Yes, I know that I'm messing with the war timeline a bit. We'll just pretend that Revan captured Bastila BEFORE the Battle of Telos IV, okay? I'm making the Battle of Telos IV occur later than it really did, basically. The war technically doesn't start until the Battle of Telos IV, so just keep that in mind. The Jedi Masters saw that war was imminent, and sent the Jedi strike team preemptively to try and avoid the conflict altogether by capturing Revan.
Um, yeah. Not much else. Hope you enjoy.
Just for craps and giggles: the song to think of for this entire story is Temptation, by Godsmack. It's what I got the title from, and the song kicks ass. If you want to hear it, e-mail me at lp62590 (at) yahoo (dot) com, and I'll give you the song. Or I'll try...
I hafta write the e-mail address like that or else it won't show up. It's a normal address, so use symbols for the parentheses, m'kay?
(There, Ephemeral Mist. I fixed it. I hope that's what you wanted...I tried to go with your suggested dialogue, so I hope it turned out right. o.O)
Oh, yeah. Um, Cpt. Ritter brought this up actually, and I'm pretty much a tard for not thinking of it. Coruscant has been changed to Adarlon. Yes, that's a planet, but it's on the Outer Rim, which is much safer for a Sith cruiser to suddenly drop in on, no? So they're on Adarlon, an entertainment-based planet. Belrand is one of the main cities.
One week (five days) later
Darth Revan's masked face appeared to Malak on the large view screen, impassive and cold as always.
"You requested contact with me, Malak?" Revan's voice asked through the speakers.
"Yes, master. We will be arriving at Telos IV in a day. Your orders?" the apprentice asked, knowing that Revan had specific plans for the planet.
"Admiral Saul Karath is to head the fleet, subordinate only to you. Make sure that is clear to the entire fleet. I have heard news of noncompliance lately, and I intend for it to halt immediately. If anyone so much as steps out of line once, I give you full power to reprimand them as you see fit. Just don't kill all of them – make an example, not a slaughter. Now, as for Telos IV," Revan paused, thinking. "Admiral Karath is to demand their surrender. If they do not comply, order him to bomb the planet into glass. Understood? I want the Jedi to know that there will be no place they can hide from me in this galaxy, no place they can run to for refuge," the Dark Lord said, a malicious venom in his words. "This war has not yet begun, Malak. Not by my standards. The Jedi have only two choices: join me, or die. If you capture any, keep them alive until I can personally meet with them, is that clear? I doubt you will encounter any over Telos, but be prepared. They may send an ambush or confront you. Do not disappoint me."
Darth Revan shut off his end of the transmission and Malak was left with a blank screen and clear orders. The apprentice to the Dark Lord made his way to the bridge of the ship, Leviathan, and found Admiral Saul Karath there.
"Lord Malak," Karath said with a small bow as Malak approached.
"Admiral," Malak replied, making the greeting mutual. "I have just spoken with Lord Revan, and he has ordered that you are to...'reinforce' the fact that you are the highest in command of this fleet, second only to myself. If anyone is out of line, turn them over to me, Admiral. I will deal with their insolence in the manner that I see fit."
"Yes sir. I'm sure you'll be seeing someone soon," Karath replied, eyeing a man from across the room. "And his orders for Telos?" he asked, switching to the more pertinent subject.
"You are to demand the planet's surrender. If they refuse, we will bombard them until they are a lifeless and barren rock. Do not commence the bombing until I give the order, clear?" Malak told him.
"Affirmative. Demand surrender, receive response, wait for further orders. Standard procedure, Lord Malak. I assure you we will have no difficulties."
"Good. Keep an eye out for Republic ambushes. I do not want to be caught by surprise. Good day, Admiral."
"Sir," Admiral Karath saluted, turning back to his ship's crew. Malak left the bridge of the ship to gather a squadron of recon fighters to send out and probe the space around Telos. Both he and Revan knew that the Jedi were weary of warring, and the last time they had encountered the Jedi, Revan had nearly been killed. Malak knew that it wasn't the hand of the Jedi that had dealt the blow, but the fact that Jedi were present made it all the more demeaning that they had almost lost that battle. His first reaction upon hearing that Revan was in critical condition was worry. Revan, despite being his master, was also his friend – or as much of a friend as he was going to have as a Sith – and he valued his friend's life. But Malak knew that a small part of him had seen Revan's demise as an opportunity for himself, an opportunity to become the Dark Lord of the Sith. So, as the days dragged on, Malak found himself vacillating between wanting his master to live and wishing for his death. Malak was not stupid – he knew that at the current time, he was not strong enough to kill Revan. It would be a long while before he would obtain that power. He wasn't above using subterfuge to get what he wanted, but felt that the empire they were building was still too fragile to change hands of leadership. He would let Revan lay the groundwork and take the mantle for himself when he perceived that Revan was no longer fit to be Dark Lord of the Sith. Until then, he would bide his time and gather his strength.
The current Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Revan, was delivering a package. The package had arrived in a relatively thin box, plainly wrapped in brown paper and fitted with enough information only to tell the location to which it was to be delivered. Other than that, what was in the box itself was a mystery to all but the man who had ordered it and the company who had provided it. Said man was striding purposefully down the corridor with the box in gloved hand, pausing only for the door to his destination to slide open and admit him in.
"There is such a thing a knocking," Bastila told him irritably. "It usually implies good manners."
"You'll have a chance to see just how good my manners are soon," Revan replied, handing her the box. "Open it," he urged, the aloofness fading from his voice for a nanosecond.
Bastila eyed him warily, taking the box and setting on her bed. She removed the brown paper and was met with a white, rectangular box. Pulling the lid off, she dropped it out of surprise when she saw what was inside.
"What is this for?"
Revan was smiling beneath his mask. "For tomorrow tonight. We'll be arriving in Adarlonian space within the next three hours. I had made reservations at a wonderful restaurant there a long time back, originally just for myself, but due to recent events I feel that might be changing. Unfortunately for myself, you and I still have much to discuss; it seems that we will simply have to find a way around our little impasse over a meal. While the circumstances are not to my liking - such is life - it is a minor inconvenience and I certainly would not object to the company."
She stared at him disbelievingly. "You're taking me to dinner?"
"Yes. Is that going to conflict with your busy schedule?"
Bastila glared at him, hearing the taunt in his voice. "Thank you, but I would rather stay here," she said icily. She felt his hand suddenly grip her wrist with an incredible strength, and she turned back to look at him.
"I'm not asking," he said slowly and deliberately, letting her know that she had no choice in the matter.
"Then I don't have to tell you no," Bastila replied, trying to wrench her wrist from his grip. He yanked her closer and she could feel the restraint he was using to keep himself from losing his temper.
"It would be a good time to inform you that I don't handle rejection very well," he growled. "It would be in your best interest to accept."
She glared murderously at him for a long time, trying to discern anything behind that damned mask of his but finding nothing. His grip on her wrist increased and the pain became almost too much to bear as he twisted at an angle that her wrist didn't want to go. Darth Revan moved closer, twisting her wrist just a little bit more and Bastila realized that he wasn't going to free her, and that he could have very easily snapped her wrist by now. Opening herself to the Force as much as she was able, she could feel the anger emanating from him and was shocked at its potency. Bastila shoved the fear that she felt at this down and swallowed, acquiescing. "What time should I be ready by?" she asked quietly.
"Six-thirty," Revan told her, releasing her wrist but keeping his gloved fingers on her hand. She felt a small pulse of the Force flow into her and realized with no small amount of surprise that he was healing her. "Don't look so sullen. Be glad I'm letting you off this ship alive. Most of my prisoners never see the light of the stars again," he finished curtly, exiting her room and leaving her alone with the 'gift' he had delivered. Bastila stared down at the black dress and lifted it out of the box, seeing that an entire outfit was provided underneath with shoes, makeup, jewelry and other accessories. She sank down on to the bed as a wave of despair filled her and she wondered how she was ever going to get out of this alive. She felt a dark irony at the fact that she would be spending the night of her twenty-first birthday dining with the Dark Lord of the Sith. He didn't know or care that she was far too young to be caught up in a war like this, she figured, but what had she expected? For him to give her the day off tomorrow because of a birthday he didn't know existed?
Bastila groaned and slipped out of the clothes she was wearing, figuring it would be safest to try the black dress on now just in case it didn't fit. When she stepped in front of the mirror inside of the refresher, she rolled her eyes and felt no astonishment upon seeing that not only did the dress fit, but it clung to her in just the right places, accentuating her figure perfectly.
She muttered to herself, wondering how he knew exactly what size she was and peeled off the dress, changing back into her regular Jedi robes. It bothered her that she was so afraid of him, someone who was just a man and nothing more. But yet he was so much more – a mystery, a symbol to fear, a challenge, the epitome of conflicting natures merged into one man. And most of all, he was fascinating for the simple fact that Bastila knew next to nothing about him, even in his days as a Jedi. He was a complete enigma to her, and she was determined to crack him. She wasn't about to let herself be afraid of something she didn't understand.
Revan meanwhile, back in his own room, was seething at her impertinence. There was just something about her stubbornness that angered him to no end, getting under his skin like a white-hot needle. He stopped and looked at the situation objectively, comparing her to all of the other women he knew. Once he did that it was easy to see why she was able to piss him off so effortlessly – no other woman had ever had the courage to turn him down. But he was still frustrated, as he was quite adept at handling rejection, contrary to his earlier statement. He assumed that it was the condescending attitude with which she always regarded him that singed him so.
I can strip you of that pride easily, Bastila, he thought to himself. We shall see how pompous you are when you've been forced to your knees and shamed.
"This is Admiral Saul Karath, commander of the Sith fleet I have no doubt you've noticed orbiting your planet. Our terms our simple: surrender completely and we will spare your people."
"And if we don't?" the response came back over the speakers.
Karath smiled. "Then there won't be a planet left to defend."
There was no pause. "If you think that we're going to roll over and surrender to you bastards, you've got another thing coming!"
Karath looked at his superior officer, Malak, awaiting his orders. Malak stared at the planet below for a long while before a cruel glint lighted his eyes and Karath speculated that if Malak had still retained a mouth, it would have been twisted into a malicious grin.
"Blow them to hell," Malak ordered in his gruff mechanical voice. Karath nodded and raised his right arm, holding it high above his head. This was always his signal before a major bombardment, and all of his men readied themselves, prepping the turboblaster batteries and quad laser cannons for firing.
"Have we obtained a solution?" Karath asked, meaning loosely, were they ready to fire?
"Yes sir!"
"Fire!" the Admiral boomed, dropping his arm like a hammer. The ship shook as the quad laser cannons and turboblasters from the entire fleet began to let loose with volley after volley of withering laser fire, reducing the planet to a mass of rubble and death within minutes.
Malak watched the carnage with a cold air of satisfaction. Revan would be most pleased at this outcome.
Revan raked the razor over his face one last time, splashing cool water on his skin and inspecting his work soon after. Satisfied with the state of his facial fur, he ran his hands through his dark hair – his makeshift comb – and dried his face off with a hand towel. Leaving the refresher, he proceeded to dress himself and conceal his lightsaber inside the long, trench-coat like jacket he was wearing. Checking the watch he had fitted himself with, Revan saw that it was six – twenty-five; he knocked on the door that connected his room to Bastila's.
"When you're ready, tell Sante. He will escort you to our transportation."
She didn't respond to him but he knew that she had heard, so he exited his room and his ship, taking a personal shuttle down to the hangar that was specified for his arrival, and walking across the expansive docking platform to the limousine transport speeder he had arranged for. He slid inside of the dark colored vehicle with graceful ease and settling himself down in a dimly lit corner of the interior. At exactly six – thirty, the door of the limousine opened again and Bastila slid inside, looking uncomfortable but relieved. Revan smiled from his obscured corner of the limo – the dress was a perfect fit for her, and as he had expected, she looked absolutely stunning.
"How are we supposed to do this without drawing attention to ourselves?" she asked.
"I'm not exactly an easily recognizable man, Bastila," Revan replied.
With his eerie ability to see in the dark, he saw her eyes register what he meant from across the limo. "You're not wearing your mask."
"No, I'm not. That would be entirely rude of me. Besides, even I wish to act like a normal human being every once in a while."
"Should I wait until after I've seen your face to eat, or is it safe to put something in my stomach without having to worry it might come back up?" Bastila inquired coolly.
Revan gave a short, soft laugh that Bastila found soothing; she could barely make out the outlines of his face in the dim light of the limo, and she couldn't use the Force to penetrate the darkness, as the Force suppression collar was still secured firmly around her neck. "I should hope that my appearance isn't conducive to vomiting, although I'm quite sure that I at least appear somewhat normal, as I have never been recoiled from by a woman before," he replied.
"There is a first time for everything," she shot back.
"Hmm," he said, pausing. "Yes...there is." Revan's tone was odd, and the sound of it unnerved her. He wasn't aware of it as he spoke though, being too lost in his own thoughts to really notice the change. Revan found that for the first time in a long while, as he looked at Bastila, he saw more than just an object for his pleasure. Perhaps it was the fact that he was being forced to deal with her a person in order to try and mold her to his will, but whatever the reason, he found the feeling he was experiencing to be relatively new. It wasn't displeasing by any means, just...unfamiliar.
"It's impolite to stare, you know," Bastila told him, feeling the weight of his gaze and snapping him out of his little reverie.
"I would much rather stare at you than the glittering skyscrapers of Belrand, as illogical as that may seem," he answered, seeing her face flush from his spot in the limo.
"It's your fault I look like this," she muttered.
"On the contrary, I believe the fault lies with you. I was not the one who deigned to bestow such a striking beauty as you possess. It's a shame you are a Jedi – you would have no trouble finding a husband in this universe willing to wait on you hand and foot," Revan mused, feeling another odd emotion flare up. He was almost ready to compare it to jealousy but banished that thought from his mind as quickly as it came.
"I do not find enjoyment in the thought of a servile man," Bastila rejoined, determined not to let him embarrass her any more.
"Well, what kind of men do you like? I am not privy to such knowledge," Revan said, leaving to option up to her if she wanted to answer. He figured she would, as he already knew that anything she perceived as a challenge she couldn't resist.
"Tell me, what does the word 'manly' conjure up in that twisted mind of yours?"
"Am I supposed to be thinking as a woman?"
"Not necessarily," Bastila answered.
"All right, the picture that comes to mind is a solid man, muscular, able to wield a weapon comfortably, able to protect those he deems important to himself, relatively tall...is that good enough?" Revan ventured, feeling utterly stupid as he did so.
"You seem to be on the right track to what kind of man I find attractive. All of what you have said – now add handsome, a sense of humor, a civil personality, and a thoughtful side. To be general," Bastila finished.
"That was a general description? I would hate to see what a detailed list would look like. Maybe it is a good thing you're a Jedi princess," Revan retorted.
"I am not a princess!" she popped angrily.
"I beg to differ, but if you insist..."
"Are we there yet?" she asked with a sudden weariness.
Revan peered out of his window. "Yes, actually. I'll be getting out first."
Bastila noticed that he sounded a bit on edge and wondered if there was a threat to their safety. Hoping that wasn't the case, she sat back and waited as the limo stopped and Revan got out; Bastila caught the briefest glimpse of the left side of his face as he passed, but she had no better idea of what he looked like from it. A hand was extended to her and she took it, using the grip to help extricate herself from the inside of the vehicle and step out into the Belrand night air, breathing in deeply and savoring the taste of the natural air. Revan's imposing figure was already walking ahead of her and she hurried to catch up, taking in everything about him that she could from behind. His hair was very dark, almost black with a shine that suggested softness, and contrary to lying flat like normal hair, seemed to stand up of its own accord, negating the need for gel and giving it an almost messy look that begged to be touched. Revan had broad, powerful shoulders; moving southerly, and from what she had already experienced, large, strong hands that were surprisingly deft and suggestive of gentleness if the situation so demanded. He walked with an air of confidence and his very demeanor exuded authority and control.
Bastila saw Revan being led immediately to a table upon entering the restaurant and she followed, watching Revan sit down and the waiter look at her with surprise.
"I was told it was for a party of one," he said hesitantly.
Revan's face showed no malice towards the man for his question. "I changed my mind at the last minute. I hope that isn't a problem?"
"Well, no sir. I just wanted to make sure."
"She's with me. I promise she won't cause any trouble."
The waiter smiled nervously at Revan's joking attitude and hurried away quickly. Bastila sat down as he left and found her eyes drawn at once to Revan's face, her curiosity to know what he looked like overriding her subtlety. His intoxicatingly green eyes met her grey ones and he smiled knowingly.
"You don't look as if you have the urge to vomit. I'm so very relieved," he said.
"The feeling is mutual."
"The menu here is quite extensive, so don't worry about taking a long time to decide what you want to eat. For wine, I recommend the Crème D'Infame, as I have happened to procure a bottle – two actually. I would dare to guess that such an occasion as your birthday would warrant opening one?" Revan asked, seeing her face register a mixture of shock and the barest hint of delight. Suspicion clouded her lovely face as well, darkening it.
"How did you know it was my birthday?" Bastila asked warily.
"Since capturing you, I've done some digging and managed to come up with the basics: where you were born, on what day – though interestingly enough I found no year – to whom, and so on."
"Is this why you 'invited' me to dinner?"
"Would you like me to say yes? Does it matter? We're here now, and I would much prefer to celebrate your birthday than talk about ulterior motives. What year are you reaching today?" Revan inquired.
"Twenty-first," she said with as much confidence as she could muster, knowing that her age was a young one.
His green eyes widened. "Only twenty-one?" He looked truly shocked. "I had expected you to be older by at least a few years. You conduct yourself very maturely for just turning twenty-one."
"Is that so? And how old are you?" Bastila asked, slightly chagrined at the fact he knew she was barely out of her teens.
"I am four years more war hardened, battle scarred and world weary than you. The young side of twenty-five," he answered.
"I expected you to be older. Then again, I'm not surprised. After all, you were the youngest Padawan ever to pass your tests for Knighthood."
Revan's face developed a faraway look. "Ah, yes. I remember that like it was yesterday. Almost seven years ago..." he shook his head. "Time finds a way to slip by you. I was a Jedi then, and a good one. The Mandalorian Wars were just beginning, I had no presumption to go join the Republic, and I still believed in the Code. Things have definitely changed."
The waiter brought the bottle of wine as he had been instructed to beforehand, and left it in a bucket filled with ice. Revan retrieved the bottle from the ice, uncorked it, and poured the wine into his own glass, asking for hers and filling it liberally before handing it back. He sipped the wine and fell silent for a while, allowing Bastila time to fully take in his appearance without having to worry about conversation.
She could tell he was tall even though they were seated, and he had a dark handsomeness that was very nearly overpowering. From the front, she saw that his hair was of normal length, if not long by military principles. She already knew what his eyes looked like, but found her gaze on them again against her will. Their green depths spoke volumes – volumes that were locked safely away behind a wall that was easily visible to all that dared to look into his eyes. His skin was pale by normal standards, but nothing close to the deathly pallor that she had expected of him as a Sith Lord. Bastila noticed that a thin, inch-long scar ran down from the outside of his right eye to his cheek, but that was the only mark that marred his face. He had a straight nose, strong and suggestive of regality, but wholly proportionate to the rest of his features. His lips were thin but full; his mouth set in the beginnings of a frown, but as if it was merely hinting at the thought. His jaw was powerfully set, giving first glimpse of the resiliency and toughness that was imbued within his soul; a thin line of dark hair ran down from the middle of his lower lip, melting into a neatly trimmed goatee covering his chin that in turn, curved up to stop at the outer edges of his mouth.
A mouth, she noticed, that was smirking at her.
"I am thinking that I'm either just ugly enough to cause you to stare but not vomit, or you find me attractive," Revan spoke with amusement.
"I expected you to look...different, I suppose," Bastila replied neutrally. His gaze flicked down from her face and she had a horrified moment of thought that he was staring at her chest.
"I'm sure you're quite tired of that Force suppression collar, aren't you?" he asked.
"I don't believe I will be forgetting the feeling of being shocked any time soon," she answered smartly.
"I would take it off, but I don't trust you yet."
"Once again, the feeling is mutual," Bastila replied.
He eyed her glass and frowned. "Do you not like alcohol?"
Bastila looked at her glass as well. "No, I just don't drink it often. Jedi aren't known for their wild parties."
"I wouldn't recommend more than one glass then, as I take it your body isn't used to processing large quantities of hard liquor. Ah, here come the menus."
The waiter handed them both menus and filled the second set of glasses on the table with water, hurrying away again once he was finished. After a little while, Revan spoke up again.
"The Cracknel is very good here, if you want an appetizer. Would you like that?"
Bastila looked at him, unsure of what to say. He raised a single, dark eyebrow at her, waiting for her response. "I don't know," she finally offered. "That depends on how much food they serve with the meal."
"They give generous portions here. If you're worried about not being able to finish dinner, I wouldn't get the appetizer."
"That's fine."
Revan chuckled and it was Bastila's turn to raise a thin, dark eyebrow at him. "You need to relax," he told her. "I'm not the Dark Lord of the Sith right now, and you're not my prisoner. Just enjoy the night."
"That might be a little difficult for me to do, seeing as I have this collar around my neck to constantly remind me that you are the Dark Lord of the Sith, and that I am your prisoner," Bastila answered icily.
"Good try, but I'm not taking it off," he told her, taking another sip of wine. Abruptly, he changed the subject back to food. "Do you know what you want?"
Bastila glanced down at the immense menu and felt the frustration at the entire absurdity of the situation mounting. "No," she snapped.
"Look," he suddenly growled, leaning across the table and glaring at her, "I didn't have to take you to dinner. I don't even have to keep you alive. Your precious Jedi order thinks you're dead, and I can make that assumption a concrete fact. I have been more than accommodating for you – you might want to think about returning the favor."
"I have thought about it, but you don't deserve my civility," Bastila said, meeting his hard gaze evenly.
The left side of his mouth curled upward into a snarl and he got up from his seat, grabbing her by her upper arm and dragging her from her chair. He marched her across the restaurant and into a relatively private hall just outside of the refreshers, shoving her back roughly against the wall as soon as they were out of sight. Revan's large hands were gripping her arms and holding her against the wall, an inconspicuous position if anyone was to walk by. He leaned very close to her, placing his mouth next to her ear; Bastila caught the smell of his cologne, cursing herself for finding it a scent that made her feel weak.
"You are testing my patience far too much, Bastila," Revan hissed tightly, his warm breath washing over her ear and making her shiver. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, you mean nothing to me. Nothing. I could have women just as beautiful as you any time I wanted. You are just another Jedi to me, and I don't give a damn if you are the only Jedi capable of using Battle Meditation! Maybe you don't realize this, but you only have two options Bastila. You can either help me, or you can die. It's your choice." He paused, waiting for her answer. Bastila felt him stiffen slowly, and he whispered again into her ear. "That man is watching us, and he's a security officer. Are you any good at acting?"
"Very. But why should I? I could just tell him that you've kidnapped me and are holding me against my will," she replied, sounding much braver than she felt. While she didn't fully believe what he had said to her, his fury was still very palpable, and she was sure that if he didn't kill her, he would do other things to make her life a living hell.
"Then he would have to die, and his blood would be on your hands," Revan said, moving his palms to rest on the outside of her bare shoulders. "Move your hands up and put them on my back somewhere. Make it look intimate."
Bastila was at a loss for a split second but then moved her arms, which were inside of his, up until her hands were resting on the flat scapulas of his broad shoulders. She was acutely aware of his fingers on her skin and the tingle that accompanied his touch, and prayed that this would be over soon. His hands moved suddenly to cradle her face and he spoke one more time.
"Now arch into me a little bit," he said, feeling her tense more.
"I am quite confident that you are able to make him look the other way," Bastila replied stiffly, not moving an inch.
Revan pulled back and stared into her eyes, his face perilously close to hers. On the periphery of her vision, she saw the guard turn away and become very interested in a plant next to him. "Let's sit back down and have a pleasant dinner, shall we?" Revan asked, locking his anger away for the moment and controlling himself. He needed to keep a level head and not lose his temper, if for no other reason than to look as ordinary as possible to the humans and aliens alike that surrounded them tonight. But she made that so very hard...
"That sounds like a good idea," Bastila answered sullenly, trying desperately to ignore the nervous excitement she was feeling at his proximity, and saw him give a smile that was a bit frightening.
"I was hoping you would agree."
He let go of her and moved back, keeping a hand on the small of her back as they made their way back to their table and sat down again, the warmth of his palm and fingers seeping through her dress and into her skin. Their waiter showed up almost immediately, asking if they were ready to order and Revan politely told him that they need a few more minutes.
"The Gelmeat here is quite good, though it is sweet. The Jerked Bantha meat and Jerked Dewback meat are both excellent if you want something a little spicier. The Runyip stew is also well done, as is the Kommerken steak. Vercupti of sgazza boleruueé is also surprisingly on the menu, if you want something more familiar," Revan said, reading various items off the menu in a voice that didn't so much as hint as his earlier irritation. Bastila didn't reply from her spot across the table and didn't make any pretense of speaking until the waiter returned. Revan noticed this but ignored it; if she wanted to act like a pouting child, far be it from him to reprimand her.
"Are you ready to order now, sir?"
"I am. I'll have the Jerked Dewback meat," Revan said, handing the menu to the waiter.
"And you, ma'am?"
"I'll have the Thakitillo, please," Bastila answered, picking something that Revan hadn't mentioned and handing the waiter the menu as well.
"I'll have that out as soon as possible," the waiter said, once again leaving them alone. Bastila finally picked up her wineglass and took a sip, surprised to find that it was still cold and equally surprised at the way the alcohol went down smoothly and with a pleasant burn. She heard a noise and turned to look at Revan, seeing him cover his mouth with his right hand and stifle a yawn. Bastila noticed immediately the tattoo that adorned his right thumb and wrist as the sleeve of his shirt slid down, the ink starting at the junction of his thumb and hand and continuing a few inches down that side of his wrist. It looked as if it wrapped around his thumb a little bit, but she couldn't tell; the tattoo itself was black and of an unidentifiable design. It looked somewhat human, but had an air of another race's pattern in it as well.
"Where did you get that?" she asked.
He held up his hand with the tattoo and she nodded. "Where? Nowhere you would know of. I had it done while I had disappeared after the Mandalorian Wars."
"Oh," she said quietly, taking another sip of wine and looking out of the window they were sitting next to into the night sky of Belrand. Bastila could see the stars glittering brightly, even through the high skyscrapers and bright lights of the city, feeling another wave of despair grip her and twist her insides. There was a large view screen in the restaurant that was set to the HoloNet News channel; abruptly, the volume became louder and an announcement was made.
"It has just been brought to our attention that the planet of Telos IV was bombarded by the Sith earlier today. From what we can gather, it seems that Admiral Karath of the Sith fleet demanded a complete surrender, and when the Telosians didn't comply, Darth Malak, as instructed by the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Revan, ordered the bombing of the planet. 'If there was no real war before this, there sure as hell is one now,' one Republic Admiral has told us. 'This act of unadulterated mass murder will not be tolerated by the Republic, or the Jedi, who have already been aiding us in the fight against Darth Revan and the Sith.' No other comment was given, though it has been confirmed that Telos is no longer capable of supporting life. No known survivors have been named," a female human reported.
Bastila's furious gaze locked with Revan's calm one. "You bastard!" she hissed. "How could you order such a thing and kill all of those people like that?"
"They were informed as to what would happen to their planet if they did not surrender. It was their decision to make," Revan replied evenly. "I gave them the opportunity to spare those lives, and they didn't take it."
"But to render the planet incapable of supporting life?" Bastila continued, horrified at his callousness.
"That bombing was a message, Bastila, a message to your Jedi. It is well known by all members of the Order that the Jedi are to retreat to Telos in the event that Dantooine is attacked. The Jedi fear losing all of their records as they did on Ossus. Telos was also a strategic military location for the Republic. I'm not stupid, Bastila. I did not get to where I am today by strength alone," Revan explained.
Bastila fell silent as she knew what Revan's message to the Jedi was, opening herself to the Force as much as she could and barely feeling the millions of deaths, as restrained as she was due to her collar. Their food came then, saving Bastila from having to talk anymore and letting her sift through her own thoughts. The two of them ate in a silence that bordered on becoming tense and Revan finished first, setting his plate aside and pouring himself another glass of Crème D'Infame wine and taking a long draw from his glass afterwards. After what he felt was a sufficient wait, Revan asked Bastila if she was done with her food and she nodded mutely, pushing her plate away absently. Revan watched her, seeing how the news of the Telos bombing affected her so greatly and noticing how she seemed to mourn for those lives as if she had known them.
He recalled a time when he might have done the same thing, but the feeling of grief was so foreign to him now that he did not wish to dreg up the memory and feel the pain again. He felt no guilt for making her evening a much less merry one than it should have been, only a detached confusion at why she should be struck so by the news of Telos. It was a war, and war meant committing unsavory acts by many people's standards. Revan did not consider his action a blatantly cruel one – he had warned the people of Telos what would happen to them if they did not surrender, and they had chosen to accept that fate. Didn't she understand that? Didn't she understand that the people of Telos had sealed their own demise when they had refused his terms, which were quite lenient in all truth, and stubbornly chosen to stay loyal to the Republic? He knew that she was young but she had been more than old enough to understand what was happening during the Mandalorian Wars. This was no different.
Revan saw the lights in the restaurant dim and focus on the liberally sized dance floor in the middle of the room. Music began to play, a slow, soothing song that immediately dragged many a couple to the hardwood floor to dance intimately. Revan suddenly smiled wickedly to himself and rose from his seat, stopping in front of Bastila and holding out his right hand. She stared at it for a few seconds then looked up at him blankly, purposefully not making any effort to discern what he wanted.
"Dance with me," Revan said, making it a command and not a question.
"No."
His hand clenched for a brief moment at her stubborn attitude. "Need I say again that I am not requesting? Dance with me."
She gave him a glare that he was sure would have killed him on the spot if looks had lethal properties and took his hand, standing and letting him lead her to the dance floor. Revan stopped and turned to her, grasping her wrists and placing her hands on his shoulders, grabbing her small waist gently and pulling her close to his body until he could feel her more often than he couldn't as they moved slowly to the music. Bastila looked as if she was about to murder someone and Revan felt some small satisfaction at being able to irritate her so.
"Am I making you angry?" he whispered, leaning over near her ear again.
"If I could kill you, I would," she snarled.
"Good. This is a little payback for being so nasty to me earlier."
"You arse!" she hissed, digging her nails uncomfortably into his skin through the soft fabric of his graphite colored shirt.
He chuckled, moving his hands a little further back on her hips and a little further down, causing her to tense and dig her nails in even harder. "Better?"
"I'm not attracted to you in the least," she forced through clenched teeth, furious with his ministrations.
He let go of her suddenly. "Shit," he said in a brusque tone, looking angry. Revan was staring at something over her head and Bastila turned, seeing that he was looking at the view screen and that her face was on it. It was the Jedi portion of the news, and they were reporting that she was one of the Jedi missing since the attempted capture of Darth Revan and that there was a liberal sum of credits involved if anyone knew anything about her fate. Revan's hand was on the side of her face, almost gently tugging her gaze back to him and inconspicuously covering her features at the same time. Bastila felt the warmth of his hand against her skin as she stared up into his arcane green eyes and saw only a flicker of annoyance that betrayed the true fury he was feeling.
"Outside. Now," he grunted, pushing her in the direction of the exit, grabbing his overcoat as they passed by their table on the way outside.
"I don't exactly look the same with my hair down like this," she protested, not wanting to be exposed to the chilly night air in the dress she was in.
"Shut up."
"I will not –" Bastila was cut off as her throat tightened painfully and she lost all ability to breathe, let alone speak. Revan was speaking into a communicator, telling the limo that it needed to come back and pick them up right away but she knew that it was child's play for him to talk and choke her at the same time.
"What about the bill?" she asked as soon as the pressure had decreased.
"They don't need it."
"Won't that look suspicious?"
"The restaurant proprietors aren't stupid. If they brought it up, I'd kill them," Revan replied curtly. "They wouldn't bring it up for a few thousand credits, let alone three hundred."
They stopped walking and waited, Revan holding his black overcoat in one hand and letting the other hand hang free. Bastila angled herself so that he was blocking most of the wind that was blowing, creating a shield for herself for as long as she could. Suddenly, a man ran by, snatching up Revan's coat – or rather, he tried to snatch up Revan's coat. The Dark Lord yanked back and brought the man face-to-fist with his free right hand, lifting him into the air and knocking him flat on his back.
"Sonuvabitch!" the would-be mugger cursed as he struggled to pick himself up off ground, blood pouring from his nose. Revan saved him the trouble by grabbing the man roughly and hauling him to his feet, dragging him over to the edge of the walkway they were on and shoving him backwards some. The mugger fearfully watched the Dark Lord as he tried to stifle the flow of the slick red liquid that was running down his face and glanced behind himself, seeing that the metal turned quickly into air. "Nobody hits that hard..." he muttered.
"You are a pathetic excuse for a human being," Revan told him.
"I'm a...pathetic excuse for a human being," the mugger repeated groggily.
"You want to rid the galaxy of your worthless existence."
"I want to...rid the galaxy of my existence..."
Revan noticed at that moment that there was a sizeable crowd gathering, and that it would look far too suspicious if the man suddenly decided to fling himself off of the walkway. Turning around, he made to simply walk away and leave the mugger to his broken nose – though it was contrary to what he wanted to do – but fate was not so kind. The mugger suddenly sprang to life, running wildly at Revan and trying to tackle him; the Dark Lord sensed this and stepped out of the way, causing the man to fly past and sail over the edge of the walkway. He plummeted for a few hundred meters before finally impacting with a speeder with a sickening crunch, the speeder slamming into the nearest wall and beginning to screech downward as well. Their limo pulled up just then and Revan ushered Bastila inside, collapsing back against the padded seats once he was within the vehicle as well.
"You killed him," Bastila said quietly. Then, much louder, "You killed that man!"
Revan simply stared at her with a calm and even expression, waiting for her to both begin and finish her rant.
"You killed him, and for what? Because he tried to mug you? You could have just punched him and let him go! But no, you had to soothe your ego and do something to have control over the situation! You're too much of a coward to –"
Revan was suddenly two inches from her, crushing her throat with his hand and glaring down at her with a fire blazing in his eyes. "Don't ever call me a coward!" he growled, forcing her to keep looking at him. "You know nothing about me! Don't presume to have the right to judge what I do! I'd like to see how you would fare in my shoes, Bastila. How long before you couldn't take it anymore? How long before you wished for death? Would you have the courage to end it yourself? Could you pull your own trigger, like I did? Or would you hope for death at the hands of another, like a true coward? You're nothing like me, so don't think that you know anything about what goes on in my mind!"
He shoved her head back as he let go, smacking it against the wall of the limo and making white spots explode on the edges of her vision. Bastila struggled for air, breathing as much of it as she could into her lungs with each gasp and watching him fearfully, knowing that he could have easily killed her in that moment. Her mind replayed his words in her head, stopping on 'Could you pull your own trigger, like I did?' What did he mean by that? Had he tried to commit suicide once already? Bastila glanced back at him and saw that he was staring at her, his curled fist pressed to his lips and holding up his chin, his thumb placed underneath for support. His green eyes still burned with anger, but it was a slow simmer now, a boil that was shut up inside.
"And I didn't kill the dumb bastard. He tried to tackle me of his own free will," Revan grunted for a reason beyond him. Why did he care what she thought? Since when did he care what anyone thought? He sighed in frustration and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and rubbing the side of his face with a hand. He needed to sleep for a long, long time, and he needed to be left alone for even longer. The chances of that were nil, as the war he had brought the Republic was now underway and he was going to have bounty hunters and mercenaries up his ass for Bastila.
He was going to kill whoever let it slip that she was alive.
