder. “All right, now we’re talking. So, who is Aric?”

It took less than ten minutes to steal a speeder. All the while, Verin complained. “You’re serious. A fierfeking Cathar? And he’s a Sith? And, of course, you just  had to fall into bed with him.”

Fynta rolled her eyes and peeled off down a path worn by local traffic. The Endar Spire had once been an impressive ship. Now, it was spare parts and shanty homes for the displaced populaces trying to stake claim to a portion of the dying world. “You told me that I needed to find something more stable than hourly rates.”

Verin’s growl would have rivaled Aric’s if Torian hadn’t cut him off. “Talking the clan into treating him should be interesting.”

“We can’t take a Cathar back,” Verin protested. Fynta slowed her speeder and tried Aric’s frequency again. She’d had the forethought to retrieve her helmet from the ship so that she could multitask on the go. Again, the Cathar didn’t answer.

“Have to,” Torian answered. “We shook on it.”

Fynta left the discussion of clan politics to the disembodied voices of her brother and childhood friend while she reached for Aric. Breath slowing, Fynta closed her eyes and let the Force guide her. It was like when she'd sped through the dense underbrush of Rishi, missing trees trunks and gnarled vines by inches. This time, she searched for that calming balm that had become Aric's identification in the Force.

A breath of fresh air touched Fynta's mind a second before the comm icon flashed in her HUD. She answered it without warning the others that they’d be muted. “Where are you?”

“Holed up in a piece of the wreckage.” Aric hissed, and his breathing rattled in an unpleasant way. Fynta’s stomach shrank. She’d forgotten to ask Torian how quickly that serum needed to be administered in the case of infection. “I can feel you.”

Sighing with relief, Fynta brought her speeder to a stop and expanded her senses until even the smallest tadpole in the swamp tickled the back of her mind. Unwavering ice beckoned from the east, and Fynta smiled. “I’ve got you, are you wounded?” She kicked her speeder into gear and set a beacon for Verin to follow.

“Not sure how bad,” Aric coughed, then groaned. “I’m bleeding, but I can’t get to it. Feels like my body’s on fire.”

“Hang in there, I’m close.” Fynta didn’t close the line, but got confirmation from both Torian and Verin that they had her position and were moving to intercept. She listened to Aric’s breathing, concerned by the rasp that entered it. Every few seconds, it was punctuated by a shaky exhale that made her shiver. Fynta knew what she’d find when she got there, and she hoped that Torian was right about this miracle cure.

Aric’s presence shone like a star in Fynta’s mind when she reached his hideout. She kicked the speeder bike to a stop and hopped off before the brakes had fully engaged. He’d wedged himself into a gouge roughly four meters off the ground. Fynta pulled herself inside and found him slumped against the back wall.

“You still alive?” Fynta crawled to Aric and lifted his chin to take his pulse. The Cathar’s eyes snapped open, wide with terror. Fynta didn’t consider him a threat, so the sound of his claws raking down her faceplate made her fall back on her ass. Too late, she remembered his earlier reaction to her father’s buy’ce and yanked her helmet off. “It’s me, Aric.”

The Cathar sagged against the wall, but his breathing didn’t settle. Fynta inched closer, pressing her hand to his forehead. “Well, at least that’s one question answered. Where are you hurt?”

When Aric shifted to bare his side, a shiver wracked his body. Fynta felt the heat radiating off him from where she perched and silently willed Verin and Torian hurry. In the darkness, it was hard to tell the extent of his injury, but there was no mistaking the stench of dried blood and pain laced breath. “Can you move?”

Aric shook his head. “Took everything I had to get in here.” Fynta avoided asking him what had happened. That conversation could wait until later, if it ever came up. He’d said that the village was overrun, so what did that mean for the inhabitants? Had one of the elders who taught Aric the value of his culture been among the creatures who attacked him?

Fynta noted the angle of Aric’s head and popped his cheek. “Oh, no you don’t, Jedi.” She took Aric’s jaw in hand and lifted his chin until they stared into one another’s eyes. “You’ve got to stay awake, do you understand?”

Aric blinked, his focus faltering again. “Why?” When Fynta leaned back, his gaze turned hard “Wouldn’t a dead Jedi look better on your record?”

Sighing, Fynta wedged herself between Aric and the wall so that they braced one another upright. “Not if I’m not the one who did the deed.” She gestured to Aric’s huddled form as another shudder wracked his body. “Besides, Ucevi would never let me hear the end of it.”

Aric’s surprised laughter morphed into a hacking cough that ended in a groan. He struggled to catch his breath, eyes squeezed shut and fingers curled into fists around the torn fabric of his robe. Fynta remained at his side, quiet until the bout passed.

“Talk to me,” Fynta encouraged while stretching out her legs. Aric managed an unamused growl, so she changed tactics. “Right, how about I talk to you?”

“About what?” Each word sounded forced, like it was all Aric could do to press the air from his lungs. His back arched, knees raised off the floor as another spell overtook him. Fynta ignored the single tear that leaked from the corner of his eye as he curled in on himself.

Fynta lifted one shoulder. “Ask me anything. Free shot at a Sith.”

Aric’s body finally relaxed, and his head rolled in her direction. Fynta turned to meet his gaze and found him staring at her face, more particularly, the tattoo surrounding her right eye. “Why a target?”

This time, it was Fynta’s laughter that echoed through the small space. “Really?” The corner of Aric’s mouth twitched at her surprise, and she chuckled again. “All of Sith knowledge at your fingertips, and you ask about my cosmetic choices?”

Aric attempted a shrug, then winced and abandoned it. Fynta widened her grin “I’m half-tempted to leave you guessing. I’m sure whatever is going on in your mind is more entertaining than the truth.”

The Cathar leveled Fynta with his best glare, which she was startled to see had lost most of it’s fierceness. She checked the chrono on her comm and willed Verin to move faster. All the while, she painted on a smile for her companion. “Fine, I lost a bet at the Academy.”

“That’s it?” Aric managed to sound indignant before another coughing fit took him. His fists pressed into his thighs, then relaxed when it passed. Finally, his eyes opened to find Fynta. She hoped that he didn’t see pity in them. “A bet?”

Fynta nodded and shifted to find a more comfortable position until Aric groaned. She froze, trying not to jostle him further. “Who knew Sith Bloods could drink so damn much," she added to distract Aric. "Made a fool out of me. Care to share your theory?”

Shrinking deeper into his robe, Aric shook his head. “Not really.”

“Okay, my turn.” Aric’s eyes drifted shut, and Fynta gripped his arm. He startled awake with a curse, claws snagging in his robe. Fynta carried on like she hadn't noticed. “Okay, here’s an easy one, is it true that Jedi are celibate?”

“Come on, Sith. This again?” Fynta smiled at the familiar exasperation in Aric's tone. She waved for him to answer, hoping that this topic would rile him enough to keep him conscious. Aric managed to show his fangs before answering. “You need a new hobby.”

“That’s not a  no ,” Fynta teased. She heard the distant whine of engines, but stopped short of a relieved breath.

Aric rolled his eyes, which looked a little sloppy in Fynta’s opinion. His voice was stronger, but Aric’s hands now rested open in his lap. She thought that was probably a bad sign. “Sex is a natural part of life. We avoid unhealthy attachment. Avoid things like the jealousy or possessiveness that occurs through those relationships.”

Fynta took a moment, mulling over his answer and the specific way he'd worded it. Aric took a deep breath and surrendered more of his weight against Fynta’s shoulder. She kept talking, hoping that a familiar visor would pop up in the opening to their hideout soon. “So, unattached sex is fine so long as it doesn’t mean anything?”

Blinking, Aric opened and shut his mouth, then pressed his lips into a thin line. “That’s two questions, it’s my turn.” Fynta relented, tipping her head to see him better. Aric had started to slide down the wall. “Is it true that Sith are deviants?”

“Absolutely.” Fynta’s immediate answer sparked another coughing fit in the Cathar that she thought might have been intended as a laugh.

Sucking in shallow breaths, Aric bared his teeth. “Damn it, woman.”

“My bad,” Fynta chuckled, then Aric’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went rigid. Fynta scrambled back to the entrance of their hideaway and flagged Verin and Torian down. When she turned back, Aric had gone completely still.

Fynta squeezed behind Aric and shoved him close enough for Verin to grab his feet. Between the three of them, they managed to get him down and strapped onto her speeder. Neither Torian or Verin commented on his species, but Fynta saw the disapproval in her brother’s posture.

“Follow us to Fett’s camp,” Torian called, kicking on his speeder. Fynta pulled on her helmet and did the same. She felt for Aric’s lifeforce, watching as it shifted in her mind’s eye from cool blues to putrid green. He was changing, and for reasons that Fynta didn’t want to examine, the thought of losing him terrified her.

Taris Clan Fett Temporary Encampment Med-tent

The drone of construction equipment pierced Aric’s muddled thoughts. For a moment, he was back on Tython, watching the Twi’leks repair a damaged portion of their village. Aric wanted to seek vengeance for the lives ruined, but his master had cautioned patience. Without knowing which Flesh Raiders had caused the damage, it would be wrong to attack. They’d need to rely on the evidence collected by the Jedi Council and abide by their findings.

Groaning, Aric blinked once and found only bleary, white light. He tried again, gradually clearing the gunk from his eyes. Before him stood a figure in armor, arms crossed and expression hidden behind the T-shaped visor that had haunted Aric’s childhood dreams.

The swell of panic in Aric’s chest registered on the equipment that he didn't remember being attached to. The figure's helm tilted, and Aric's mind reverted to the Jedi Code on instinct.  There is no emotion, there is peace. He felt the Force swell within him, reminding him that he was not a helpless child, but a Jedi Knight. Steadily, the frantic beeping of the medical equipment calmed.

Swallowing, Aric pinned the figure with a stoic glare. “Where am I?”

“Medcenter,” the modified voice answered. Aric considered tampering with the man’s mind, convincing him that he had better things to do than guard a lone captive. Logic overruled that course when Aric remembered that most Mandalorians were trained to resist such attacks.  

Unfolding his arms, the figure crossed the room to stand at the foot of Aric’s bed. He tensed in preparation for an attack, but the man didn’t exude any more aggression than what Aric would expect from his breed. At least, not until he spoke. “I understand you’re my sister’s latest fling.”

It wasn’t a question, and the accusation caught Aric so off guard that he choked out a half-muddled response. “Your sister’s—” Clamping his mouth shut, Aric extended his awareness beyond himself. The man felt familiar. A sort of chaos that Aric had encountered before, but tightly packed into feelings of honor and loyalty.

“Shit.” Aric realized why he knew that sensation a moment before the man lifted the helmet. Deep, blue eyes glared back at Aric, the same color that Fynta’s must have been before the Dark Side had corrupted her.

Aric growled and wiped a hand down his face. “You must be Verin.”

The man’s brows shot up. His hair was darker than Fynta’s, closer to brown than the sandy blonde that matched their skin tone. “She talked about me?”

Aric nodded, only realizing after his hand dropped back into his lap that he wasn’t cuffed. “Once or twice.” He reminded himself not to mention that he’d been in the room when the siblings last spoke, or that Fynta had told him how they came to be in Clan Ordo. “Where is your sister?”

Verin ignored Aric’s question in favor of his own. “You knew that she was Mando’ade, and shacked up with her anyway?” The man chuckled and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Shab, that takes get’se.”

“I—” Aric paused before refuting Verin’s claim.  Sleeping with her? He and Fynta could barely share a mug of caf without sniping at one another. Why would the infuriating woman’s brother think that it had gone further than that? Deciding to play along, Aric moderated his tone. “I did.”

Verin opened his mouth to say more, then staggered to the side when a smaller form shoved into the room. The fitted armor didn't disguise the fact that she was a woman. He had a vague memory of the helmet, though not from where. It was the same shape as the one Verin wore, but painted red and black to match the beskar weave that Fynta had explained for Aric on the ship.

Flapping her hands at the man, Fynta pulled the helmet free. “Be gone, foul human.”

Snorting, Verin popped Fynta on the back of the head. Aric was struck by the domestic surrealness of the moment. He’s seen such behavior at a distance, even envied it in the rare moments where he allowed himself such feelings, but witnessing the sibling bond it up close started an ache that felt like it burrowed into Aric’s soul. When the ache grew stronger, he gasped and clutched at his chest. Fynta appeared by his side, massaging the back of his neck and reminding him to breathe.

When the moment passed, Verin folded his arms. “You were nearly gone by the time we got you here. The doc wasn’t sure how the treatment would work on your species since it's mostly been tested on the local human population. He said to expect some muscle spasms and random pains, along with dizziness, nausea, and a slew of other nasty side effects that they probably haven’t thought of yet.”

With Verin’s warning, Aric’s situation slammed into him. He’d been attacked by rakghouls, started the mutation process, and awoken in a Mandalorian medcenter. Were his position not precarious enough, he was also supposed to be sleeping with his mortal enemy, a woman as unhinged as any he’d met.

“I’m fine,” Aric breathed, leaning back to put some space between him and Fynta. “Just need to catch my breath.”

“Look,” Verin started, dragging the word out while he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to be a  complete  bastard, but we need to move your boyfriend. He’s starting to draw a crowd, and our clan doesn’t need that kind of heat on it.”

Fynta leaned closer to Aric, blocking him from Verin’s view. Her eyes widened as if trying to convey some secret, but Aric’s thoughts were still too foggy from the drugs to comprehend. At least, until her lips pressed against his. When Aric tried to push her away, his arms wouldn’t move. Fynta’s threads had ensnared him, trapping his body in place. A warning snarl rumbled in Aric's throat when Fynta's tongue brushed his still closed lips.

Verin cleared his throat. “Alright, break it up.” Aric heard the nervous chuckle in the man’s voice even over the thundering of his heart.

Pulling back, Fynta’s brows knit together as if she was a concerned lover in truth. Then, she brushed her hands tenderly over Aric's face and scalp. “Think you can move?”

“Yeah,” Aric croaked, then coughed out the rest of his response around a spasm in his throat muscles. “Give me a second to get dressed.”

“While we wait,” Verin opened the door and held his hand out for Fynta. “You and I need to have a chat. Oh, your armor’s on that chair, Sith.”

Aric waited for the two to step outside, then sighed when they didn’t close the door. That had been the second time that he'd been confused for a Sith. It begged the question of if his essence in the Force wasn’t as pure as he thought, or if the inhabitants of the Empire simply assumed that only a Sith could make it so far.

Lowering his bare feet to the floor, Aric willed his shaky legs to carry him to his armor. Thankfully, the medics hadn't stripped him completely. All Aric needed to do was find the energy to drag on the rest.

“Is it done?” Verin’s voice reached Aric as he fastened his pants. The man’s whispered concern made Aric take a step closer to the door.

“It is,” Fynta answered, her tone set at a conspiratory volume. “Clan Cadera’s honor is restored, and I completed my mission. Mind creating a distraction while I get Aric out? We’ve got to leave immediately.”

Silence followed, but Aric noted a marked uptick in stress scent from the hallway. He slid on the final boot and propped himself against the bed to avoid falling over. Finally, Verin spoke again. “How bad are you in it this time, Fyn’ika?”

“If I pull this off, I’m free.” The desperation that Aric heard in those last words gave him pause. Fynta’s personality could fill a planet, and he often forgot that she knew what it was like to live under someone’s boot. Killing Nox wasn’t only about revenge; it was survival.

Verin sighed. “If you need me—”

“I’ll call,” Fynta promised, and Aric looked away a moment before she walked through the door. He wasn’t sure how much Fynta knew about his species' abilities outside of the Force, but he didn’t want it to be obvious that he had been eavesdropping. Aric swallowed the instinct to question Fynta about their mission's completion and straightened to meet her.

“Ready to go?” Fynta's smile looked too wide to be genuine, but Aric let it go. He also kept his presence in the Force wrapped tightly around himself. With his diminished mental capacity, there was no telling what sort of havoc Fynta could wreak if she sensed a weakness.

Nodding, Aric took a step and stumbled. Fynta was under his arm before he could hit the floor. She tucked herself against his side, then nodded to her brother. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Sighing, Verin pushed off the wall that he’d been leaning against. He locked eyes with Aric for the space of a breath. “Take care of her.” The implied threat wasn't lost on Aric. Break his sister’s heart, and no doubt the Mandalorian would find a way to break Aric’s knees, Force or not. The urge to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation was almost too much for Aric to resist.

Thankfully, Verin slid his helmet back into place and strode from the room. Before Aric could ask what that had been about, the lights shut off, bathing the hallways in a sickly yellow glow when the emergency generators kicked on.

Fynta grunted under Aric’s weight and pulled him forward. “Let's get back to the ship. Hey, you can see right?” Aric nodded, then verbalized his answer when he realized that she couldn’t see it. Fynta trudged forward. “Good, don’t let me run us into a wall.”

Taris Spaceport

Aric limped beside Fynta with his arm slung over her shoulders. His left calf still twinged with the after-effects of the vaccine, causing it to give out on him periodically. The Cathar had wanted to reclaim the Republic’s property, but Fynta had pointed out that stealing the medicine was the reason that he remained a grumpy Cathar instead of a slobbering Rakghoul. She could  feel his resentment through their tenuous link, but wasn’t sure if it was over the vaccine, waking up in a Mandalorian camp, or Verin’s accusation of sleeping with her.

“So,” Aric rumbled, and Fynta felt his voice where their sides touched. “That was your brother.”

Fynta hummed in response. She hadn’t meant for the two to meet, but Verin was a crafty old chakaar with the misplaced opinion that he could make up for abandoning her when she was a child by smothering her as an adult. It was sweet that he cared.

At last, Aric gathered the courage to say what Fynta had been dreading. “He didn’t seem to approve of your choice of lover.”

Wincing, Fynta steered Aric down the hallway that led to her ship. “The clan wouldn’t agree to treat you otherwise. You’re welcome.”

When Fynta had called Aric her partner at the cantina, Torian had assumed her concern came from a place of deeper affection than Fynta was capable of. When he'd called Aric her cyare to the Clan Fett medic, Fynta hadn't corrected him. She wasn't sure how to explain that part to Aric, or if she would.

Snorting, Aric huffed out a strained breath. “You pinned me to the table.”

The betrayal in the Cathar’s tone surprised Fynta. She’d thought her mental warning had been enough, and Verin had been asking questions that would have jeopardized Aric's treatment. That kiss seemed like the most logical course of action to accomplish all of her goals.

Bristling, Fynta tugged Aric's arm further around her shoulders to better distribute his weight. “I wouldn’t have needed to if you were a better actor.” When Aric didn't respond, she rolled her eyes. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Still, the Cathar didn't respond, and Fynta grew annoyed. Her temper mounted when he planted his feet, jerking her back hard enough that she slammed into him. Dropping his arm, Fynta turned on Aric, but her anger died the moment she saw the dull absence in his normally clear eyes. “Fierfek.”

Fynta gauged the distance from their position to her ship. If she hurried, maybe she could get to it before— “It’s sweet, really.”

Fynta’s hand went to her chakram at the same time that Aric unhooked his weapon. He moved with slow precision, his gaze focused ahead even as he took a step towards Fynta. Both blades ignited in unison, the glow of each mixing to create pale blue shadows along the walls. Aric’s stance shifted to match Fynta's.

A tall, thin figure peeled away from the gloom and rested one, clawed glove on Aric’s shoulder. Her face was hidden by the signature mask that Nox’s assassins wore, their identities hidden, even from one another. “Lord Skira, falling for the enemy?” The woman tisked, wagging a finger from her free hand while the other tightened around Aric. “Cliche, but sweet.”

“And the villainous monologue isn’t?” Fynta eased lower into her stance, battle plans forming and being discarded based on the Sith woman's proximity to Aric. If Fynta's attack didn't kill him, she would.

“ He suggested that we extend an invitation for your return.” The woman checked her nails while propping her elbow on Aric’s shoulder. Fynta wasn’t sure of the Sith’s species, only that she had Aric by several inches and a willowy frame that made her look less formidable than she was. “Truthfully, I’m hoping you’ll prove some sport. Please resist.”

Pulling her lips back into a feral grin, Fynta stepped forward. Aric shifted to meet her, his blade arcing in an overhead slash that drove Fynta back. He didn’t pursue her, but fell back to his master’s side. Chuckling, Fynta strengthened her shields and deactivated her blades. “I’m not here for your entertainment, you want the Cathar? He's all yours.”

Fynta hooked a thumb towards her ship and started to turn. She hoped that Aric wasn't conscious enough to hear her betrayal, but it was the only card that Fynta had to play. She felt the woman’s intent a heartbeat before Aric’s blade scorched the air above where her head had been. Fynta spun, both chakram humming to life. He didn’t fall back this time, and Fynta found herself drawn into the same dance that they’d performed on the ship, only this time, the blows were deadly.

One of Aric’s strikes went wide, and Fynta ducked inside his range. Pain exploded in her knuckle joints when she struck Aric’s jaw, but it staggered him enough to see confusion flash through his eyes. Then, they went dull again as the Sith woman reclaimed control. A plan began to form in Fynta's mind until the Sith hissed. “Kill her.”

Aric lunged with a snarl, his face contorted with such hatred that Fynta took a step back. She felt the heat of his lightsaber as it flashed past her cheek. Blood trickled from Aric’s lip where her punch had struck, but he gave no indication of pain. The urge to reach for his mind nearly overwhelmed Fynta when she realized that the only end to this fight meant one of them had to die. If she could reach him…but that also opened a channel into her mind for his captor to exploit.

Fynta deflected another blow, then stumbled away from his claws. Their blades clashed and rebounded, breath falling in sync the way they had on the ship. Her muscles twitched with the warning of fatigue, though Aric appeared immune. Fynta managed a lucky kick to his bad leg that gave her time to spin away, putting distance between them.

“ This  is the fabled strength of the Jedi Order?” The Sith woman snorted. “Pathetic.”

The word had barely left the woman’s lips when Fynta’s body seized. Her chakram clattered from rigid fingers, deactivating when they struck the floor. Blue bolts disrupted her vision, sparking white dots that she tried to shake away. Another jolt dropped Fynta to one knee, helpless before Aric. She growled, pushing against the electricity coursing through her system, but nothing obeyed. Every muscle jerked, and woozy exhaustion pulled at Fynta’s mind.

Fynta reached for her wayward weapons, but Aric’s hand closed around her wrist. Pain splintered up Fynta's arm when he squeezed. The Cathar was stronger than she had known, and her bones ground together under the pressure of his grip. Fynta drove her free elbow into the crook of his arm and fell away when his fingers uncurled. She pivoted on her knee to call for her weapons again.

Blood exploded in Fynta’s mouth when Aric’s knee collided with her nose, then the Cathar knelt on her chest, driving the air from her lungs in a rush. Grey replaced white, crowding around the edges of Fynta’s vision. Strong fingers wrapped her throat, and the universe narrowed to two, brilliant blue eyes.

Taris The Shershoy

Laughter resonated in Aric’s chest. He tugged against his bonds, unaware of the agonized roar until it tore at his throat. The Sith tucked one finger under his chin, surrounding Aric with such an immense pressure of Dark Side energy that he cried out again.

“I appreciate your aid, Master Jedi.” The masked figure tilted its head. “Without you, we would have struggled to deal with that pest.”

Aric jerked his chin away from the pointed claw at the end of the glove. He only remembered snatches; Fynta’s desperate shout, the rage flowing through his veins, and the feel of bone cracking beneath his fingers. Despair settled cold in Aric’s guts when he realized what the Sith meant.

Another chuckle rippled through the air as the Sith read Aric’s expression. “She trusted you. Silly little Sith.”

Aric’s vision blurred, eyes burning the tears that he didn’t understand. The sensation of helpless obedience clung to his mind like a film. Aric did not doubt that this woman could twist him to her will again. Death was his only escape now.

The woman turned her back to Aric, tapping a single, long finger to her chin. "What should we play first, Jedi?"

Aric didn’t see the lightning that arced around his body until the moment it struck the creature in front of him. Where the lean figure of a cloaked Sith had stood, there was a crumpled heap of twitching robes. The stench of charred fabric filled Aric's nose a second later. Then, a guttural scream resolved into the writhing figure on the floor while purple electricity caged the woman.

It happened so quickly that Aric struggled to piece everything into a coherent sequence of events. He twisted in his bonds to see what fresh hell stalked him from beyond the cargo hold of Fynta's ship. Then, relief rushed out of Aric so quickly that he felt dizzy.

Fynta staggered forward, one hand extended towards the Sith threat while her shoulder braced against the wall. Her lips and left eye were swollen, already showing evidence of the bruises that she’d display later. Blood caked her hair, and her other arm hung limp at her side. A crimson smear covered the right half of Fynta's face, but Aric couldn't see the origins of it.

Without looking at Aric, Fynta bared her teeth, shoved away from the wall, and stumbled across the hold. She stopped above the still twitching figure and unholstered her Verpine. “This is  my  ship, bitch.” Fynta spit a bloody glob onto the Sith's still smoking robes. "  My Cathar."

The crack of Fynta's blaster hurt Aric’s ears, but it paled in comparison to his relief that she was alive. Finally, the infuriating woman turned towards Aric with a crooked grin that looked grotesque given her condition. “What do we say, Master Jedi?”

Aric’s breath left him in a huff that fell short of a laugh. “You were right?” He should have accepted Ucevi's offer to shield his mind. He should have accepted that he had limitations, and that no one knew better how to fight Sith than other Sith.

"Damn straight I was right." Fynta moved on unsteady legs. She kicked the Sith’s body down the boarding ramp, then slammed her hand against the button that would seal the ship. Now that they were safe, the ache in Aric's shoulders made itself known, and he rattled the cuffs against the exhaust pipe overhead.

Fynta turned at the sound, then appraised Aric with a speculative smirk. “This is a good look for you.”

“Very funny,” Aric muttered. There was a moment when he wondered why he'd been upset by the thought that Fynta had been killed. Then decided that it was because it had been by his hands while not under his control. If he was going to kill the woman, he wanted to mean it.

Aric tapped the cuffs against the bar again. “Mind cutting me down?” The muscles in his torso burned, and his left calf cramped so tightly that he couldn’t feel his toes.

Sighing, Fynta limped to stand in front of Aric, then lifted higher to study his restraints. With their faces so close, Aric could see the deep spit that ran down the woman’s lower lip and the trails still leaking from both nostrils. She smelled of sweat and pain; guilt snuffed out Aric's irritation.

"Fucking bitch," Fynta muttered, then broke Aric's cuffs using the Force. "She used  my  restraints."

Aric shook his hands, then grabbed Fynta’s shoulders when she swayed. Her scalp still oozed blood, but enough had dried around the wound that it wasn’t a major concern. When Aric tried to lift the arm she favored, Fynta pulled away. “Come on, you and I have a date with the medbay.”

Shame gnawed at Aric as he watched Fynta make her way up the stairs at a slower pace than normal. The tips of her hair were burned, and her armor showed new battle scars. He knew that her condition was his doing, but he wasn’t sure how to make amends.

When Aric joined Fynta in the main room, she’d perched on the side of her kolto tub and was attempting to work the zipper on the side of her armor. Aric approached and reached one hand towards her, stopping inches away. “Want some help?”

Without speaking, Fynta lifted her good arm and allowed Aric to unfasten the armored top. They worked in silence, steadily baring more of her skin so that he could see the extent of the damage done. Fynta coughed, then spit more bloody phlegm onto the ship’s flooring. Renewed horror at his weakness almost pulled a snarl of frustration from Aric.

“Stop,” Fynta sighed. She looked as tired as Aric felt. When he didn’t speak, Fynta pushed off her seat and motioned for him to take it. “That was one of Nox’s assassins, you weren’t prepared for her. That’s my fault, I thought he’d start with peons and work his way up, not throw one of his heavy hitters at us straight away.”

Fynta snapped her fingers and pointed again for Aric to sit. He pretended not to see her wince and took the seat. “You knew that she was there?”

“Not her personally,” Fynta admitted as she started to slide the cloak off Aric’s shoulders. He let her, focusing more on the fact that she wouldn’t meet his eyes than her undressing him.

Fynta caught her lower lips between her teeth and sucked the fresh blood from it. Then, Aric understood. “I was bait.”

“I found evidence of recent habitation at Nox’s old haunt.” Fynta felt for the fastens on Aric’s chestplate, and still, he let her. The realization that he’d been used ignited his anger to the point that Aric was afraid that if he moved, he’d strike her. Fynta continued as if she couldn’t feel the fury radiating from him. “The kiss wasn’t just for Verin.”

“Well, it worked.” Aric hadn’t meant it to be a joke, but Fynta croaked out a laugh all the same. Her hiss of pain finally snapped Aric out of his anger, and he stood. “I’ve already been dealt with, just need to let it work. Where are your medical supplies?”

Fynta started to protest until Aric poked the bridge of her swollen nose. She cursed and waved in the general direction of the wall cabinet while carefully wiping tears from her eyes. After some rummaging, Aric found a well-worn and out-of-date medkit. Half of the supplies were missing, but there was enough to make due. He ignored the headache building behind his eyes and returned to Fynta. “You need to restock.”

Instead of the snarky retort, Fynta stared at Aric while he cleaned the blood away from her nose and eyes with an antiseptic wipe. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Aric tilted his head and lifted his brows, waiting for Fynta to continue. She took the cloth from him and sighed. “Next time I need bait, I’ll make sure that you’re in on it.”

Aric released a laugh that he hadn’t meant to allow past his private thoughts. “Thanks for the consideration.” He smeared kolto along the split in Fynta’s bottom lip, cringing when it opened to reveal the extent of the gash. It was clean, likely where the edge of his armored plate had caught her.

Shaking his head, Aric set the kolto aside. “This isn’t enough. You— we,  need a proper medcenter. Know of anywhere safe?”

Fynta pressed the cloth to her lip, then leaned over to tug up the hem of Aric’s shirt. The marks left by the rakghoul's claws looked as nasty as they felt, to say nothing of the stench. His fur had been shaved, and the  skin beneath had taken on a dull, green shade instead of the grey it should be. A deep ache bloomed in the tissue around it when she touched him.

Fynta grimaced, and Aric pushed the rag to the new spot where her lip had begun to bleed. Looking up, she offered a pitying frown. “You’re not going to like it. Grab my comm off my bunk, would you?”

Aric hesitated before stepping away from Fynta. Even then, he waited to make sure that she wouldn’t fall over. He moved as quickly as his cramped calf would allow to retrieve the comm and returned it to Fynta. She typed in the frequency, wavering enough that Aric put a hand on her shoulder. Unsurprisingly, the Sith Blood Ucevi appeared in Fynta’s palm. “In need of rescue already?” The woman purred with a smirk.

Fynta barked a laugh, then lurched to the side. Aric caught her, but the comm clattered to the floor. Fynta’s head lulled against his shoulder as he bore her full weight. It took a startled heartbeat for him to realize that the woman was unconscious. Meanwhile, Ucevi called from where she’d landed, all semblance of humor gone.

Grunting, Aric lowered himself onto one knee so that he could place Fynta on the floor, then snatched the comm. Ucevi’s eyes were wide when he appeared in front of her. Aric slumped onto his ass beside Fynta and pressed his back against the cabinet to stop the room from spinning. “We need a medcenter.”

[cinlat]

I was tagged by @starknstarwars​ and since I haven’t had internet during our move, I’ve managed some writing. Woot.

I’ll tag @dimigex​ @dingoat​ @pineaberry​ @sunsetofdoom​ @chivalin​ @outcastcommander​ @askshivanulegacy​ @storyknitter​

I know that I need to work on Blood in the Breeze, but the AU is all I can focus on. So, you guys get another peek at what’s happening in Whiskey & Tihaar. As always, thanks to the lovely @tishinada​ for letting me borrow Ucevi. I love her so much.

Fynta woke in her bunk with no idea how she got there. Her last clear memory was of Aric Jorgan chained to her bulkhead, but that might have been a dream. There were vague images of an apology, and the tangy scent of kolto, which probably explained the Wookie pounding on the inside of her skull. After a few more breaths to clear the hangover of what Fynta hoped had been a good time, her senses began to register other things.

“Fierfek,” Fynta groaned, lifting an arm that weighed twice as much as it should have. She wiggled the numb fingers in front of her face just to make sure that they still worked. Her toes tingled, and there was an incessant ringing in one of her ears. The more that she inventoried her symptoms, the more certain Fynta became that she’d had the shit shocked out of her.

Finally, the ringing in Fynta’s ears coalesced into her comm somewhere around her feet. Shoving into a sitting position, she let loose several more curses in various languages to make sure that she still remembered them. It took a few clumsy slaps, but Fynta managed to answer.

“It’s about fucking time.” Ucevi’s blurry features came into focus. Fynta would have complimented the woman of the attractive color on her lips Ucevi had given her the chance. “Have you arrived?”

“No clue.” Fynta looked around her ship, then remembered that there was supposed to be another body on the rumpled blankets of Aric’s bed. She blinked at Ucevi. “Where am I supposed to be?”

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Nar Shaddaa

Chapter One  |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

You can read it by following the above links (for better formatting), or below the cut (for lazy formatting).

This AU is purely self-indulgent. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Some bonding over the clash of blades, and Aric learns that there is a lot more to the Empire than blood and mayhem. Word Count: 7721 Special guest: Ucevi, who belongs to the lovely @tishinada​

   The Shershoy    En Route to Nar Shaddaa

 Aric didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke to the sound of bare feet slapping against the floor amidst grunts of exertion. When he’d settled on his bunk, it had been to seek solitude and gather his thoughts. He hadn’t expected to nod off, not with a Sith so close, not when a Mandalorian slept in the next cubby.

 The blur of movement focused Aric’s attention on the scene before him. Fynta still wore her shorts and halter top, her hair tugged into a knot on the top of her head. She dipped and spun, one leg extended in a kick which flowed into a twirl that set her body on the opposite path. Her arms extended on the return, the chakram that Aric hadn’t seen before flashing in the overhead light.

 Aric tucked his hands behind his head, studying the woman’s movement and admiring the dance of death she could perform when her weapons were active. Again, his gaze snagged on the scars covering every visible surface of skin. Some were jagged and thick, while others were barely the width of a hair. He was tracing the marred lines that wrapped from her back around her stomach when Fynta’s voice startled him. “Like what you see?”

 Snapping his attention up to Fynta’s face, Aric attempted a non-committal shrug and hoped that his guilt didn’t translate. “Learning your moves. Never know when it might come in handy.” He      had     been enjoying the show, but not just in the sinuous way she moved. Her style of fighting fascinated him.

 Fynta chuckled and shifted her weapons into the same hand. “I could show you some that are more fun than this.”

 Aric pushed himself upright and met the Sith’s playful stare. “I’m sure you could.” He felt a flood of warmth from Fynta, but shook it off and climbed to his feet. According to the chrono, he’d only been asleep for thirty minutes. To keep himself from drifting again, Aric retrieved his hilt from beneath the mattress and walked into the center of the room.

 Fynta’s grin widened. “Afraid that I’ll steal your toy, Jet—Jedi?” The correction was almost imperceptible, and Fynta’s expression didn’t portray the slip, but Aric had heard it. After their conversation, he appreciated the woman’s attempt at tactfulness and resigned himself to accept with grace.

 Aric checked the power output to ensure that his blade wouldn’t cause permanent damage, then ignited the saber. “Mind if I join?”

 The pale light of Fynta’s answer mingled with the blue of Aric’s lightsaber. He positioned himself across from her, holding his blade upright between them. In response, Fynta tucked her chakram close to her body, arms crossed. Aric lifted a brow. “You’ve done this before.”

 “So have you,” Fynta teased. Aric caught the glimmer of laughter in her eyes before she continued. “Should I be jealous?”

 Aric snorted a laugh that he hadn’t meant to concede, then cleared his throat and started what would have been a battle if they moved faster. Fynta met each of Aric’s attacks with a skillful parry, her motions quickening with each combo completion. Before long, Aric felt the twinge of fatigue in his arms and the hardness of the floor beneath his bare feet. He persisted through every block and attack, press and retreat, until their roles switched and he was on the defensive.

 “You’re good,” Fynta panted after another roll that put more space between them. Hair clung to her forehead, darkened by the sweat slicking her skin. Aric felt the burn of exhaustion in his chest, squeezing like bands that tightened with each new round. “But, are you ramikadyc?”

 Fynta lunged, her blades humming through the air. One slipped through Aric’s defenses and singed the tip of his ear while the other deflected off of his saber. The force of the collision pushed Fynta back, and Aric threw himself at her. Their bodies collided, and he tripped Fynta while accelerating their momentum. Aric used his weapon to knock one of Fynta’s chakram away so that his free hand could pin her wrist to the bulkhead. They stared at one another, faces inches apart, rapid breaths filling the space between. For three, solid heartbeats, neither moved, and only the hum of lightsabers and the pounding of his heart filled Aric’s ears.

 Finally, Fynta grinned. “I’m impressed.”

 Aric started to release the woman, but intuition warned against it. Narrowing his eyes, he growled. “Do you yield?”

 “Mando’ade never yield,” Fynta laughed. Aric’s fingers tightened around her wrist, and she winced. “But, I guess it would be pointless to keep going. We’ve got the measure of one another.”

 The shift in Fynta’s tone made Aric acutely aware of how their bodies pressed together. She lowered her voice and leaned forward to put her lips close to his ear. “I look forward to learning what else you are capable of.” A shiver started in the base of Aric’s spine and raced in both directions. He told himself that it was revulsion.

 Aric eased away from Fynta and deactivated his lightsaber. She pushed off the wall, lifting her empty hand to call back the weapon that he’d knocked away. Aric watched her check it for damage, then nodded at the small, unassuming hilts. “Who taught you to wield those?” His heart still hammered from the strain of their exercise, skin flush and muscles loose. Despite the oddity of her weapon choice, there was no denying the woman’s proficiency. Aric had only breached her defenses twice, and he’d paid for both.

 The playful air surrounding Fynta vanished. Her gaze never shifted from the chakram in her hands, but Aric sensed a sadness in her. It was vague and buried deep, but his question had unearthed something that left a bitter taste in her mouth. The most obvious conclusion was that the story included her former master.

 “I think I need some food.” Fynta decided without warning. She placed the chakrams on her bunk, then sniffed at herself and cringed. “And a shower.” Aric instinctively scented the air, and the smell of musky female made him regret his decision immediately. He coughed to clear his head and searched for a distraction.

 Before Aric could come up with something aside from his curiosity about Fynta’s weapons, she took control of the conversation. “You hungry?” She left the hilts on her bunk, within his reach as either a display of trust, or a trap. Maybe both.

 Deciding to follow her lead, Aric placed his weapon back under the mattress and nodded. “I could eat.”

   The Shershoy    En Route to Nar Shaddaa

 The smell of field rations filled the small space of Fynta’s ship. She’d opted for a shower before eating when she realized that Aric was breathing through his mouth. Fynta had chosen her favorite, which involved a tomato paste mixed with what was supposed to be pasta, but it was the desert that she craved. A small, dehydrated uj cake fit into her palm. It wasn’t the real thing, of course, but some genius cook had managed to cram the      taste     into a piece of haashun, and that was good enough for her.

 Aric poked at his shredded nerf meat with a pained expression, then held up the thin sheet of bread. “What is this?”

 “Haa—” Fynta snapped her mouth shut when part of her dinner tried to escape, then swallowed before starting again. “Haashun. It means      see-bread    . See?” Fynta held hers up to one eye to show the meaning of the name. Though distorted by the fibers within, Aric’s shape was visible through the thin crust.

 Tentatively, Aric lifted the bread to his lips and snapped off a corner with his teeth. Fynta waited for the inevitable, then burst out laughing when the Cathar attempted to spit it out. Naturally, the moisture of his mouth activated the hydration process and stuck to his lips and tongue.

 Ignoring Aric’s glare, Fynta reached across the table to show him how it worked. “Here, like this.” She dunked the parchment bread into her caf and watched while it puffed up. When it was done, the wafer-like substance had taken on the texture of a biscuit. Aric’s brows lifted, and Fynta grinned as she offered it back. “Moisture reconstitutes it, but it’s dense so choose your medium wisely. Caf is my favorite.”

 “I’ll keep that in mind,” Aric answered in the sort of dry tone that Fynta expected from Jedi. The Cathar studied his food, then pressed the flat of his tongue against it. Whatever he tasted must not have met with his approval, because Aric set the haashun aside and poked at his nerf again.

 Fynta studied the patterns on Aric’s face, the way they shifted with each flex of his jaw, and wondered what other talents that rough tongue might be capable of. As if reading her thoughts, Aric stiffened in his chair, then glowered at Fynta. “Got something to say, Sith?”

 Taunting the Cathar had proven as fruitless as trying to pinpoint his gifts in the Force, but Fynta couldn’t help but toy with the idea that he could read minds. When she realized that Aric was still staring at her, she grinned. “Nope.”

 Maybe the Cathar couldn’t read Fynta’s mind, but he was picking up on other cues. Her research into Cathar biology mentioned that they communicated through pheromones. If Aric was picking up on sexual cues…that promised at least some entertainment while they traveled together. Fynta just had to be herself.

 They looked at one another, Aric glaring, Fynta doing her best to not seem amused. The cold blue of his eyes dropped the temperature in the room by a few degrees, but Fynta refused to be fazed. The Cathar finally huffed and tore his gaze away to study his food. “Then, mind letting me eat in peace?”

 Fynta reached for Aric’s mind, testing a theory. His barriers were as solid as before. A wall of stubborn will kept her from peeking into what had to be an interesting life given his current circumstances. Fynta didn’t pry, but pressed a vague image against the barrier, like pressing a photo to glass. It didn’t contain detail, so much as an echo of her thoughts. She let her eyes drink in the muscles displayed by his fitted shirt and considered how much fun it would be to peel that off of him. Aric snarled and slung his fork into the bowl, sloshing bits of gravy across the table. “Damn it, woman.”

 The sharp teeth displayed when Aric pulled his lips back would have been impressive enough without the gut punch through the Force. Fynta bent forward with a grunted laugh, arms folding around her stomach. “I deserved that.”

 Aric’s lips dropped back into their perpetual scowl and a mask of confusion slid into place. He gripped his fork like a weapon, but left it on the table. “What sort of Sith are you?”

 Sucking in a painful breath, Fynta sat up. Her ribs protested, but she knew that there wasn’t any permanent damage. Aric’s actions warned that he wasn’t a weak-willed sap for her distasteful amusement. Fynta took the lesson in stride and vowed to learn nothing from it. No doubt she’d make the uptight Jedi draw his weapon before the end of their time together. “What makes you so certain that I am Sith?”

 “Aren’t you?” The dots above Aric’s eyes where brows would be tugged together. The earlier venom had leached out of his tone, leaving him on the verge of suspicion.

 Fynta managed another grin, just to needle deeper into the Jedi’s psyche. When Aric’s frown started to show canines, she rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine. I was trained on Korriban.” Fynta held up a hand when Aric’s lips twitched towards another growl. The man only had two expressions so far, rage and disgust. “But, I’m not      Sith.     I’m Mando’ade.”

 “How is that different,” Aric asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. They were out of armor, and Fynta found it intriguing that the Jedi preferred military-style fatigues instead of the loose garb of his fellows. Though she’d never enjoyed the stiff, itchy material, Aric seemed comfortable. As comfortable as a man like him could be, she supposed.

 Fynta ignored the stretch of material across his chest with effort. She shouldn’t feel the need to explain herself to him, not to a Jedi. Maybe it was because he was Cathar; she wanted him to understand that her people weren’t mindless killing machines any more than his were. They made choices, some better than others, and some of those choices had caused rifts between the clans that still hadn’t healed.

 “And, what about Jedi?” Fynta leaned forward, closing some of the distance between them. “Should I hold      you     accountable for the sins of your Order?” Her response came out more accusatory than she meant, but it was too late to back down. Any sign of weakness and Aric might try to take over the mission. Or worse, convert her to his way of thinking.

 “The Jedi didn’t nearly wipe out an entire species,” Aric answered, hands spreading wide. It wasn’t denial, but an admission of ignorance. Jedi Master Aric Jorgan didn’t lie because he was terrible at it, he simply didn’t know the truth.

 Shaking her head, Fynta held up a single hand and touched a finger for each war crime that popped into her head. “Planet killers, biological weapons, mind control of both their own and enemy agents...shab, the Jedi were responsible for the near extinction of the entire Sith Blooded species. Should I blame you because I have a friend who wouldn’t have been born if      your    people had succeeded?”

 Again, Aric’s brows furrowed. The lines smoothed then, and he folded his arms to where they’d been before. “And the Sith are different?” He didn’t deny the accusations, but Fynta suspected that he’d check her sources thoroughly before accepting them.

 “No,” Fynta agreed. “But, Mandalorians are.”

 Aric snorted, eyes rolling towards the ceiling while Fynta pleaded her case to a man who infuriated her. “My ancestors killed yours. I’m sorry. It happened, and there is nothing either of us can do about that.” Glacial eyes slid towards Fynta, slitted and wary. “You’ll find that the attitude on genocide has changed in recent generations. A select few still believe in the      Mandalorian War Machine,     but they are the minority.”

 “Yes, we still fight, drink, fuck, and enjoy life.” Aric curled his lip in distaste, but Fynta ignored him. “But, conquest isn’t on the menu anymore. This generation doesn’t want to overrun the galaxy, we just want our part and some decent sport.”

 “Sport.” Aric spat the word, eyes hard and ire rolling over him. “Is that what you call driving innocents into the sea?”

 Sighing, Fynta felt the fatigue that followed any emotional argument and decided that she was done defending herself. “There is no honor in the way Cathar was taken. All I can do is my part in ensuring that doesn’t happen again.”

 A heavy silence followed, then Aric spoke in a subdued tone. He was still angry, but not mindlessly so. “You claim not to be Sith, but you fight for the Empire. You told me yourself that you owe no loyalty to a clan, so then what are you,      other    than Mando—”

 “I’m not Sith,” Fynta assured, though she’d asked herself that same question over the years. No clan outside of Verin and his small circle. No loyalty to the Empire as a governing system, just a handful of trusted allies. “I never claimed to be. They took me to Korriban, slapped a lightsaber in my hand, and told me to survive. So, I did.”

 “Is that why your forms are shit?” The casual use of profanity made Fynta bark a laugh. She’d never met a Jedi like Aric. There was nothing serene or peaceful about the Cathar. He was all rough edges and bristling intensity. Were he born on the other side of the galaxy, he probably would have made an impressive Sith.

 With a grin that felt more natural than before, Fynta leaned back in her chair. “Yeah,” she chuckled, sensing the tense atmosphere evaporating between them. “I was...stubborn.”

 “You don’t say,” Aric deadpanned. He sat forward to finish his meal, though it was probably cold by now.

 Narrowing her eyes, Fynta stuck out her tongue. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Fynta wanted to share a part of herself with this infuriating Jedi. A bit of her history. She stood and crossed the room, stopping to access a bio-locked case secured to the wall. Aric watched in silence as she retrieved her prize and returned to the table.

 Aric picked his bowl up to make room for Fynta to lay her burden down. “Have a look,” she offered when the Cathar made no move to satisfy his curiosity.

 Wiping his hands on his pants, Aric set his bowl aside and reached for the oilcloth. Fynta appreciated the respect he used while unwrapping her family’s legacy until he snatched his hand away. “Is that—”

 “Beskad,” Fynta confirmed, lifting the heavy weapon and swinging it through a complex pattern of movements. “It belonged to my ba’buir—my grandfather. Verin inherited it when he came of age from our father, then gave it to me when the Sith took me so that I wouldn’t forget where I came from.”

 Fynta pulled the weapon close to examine it, then rested the blade in the palm of her hand to present it to Aric. “I trained with this because I refused to become one of      them.    A stupid child’s rebellious need to be something other than who she was supposed to be.”

 Aric’s fingers hesitated before wrapping around the hilt. His touch sent a jolt through Fynta, the power of the fleeting moment a distraction that she didn’t need. “It’s heavier than I expected.” Fynta watched the Cathar examine the blade, nodding with approval at the craftsmanship. Then, he scowled. “Why show me this?”

 “We were on the wrong side of that war,” Fynta began, then stopped when her comm chimed. Holding up a hand, she checked the frequency and grinned before answering. “Yo, ori’vod.”

 Verin scowled up at Fynta from the table, arms crossed. “What do you mean      indefinitely?”  

 Rolling her eyes, Fynta waved in no particular direction as she took her seat. “I’ve got to work. My message said as much. What’s the problem?” Across the table, Aric had gone still. He set the beskad down carefully so that it didn’t clink against the metal. Fynta pretended not to notice the Cathar’s studious gaze on her brother, likely memorizing every detail for his report. Fynta wasn’t sure why she took the call in front of him, other than there weren’t many private places on the ship.

 “When will you be home?” Verin’s tone carried the sharp snap of an older brother. He jabbed a finger at Fynta. “The clan is counting on this hunt, it would make—”

 “I hear you,” Fynta interrupted before Verin could get into clan politics in front of Aric. He’d be furious to learn that someone else was in the room, let alone that it was a Jedi.

 Fynta held up her hands when Verin’s face went red. “I’ll see what I can do, but I make no promises. You might have to go without me.”

 Verin sighed, and Fynta watched the fight go out of him. “Yeah. Okay. Well, swing by when you can anyway. The kids miss you.”

 The call ended, leaving Fynta with no one else to look at but her Cathar companion. He stared at the now empty comm, and she forced a chuckle. “Needy shaduir. Never could let go.”

 Aric’s attention lifted, and Fynta was surprised to see sadness in those beautiful blue eyes. “You have children?”

 Fynta paused, her mind short-circuiting at the unexpected direction their conversation had gone, before realizing how Aric had reached his conclusion. Before she could form the words to respond, Aric’s features settled into the disapproving glare that she’d become so familiar with. “Does your husband know that you sleep with SIS agents when he’s not around?”

 “First,” Fynta managed, more horrified than angry. “That’s none of your business. Secondly, Verin is my brother. and those brats that I adore so much are his spawn, not mine. Thirdly, even if he      was    my husband, Mandalorians view fidelity with more flexibility than Cathar. Long deployments are a part of life.”

 Aric didn’t comment, though Fynta could see him working through every implication of her statement. She wondered if he knew who his family was, or who his parents had been. Fynta had heard rumors that Jedi severed all connections with their previous lives before joining the Order. For the first time, Fynta was glad to have been discovered by the Sith.

 “Do you see them often,” Aric asked, his tone devoid of emotion, but Fynta      felt it beneath the surface.

 Fynta stirred her food, then grimaced when a congealed clump of noodle substitute floated to the surface. She shoved the bowl away and shook her head. “Not as often as I should. It’s...complicated.”

 Steepling his fingers beneath his chin, Aric ignored the remainder of his meal and waited for Fynta to continue. She shrugged and toyed with her caf mug. “The rest of the clan is…” Fynta paused to find the right word. “My presence makes them uncomfortable. I’m not the first Force sensitive in our ranks, obviously, but I was the first to be sent away to be trained by Sith in a long time. Decades, at least. So, I’m a reminder of a failure, I think.”

 “Why did they send you away?” Aric asked, and Fynta thought she heard genuine pity in his voice. She opened her mouth to explain that she had no intention of rehashing that part of her life when the Navisystem began a countdown until they dropped out of hyperspace.

 Aric sat up and stared at the console. “What’s that?”

 Fynta stood and crossed the room to acknowledge the warning before facing her companion again. “Our landing has just been approved.”

 The brush of fabric alerted Fynta to Aric’s movement. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him gather their discarded meals and deposit them in the trash compactor. “Is this stop on Nar Shaddaa necessary?”

 Folding her arms, Fynta leaned one hip against the console and sighed. “My friend has a talent that I need before we go after Nox. I can’t face him until I’ve seen her.”

 Jaw tight, Aric nodded and mirrored Fynta’s stance with one hip leaned against the table. “This friend of yours, she’s safe?”

 “She’s Sith,” Fynta laughed before she could stop herself. Aric’s brows lifted, and Fynta cleared her throat. She wasn’t sure how to explain her relationship with Ucevi. They’d gone through an evolution since the Academy: from casual lovers, to allies, friends, co-workers, and eventually, confidants. But, Aric was a Jedi with preconceived notions about Sith society. She doubted he would understand. “She’s trustworthy. There’s a difference, and I trust her with my life.”

 “What about me,” Aric asked, unmoved by Fynta’s declaration of loyalty.

 Fynta tried to lighten the tone of their conversation by adding a playful lilt to her voice. “No offense, but I’m not trusting you alone with my baby. You’re coming with me.”

 The corner of Aric’s lips quirked. “Just so long as you know that I will defend myself. I take no responsibility for the damage done to persons or estates.”

 “Wait, was that a joke, Master Jorgan?” Fynta pushed off the naviconsol and crossed the space to stare into his eyes. Aric’s brow quirked again, but he held her gaze with an even determination. Fynta nodded. “Fierfek, I think it was. Who knew you had it in you.”

 With a pat to Aric’s stomach that made him jump, Fynta started for the cockpit. “Better watch out, Jedi, personalities are contagious. It would be a shame if you caught one.”

 “I’ve got to be exposed first,” Aric grumbled as he slipped into the co-pilot’s seat.

 Fynta snorted a laugh and pulled back on the controls to bring them into a holding pattern around Nar Shaddaa. Aric sighed, taking in the neon glow visible from orbit. “You’re sure we can’t take down Nox without her?”

 This time, Fynta laughed out loud. Shab, she      didn’t     want to like this Cathar. She’d probably have to kill him when they were through. The thought sobered her mirth. Fynta focused on the task of finding Ucevi’s private hangar. One thing at a time: Kill Nox now, worry about Jedi Master Aric Jorgan later.

 Nar Shaddaa  Red Light District

 Aric watched the shapeless sky lanes spread over the neon moon city of Nar Shaddaa. A nagging pain settled in the back of his eyes, and he rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. Sighing, Aric turned away from the starbursts that formed outside the window of the cab and found Fynta jabbing a single finger into her datapad. “Losing again?”

 The woman looked up, blinked, then lifted an eyebrow. Aric leaned further into the worn cushions of the bench seat and gestured at the device. “You’ve been cursing at that thing since we got in the cab. I assume you’re in one of those net competition games.”

 Nose wrinkling, Fynta dropped her datapad into her lap. “I got banned from most of those.” Aric couldn’t be sure if the woman was teasing him or serious. He settled on it being entirely possible and didn’t ask for clarification. Fynta sighed and flopped back in the seat. “My contacts are being useless. Most asking for favors in return for any information on Nox.”

 Aric glanced at the cab driver, who bobbed his head along to the music barely audible from his headset. Taking that to mean they had a moment of privacy, Aric tilted his torso so that he leaned closer to Fynta. “What did Lana mean, back on Rishi, when she said you’d spoken to Cipher Nine?” It had been bothering him for the last two days as he attempted to untangle every word each woman had said. Finally, Aric admitted that he wasn’t clever enough to understand it on his own.

 Fynta stretched her hands against the ceiling and feet beneath the passenger seat. “There’s a rumor that Nox is attempting to bring the Emperor back to life. Granted, him being dead was news to me. And, they need souls; lots of them. Nine believes that Nox has teamed up with the crazy Jedi-guy that Theron and Lana chased to Rishi.” She waved a hand. “It all sounds far-fetched to me, but if it gets my hands around the old bastard’s throat, I’ll go along with it.”

 “By souls, you mean…” Aric trailed off, and Fynta nodded, drawing a finger across her neck. Grimacing, Aric sat up. “Mass murder to return a mass murderer to life. Sounds like a reasonable plan to me.”

 “There you go again with the jokes.” Fynta slapped Aric’s thigh and used it to push herself upright. “In all seriousness, I wouldn’t put anything past them. And, none of that matters. We hunt down and kill Nox, which solves everyone’s problem, regardless of the validity of necromancy.”

 Aric nodded, turning his gaze back towards the window. “If the Sith Emperor is dead. What have we been fighting all this time?”

 “Ghosts,” Fynta answered through a yawn. Aric didn’t deem the answer worth commenting on, and Fynta didn’t speak again.

 When the cab touched down on a plain, but polished landing pad, Fynta paid and escorted Aric to a small door. While she dealt with the locking mechanism, Aric examined the exterior of the building. It was featureless and grey, with no windows for the first ten floors above the landing platform. A hiss of compressed air and hydraulics drew Aric back to Fynta’s side, and they stepped into a luxurious elevator.

 It only took a few seconds for the lift to clear the durasteel plates protecting the building, then it was glass and a sprawling city of debauchery and noise. Fynta sighed, leaning against the wall opposite of Aric as she watched the buildings grow smaller beneath them. “There’s something pure about Nar Shaddaa.”

 Aric snorted before he could stop it. “There is nothing pure about this place.”

 Fynta chuckled. “You’re just grumpy because the neon hurts your eyes.” Aric resisted the urge to turn away from the glare or the need to rub at his eyes until they were bloodshot. A dryness burned beneath his lids, demanding to be treated with more respect. The smog and assault on his sense of smell hadn’t helped his mood either.

 When the lift slowed, they were near the top of the building. Aric waited for Fynta’s reaction when the doors slid open to show an empty foyer and an unmanned desk. He followed, thumbs hooked in his belt so that his robes wouldn’t hinder access to his weapon. When Fynta paused to wave at the corner of the room, Aric noticed a small, blue light. “Should I wave too?” He asked in a dry tone.

 Fynta chuckled. “Nah, just be your grumpy self. Look scary.”

 A panel in the far wall slid open, and Aric’s senses went into overdrive. Life and laughter poured through the open space. Spices made his nose twitch. He heard the clink of glasses and recognized the general hum of muffled conversations. Fynta started for the entrance, but Aric grabbed her elbow. “What sort of place is this?”

 “My home, Master Jedi.” The deep voice startled Aric almost as much as a figure it came from. She was massive, at least a couple of inches taller than him, with red skin so deep that he couldn’t see her true color until she stepped from the shadows.

 Fynta’s grin widened as she stepped forward and onto her toes to place a kiss on each of the cheeks. “It’s been a while. I like the additional glass panes in the elevator. Aric marveled at the fluidity of their greeting, given that it also involved the Sith woman to hunch. Clearly, this was a practice with many years behind it.

 “I thought you might,” the Sith Blood replied. It was only when the shock had receded that Aric realized that the woman had called him Jedi. His hand itched to grasp his weapon, but when Aric expanded his consciousness towards her, he felt no ill intent.

 After completing her greeting, Fynta turned to Aric. “Meet Ucevi, my closest ally, and not one to be fucked with.” Fynta’s gaze landed meaningfully on his hand where it rested on the hilt of his saber.

 Ucevi’s chest expanded in an exaggerating sigh. “Bringing home strays again, Fynta?” When the woman in question grinned, Ucevi chuckled. “At least this one is attractive. Come, Jedi, you have my assurances that no harm will befall you unless we are provoked.”

 “I’m supposed to take the word of a Sith?” Aric asked. He took a step back, but Fynta was suddenly behind him. He didn’t know how she moved so quickly, only that his path had been cut off. Aric answered with a warning growl.

 “Ucevi is honorable,” Fynta answered, ignoring Aric’s threat with a shove to the small of his back. “If she says that you’re safe, then no one will touch you.”

 Against his better judgment, Aric allowed Fynta to steer him through the door. The walls were draped in rich fabrics, vibrant and more exaggerated by the incense hanging in the air. It felt like stepping into another world, nothing like the filth and chaos of the perpetual night on the city moon.

 Laughter marked the advance of small children, though they were little more than blurs of blue, green, and red, then gone again. Ucevi shouted something in a language that Aric had never heard, but there was a smile on her lips. When she slowed to allow Aric and Fynta to catch up, he noticed that her eyes were gold, instead of red. “Forgive the children. They can be rambunctious this time of day.”

 “Little brats just need a swift kick in the ass.” Fynta mimed the action while she walked with a skip that stretched one leg in front of her.

 Ucevi shook her head. “I think you’ll find them less likely to play with you after that game of Emperor Says.”

 “That was not my idea,” Fynta answered, holding up both hands. “I was set up.”

 Ucevi’s attention shifted to Aric. “She zapped the losers with lightning.”

 Aric’s shock must have shown, because Fynta snorted. “It barely singed their lekku, and the kids thought it was hilarious. It was the parents that disapproved.”

 “Can’t imagine why,” Aric muttered.

 Ucevi smirked, offering a wink to Aric. The informality of the action stalled his thoughts before they were fully formed. Aric stumbled over his attempt to form words, earning more amusement from the Sith women. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Now that we are within what I assume are the hallowed walls on your ally, why are we here?”

 Ucevi stopped in front of a pale door that stood out from the vibrant, purple fabric covering the walls around it. Her eyes grew serious when she looked at Fynta. “How much does he know?”

 Aric heard the underlying question.      How much have you told the Jedi?    Fynta shrugged, then met Ucevi’s gaze and nodded. Aric felt the air ripple between them, heating in the same way that it had when Lana and Fynta communicated back on Rishi.

 Sighing, Fynta finally elaborated. “Ucevi’s gift is specific and powerful. She can link with another’s mind with more than vague suggestions and nudging like you and me. Not even the strongest wills could deny her if Ucevi decided the invade.”

 The Sith Blood’s shoulders tensed. “You make me sound like a savage.”

 Aric’s brow lifted, and a chill ran through his limbs, settling in his stomach. Fynta waved Ucevi’s concern away and continued. “I said      could.    Instead, Ucevi has devoted herself to aiding those who need it most. She puts that work into mending minds and creating protective shields.”

 The word shields sparked an interest, and Aric tipped his head. “So, are you strong enough to take on Nox?”

 “Not quite.” Ucevi opened the door and ushered Aric and Fynta inside. The interior was homey, with overstuffed cushions and blankets draped across sofas like they had been flung there earlier that day. A large entertainment screen was mounted to the wall, and several cushions and low tables surrounded the room. Aric took in the space, sensing the presence of the Dark Side without being overwhelmed by it. Ucevi made the third Sith he’d met in the last week that wasn’t consumed by bloodlust, and it gave him the impression that the Jedi might be misinformed about the true nature of the Empire.

 Once everyone was inside, Ucevi gestured to the mass of furniture for them to take a seat, then walked to the bar across the room. Aric heard the clink of glass and turned to find Ucevi pulling out three goblets. “Drinks?”

 “Hell yes,” Fynta answered at the same time that Aric declined.

 Ucevi tipped her head, then began to speak again. “Darth Nox has dabbled in powers that are considered dangerous even among the Sith. If the stories are true, he has...absorbed the ghosts of Sith who have gone on before. They gave him strength, but corrupted his mind. There have been several attempts on his life over the last three decades, but none have succeeded.”

 Uveci crossed the room and offered Fynta a glass with black liquid. Fynta inhaled, then let out a contented sigh. “You are the best.”

 “I know.” Ucevi smiled, then sipped at her whiskey. For some reason, Aric had expected a woman as poised as Ucevi to drink something more sophisticated. There was a part of him that didn’t want to admit to admiring her choice.

 Aric leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees while Fynta settled deeper into the cushion beside him and tipped her glass back. The fetid smell tickled his nose with the undertones of something too sweet. “So, how will you help us?”

 Ucevi glanced at Fynta, then leaned back in her high back chair and crossed her legs at the knee. “You are aware that Fynta was in his service?” Aric nodded. “Nox is known for his ability to reach into a person’s mind and strip them of free will. Fynta was his prized assassin for many years. I provide the required shielding to ensure that she maintains her autonomy.”

 Aric felt his jaw slacken. He had known on some level that Fynta had been under Nox’s service, and that it entailed things that she avoided discussing. But, to have it so plainly laid out for him, that Fynta had been Darth Nox’s slave, gave Aric a new understanding of her drive to destroy the man.

 “She can do the same for you,” Fynta offered as if the revelation meant nothing. It took Aric a moment to connect her words with the actual practice.

 Ucevi must have sensed the instant of panic that tightened Aric’s chest. She took a sip of her whiskey, then answered in a soothing voice. “Only if you are willing, Master Jedi.”

 Aric took a moment to steady his voice, reminding himself that he was in the presence of Sith, no matter how amicable they seemed. “I think I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

 Ucevi tipped her head, finished her whiskey, then stood. “Very well. I assume time is of the essence. Are you ready, Fynta?”

 Sighing, Fynta stood, tipped the rest of her drink down her throat, then set the empty glass on the bar. “Sure, let’s scramble my brain.” Without a word to Aric, Fynta vanished through a curtained door that he hadn’t noticed before.

 Ucevi bowed at the waist. “If you will wait here, Master Jedi. We will not be long.” Though the offer was worded as a choice, Aric sensed the command pressing against his mind. He let Ucevi’s touch slide along his shields. She was a whisper of wind on a warm day, one that could turn into a hurricane and splinter him if she chose. Aric nodded, hoarding the knowledge that the Empire contained far more powerful Sith that he’d imagined for a time when his thoughts were safe.

 While Aric waited, strangers of all shapes and colors passed through the room. Most were Twi’lek, though he noted a few Sith Blood among them. He assumed each to be a servant of some sort, though commended the lack of slave collars around their necks.

 Time passed, and Aric had just started to get antsy when a different door opened. He prepared to greet Fynta, half-standing before he realized his mistake. A blue-skinned Twi’lek stopped halfway through the room with a ropy sweet dangling between her lips. Aric assumed it must be a part of the collection of brightly colored bags filling her arms.

 “Hello.” The woman chirped, friendly and curious like a child. Aric tipped his head and resumed his seat. The Twi’lek adjusted course towards him, stepping over the back of a low sofa, then sitting on the highest of it. She studied him with her head tilted. “Not to be rude, but what are you?”

 Aric’s mouth opened, then shut while he tried to make sense of her question. There were scars on the woman’s neck, marking her as a current or former slave. He cleared his throat. “Cathar. Name’s Aric Jorgan.”

 The woman’s eyes widened. “Really? No way. I mean, I’ve heard of your kind, but never met one.” She slid down onto the cushion and deposited her horde of junk food to the side. “What are you doing here?”

 “Waiting on a friend,” Aric answered. It was the easiest lie to believe. He didn’t dislike Fynta, so therefore his deception shouldn’t be obvious if this woman was Force sensitive. He didn’t dare reach out to confirm. “Who are you?”

 “Oh, right.” The Twi’lek wiped her hands on narrow thighs before reaching a one across the gap between them. “Vette. I’ve got family here and stop by from time to time to uh,” she glanced at the snacks, “get supplies.”

 Aric accepted the greeting, then settled back in his chair and let himself relax in her presence. Vette was harmless, small and willowy, and almost certainly Force blind. “What is this place to you?”

 Head tipped, Vette flipped one lekku off her shoulder. “It’s a safe place.” Aric’s brow lifted, and the Twi’lek laughed. “Yeah, I know, how could a Sith’s house be safe? But everyone here has been rescued from something. Well, not everyone, but you know what I mean.”

 “A Sith rescuing aliens?” Aric mused, more to himself than anyone else.

 Vette snorted, breaking Aric out of his thoughts. “Uh, in case you missed it, Ucevi is an alien too.” The Twi’lek angled her head in the other direction, and her eyes grew keen and penetrating. “      You’re    an alien.”

 “I’m not—” Aric almost said Sith, then remembered where he was. Despite her bubbly appearance, Vette was an Imperial citizen, or at the very least, Imperial property. It wouldn’t do to confess so early into his ruse that Aric was a Jedi who had never considered owning another living being. Vette’s brows lifted, indicating that she was waiting on Aric to continue. He cleared his throat. “I suppose I view Sith Bloods differently.”

 Vette’s suspicion faded, and she nodded with a certainty of a woman who understood some unspoken truth. “I get it. Rough upbringing. We’ve all been there.” Settling into the cushions, Vette tugged a pillow into her lap and shivered. “I can’t imagine what it must be like dealing with all that shit while being Sith too.”

 Aric took the lull in conversation that followed to change the subject. “You’re treated well here? You trust Ucevi?”

 “Well, yeah.” Vette yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. “I mean. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

 The door opened, and Aric straightened, expecting it to be Fynta. The laughter of several, young voices preceded a group of children. Two Sith Blood dressed in a way that concealed their gender, and an adolescent male, lethan Twi’lek. The youngest Sith Blood squealed and threw themself at Vette, but it was the sleen that shadowed them that caught Aric’s attention.

 The creature’s head lifted, nostrils flaring and tongue flicking against the air. The narrow eyes found Aric a moment later and it charged. Aric threw out one hand, but the sleen was faster than he could have imagined. His back slammed into the cushions, the air pushed out of him by the weight of the creature on his chest. He bared his teeth in a show of dominance, and the sleen answered in kind.

 Aric lifted one hand, slowly, to pry the beast off him, when Fynta’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. “Naktis, stop playing with your food.”

 The sleen’s head snapped around, and Aric grunted when it vaulted off his torso to rush Fynta. She opened her arms and caught the creature by its upper body, laughing while it burbled. Ucevi stood behind Fynta, smiling at the scene, but there was an aura of disquiet about the woman. Aric resisted the urge to reach out, but made a note to ask if everything had gone okay. She looked—reserved, tired even.

 Finally, Fynta shoved the sleen away and wiped the sleeve of her shirt across her cheek. Naktis looked at Aric like she might resume her position on his chest, then snorted and herded the children from the room. Aric sat up and blew out a long breath.

 “That’s Naktis,” Vette provided, hooking a finger towards the women who had joined them. “She gets along best with Fynta. Pretty sure it’s because they are both uncouth savages.

 “Good to see you too, Vette.” Fynta snagged one of the treats that the Twi’lek had been smuggling out and opened it.

 Vette let out a disgruntled whine and waved one hand at her foe. “See what I mean? Rude!”

 “How long are you in town?” Ucevi asked, cutting across the bickering. “I have something of importance that could use a slicer of your skill.”

 “I’m your girl.” Vette leapt to her feet, gathered her treats, then snatched the one that Fynta had yet to take a bite of. “These are mine.” She waved the bag at Fynta, then started for the same door that the children had exited through. “I’ll be in my office. Nice to meet you, Lord Jorgan.”

 Aric winced, and Fynta burst out laughing. “Lord Jorgan. It’s got a nice ring to it.”

 A low growl rolled through Aric’s chest, but Fynta either didn’t hear it or didn’t care. He let some of it follow through his voice when he spoke. “Is everything taken care of?”

 “To the best of my ability,” Ucevi answered, though her gaze grew pensive. “I wish that you would let me shield your mind, Master Jorgan. But, I understand your hesitation. Please meditate often and strengthen whatever defenses you have. And, may the Force serve you.”

 “We’ll be alright,” Fynta promised, dusting the remnants of her reunion with the sleen off her pants. With a warmth that Aric hadn’t seen in her, Fynta embraced the Sith Blood. “Thank you for everything.”

 Ucevi’s arms tightened around Fynta, and Aric averted his gaze to give them privacy. Everything here was new, the emotions, the expectations...Aric shook himself and cleared his throat. “We should move before the trail goes cold.”

 “He’s right.” Ucevi held Fynta at arm's length and forced a smile. “Come back to me when it’s done. I’ll have visitors soon who would like to see you again.”

 With a wink, Fynta turned back toward Aric. “Count on it. Tell the little brat I hope she’s been practicing her blaster.” She hooked her arm through Aric’s and tugged him behind her. “Come on, Lord Jorgan, maybe we can beat the traffic off planet.”

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Rishi - Part One

Chapter One

You can read it by following the above link, or below the cut.

--This AU is purely self-service. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Fynta is the best at what she does, and Aric refuses to back down. Guest Character: Thank you so much to @shabre-legacy for letting me borrow her feisty pirate queen Tama Riczu.

Rishi Raider's Cove Blaster's Path Cantina

"Are you listening to me, Wolfe?" Fynta glanced up from the dregs of her beer. The Mirialan pirate sat across from her, complaining that there wasn't any honor among thieves anymore. Her white hair had slid low enough to cover one eye, and the pirate puffed it back into place without breaking her tirade. "I'm baring my soul here."

"You're bitching that the new cartel won't honor the agreement your crew had with the old one, who were skimming off their own shell companies to stay afloat." Fynta signaled for another beer. The stuff on Rishi was osik, but she didn't voice her opinion. For a people who made their living at the ass end of the galaxy, there was a lot of pride in what they managed to distill without imports. The droid rolled over on squeaky wheels, deposited the drink, and informed Fynta that her account would be charged.

The tattoos across the bridge of Tama's nose drew closer together when she flashed her teeth at Fynta. It was hard to tell if it was in agreement or annoyance. "I'm just saying that they didn't gouge you like this back in the day. People are getting greedy."

Fynta barely hid the ironic scoff that bubbled up her throat under the guise of laughter. She let the comment pass with a shrug. "Why not shoot him and let someone more malleable take over?"

Tama's shoulder lifted in a mirror of Fynta's while she toyed with her mug. "A reputation is a fickle thing to maintain." After a long pull of her drink, the pirate stuck her tongue out and set the mug down. "Why are we here again?"

"Because you were in the area and bored," Fynta answered, wiping a stack of warra nutshells onto the floor. A small droid hurried over, hummed while it inhaled the crumbs, then skittered away. Fynta watched it dart from table to table and envied the simplicity of its life. She turned her attention back to Tama. "And, I didn't have anything better to do."

The pirate's purple eyes sparkled in the light from the stage. A new act had replaced the dancing Twi'leks, this one featuring someone worthy of the yellowed spotlight. She used the scantily clad musician as a distraction from the disbelief in her drinking companion's smirk. Tama wasn't fooled. "You're never bored. I don't know what you do for a living, only that you're always doing it. So why this slime pit?"

Fynta's gaze drifted to the landing docks outside the window before she could stop herself. "I get it," Tama interjected, unfazed by Fynta's raised brow when she faced the pirate again. Her lips pulled into a feral grin. "Don't worry, I won't get in the way...so long as you're buying."

Rolling her eyes, Fynta took another ill-advised sip of her drink, then shuddered. "You've got a heart of gold, Riczu."

Tama snorted, lifted her beer, then thought better of it and plunked it back onto the splintered table. "Hey, after you're done staking out the docks, wanna help me deal with that self-important—" A brush of something foreign drowned out the rest of the woman's words. Fynta straightened, reaching out with tendrils of the Force in search of the chill that had touched her mind. Tama sighed and wrapped her knuckles against the table. "I've lost you again, haven't I?"

Blinking, Fynta tossed some credits at the pirate as she slid from the high top chair. "Duty calls. Drinks are on you next time." If Tama responded, she didn't hear it. Fynta's senses came alive, blood singing with the promise of a hunt.

Fynta stopped at the entrance of the cantina, stepping to the side to let a couple of the local Rishi enter. Neither of the bird-like creatures acknowledged her as they passed, and soon Fynta moved uninhibited into the mid-afternoon crowd. Pirates worked hard and played long into the night. When Fynta had met Tama an hour earlier, the streets had been nearly empty. Now, men and women nursed hangovers and haggled over supplies while gangs of youth looked for easy targets.

The sun cut through white clouds in beams, and a cool wind from the surf warned of an imminent storm. Fynta made eye contact with a skinny boy who wandered too close, and he veered onto another path. She'd spent enough time with the dregs of society to meet the best and worst of them. Raider's Cove was no different than Coruscant or Dromund Kaas in Fynta's opinion. Both had the same set of rules, only the pay grade changed.

Fynta paused when she felt the familiar cold spot that had grabbed her attention before. He was close. It wasn't the serene presence that Fynta had expected, but definitely not Sith. Fynta sensed agitation, drive, and the sort of stubborn will that she expected of Theron's touted Jedi warrior. The man felt like a stab of frigid wind slicing through the perpetual summer of Raider's Cove.

A flicker of movement where none should exist caught Fynta's attention, and she turned towards it before her brain had registered the action. The figure stood taller than the crowd, most of whom hunched under the weight of weapons and hard times. He wove through the busy docks with impressive agility, increasing the distance even with Fynta's quickening stride. She focused, sensing the world blur in her peripheral until only he remained. When grey tinged the edges of her sight, Fynta knew it was safe to close the gap.

Keeping to the shadows, Fynta sidestepped pedestrians and hover carts alike. No one paid attention to the glint out of the corner of their eye so long as she remained wrapped in the Force. It was a tactic that Fynta had employed dozens of times and honed to near perfection, hiding from both visual and mental prying until ready to strike.

The Force flared to life when Fynta got too close, stopping the man in the middle of the outdoor market. He scanned the crowd, features hidden beneath a deep brown hood that could mark him as Sith as easily as Jedi. Eyes as pale as the plains of Hoth passed over Fynta. Her breath caught in the split moment when their gazes met, then it passed and his attention moved on. Fynta couldn't place his species, only that those shining orbs didn't belong to a human.

With the next breeze, the figure shifted back in Fynta's direction, and she realized that he must have senses outside of the Force to aid him. Always room for improvement, Fynta thought as she circled the market to put herself downwind of him. After a moment, the hooded figure began to walk again.

Fynta's comm chirped to life, and she answered without looking at the frequency. "Hey vod'ika, busy?"

"Yep." Fynta drifted into the shadows of an alleyway so that the figure could pass before speaking again. "What's up?"

"I'll be quick. Torian's putting together a hunt and wants you along. Interested?" Verin's voice held the sort of breathy excitement it always did when the clan took on a large target.

Fynta couldn't stop the smirk that touched her lips. She knew that Torian didn't want her along for the pleasure of her company. No one in Clan Ordo did. She was the blight on their reputation. Her enhanced senses came in handy, though. Mandalorians were practical if nothing else. "Sounds good. Gotta go." She disconnected the call without saying goodbye and refocused on the task that had brought her to this side of the pirate city..

When Fynta reached out to search for her quarry again, she found a void where the man had been. He had raised shields, sensing somehow that he was being followed. Regardless of his species, Fynta was impressed by his instincts. This Jedi might prove more difficult than others she'd stalked. Pulling back, Fynta left a single strand of connection between them. Barely enough to lay a trail while she allowed the distance to grow.

Fynta's comm chimed again, and she sighed. "Wolfe."

"Theron left ten minutes ago, are you in position?" Though Fynta didn't know Lana well, she'd been assured that the woman was as stable as a Sith could be, almost normal. Her quiet humor kept Fynta on her toes, but it was the need to micromanage that irritated her.

"I've got the target in sight." Fynta plucked at her spider's strand and dropped the stealth cloak while she meandered through the marketplace. "You'll know something when I have something." Fynta thought that she could feel Lana's disapproving scowl from across the city. It brightened her mood.

Without warning, Fynta's strand snapped with the resonating sensation of whiplash. Her steps faltered, breath hitching in her chest for a long second before regaining control. Somehow, Theron's Jedi had discovered her tag and cut himself loose. Fynta tried not to let her new respect for the man overshadow her irritation at having to track him the old fashioned way..

A noisy cantina sat across the road, enticing weary travelers into wasting their credits on cheap entertainment set to the beat of Hutt pop. Fynta let the vibrations pull her in, assuming this to be the atmosphere where an SIS spy would set up the sort of clandestine meeting that Theron had planned.

The door sprang open at Fynta's approach, wrapping her in the heart hammering noise of forced excitement. Even for the early hour, the cantina had a decent crowd. A small mass writhed on the dance floor like tangled eels while the locals drank their woes away at the bar. Fynta found a stool and perched on the edge.

"Gotta pay to sit, sweetheart," a gap-toothed man with leathery skin and the grin of a rogue said. Fynta tossed some credits onto the scarred surface and ordered whatever he suggested. It was no surprise when the man returned with four fingers of his most expensive bourbon. Fynta didn't complain.

To show her thanks, Fynta lifted the glass and took a generous sip before nodding in approval. It was no tihaar, but the flavor wasn't bad. Setting the drink down with deliberate ease, Fynta twitched her thumb at the room behind her. "Seen any new faces around here?"

"Apart from yours?" Fynta nodded. The barkeep chewed his lip, and Fynta tapped another chit between her knuckles. He scrubbed at his chin, then jerked it towards the back wall where a cloaked figure leaned against the bar, gaze fixed on the door. "Looking to make a friend?"

"If I'm lucky." Fynta winked, then tossed the chit onto the counter. "Corellian whiskey for the surly man at the end of the bar."

"You want his number?" The publican asked even as he pulled a glass and began filling it. Fynta shook her head and left him to carry on with business. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the Jedi lean forward to hear what the man had to say, then look around when no more information about the drink was forthcoming. Fynta focused on the scratched wood in front of her, noting with pleasure that her target hadn't outright rejected the gift.

The figure nodded for the barkeep to leave the glass, and Fynta studied the hand that rested inches away from it. His fingers were a strange, mottled gold visible through the tips of his fingerless gloves. It was hard to tell in the strobing lights, but Fynta was certain those were claws. Once alone, the man lifted the glass of whiskey into the shadowy recesses of his hood. It appeared a moment later with less weight. Fynta's brow raised when the heavy sleeve slid back enough to provide a glimpse of fur. Still, the new insight offered nothing about his species. Fynta had his Force signature now, she'd leave him to brood in the headache inducing music and wait for him elsewhere.

Slipping from her stool, Fynta tossed back the rest of her drink, shivered as it wormed through her system, paid, then left. She'd wait outside, weaving a web through the Force to snare Theron's pet at the door. When he was properly tangled, she'd pounce. It took patience to play this game, and Fynta got the impression that her new friend lacked that quality. Agitation swirled around him like a cloud, sparking bolts of annoyance that were quickly swallowed by the storm. Provided that there were no unforeseen inconveniences, Fynta would have the Jedi subdued soon.

Manipulating the Force the way Fynta preferred didn't take the sort of aptitude her targets suspected. There were no great feats of strength or impressive segments of control. She squeezed the Force into a strand so thin that it took minimal effort and was so obvious that most of the prey that she hunted ignored it as the leavings of an intermediate student. Any acolyte could accomplish what made Fynta a feared assassin. Standing in the shadows, she laid each thread across the threshold of the cantina, covering the doorway with enough that even if the Jedi disabled most, at least one would snare him.

Her trap laid, Fynta admired her work, then strolled down the street to examine the food vendors. She'd promised Lana lunch once her errand was finished, and had found that most Sith proved ornery once they became peckish. She'd just paid for a sack of greens, bread, and cheese, when a vibration traveled the length of Fynta's spine. He'd finally emerged and blundered into her snare.

Fynta thanked the Rodian female for the food, pocketed her change, and started towards the cantina. With each step, her strands vanished as the man severed their link. Fynta lengthened her stride, stopping at the mouth of an alley. Wrapping herself in a cloak of secrecy, Fynta eased into the dimly lit space. He'd chosen an excellent position for an ambush, with the long shadows from high rooftops and sparse crowd outside. Not that anyone would notice if harm came to her. In Pirate's Cove, if you couldn't hold your own, you didn't deserve to walk their streets.

"Who are you?" A voice rumbled out of the gloom. Fynta paused at the inhuman cadence. There was a lethal quality lurking beneath the surface that indicated one of the predator races. One that hadn't smoothed through years of interbreeding with humans. It narrowed the field, but didn't clear it.

Fynta picked her steps, moving silently into the alley. He couldn't sense her, not while she was stealthed, but he might smell her. The combination of heat and humidity made it impossible to remain incognito; she sweated like anyone else. Another snarl to Fynta's left changed her course a moment before his hand darted into a stray sunbeam. With it so close to her face, Fynta confirmed that his fingers were tipped in claws. They were filed to blunt tips, but looked sharp when curled with intent.

The figure cursed and walked into the center of the alley. "I know you're here. Show yourself."

The hood masked the man's features, and Fynta didn't dare step closer to peer into that blackness. She inched around him, careful to avoid the refuse littering the ground. The man's chest lifted and fell with measured breaths, then stuttered when he sniffed the air. Fynta's heart thumped with the excitement of being so close to danger, and she had to mentally warn herself against moving faster. She wanted to fight this Jedi, to see if he was as good as Theron claimed. There was power, without a doubt, but could he control it? A chaotic list of scenarios built in Fynta's mind while she circled him. Everything from a glorious battle without weapons to those claws wrapping around her throat and ending her career in a vicious twist.

Positioning herself at his back, Fynta studied the broad set of his shoulders and judged his height at just over two meters. Her heel brushed across a scrap of paper, and he spun. Fynta barely dodged his second grab, her back pressed against the wall that she didn't realize was so close. If he lunged again, Fynta might get her fight.

Glacial eyes scanned the shadows, drifting over Fynta's position, then doubling back. When he took a step towards her, Fynta finally saw the angular features beneath the hood. Black patterns of dots and lines highlighted the high cheekbones and heavy brows. A smattering of white around the mouth gave the impression of age, but it could have been his coloring since birth. It wasn't until his lips parted and Fynta saw the sharp teeth that she finally placed his species. Theron's pet Jedi was a fierfeking Cathar. She didn't give him another chance to reach for her. With his identity confirmed, Fynta struck.

Rishi Location Unknown

Pain splintered behind Aric's eyes, but the more pressing ache came from his shoulders. He remembered the attack with fragmented clarity, the playful gleam in blue eyes, and the sense of dread when he realized how close she was. Something had struck him, harder than it should have, then overwhelming heat. The rest was a blur of motion and the sticky feel of algae covered stone beneath his cheek.

Aric moved, an attempt to ease the throb in his shoulders. He came to full consciousness when his wrists tugged against the cool metal of shock cuffs. Stifling a groan, Aric reached for the Force and found it unresponsive. Panic threatened the corners of his mind, but he shoved it back and groped for logic: not shock cuffs, suppression cuffs.

Prying a single eye open, Aric surveyed the area around him for threats and found only darkness. A distant whistle of wind through a narrow passage and the lack of techno music indicated that he'd been moved. The air smelled of rotten vegetation and pulled at each breath he took. He felt heavy and wet, then thunder rolled behind the shuttered window.

A raised voice called out in the street below, and another answered with vulgar suggestions. They were elevated, that was something Aric hadn't known before. He would need to consider it if he escaped. Wind clattered against the coverings, and Aric smelled the first hint of rain on the horizon. He remembered seeing dark clouds upon arrival, and wondered how close they'd come to shore. Without the aid of sight, he couldn't guess the amount of time he'd been unconscious. Had Theron made it to the rendezvous, and if so, how long would it take the spy to realize that something was wrong?

Aric forced his attention to the suppression cuffs that held his wrists to the corner of a raised bedpost. When he attempted to move, his muscles protested enough that he knew they'd been restrained for some time. Grey sunlight slanted between the cracks in the window shutters, offering more detail to Aric's small prison. Were he free to move, he could have crossed the space in five steps.

Movement by the far wall, a shadow across the band of light clawing into the room from beneath a door that Aric hadn't noticed. His senses reacted, mouth open so that any unfamiliar scents could wash over the pallet on the roof of his mouth. He tasted spices and sweat, the scent of a female, all familiar. A sense of something from the recent past that his conscious thoughts couldn't grasp.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come around." The voice slid over Aric, echoing through his mind. The air surrounding him heated to the point of discomfort while he strained against his bonds. Aric clenched his teeth with the effort of holding her at bay.

The woman withdrew so quickly that Aric felt chilled. His head still throbbed, but it had lost the staccato beat of a war drum. Carefully, Aric opened his eyes. He expected to see blood on his robes, sure that it had leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes. There was nothing. Only the vague sense of violation remained.

"Show yourself," Aric rasped at the shadow that moved along the wall. As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, a form emerged. She was average sized for most humanoid species, seated on something with legs crossed at the knee.

"Not much for originality, I see." The woman's voice sounded throaty, on the verge of laughter. Aric resisted the urge to bristle at not only the accusation, but at her tone, too. He kept his jaw tight while she continued with an enthusiasm that bordered on obscene. "I've read that Cathar have unmatched senses, what can you pick up?"

Aric bared his teeth. Whatever tactic of interrogation she planned to use, he would resist. Theron had called him for aid, and Aric couldn't help but wonder if this woman was one of the reasons why. She sighed and pushed to her feet, stepping silently across boards that creaked under his weight. The temptation to reach out through the Force for signs of other life forms was almost too strong to resist, but in his weakened state, Aric couldn't afford to open himself to the darkness that writhed around his captor. He held his tongue and met the woman's gaze.

She stopped at the edge of the light, becoming clearer with each second. She was human or near-human. Aric caught the outline of hair light enough to separate from the shadows. The toes of her boots drifted closer, leather and soft; silent. The glint of metal at the ankles, drew Aric's attention, and he was surprised to see the tips of a knife blade and hold out blaster. The woman squatted, eyes flashing from some inner light. They were blue, heated, and full of humor as she reached out to him again. Aric shuddered and pulled his lips back further.

A soft huff of laughter greeted Aric's wordless threat. "You're strong, Jetii." The final word registered in some dusty corner of his mind, but Aric couldn't be sure of its origin. The hair rose along his spine, and a snarl bubbled up from deep within. His response startled him by its visceral nature, but she didn't appear fazed.

"That's good," the woman leaned closer, seemingly unconcerned by her proximity to his teeth. "I was worried that there had been some mistake."

Aric smelled the alcohol on her breath as he stared into those unnaturally blue eyes that he'd caught sight of at the bar. She'd been his admirer. A Sith toying with her prey, and he'd fallen into her trap. "Who are you?" Aric's voice sounded on the verge of cracking, airway constricted until all he could manage were short, shallow breaths. The pressure eased, and Aric fought the instinct to gulp air. He couldn't let this woman know that she'd rattled him, so he inhaled through his nose and glared.

The woman's head tilted, and the light in her eyes sparked with madness. There was a target tattoo around her right eye, inked in a darker blue that looked out of place against the unnatural color it surrounded. Blonde hair brushed the top of her shoulders; she was human. It was difficult to gauge the woman's complexion in the gloom, but he placed her age in the mid to late twenties. "Who do you think I am?" She asked, one thin brow lifted in a perfect arch.

"Sith." Aric spat the word, and the woman grinned. It was confirmation enough. Aric let his lips cover his teeth, retracting his challenge if only to deprive her of the satisfaction of making him react. "What do you want from me?"

"Me?" The woman's forearms were braced against her thighs, hands dangling between her knees. Pale electricity arced from her fingertips when she leaned back. Aric's fur stood along his arms and chest in reaction to the charged atmosphere. "What makes you think that I brought you here?"

Aric shook his head. "You've been following me." Subtly, he inhaled again, committing the Sith's scent to memory. She was the source of spice and blaster oil that he'd registered in the marketplace. There was something else, a tangy taste to her that he couldn't place, but no matter where she ran now, he would find her.

Tugging at the restraints, Aric struggled to keep his tone even. "Even with these cuffs, I can feel your mark in the thing that waited for me outside of the cantina."

"You didn't like my little web?" The Sith asked. Every one of Aric's questions was met with one of her own. The lilting in her voice reminded Aric of the interrogators he'd helped subdue over the years. Creatures who had become so corrupt that they could barely be considered human. They too teased their victims, then later, their captors.

The woman braced one hand behind her and lowered herself to the floor across from Aric. Her back pressed against a dresser, outstretched boots inches from his. "I was following you because I was told to."

Aric's fingers curled into fists, awakening pinpricks in his numb digits. "By who?" He used the sensation to ground him, focusing his discomfort inward to find peace before his temper could get the better of him. She'd answered a question, though he couldn't be sure of its validity.

Leaning forward, the woman stared into Aric's eyes. They didn't glide past them or dart to and from the way others did. She looked at him and saw something that intrigued her. An inky caress burned against his mind, and Aric hissed. "I don't sense fear in you. Why is that?"

"Why would I fear a Sith?" Aric pushed against the pressure she exerted. Pain bloomed at the base of his skull, but he ignored it. "The way I see it—" the words ground out through gruff pants. "Sith don't have what it takes to control their emotions." The room greyed around the edges, but Aric refused to break eye contact. Pressure and agony melded together until his voice sounded tiny. He growled out the last words, too damn stubborn to let her have the upper hand, to let her believe that she'd weakened him. "So, they lash out and call it power. Like toddlers pitching a tantrum."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, blue eyes glowing brighter to match the lightning sparking in her palms. It was an idle movement, like she didn't realize that electricity flowed from one fingertip to another, dancing around like a man rolling a coin across his knuckles. "Would you like to know what the Sith think of Jedi?"

Black spots appeared in Aric's vision when the woman spoke, her voice scraping against his mental shields. The pain radiated from Aric's neck, into his temples. She continued without pause, bending forward at the waist as if imparting some great secret. "You're a group of sexually repressed saints so high on their own piety that they can't see the darkness gnawing at their precious Republic."

Aric's lips twitched with a conscious effort, if only to give credit to the lie that her words had no power over him. He couldn't let her feel the truth. Don't react. The quiet voice of Aric's master warned him to stay calm, to resist his anger. Don't let the Sith feed on your emotions.

Again, the woman's brow lifted. "So you see, I think that we can both learn something from one another. Now, is there anything you'd like to share with me?"

"Directions to the nearest airlock," Aric ground out. Any longer, and he might blackout.

The woman laughed, a rich sound made all the more lovely when the pressure on Aric's mind evaporated. He sucked in a ragged breath and hunched forward, no longer able to hide the strain their unspoken battle had put on him. The muscles in Aric's arms and back quivered from the stress of his bonds. A headache blossomed behind his eyes, and Aric squeezed them shut for a reprieve from what now felt like too much light.

Metal clattered to the floor by Aric's knees. He opened one eye to find his lightsaber within easy reach. When he forced his gaze higher, the woman was standing. "How badly do you want to run me through?" The question startled Aric to silence. His attention drifted back to the weapon while he considered the answer.

"Would you let me?" Aric met the woman's vibrant blue eyes. They glittered in the light leaking through ratting shutters, full of mischief and the promise of violence. She appeared older at this angle, a battle-hardened warrior with nothing left to lose.

"Now you're starting to catch on." The amusement hidden beneath her statement confused Aric. He should despise everything about this woman, yet found himself oddly curious about her. None of her questions made sense. There was nothing about the Order or his part in the war. She was interested in his personal opinions, and while there was no doubting that she was touched by the Dark Side, he sensed no malice in her.

A chorus of banging against the door saved Aric from needing to respond. The Sith leaned against the dresser and folded her arms, waiting for whoever was on the other side to break through. Aric's back itched with the need to arm himself. He hooked his ankle around the lightsaber and rolled it beneath his leg while the Sith was distracted.

"Going to let whoever that is in?" Aric asked with an ease that he didn't feel. His skull throbbed with each strike until it was all he could hear. The Sith lifted a finger in a hold gesture, but made no other response.

The console sparked a second before the door slid open and a man in a gaudy red jacket stumbled in. He looked at the woman. "Damn it, Fynta. Answer your fucking comm."

"I was busy." The Sith waved at Aric without looking at him. "See, no harm done."

Theron Shan knelt beside Aric with a grimace, then fumbled with the cuffs that held his hands to the bedpost. The spy cursed, stood, and faced the Sith with hands on hips. "Where the hell did you get those?"

Aric watched the exchange, caught between irritation at being ignored and intrigue that the two apparently knew one another. Theron didn't appear to fear the Sith. He'd called her by name. Likewise, Fynta hadn't threatened to break him in half. They spoke to one another like equals, which Aric decided annoyed him above all else.

"Tools of my trade," Fynta answered as she retrieved a controller from the pouch on her belt and pressed the button.

A humming that Aric hadn't noticed before stopped, and he felt the Force flow into him like the wave from a burst dam. With a thought, the suppression cuffs snapped and fell from his wrists. He crushed them with a gesture and sent the vile things skittering across the floor until they no longer assaulted his sight.

"So dramatic," Fynta sighed with a roll of her eyes before turning back to Theron. "You Pubs need to learn how to lighten up. Maybe get laid."

"Not happening again," Theron retorted, but Aric heard the mirth in his voice and snarled at the thought of a Republic Spy sleeping with the enemy. He supposed that came with the territory, but the thought turned his guts.

Aric rubbed gingerly at his wrists, working the blood back into fingers that would have soon been useless. Collecting his lightsaber, he stumbled onto shaky legs and took a moment to sort himself. "Are we working with Sith now?" He asked, letting the full weight of his scorn seep into the glare he aimed at Theron.

The singing in Aric's blood felt overwhelming after so much time cut off from the Force. It left him lightheaded and nauseous. "Kind of," Theron responded before gesturing at Fynta. Aric pushed away his discomfort and let his ire shift to the woman. "This is Fynta Wolfe, she's a—I don't actually know what she is, but I think she's an ally. The sort that you don't turn your back on."

Fynta snorted, but Theron ignored her and spread his hands wide to encompass the entirety of the small room. "Anyway, welcome to Rishi, Master Jorgan." Thunder cracked in the distance, and Aric couldn't help but wonder if it was an omen.

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Rishi - Part Three

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

You can read it by following the above links (for better formatting), or below the cut.

--This AU is purely self-service. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Aric and Fynta continue to butt heads with no clear winner in sight. There are lies, spies, pirates, and disappointment.

Word Count: 7,753

Guest Character: @sleepswithvillains​ lovely Elenora

Rishi Raider’s Cove Safe House

Aric sat in the corner, eyes closed and senses attuned to the room surrounding him. To his left, Agent Shan tapped out a methodical rhythm on his datapad, neurons firing too rapidly to be natural. While the spy projected aloof awareness, Aric felt a stir of frustration from the man any time one of his devices malfunctioned. No doubt the Sith women sensed it too.

A rat scurried along a beam in the ceiling, distracting Aric with its frantic drive to reach the end of its journey. He admired the animal’s single minded determination, longing for the days of his youth when everything had been either right or wrong. Where working with the enemy didn’t equal the greater good. 

When the rat broke through a hole in the roof, Aric felt the creature’s exhilaration. Then, its life was snuffed out, replaced by the keen intelligence of the gull whose nestlings would eat another day. Aric sighed at the inevitability of life and death and brought his focus back to his self appointed task.

“Is that wise?” The whispered words wouldn’t have registered to a human, but Aric picked them out easily. Lana and Fynta stood across the room, heads together while they carried on a jerky conversation. 

Aric studied the women through the Force, keeping his meditative ruse while memorizing their patterns. Fynta stood out in the void, boiling magma beneath an eroding crust of self control. In contrast, Lana was a durasteel cage. There was an unprecedented power in the woman, and no way through the defenses that she’d meticulously cultivated. Had she not been his temporary ally, Aric might be tempted to search for a weak spot. As it stood, he could only handle the attention of one Sith at a time; Fynta occupied more than her share of his concentration. 

Even now, Aric felt the filament-thin strands of her essence reaching for him. They tangled around his thoughts like vines, always searching for access. Each dissolved with minimal effort, but there were more to replace them. Were it not so bothersome, Aric would have been impressed by Fynta’s ability to multitask. 

“No,” Fynta snorted as Aric dispatched another attempt to breach his shields, then lowered her voice. “But, I don’t see a choice. I can bribe, threaten, or torture every dock worker on Rishi, but until I know what to look for, it does me no good.”

Lana’s quiet said more than her words. “She would make a powerful ally, but dragging her into this mess might cause unforeseen complications in the Empire.”

The heavy sound of a hand against thick fabric made Aric jump. He peeked open one eye to find Fynta gripping Lana by the shoulders. “I’ll be vague, but Darth Nemesis is our best bet.” 

The name sent a chill up Aric’s spine. He’d been tasked with finding Nemesis three years ago when the woman’s reputation for unchecked violence had reached the Order. His palms itched with the need to act, but Aric calmed his breathing and listened while Fynta continued. “She doesn’t know I’m here, and I doubt she’ll want to once she does.” Her face split into a brilliant grin that made Aric uncomfortable. “Trust me.”

Rolling her eyes, Lana sighed. “Very well, but be sure that you aren’t followed.” Aric’s ears twitched with an unnatural buzzing, and his pulse increased before he could stop it. 

Just as quickly as it had begun, the hum settled back into silence. Aric sank into the stillness, eyes closed while his senses reached outward for movement on instinct rather than conscious thought. If not for the sudden spike of pain in his left temple, Aric wouldn’t have realized that a threat loomed over him. 

With a gasp, Aric’s eyes snapped open to find Lana studying him barely a foot from where he sat. Blinking, he searched the room for Fynta and found it empty. The pull at the corner of Lana’s mouth was the only indication that she suspected Aric had been eavesdropping. “Sorry, Master Jorgan, did I disturb you?”

Aric pushed to his feet, finding his corner smaller than he remembered when Lana didn’t give ground. Burying his irritation, he glared down at the woman. “Where is the other one?”

“Other one?” Lana’s head tilted, then she effected a soft laugh. “Oh, you mean Fynta. She stepped out for a moment. Don’t worry, she’ll return shortly.” 

Growling, Aric shoved past the Sith. Theron sat up and offered a quizzical look, made the connection between Aric’s temper and Fynta’s absence, then let out a curse. “Find her, Jorgan.” For her part, Lana’s casual acceptance never slipped, though Aric assumed she had a way of warning Fynta.

Aric snatched his cloak from the hanger by the door and stormed into the evening humidity without a word to the humans left behind. Once outside, he paused to take in his surroundings. Aric knew that he wouldn’t find Fynta’s Force trail. She’d proven herself adept at hiding it in the alleyway where he’d been ambushed, but he had her scent, and that carried well in the heavy air. 

Taking a few subtle breaths, Aric let the air wash over his sensory palette until something familiar registered. It was spice and blaster oil combined with the heat of a raging storm. He started in that direction, unsurprised when the trail led him to the docks. Concern settled in Aric’s stomach as he recalled Fynta’s threat against the people who worked there. She was searching for something, and Aric knew that a woman like Fynta would go to any lengths to get it.

A brisk wind ruffled the edge of Arics robes and brought the smell of salt and rain. He lost the trail, triggering a moment of dismay, until a door snapped open in the side alley. The cool air carried Fynta’s scent, along with greasy food, stale bodies, and bad ale. Aric found himself beneath a sign that read Den of Thieves. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Fynta had chosen such an aptly named venue to conduct her interrogation.

Aric waited for a patron to exit, then slipped through the gap into a dimly lit room that was smaller than expected. Instead of thumping music and rhythmic lights, the wood paneled walls carried a feeling of intimacy. A staircase at the opposite side advertised room prices and time limits, making it clear the sort of establishment Fynta had led him to. 

Before Aric could choose a direction, another door in the back slid open to reveal the path his quarry had taken. Ignoring the intrigued glances from the numerous females lounging around the room, Aric ducked his head and followed Fynta’s trail. He’d expected to be stopped, but no one barred his path. Perhaps once a customer left the establishment, they were no longer the owner’s concern. After all, credits spent in the back alley didn’t benefit the owner the same as credits spent upstairs.

Low voices and throaty laughter steered Aric away from the main street. He found Fynta and her prey in the shadows of a balcony, their bodies close together. Fynta held the man against the wall, hand splayed across his chest while her other worked out of sight. The couple was nothing more than a silhouette from Aric’s angle, two shades against a grey background.

The man grunted, and Aric ducked deeper into the gloom cast by the storm. He could leave and let Fynta have her way with what was sure to be a criminal. The man likely deserved whatever fate the Sith had planned for him once her task was complete. But, what if he’s not, a small voice sneered in the back of Aric’s mind. Could Aric leave this stranger to untold torture at the hands of a Sith simply for the sake of expediency? If he did, how did that make him different from his enemies?

“Ah,” The man laughed, though his breath wheezed with effort. “Easy there, I’m not a young man anymore.” 

Fynta did something that jarred her entire body, and the man hissed. Aric moved before he realized that he’d made the choice, a growl building in his throat before calling Fynta’s name. Both Sith and man went still at his approach with matching expressions of alarm, though likely for different reasons.

The atmosphere charged with an unnatural electricity, but the man pinned to the wall didn’t seem to notice. Angry tendrils snapped at Aric like whips through the Force. He pushed on, letting them deflect off of his shield while maintaining eye contact with Fynta. They communicated through body language and will, having reached the conclusion that neither would concede by the time Aric’s steps brought him even with the pair.

Pulling away from her mark, Fynta folded her arms with an expectant glare while the man cleared his throat. “You uh...you her handler?” 

With effort, Aric kept his eyes away from the human, a weathered old man with at least fifteen years on the woman he’d followed into the alley. Instead of answering, he focused on Fynta. “This is your brilliant strategy?” He could see the edges of rumpled clothing out of the corner of his eye, and forced his mind away from the implications. 

Though the man hadn’t seen it as torture, Fynta likely would have turned to that eventually. Sith had a reputation for using sex as a weapon. The endorphins released during such acts addled even the best mental defences, allowing Sith to slip into the minds of their victims and destroy them. Given the lack of arousal in her scent, Fynta had no intention of following through on whatever promise had lured the man there.

“Have you got a better one?” Fynta asked, unmoved by Aric’s scorn. Her defiance was tangible, bitter on his tongue as it pressed against his mind.

Sighing, Aric turned to the man, meeting wide, brown eyes, and added another layer of command to his voice. “You will give this woman the information she seeks, then go in peace.”

The man blinked, then wet his lips. “But, she ain’t asked me for anything yet. We was just negotiating price when—”

“Di’kut,” Fynta spat, cutting the man off. Her fist shot out before Aric could react. The man’s expression when slack, eyes rolling back in his head, then he crumpled into a heap against the wall. Fynta let out an irate snarl and shoved Aric hard enough to move him back one step. “You don’t think that was my first choice?”

“So your next best plan was to seduce him?” Aric felt a hint of defensiveness edge into his voice and batted it back down. “Crawl inside and gut the man’s mind while he thanked you for it?”

Fynta squatted next to the man, rummaging through his pockets while she spoke. “You’d rather it be painful?” 

It wasn’t a denial, and Aric grappled with a response that wouldn’t sound petulant. Fynta let out a cheer and rocked back onto her heels. With open arms, she gestured at the unconscious man. “Do me a favor, strip him.”

“What?” Aric’s protest fell on deaf ears as Fynta balanced the man’s datapad on her thigh while fishing the comm out of her pocket. A moment later, Agent Shan appeared in her palm.

“I need some advice on slicing a burner datapad.” Fynta set the comm on the ground next to Aric’s foot while she gave her attention to the stolen device. Huffing, the Sith turned the screen towards Shan. “Got any ideas?”

The spy’s gaze fixed on the unconscious man Fynta had set him in view of. “Is he dead?”

“That’s the Jedi’s fault,” Fynta replied. Her glare lifted to Aric, and he took a step away from everyone and folded his arms. He would not take the blame for the state of Fynta’s mark, nor would he debase himself by undressing the man for dubious purposes. 

Rolling her eyes, Fynta steered the conversation back on task. “He’s fine, now can we move this along?” She tapped a finger in the corner of the screen to drag Shan’s attention to where she wanted it. 

While Theron and Fynta discussed the finer points of slicing, Aric watched the older man’s chest rise and fall with the peaceful rhythm of sleep. Fynta had moved before even Aric’s honed defenses could register the threat. He recalled the way she’d struck in the alleyway, with viper-like speed and a precision that raised chills along his spine. Despite her casual persona, Fynta Wolfe would be a dangerous foe. 

“Finally,” Fynta growled, and Aric nearly missed the datapad that Fynta tossed to him. He fumbled the device for three terrifying seconds before finally securing it in his grasp. For her part, Fynta carried on without acknowledging his almost slip. “Regi here is a foreman for the unregistered dock system. Since you’re so squeamish, I’ll do the grunt work, and you can dig through his files.”

Aric gripped the datapad in front of him like a shield. “Why are you—” Fynta snapped her fingers and pointed at the device without looking up. With a grumbled curse, Aric complied. 

The burner device held little by way of personal identification, which Aric assumed was the point. There were several notes about meeting places and times scrawled in shorthand that gave no indication of what they were for. If Regi didn’t wake soon, he’d miss the next one. Another file flashed images on the screen that Aric backed out of as soon as he opened them, deciding that he would not find the information Fynta sought there. He had just located the information on several docks hidden in the jungle when Fynta started on the man’s trousers. 

Curling his lip, Aric initiated the transfer to his personal device and dropped the burner next to Regi. “Can’t leave the man with some dignity?” Fynta had torn the buttons from his shirt and left it hanging open, one boot tossed across the alley.

Fynta chuckled, closed her eyes, and pressed the tips of her index and middle finger to the center of Regi’s forehead. The man groaned, twitched in his sleep, then puffed a few breaths in quick succession. Fynta’s eyes popped open and she smiled. “There. He’ll wake with a smile on his face. Did you get what we needed?”

“Yeah,” Aric answered, frozen between fascination and horror. “What did you—”

Fynta interrupted the question that Aric wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to. “Come on. That took longer than expected and a storm’s blowing in. We need to reach these points before it blows over.” She grabbed the sleeve of Aric’s robe and hauled him down the alleyway without a backward glance at her victim. He followed in a state of shock. The thought of pulling away from her didn’t occur to him until they broke onto the main boardwalk.

Yanking his arm free from the woman, Aric glanced up at the sky. Angry clouds swirled overhead with the promise of natural violence. Thunder rolled closer with each wave that struck the boardwalk, and the smell of sweat and body odor had been replaced by the scent of foreign wind. The first spatter of rain struck Aric between his eyes, and he lifted the hood of his robes to protect him from others. “What do you mean, wake with a smile?”

Fynta turned an infuriating grin on Aric, one that left little doubt in his mind what she’d done, only, he didn’t know how. Reaching out, Aric searched for untapped potential that she could have hidden from him earlier, but all he found was a void in the center of the maelstrom.

“Nice try,” Fynta laughed, turning his advances away with ease. The woman lifted her face into the misting rain and drew in a deep breath. The sound when she released it got caught between amusement and resignation. “Come on, Jetii, I need to make a call.”

Rishi Raider’s Cove Hawker’s Alley

The peels of thunder grew closer together, and the wind strengthened by the time Fynta and Aric crossed the boardwalk. The Cathar glanced at the sky, then huddled deeper into his hood. “Will this take long?”

A steady mist had begun to slick Fynta’s hair to her face. She clawed the tie off her wrist and pulled the damp strands back for some relief. “Afraid you’re going to melt?” Aric’s cold eyes glowed with annoyance from the depths of his cowl. Sighing, Fynta looked for a respite and settled on a covered alcove. With a shove, she moved Aric under the awning and crowded in behind him. 

Between the two of them, there was barely room to shelter from the rain. Fynta wedged herself between Aric and the wall, then fished her comm out of the pocket jammed against his hip. When Aric started to protest, Fynta pressed a finger against his lips. “Not a word, or you’ll get us both killed, understand?” She shouldn’t make this call with a witness, but the Cathar had proven troublesome to shake. Besides, if matters went the way she expected, Aric might benefit from the information.

Fynta took the Cathar’s narrowed eyes as compliance and dialed a frequency that she wasn’t supposed to know. Usually, Fynta tried to avoid direct contact with Ucevi’s associates, especially when they veered into the murky status of friendship, but this was an unprecedented circumstance, and Fynta didn’t have time to traverse the normal lines of communication. Hopefully, the Sith Blooded woman would understand.

The combination of Fynta and Aric’s breath warmed the small space. He shifted, pressing her elbow deeper into a surprisingly firm stomach. Fynta found herself distracted by the movement, noticing the places where she could feel the heat of Aric’s body against hers between armored plates.

“This had better be important.” Red eyes blinked in the bright light from her holo, and Fynta scrambled to remember the reason for her call. 

“Forgive the hour, Darth Nemesis.” Fynta had neglected to factor in the time difference between Dromund Kaas and Rishi, but it was her counterpart’s reaction that gave her pause. Lightning flashed in Aric’s eyes as he stared at the Chiss in Fynta’s hand. She brushed his consciousness and found the recognition that she’d dreaded. Jedi Master Aric Jorgan knew who Darth Nemesis was, and Fynta had just introduced them.

Elenora yawned, tucking a strand of pale hair behind her ear while gesturing for Fynta to continue. Taking a breath, she crossed a line that there hadn’t been time to draw. “I understand that you are the closest thing Darth Nox has to a political rival. I’m in need of any intel you might have.”

The change from half asleep to fully alert was visible as Elenora sat up and tugged on a robe. “Does Grandmother know that you’re calling me?” There was a note of suspicion in the Sith’s voice, and Fynta let her eyes lift to Aric for the briefest moment. She hoped it was enough confirmation for the woman to understand that they weren’t alone.

“This is time sensitive,” Fynta answered. She felt Aric’s chest expand against her arm, then his breath on her cheek when he exhaled. Chills erupted on Fynta’s skin, heightened by the cold wind that whipped through their shelter.

“So, that’s a no.” The Chiss rolled away from the camera. Fynta fought down the vertigo that came from being carried while not actually moved. Within minutes, Darth Nemesis was seated at what Fynta assumed was her desk with datapad in hand. “I’d heard that you were on special assignment. What can I do for you?”

Though the nature of their relationship was still cloudy, Fynta knew that Elenora spent time at the same organization that employed her. Given the way that Ucevi acted around the Chiss, Fynta assumed they shared a bond that went beyond simple politics. She had never been curious enough to ask, and spying on the woman who had saved her life went against Fynta’s personal code.

“I’ve got a lead.” Fynta wasn’t sure how much Ucevi had shared about her time on Rishi, so she wouldn’t volunteer any information that wasn’t pertinent. Whatever conclusions that Elenora drew would be limited only by her imagination. “I need information, namely about any habits or weaknesses that might prove useful. Travel methods too, if possible.”

A single, white brow lifted. “An interesting request.” Elenora made the comment as if they were discussing dinner plans that neither intended to keep. For one terrifying moment, Fynta wondered if the woman would refuse her.

Darth Nemesis wasn’t the average Sith, even by the standards that Fynta knew. She was soft, kind, and the image of fairy-tale royalty. It didn’t take much to picture the regal Chiss on a throne of pillows, surrounded by beautiful servants with a delicate tiara atop her mass of pale curls. And yet, Fynta had heard the woman speak, and knew the authority in her voice. Elenora was a leader who could incite movement within the Empire. That, along with Ucevi’s endorsement, had been enough for Fynta.

When Fynta didn’t offer more detail, Elenora’s other eyebrow joined the first. “You’ve found him.” It wasn’t a question, so Fynta didn’t answer. Tapping on her datapad, Elenora nodded. “Very well, I’ve sent you the most recent report from my spies within his employ. They can’t get close, nor will I ask them to, but perhaps you can find something helpful in it.”

Fynta’s datapad chimed, and she released a careful breath. “You have my thanks. Wish me luck.”

The other woman tipped her head, a single ringlet frozen mid-fall in the split second between the call disconnecting and Elenora’s image flickering out of existence. Fynta tucked the holo away, then twisted to retrieve her datapad. Aric grunted when her arm bumped him, but Fynta ignored it and scrolled through Elenora’s report. It was less than half of what Fynta had hoped for, but there were mentions of three different ship models, an observation of a limp in the morning and after he’d sat for long periods, and a bare bones description of the weapons Nox favored. It would have to do.

“It’s not much, but…” Fynta turned the device around for Aric to read, holding it close enough that the Cathar had to lean back to focus on the words. If they were going to work together, there was no point in hoarding information. “If any of these ships are still here, they’ll be at one of Regi’s secret docks.”

Aric’s gaze shifted from Fynta’s screen to her eyes, and she felt his trepidation like a punch to the stomach. They would need to discuss Darth Nemesis before long. Instead of voicing his concerns, Aric pressed closer to Fynta until they were chest to chest. He fumbled his personal device from beneath his robes. After swiping across the screen a few times, Aric pointed to the map they’d stolen from Regi. “Only a few of these fit the requirements for the type of ships on that list.” Aric rubbed his chin, then poked one of the points to enlarge it. “This has the clearest escape route.”

“Works for me. And look, there’s a break in the rain.” Fynta started to squeeze past the Cathar, but he held her back. Strong fingers gripped her upper arm in a way that might have been painful if not for the beskar weave in her armor.

Fynta tensed as her back pressed against the wall with Aric’s body blocking her escape. His eyes added to the chill of the wind. “How do you know Darth Nemesis?”

“How do you?” Fynta countered, jerking away from Aric’s grasp. It shouldn’t surprise her that the Jedi Order had a list of Sith Council members and its hopefuls, but the fact that Aric knew of Elenora on sight didn’t bode well. Folding her arms, Fynta pressed her lips together and lifted a brow.

Aric’s jaw worked, his eyes searching Fynta’s face while his signature cold surrounded her shields. He pushed, sending a spike of pain down her neck that she hoped didn’t show on her face. Eyes narrowed, Aric straightened and inhaled, nostrils expanding far wider than necessary for a normal breath. At last, the Cathar spoke. “She’s a person of interest to the Order.”

This time, Fynta grabbed Aric’s arm when he started to turn. “Is she one of your marks?” There was a note of concern in Fynta’s voice that she hadn’t been able to hide. Aric glanced down at her, his sealed lips answer enough. 

Fynta shook her head. “You don’t want to do that, Jedi. Nemesis is one of the decent ones.” Fynta stopped short of calling Elenora good for the sake of reputation. She went by that moniker for a reason. No matter the cost, Fynta couldn’t let Aric complete his task. 

The Cathar snorted and stepped into a stray beam of sunlight that had broken through the ceiling of cloud. “Clearly, you don’t know her that well.” Fynta jogged to catch up while Aric began ticking of Nora’s sins on his fingers. “Debaughtery, murder, sedition, betrayal...should I keep going?”

Fynta waved a hand. “Those are personality quirks.”

Aric stopped in the middle of the street, ignoring the curses of locals who scurried to their destination before the storm renewed its deluge. “Murder is not a personality quirk.”

“It is if you’re a Sith.” Fynta’s grin didn’t affect the Cathar. He bared his teeth, then began walking again. Sighing, Fynta ran after him and fell into step. “Listen, these are Sith we’re talking about. Those are run of the mill traits that don’t phase Imperial citizens.” And all lies. While Fynta didn’t boast the same social status as Elenora, she knew that the Sith in question wouldn’t commit any of those crimes. Not in the sense that Aric assumed. They were a smoke screen to make her appear powerful in the Sith political circle. 

The Cathar didn’t answer, and Fynta made a mental note to derail any potential leads he had on Darth Nemesis. Granted, not even she knew where the Chiss lived, but there were other ways to distract a hunter. “Why is the Order so interested in Darth Nemesis?” 

Thunder rumbled again, and Aric spared the sky a grimace without answering Fynta’s question. The smaller swells preceding the main storm front were growing closer together. “We need to get going if you plan to use this for cover.” He gestured above them, then hunched deeper into his robes and trudged ahead, splashing through the water that had already gathered on the street. 

“Fine,” Fynta called after Aric. “Keep your secrets.” If there was anything she could do well, it was uncover things others wished to keep hidden. In time, Fynta was sure that she’d break the frustrating Cathar. Until then, she had a different Darth to kill. 

Rishi Western Shoreline Unmarked Starship Dock

Fynta kicked the zealot over with a growl and angled her blaster at the man’s face. He’d fought to cover his comrades' escape and had taken wounds that would be fatal no matter how quickly aid reached him. “Where is Darth Nox?”

Dark brows furrowed, and Fynta’s attention was momentarily drawn to the blood that frothed between the man’s lips when he answered. “What do you want with that—” his words cut off with a ragged cough that popped one of the larger bubbles and produced a red tinged phlegm that the man spit into the grass. “That old lunatic?”

“That’s my business.” Fynta knelt, putting pressure on the dying man’s chest. He wheezed a curse, but the determination in his eyes never wavered. The muzzle of her blaster dented the skin at his temple. “Last chance.”

When the man’s lips squeezed tighter, Fynta’s hand came back in an arcing blow. Aric grabbed her wrist before it could fall. “That’s enough.” The disapproval on those stern features shouldn’t bother Fynta, she wouldn’t let it.

Aric stumbled forward when Fynta jerked away, rising to jab an angry finger at the dying man. “Think you can do better? Be my guest.”

Aric waited for Fynta to move away from their prisoner, then squatted next to him. “Do you know where that shuttle was bound?” His fingers splayed across the still weeping hole in the man’s chest.

“Hope you plan to wash that later,” Fynta snarked and folded her arms, watching the leathery pads of Aric’s fingers sink deeper into the crimson pool. She felt the Force leave Aric and enter the man, gathering around the wound.

A shudder shook the pirate, and he managed a deep, smooth breath. Drawing himself onto one elbow, the man gathered an impressive glob of pink saliva. Aric should have seen it coming, Fynta had, but the Cathar jerked back with a snarl when it struck his cheek. With a ragged chuckle, the man leaned closer. “I hope the emperor eats you fir—” Fynta didn't remember drawing her verpine or deciding to pull the trigger.

Aric fell back onto the sodden vegetation, jaw agape and eyes fixed on the dead man. When he turned a questioning glare on Fynta, she shrugged and slammed the weapon back into her holster. “He wasn’t going to talk, and I’m tired of standing in the rain.”

It had been easy to forget about the raging storm during the heat of battle, but now, cold torrents of ocean spray and rain washed away the vestiges of Fynta’s adrenaline. She offered the Jedi a hand up, then stomped towards the speeder once he was on his feet. Nox was gone, and had been for nearly three hours by the time she and Aric had raided the docks. The entire day had been a waste, leaving Fynta soaked, cold, and furious.

“Let’s just get back.” Fynta threw one leg over the hoverbike and waited for Aric to mount his. Without speaking, she kicked the bike into drive and sped along the beach towards Raider’s Cove. With each mile, rage boiled hotter in her veins. Nox had been on Rishi, an hour away from their safe house, for at least a week. She hadn’t felt his presence, nor had she been able to track him through the Force. It ranckled further that he’d likely known she was near, and predicted her path with terrifying precision. 

By the time Fynta and Aric reached Raider’s Cove, her mood was foul enough that only a stiff drink would serve as decent company. When Aric turned onto the side street to reach their safe house, Fynta continued straight, masking her Force signature and hoping that the stinging rain would erase her scent. She pulled up to the cantina where she’d met Tama the morning before and left the speeder by the door. She no longer cared if it went missing.

Inside, the warm smell of boiled wara nuts filled the room. A droid chirped at Fynta as it scuttled around her feet, mopping up the water that she dripped onto the floor. The bouncer, a heavy set Devaronian lifted a brow and folded his arms. “Looks like you could use a place to freshen up.”

“How much?” Fynta had enough, but she enjoyed the back and forth of haggling. There was something exhilarating about beating a man with words instead of her fists; sometimes.  

A salacious smile curled the corners of his mouth. “We could work something out.”

Laughing, Fynta patted the large bicep and lifted her hand towards the wall behind his station. “I’ll pay full price.” A key card detached from the wall and slapped into her palm. Fynta offered an innocent grin, then started for the door that led to guest accommodations in the back.

The room Fynta had chosen wasn’t the worst that she had slept in, but she’d hoped for more. There was a closet sized fresher with dubious stains on the wall and inside the shower. The beds likely were infested with bugs, but she could drive them out easily enough. Lightning circled Fynta’s fingertips as she charged the air, sending all manner of vermin scurrying towards the window. 

Once satisfied that her room was as good as it could get, Fynta unzipped the front of her beskar weave armor and let it slide from her shoulders with a groan. Water pooled around her feet on the durasteel floor, so she shucked her boots and pants as well. Thanks to the quality of her armor, the kute that she wore beneath was relatively dry. It hugged her curves in a way that wouldn’t be acceptable on Dromund Kaas, but Fynta didn’t think that a few raggedy pirates would mind.

Fynta avoided the mirror while she wrestled with the damp strands of her hair until it had been put back to rights, squeezing rain from it as she walked. The droid waited outside Fynta’s room, then rushed inside as soon as her door opened. Its sibling followed her back into the cantina, humming while it cleaned up the last of her footprints. 

Signaling the publican, Fynta eased onto the stool and let her muscles relax. The man, a Twi’lek with green skin and a bright smile, stopped in front of her. “Looks like you’ve had a hell of a day, what can I get you?” His baritone voice washed over Fynta, wrapping her mind in a warm blanket of devilish intent. 

“I don’t suppose you carry any...exotic flavors?” Fynta’s fingers flashed in a sequence that the barkeep would recognize, or not. 

With a tip of his head, the Twi’lek bent beneath the bar and returned with an opaque bottle that Fynta hoped was Tihaar. As he poured, the man continued in a carefully conversational tone. “Haven’t had one of your kind in here in a while.” He set the glass in front of Fynta, but didn’t leave. “What brings you into town?”

Fynta had heard rumors of other Mandalorains on Rishi. Some even claimed that there was an established clan somewhere in the jungle. She accepted the drink, lifted it to her nose, and let out a throaty hum that made the barkeep’s lekku twitch. Tossing the drink back, Fynta shoved the glass at him for a refill. “Just passing through.” She watched his hands as he poured, long, tapered fingers deftly measuring the perfect amount with practiced ease. She met his lavender eyes, her fingers brushing his as she took the glass from him. “I don’t suppose you know of a way for a girl to unwind around here, do you?”

The Twi’lek’s gaze darkened. “My shift ends in a couple of hours. I, uh, might be able to think of something.”

Fynta lifted the glass to her lips, holding the barkeep’s attention while she drank. “Leave the bottle. It can keep me company until then.”

The man chuckled, then turned to the call of someone down the bar. Fynta poured herself another round, giddy with the anticipation of what promised to be a good time. She could blow off some steam, then report back to Theron and Lana in the morning, loose limbed and relaxed. The Tihaar warmed Fynta’s chest on the way down. Until, it didn’t. The chill that swept through the room didn’t appear to register with the other patrons, and Fynta realized why moments before Master Jorgan slid onto the stool next to her.

“Haar’chak,” Fynta sighed. “You’re one tough bastard to shake.”

“Is this your plan?” Aric asked when the Twi’lek winked at Fynta. Master Jorgan curled his lip and continued without looking at her. “Drink and fuck your way through Rishi?” 

Fynta poured another deliberate shot, then turned her bemused smirk on the Cathar. “You had a better idea?” She gestured down the bar to the broad back and narrow hips of the publican. “Because from where I’m sitting, that looks like a hell of a lot more fun than listening to Theron and Lana bitch about missed opportunities.”

A low growl bubbled up Aric’s chest, but before he could scold her, Fynta held up her hand. “You like whiskey, right?” She knocked her knuckles on the bar and signaled for a shot of the Corellian that she’d delivered to Aric earlier. The Twi’lek tipped his head, and Fynta didn’t miss the disappointment in those pale eyes when he registered Aric’s proximity. Just like that, Fynta’s evening plans evaporated.

“How did you...” Aric’s question trailed off, replaced by the deep inhale of a man who’s reached a conclusion. “Damn it, that was you in the bar yesterday.”

“You’re quick, Jetii.” Fynta reached for the bottle of Tihaar, then hesitated when the room shifted. She took a steadying breath when the publican arrived with Aric’s whiskey. “My friend here is looking to get out of the rain. Got a place for him?” Perhaps she could still salvage the night if she bribed Aric with room and board.

The Twi’lek shook his head, and Fynta registered the same resignation in his posture that she felt. “Afraid not. You got the last. Smugglers have the run of the town tonight. They’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” Aric answered, reaching for the glass of whiskey. He waited for the man to leave, then looked back at Fynta. “Looks like he’s moved on.”

“Yeah,” Fynta muttered, saddened by the knowledge that she’d regret letting him slip through her fingers. Still, at least she could have some fun. “Guess you’ll have to take his place.”

Aric tensed, but he didn’t display any other signs of discomfort. “I was thinking of something else, actually.” Fynta lifted a brow and propped one elbow on the bar to rest her temple against it. He took another sip before continuing. “Why don’t you tell me more about Darth Nox.”

“Better idea.” Fynta pushed from the bar, dropping extra credits on the counter as an apology for their ruined plans. “Why don’t we get a shower and discuss this in the privacy of my room.”

“Isn’t that what the safe house is for,” Aric asked, though he followed nonetheless. 

Fynta chuckled. “The safe house is full of spies.” She felt Aric’s mind press against hers and glanced over her shoulder to find the Cathar’s gaze focused on her ass again. After his condemnation of her chosen leisure time, Fynta couldn’t stop the huff of laughter that accompanied his persistence. “See anything you like?”

“What sort of weapons are those?” Aric asked without acknowledging Fynta’s question. 

Stopping, Fynta looked down at the chakram hooked to her belt. She hadn’t meant to bring her weapons to the bar. Arming herself had become a habit, trained into her from the age of six when her mother had fashioned her first rudimentary knife. It had been nothing more than a sharpened stone, but it had been hers. “That’s what you’ve been staring at?” 

“I didn’t get a decent look at them before.” Aric’s head tilted, and Fynta wondered if the man had any idea how blatant his attention looked to an outsider. Slowly, his gaze lifted to Fynta’s single, raised brow. She could pinpoint the moment when he realized what she’d meant. The Cathar’s eyes widened, then his teeth flashed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sith.”

Fynta stretched her grin, wondering if Cathar could blush beneath their fur. In a rare act of self control, she opted to let the comment slide and unhooked one of the curved handles from her belt. “Help yourself,” Fynta offered, holding it out to Aric. He accepted, and she watched with fascination while the Cathar turned her weapon over in his hands. When he ran one finger along the inside, his claw caught on a barely perceivable latch. Fynta remained quiet while he worked it out.

Without looking up, Aric held out his free hand. “May I see the other one?” 

Scanning her card, Fynta unhooked the mate to the chackram Aric held and passed it over without a second thought. While she unclipped her belt, Aric found the matching catch, then fit the blades together to form a perfect circle. “This is what you threw at the acolyte on the dock?”

Of course, Nox had left his students behind. Young ones who barely had control of their own facial hair, much less the Force. Fynta had dispatched them like the others. As far as she was concerned, she’d done the kids a favor by ridding them of Nox’s control.

“Chackram,” Fynta answered, then took the weapon from Aric to demonstrate her preferred technique. With a little nudge from the Force, she could direct the weapon wherever it needed to go, and the design glided smoother than a traditional lightsaber. “It’s not safe to keep a burning circle of plasma near your body.” Fynta activated the blade, being sure to hold it away from Aric so that he wouldn’t perceive it as a threat. 

White light hummed to life around the outer edge of the chackram, forming a halo of death that could cut Fynta as easily as her target. “But, it has its uses.” With a flick of her wrist, they broke apart to become the curved handles she’d fought the Tonvarr pirates with. In this form, she could wield each the same way she would a dagger. “This is better for hand to hand, though.”

Aric nodded, folding his arms as he leaned one hip against the rickety desk in Fynta’s room. “Got to get in tight for those to be useful.” 

Deactivating her weapons, Fynta smirked at an innuendo that she didn’t have the energy to chase and set the weapons down next to her blaster. “Not usually a problem in my line of work. If someone’s too far away, well…” She patted the Verpine where it nestled in its holster, letting Aric fill in the blanks.

Fynta checked her gear, found it still damp, and rummaged in the closet for towels. “There’s two beds and a decent fresher. You’re welcome to both.” When she emerged, Aric hadn’t moved, his frigid gaze measuring in a way that Fynta couldn't interpret. “What?”

“Would you have really slept with that man?” Fynta sensed genuine curiosity surrounding Aric's question. 

“The barkeep? Without hesitation.” Fytna hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her kute and tugged them down her legs. It was nice to feel the air on her skin after days in the snug material.

As expected, Aric’s daring stopped at watching a female disrobe. He turned his back, hands on hips while he continued to question the door on the other side of the room. “Not him. The old pirate.”

Fynta paused with her shirt tugged up to her chin. “Regi? I guess. He was sweet, and I’ve certainly seen a lot worse.” She saw the tension in his shoulders and laughed while pulling her shirt completely off. “Easy, snowflake. I always have an escape plan. Besides, he used to be one of your lot.” 

“My lot?” Aric half turned, caught sight of Fynta’s state of undress, then snapped back around. “What do you mean?” 

“Regi was a Republic soldier, part of the Navy, I think.” Fynta hung her shirt over the back of the chair and wrapped the towel around her body. “His ship was taken by pirates about ten years ago and he made the best of a bad hand.”

Aric didn’t look back when he spoke again, and Fynta wondered if the Cathar would stare at the door all night if she crawled into bed and fell asleep. “What did you do to him before we left?”

Creeping forward, Fynta couldn’t fight the urge to tease the Cathar. She waited until she was nearly touching Aric’s back before whispering. “Would you like to find out?”

Aric jumped away, whirling to face her with one hand on his lightsaber hilt. Fynta grinned at the obvious struggle to keep his eyes on her face. With a soft laugh, she retreated to her side of the room to collect her underwear. “It’s a trick I learned from my old master. I can project brief images and vague sensations into the weak minded.” When she straightened, Fynta lifted one shoulder while hugging the fabric to her chest. “It felt wrong to promise him a good time, rob him, then leave him wanting when all he’d been was polite.”

Aric’s teeth flashed in an annoyed grimace that Fynta was beginning to appreciate. Now that she was somewhat covered, Aric relaxed back into his stance of crossed arms and desk prop. “You were going to tell me about this former master.”

Sighing, Fynta flopped onto the bed and lamented the shower that she still hadn’t gotten. “The fact that you don’t know his name, but you do Darth Nemesis, should tell you something. Nox is a council member, has been for too many years. The man wields powers considered perverse even among the Sith. He is unlike anyone you’ve faced before, Master Jorgan.”

“And he was your teacher?” Aric’s question gave Fynta pause. She’d expected the standard bluster of past Jedi. The assurances that he knew what he was doing and how to take down a Sith Lord. Fynta had silenced many such boasts by utilizing the skills that Nox had taught her.

“He was.” Fynta tugged at loose strands of cloth poking out from her towel. Even now, she hated talking about that man, as if speaking his name somehow gave him power over her. “I escaped nearly a decade ago. I imagine he’s only gotten stronger in that time.”

Aric lowered himself onto the opposite bed, forearms resting on the still soaked fabric of his pants. “He scares you.” The words were spoken without malice, but Fynta bristled all the same. When she looked up, the sympathy on those spotted features drew her up short. Aric held up his hands in a placatory gesture. “I meant no offense, but I’ve seen you fight, and I sense the emotions that he stirs in you. That tells me something about what we’re dealing with.”

Deciding that she wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this conversation, Fynta pushed to her feet and placed an order for more whiskey to be brought to their room. “I’m going to get a shower, make yourself at home or don’t, Jedi.” 

Fynta stopped at the fresher door, then looked back at her maybe roommate one more time. “There are fates worse than death. If Nox ever captures you, fall on your sword.”

[cinlat]

Whiskey and Tihaar: Rishi - Departure

Chapter One  |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

You can read it by following the above links (for better formatting), or below the cut (for lazy formatting).

This AU is purely self-indulgent. Most chapters will feature a mutual’s OC that they have graciously trusted me with. Everything about this universe is my excuse to play with Fynta and Aric in different roles and have them interact with all the original characters in this fandom that I’ve come to love. Thanks everyone!

Chapter Summary: Fynta and Aric finally have a plan, but it's not a great one.

Word Count: 6,901

Rishi Raider's Cove Safe House

When Fynta stopped in front of the dilapidated shack, Theron and Lana were talking to a tall, thin man with forgettable features. They stood in the street, apparently oblivious to the market opening around them, though Fynta knew it was a ruse. She waited for the unknown man to complete his business and vanish inside the safehouse before approaching Lana. "Making new friends?"

"Something we seem to have in common," Lana commented as Aric parked his bike next to Fynta's.

Lana rolled her eyes when Fynta didn't look chagrined at staying out all night. She'd slept well under a haze of alcohol and the strange, vibrating snores of her roommate. Fynta hadn't expected Master Jorgan to still be in her room when she got out of the shower, or that he would have polished off half of the whiskey in that short time. She'd snatched the bottle back, and they'd shared drinks in silence until Aric announced that it was his turn for the fresher.

While her Jedi companion peeled off his soiled armor, Fynta crawled into bed to enjoy the view. She must have drifted off at some point, because when Fynta woke, it was to the blinding light pouring out of the fresher, and the silhouette of Master Jorgan rummaging through his clothing with nothing but a towel around his hips. Though Fynta didn't remember much else about the evening, that image stood out in delightful clarity.

When Aric switched off the engine of his bike, Lana blew out a breath and leveled them both with a disapproving glare. "You're late."

Lifting a shoulder, Fynta watched the Cathar swing one leg over the seat, impressed with his ability to keep his robe from getting tangled. "I got a room and some drinks to cope with the loss."

"It smelled like piss," Aric commented while he dusted his hands on his robes. "Shan inside?"

The lines in Lana's brow deepened. "Yes, awaiting your return." Aric nodded and stalked through the still open door. After he was gone, Lana spun on Fynta. "Have you forgotten that he's a Jedi?"

Fynta offered an innocent shrug and left the Sith to draw her own conclusions about the previous evening's activities. Inside, Theron and Aric stood in the far corner, with the former gesturing wildly while the latter wore a concerned expression. Their eyes met, and Fynta felt a chill resonate through her mind and down her spine. She acknowledged the Cathar's attempt to breach her defenses with a grin and went to the readout where Theron kept all of his plans. Most of them were crap, but every now and then, one showed promise.

The stir of air warned Fynta of an approach half a second before Aric's breath settled on her neck. "Shan's pissed, how's your Sith?"

Fynta repressed the desire to lean back, knowing that if she shifted just a little, it would put her into contact with the firm torso that she'd glimpsed the night before. "Lana's harmless." Aric's snort ruffled Fynta's hair, and she chuckled. "Well, mostly."

"If you two are quite done." Fynta and Aric turned as one to find the Sith in question standing at the holotable. The tall figure next to her wore a blank expression that made it difficult to commit anything about his features to memory. It was then that Fynta realized who he must be.

Aric spared Fynta a glance, his face close enough that she could see the tip of one canine poking through his lips, then stepped away. Fynta's heart beat out an unusually high rhythm that she attributed to being so near a predator. "What's the plan?" It was a relief that her voice didn't shake.

"Good question," Theron answered as he leaned over the table, his gaze settling on the man that Fynta assumed must be the infamous Cipher Nine. Gathering her wits, Fynta joined them and positioned herself opposite the intelligence agent. Theron, having given up pressuring intel out of Lana with his glare, tapped on his datapad to pull up the information from Aric's armor camera. "As far as we can tell, the man you found was telling the truth. Nox left the planet long before we found his hideout."

Fynta quashed a surge of rage before it could ripple through the rest of the room. Aric lifted a brow from his position across the table, and Fynta looked away. She didn't need the Jedi's cool gaze to inform her that anger wouldn't change the past. Still, she wanted to crush something, and that likely translated through their odd game of mental tug of war.

"There is something else." Lana's matter-of-fact tone made Fynta's stomach tighten. While it might be difficult for others to tell, she'd spent enough time with the woman to sense when there was a cause for concern. Lana took control of the table and brought up the images of three other Sith, two of which Fynta recognized through Ucevi's organization. "In the last twelve hours, I've lost contact with three of my allies."

Fynta paced a short line in front of the table, two steps to the left, then an equal number to the right. "I know those two." The Sith Blood and Rattataki weren't just Lana's allies, they had dealings with the organization that Fynta worked for. Politicians as far as she knew, but Fynta tried not to look too closely at Ucevi's contacts.

"I thought you might," Lana admitted, carefully avoiding what Theron and Aric wanted to hear. The cipher agent, for his part, looked unimpressed. "I've spoken with Grandmother, these disappearances aren't by coincidence. They are a warning."

"A warning for who?" Aric asked, though Fynta could tell that he already knew the answer. When neither she nor Lana spoke, the Cathar sighed. "Right, so, how do we find him?"

Lana's shoulders straightened, and Fynta prepared to settle in for a long debate. "This is no longer your concern, Master Jorgan. While I appreciate your aid, this is an internal Sith problem. We will handle it."

Without taking his eyes off Fynta, Aric continued as if Lana hadn't spoken. "The way I see it, if this bastard's half as bad as you say, going alone is a suicide mission." His head tipped to one side. "You looking to die, Sith?"

Fynta let Aric's advance flow over her shields, invigorated by the fluidity of his presence against her mind. "Who says that I'd be alone?" Lana harrumphed, but didn't interfere. Theron stood in Fynta's peripheral, straining like an akk pup at the end of his leash for a chance to jump into the conversation.

Folding his arms, Aric nodded at the display. "I'm guessing those guys were powerful." Fynta lifted one shoulder, and he continued. "I figure he'll know you're coming, so you've lost the element of surprise. He trained you, so he knows how you operate. But, he doesn't know me."

No one spoke while Fynta examined Aric's proposal. She considered every option from using the Jedi as a shield to get past the guards, to outright denying his help. Granted, Aric would probably search anyway. In the short time that they'd spent together, Fynta had learned that Jedi Master Aric Jorgan was relentless when it came to a hunt, not unlike herself.

Finally, Lana sighed. "He has a point."

Fynta dropped her shields and let Aric's mind flood hers. The Cathar sucked in a breath, lurching forward to grip the table as if she'd kicked one of the supports from beneath him. He poured through her emotions like water, dousing the rage that Nox's escape had left while inundating her with an earnest desire to destroy the evil that plagued his galaxy. In that second of contact, Fynta felt righteous anger, a solid resolve, and an urge to be useful so powerful that it nearly drowned her.

In return, Fynta revealed a glimpse of herself. She showed him fury and darkness, followed by an indomitable will to destroy the man who'd tortured her. It was a warning as much as an invitation. When his consciousness began to flounder, Fynta bundled everything that was Aric Jorgan into a ball and ejected it from her mind. When the moment shattered, Jedi and Sith leaned against the table, panting and shaken.

Theron looked between them. "What just happened?" A single, manicured brow twitched on the cipher's impassible features.

"What did you do?" Aric snarled, showing his fangs this time. His arms shook where they supported his weight against the table. "And how did you—" the rest of the sentence trailed off as his eyes widened. Master Jorgan had reached a conclusion, though Fynta couldn't be sure of what it was.

"Are you satisfied?" Lana asked as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Exhaustion dragged at Fynta's senses, but she forced herself upright to conceal her weakness. Aric had been—more—than Fynta expected. He hid a wealth of emotion beneath the placid shell of a Jedi Master, and Fynta had almost succumbed to the weight of it. She'd need to be more careful about allowing his mind to touch hers in the future. Fynta had caught Aric off guard this time, but she doubted it would happen again. She couldn't afford to give the Jedi a foothold.

"Yeah," Fynta finally answered. Aric had regained his composure and eyed her with suspicion. Any sense of ease they'd developed in each other's presence had evaporated in that singular moment of exposure. Still, Fynta couldn't kill Nox on her own, and Master Aric Jorgan might have the stubborn will to make the difference. "I think he'll work just fine."

Rishi Raider's Cove Safe House

Aric started to leave, but the older of the two Sith women stopped him. "Theron no doubt wishes to speak with you, Master Jorgan, but please allow me a moment of your time, also."

With a cautious glance at Fynta, Aric nodded and folded his arms. He couldn't shake the sense of awe that settled in his guts like writhing parasites. Fynta had dropped her defenses so quickly that Aric had toppled into the gap before he could stop himself. Rage boiled around him with the intent to harm, but it was caged. Aric got the impression that all of that hatred and bitterness had been collected into a single point so dense that, if it ever escaped, it would tear Fynta apart. Around it circled a maelstrom of what could only be described as chaos. Fynta's thoughts swirled, creating currents that shredded Aric's focus to ribbons. He'd been left dazed and overwhelmed. Then, when he had been cast out, the world felt less vibrant.

Lana watched Aric, waiting until his mind cleared enough to function. She gestured for him to follow her outside, and Aric did so without hesitation. Sequestering them into an alley behind the safe house, Lana addressed the reason for her subterfuge. "I understand that you believe you are equipped for this task. I've seen your record, and it is impressive. You've made quite a name for yourself, weeding out my kin."

Aric started to speak, but Lana didn't give him the chance, even if he had known how to respond. "You don't reach Nox's age by happenstance. He's a brutal, clever, and brilliant strategist. Do not underestimate him, or you will suffer a fate worse than death."

"That's what I said," Fynta added as she stepped into the alley. The pungent smell of grilled meat made Aric's stomach growl. Waving a hand for Lana to continue, Fynta passed Aric a stick of something vaguely reminiscent of a wamp rat, then sucked the juices from her fingers.

Lana didn't acknowledge the food, so Aric took his cue from Fynta and tore a chunk of meat off. It was more flavorful than he expected, tender and seasoned with exotic spices that he'd never tasted. It took effort to focus on Lana's warning while trying to keep the grease from dripping on his robes. "That man you saw is Cipher Nine, yes, the one and same. According to him, Darth Nox has been busy."

Lana ushered Fynta and Aric further into the alley when a food cart passed too close. Her voice lowered. "This thing with Revan has been going on longer than any of us could have anticipated. Nox has already begun blocking my communication with contacts near the Dark Council. I haven't been able to warn allies about what is happening here."

Aric wasn't sure why Lana was sharing this in his presence, but he listened with no intention to stop her. Aric was positive that the Sith women were having a different conversation than the one he was hearing, but any intel might prove useful in the future.

"Nox will cut you off until there is no other choice but to expose your location. Then, he'll cut you down." Fynta's fury seemed to have resolved into a simmer while she chewed. The silence that followed left Aric with the uncomfortable sense that something important was happening beyond his understanding. Finally, Fynta shook her head. "Nox has everything he needs to reach the numbers that Revan requires for his sordid plan. He's not just a threat to the Empire, but the entire galaxy."

Fynta's conclusion jumped so far past what Lana had said that Aric forgot to feign indifference. "What are you—"

"I see you've already spoken to Cipher Nine." Lana pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezed her eyes shut, then took a deep breath. When she released it, some of the fatigue had faded. "This is priority one. Find Darth Nox and decommission him."

Instead of the smile that had snaked across Fynta's lips earlier at the prospect of killing her master, pensive lines appeared in her forehead. "That'll be a big job, and public. Here, we could blame it on pirates, hell, even the weather. If I actively hunt him…"

"I'm aware," Lana interrupted. "It's a risk we'll have to take. I've already informed Her and we are in agreement."

Aric didn't know who Her was, but she held sway with both women. Fynta nodded, shoulders relaxing as if the last obstacle to her goal had been removed. Lana glared at the ground, speaking through clenched teeth. "I understand what I'm asking of you, but I wouldn't trust this task to another."

Fynta nodded, licked her fingers, then tossed the empty stick into a trash bin that Aric hadn't noticed due to the garbage gathered on the ground around it. "It'll be my legacy, you know, once it's declassified."

Lana forced a tight smile, then squeezed Fynta's shoulder. "Good luck." She tipped her head to Aric before excusing herself from the alley.

When Lana had vanished inside, Aric turned his attention to Fynta. "What did she mean?"

Aric still had half his meal left, but the weight sitting in his stomach stole the rest of his appetite. He knew the answer before Fynta clapped him on the back. "I hope you've settled all your accounts, Master Jorgan. You've just joined that suicide mission."

-------------------------------

An hour later, Aric stood on an open air dock with his duffle slung over one shoulder and stared at the sleek silhouette of power before him. He whistled. "That's a hell of a ship."

"You like that, huh?" Fynta stopped beneath one wing and spread her arms when she faced Aric. The glow of pride would have been hard to miss even to a Force-null. Aric sensed a deep connection to this machine. Fynta continued, placing one hand against the gleaming hull. "Welcome to the Shereshoy, a modified Kom'rk-class fighter built for long space flight." Aric had heard of Kom'rk fighters before, though the location and time eluded him.

When Fynta joined Aric to admire her ship, he glanced down at her. "How do you keep the locals from stealing her?"

Fynta's smile pulled at the tattoo on the side of her face even though she didn't meet Aric's gaze. "Tricks of the trade, my friend." She started up the walkway and disappeared into the belly of the ship.

Aric waited outside, considering the wisdom of entering a Sith's personal domain on the promise that she'd behave from another Sith and a barely reliable SIS agent. If Fynta was to be believed, the odds of surviving the encounter with Darth Nox were slim. It was his last chance to turn back to Republic territory and seek guidance from the Council.

That was likely the wisest action, but a sense of urgency gnawed at the back of Aric's mind. Nox was dangerous, and Aric had a responsibility to see that this threat was ended. Unable to put it off any longer, Aric tugged the strap of his pack higher on his shoulder and took the first steps towards an unprecedented alliance.

As Aric cleared the main entryway, he found himself in a circular opening. Fynta stood at a workbench across the room with her back to him. His senses didn't warn of an impending assault, so he eased further into the room. It wasn't a luxury yacht, but Aric nodded his approval at the uncluttered shelves. Another dark room stood to one side, the cargo hold, he assumed. Aric could only guess what lay beyond the two sealed doors, and there was no denying the direction of the cockpit.

"This is a two-man flyer," Aric commented as he peeked into the small area where the pilot chairs waited. The naviconsole that sat between them looked like it had been added later. The weldings keeping it secured were fat and amateurish, but the seals appeared sturdy. Turning a steely gaze on Fynta, he reached out and found no one else aboard.

Fynta bent forward to unsnap her legplate. "I mentioned modified, right?" She gestured to the chair to Aric's left. "Make yourself at home. I'll have to put sheets on the other bed. I don't usually have the kind of company that needs it."

"What—" Aric snapped his mouth shut when he caught Fynta's meaning, then curled his lip. That's disgusting sat on the edge of Aric's tongue, but he swallowed it. No doubt remarks like that would only encourage the woman's poor behavior.

Fynta dropped her other leg plate on the pile of armor, then unzipped the side of the unusual top that Aric had noticed before. He wanted to ask what it was made of, and how a fabric so thin could be so heavy, but again found himself speechless when Fynta peeled it over her head. Aric turned his face away, but couldn't hide from Fynta's amusement.

"I hope you're not shy." Fynta's whisper startled Aric with its proximity. He hadn't heard her cross the room and spun to find—nothing. The Sith stood back at her work desk, shaking debris free of her armored shirt.

Aric swallowed and steadied his voice. "You'll have to try harder than that, Sith." To prove his point, Aric stared at the woman's bare back and folded his arms. "Simple mind tricks won't work on me."

Fynta glanced over her shoulder, laid the shirt aside, and stalked towards Aric. Her hips rolled in a manner that demanded his attention, but he kept his glare level with the woman's eyes. When the toes of Fynta's boots touched his, she smirked. "I love a challenge."

Before Aric could respond, Fynta spun on the balls of her feet and palmed open one of the sealed doors. Light flickered into being, illuminating four bunks built into the wall and crates stacked around to simulate furniture. The space had a domestic feel that the rest of the ship lacked. This was where Fynta spent her free time, he realized.

A holoscreen had been bolted to one wall in view of all four beds, and a collection of personal effects littered the crate tops: a hairbrush full of blonde strands, an expensive datapad that Fynta probably used for entertainment purposes and never left the ship, and a magnetic mug that contained a bittersweet smell that Aric picked up from across the room.

Fynta flopped onto the bottom bunk to the right of the door and waved for Aric to take his pick. He briefly considered the one above her for the benefit of privacy, but decided that the last thing he wanted after a hard fight with a Sith Lord was to climb into his bed. Decision made, Aric dropped his pack by the lowest bunk opposite Fynta's and opened the wall locker to rummage for bedding.

"Where's the fresher?" Aric sneezed when dust billowed from inside. He batted at the air, holding his breath until it cleared.

Fynta made no move to aid Aric, hooking a thumb back the way they'd come. "That other closed door. Just a sonic, I'm afraid. The only water on the ship is in the medical corner and for drinking. All rations are self-heating, no kitchen. But—" She held up a finger, folding the other hand behind her head. "I do have a caf maker."

"Thank the Force for small favors," Aric muttered. He'd never been big on caf, but might learn to appreciate it depending on how the sleeping arrangements went. Aric couldn't imagine himself drifting into a peaceful slumber while a Sith lurked in the shadows of the other bunk. A thought occurred to him, and Aric's fingers found the release for the privacy screen. The empty space shouldn't have surprised him. Aric cast an agitated grimace at his companion.

One of Fynta's shoulders lifted. "I got the Shershoy at auction. Never got around to replacing those since I'm the only one here. On the off occasions that I have guests, they either aren't here for sleeping, or family."

Sighing, Aric finally discovered a vacuum-sealed container labeled BEDDING in a barely legible hand and pulled it down. He released the seal to let fresh air into the bag and hoped the linens inside hadn't rotted. While he waited, the glint of metal drew his eye to the top shelf of his locker. Standing on his toes, Aric groped for what it might be.

The object was hard metal and circular. Aric tucked the tips of his claws into a groove and pulled. A helmet fell into his waiting hands, dark green with silver showing through battle scorched paint. Twisting it around, Aric nearly dropped the helmet when a T-shaped visor came into view. His heart thundered behind his ribs, and for a moment, Aric couldn't move. His vision tunneled on that familiar shape as long-forgotten fears surged to the surface.

"Everything okay, Jetii?" The final word stung like a slap when the pieces clicked into place. He'd hated Fynta's language from the first words she'd uttered. Now, Aric understood why.

Shershoy  Raider's Cove Landing Docks

"Everything okay, Jetii?" Aric was faster than Fynta could have imagined. She'd barely stood from her bunk, alerted by the ripple of fear through the Force, before her back slammed against the bulkhead. Spots danced in Fynta's vision. She heard Aric speak, but it wasn't until she felt the prick of claws at the sensitive skin of her throat that her senses returned.

Fynta's hand moved on its own, fingers gripping soft flesh that made the Jedi rise onto his toes. It had all taken less than a second for the two to become locked in an unwinnable battle.

Nostrils flaring, outage burned in Aric's eyes. Fynta squeezed, but the threat at her jugular didn't retreat. "Why do you have this," Aric snarled, voice strained, but powerful enough to vibrate the air between them.

Cool metal pressed into Fynta's cheek when he shoved her father's helmet close enough for Fynta to smell the dust that had gathered inside. Her fingers tightened, earning little more than a pained huff from the Cathar. Rage boiled inside Fynta. Not just at the indignity of being caught off guard by a Jedi, but his disrespect for something she held dear. Even so, she forced nonchalance into her tone and cut her eyes at the Cathar. "I could geld you with a thought."

Aric bared his teeth, fingers tightening to match Fynta's. "It wouldn't stop me from ripping out your throat."

Long moments passed while Sith and Jedi battled on multiple fronts. Any time Fynta touched Aric's mind, the pressure from the helmet against her face increased. The more pain splintering through her now bleeding cheek, the harder she squeezed. The tighter her fingers curled, the deeper Aric's claws sank into her skin. At this rate, they'd kill each other before takeoff, and Nox would win.

"It was my buir's," Fynta rasped through Aric's hold. "My father's." His fingers loosened only enough for her to suck in a pained breath. In return, Fynta relaxed as an offering of peace, but she didn't surrender her hold. After all, Aric was fully armored with a weapon, all Fynta had in her favor was a strong grip.

A flicker of uncertainty darted through Aric's eyes. "You're Mandalorian." The accusation hit Fynta like a bolt of lightning, leaving her dizzy with the unexpected onslaught of his betrayal. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. "A fucking Sith Mandalorian."

They stared at one another, wills clashing and bouncing off of shields that had been reinforced stronger than what camaraderie had softened. Finally, Fynta's let go. "Truce?"

Aric shoved away from Fynta hard enough that her head struck the wall. "You should have told me." He limped towards the door, chest heaving, but Fynta wasn't sure if it was from pain or rage.

Fynta rubbed at the new ache on the back of her skull, then checked her fingers for blood. Satisfied that she wasn't in immediate danger of a concussion, she did the same to her throat. Perfect, pinpricks of red dotted Fynta's fingers when she pulled them away, and she grimaced. "If you want to beat on someone, try Theron. I never hid my origins." She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek and winced when the skin pulled. Another smear of blood to add to her collection.

Aric jerked as if Fynta had slapped him, but Fynta ignored it and wiped her hand on her pants. "Damn it, Jedi. I didn't kill your planet, and I didn't invite you onto this trip. This whole cluster fuck was your idea, remember?"

Again, Aric bared his teeth, but the tidal wave of fury that Fynta had sensed earlier ebbed to the placid surface that he hid behind. It had been a valuable lesson, however: don't underestimate her companion's temper. Finally, Fynta sighed and pressed her fingers into her temples. "Look, either make your move or get over it. I don't have time for this osik." She pushed past Aric, angling for the cockpit. "If you want off, the airlock seals in fifteen minutes."

Fynta had just finished preflight checks when she sensed a presence behind her. "Got a knife?" She asked in a pettier tone than she'd been aiming for. Tingles raced along her spine in anticipation of the imagined blade, but she refused to give in to the inclination to look at him.

Slowly, Aric slid into the co-pilot's seat. "I come bearing gifts." A quick glance showed a tube of kolto in his outstretched palm. Fynta took that to mean that he'd accepted her terms, and they could move on with the mission without threats of disembowelment while she slept.

Fynta harrumphed, not ready to let go of her irritation, and lifted the Shershoy from the docks. They were well into hyperspace before Aric spoke again. "Does it hurt?"

This time, laughter escaped before Fynta could stop it. She swiveled the chair, looking at the Cathar for the first time since their altercation, and found a contrite expression that cooled her anger. She ran a hand down her face, then blew out a breath. "You shouldn't have found out that way. I'm sorry."

"Shan should have warned me," Aric agreed, his voice rumbling with agitation that he visibly swallowed. Lifting the kolto, he jutted his chin at Fynta. "May I?"

Grabbing the band from around her wrist, Fynta pulled her hair back and tipped her head to allow Aric access. She hadn't thought about the punctures until he'd brought them up, too annoyed by the turn of events. Now that she did, they felt like half a dozen bee stings.

Aric leaned forward. His fingers were warm even through the coolness of the gel. A shiver traced up Fynta's spine, but she repressed it. She stared at the ceiling while Aric smeared kolto along the column of her throat. He pulled in a long, slow breath, then let it out in a shaky huff. Fynta didn't know why, but the sound triggered a warmth deep in her stomach.

Aric cleared his throat. "What happened to him?"

Fynta could have pretended not to understand the question, but that felt petulant. She swallowed, feeling the increased pressure of Aric's touch briefly before she spoke. "He died when I was a kid. The whole damn clan, gone in a single night."

Aric's fingers stuttered, then pulled away. Fynta heard the cap threading back onto the tube, then the gently brush of fingertips across her damaged cheek. Once he'd finished, Aric sat back. "That how you ended up with the Sith?"

Stretching the muscles in her neck, Fynta lowered her jaw to stare into the Cathar's cold eyes. "No, that came a couple of years later." Aric opened his mouth, likely to ask for more information, but the navicomp chirped that their destination was near. Fynta thanked whatever deity might be listening for ending a conversation that she didn't want to have. "Share time is over. Time to work."

The Shershoy  Orbit around to Nar Shaddaa

Guilt gnawed at Aric for his loss of temper. The jagged row of pricks against Fynta's throat where his claws had broken the skin haunted him. He couldn't blame it on the Sith, not in the traditional way. He'd reacted to her breeding, a primal instinct that warned of a danger that went beyond traditional Sith versus Jedi.

Aric shoved the kolto into his pack and played back their conversation in the cockpit. It would take time to be sure if his peace offering had been accepted. Fynta might have been willing to bare her throat to his claws again, but there was little doubt that she had been prepared to defend herself. The dull ache in his groin was testament to her adaptive fighting style, at least. He'd need to remember that.

Lips curled, Aric released a snarl at Theron Shan. The man should have had more tact; a whispered warning that he was walking into a Mandalorian ship. Aric could almost forgive the oversight due to the chaos surrounding the chase for Darth Nox, but there had been downtime. Surely the galaxy hadn't forgotten what had happened to his homeworld already. His people still hadn't recovered, their numbers struggling to remain above the designation of endangered species.

Warmth flowed over Aric's shields, and he turned a moment before Fynta appeared in the doorway. "I'm bored, and it's a four-hour wait for a landing platform."

Aric's brow twitched upward. "Am I supposed to entertain you?"

"I had an idea." Fynta folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, ignoring Aric's snide tone. She eyed him with predatory scrutiny that made his pulse quicken. Against his better judgment, Aric reached out with all of his senses. The maelstrom that normally surrounded Fynta had calmed to a brisk wind. The air around her smelled of impatience, and pheromones unsurprisingly aroused. When they'd first met only a day earlier, that had distracted him; now, Aric realized it was simply a part of Fynta's nature.

When Aric didn't immediately refute Fytna's statement, she continued. "We've got some time to waste, a Sith Lord to kill, and air to clear. I propose a sparring match."

Aric had expected something similar, knowing what little he did of Mandalorians. They spoke with their fists, oftentimes brawls that left them bloodied and broken were ended with the laughter of friendship. The Jedi Council warned against responding to such situations when they broke out in cantinas. A Mandalorian most likely wouldn't harm civilian peacekeepers because they didn't pose a threat. Jedi, however, were a different story. Coming from a race trained from youth to kill Force users, it would be an irresistible temptation to test their skill.

"What did you have in mind?" Aric asked, though every instinct warned him to decline. He reached for Fynta's mind, trying to gauge her strength, and once again found it muted. Aric had seen her fight enough to know that what he felt wasn't the extent of her abilities. She'd learned to mask it, somehow. A handy trick, if he could convince her to teach him.

"Well, we could play this two ways. Option one: there are no rules, and we destroy each other before setting foot on Nar Shaddaa." Aric grimaced, and Fynta shoved away from the frame and stalked into the room. She stopped in front of him. "Or, we agree to limited Force use, no weapons, and minimal armor."

Aric considered Fynta's choices. She stood so close that he had to angle his face down to hold her gaze. A lot could still go wrong in a pressurized ship with even limited Force use. Especially, without knowing the extent of Fynta's control. "How about no Force use, weapons, or armor." He didn't fancy catching his elbow on the sharp corners of her leg plates.

The grin that spread across Fynta's face made Aric uneasy. He'd somehow stumbled into a trap without realizing that she'd set one. Fynta tipped her head, looking at Aric through her lashes. "Looking to set the odds in your favor?" Aric started to protest, but Fynta patted his cheek, startling him out of whatever it had been. "Very well, I accept."

Aric watched, unmoved while Fynta shoved crates out of the way. She grunted, then glared over her shoulder. "You could help."

With a twitch of his lips, Aric lifted one hand, the crate rising with it. Fynta cursed as she stumbled forward, then punched her hands into her hips until he'd cleared the floor. When the last crate settled into place, Aric dusted his hands. "Better?"

Fynta snorted. Aric barely had enough time to register the spike in adrenaline before she lunged across the deck. He staggered back, hand reaching for his weapon out of habit. Fynta gripped that wrist and spun Aric around so that his arm folded behind his back. He hissed at the strain on his elbow, and she laughed.

"You set the rules," Fynta chuckled, her breath warm on the back of Aric's neck. He hadn't removed his armor yet, assuming that he'd have time before the spar began. Not that it dismayed Fynta. Aric felt pressure at his hip, then the thigh plate surrounding his left leg fell away.

Aric growled and spun away from Fynta, losing his over robes in the process. Fynta flicked the fabric like a champion daring a bull charge. "Real Cute," Aric muttered as he bent to release the other leg plate, then collected both from the floor and set them gently on his cot. Turning, he faced his opponent. "Shall I remove my boots, or would you like the honors?"

Fynta's expression brightened, lips parting with what was likely a lewd suggestion. Aric cut her off. "Forget that I asked." Ignoring her pout, Aric seated himself on the bed and made a show of unfastening each buckle that held his shoes in place. Meanwhile, Fynta tapped her foot to an impatient rhythm.

When Aric had finally removed the last of his armor, he stood before Fynta's appraising gaze, uncomfortably aware of how closely his under armor hugged his body. Which in turn, reminded him of how little Fynta wore. Steadying his pulse, Aric walked into the middle of the floor and readied himself to face a Sith, a Mandalorian, without the aid of the Force or his weapon. Fynta checked her wrist where a chrono could be, then sighed. "Took you long enough."

Aric dipped his shoulder and rammed it into Fynta's stomach before the last word had left her lips. She grunted, lifting onto her toes and propelling herself into a roll down Aric's back. He spun in time to see the balls of her feet touch the deck. She took two steps forward, then rounded on Aric by the time he managed to close the gap. Fynta's elbow slammed into the crease between his neck and shoulder, sending bolts of pain through his arm and up into his ear. Aric grimaced and pulled away from her.

"Impressive." Fynta danced across the room, the light catching in her unnaturally blue eyes. "I like a man of action."

Aric tugged his sleeves higher and readied the muscles in his thighs for Fynta's attack. Even without the Force, he could sense the coiled energy inside her, the desire to strike. Out of habit, Aric let his mind expand beyond himself until he touched the only other life force in the room. Fynta's grin turned from playful to hungry. Aric caught the flashes of pale scars against tanned skin, a halo of blonde hair, and felt teeth skim along his collarbone.

Air rushed from Aric's lungs when his back hit the hard, durasteel floor. He blinked, dazed more by the sensations flooding his thoughts than the impact. Fynta loomed above him, teeth bared in triumph. "I win."

Cold realization struck Aric the moment Fynta's weight settled on his stomach. "You cheated," he snarled, shoving against the woman. She lifted her hands from where they pinned his wrists to the floor and sat back, allowing Aric to lift his torso. "The rule was no Force use."

"Was it?" Fynta's smile turned more innocent than it had any right to be. She rocked back, deftly avoiding Aric's groin to sit on his thighs. "I simply turned your attempt back on you. It's not my fault that your defenses were down."

"They—" Aric stopped himself before he could say too much. His defenses hadn't been down. Perhaps he hadn't been paying close enough attention to them, but Aric never let his shields down. It was as natural as breathing. Judging by the glint in Fynta's eyes, she knew that.

Aric shoved Fynta's knees until she rolled off of him. He wanted to dispute her claim, but couldn't think of an argument that didn't sound like an excuse. So, Aric took the loss and stood, brushing himself off and ignoring the way Fynta eyed him from the floor. He'd learned something valuable, but couldn't detail what it had been. If nothing else, Aric had found the topic of his next meditation.

Fynta groaned, and Aric glanced back. Her back arched off the floor in a stretch that was designed to ignite his desire. Taught muscle moved beneath bare skin in a beguiling way. Aric forced himself to look elsewhere while Fynta displayed her assets. He didn't return his attention to the Sith until he sensed her movement.

"Ready to go again?" Fynta asked with a casual ease that defied the rapid pace of Aric's heart. He hated the way she affected him, and yearned for the way it made him feel alive.

Aric bent his knees. His muscles were tight, twitching with anticipation. He had a better understanding of Fynta's style and strengthened the barriers to keep her thoughts at bay. Aric didn't know what the rest of this trip had in store for him, but one thing had become painfully clear. It wouldn't be boring.

Smiling wide enough to show his teeth, Aric crouched into a fighting stance. "Bring it, Sith."

[cinlat]

WIP Whenever

A lot has happened over the last two weeks, but I’ve had a chance to do a little writing in the last couple of days and figured I’d post a WIP for Whiskey & Tihaar.

I might have been tagged by people and missed it in all the chaos. If so, thank you for the tags. I’ll send a shout out to @sleepswithvillains @tishinada​ @dingoat​ @dimigex​ @starknstarwars​ @actualanxiousswampwitch​ and anyone else who would like a go.

Also, the next chapter will feature a guest appearance by @sleepswithvillains​ lovely blueberry, Elenora.

Fynta tensed as her back pressed against the wall with Aric’s body blocking her escape. His eyes added to the chill of the wind. “How do you know Darth Nemesis?”

“How do you?” Fynta countered, jerking away from Aric’s grasp. It shouldn’t surprise her that the Jedi Order had a list of Sith Council members and its hopefuls, but the fact that Aric knew of Elenora didn’t bode well. Folding her arms, Fynta pressed her lips together and lifted a brow.

Aric’s jaw worked, his eyes searching Fynta’s face while cold tendrils surrounded her shields. He pushed, sending a spike of pain down into her neck that she hoped didn’t show on her face. Eyes narrowed, Aric straightened. Fynta took a careful breath, only just realizing how close the Cathar had leaned. “She’s a person of interest to the Order.”

This time, Fynta grabbed Aric’s arm when he started to turn. “Is she one of your marks?” There was a note of concern in Fynta’s voice that she hadn’t been able to fully hide. Aric glanced down at her, his sealed lips answer enough.

Fynta shook her head. “You don’t want to do that, Jedi. Nemesis is one of the decent ones.” Fynta stopped short of calling Elenora good for the sake of reputation. She went by that moniker for a reason, but Fynta wouldn’t let Aric complete his task. Not with Elenora.

The Cathar snorted and stepped into a stray beam of sunlight that had broken through the ceiling of cloud. “Clearly, you don’t know her that well.” Fynta jogged to catch up while Aric began ticking of Nora’s sins on his fingers. “Debaughtery, murder, sedition, betrayal...should I keep going?”

Fynta waved a hand. “Those are personality quirks.”

Aric stopped in the middle of the street, ignoring the curses of locals who scurried to their destination before the storm blew in again. “Murder is not a personality quirk.”

[cinlat]

Whumptober 2021: Day 27

No. 27 - I’M FINE. I PROM… passing out | vertigo | collapse 

Characters: Sith Fynta/Jedi Jorgan Fandom: swtor Affiliated Fic(s):  Whiskey and Tihaar  &  Top Shelf  

Word Count: 334 Rating: T  

Fynta pushed strength into her muscles and tightened her grip around the Cathar. “Shab, you’re heavy.” A low rumble of irritation rolled through Aric’s body, vibrating where it pressed against hers.

They’d stumbled into a hive of colicoids, fell into, more like, and received a large dose of poison for their trouble. Fynta would have died had Aric not purged the fumes from her system, but in doing so, he’d neglected his own. Fynta suspected it was only the enhanced healing attributes of his species that kept him alive. Her foot hit something solid, and she tipped forward. Aric grunted when her weight landed on top of him, pale eyes rolling back in his head.

Fynta clambered to her knees, patting the Cathar’s face. “Hey, wake up, Jetii.” She slapped harder, adding a growl to her command. “Damn it, Aric, wake the fuck up. You are too fierfeking heavy too—”

Clawed fingers caught Fynta’s wrist on the downswing. “I’m fine,” he snarled, but his attempt to rise looked clumsy. He slipped once, then blew out a long breath and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Sure you are,” Fynta snapped as she slid beneath his arm. This time, the Cathar didn’t complain when she hauled him upright. She staggered beneath his weight, then managed to get them both into a hobbling walk.

Aric tried to keep pace, but his head lulled against Fynta. A chittering roar echoed from deeper in the tunnel, startling the Cathar awake. His nostrils expanded, then glacial eyes found Fynta. She read everything he didn’t have the strength to say in them. Something had caught their scent, something bigger than the creatures she’d already dispatched.

“Fuck me.” Fynta drew her blaster, shoved it into Aric’s hand, and hauled him onto her back. Her muscles tightened under the added load, warning Fynta that the noxious gas that filled the colicoid nest was affecting her again. “If we survive this,” she managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll never bitch about your aim again.”

[cinlat]

No. 9 - RUMORS OF MY DEATH HAVE BEEN GREATLY EXAGGERATED

.. . I'm not sure who other than Fynta . . . .

Thank you so much for the ask! I'm out of town, so this is a little rushed, but I wanted to make sure that I filled it before the end of the day. A sneak peek at a far future chapter of Whiskey & Tihaar.

Whumptober 2021: Day 9

Characters: Sith Fynta/Jedi Jorgan Fandom: swtor Affiliated Fics: Whiskey and Tihaar & Top Shelf

Word Count: 354 Rating: T

The laughter resonated in Aric’s chest. He tugged against his bonds, unaware of the agonized roar until it tore at his throat. The Sith tucked one finger under his chin, surrounding Aric with such an immense pressure of Dark Side energy that he cried out again.

“I appreciate your aid, Master Jedi.” The masked figure tilted its head, voice augmented by the speakers in its helmet to hide the gender. “Without you, we would have struggled to deal with that...pest.”

Aric jerked his chin away from the pointed claw at the end of the glove. He only remembered snatches; Fynta’s desperate shout, the rage flowing through his veins, and the feel of bone cracking beneath his fingers. Despair settled cold in Aric’s guts when he realized what the Sith meant.

Another chuckle rippled through the air as the Sith read Aric’s expression. “She trusted you. Silly little Sith.”

Aric’s vision blurred, eyes burning the tears that he didn’t understand. He didn’t see the lightning that arced around his body or the moment it struck the creature in front of him. It had been there one moment, then the stench of charred fabric filled Aric's senses. A guttural scream resolved into the writhing figure on the floor. Aric twisted, fighting down the hope swelling in his chest.

Fynta staggered forward, one hand extended while her shoulder braced against the wall. Her lips and left eye was swollen, already showing evidence of the bruises she’d display tomorrow. Blood caked in her hair, and her other arm hung limp at her side.

Without looking at Aric, Fynta bared her teeth, shoved away from the wall, and stumbled across the room. She stopped above the still twitching figure and unholstered her Verpine. “Didn’t anyone teach you the importance of confirming your kill?” The crack hurt Aric’s ears, but it paled in the face of his relief that she was alive.

Finally, Fynta turned towards Aric with a crooked grin that looked grotesque given her condition. “What do we say, Master Jedi?”

Aric’s breath left him in a huff that fell just short of a laugh. “You were right.”