Planet Ojos.

"A strike?" Darth Kitsun asked, her actual voice masked by the synthetic tones of a vocabulator.

"Yes, Milady. A strike. In the Verdant Quarter," the Sith trooper replied through the holo-projection. "Complaints about unsafe working conditions and low pay."

"Have you identified the strike leaders?"

"Yes. We're standing by to fire."

Her face, covered by a black veil and a white mask resembling a skull dotted with jewels perked up. "No! Are you trying to start a riot? Hold until I arrive!"

"Y-you're coming here?" the trooper asked.

"Yes, and I am most displeased," Kitsun replied, shutting the projector off and starting for her apprentice's chambers, her sheer, black, not-quite-opaque dress that tightened as she moved, hinting at the lithe, athletic figure underneath. Around her waist lay a belt composed of nine tails covered in orange fur with a black and white tip. As she left her private study, a mountain of books and papers cluttered on a cherry wood desk, she grabbed her thin, glossy black cane-saber.

Proceeding down the lonely halls of her small castle, she went down a flight of stairs before she found the Mute's room.

She stepped in and found the Mute practicing with his cane. His skill with the exotic method had progressed much and Kitsun had no doubt that he would match her someday. The violet blade of his weapon flashed with surgical accuracy in the fixed motions of his kata. His room, maroon in color, had a simple bed and frame, and a large disk of stone recessed into the floor for meditation.

A tall, pale man, with a buzz cut of dark hair, his angular, serious face had a classic type of handsomeness. Aesthetically correct. A bloody, wool blindfold covered his head, with a singed hole in the middle, right between the eyes.. His shirt was off, and he was wearing a simple set of dull grey slacks.

She'd never heard him utter a word, even before his recruitment. The blaster shot that had nailed him in the head should have killed him. Instead, it had only robbed him of his speech and sight.

"Apprentice," she called out commandingly, knowing not what else to call him. The Sith authorities that had originally arrested him had never found a name or identification of any sort. Kitsun's own considerable abilities at information gathering had failed to uncover anything. Kitsun still knew only what she had learned the day she had rescued him from execution: that he was the one she had been seeking.

The Mute stopped and dutifully stood at attention, like a loyal dog.

Kitsun liked this the most about their relationship. There was no banter, no trade of subtle insults as was common in Sith Apprentices and their Masters. No plotting. Kitsun would never have to worry about him trying sneaky methods, such as poisoning, or betraying her from afar. Such things occurred between those who did not respect each other, and should really only be done to enemies, not student and teacher. For her part, Kitsun had no intention of subduing him using such methods either, their confrontation, if either of them ever decided to have it, would be kept simple, like their interactions. There had to be honor 'somewhere'.

And there were the side benefits...

"We're going on a little trip today, student. I'm going to teach about problems and solutions. You will pay attention and learn."

The Mute nodded, bowing and getting his things ready.

As Kitsun left, the Mute slowly checked under his bed, and retrieved a small object of wood, that he had slowly carved out of wood with a knife he had managed to smuggle in from a mission previous.

It was rectangular in shape with a soft, brown color to it. On it he had carved out a near perfect image of Kitsun's mask when viewed from the front. on the back he had carved a small, yet no less intricate image of himself walking on a road waving goodbye.

He had finished it just last night. In two days, he would escape Kitsun and go so deep into hiding that even she couldn't possibly find him. It was not that he disliked her. After the failed attempt to execute him, he had been robbed of his sight by the blasterbolt. Kitsun had brought him back from total helplessness, and for that he was a grateful to her. But he had too much of a history with the Sith to ever truly consider being one of them.

Her servant girl, Foxe, would no doubt find it when he was gone and bring it to her.

Until then, the Mute would serve faithfully.

The Verdant Quarter of the city-planet Ojos was named such because trees of all sort grew on the street-walk, integrated into the buildings, or were painted onto the walls and blacktops. When the Mute first entered the quarter with his master dressed in a set of black robes, his senses picked up the life of the trees, leaves like little clusters of light in his mind's eye. It was a lovely sight to him.

The shouting snapped him back to reality. The crowd of people gave off angry, distorted waves of emotion, as the mob surrounding the land speeder factory, an ugly mess of brick and exhaust towers jutting over the other buildings of the verdant quarter like a thorn.

The Factory Manager, a short man in blue work overalls and a red construction helmet was still trying to reason with the angry crowd as they held picket signs and had just started throwing rocks, when everyone backed away in dread of the Sith approaching.

"Perhaps you would like to explain your grievances to me," Kitsun announced to the crowd, the Mute standing close by.

"There have been seventeen accidents with the automated welding line in the past month, and we've been working too long!" one person in the crowd shouted.

"The war effort is running us dry! We need sleep!" another said.

Kitsun turned to the Manager.

"Seventeen accidents in such a short time span indicates a serious problem with equipment. Why was this not addressed?" the Sith Lady demanded to know.

"The workers are exaggerating things-"

"You're lying. You've been taking bribes from a rival factory. I hate thieves," Kitsun replied blandly, holding up a hand which closed slightly.

The manager gasped, clutching his throat as he fell to the floor, a look of shock on his face as he died.

The Mute suppressed a grimace. He respected Kitsun-but seeing this just now reminded him of why he needed to escape her service soon. A life as a Sith was much too treacherous...

"I have killed this man who wasted both my time and yours!" Kitsun declared to the crowd. "You will disperse. I will send a repair crew and a new manager tomorrow. The request for a pay raise is refused. Good day."

The crowd began walking away very quickly.

Kitsun then stared at the Mute.

"Never attempt a brute force approach, Mute. If you wish to survive and evade your enemies you must create other distractions for them. If I had ordered the troops to fire, there would have been a riot that could have spread across this whole section. By giving them a pariah and displaying my power at the same time, I averted a potentially embarrassing moment. One that my enemies could use to exploit or discredit me. A simple elegant solution is often best when confronting a problem such as this. Do you understand?"

The Mute nodded, wondering whether or not the manager had actually been guilty, or if Kitsun had simply needed a quick scapegoat. Lady Kitsun's teachings, he had come to discover, were a complex, devious system of exploiting your opponent's weaknesses through distraction, deception, and outright con-artistry. Stealth and subtlety were often paramount to success. Truly great darksider's, according to her, need not resort to brute force to achieve their aims. If a Dark Sider is truly great, she would argue, they could achieve more with slight of hand or a trick of the eye than a lightsaber.

Yet curiously, the Mute had noted, Kitsun never seemed to enforce such teaching between him and her. She taught him in how she acted and reacted to others, but not once had she attempted such unpleasantries with him.

Then again, perhaps she was, and he simply didn't realize it yet.

The Mute's thoughts were refocused instantly as he felt a familiar though unwelcome presence.

"Well look who's out for a stroll with her weakling apprentice," a grating snide voice muttered.

Darth Ino, a bald Nagai Sith covered in black tattoos, his nose pointed like a beak and his eyes a putrid yellow. He was wearing the lower half of a set of ash grey robes.

"Why hello Lord Ino. What brings you to the verdant quarter this day?" Kitsun asked, mirth apparent even with her vocabulator. The Mute realized that there were few things she enjoyed in all the galaxy besides having fun at this particular Sith's expense, even with the fact that he was an agent of the Sith Overlord of this sector. And if the Mute was honest with himself he enjoyed watching the myriad number of ways she had managed to outwit or out maneuver this particular jerk since coming into her tutelage.

"Oh, I heard of the terrible commotion in this area and thought I would come to watch you make a fool of yourself, Lady Kitsun," Ino answered. Pray tell, where have all the protestors gone?"

"The matter has been resolved. Some greedy fellow was taking bribes, though I'm inclined to wonder whether it was truly a rival factory paying him or simply you. Again."

"Me?" Ino took on an insincere expression of hurt. "Continually you accuse me of wronging you. If anything I am YOUR victim..."

"Still you insist on blaming me for that unfortunate incident with the sausage and the cobra. How many more times must it be explained to you that I was innocent?"

"You cost me my post! I was supposed to rule Ojos, not you!"

"Rule is for the worthy. As a Sith, surely you know this...or do you desire simply a comfy spot where you won't have to fight?" Kitsun asked. "Because that's exactly what I have and it just burns you, doesn't it?"

The Mute felt the hatred in the man rise to a fever pitch. He steeled himself for an attack.

It didn't come. He felt Ino freeze in place, and sensed the beginnings of actual fear.

A familiar, lascivious moan put him on maximum alert, He darted to his left and spotted Whips walking up to them, people around her giving her a wide berth as she went forward. The curvy, albino Twi-lek was dressed in a tight fitting, black, opaque mesh suit with a set of black leather boots. A light-whip, disguised as a simple stun rod, hung from a black sash on her hips. Her cold, beautiful features lined by a black headdress. a scar ran diagonally from the top right of her face through the bridge of her nose, terminating at the bottom of her left ear. Her cold icy blue eyes fixed on the Mute and she smiled, licking her lips.

The Mute felt beads of sweat form on his scalp. Whips was insane, and one night in the early days of his training, he had committed an indiscretion with her in order to get back vital information she had stolen from him, after having been lead on a foot chase first. And nearly killing him in combat.

Troublingly he had committed other indiscretions with her on other missions they had ended up going on, all the while getting a taste of her unpredictability and violent tendencies. He disliked how the madwoman, against all logic and reason, seemed able to sweep him into the moment and seduce him, her erotic talents like a potent narcotic.

Involuntarily he recalled the last time he had shared a bed with her. The bite marks on his leg hadn't healed yet.

If there was one thing he knew Kitsun would take great umbrage at, it would be learning of his mistakes regarding her.

"Get rid of your attack dog," Ino said with almost a snarl as Whips chuckled and stood next to Kitsun.

"MY attack dog? Please, Ino. Everyone knows Whips does not truly obey anyone. She simply...goes along with suggestions."

So did anybody suggest to her to gut my apprentice two days ago?" Ino asked, contempt twisting already hateful features.

"What makes you think she was the one? Do you have proof?" Kitsun asked, clearly gloating at this point. The Mute maintained a defensive position, ready to defend Kitsun at a moment's notice. From either unwelcome characters. He was slightly less worried about an attack from Whips however. Kitsun seemed to exhibit a curious sort of control over the woman that no one else could.

The Mute felt Ino get his anger under control.

"Of course not. There's never any proof where you're involved. But you'll screw up. Eventually. And then I'll have everything I need to move against you. All of you."

"Why Ino, that sounded like a threat. Perhaps I should suggest to my not-attack-dog to play with you for a while."

Whips laughed, cracking her knuckles. The Mute almost smiled at this, though he wasn't quite certain how he could feel excitement at the thought of her in combat.

The Nagai simply turned around and walked away.

"See that, Student? How easy I was able to provoke him?" she asked when Ino was out of earshot.

The Mute nodded, not daring to really relax as long as Whips was still around. Troublingly at the same time, he wasn't uncomfortable around her.

"I learned something from my interaction. I learned he is impatient, and will move against us soon. Such a pathetically easy man to read. What he does not realize is if he ever moves against me, it will only be because I allow it. Much like how you will part from me only when I deem you ready. No offense intended, of course," Kitsun finished.

The Mute struggled to control his feelings. Did she know of his intent to escape? How could she? He had masked his feelings well from her in the past months.

"You seem troubled. There's a teahouse not too far from here. Shall we?"

The teahouse was a quaint place, built using oak and thick transparisteel with a lattice design, the exterior was a simple, glittering wood cube in the tree filled verdant quarter.

Kitsun turned to Whips. "Wait outside. You know what happened last time," she ordered.

Whips huffed and plopped down on a nearby bench. near the front entrance. She smiled wickedly at the Mute, who grimaced, yet felt an uncomfortable twinge of...something.

The Mute followed Kitsun in and tried not to smile as he stared at the layout.

Thick plush cushions and elaborate glass hookahs were scattered throughout. Tapestries of lakes and flowers hung from the inner walls. It was a place for relaxation.

Kitsun unceremoniously fell onto a particularly large and curved pillow and signaled a waiter.

The Mute calmly selected a pillow and sat on it.

Darth Kitsun took a puff from the hookah straw, sliding it behind an open space in her veil-mask.

A small tray of tea was brought. The Mute sniffed it. Black. He used the Force to scan for poison, but found none.

"Relax, this teahouse is owned and staffed by people I personally hand-picked for the job. You're as safe here as you are at my castle. 'Safe' of course, is always a relative term," Kitsun spoke detachedly, pulling out a bizarre metal straw that zigzagged in its design. A sunflower was painted on it. She placed it under her veil and took a sip from the small tea bowl.

"You ever wonder if this is worth it?" she asked suddenly.

The Mute stopped in mid-drag from the hookah straw.

"I know the question is in your mind, student," Kitsun continued casually. "I myself often wonder whether this whole Sith dogma is just a bunch of lies from men being bitter at getting kicked out of the order's church."

The Mute began to wonder if this was a test. He respected her for her intelligence, but that didn't go on to imply he trusted her. Yet a strange equilibrium had been created between them, and he had yet to figure out how it occurred.

The Mute decided to go for broke. He nodded.

"And the people? Watch this," Kitsun went on "Hey, you! Waiter!"

The Waiter, a Gran, turned around in a grey uniform.

"Do you like me? Be honest. I command it."

"Errr...no?" The Gran answered in his growling, slurping language hesitantly after what must have been the most terrifying five seconds of his life.

"Thank you. You want to relax now and forget I said anything,"

"I want to...relax...now," the Gran repeated trailing off tonelessly, wandering off.

"Honesty. Sometimes, it just has to be demanded. But you see my point? His kind have grown to hate ours. Mark my words, Student, one of these days our kind is going to cross one line too many with his."

The Mute merely shrugged at this. Kitsun didn't realize yet that their kind had already crossed one too many lines. He himself had been a victim of theirs many times over, and it had only been through luck or being ruthless that he had ended up turning the tables on such cretins. But he didn't doubt her assertion. A reckoning was on the horizon. Jedi, Sith, it didn't matter anymore. Maybe not now, maybe not even two decades from now, but sometime after that, he was for some reason absolutely certain the people of the Galaxy were going to let their kind know just what they thought of a fued that had been tearing up the galaxy on and off for the past twenty thousand years.

And he was also fairly certain that whatever form that response took, it was going to be very, very, severe. And hate-filled.

Kitsun paused, staring as Whips entered the teahouse.

"I thought I told you to wait outside," Kitsun said sternly.

Whips stuck her tongue out and plopped down next to the Mute who was once again on full alert, using the Force to purge the intoxicants from his system. But as his nose got a whiff of her scent, a strange yearning caused momentary disquiet in him.

Relax, she won't attack us, I can assure that much of an influence," Kitsun spoke as she saw her student tighten his grip on his cane-saber. "Never let your guard down, however. She's quite intelligent and cunning. Isn't that right, Whips?" Kitsun asked.

Whips rolled her eyes but grinned. The Mute didn't dispute the statement. Despite her madness, She was extremely adept at completing her tasks. He still remembered how she had dispatched Ino's apprentice.

"Can't always assure that she'll totally follow my orders, but rest assured, there's purpose in that," Kitsun added, taking a sip.

The Mute gestured to Whips staring at Kitsun with an expression of bewilderment.

"Wondering where I got her from?" Kitsun asked, "Funny story, that..."

The Dark Jedi that decloaked in front of them was armed with a double-bladed lightsaber. The Mute was up instantly, blocking the lethal strike aimed for Kitsun's skull, a purple blade shooting out of his cane.

Whips got up but Kitsun stopped her. "He'll never learn without first hand experience. Continuous combat is the best way to master the cane saber."

The Mute didn't hear this of course, he was too busy fighting for his life against the Dark Jedi, a strange figure in a tight fitting black and red feather-pattern robe set with armored boots, an image of a peacock was stitched to the front with what looked to be expensive yellow electrum thread. His weapon was of simple stout construction: a solid black bar made of what seemed to be wood engraved with a pheasant on it's surface. The blade was an odd, peach color, and it's blade's began to curve sharply near the middle, forming a bizarre s-shape for the weapon. The face was concealed by a mask made of white wood. It resembled a highly stylized eagle, with elaborate engravings on the beak.

The Mute drove him back pressing ruthlessly with spear like attacks the cane's length afforded him. He then switched up his attacks and began making vicious swipes at the assassin, who easily turned aside his attacks with the sharply curving blade, at the same time trying to behead the mute by craftily attempting to throw the curving blade past the Mute's guard and simply pulling

The Assassin, who the Mute later would privately refer to as 'Bird Theme' retreated, spinning the saber staff and furiously twirling his body at the same time to create room after that tactic failed. The Mute backed away, re-assessing his bizarre opponent.

The wide loop of the blade increased the potential damage of a thrust, also allowing for the very real threat of defeating his guard should the lightsaber be curved inward. All it would tank is a yank and he would die.

But the curve of the blade also increased the risk of being caught on one's own weapon, so his opponent would have to maintain a specific orientation at all times with his weapon, meaning he was also, in addition to being unorthodox, highly disciplined.

Nonetheless, the Mute decided, his need to maintain a specific orientation in combat was a fatal flaw, and the extreme curves of the weapon reduced it's reach. The style had the feel of a sort of ceremonial dance. Some ancient style survived only by this remaining adherent. A living fossil.

The Mute felt a sting of pity for his one-of-a-kind enemy. And then he charged.

Bird Theme was faster: He even did something that caught even Whips by surprise.

The Dark Jedi looped the inner curve of the blade around his wrists.

The Mute barely ducked in time from a strike that would have split him diagonally. He rolled backward across the cushions causing Whips to chuckle.

No wonder Bird Theme didn't seem worried: he shielded himself with the Force to exploit the full mobility of the weapon. The curve of the blades danced around his arms as he charged the Mute, chopping like a scimitar or slicing like a scythe as it suited the Assassin

The Mute scrambled out of the way of the lethal sequence, the horizontal attacks using the inner curves threatening to hook him like fish bait.

"Do not lose focus. Remember your own weapon's abilities," Kitsun instructed sternly.

The Mute was again too busy parrying or dodging the odd circle-based attacks to hear this.

Bird Theme grabbed one looping end of his blade and shoved forward, almost cutting the Blind Sith's legs off with a thrust. The Mute backed away, steadily.

He shut off the light saber, waiting. The cane saber need not be active to achieve a victory. A sword could be a stick. A stick could be a club or lever, or split apart and be two weapons.

Bird Theme thrust the weapon forward, this time holding the the weapon by the hilt.

The blind man reacted, dodging to the side, and twisting free the hidden knife from the bottom half of his cane, which he swiped crisply across Bird Theme's ribs,

The Dark Jedi stumbled, clutching his side.

Again the Mute felt a sting of pity.

Bird Theme wheeled around just in time to see the Mute attach the knife back to the cane.

Bird Theme spun his weapon with it's inner curves clawing for the Mute, who dodged again, diving past his opponent, turning around and jamming the brass tip of the weapon into the base of his opponents spine.

The Mute suppressed a flinch as he heard an audible crack. Bird Theme collapsed, clutching his back, letting out a muffled yell. His saber flew out of his hand, shutting off as it left his grip.

The Mute stood over his enemy, Lightsaber again active. He turned to Kitsun. He recalled what she had said about a simple and elegant solution and found himself appreciating it.

"No need to interrogate. I know who sent him," was Kitsun's reply.

The Mute nodded, and pierced the back of Bird Theme's head. It was instant and painless.

Whips giggled.

The Mute picked up Bird Theme's weapon. He got on one knee and presented it to Kitsun, who rose and took it, admiring it.

"Definitely going in the collection," she joked. "It would seem Ino is more impatient than I initially believed. So be it. He has forced my hand. I must go. Student, you will go to the safehouse in the canals and wait for me there, Whips, you lead him to the canals. After that, you know what to do."

Whips chuckled again, rising.

"Foxe will meet you in two hours there. Don't be late. I will arrive soon after," Kitsun instructed, before departing.

The Mute never let his guard down for an instant as Whips strode forward confidently through the verdant quarter, the trees bright green leaves influencing the hue of sunlight hitting the ground. The crowd gave the pair a wide space as they went down the white and green streets. But though he never let his guard down a small part seemed almost pleased he was around her again.

Whips skipped along the ground in a happy go lucky fashion occasionally stopping to wait for the Mute, who struggled to keep up with her fast pace while avoiding anyone getting too close.

They soon reached the canal, a wide and twisting construct with a number of pleasure yachts on repulsors floating down it, he followed Whips presence down to one of the docks on the canal.

The Sith Troopers decloaked around them when they had come within meters of the hidden entrance inside the canal wall at the end of the dock.

"So that's where it was," the leader mumbled gloatingly. "By order of the Sith Overlord, You are under arrest-"

The crack from the mad Twi-lek's light-whip severed the top half of the trooper from the bottom. The Mute ducked as Whips twirled her weapon expertly around her, hitting multiple opponents. In seconds, all the troopers were dead, and passerby who spotted the commotion ran off in terror.

However, as one of the of the dead, black armored soldiers fell, he reflexively squeezed a shot off in the direction of her head.

Whips turned aside too late.

The bolt completely blew off one of her lekku, and the directed plasma also setting the leather headdress around her face ablaze.

Whips screamed and dove into the water before the Mute could do anything about the freak accident.

Steeling his stomach, he then turned his attention to what the post-mortem lucky shot had blown off.

He had tended blaster wounds before, and he knew enough about Twi-lek physiology to know that some fat storage and brain matter were housed in the distinct head tails of Whips species. If she wasn't dead seconds after diving into the water, she had brain damage

The smell wasn't normal; there should have been a sickly cooked meat smell, certainly brain matter. There wasn't any of that.

He smelled something similar to burning plastic, He knelt down to the piece of lekku.

It wasn't lekku, he realized. It was a cone of high grade synthetic material meant to mimic real skin. Whips was wearing a high grade prosthetic mask. She wasn't Twi-lek at all.

His stomach turned as he thought of all the unpleasant medical reasons she would need such a thing, and recalled with newfound revulsion the three times he had unwisely gone to bed with her.

He looked into the water, stretching out his senses. Nothing.

Fine, he figured. If he never saw the madwoman again, he could live with that.

Yet even as he thought this, a small part of him began to question this assertion.

He shivered as he recalled his nights with her before reaching down beneath the dock planks and flipped a hidden switch.

The entrance slid open and he rushed inside. following the network of tunnels that Kitsun had taught him to memorize.

The safe house was a simple set of benches, survival gear, and a rack of spare lightsabers and blasters. The place was colored with an antiseptic white. The Mute also saw a refresher and a sonic shower.

As he explored the large area, he knew this hiding place was compromised. They had not known for certain where the entrance was located, but they would find it eventually, if any passerby hadn't already reported him in, they too eventually would. The tunnels would confuse them at first, however.

An open room with a draft caught his attention. He felt electricity and light waves coming from it. He stepped forward and his Force senses conjured an all too familiar sight.

A simple make up room with wigs, lined with other prosthetic faces in different shapes. Head attachments included Togrutan Head Tails, In his mind's eye, he spotted a mask designed to mimic the features of a Cathar. And in a far corner, he also saw in his mind's eye a copy of the mask Whips had just had burned off her, right down to the scar.

He had encountered this set-up only once before, he realized, way before he had consciously used the Force. It had been just after the invasion of Corellia, and he had suffered the misfortune of getting tangled in the affairs of an assassin called The Hyena. She had tricked him, using him to complete her assignment. She had nearly killed him when he had tracked her to her hideout. A Dark Jedi and master of disguise, she was the only person that had ever come close to killing him, sparing him only on a twisted whim of generosity.

But it couldn't be the same person. The Hyena could actually string a sentence together. Whips had never uttered a word to him, and hadn't acted like she recognized him when they first met. Had to be a coincidence

But as Kitsun had said to him once, true coincidences are rare-

A hammer blow from behind sent the Mute spiraling to the floor.

The Mute woke up on one of the safe hose benches. He sensed her presence immediately. She was leaning on a wall next to the lightsaber, holding her old burnt and torn mask in her left hand. A fresh replacement of her original mask covered her, mimicking the appearance of real flesh perfectly.

She giggled, throwing the torn mask onto the Mute's lap, who scrambled out of the way like it was a poisonous snake. She laughed at this and then began slinking slowly closer unzipping the front part of her mesh suit, exposing a small amount of cleavage. He read her body language with his senses and knew instantly what she wanted.

The Mute grimaced, maneuvering toward the exit, forcing himself to ignore the twinge in his stomach.

He was unsure whether he could resist Whips' advances. He certainly hadn't the last few times. And that well formed figure hadn't helped matters.

Maybe he was simply a sucker for danger and curves. Dangerous curves. Dangerous, crazy, curves.

How did she manage to keep overriding his better judgment?! he raged inwardly as he felt his attraction to her. It wasn't some Force technique, this was simply his own stupidity manifesting itself.

Seemingly forgetting that her face prosthetic was in all likelihood hiding some hideous deformity or scars, he suddenly grabbed hold of her, pressing real lips to fake ones. Whips bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing a small amount of blood as she pinned him against the wall

The Mute continued his ill-advised lip lock, pulling her closer to him for another kiss, which she returned savagely, pulling his head to the side and working her way to his ear, which she began to bite and suck on.

The alarm klaxon sounded.

The Mute forced himself to tear away from an already half-naked Darksider, forcing himself to remember that today was a day for business. He was relieved, in a way. Part of him was worried he was beginning to enjoy being around her too much. (The Author would like to note that upon typing this sentence, I thought "Gee, ya think?")

Whips laughed at him, for her part, slipping back on the top half of her mesh suit, as the Mute bounded out the room to check the entrance.

He sensed the familiar presence of Foxe on the other side and threw open the entrance.

Foxe, a lithe, curvy woman with slightly tanned skin, floppy, chocolate brown hair, dull green eyes, a slim nose and a heart shaped face and pair of lips, strode in, in her normal beige dancer costume, a simple top and pair of thin slacks and thin black dancer's shoes. Foxe was the only person here the Mute actually considered a friend.

"We have a huge problem," she said, her normal, honey-sweet voice, strained by tension. "The Castle just exploded. I can't raise Lady Kitsun on the comm."

Whips smiled at this news.

Foxe stared at Whips. "What is she doing here?"

The Mute reached around his back, gesturing up.

"Back-up? You're kidding, right? She's just as likely to turn on us. And is that a bite mark on your lip?" Foxe asked with almost matronly disapproval.

The Mute nodded in embarrassment, face going slightly pink.

"Again, Mute?" Foxe asked, exasperated. She stared at Whips who folded her hands and whistled, looking away. Foxe wasn't fooled. Whips knew exactly what she was doing at all times. She was mad simply for not giving a damn about consequences, like most garden variety Sith

"You're messed up, you know that?" she said, angrily, shaking her head in annoyance.

Whips nodded in agreement, and then gave a rude hand gesture a second later.

"Sociopath," Foxe muttered, turning her attention back to the Mute. "And you! Didn't we have 'The Talk' last time regarding her?"

The Mute nodded sheepishly. Whips snickered and he angrily threw out a rude gesture of his own towards her.

Foxe sighed. "We need an exit strategy. Ino's probably going to come on the holonet any minute now and declare us enemies of the empire.

The Mute grimaced. Whips laughed and made for the exit.

to be continued...