#thanks for letting me borrow your pirate shabre

[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.