A/N: I'm using the dark side endgame name for the Inquisitor, even though mine is fairly LS. The light and neutral versions just don't do it for me. (Imperius? Really? Do they hang out with Darth Cruciatus and Darth Kedavra?)

Also, this chapter contains the following possibly-triggery material: past abuse, scars, slavery, implied torture, and brief acephobic remarks. If I've missed anything, let me know and I'll add it. Mostly it's your standard Star Warsy badness; if you're okay with SWTOR, you'll probably be okay with my fics. Stay safe!

o.O.o

Chapter 2

o.O.o

All in all, the party goes fine for the first two hours. Evren's cousin, the newly-minted Lieutenant Valda, gives a little speech that has Vette nodding off halfway through; congratulations are offered, with a side of snide disdain from a few of the Force-sensitives because it's not like normal people ever do anything interesting or useful, obviously; food and drink are distributed; unobtrusive music is played.

Vette is surprised by how much people aren't taking issue with her being here. She's one of five non-humans out of a group of maybe fifty—and three of the others are purebloods. Granted, she's sticking close to Evren, who provides a buffer against speciesist jerks because, y'know, Sith. She can mostly enjoy her puff pastries without fearing for her life or freedom. She never quite relaxes, but that's just good policy when surrounded by Imperials.

Evren's non-Sith relatives aren't too bad, to be honest. Valda gives her an odd look, but doesn't say anything, possibly taking his cue from Evren's very pointed smile. A couple of the more distant cousins—Vette forgets their names in the whirl of new faces and just thinks of them as Nice Hat and Eyebrows—draw them into a conversation about archaeological projects to which Vette can actually contribute. Which she does, and while Nice Hat seems to forget she exists when she's not speaking, Eyebrows looks thoughtful and asks her to elaborate.

She and Evren eventually find themselves in a quiet spot near a column, taking a breather from interacting with people. It's . . . nice. Not having to talk. Vette usually feels like she has to fill up silences with chatter, but this—not so much.

Did I accidentally get comfortable hanging out with a Sith Lord?

What has her life turned into.

And then, of course, someone interrupts the pleasant lull with a murmured, "Well, well, well."

The woman is definitely a Straik—she's got the dark skin, black hair, and sharp features shared by about half the people in the room. Her facial tattoos are more intricate and extensive than most, though, and her eyes are red, bright bloody red, the flesh around them webbed with tiny discolored capillaries. So—deep in the dark side, then, and loving every minute of it. Great.

"Darth Meliah," Evren says, bowing low. He's completely expressionless, and every alarm bell in Vette's head is suddenly screaming, because the only times she's ever seen him go blank like this have been when Baras is at his scariest.

Vette tries not to think too loudly.

"Evren," Meliah says, her voice rich and musical. "It's been so long since our last meeting; how have you been?"

"Well enough, my lord."

Meliah reaches out to pat his cheek in the most patronizing mockery of familial affection Vette has ever seen. He flinches, blanks out again. Meliah smiles. "Your master speaks very highly of you. I must admit, I was surprised. Gratified, of course, that all my efforts were not in vain, but surprised. Perhaps Korriban taught you what I could not, after all."

"Your teachings have served me well, my lord," Evren says.

Meliah laughs. It's not a nice laugh. "Apparently you have forgotten my lessons on manners, boy. Introduce me to your . . . companion." She lingers over the word like it's something dirty. Which is nothing new; stars know they get plenty of people who see Sith Lord and cute Twi'lek and draw a completely logical conclusion. But—ugh. The day Vette doesn't have to deal with people assuming she's somebody's damn sex toy . . .

Evren keeps his game face on. "Apologies, my lord. May I present my trusted associate, Ve—"

"Does this mean you've finally overcome your unfortunate aversion to the pleasures of the flesh?" Meliah asks.

Of course. It's not about Vette. She's just a prop in Meliah's little power game. What a fracking treasure this woman is. But when the options are being dismissed as a non-person or being the focus of attention for a Darth even Evren won't snark at . . . yeah, neither are great, but she'll take the one with the slightly higher survival chance.

Which would be fine, except for the fact that it leaves her friend in the wind.

Frack.

And then: salvation. "Am I the only one here who finds this fascination with your relatives' sex lives somewhat . . . unseemly?" a new voice breaks in as a broad-shouldered woman in dark robes saunters towards them. There's a double-bladed lightsaber hilt at her side, and—Vette's eyes widen—the upper half of her face is a mess of scars. Slave brands.

Meliah doesn't quite grit her teeth, but she comes close. "Ah. Darth Nox. How wonderful to see you again."

"Isn't it just?" Nox looks at Evren. "Lord Straik—I recall you arrived on Korriban shortly before I left for my apprenticeship. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. Such a meteoric rise might threaten those unsure of their position."

Evren's eyes widen just a fraction. Meliah visibly fights down the urge to stab something, settling on general seething hatred barely disguised for propriety's sake. Vette stifles a laugh. Score one for the new girl.

"May I ask what brings you here, Nox?" Meliah grinds out.

"Oh, I'm with Captain Dreyallon over there," Nox says airily, gesturing at a young woman in uniform surrounded by a gaggle of admirers. "Lovely girl. We're not right for each other, unfortunately, but she was kind enough to invite me along, and I thought this would be a splendid opportunity to meet other promising young Dark Lords." She inclines her head in Evren's direction. "You have potential; I'll have to keep an eye on your progress."

"I'm flattered," he says faintly.

"So glad we had the chance to chat, Meliah," Nox says, and the next thing Vette knows she's being tugged away by Nox's arm through hers, Evren on her other side, and then they're across the room in the shelter of a potted plant.

Nox lets go of them. "Well," she says. "That was interesting."

"I—you—thank you?" Evren manages.

"No, seriously, thanks," Vette says, with feeling.

Nox grins. "Always a pleasure to make the old guard squirm." She sobers, then, and looks at Vette. "Although . . . she may seek to strike back. Will you be all right? You're her most likely target."

Is that actual concern for her welfare? Weird. Welcome, but weird. "Don't worry about it," says Vette. "She tries anything, I'll be ready. Besides, I've got backup." She bumps her shoulder against Evren's; some of the tension bleeds out of him, and his lips twitch a little.

"Of course," he says.

"For the record," Nox says, "you also have the favor of a rather highly-regarded member of the Dark Council."

"If I may ask . . . why concern yourself with us? Not that I'm ungrateful for your assistance; I merely—"

"Because I know what you are."

Evren goes still. He might actually have stopped breathing.

Nox sighs and waves a hand. She keeps her voice low as she says, "I know what it is to long for change. A better Empire. A . . . kinder one." She wrinkles her nose. "And doesn't that sound trite when said aloud. But in any case—I know what patterns to look for, even if my colleagues see only what they expect to see. Because of course it's not mercy. It's indebting one's enemies, it's efficiency, it's cruel dismissal. Of course you have something far more sinister planned."

Okay, serious moment, but Vette can't resist. "Oh, yeah, real sinister—peace, love, and rainbows."

Evren inhales shakily, then rounds on her. "I told you not to reveal Phase Four!" he hisses. And—yes. Back in business. That's her Snark Lord of the Sith.

"I'll leave you both to your machinations, then," says Nox. "Good luck out there." She winks at them and glides away, vanishing into the throng.

o.O.o

tbc