A/N: I've decided that I'm a sadistic bitch. When my first F!SW endured the Quinncident, I was livid. Had Bioware allowed it, Quinn would not have been breathing. Now, on my sixth SW (5th F!SW), I'm still livid every time I play through it, but, as the stories develop with each individual warrior, Quinn's fate shifts slightly.
Misanthropia: Neutral Pureblood Sith: would have let him suffer in silence.
Misandria: Light Human: Let him live without consequence.
Misandria: Dark Human: (I have two of this version on two different servers), pretends to kill him, then drops him on Dromund Kaas after finalizing their divorce.
Misanthropia: Dark Pureblood Sith: would torture him mercilessly, feeding on his agony for her own strength before sending him into slavery. Death would be too great a mercy.
Misanthropia leaned silently against the wall of the brig, watching her young apprentice practicing her torture techniques. Arcs of lightning snapped across the restrained Imperial, moving with the girl's fingers. Agonized screams bounced off the durasteel walls as former Captain Malavai Quinn convulsed under the torment.
"Stop." The lightning vanished instantly and Jaesa took a step back from her victim. The Sith approached the man, energy already crackling at her fingertips.
"Put more anger into it, Jaesa," she advised, eyeing the man gasping for breath.
"Like this." Quinn's body jerked violently beneath the bands holding him in place. Jaesa clapped her hands over her ears as the prisoner's screams became too much, even for her. Misanthropia could feel her victim's consciousness slipping away beneath her attack.
"Not bloody likely," she snarled. A swift prod of the man's mind kept him awake and feeling every shred of pain. His cries continued, mixed with pleas for mercy. Slowly, the apprentice withdrew her hands from her ears, becoming accustomed to the sound. A new level of blood-lust was reached. A sadistic smile curled the corners of Misanthropia's lips, her apprentice was learning fast.
The Sith Lord ended her attack only when burns began to appear on the prisoner's naked flesh. With a jerk of her head, Misanthropia sent her apprentice scurrying from the brig. The only sound in the room was the shuddering breaths, almost sobs, of the tortured man in front of her. The pale body was covered with sweat and burns. Every muscle in his body was tight and trembling.
"Please, my lord," he moaned, his head rolling on his neck.
"Please what, worm?" Misanthropia sneered, fisting a hand in his hair and slamming it back against the table he was bound to. He groaned in pain.
"Mercy," he whispered brokenly.
"You deserve no mercy." She pulled back and struck him across the face. When he finally managed to look back at her a thin line of blood ran from his mouth. Once upon a time, the agony in his eyes would have triggered pity, remorse, guilt. Now she only grew angrier with him. How dare he raise his eyes to her?
She closed her eyes, reveling in the waves of anguish pouring from him. He was desperate for relief from the pain he was in. There still existed a Force bond between them, something that had formed when Misanthropia was a foolish young girl. Foolishly she believed him when he told her he loved her. Once the Sith had a heart. She hated passionately, but there was still some little piece of her just wanting to be loved. Now, that piece was gone. She'd learned what love felt like, and the pain it could cause. It was not worth it.
Whatever kindness had survived in her soul, her husband's betrayal destroyed it. All that existed now was rage and pain. It was those emotions she fed off. They made her stronger than she'd ever imagined possible. His desperation for her mercy, her forgiveness amused her. The pain she put him through only served to feed her. Once she defeated Baras, she would dispose of the former Imperial. She would have no more use for him.
"Misanthropia," Quinn managed through pain-clenched teeth, "Please."
The use of her name only enraged her further.
"Pierce!" Her voice cut the air sharply and carried through the ship's corridors.
The lieutenant skidded as he came in answer to his mistress's call. He, like Vette, learned to truly fear the Sith he served. Only Jaesa did not tremble at the sound of her name on her Lord's lips.
"Hang him from the beams," she ordered, gesturing to the cuffs hanging from the brig ceiling.
"Right away, my lord." The soldier deactivated the beams holding his former commanding officer down. With little effort, the larger man was able to drag the weak prisoner into the center of the room. Once the prisoner's hand were bound above him, Pierce shortened the chain, lifting Quinn onto his toes. The soldier bowed as soon as his task was complete, waiting for his mistress's next command.
"Get out of here."
Pierce vanished once more, leaving the pair alone again.
"While using the Force is a most efficient method of torture," Misanthropia purred, dragging her hand over her husband's body, "I find the more primitive tortures more satisfying."
Opening one of the crates, the Sith pulled out a leather whip. With a practiced hand, she cast the whip out, wrapping it around his helpless body. Malavai cried out as the tip bit into a fresh burn, tearing into the skin. The strokes fell mercilessly, cutting across burns and new welts. It did not take long for the Sith to draw blood.
The scene before her energized her. Her husband, now slave, danced wildly at the end of his chain, body jerking and twisting with each crack of the whip. Blood streaked his pale skin. The light from the plasma lamps reflected in the sheen of sweat and blood. His black hair was plastered to his head, clinging to the sides of his face as he screamed in agony.
Her new slave's body was covered in blood and welts before Misanthropia set aside her whip. She looked him up and down, watching his reactions. Soft shuddering sobs of pain and heartbreak shook his lean frame. Tears slid down the gaunt planes of his face, mingling with the sweat and blood on the floor.
"Jaesa!" Once more her voice echoed through the ship. Her apprentice arrived with far more decorum than Pierce. Her red eyes glittered as she took in the slave's bleeding form. Her nostrils flared to catch the metallic scent of blood.
"My lord?" She bowed to her master.
"Have fun with the slave until we reach Korriban," Misanthropia told her, "Just keep him alive. His punishment will not end soon."
The Sith lord caught the icy fear that gripped her former lover at her words. A cruel smile twisted her dark features grotesquely. He would suffer for his betrayal, not only that, but his failure to kill her. The ambush on the Transponder Station had not even been close to succeeding. So pathetic, he couldn't even offer her a challenge.
Screams began again as Misanthropia strode out of the prison. Her armor needed checking before she faced her former master.