The Apprentice hears her braying Rim accent before he sees her. The redhead's voice sounds stereotypically average, like the everywoman of the galaxy, only louder. She must be right outside the door when one of the other girls stops her. The women's voices are muffled, but he gets the gist.
"Hey, Cresta, can I borrow twenty credits? Just until tomorrow."
"What do you need my credits for? Frieda, I saw you rake in plenty last night."
"I need to buy diapers again. Those things cost a lot."
"Don't bullshit me, Frieda. I know you blew your cash on spice again. Look, I'm two months behind on my rent, I just got fired from my day job, and I barely got anything last night."
"You did not. I saw you come back here."
"Yeah, well, there was no deal."
"You gotta start fucking, Cresta. It pays much better."
"Yeah, whatever. Here. Now I need that cash back tomorrow. And I mean it, Frieda. I'm really broke. I need all the credits I can get. Tomorrow, got it?"
Then the door opens with a whoosh and in steps his demimonde redhead. "You again?" She pops out her hip, folds her arms across her chest and levels Sheev a look that says she is unimpressed. She's no longer her tulle and chignon self from earlier. Now she's back in the fishnet stockings, thong and heavy eye makeup he remembers from last night.
And just thinking about that contrast in presentation excites him. Two hours ago this girl was leaping around onstage looking like some joyous Vestal Virgin and now she's here meeting him in a backroom ready to be his hired whore. Gods, this woman is hot.
"Hello, Cresta," Sheev greets her softly. He stands when she enters the room, like his Master does for women. Women always seem to throw themselves at the Hego Damask. Maybe part of it is his impeccable manners.
This girl doesn't seem to notice. Instead, she frowns at Sheev's use of her name. "You overhead, I suppose."
"No." He holds up tonight's ballet program in his hand for her to see. It's gratifying to see how quickly the gesture wipes the smirk off her face. And now her stance shifts and she's lost that fierce bitch look to her. She reaches up to smooth her hair behind her ear and looks away to the side, clearly uncomfortable. Her profile is presented to him now and it's every bit as elegant and refined as it was onstage earlier tonight.
She truly is beautiful.
Last night Sheev had found this girl to be mildly attractive. She had stuck out because she wasn't the usual fleshpot from the strip club scene. Plus, she had that long red hair. Sheev had smoked enough spice that he had gotten horny and she was the convenient solution. Until she wasn't.
And that had intrigued him. This girl was a whore alright, but she was a whore with standards and limitations. Sheev hadn't known whether to be impressed or annoyed by her refusal. Mostly, he had been amused. It takes a lot to surprise a Sith, after all.
But now that he knows this girl lives a double life, Sheev is drawn to her. For she's like him, two persons in one. Watching the quicksilver change just now from hardened, foul-mouthed working girl to down on her luck classically trained dancer is everything he has been hoping for. He himself is a man who lives in disguise. He is not who he appears to be. And neither is she.
Gods, this woman is hot.
Sheev walks towards her. He's not particularly tall for a human male, but he easily tops this diminutive woman even in her stiletto heels. "Which are you?" He needs to know. He's been wondering this all night. "Are you the whore who became a ballerina? Or the ballerina who became a whore?"
She doesn't answer. She just eyes him warily. Finally, she speaks. "How did you know?"
"I saw your feet." And this is true. He had noticed them last night. The calloused toes with the tiny bacta patches tucked here and there. When he saw this girl's feet, old buried memories had come flooding back and it had disarmed him for long moments. Sheev had sat there, staring at this girl and vigorously smoking spice as he had let the past wash over him.
"I had a sister who liked to dance," he explains. "I remember what it did to her feet." Then more words come out before he can stop himself. "She was a redhead. Like you." Yes, all of the Palpatine siblings had some color of red hair, from auburn to strawberry blonde. The red hue had come from his mother's side of the family.
He won't mention that he saw Cresta on the street this morning. Sheev Palpatine knows better than to give away too much information. The wily Muun has taught him well.
"Why are you back?" she asks him plainly. She's scrunching her toes and he is pleased to see that he has made her self-conscious. Negging the pretty girls always works. It got him laid most weekends at college years ago back in Theed. So it should be a sure thing with a girl for hire like this.
Time to get down to business. "I want to hire you."
"I told you I don't fuck for money," she snaps at him.
"I want your time. I am in town for another five days. I want you to come stay with me at my hotel so I can get to know you. I have business during the day, so do what you want then. But you will spend your nights with me."
"I told you I don't fuck for money." She turns to leave but he stops her with a restraining hand on her arm. She shoots him a cold look and shrugs him off, but she stays.
He repeats himself, this time mimicking the slow cadence of the Muun. "I'm not asking you to fuck me. I'm asking you to spend time with me." And then he names a sum.
It has the desired effect. Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open for a moment. But she recovers fast and then counters with an even higher sum. And, damn, this woman drives a hard bargain. He loves her cheeky boldness. It reminds him of himself. He wants to agree outright to her demand but his pride won't let him, so he does the obvious move and cuts her increase in half.
"All in advance," he promises. "Now do we have a deal?"
She considers, looking very torn. She must be—he's just learned that she is broke and fired. But then she surprises him and declines. "No. You're not paying that much money just to talk. I'm no fool. Thanks guy, but no thanks." Once more she turns to leave and again he catches her arm.
"Sheev," he tells her. "My name is Sheev Palpatine. Remember it, Cresta Cole. Remember it well." Then he turns her loose.
When people think of Coruscant, they think of the wide pedestrian esplanades on the Upper Level, of the shopping district full of exclusive boutiques that set the fashions for the galaxy, of the entertainment district with the opera and the fashionable see-and-be-seen nightclubs. And maybe some people think of the sprawling Republic Senate complex, of Coruscant University that is the envy of all other worlds, and of the majestic Jedi Temple. Yes, everyone thinks of the famous landmarks on this city world.
No one thinks of tenements like these.
The sleek and clean Coruscant Upper Levels are home to the wealthy and accomplished. The crowded Middle Levels house the work-a-day folks who raise families and pay taxes. But here on the Lower Levels live the downtrodden. These Coruscanti are one precarious step ahead of disaster.
And this, apparently, is where his chameleon girl lives. Sheev follows her when she gets off work. It's 4am, but there are still people wandering these streets, a testament to how many nightshift workers inhabit the Lower Levels. The air is thick with the stench of rotting garbage and the acrid smell of exhaust from a million transports filtering down from levels above. The streets are trash filled and some of the buildings are so old that they appear to be crumbling in places.
Everywhere he looks, Sheev sees neglect and poverty. This isn't quite the Coruscant Underworld. That's even more levels down. But this place somehow seems even less appealing. The Underworld has a certain seedy glamour and the promise of a good time. This place promises nothing but grim subsistence.
"Cresta!"
A woman's voice calls out and even in the dim light he can see Cresta smile. She has a big, broad smile. The redhead hollers back in a singsong way. "Mama Ru?"
"Over here."
From his hiding place in the shadows, Sheev squints at the vague form huddled on a nearby stoop. He can't tell if it's human or not. It looks to be some form of vagrant. It waves at the girl.
The vagrant is apparently a friend. She calls out again. "Cresta, your landlord was by today looking for you. He said he was gonna lock you out. I also heard him say he's going to send a gang to collect from you. Girl, you need you watch yourself."
His redhead frowns.
Then the vagrant type gives a hoarse laugh. "I think he locked out 7C. Aren't you 7D?"
"Yeah." Cresta chuckles a little at this. "Lucky for me."
"No, girl, not really. You gotta stay someplace else tonight. Here isn't safe."
"Yeah, okay. I'll just go get some stuff and then get outta here," she decides. He sees the dancer's slight shoulders slump with a sigh. "I got fired today. I'm going home, Mama Ru. I'm done with this world. Thanks for the tip though." Then his dancer girl reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder. "Did you eat today, Mama Ru?"
"Not yet."
"Then here. Catch." Cresta pulls something small out of her bag and lobs it at the huddled figure on the stoop. "It's strawberry. Your favorite." Then the redhead disappears up the stairs behind her and into the building.
He waits.
She's in there too long. A trio of thugs pulls up in a speeder now. One looks like a Gamorrean but the other two seem human from his vantage point. Sheev's sense of danger is pricked. He reaches under this tunic for his hidden saber as he strains to overhear.
"7C, right?"
"No. 7D. It's some stripper chic. We're supposed to rough her up a bit."
This is not good. These must be the landlord's enforcers. Sheev steps from the shadows and starts striding forward as Cresta appears at the building entrance. She's hefting another bag now. Probably full of her belongings.
"That's her!"
Cresta drops the bag and darts past the slow Gamorrean but one of the others grabs her firmly.
"Let me go!" She struggles but she is no match for the hulking thug who towers over her petite frame. Cresta might be strong from years of dancing, but Sheev sees that she has no concept of how to fight. "Let me go. I've got the money."
"We'll let you go if you give it to us."
"I don't have it with me," she stalls.
"She's lying. She doesn't have it. Boss says she's a dancer. Let's break her leg."
That's his cue. Sheev lights his sword. All heads turn at the ancient weapon's distinctive snap-hiss. Four pair of eyes widen at its shimmering red blade.
"Jedi!" breathes out the human holding Cresta. Instantly, he releases her. The other two follow his lead, standing down and stepping back. One even raises his hands like he expects Sheev to arrest him.
The Apprentice can't help but snicker. He's no keeper of the peace. And the irony of being mistaken for one makes him grin.
If they only knew.
"You!" Cresta is standing there as if he has frozen her in the Force. Staring at his lightsaber glowing in the dark. "You're a Jedi?"
Now is not the time to explain, so Sheev just motions to her. "Get behind me, Cresta." Again, Sheev mimics the slow, authoritative cadence his Master uses. And it works, she scuttles out of the way to his rear. For once, this girl does what he wants.
And then, he gets to work. Sheev takes the head of the Gamorrean first. Then cleaves the dark skinned human cleanly at the waist and then the neck before he can scream. The one who had held Cresta makes a run for it. But he is easily caught with the Force. This one Sheev makes suffer. Taking his arms one at a time as he screams out his agony. The finishing him with a skewering stab through the heart. That's his signature move. Sheev likes to stab through the heart.
The Apprentice revels in the rush of Dark power that comes with killing. This is what he lives for. This is why he is Sith. Not for the power and the plots that so captivate his Muun Master. But for the finality of death, the mastery of control, and the satisfaction of punishment. There's nothing like the feel of a plasma blade ripping effortlessly through flesh. On Mygeeto, he trains with droids. There's no fun in killing mechanicals. But this, Sheev thinks, this is fun. And so satisfying. He's like an angry young god of Darkness come to rescue the heroine.
It makes him feel invincible.
When it is over, he deactivates his sword and turns to Cresta. She's looking away, averting her eyes from the mess of the three men that lays strewn at their feet. Her shock is sort of endearing. So his redhead is squeamish despite all that bravado. This girl is nowhere near as tough and hard as she pretends to be, he realizes. And he kind of likes that. It makes him feel protective. And it's one more way in which this girl is not all that she appears.
He steps forward to look down at her. "Did they hurt you?" he asks in his best gruff hero voice.
She doesn't answer. She just stares into his eyes a long moment, her chest rising and falling as she sucks in air. Her face is a mix of amazement and fear. Yeah . . . she's impressed, he thinks. Good.
"Are you some sort of Jedi?" she whispers.
"Something like that." He doesn't elaborate.
Her eyes keep darting over to the dismembered corpses. She can't look away from them. She looks increasingly disturbed as she processes what just occurred.
"Don't look at them, look at me," he instructs calmly. Whatever this girl's life experience has been, clearly it hasn't included witnessing much graphic violence. His pale ballerina is now gone white as a sheet. Then he adds, "Don't think of them, think of me." Cresta nods like a child at this advice. This is perfect. She'll be putty in his hands, he thinks.
Until she opens her mouth. "I thought the Jedi were celibate. What the Hell were you doing propositioning me, guy?"
"Sheev. My name is Sheev," he reminds her. "And you're welcome, Cresta."
"Uh, thanks," she says at his prompting. Then again she glances over at the gruesome aftermath. And gulps. "Thanks, I think." Now she sways a little on her feet.
"Are you okay?" he prods. She really does look unsteady and afraid.
But she denies it. "Yeah. They didn't hurt me."
It's more of her false bravado, but he takes it at face value. "Good." Sheev walks over to collect her discarded bag of belongings. Then he grabs her hand and tugs. "Come on. We need to get out of here."
But Cresta stands her ground as she pulls away. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"
"What?"
Seriously? He stares at her. He just killed three men for this girl and maybe saved her life. For certain, he saved her a broken leg. This is as gallant as Sheev Palpatine has ever been. Couldn't she at least manage to look grateful? Instead, she looks horrified. No longer impressed, but just plain repulsed. Really, this is the point where she's supposed to fall into his arms for a passionate kiss. And then he whisks her away from this miserable slum and makes love to her all night long. Wrapped in her elegant dancer's legs with that curtain of long red hair tickling his chest.
And here's the best part: tomorrow he gets to brag to the Muun that he didn't need five days. He had only needed one night. Because that's how good Sheev Palpatine's game is with women.
Yeah, this is the sort of move his Old School Master would approve of. He'd be all for impressing a girl with your secret Sith power and then claiming your reward of her body. To the victor go the spoils, after all.
But apparently, his redhead doesn't realize that she is the damsel in distress. And it's probably not helping things that she thinks he's supposed to be celibate. Sheev frowns. It's hard to appear the dashing romantic hero to a girl who thinks you are a priest.
"Have you got a better offer?" he demands. Then frowns. That came out wrong. Not at all like smooth Hego Damask. So he tries again. "Let me help you. I like you, Cresta. And I can't leave you here all alone. It's not safe."
"I'll go back to the club." Cresta grabs for her bag he's holding but he doesn't let go. She frowns at this and asks, "Why did you follow me?"
"I was worried about you." That's not exactly true but women always like it when you act sensitive and concerned.
Except this one. "I can take care of myself," she retorts.
"Yes, you just demonstrated that, didn't you?" His sarcasm provokes her.
"You Jedi do-gooder types are always looking to save people," she grumbles. "Well, I don't need saving, Jedi Sheev."
And something about her candor prompts some straight talk out of him too. "You know, most people pretend that they are better than they actually are. You pretend that you're worse. What's with that?"
She snorts and it's kind of cutely obnoxious. "If you're looking for a hooker with a heart of gold, you're with the wrong girl."
"No, I'm not," he tells her. And it's true. Just tonight he's seen Cresta loan her co-worker credits she couldn't spare and feed a homeless street person. It's no wonder this girl is behind on her rent if she is always so softhearted. Didn't anyone ever teach her that charity begins at home?
Cresta runs a hand over her hair now, looking uncomfortable. "Anyhow, thanks for tonight but this is where we part ways."
"Why?" Asking questions is another favorite tactic of the Muun. It slows things down and forces reconsideration. So Sheev tries it on Cresta.
"Because I already turned down your offer. And well, you're kind of scary." She glares at him now. "Like you-just-killed-three-people-with-your-laser-sword scary."
Scary. He likes that description. How Sith. Sheev grins. "Well, take a good look, Cresta." He gestures towards to the bodies. "This is what you're risking. On your own."
She follows his gaze and stares hard at the grisly scene that had so upset her earlier. Then she walks over closer to look down at the headless Gamorrean. "Just like Simon," she whispers and Sheev has no idea what she's is talking about. But whatever it is, it's not a happy memory.
Sheev doesn't need Force augmented senses to know what's coming next. He drops her bag and moves quickly just in time to catch Cresta's drooping form. His redhead even faints gracefully, he sees.
This is the perfect solution, he thinks to himself as he places her in the passenger seat of the now ownerless speeder the thugs had arrived in. Cresta can't fault him for not leaving her defenseless and alone here in a swoon. And now he doesn't have to argue with her. Sheev climbs into the speeder and takes off for the Upper Level, pausing first to brush at her temple to put her deeper asleep with the Force. He doesn't want her waking up too soon.
Really, tonight couldn't have gone better, he realizes. He has this girl exactly where he wants her.