Kastiel was deaf.
She had spent almost six months of her sixth year trapped in some properly awful silence that came after those little lights on the grenade changed from red to green. And the silence really was the better part of that year, too. Better than the debilitating pain, the aching, ripping pain as her ears healed, and her face was put back together.
But the silence also earned her the ability to gauge the facial movements of those beings around her with unerring skill even after all this time, to find the meaning behind their communication no matter what form it took.
Because so much was conveyed by a person from the movement of their faces, their bodies, their arms and hands – Kastiel was amused whenever someone said it was so simple as "reading lips". Kas could actually discern a lie from a mere twitch of a person's mouth, see a man's intentions in the subtle shift of his eyes or even the flaring of his nostrils, and even catch the smallest hesitation in the coward's forward momentum, all by watching their bodies moving.
No. Silence didn't hamper Kastiel, it didn't hold her back from any single motion. It certainly didn't frighten her. She actually found a sense of safety and comfort in the silence, retreating behind her eyes when she simply didn't want to face more painful realities. Breaking the silence actually hurt her, screaming ravages of pain and trauma that haunted her dreams for years, years, and darkest days.
It's why Kastiel never lauded her implants, not when the implants blasted apart the silence she navigated, moved through - with such a cacophony of sound that left her literally reeling, crying terrible tears of pain as she ripped and scratched at her ears until they were bleeding. She begged Tobie for the noise to stop, to keep her head from aching, her ears from burning. Because every little sound within a significantly unnatural distance screamed through her attention.
Normal human beings weren't designed to hear the way Kastiel did – as if the sounds had a real presence and a sheer form all their own.
Tobie was frantic as he tried teaching Kastiel how to focus her new hearing ability, to shut out the sounds she didn't need and concentrate on those she did. It was a grueling process, for the both of them. So many nights when Tobie would finally just pull Kastiel into his arms, rocking her against him as she cried. He would hold his hands over her ear implants and hum gently, until she finally hiccupped her way into sleep, so utterly worn down from the effort she was expending just to stop hearing. And he still made it a point to provide her meds and stims for the migraines – the pain and the fear and the trauma that continued to chase her, through every night and every time she closed her eyes to sleep.
Chase her, like the darkness chased the Force-users who endured the shadows of the Dark Temple, out here beyond the limits of Kaas City. Like it was something alive, all on its own. And perhaps it was.
Facing the façade of the Temple, Kastiel thought she could hear, the way that the Sith and the Jedi listened to their Force. Like they felt it against their skin and through their pores, like it breathed and pulsed in their lungs, thrummed under their running feet – like it moved in them and through them. That was the sound in Kastiel's ears, that she couldn't hide from so easily or simply.
Not magic. Only another sense, a tool to be manipulated.
Kastiel had never felt any real bother that her own sense of the Force was so limited, and never mind the drive of those around her to be Sith, to move out from the dregs of obscurity or poverty to become someone of value and importance, the rulers of this world.
Perhaps it was born from her struggles to recapture her lost hearing. But Kastiel thought it was her sister, even more. That Lusiel was carried to Korriban, where she fought for her life every day, navigated tired, dark spaces, through hallways where every teaching, every lesson was a challenge and a test. And all of it designed to break you into pieces, most likely. Until only the sheerest managed to even survive.
Kastiel wanted to shield her sister, hated that Lusiel was so much alone in such a world and place. That her enemies could destroy her utterly, and Kastiel would never be able to stop them. It bothered her.
It didn't matter in the end, though.
Kastiel only respected the Force for what it was - the driving energy of her world and galaxy, that surrounded everything. She knew it was real enough, even if she couldn't tap into it herself. Not as a Sith did, at least. But her awareness of the Force was true and strong. Enough she nearly gagged on the feeling of dark, terrible threat that permeated the Temple as they stepped inside.
Mako suddenly pressed in close against her, actually whimpered, "Kas? My implant is buzzing, like some kind of interference. It fucking hurts! You … hey, promise me you won't leave me here, okay?"
Kastiel turned to the young woman, held her shoulder in a gloved hand and squeezed gently, "This place is ugly as any abyss. I wouldn't leave an akk dog here, Mako. I certainly won't leave you! Let's just find these soldiers someone was dumb enough to send in here. And quick." She glanced around at the shadowed alcoves. "Chances are they're long since dead."
But they weren't. The men were lost, rather, to the dark energies of the place. They stumbled through the corridors of the Temple, ranting against the pain in their skulls, even falling down to their knees and crying out in agony. Some of them, catching sight of her, begged for release from the pain and sobbed gratefully as she lifted her blasters to give it to them. Most of them, though, were so maddened they no longer remembered who they were, even. Those were the soldiers who came at her in wild attacks; determined to destroy her, forcing her to fight incredibly for her own life, and for Mako's too.
It was horrifying, every step through that place. When Kastiel finally rose up with the identification tag from the very last of the soldiers gripped in her own gloved hand, she caught sight of Mako leaning over against the nearby wall and vomiting smoothly against the floor. She grimaced, gulping back her own nausea. She reached out towards Mako, watched as her friend gripped her fingers fervently.
Kastiel had never prayed for the silence more, than she did in that Dark Temple. That place was so loud and distinct in fear and pain, that she wanted to pull and yank against her implants for the most simple peace. But all she did was grab Mako.
They held onto each other as they tumbled out from the Temple, gulping gladly the heavy, muggy air of the outside. But they didn't let go of each other, just held on as they nearly ran away from that place.
And they didn't look back.
The identification tags gleamed as they fell out of the bag Kastiel had gathered them in, clattering there on the surface of Captain Medle's desk. The officer reached down, picking up one of the tags to examine it closely. He grimaced, "You got them all, incredibly. Here's Commander Gargun's ID, even. I didn't really think it a possible feat, mind you." The man looked up at Kastiel, then. His face was twisted and shaped by some sort of burn injury in years past, pock-marked and misshaped. Kastiel didn't remark on the scars when she had met him, respected that he didn't remark on her own. They understood each other that much.
Now he pursed his lips as he studied her carefully, "So what was it like, there in the Temple? I've yet to hear anything about that place that didn't sound like pure raving."
Kastiel shrugged slowly. Her gut was talking to her again, and the message wasn't good. At least she didn't feel like puking anymore. This was more a worrisome message; her own instincts telling her to be wary. But she didn't betray herself, just told him simply, "Not going to hear much different from me, then. Everyone in there is out of his fucking mind. But they're dangerously organized. Whatever's keeping them in line, I don't want to know about. Shit like that? Steer clear of it."
"Huh. Still would've liked to go in there myself. Would've saved me some unpleasantness." Kastiel watched as the captain dropped his eyes suddenly, seemingly shamed. She felt her stomach tighten even further, glanced over at Mako. Medle slowly licked his lips, as if his mouth was going dry. Like he was getting ready to deliver really bad news. Hells, maybe he would puke, she thought. He murmured tiredly, "Listen to me. Unpleasantness. I'm even starting to talk like them."
Medle walked out from behind his desk, subtly nodding towards the two armed men standing along the wall nearby. Kastiel barely motioned towards Mako, merely shifting a single finger. But Mako understood, stepped closer to Kas and loosened her stance carefully. Medle was uncomfortable enough he didn't even notice. Stupid. You should never look away from a target, Kastiel thought.
Medle looked over Kastiel's shoulder, even. He didn't want to look at her, apparently. And his voice dropped down to a slow mutter, "Look, hunter. I may not like being an officer in Intelligence. Never wanted the job, mind you. But it is what it is, see. And the Sith made it clear they didn't want anyone going into that Temple, learning their secrets."
Kastiel scowled at him, "You're making me unhappy, captain. You don't want to. Trust me."
"Yea, you're right. I don't want to. In a better world, I wouldn't have to kill someone just for doing their job. And doing it well, to boot. But this isn't a better world. I'm sorry, I really am." He started to turn, to say something to his men.
But Kastiel was already moving.
She rocketed towards the two men still leaning stupidly against the wall, just waiting for guidance from the captain. Unprepared and stupid! The men coughed as the gas residue from her jetpack filled the small office. One time. Then they blinked, feeling the press of Kastiel's blasters, one under the chin of each man. They froze, held there in Kas' firm grip as she sneered darkly at them.
Behind her, Medle yelped as Mako loosed a single bolt from her pistol at him, caught him squarely in the thigh so that he tumbled down to the floor. He clutched his leg as blood pumped thickly from the new hole Mako put in it.
Kastiel maneuvered her two hostages backwards, jabbing her pistols against their chins just solidly enough they could follow her directions. She moved them so that all three men were gathered together in the center of the room, facing two very angry young women. Captain Medle sighed, holding his hand over his bleeding wound while blood continued to leak through his fingers. Mako gathered the men's weapons, tossing them into a corner and muttering words like "backstabbing" and "sons of bitches" every so often. The captain's erstwhile assassins looked down at the floor, red-faced and embarrassed.
Medle stared at the bounty hunter, looked at her eyes, watched her. He thought suddenly he'd never seen a more beautiful creature in his life, this woman who was surely going to kill him now. And he was grateful it would happen at the hands of someone so damn capable. This one, he thought, wouldn't bungle the job. She'd do it right. It would be quick, relatively painless. Not a bad way to go. And that's what he told her then.
"I'm not going to beg. Turning on someone for doing their job is wrong and we both know it. Here's your writ, that tells the Mandalorians you did your job for us. And your pay. Because you did it well, too. The rest is up to you," and he lowered his head, waiting.
Kastiel snorted, so that Medle looked back up at her. She tucked her blaster against his dark-skinned nose and thumped it firmly, "Bribe me, captain. And you'd better make it good."
Medle heard a sound of some surprise coming from the hunter's small-framed companion. But he scrambled to think, listening to the whimpers coming from his men on either side of him. "Now that … Yes. I can do that." He gestured towards a datapad set in the center of his desk, "That's a list of experimental equipment. You can … have something off it, if you want."
Kastiel shook her head, "No. You're going to owe me a favor, rather. Mako, here, is going to contact you with a series of questions regarding some information she's looking for. And you are going to help her get it. Understood?" The captain nodded. She pressed her blaster tighter against his nose, "Don't screw this up, captain. I will make your life an even greater living hell if you fuck with me. I've killed far bigger men than you."
"I understand. Don't worry, it will be done." He scowled as he watched the hunter backing towards the door, saw the one called Mako open the door so that the hunter could duck outside of the room, pulling Mako along with her. Then he snarled at the two men next to him, "Son of a bitch. I actually survived. I hate you both!"
Khyriel Phyre glanced up and over his pretty watcher's shoulder, just in time to see a bounty hunter of all things, stalking out from a corridor that lead back to several offices. The woman was obviously angry, until she almost quivered with it. Her dark eyes were glittering like agate stones in her face as she muttered something to the small woman following her. That, and she was replacing a pair of blasters against her belt.
There was no blood splattered on her armored frame, though. No cuts or bruising anywhere on her exposed skin, no sign of damage done to her gear or her weapons. Or at least no new damage, since what he could make out of her armor showed signs of wearing along the edging and down across the pocked surface that covered her torso. She didn't look to be a female that cowered behind a shield in the face of a threat, at least. Only real battles made such marks on a warrior's figure.
Khyriel scanned down the corridor where she'd come from, wondering who was lying beaten and broken back there, and a hard, terrible smile curved his lips as he considered what sorry-assed agent might try explaining how he ...or she, maybe - how they'd come up short against a mere bounty hunter. He even thought of venturing down there to investigate whatever incident made for the tempestuous expression on the bounty hunter's face. But then he would have to cut short his flirtations with the watcher, and Khy glanced back down to see Watcher 2's large, dark eyes narrowed and curious at him.
He really wanted to get the curvy female into his bed before the mission here on Dromund Kaas unnecessarily occupied him, so he turned his most attractive smile down towards her. A sweetly seductive assurance, more than anything.
Khyriel didn't really turn his entire attention from the hunter, though. So he easily noted her expression when she suddenly looked up and saw him. He frowned as she stopped there, in the corridor. Just stopped, for a single, long moment. Emotions flitted across her scarred face, her lips slightly parted with surprise. She looked … shelled, shocked. And sad, as her eyes quickly scanned him from the top of his dark head all the way down to his booted feet, the entire length of his uniformed frame.
Khyriel scowled. Because he didn't recognize her, even if she knew him well enough. He could see it, see his own name hovering against the tip of her tongue. Like it was only fighting to be free, as if she would call out to him if she only could. And who are you, was all that Khyriel could think as he frowningly took a single step forward.
His motion startled the hunter, though. She tossed her head, as if shaking herself loose from some preoccupation. Then she turned like a whip to grab her small companion's arm, rough enough the smaller female yelped a pained sound, "Hey! What the hells …?" The hunter only ignored the woman's complaining cries as she took off striding towards the main entrance, practically dragging her companion along behind her and never mind the little woman's complaining the entire while.
Khyriel watched them go, frowning towards their backsides. He glanced down at Watcher 2 then, smiling tightly, "I think it would prove valuable to know more of that particular bounty hunter."
"Oh? Why would you think so? Hunters are only expendable commodities, Cipher. Words like value are rarely applied to them." Watcher 2 was looking at him like he was a strange commodity all his own, rather. Khyriel wondered what value she could ascribe to him, at least. He even considered outlining his own particular uses, later and in more private circumstances.
"Rarity is its own value, however. Something tells me that hunter will prove it before she's done. And to me, no less."