Chapter one
Kill a Stormtrooper
An avid hunter knows how to catch their prey, a good hunter understands what it is to be hunted and an exceptional hunter hunts as prey.
Seamus Witold was an exceptional hunter.
When he walked along the Flat Block Cesspit, and the sudden urge to freeze in his tracks and look over his shoulder overtook him, he squashed the feeling and instead steadied his gait and focused on his breathing. It was best to feign ignorance until the opportune moment.
'Come on then,' he thought darkly. 'Follow me.'
There was a blaster pistol on his hip, and another one strapped to his ankle, he went nowhere unarmed these days, especially not down in the wastelands of the fifth level of Coruscant, where murder was carried out as flippantly as long-time lovers kiss. He slipped a hand into his jacket and stroked his pistol, arming it, then chanced a few casual glances over his shoulder.
He counted six of them moving against the horizon towards him, with overt intent. Two Togorians in billowy robes and four others in what looked like Mandalorian armour. He had a decent head start and was fast enough to really widen the gap, even against the Togorians, but to outrun the firepower of the Mandalorians? That would be impossible. Still, he would have to try.
The roots of Galactic City stood in the distance, like crumbling teeth from rotten gums. Seamus ran for them, right in time, he turned his head to look at the sizzling boil that formed against the putrid pool of water. He winced and held an arm over his head, feeling the heat of several bolts of plasma energy passing over and around him as he just booked it.
Thrawn got to the gallery at exactly 17:00 hours, just like he told Lady Druscillia he would. He stood patiently by the sensor-controlled doors and waited in vain for them to open. After a casual glance around, he saw a closed sign in the viewport. The Gallery was open until 20:00 hours on Tuangsdays.
'How generous of her,' he thought with a knowing smile.
"Tall, blue skin, fabulous bone structure— he turned his head slightly to the side, so that he could face the short and rail thin woman who addressed him; she was middle aged with silver hair, cut short in jagged angles.
"And eyes redder than Sansanna spice. You must be Captain Thrawn."
He looked down at her chest to the identity tag that read,
Pertrude Faust,
Assistant Director.
"I am," he said politely, turning fully towards her.
"Good day to you, my name is Pertrude Faust." She gestured sharply to her name tag. "I am the Assistant Director here at the Motti Gallery, if you could please follow me and I will take you to see Lady Druscillia."
He was led through another entrance at the side of the gallery to the mammoth sized greenhouse that was the Butterfly Garden.
"She will be somewhere in here," Pertrude said, gesturing for him to proceed forward.
Thrawn thanked her and made his way in. He had yet to properly enjoy the garden's trails; it was the gallery's most visited site and served as a sort of regional park for city dwellers who needed to feel in touch with more natural effects. It was nice to see it empty for a change, or mostly empty… Lady Druscillia sat waiting on a little white stone bench, with the sun streaming through the canopy of greenery overhead and turning her lavender dress translucent. She stared down at a little pool of water; apparently lost in her thoughts.
Perfection like this was seldom random and what with her being a highly sought-after professional model, she would be aware of the eye-catching angles of her body and how to use the lighting to accentuate them.
He found himself thinking of these creatures he had read about at the Academy— Rakazzak Beasts, they were called. Large fearsome predators within the arachnid family, who waited in the shadows, trapped their prey in webbing and sucked them dry of their innards. Many who found themselves trapped in their clutches found no escape.
Running a hand guardedly over his chest, he made his way towards her.
The Lady looked up when she heard his approach, then stood and gave up a coy wave. He bowed slightly at the hip.
"You glow with radiance, Lady Druscillia."
"Thank you, Captain Thrawn." she smiled a knowing smile. "You are not so bad on the eyes yourself."
He regarded her in silence. She stood up tall like a dancer, with her heels together and toes pointed to the side, both of her arms were wound behind her back and she pushed her breasts out in his direction. Her nipples protruded through the thin fabric of the low sweetheart neckline. It was nothing for him to keep his eyes on her face, despite how she twisted from side to side in order to draw his attention down to them.
The woman wanted him and was making it no secret.
"You closed down the gallery so that you may give me a private tour," he said.
"Yes, you frequent our gallery so often, I thought you might appreciate some privacy to fully enjoy it."
Thrawn thought he had been enjoying them in privacy. He wondered for how long she watched him from afar and bided her time. "Indeed, I would," he said. "How very thoughtful of you."
He walked with her at his side, obliging her when she pointed to a plant or flower and asked him to identify it.
"You really know your flowers," she said. "And not only their names, but their uses as well. I do not know many in the Navy who could boast the same."
"I try not to discriminate when it comes to accumulating knowledge."
"In that case, maybe it should be you who gives me the tour. Shall we move to the gallery?"
"I would like that, I did not get a chance to finish admiring Gabcheek's pieces yesterday." He replied while she smiled, unabashedly guilty.
"Yes, that may have been rude of me, just pulling you away like that."
"I did not mind. It was a privilege to gaze upon art that many do not get the chance to appreciate in person."
"It is a shame isn't it? For those pieces I showed you to be hidden away like that, just because uncle Brutlicus assumes the general public will not appreciate them."
"Indeed. But I was talking about you."
"Oh." She ran her bottom lip through her teeth, a touch of colour spreading along her cheeks. "Thank you."
He nodded once.
"My uncle is quite the treasure hunter you know and a complete hoarder of art. Even now he is somewhere in the mid-rim collecting new pieces to bring back." She tsked and shook her head.
Thrawn smirked. "Since we are on the subject of Brutilicus's travels, would you tell me more of what you know of my people?"
"Honestly," Druscillia said, turning away from him to stare at a bust of Mumbai. "Besides the statue, I really don't know much."
"How unfortunate, I do enjoy hearing tales of us from an outside perspective."
She almost looked regretful and then curious. "Who have you heard tales from?"
"My aide, Ensign Vanto, he is from Wild Space."
"Ah, yes that would make sense. Did he tell you that out there they believe the Chiss are people from their ancient colonies? Who long ago traversed to the unknown regions, only to and pardon me— I do not believe this— but they believe you have become possessed by demonic ice spirits. Imagine that, the Chiss are actually humans from Wild Space possessed by… ice demons. How… lovely." She snickered.
"Fascinating. He neglected to tell me this. It would explain his parents' behavior towards me."
She laughed even harder and he found himself chortling.
"It is only a story, fortunately no one really holds much value to the tales told by... well…Wild Spacers. They tend to be rather narrow minded and ignorant."
They stopped at a display of crude-looking dolls and he gestured to them. "Your uncle must hold them in high esteem to be displaying such artifacts."
"Yes, and I do too. Please Captain, do not take anything I say at face value, it will only confuse you. And around you I cannot help but blurt things out."
She stepped closer to the display leaving him to contemplate her words.
"We call this outsider art, they actually sell quite well to Core Worlders," she began. "Did you know these were actually once toys for their children? Look there, do you see how many credits people are willing to spend on them?"
"They are several centuries old and made using space debris from a past millennia. It is their age and novelty that warrants the price." Thrawn explained.
"It is a little ironic is it not?" she placed both hands on the glass case and peered closer at the figures. "That the only ones with the means to spend piles of money on something simply for being old, are the same ones who spend the most to remain young."
Seamus came upon an alley with a feeble, flickering sign, reading Gunk Alley, over the archway. Running headlong into an alley, with assassins at his back was a risk and it seemed to go quite a way into darkness… What if it had a dead end? He looked back and saw the figures drawing closer, a stray blast hit one of the structures near him and made the decision for him.
He ran on in and made for one of the doors and pounded on it. Immediately running to pound on another then another. If he was lucky, he'd wake up some Coruscanti ogres and slip away undetected, buying him some time to find a lift, or enough time to find a good position to pick his pursuers off one by one.
He was really hoping for the lift, instead his hand smacked the damp stone of the end of the Alley. He looked up and around at the hollowed-out eyes that had once been viewports and searched for a way up.
Technology in these parts was far from sophisticated. The simple electric door locks could be busted if hit with enough force and the resulting damage would either destroy the opening mechanism, permanently shutting the door, or open the door but damage the locking mechanism, requiring careful repairs to replace the lock. Just as he decided to test his luck on a nearby door, his hand reaching for the pommel of his blaster, a voice called out to him from behind it.
"Who be there?"
"Just a man down on his luck with trouble on his heels. Can you spare me some cover, brother?"
"Fark off. I ain't falling for this shyt again."
Seamus banged the door with both fists and hissed a silent curse, his head snapped to the alley's entrance so that his sweaty chin length hair slapped him in the face. "I would rather not damage your door, my friend, but you seem to be leaving me little choice right now." He turned his back to press himself as close to the filthy surface as he could, sucking in his gut and passing a hand over his jacket, to keep it from sticking out and exposing him. "I leave you to the count of three," he said, freeing his weapon.
He heard his pursuers getting closer and let his breath out low and easy, rubbing his index finger over the trigger.
"He's down here!"
"Yeah, I see his boots!"
No more use hiding. He knelt and looked around the entrance way, firing off two shots right as the door behind him opened and he was pulled up backwards by the hair.
"Sounds like we 'ave about 30 seconds for yuh to tell me why I shan't kill yuh."
Seamus's eyes dropped to the blaster pressed against his cheek. "You opened the door. You are decent."
"So, I'm a good fella an all, so wha'? Maybe yuh ain't, an them out there has good reason to put yuh to sludge."
"I have done them no wrong."
"No way for me to know tha, is there? I shoulda kept me blinkin mouth shut. Here I be, tryin' to mind me own business can't do tha', no. Sumden made me answer yuh."
"Thank you for it, brother."
"How many's comin?"
"Six- no, five now. One is down, and she is not getting back up, I had to shoot out both of her knee caps just now."
"Quakin quasars! Sounds like yuh 'ave some shot."
"The best."
The man lowered his blaster and pushed him away. "Wha's yer name lad?"
Seamus turned to face him. "Nightswan."
"Nightswan eh? Me name's Trug." Trug pulled the strip of cloth he used as a face mask down his blistery skin. "An don't forget it."
At that declaration someone banged heavily against the door. "Mister Witold, we know you are in there. Let's not drag this out!"
"Piss off, the lot a yuh!" Trugs yelled at the door. Some shots rang out and they heard the sounds of plasma scorching metal and the fizzle of failing electricity, but luck was on their side and the door remained jammed shut.
"Are there any more entrances in here?" Nightswan hissed. "Any viewports, crawl spaces, missing walls?"
"All blocked off. I ain't no idjit. Just shut up and lemme work, lad."
Trugs slunk off into the room. Behind them the door was doing a good job holding up against the continuous fire— but who knew what toys the Mandalorian's brought to play with.
"They will eventually get through," Seamus muttered.
Trugs grunted and moved around him with a remote in hand. He pressed a button that opened a trap by his door and threw a tarp over it, so black with grime it blended in seamlessly with the floor. "Let them," he said.
They each found cover, Seamus removed his ankle blaster and armed it when his pursuers were able to wedge a bar into the slit where the two sliding doors met and began prying it open, inch by slow inch.
The first of them walked straight down into the pit with a loud squelch and ear-curdling scream. The second was able to catch himself, teetering comically at the edge, until Trugs shot him in. The third— a Togorian— leapt over the pit with a plastoid shield in front of his body. Seamus shot his exposed elbow and then his face once the shield fell.
Next, two more armored Mandalorians bounded in, ready for action. Their plasma canon's bolts ripped through the counter. Seamus, barely avoiding the barrage of blasts, clambered over to the adjacent hallway, returning fire with careful aim to where Mandalorian's were most vulnerable. He got one in the neck and the other in the armpit so that they faltered and dropped their rifle, releasing a shot that nearly took off their own toes.
Trugs finished them off from their united flanks. "Shoulda spread out," he growled spitting on the ground by their corpses. "That all a em?"
Seamus looked towards the door, his eyes going wide. "Look out!"
Trugs chest opened up and sizzled right in front of him. He fell to his knees and Seamus shot blindly at the Togorian on the ground outside. In one fell swoop Seamus grabbed the remote and found the button for the trap door. Once shut he stepped through the door to the assassin whose legs were in ruins. His eyes moved along the trail of blood up to her wheezing body and then to her blaster. He kicked it far out of reach.
"Who sent you after me?" he asked squatting beside her. The Togorian's eyes found his but she remained stoic.
"Who?" he grabbed her up by the collar.
"You know who," she managed to choke out.
She was already fading. He thrust her on the ground down and away from him with a disgusted scoff, then moved towards his savior: the scaly old man on the floor, bleeding out through the chest.
"I'm sorry I brought this on you, brother."
"Woulda happened anyway," Trugs replied, drooling a stream of blood. "Don't touch me stuff, Nightswan."
"Yesterday you told me all the things you can see using art. What did you learn about me based on my performance?"
Thrawn wrapped his arms behind his back and clasped his hands together, keeping steady pace with her. "That you have an intense love for what you do, but like any career path that one dominates in and that comes as naturally as breathing, you feel confined by the lack of challenge. You are bored, Lady Druscillia. I wonder, what do you do in order to rectify your... dilemma?"
She stopped walking and turned to look up at him. "What do you think I do to rectify my… dilemma?"
"As of now, I cannot say."
"Guess."
"I would prefer not to."
"You," she said prodding his chest. "Are no fun."
"That is a matter of opinion," Thrawn replied, brushing his fingertips against where she tagged him.
They began to walk again until coming to a painting whose canvas stretched across the entirety of a wall.
"Oila Gaisan's Unordinary Urges," Thrawn said.
"Yes. This is the Gallery's only Gaisan piece. Exceedingly rare and jealously guarded. Acquiring any Gaisan piece is extremely difficult – she does not sell conventionally. As it just so happens, she gave this piece to my uncle as compensation for his humanitarian work during the war."
"So I have heard."
"What I love about this piece is how unappealing it is on first sight, it's the greenish brown colour of shit." She put her fingertips to her lip and apologized gently. "I believe Gaisan meant to encompass all the turmoil of hiding one's true nature under a veneer of, well… crap. But no matter how hard one tries to hide; one's true colors will always bleed through. Beneath is said to be her most elaborate piece of work, you can see a bit of it if you get close enough. See how the lines of colour move?"
"Very interesting," Thrawn said. "Your interpretation differs from mine, but I do find yours... appealing." He peered closely at the exceptionally thin stripes of colour beneath, perfectly straight and never overlapping. The time it would have taken and the painstaking focus it would have required was nearly inconceivable. And only for the onlooker to catch glimpses of it bleeding through the brown.
"That is the way of art," she mused.
"Indeed."
"Have you any unordinary urges, Captain Thrawn?"
"Unordinary urges?" Thrawn contemplated the meaning of the words and then the cut of her chosen dress. "I feel plenty of urges," he said. "I do not consider any of them unordinary. Some however, are unwelcome distractions."
"Oh really?" she tilted her head and stared him down, before bursting out in a fit of laughter. "I believe now is time I show you the most lucrative art form known to sentience."
Thrawn raised both eyebrows, his interest peaked. "And what would that be?"
"Fine dining of course!" she grabbed his elbow and dragged him in the direction of her choosing. "Come, I had chef Quado create us something truly spectacular."
The lights were still off when Seamus inched into his safe house. A quick scan of the flat showed everything was where it ought to be. He turned on a light, then knelt down, about to relieve himself of his ankle blaster, when a voice called out to him from his easy chair by the window.
"Hello Witold." The female's voice was familiar. Very familiar. Too familiar. "I was told you were on your way back."
His eyes narrowed. Of course they would send her. Just how she managed to break in and for how long she had been sitting there in the dark waiting for him he could only guess.
"Cladribine, to what do I—
"Cut the spyt, you know exactly why I'm here."
"No small talk then? Straight into how I managed to escape the Guild's assassination attempt."
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"The Togorian and Mandoloran bounty hunters who tried to kill me earlier today."
"I was told I would be given time to speak some sense into you before we'd have to resort to… that."
"You think these were the first assassins sent after me?" he chuffed, like an annoyed nerf who had one too many flies fly up his nostrils. "Go on then and say what they paid you to say."
"You have been harassing Guild employees," Cladribine began strait-lacedly. "Trying to stir them into reinstating the Union."
"Reinstating the Union? The Mining Guild never had need for a formal Union. The Guild in itself acted in the best interest of all those in the trade— until the Empire came in and forced us to create a Union for them to control our supply and outflow. When we began to protest, they simply removed it and usurped control of produc—"
"You have been pillaging support." She spoke over him, as though she had practiced her lines, and any deviation or input from him would derail her. "And it is causing unnecessary drama and creating rifts we can not afford to have going forward."
"Pillaging? Give me a kriffing break, there are many like me coming together and voicing their concerns over—
"Majority rules and the majority have ruled in favor of merging with the Empire. We will support their interests and they will continue to support us. Our goals are aligned."
"Oh come on and wake up already," he said loudly. "The Imperials idea of support is to take resources and jobs from us common folk, to give as some sort of vaunted tribute to fuel projects for the military's benefit and their benefit alone. Can you not see that they are slowly moving to control the rights to mine all precious alloys, to use for their so-called naval enhancement initiatives, which to anyone with a working brain should take as a big farking red flag!"
"All precious alloys? You're exaggerating. Face it, the Galactic Empire isn't some evil organization, all hell-bent on oppression like you so desperately want to believe. It's made up of sentients of all kinds, coming together and trying to maintain peace. Unlike you, I'm choosing to focus on the positives."
"Peace? They have become openly hostile to all institutions not levied by the Emperor. I would not have so much of a problem with this if they were giving back as good as they took, but they are not. And then there are these rumors, terrible rumors of—"
"So, what do you intend to do? The strike didn't work, Seamus. Will you go to war with us?" she folded her arms with this smug little smirk that made her look so damn ugly in his eyes. "Even if you could somehow organize some sort of revolt, are you really willing to see this turn into another galactic war?"
"The fact that you think me defending the right to maintain a proper free market is enough to start a galactic war tells us everything we need to know about our current political climate. All's I want is to see an end to the tyranny."
"Tyranny?" her laugh was high and condescending. "Unregulated trade was becoming unstable and promoted uncompromised greed and unfettered corruption. The Empire's vision is fixing this by banding us together with a common goal."
"What common goal? They are creating weapons of mass destruction. The war is over and they promote this illusion of stability and prosperity, so why the need for wide scale armament?"
Cladribine rolled her eyes. "Weapons of mass destruction? You always were a bit of a conspiracy theorist."
"This is no conspiracy, it is a fact. We have lost ownership rights to two thirds of our mines in the Doonium rich Kibilini and Rolion sectors and it will only get worse— everywhere. You know I am right. Join me, Clad!"
"You mean join Nightswan?" she asked. "That is what you are calling yourself these days isn't it?"
He raised his chin. "What of it?"
"You are playing a dangerous game, Nightswan you and those willing to sully the good name of the Guild by forming partnerships with scum like the Pyke Syndicate. You would speak ill of this regime while consorting with drug dealing slavers?"
"When you get down to the bare bones there is little difference between the Syndicate and the Empire, except for scale. We are only siding with them temporarily to fight a more pressing need— the Empire's take over of our trade and the injustices being committed against its oppressed people."
"You act as if there are Stormtroopers going around and rounding people up off the street. The only people who should fear the establishment are criminals and disturbers of the peace. People like you who just refuse to change and assimilate."
"And you are choosing passivity because you have no real stake in the general suffering of those not as fortunate as you; as if never experiencing a bad day is the same as bad days never existing."
"I have had many bad days, Seamus. Many. Have you forgotten I lost a sister and my father in the Clone War?"
He had for a moment, so intent he was on proving his point. "I am sorry, it was a poor example."
She spared him a tight-lipped smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Why are you siding with them?" he asked, spreading his arms to the side. "Does submitting to the Emperor's authority give you some illusion of security?" he bit his bottom lip. "You are not really that… dim, are you?"
She held up both hands and stuck both thumb tips together, a gesture that was meant to suggest he go Fark himself.
"This argument is getting us nowhere, she said. "Look, we had you wiped off the guild's data frame and every other data frame we could find you in. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but it's done. As long as you don't get yourself arrested you should be alright. This is a gift, for all that you have done for the trade in the past. Use it wisely. In exchange for this gift, I want you to stay away from those who would see the Guild's prosperity. No more talks of strikes or organizing with our people in anyway. Leave well enough alone."
She stood up and slipped on her jacket. "What you do after that, I could hardly give a toss."
"Do you know why I broke up with you, Clad, do you really know why?"
"I think your words were, I am an emotionless rock," she said airily, while slipping on a pair of gloves.
"I was wrong. You do have emotions," he began, following after her towards the door. "Its only you are too scared to be vulnerable enough to show them." And then he added in an undertone, "As if any warm-blooded mammal wishes to share a bed with the living embodiment of an ice cube."
"Now you are just being nasty," she hissed.
"I am being honest," he retorted. "I get that you are scared and I get why you subconsciously avoid the truth. The implications alone are terrifying and it must be very difficult for a sensible person like yourself to fathom truly sophisticated evil. But do not piss on me and tell me it is raining, alright? Can you do that?"
"Seamus…"
"No! You pass this message up, Cladribine, stop coming for me or I will hunt you all down." He lifted a hand and pointed at her. "I will not let your fear and ignorance hinder me from doing what I know is right."
Seamus watched her go, knowing full well the cowards ruling what remained of the Guild would not relent, not unless he bent over, pulled down his trousers and promised to be a good boy— that or he was dead. His safe house was no longer safe, he would have to move. Again. And for that he would have to call on Curly.
Then he would pack, and send a message to Driller Mardapp and Juahir Madras. For now their next move for Higherskies would have to wait, he had business to attend to in the Outer Rim. But first, food and maybe a bit of rest, he had such a long and trying day and mum— stars hold her light— would want him to eat something.
Thrawn waited for the lady to sit before taking his seat, no sooner had he done that were they served appetizers.
"Chef Quado is one of the best in the Core. He tailored this meal especially for us. Trust me, you are really in for a treat." She grinned widely.
"Do you do this often," he asked. "Host private tours?"
"Well, yes, but that is for work, this is entirely different."
Thrawn looked down at his plate to the thin slices of meat that were arranged to look like the delicate petals of rosita buds. There was a prickly green and yellow vegetable in the center to serve as the flowers pistol. It seemed a bit of a shame to hack it with fork and knife.
Lady Druscillia watched the food move from his plate to his mouth with her hands up and curled into fist. "Well? she asked the second the food touched his lips. "Do you like it?"
Thrawn bit down carefully and chewed slowly and thoughtfully, only once he swallowed and took a small sip of water did he nod.
She clapped her hands together with an excited squeal and said, "Excellent, I just knew you would."
For the entirety of the meal she eyed him like it was he who was the spread and for reasons he could not discern as intentional or not, timed her questions for whenever he first took a bite of food, forcing him to chew awkwardly as she waited eagerly for his answer. It was mildly irritating, but she made up for it by listening to his answers with the same sort of rapt fascination one would expect of a highly ambitious student.
He smirked and here he thought that he had complete reign over his ego. It seemed even he was not fully immune to wide adoring eyes and lavishly afforded praise when it came out of the lips of a beautiful woman. In his defense, he was in an environment where he was constantly being second guessed and sometimes gawked at like bacterium, so felt excused for his small break from character.
"I would like to thank you, ma'am, for this most surprising and pleasant evening. The food, the tour, it was all a welcome reprieve."
"It was nothing," she said airily, picking up her glass to sip from it.
Nothing? He seriously doubted this. The Lady did not give him a private tour of the gallery and feed him out of the kindness of her heart. It was ultimately a rare thing for a good deed to come free of debts and it was no great mystery what she expected from him in return for her generosity. He wiped his hands with all the care that he put into any task then stood.
"I should return to the palace," he said. "my absence will have been noted by now."
She stood after him, with her mouth agape. "A good friend of mine is hosting a Pop-Up Gallery in two days. It will be on level 4500 at the Grotto. Would you like to come with me? It will not be starting until after the Emperor's bedtime I imagine."
It would not be wise for him to be seen or photographed gallivanting around Coruscant at the late hours of the night, with the daughter of a superior who held one of the highest ranks in the empire. It simply was not the kind of attention he needed at the time.
"I do not think that is possible," Thrawn said, "As it so happens, Emperor Palpetine does most of his work in the dead of night."
"Will you be returning to your duties in space by then?"
"No."
"Oh…"
Thrawn peered at her for longer than was considered decent during what for many would consider an awkward silence. He could distinctly recall the last time someone showed such visible disappointment at the denial of his presence. It seemed so long ago now.
"We can exchange contact information," he suggested. "If I do find myself returning to the gallery in the near future, I will certainly let you know."
"I would like that," she said more than a little sadly.
There was a common idiom in basic that warned about extending ones reach by attempting to have the best of both worlds: You cannot fly a ship and retain all of its fuel too. Thrawn reflected on the wisdom of this sentiment while making his way back to the palace.
Lady Druscillia had very deliberately given him a small but potent taste of the perks he could receive by holding the affections of one in her position. He was aware that if he played his cards just right and allowed her the freedom to… woo him, the advantages to be gained were endless. And Thrawn was never one to pass up a good opportunity.
Unfortunately, this ploy came with the inevitable reality that many—the Lady included— would mistake his cunning for him truly wishing to embark on the pursuit to court her.
Rejection was a delicate matter for those with high hopes, and she was such a lovely and amusing little thing, with her complete lack of subtlety and easy charm. Laughter was too rare a thing in his life, but he did not want to be the cause of her pain. He would need more time to speculate the pros and cons before making a hard decision on how best to proceed.
There were some burns even food could not heal, but Seamus needed his strength, so he grabbed his sandwich and a bottle of beer from his cooling unit and made his way to the makeshift office in his sleeping quarters.
It felt like a good time to listen to some Drew Blood. He had her newest album on audiocylinder. The moment the first notes of her song Kill a Stormtrooper filled the void around him, he felt the days aggravations melt away.
Kill a,
Kill a,
Kill a,
Killer killer Stormtrooper.
Kill a,
Kill a,
Kill a,
Killer killer Stormtrooper.
Life is nothing without the take,
Fists and flame's a way to end the hate.
It was hypnotic, the rhythmic beat that strummed at his insides, the timbre of her sweet voice— from the high and sometimes raspy falsettos, to the sultry and sometimes impossibly low baritone that she mixed together so seamlessly in the song. It reduced him to a trance-like state. His eyes glazed over, and he allowed her to take him to a battlefield.
Nothing they said would take you away from the path,
Weapon in hand, you return from the blood bath.
Run into the keep to sleep for the night,
Then after a meal it's time to get back and fight.
Harken to me from way across the field,
Orders I yell give hope, a ploy and a shield.
Now back on your feet, surrender is not on your mind,
Instead, revenge, the spoils and the gifts we will find.
In his mind's eye he saw himself running hunched toward a legion of Stormtroopers, with her red and glowing at his side.
Kill a,
Kill a,
Kill a,
Killer killer Stormtrooper.
One of these days Seamus just might.
Kill a,
Kill a,
Kill a,
Killer killer Stormtrooper
Life is nothing without the take,
Fists and flame's a way to end the hate.
.
Cry your tears, we're done, the fear has now past.
The man, the throne, the lies, he wears a mask.
We'll take from him what they have taken from us,
Our lives, our will, our fill, but mostly our trust.
And once we've won lay a kiss on my brow.
I'm dead, I'm gone, no longer a use for me now.
But for this final clash— it'll take one thing,
But for our final dance — we must now all sing,
.
Kill a,
Kill a,
Kill a,
Killer, killer Stormtrooper (Go out and)
Kill a,
Kill a,
Kill a,
Killer, killer Stormtrooper.
Life is nothing without the take,
Fists and flame's a way to end the hate.
The hate.
He slumped in his seat and allowed her lootar solo to wash over him. And just when it seemed the song could bring him no higher, she began to chant:
Let us push them back, we can use battle cries.
Let them fall back, we're their demise!
Over and over, until the song faded out and he was left with a raging hard on.
Drew Blood, she understood— possibly more than anyone he knew. Mixed with the sex and spectacle of her art, she showed the truth, because wasn't sex at the middle of it all? Wasn't that what it was all about? Greed? Desire? Conquest? If he was going to do this, he could not do it alone, he would need her. He wanted her!
The only problem was no one knew who Drew Blood was. She did not have concerts, nor did she make any public appearances. She was careful and all so shrewd, only offering photographs, audiocylindors of her albums and datachips of her holovids. And it wasn't like he knew any artists or anyone in showbiz who may have a clue where to even start to find her. He tapped his finger against his lips in frustration. If he could only speak with her, he knew he could convince her to join with him. Together they could bring the Empire to its knees, then he would prove to the Guild they were choosing the loosing side.
'Here's to the hunt,' he thought, taking a deep sip from his lager and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Here's to the hunt."
Author's Note
Every time my partner is sent away for work, I end up re-watching the Spartacus series. Terrible CGI blood and sets? Check. Sweaty men roped with muscle and grunting all over each other in the dirt? Check. Good acting? Well it has one of the most convincing cry scenes I have ever seen on screen so, check. RIP Andy Whitfield. I never really realized how much the story of Spartacus subconsciously inspired my fanfiction, The Blue Wedding until I just began to re-watch it again. Watching Spartacus's journey from a simple Thracian dog, weighed by the love he held for his wife— to the leader of a slave rebellion who, "brought Rome to its knees," is very rousing indeed.
I had to ask myself, did I do a good enough job making readers care about Druscillia's journey the way the show made me for Spartacus? Well… let's talk about one of the choices I made when I first put hand to keyboard ;) I wrote the story with the intent that you were not to find out that Druscillia was Drew Blood until the fourth chapter and this wasn't confirmed until the 5th. Was this a mistake? Yes! I should have used Druscillia being Drew Blood as a hook, not a twist, but I was intent on the readers feeling the same frustration as the characters were feeling in each of their circumstances. Rookie move or a ground-breaking experimental risk? Manipulating people's emotions negatively is always a risk and rarely a good one, but emotional manipulation is one of the central themes in the story, so why not go about it in a literal way? Anyways, here I am, writing— I don't want to say a prequel, it's more of a companion piece for the Blue Wedding to fill in some gaps that were glossed over. Hopefully this will make the destination more meaningful. Adapt, continue and perfect.
Timothy Zahn— in my opinion— created the greatest Star Wars character. So, allow me to take a moment and kiss his ring. MUAH! I understand why he didn't delve into Nightswan's character and though I wish he had, I now realize he gave us a gift; we can do with Nightswan as we please.
Oh, one more thing. I have yet to even get half way through Stephen King's On Writing, but there is a quote that I came across that I liked. It said, "To write is human, to edit is divine." Special thank you to Chromatophobe for your help.
Thanks for reading.
