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Warning: A smattering of bad Sith language here and there, and some violence. Rating subject to change.
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"The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence, rather a condition of it." ― Friedrich Nietzsche. Human, All Too Human (1878)
SW: One Face, Two Face, Red Face, Blue Face
There were three faces to him that Vette knew of.
The first face was the one that Vette disliked the most. It was the face that made enemies cower before the might of the Sith. It was a special face that he wore only for his Master; this face was not entirely artificial. It always lurked just beneath the surface of those gleaming golden eyes, waiting to pounce without a moment's notice like a hungry tuk'ata on its prey.
He never embodied so fully his heritage than he did when he wore his first face. The fallible, normal, and endearing parts of him would fall away, to be replaced by the phenomenally inhumane might of the Sith. Every inch of him would change, filling out and stretching into a Sithy mold, creating a disturbing visage of both rage and austerity. His growly voice would deepen in menace, and his accent would become clipped and harsh around the edges. The first face was without the charms of his other faces – it was made to terrify. The first face held a piercing glare that could crumble a Sithspawn where it stood, a cold cruelty that might level grown men and bring them down to their knees in fearful tears. He was handsome by all accounts, and it frightened Vette a bit how apparent that still was with the first face – that kind of beauty, Vette knew, would kill you and dance on your grave. It would lull you into a false sense of security and rip your throat out without a second thought. That he still held sway over her, even when he was dripping with pure Sithyness made her want to curl up in a corner and cry.
Her consolation was the second face. He didn't show it to many people. Vette suspected that she might be one of the only ones who knew about it, though why, she didn't really know. She once told him that his 'nice' side was her favorite side. He smirked and told Vette only she would know, since she was the only one who'd ever seen it.
The second face was, in some ways, the opposite of the first. It was warm and soft where the other side of him was jagged and cold. It was clever and funny where the other one had a stick up his ass. The second face was the Sith she liked – whenever he was like this, Vette could pretend he was the big older brother that beat up all the other kids who dared to mess with her. This face was a deviant, a prankster, a friend, and more. Honestly, Vette wasn't sure what to make of the second face, since it only emerged so rarely.
The coldness was still there, though, deep within the second persona. The pureblood in him would never leave. He could laugh along with everyone else but something would always set him apart from others, even other Sith that Vette had seen. She felt that some innate aspect of him was incapable of merging with the 'verse like everyone else, and was probably the source of the passion that lurked behind those quirky eyes. At their very core, all Sith were driven by base instinct, and then taught to harness that instinct and wield it like a club against everything that stood in their way. The second face was no different in that respect, but it was kindly deceptive in that it pretended not to be any of these things. It hid the darker parts of him away where no one had to see, so the brighter parts could come out and play.
It followed that his third face was a blend of the others. Vette felt that this one was less of a face that he wore, though, and more like one that he'd had all along, just buried beneath the first two. Like the other two faces only existed to keep this other version of him away. She wasn't necessarily terrified of this face. It didn't have the dichotomous chill and fury of the first face, but it lacked the shocking gentleness of the second. It was shocking in a completely new way.
She wasn't sure when this third face had snuck up on her and decided to stay – to her mind, it had happened suddenly and without warning. According to Quinn (who must've have been stalking him, what a creeper!), he wasn't different at all – he'd been this way for quite some time. Quinn blamed the mission, which was souring their lord's temperament.
Vette? Vette blamed Tatooine.
The planet was a worthless dust ball not fit to piss on. No one loved Tatooine. Everyone hated it. Vette was sure that even the Sand People secretly hated it there, and that was why they were so angry, because they couldn't find a way off it since they were too crazy-stupid to use starships.
He, after cycling through his various faces to try and find a way to trail their elusive Jedi target, became incredibly frustrated. Sand People attacking every nine seconds, Exchange gangsters every five feet, incompetent Imperials, Republic spies, swarms of angry bantha and crazy cyborg Czerka zombies around every corner and over every other sand dune – there was only so much strain a poor Sith could take. At the time Vette wasn't sure she wanted to find out what would happen when he finally cracked.
Then came the Sand Demon.
She had not been looking forward to fighting it, being firmly under the impression, despite his reassurances, that she was Sand Demon fodder the very second they entered that gross-smelling cave. Anything that lived long enough to earn the moniker 'Sand Demon' was something to avoid. You didn't need to be a starship engineer to figure that out. It seemed only natural that the beastie was the size of a krayt dragon and twice as ugly, by all accounts, and it was hungry forsoft, nubile, Vette-flesh.
But he had had enough. He'd had enough of Sand People, he'd had enough of cyber-zombies, he'd had enough of nutty jawa, and he'd had enough of running across the desert, chasing some hermit Jedi no one gave a shit about. So it was without preamble that he stomped right up to the red-eyed insectoid, which was comical since it was at least seven times his own size, its pincers dripping with acid (and maybe some drool), poked it straight in the eye and snarled in the scariest, most venomous voice Vette had ever heard: "Fuck off!"
And then it did.
The thing took one look at him, clacked its pincers twice, squealed, and then scuttled away in fear with a metaphoric tail between its chitinous legs. Vette was pretty sure it was peeing itself a little.
The nasty Sand Demon didn't get very far, since it dropped dead the minute it lost eye contact with his mighty Sith-ness. Once the smell of the thing's innards washed out of her armor, Vette would make a mental note to introduce him to all her friends as the Man That Literally Glared a Demon to Death, No Really, That Actually Happened.
After that incident, he seemed to discover a middle ground between "really goddamn pissed off" and "fuck everything," and was apparently too much of a trouble for the Reflection at the Oasis to even bother dispensing half-baked cryptic advice to. The mysterious, glowing apparition took one look at its doppelganger in his half-crazed, half-exhausted, and all-angry state and fell right the hell over.
He only snorted, like he'd expected this sort of thing all along. Vette didn't know what to make of it. At the time, she decided that this new face wasn't too bad, if it meant less shooting and having to do stuff. It wasn't as if she was getting paid overtime here. Day in and day out it was work, work, work all the time! Quinn seemed to get off on it, which was a little weird, but Vette could enjoy the break. After all, all Mr. Sith had to do know was give everything one furious, bloodshot glare and everything went fleeing in terror in the other direction. He'd even pointed it at a bantha once and Vette swore that she could actually hear the poor thing shit a brick.
After the seventh encounter with Sand People on Tatooine and their illustrious leader ripping them apart with his twin lightsabers in a haze of fury, shrieking curses in every language imaginable, Vette had turned to Quinn with a frown.
"So how long do you think this is gonna last?" She asked.
The Imperial gave her a Look. The barely-disguised-disgust-Look. Good ol' Quinn. She could always count on him to be the same old, surly creeper. "Be grateful my lord isn't taking it out on us. At least his rage is being channeled in a constructive manner."
"You gotta point, Quinny."
"Please don't call me that, Vette."
She ignored him and stared after the Sith, who was still venting his rage in creative and invasive ways. The remaining Sand People were fleeing – the ambush party had consisted of seven riflemen and two of what they called 'shamans.' Only three riflemen were left standing, barely. They didn't get very far when Baras' apprentice noticed they were trying to sneak off.
"No you don't you bastards!" he growled and stretched out his arm, clenching one in a force-choke. He threw the lightsaber in his left hand at another one and felled the third one with a force push, sending it flying and snapping its neck mid-flight.
Vette turned back to Quinn. "I don't know if I'd call that 'constructive,' but hey, I'm all glad over here he's not taking it out on us. Better the native wildlife on the line then my lekku. Oh, that reminds me, could you remind me to get 'em buffed after we leave this planet? The sand is messing up everything, and it gets everywhere."
"You're not kidding," their leader spoke up. Vette jumped, not realizing he'd crept up on them. Quinn smirked a bit at her surprise and she stuck her tongue out at him, since she couldn't think up a comeback.
Mr. Sith seemed to have calmed down quite a bit, but Vette could still feel the sheer irritation and rage emanating from him, and she wasn't even Force-sensitive. His expression twisted in disgust as he grabbed his robes and shook them, sand falling out. "This bloody sand is getting in everything! I'm never coming to this cesspit they insult by calling a planet again. One of you make a note of that."
Vette nodded dutifully. "Tatooine bad. Avoid forever. I got it."
"Good. I'm serious, fuck this planet. I hate it and everyone in it. Even the Jawa are starting to tick me off, and I've always liked Jawa. This planet is a worthless shithole."
"We believe you, my lord," Quinn agreed readily. "With two suns, very little in the way of entertainment venues, and temperatures ranging into the obscene, this planet is utterly horrible. Even the people who live and earn their livelihood here can't stand the place. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised in the recent future if some errant Sith Lord turns the whole surface into glass in a fit of pique."
"Oh, that will be the day." Sith-boy's face lit up in a joy Vette was wholly unfamiliar with, even when he was wearing his second face. If she didn't know better, she'd say the man was almost ecstatic. But getting happy was something Sith just didn't do. Right? "That will be a glorious, wonderful day, Quinn. Maybe if I'm a good enough apprentice, Baras will do it for me! Do you think I have any chance of that happening, or is that just too lucky?"
Quinn shrugged. "One can always hope, my lord."
"Luck ain't our strong suit," Vette unhelpfully reminded. "But hey, hope is good! Hope's all we have left. Hope that maybe, eventually this Sand Demon smell will wash out!"
His yellow eyes rolled, glinting briefly in the shadowed light of the canyon they'd been ambushed in. She saw another flash of the second face emerge. It was only for a second, but it put her a little more at ease. "Oh, please. A round in a refresher will fix that."
"I hope so, because this is really gross."
"For once," the pet Imp announced, "Vette and I agree on something."
The twi'lek scrunched up her face in distaste. "Ew. Okay, that doesn't happen often for a reason."
Eventually the Sith cut off the snark before it got out of hand and the Rage Face went back on. The rest of Tatooine had been a blur – Quinn was sent back to prep the ship for takeoff when Master Yonlach's location was finally discerned. She and Mr. Grumpypants went on by themselves to milk the old Jedi Master for all he was worth. If this hadn't been craziest, scariest, weirdest series of events she'd ever experienced, she would've been worried. After seeing both the Sand Demon and the Oasis' apparition both fall over dead at the apparently terrifying sight of Baras' apprentice's glare, one cranky old Jedi Master wasn't any worry. She only hoped she'd get back in time for dinner.
In a change of pace Vette wouldn't have foreseen even if you'd paid her to guess, he left the Jedi alive, if broken. Meant to give the girl a message, or something. Vette didn't get these Sith games sometimes. They just made no sense. They were trying to kill you, they weren't trying to kill you, now they want you to join their wacky religion . . . whatever.
Still, the third face never fled for an instant that entire time, and Vette couldn't help but wonder if he was burning out at both ends. There was only so much fury a person could contain before they got tired of it all. Right? Even the most vile of Sith had to get tired of all the corruption and hate . . . right? Even he had to stop to smell the blood, or catch a drink at the cantina. But he pressed on until the very end, radiating rage in every step. If Vette squinted, she swore she could see the actual rage dripping off of him like black ichor. 'Course, that could've been a mirage from all the heat, or just a plain old hallucination induced by his black robes. (Come to think of it, why hadn't he died of heat exhaustion yet in those things?) This wasn't the callous malice of the first face, but Vette would almost have preferred it if it was – at least with the first face, you knew where you stood. This new side of him didn't seem to care about anything or anyone. It just wanted to blow shit up.
Vette could respect that desire. In some ways she even sympathized. Who didn't feel like that, from time to time? She just hoped it wouldn't cost her in the end. A Sith is as a Sith does, as he'd told her the day they met. That entire day had been a series of what-the-hell moments, come to think of it, much like her entire life had been ever since she'd met him. Vette couldn't find it in herself to regret any of it, though. He sure made life interesting.