A/N: This story falls in the same general timeline as my others. It's been a loooong time since I've written anything, so I apologize before hand if it is meandering, trite or cliched. Most of this chapter occurs shortly after Malachor and is pretty dark, but the next chapters should be set post K2 and should be lighter fare. If I ever get around to writing them, that is...
The past is our definition.
We may strive, with good reason, to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it,
but we will escape it only by adding something better to it.
-Wendell Berry
She stared into her glass of Corellian brandy watching the dark red liquid swirl and churn as she absentmindedly rotated the glass in her hand. She didn't see the bartender glance at her with annoyance or her fellow patrons who jostled her and anyone else sitting at the bar. There would have been a time in her life when every detail would have been noticed, every psyche registered and every emotion catalogued. But now she saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. Her own jumbled emotions had been shoved down, deep into the recesses of her mind, where she willed them to never see the light of day again.
The only problem was that she no longer had a will. She had no direction, no purpose, no life, no force. So she sat here, staring into her glass, trying to fill her mind with tiny bubbles and sloshing red liquid.
"You're supposed to drink it, kid," the sharp voice of the bartender jarred her out of her blank stare. She glanced up at him quickly, meeting his eyes for only a moment before she nodded, swigged the whole glass, slapped credits down on the bar and shoved her stool away from the bar. She didn't notice the bartender shaking his head at her as she glanced longingly at the pazaak tables before turning toward the door.
As she stepped outside a cold blast of air hit her in the face and she pulled her coat up around her cheeks. She hunkered down into her coat as she fought against the wind. It pulled at her hair, stinging her unprotected forehead making her move faster to seek warmth.
Her small ship sat in its docking bay, its residence for the last three weeks and she relished the warmth of the ship's slightly stale air as she climbed the ramp, but it didn't take long for another kind of cold to begin creeping over her. She found her bunk, curled up with a pillow and trying desperately to not think, she cried thought free tears as she willed herself to sleep.
It had been seven years since she followed Revan to war, four months since she had destroyed Malachor V and three months since she had gone to the Jedi Council for forgiveness and had been exiled. She could have survived being exiled if she had not chosen the moment of hearing her sentence to reach out to the force again and found it missing. Gone. She had glared suspiciously at her judges, wondering if they had cut her off from the force. She might have believed it, if it weren't for Kavar. Kavar's eyes met hers and she saw him grieve at her realization of what they had all already seen in her.
When she left the Jedi Temple that day, she walked without direction, without thought, just knowing that she had to get away. She found herself at a shipyard and bought a small Sluissi ship, stocked with enough provisions to get her out of Republic space and she flew.
She stopped only for fuel until she had gotten so far beyond the outer rim that her hyperspace maps were useless. She finally landed on this backwater planet with its small human colony, meaning to update her hyperspace maps, but that had been three weeks ago. The small port didn't have any additional routes and she found herself not wanting to backtrack just yet. So she had spent the last few weeks wandering aimlessly around the town, avoiding as much direct contact with locals as possible, but something in her was craving contact with people again. In the three months since she'd left Coruscant she hadn't had a conversation that she could remember and hadn't said more than a few words to anyone.
So as she lay in her bunk, pillow clutched to her chest, the cold loneliness of a life without the order, without the soldiers and without the force pressed down upon her. She had never been alone before. Even when she had been on solitary missions in the far reaches of the galaxy she had carried her friends with her. And now they were gone. Some had fallen during the war with the Mandalorians; many more had died on Malachor. And with their deaths, the force had abandoned her taking any surviving friends with it.
This punishment was what she deserved, she knew, though bearing it was torturous. In the months that had passed she'd also come to the realization that she'd had no other choice on Malachor and that if she were there again, she would give the command again. The knowledge did little to absolve her of her guilt though.
She wondered briefly for the thousandth time why the force had left her alive at all – if this could be called life. She felt dead and she could only hope that her body would realize it soon.
She awoke to sunlight streaming in through the small viewport over her bunk. Another morning had come, whether she had wanted it to or not. So she drug herself out of the bed, pulled her boots and coat on and headed down her ship's ramp, toward the village's small marketplace. She had a meal, bought some groceries and browsed the small store's meager selection for the umpteenth time.
The clerk watched her silently from his post, as she ran her hands over the same supplies she had every day since her arrival here. So far, she had bought only perishables, but every day, she would gaze wordlessly at the tools, farming implements and other odds and ends that were on display here. It was as if she was looking for something, but didn't know what. She never spoke to anyone though, and never made eye contact, even when she paid for her supplies. He resolved to try to change that today.
As she placed her fruit on the counter and began digging for credits, he took a deep breath and began, "I just got a crate of odds and ends in yesterday," he said, his words startling her enough that she glanced up to his face. His features were unremarkable, but when their eyes met she saw something there and she couldn't help but try to reach out with the force and know what lay behind them, but as always, it was gone. Her sudden frown made him unsure, but he continued anyhow, "It's usually just junk, but I thought you might like to see if there's anything in there that interests you…." His voice trailed off as he wondered why he had even brought it up.
She nodded almost imperceptibly and he reached under the counter, bringing out the small crate. "My supplier always includes a box like this in my regular shipments. No idea where he gets this junk, but there's usually something interesting enough to pay for them. He opened the box and she glanced into it, wondering at its contents. There was a small box of Corellian cigars, which the clerk snatched with a grin, a few pieces of what she could only assume was art from some far away world, some beautiful silk scarves from Alderaan and a collection of holovids, most of which she had already seen on her long trip through hyperspace. As she continued rifling through its contents with the clerk she noticed something small and white in the bottom of the case. She picked it up, running her fingers over the smooth surface of the crystal.
"What is it?" the clerk asked her, breaking her trance.
Her eyes flicked to his and then back to the crystal again, willing herself to feel the power she knew was emanating from it, but she felt nothing. "It's a lightsaber crystal," she said quietly as she ran her fingers over it again.
The clerk studied her for a moment, "Are you ok?" he asked puzzled, as her cheeks flushed a rosy, healthier color than he had yet seen them.
She nodded as she set the crystal back down in the box abruptly. She hadn't been able to feel the force radiating from it, but the crystal had still affected her as if she should have been able to.
"It's yours for 50 credits," he said a little too nonchalantly as he watched the color drain from her face, trying to get her to pick it up again.
"It's worth much more than that," she said quietly as she shook her head and continued, "but I'm going to have to pass this time." She smiled sadly, fished a box of fine chocolates out of the crate, and paid for her purchases. Before she turned to go, she glanced up at the young man once last time and quietly said, "Thank you," before she pushed her way out into the snow packed street.
She dropped her groceries at her ship and made her way to the same bar she had sat in every afternoon for the last two weeks. She sat in her usual spot at the bar and ordered her usual Corellian Brandy from the bartender as she set her credits on the counter.
"No." He said gruffly, without explanation.
Vashti blinked, and her eyes scanned the bottles on the back of the bar. The same bottle she had been drinking from for the last week was sitting there, half full. "I'm sorry?" she questioned him.
"I said, no, you cannot have a Corellian Brandy." With that he poured her a glass of the cheap juma juice most of his other patrons drank and pushed it in front of her.
She stared at the glass for a moment, its sweet smell bringing not so distant memories to mind of her ship's mess hall filled with bawdy soldiers, gathered round her, drinking and joking. She shook her head and pushed the glass away willing the memories away with it.
"Look, kid," the bartender said abrasively, "every day for the last two weeks you've come into my bar and ordered the most expensive drink in the house. Only to sit and stare at it until you finally decide to leave and chug the whole thing in one swig. I can't in good conscience continue letting you spend all your credits only to degrade such a fine liquor that way. If you are going to treat it like swill, you might as well be drinking the swill." As he finished, he pushed the glass of juma back at her.
A small chuckle welled up in her chest at the man's lecture, "well, when you put it that way," she took the glass he offered her and drained it in one quick gulp.
He smiled saying, "My name's Mac, by the way, and that's Lou over there running the Pazaak tables." He took her glass and refilled it. "Have another," he said with a wink as he tucked her credits into his pocket, "you've got ten more glasses to go before you've spent this."
She chuckled again as she raised the second glass and took a slow sip, glancing over at the pazaak tables. The bartender, leaned over the bar next to her and yelled, "Lou, I believe our young friend here would like to play." And he pushed her off the barstool in the direction of Lou, but she stopped and shook her head. "I haven't played in a while…and I was never any good…" she offered as an excuse for her hesitancy.
"Then they'll love having you to play with, miss, what with your free flowing credits and all."
"Fine, deal me in." she said with only a little conviction as she made her way over to the tables, fishing her deck out of a long forgotten pocket.
She played for hours, losing much more than she won, slowly loosening up with the men around her. She stumbled to her ship in the wee hours of the morning and collapsed on her bunk. For the first time in months, she slept because she was tired and not just to escape.
A week later, she sat at the bar in the cantina, staring into her glass again. She had spent most of the last week here, but in spite of the constant presence of people around her, the loneliness had only abated slightly, and even that small relief was beginning to fade.
"You need a job." The bartender said gruffly as he set another glass in front of her, apparently ignoring the fact that she hadn't even taken a sip of her current drink.
"Why? I don't need the credits," she said quietly, avoiding eye contact.
"No, of course you don't, you're a wealthy heiress!" he said in a provoking tone.
She chuckled, "No, I receive a pension from the Republic for my service in the... war."
She finished almost inaudibly, and the bartender studied her for a moment, she was so young and timid. He found it hard to believe that she could have possibly been involved in a war, much less been important enough to receive a pension upon retirement at such a young age. But her eyes confirmed her story. They had seen untold horrors and her grief was too visible to anyone who bothered to look there.
"It's not much," she continued, "but it's more than I could ever spend out here."
"You still need a job." He stated again, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're bored, miss. You may not need the credits, but you need something to keep you busy."
She arched her eyebrows at the idea, "Hmm, you're probably right, what did you have in mind?"
"Well, the only thing I need around here is a dancer, but somehow you don't seem the type."
She laughed suddenly, her eyes sparkled with amusement for a brief second before the darkness settled back on them. "Too bad," he thought to himself, "she'd make a great one."
She considered him for a moment, "I've never danced before." She stated almost as if she was considering his job offer.
"I'm sure you'd do fine, it's not like it's Coruscanti Theatre or anything. I haven't had a dancer in here for a couple of months so the men will just be glad to have something to look at again."
Her eyes brightened again as she remembered her one brief flirtation with exhibitionism in the mess hall of her warship. "I suppose I'd have to wear some skimpy costume…" she said with a sigh.
"Yeah, that's how it's generally done. I have one in back from one of the old dancers, it'd probably fit you… the pay is 50 credits a night plus whatever you can pull in tips."
She snorted at the meager salary. "Well, that'd pay for my drinks at least." She said with a roll of her eyes.
He grinned wryly and said, "The tips are where the money is, my last dancer pulled in several hundred credits on busy nights, and she wasn't anywhere near the looker you are." The color drained from her face for a moment as she glanced up at him, noticing his amused expression at her discomfort. He shook his head at her, "Never mind." He said after a moment of studying her crossing his arms over his chest, "If you get that uncomfortable with a small compliment, I don't think you could pull it off."
She stared into her glass of juma for a moment, surprisingly riled by the challenge implied in his words. "When do I start?" she asked with a grin.
She cursed quietly to herself as she tried for the fourth time to work the clasp on the back of this "contraption" they called a costume. She had spent the last day trying to prepare herself physically and emotionally for this crazy job. She was beginning to wonder why she had even agreed to do it in the first place. Although, she had enjoyed the highly puzzled look on the face of the clerk in the general store when she had added razors, all sorts of hair paraphernalia and other beauty supplies to her usual order. It occurred to her now that most of his puzzlement probably came from the fact that she had bought most everything they had whether it was appropriate for her or not, hoping that she could figure out how to use some of it.
She had spent much of the night trying to figure out what to do with her hair. She hadn't cut it in years and there was too much of it to do anything too fancy she realized after hours of curling, washing, braiding and unbraiding, she finally resolved to just leave it in a long, loose braid that hung down her back. She noticed now as she wrestled into the bottom part of her costume that her braid was going to be getting caught in the belt of this ridiculous outfit. She tossed her braid over her shoulder instead then and when it settled between her breasts, she growled and wrapped it around her neck once. She began to chide herself for giving the enemy such an easy weapon against her before she realized with a snort that she shouldn't be facing any enemies tonight.
Mac poked his head into the dressing room as she was staring at herself in the mirror, unsure what to think about her transformation.
"You look great, kid," he said gruffly. "It's now or never."
"Is it too late for never?" she asked with a chuckle.
"Yep, sure is." He said with a grin. "Come on."
He stepped out onto the stage and began announcing her to the crowd, which seemed larger tonight than usual. Apparently the word that she'd be dancing had spread quickly and they'd all come to see her.
She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage after his introduction and seeing the crowd for the first time she suddenly wondered what the hell she was doing up here. She'd never danced and hadn't really rehearsed anything, just assuming she would be able to wing it once she got up here. What was worse was that the stares of so many men made her queasy. For the first time, she thanked the force that she couldn't feel the emotions currently rolling off the men in this room. She hesitated, suddenly horribly self conscious and unsure what to do that wouldn't look ridiculous.
Then she spotted a man in the front row with a force pike strapped to his back and knew immediately how she was going to survive this fiasco. She smiled at the crowd as she sauntered down the stage toward the armed man and gracefully leaned toward him. She locked eyes with him and with her right hand grazed his cheek with her fingertips as a distraction. Her left hand reached over his shoulder slowly, as if reaching for the nape of his neck. In a flash, however, she managed to unfasten his pike and winked at the man as she backed toward the center of the stage, spinning the staff casually. When the music started, she moved gracefully through her combat training exercises, fighting imaginary enemies with kicks, punches and thrusts of the pike. After a few minutes, she didn't even see them anymore, concentrating fully on making her body conform to the exercises it knew so well, yet didn't know at all without the force coursing through her.
When the song finally finished some minutes later she froze for a moment in her final pose, crouched on her left leg, her right leg extended and the pike spinning over her head. Her skin glowed with perspiration, her breathing heavy. She slowed the spin and brought it to her side straightening her body again. She noticed for the first time the entranced stares and agape jaws of her audience. She bowed shyly and handed the pike back to its owner with a smile and mouthed a grateful "thank you," before she turned and walked off the stage. That's when the applause started, loud and thunderous. Her breath caught in her chest and a surge of adrenaline rushed over her.
"That was one of the most… arousing… performances I have ever seen," Mac said bluntly with a lecherous grin, "but you're not going to get many tips that way…"
"I'm… sorry…" she stuttered, unsure of herself suddenly.
"Sorry?" he questioned her with an amused look, "you're the one not getting the tips, kid, no skin off my nose, and I haven't had a crowd like this in here in years. I can't even imagine what it will be like tomorrow night… if you're up for another night."
"Let's see if I make it through tonight, shall we?" she said with a grin. "I have no idea what I'm going to do for my next number."
"Like it matters," he said gruffly as he turned and headed back towards the bar where his serving droid was being swamped by the crowd.
She threw a light robe on over her outfit, but didn't fasten it and followed him to the bar. She poured herself a glass of juma and began to wander through the cantina. Everywhere she went eyes followed her. It was unnerving. She decided to sit at one of the pazaak tables with some of her acquaintances, and passed the time between performances with a few games of pazaak. After one hand, a tall, muscular man sat beside her. She glanced at him and recognized him as the one who's weapon she had taken. She smiled warmly at him and he flashed her a charming grin as he raked his eyes across her body appreciatively.
"Hello, gorgeous, what are you doing after you get off work?" he asked without preamble.
She raised an eyebrow at him, "going to bed?" she replied, not sure why she added the questioning tone to her response.
"Well, I assumed that," he responded with a smirk as he moved closer to her, "I was just wondering who you would be taking with you." Her eyes grew large, dumbfounded by his suggestion. He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, "you didn't think you could move like that and not get offers did you?"
"Ummmm…" she stuttered, "I, uh, hadn't really thought about it…"
"Well," he cut her off confidently, "consider me the high bidder for your affections this evening," he said with a predatory grin as he slid 500 credits under her belt, his fingers grazing her stomach.
His touch unnerved her, but only for a moment. Before he had a chance to withdraw his hand, she had grabbed it and held it firmly in front of him. Once she would have been able to hold it there with the force, but now she had to rely on her physical strength to restrain the man. Fortunately, he wasn't struggling against her. She fished the credits out from her belt with her free hand and pressed them into the hand she held.
"I'm no whore, sir," She spat at him, releasing her grip upon him. "And I have no need for your benevolence." The whole room watched them now.
"Excuse me, miss," he chuckled at her fiery temper as he rubbed his wrist to bring back the circulation. "I meant no offense." With that, he stood, nodded at her and headed towards the bar.
When it came time for her next performance, she stepped a little more boldly onto the stage, though still not sure what she would be doing for this next dance. She glanced around at her audience for an inspiration and found her "benefactor" smiling up at her while holding a vibroblade by its edge, hilt pointed towards her. She couldn't help but smile as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and took it from him, spinning it habitually in her right hand. The weight was different from her lightsaber, but the hilt felt right in her hand, experimentally she tossed it from her right hand to her left, spun it there and tossed it back.
She glanced down at the large man again and noticed an extra large smirk on his face as he pulled another shorter blade out of his coat and offered that one to her as well. Her eyes lit up as she greedily took the second weapon in her left hand. Suddenly she felt at home, she had always carried two lightsabers and while these blades lacked the familiar hum and balance of the sabers, they were supremely well made weapons, incredibly well balanced and she slipped without another thought into her combat stance. The music started and she began moving through another set of combat training exercises. This time, her rhythm matched the tempo of the music perfectly, each step, each feint, each thrust propelling her further into some crazy euphoria, the natural endorphins only heightened by the exposure of her flesh in this miniscule costume.
When the music stopped again, there was instant thunderous applause. She hesitantly handed the swords back to their owner with a bow, turned and walked off the stage. She was met backstage by Mac again, who just shook his head at her with a whistle, "I'll say one thing about you, you're the first dancer I've ever had that I didn't have to worry about not being able to defend herself from the creeps in this place."
She laughed merrily, "No, no need for that," she agreed as she tugged her robe back on over her outfit.
"One more performance tonight, I can't wait to see what you're going to do for this one."
"Me either," she chuckled to herself as he walked back out into the cantina.
She meandered again, drink in hand and felt drawn to the large man who had helped her twice tonight. He sat in a chair, relaxed, chatting casually with his companion, whom she recognized as the clerk from the store. His eyes met hers as she glided across the floor towards him. Stopping at the table, she briefly flashed a smile at the clerk before turning her attention back to the man that had drawn her to him from across the room.
"I can't wait to see what else you've got in that coat of yours," she said flirtatiously with a flash of a grin.
"Well, I offered to show you earlier, miss," he said, amusement in his voice, "but I believe you turned me down." He let his eyes run over her exposed flesh again, as her face paled suddenly at the realization of the double meaning of her own words.
"I, uh… meant… ummm…"
He laughed boisterously at her discomfort as the clerk broke in tentatively, "Rhyke is one of my suppliers," he said with a nod to the large man. "He fancies himself a weapons dealer, but sells more general supplies out here than anything." The clerk glanced up at Vashti and added as an afterthought, "He's the one that brought that box with the lightsaber crystal in it."
She flushed at the mention of the crystal and Rhyke's eyes shot to hers, she saw a sudden understanding in his eyes then, as a new confusion overtook them.
"Aren't you a little far away from the temple, Jedi?" he questioned her suddenly.
She gulped, shaking her head, and stammered, "no… I'm not a Jedi…"
"Sith then?" he questioned further.
She shook her head vehemently then, "no, just… not a Jedi… anymore."
His eyes told her that he had more questions but he remained silent, letting her try to find her comfort zone again. But it was too late, her hands fumbled with her now empty glass anxiously. And with a mumble about getting a refill, she turned from the man and quickly walked toward the bar.
Mac's expression soured when he saw the anxiety in her eyes. "He bothering you again, kid?" He said with a protective growl towards the table where Rhyke sat.
"No," she said with a shake of her head as she poured herself another glass of juma. He watched her skeptically when she offered no further explanation and headed over to the pazaak tables.
Later in the evening she stood backstage, trying to prepare herself for her final performance, wondering if the large man would have any other weapons for her, or what in the force she would do out there if he didn't.
She took a deep breath, and stepped onto the stage, relieved when she saw him standing in his usual spot, holding something up to her in his hand. Wordlessly she approached him and her eyes widened as he flicked the switch on the small item he held and a long thin lash dropped from the handle and began to glow with an energized hum. She shook her head at him quickly, she had never used a whip before, or anything like it, but he smiled at her reassuringly and pushed it toward her again.
She took it timidly, wondering what she was getting into. As the music started she found herself entranced with the glowing flexible lash and she tentatively began a combat sequence flicking her wrist as she thrust her arm forward. What would have been a simple strike with a sword, turned into a frenzied light show as the whip cascaded forward and then back on itself, crackling with power and energy. As the dance continued, her body began to mimic the fluidity of the whip. She turned and spun, the lash flowing gracefully around her, she couldn't take her eyes off it as she jumped and thrust, kicked and feinted.
When the music stopped she shut down the whip almost reluctantly and bowed for the last time to another round of thunderous applause. She stepped toward Rhyke and handed the whip handle back to him. He took it with an appreciative grin as her eyes shone vibrantly.
She turned and left the stage for the last time that evening and Mac met her once again. "Force, child! He exclaimed loudly, "that was… unlike anything I have ever seen."
"Me either," she said with a glowing smile, "I'm not even sure I knew a weapon like that existed before tonight."
"Well, you survived tonight… will you be performing tomorrow night?" he questioned her hopefully.
She nodded with a self satisfied smile agreeing silently before heading back to the dressing room.
When she emerged from the dressing room in her usual black cargo pants and heavy jacket she was almost unrecognizable as the lithe beauty that had occupied the stage that evening. She had re-braided her hair and pinned it into its usual coils on top of her head. She wandered into the cantina, her bag slung over her shoulder, and was almost surprised when all eyes didn't turn to her. She watched the room for a moment, then with quiet resolve, fastened her coat around her and pushed her way into the cold night.
She hunkered down inside her coat as icy wind prickled at her face. She wasn't really ready to go to bed, but she headed towards her ship anyway, her feet crunching in the snow. As she started up the ramp of her ship, a voice broke the silence of the spaceport behind her, "So you're really going to bed, then?" The now familiar voice said.
She turned with a smile, "That was the plan, yes."
"By yourself?" He asked with a grin as he walked over to her. She nodded and he scowled playfully. "Well, if you'd rather not head to bed just yet, how about joining me for a cup of caffa?" He gestured across the spaceport to the opposite docking bay where his small freighter sat. She considered him for a moment and then nodded as she descended her ramp and followed him to his craft.