He he he...This was just too good of an opportunity to pass up...And, now, ladies, gentlemen, and aliens-whom I would very much like to make the acquaintance of-I give thee..."Strange Encounters Between Athela & Rahkah"...HAHAHAHAHAHA! Plus, as promised, a bit o' Grievous dueling entertainment...And now on to my explanation of why this update took so long. You see, my friends, I was away on a trip with my youth group to what is known as "Creation 2010" up in the mountains of Pennsylvania, and a consequence of going to that is being kept up until the early hours of the morning for about a week watching concerts and such. So, long story short, when I got home, you can imagine how tired I was, and I had to catch up on a lot of missed sleep. Another small note: the title of this chapter comes from a great song that I actually became interested in on the trip I went on. It's called 'Needle and Haystack Life', by the band Switchfoot...check it out and be amazed.

Chapter 37~We Call It Living

If there was one thing that came as an added shock to Athela following her recent discovery, it was the fact that Grievous would never allow her access to a lightsaber. There wasn't any particular reasons why he would be pushed to that extent, but he explained his rationales so vividly-involving tales about her destructive nature that were violently blown out of proportion-that she gave up all together trying to convince him otherwise half way through the first fighting "lesson" she received. Apparently, the area of work that she had impulsively placed herself in required vast amounts of expertise in the area of hand to hand combat, and relied solely on one's ability to control one's body movements, depending on the use of a material weapon as a last resort only. The cyborg assured Athela that she would do satisfactorily, making a vague reference to the Kaleesh race in general, and their respectable yet hostile nature. Of course he would know! She wanted to scream at him; tell him that she knew who he was and who he had once been. She wanted to beg him to understand, to feel once more the sensation of complete and utter weakness that could only be brought upon by one person in the whole galaxy. But how could words ever express the jumbled mess of emotions and details trapped inside? How could someone like her ever have the strength to convince the quote, "Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies" that she had been affiliated with him in a past life...on his part at least. She, on the other hand, remembered it all, from every unforgettable moment to every long year without contact. Athela preferred to keep in mind the good times, and not the lonely darkness that afflicted her even as she her thoughts ran wild.

In a daze, she had completely overlooked the fact that she was involved in one of the rigorous, weaponless training sessions, and snapped out of it just in time to dodge a crushing blow that would have found its mark somewhere around her left shoulder. It had been a grueling couple weeks, full of backbreaking hours of what Grievous referred to as "guidance". She had begun to realize that the methods he used for unarmed hostility did not differ that greatly from what she remembered. Back when he had been corporeal, and she much younger in both years and attentiveness, he had taught her how to fight. Too bad that the skills she had learned then hadn't come with her when she had left her homeworld. She was picking up on it again, but very slowly at that. Athela maneuvered her way around him by some means, noticing that while he was agile, his large body hindered some of the finesse that she, as a mortal being possessed. But, seeing as she was a novice, it did her no good in the end when it came to his cunning, and she was not even close in that area. She found herself caught, just before she was thrown to the floor. Athela hit the tiles with a grunt of pain. Grievous eyes her with a smirk in his gaze.

"Give up?" He taunted her.

Feeling that a reply would be extremely cliché, she jumped to her feet quickly, as he had instructed her to do on many occasions. Ignoring the throbbing that pulsed through her from the fall to the hard floor, she dove out of the way just in time to miss another bone shattering swipe at her head. That was one thing that she gave to him: he had no restraint. He hadn't taken it easy on her even from day one, and had pushed her to her utmost potential. Obviously he wasn't used to the concept of teaching-because he did little of it. Once in awhile, he would tell her to do something when she didn't pick up on it, but mostly he would let her learn from her own faults. Oh the joys from being trained under and emotionless wretch...She landed in a crouch, with one leg out to the side and the other bent under her, her hands on the floor in front of her. Grievous whirled around and straitened in surprise. Athela smirked this time.

"Impressive, but..." He paused, and his eyes rolled around in silence. Suddenly, he lashed out with his left foot and knocked her onto her back. Stepping over her, he canted his head at a strange angle, his clawed foot fitting barely over her abdomen. Pinned down by the massive weight of her opponent, she watched in helplessly as he leaned in a bit too close for her own comfort; so close that she could feel what appeared to be a rush of synthesized breath hit her face. Disappointment was all Athela saw in him when he finished his original comment, "...you were positioned completely wrong. You had both of your hands on the ground in front of you instead of one! Clearly a way to trip you up if I ever saw one..." Still, he did not move, and she dared not reply lest he move his foot and rip her open. "You are capable of better. You must channel your strengths. Try harder." He spoke the words as though through clenched teeth, and then stepped back. Once more, the space above her was free, and Athela released her breath, only to inhale sharply again when she heard him snap, "Get up, weakling!"

Racing to obey, Athela sprang to her feet, only to hit the floor another time, a welt forming on the back of her leg. Growling, she ignored it and went to redeem herself. She was hit hard in the side, a curse erupting from her mouth. Grievous, not amused, stopped all assault momentarily to see what she would do, and just as he predicted, Athela took full advantage of the situation, even if she was a bit suspicious. Frustrated beyond level-headedness, she went to defend herself with all the strength she had left in herself. Her feet had left the ground, and she felt her hands come in contact with the armor on one of the cyborg's large shoulders. A sensation of triumph overcame her, but just as rapidly it diminished, when she hit the wall on the other side of the room with a loud thud. He had thrown her, as it was, and she had thankfully made contact with the vertical surface in a way that would have no lasting affects on her. Just on that occasion, she had managed to stay conscious. When she saw the shadow looming over her, on the other hand, she wished that she had hit her head. Bracing herself for another round of verbal cruelty, Athela counted the seconds, but the yelling never came. He was...silent. She had to speak her concerns.

"What are you waiting for?" She mumbled, her arms curled securely around her head. "Am I not to be subject to another one of your torturous lectures?"

Surprisingly, his reply came when he was halfway across the room, headed to the door. "This session is over." He snarled. "Come back to me when you are ready to fight."

Angry at him, Athela watched him from her place on the floor. "Excuse me?" She asked, amazed at his ignorance. "What do you think I've been doing for the past two hours?"

Still on his way out, Grievous threw up his arms in exasperation. "Clearly...you have not been exploiting your abilities to their fullest this day. Whatever you have been doing is not considered proper fighting, and I highly doubt any adversaries you will face will consider it so either when they take your life." Athela went to protest, but she was cut off. "Therefore, you will return to me when you have vindicated your mind of whatever has been distracting you, and then we will try this again." And he was gone...just like that,

"Gods you have issues!" She shouted at the doorway.

Athela was startled by the sound of a voice coming from the entrance to her temporary living quarters. She supposed it was her own fault, not making clear to the guards that no one was allowed in, but the impromptu timing on the visitor's part was bothersome. It was made even more trying-and also very awkward-when she discovered that it was a man that she did not know. Well...she had seen him before when she had been introduced to all of his friends, but she had not said a word to him. She remembered his pronounced muscles, and uncontainable hair, but most of all, it was his telltale expression that made her want to run. He was a predator, someone who victimized anyone he could get his hands on, and the smirk that materialized as he stood before her made matter many times worse for Athela. She did not know his name, nor his age, but he looked older than her-even older than her new-found friend, but judging by the unparalleled shape he was in, he could not be past thirty standard years. Crossing his massive arms across his chest, he studied her with mock surprise.

"Come now...surely you're not completely stunned." His voice was regular in pitch, but had a certain slur to it that made Athela aware to the fact that he was an alcoholic. Of course then! He was the man that she had been warned about! "If your extraordinarily popular friend told you anything, you would know that I had to come and pay you a visit...Athela...if that's even your real name."

She could scarcely move, and shouted for her guards. Her unwanted guest only laughed at her.

"No use there, darling...I sent 'em away so that I could talk to you without any extra ears listening."

"Then what do you want?" Athela said as she glared spitefully.

He smirked again, closing his eyes and sighing. "You don't know how good it feels to hear that voice again...I'd thought for sure that it was gone forever until my pal comes strutting into the bar last night with you following 'im...It was like déjà-vu, 'cept it was completely real. I trust you know what I'm talking about?"

Athela shook her head.

Going off track, he looked a bit more civilized. "My name's N'jaere Rahkah, pardon my hesitance to provide my full title...Yeah, see, I can talk big too...And I already know your name, as a matter of fact I know your name so well that it practically coincides with my own name straightforwardly. I'm sure you haven't a clue as to what I'm talking about...so I'll spare you the details." Approaching Athela, he walked in a circle around her, as so many had done. She knew why this was, but when it came to this...Rahkah's vague mentions of other people she happened to be associated with, she was clueless. "I must say, and I'm sure your getting tired of hearing this on a daily basis, but you look exactly like 'er."

"Like who?" She replied coyly.

Rahkah continued to scrutinize her. "Now that's just sad, Athela...You must be sick of getting complimented all the time to answer like that."

"It is not the compliments I am sick of, but when they come from someone like you-someone who I have been cautioned about, I tend to take the necessary steps to confirm that there are no underlying meanings behind the words."

"And so history repeats itself..." He muttered under his breath. "And what exactly were you told about me?" Seeming extremely bored with it all, he waited with his stare centered somewhere above.

Athela shrugged. "What would you prefer first? Good, or horrible?"

"Whatever works."

"Well...firstly, I've heard that you are a great commander."

Rahkah smiled genuinely.

"But you are also a severe alcoholic, and..." She stopped to gather herself. "...a womanizer, which is why you can imagine my diffidence on you being here." Reconsidering instantly, she felt embarrassing heat flood her face, but found unexpectedly that Rahkah was actually laughing at what she had labeled him. He went on until Athela couldn't take any more of his derision. "I fail to see what makes it so humorous!" His amusement died down when she said this, and he shook off whatever was entertaining him so much and cleared his throat, going back to what appeared to be his "normal" self. There he stood for a drawn-out, uncomfortable moment, smiling like crazy, all the while watching Athela. "Look," she told him finally, "you need to leave now. I realize who you are, and how you would feel obligated to...befriend me, or whatever it is that you do, but I'm telling you now that because of certain circumstances, being acquainted with you in any way would prove hazardous to my wellbeing."

Idly studying his one hand, Rahkah rolled his eyes. "You don't usually talk that way, do you?"

"I suppose I should ask you the same thing." She retorted curtly.

"Some of my teenage years were spent hangin' around off-worlders...traders I guess...They taught me how to talk like the rest of the galaxy. Personally I think it's improved my charismatic nature even more." Without prior notice, he reached out and fingered Athela's hair, which startled her to a point where all she could do was remain unmoving. He withdrew quick enough, puzzlement and a sense of nostalgia clouding his features. "I remember..." Rahkah didn't end the sentence. "You have those eyes too."

"What?"

"The fire. You have that fire in your eyes that I remember like yesterday. If I didn't know better, I'd think that I was seeing a mirror image..." She gave him a weird look that begged answers, but he provided none of the sort. "Of course I know how to be optimistic, mind you."

"What in the ancestors' name are you talking about?"

He came back to the present from somewhere very far away. "Oh, I'm sorry," his mouth hung open idiotically, "you wouldn't happen to have any...um...beverages of the, uh, alcoholic persuasion around here would you, Athela?" Rahkah looked over her shoulder, searching for something that did not exist. "I've been separated from such for a few more hours than I usually allow...and I don't really want to, you know, get sick all over your stuff or anything..."

"Sorry...I don't drink."

"Really." Another smirk. "We call it living, darling...and you obviously don't do much of it do you?"

"Well, not often...drinking I mean."

"You know." He mused, folding his arms again, and it was all Athela could do not to discern his large biceps. "You're not as cold. You have an easier grasp on life, unlike your good pal who won't stay off my case if you blab to him that I even stepped foot near this place. But, you know...I have a feeling that you won't, Athela. No. You're not like that, are you?" Chuckling, he repeated himself. "Are you?"

So this was what happened to all those who he had taken advantage of? Had they fallen under the same spell that she felt herself falling under? How did he do it! He hadn't even said anything on the subject and he was influencing her! Briefly, she wondered if a similar fate had became-

"You need to leave! I don't want you ever coming here again, or I will tell him, and I will lie about what exactly took place."

"Okay, okay! Calm down, I'll be on my way, I gotta pay a visit to another friend of mine anyway. Good meeting you though!"

Athela couldn't resist, she had to ask him a question that had been troubling her ever since she had first laid eyes upon him. "General Rahkah." She addressed, and he turned expectantly at his formal title. "How old are you?"

"Ah...so you are curious..."

"Just answer the question!"

"Would you believe me if I said I was twenty-eight?"

Struggling to contain a snicker at his funny way of saying it, she shook her head, "Not for a minute."

"Well then." He spun on his heel in an outburst of false annoyance, but stopped just before leaving her. "I'll tell you what...If we talk some other time on your own terms, I'll give you the number. Maybe we'll meet up in some bar when you decide that you do drink, and that you want to see me. But, if you ever feel like talking to someone who understands things a bit more clearly, I love listening to problems...and I have many effective ways of curing all phases of gloom." With a mischievous quirk of his mouth, he disappeared from sight, and deep down, Athela was sure some small voice was telling her she should have let him stay.

Typical...She scolded. Out of all the men that you see with physical power backing them, you pick the one that harms people the most...How pathetically typical.

Behind closed doors, Grievous contemplated the preceding events assiduously, reviewing each detail that may have implied the reason for the apparently different state of his new killer. And, when he put it that way, he denied it immediately, feeling uncomfortable with associating Athela with his own property in any sense. That was just disgusting. That was too far into the territory of a man who he would rather not think about, even though it was only a silhouette in his memory. All he remembered was that whoever it was had caused him unbearable angst, and that they hadn't cared at all. End of story. But, back to the matter on hand! The question of the hour: why had Athela seemed so diverted earlier? She was usually fairly good, but he had made her fall more times then she usually did in a regular week in that one session. So, what was the problem with her? Grievous paced, something he hadn't done in awhile. On that note, he hadn't allowed himself to stray into deep thought for a long time either. That was due to his devotion to Athela's proper fighting education no doubt. His hands were restless behind his back as he walked back and forth in a meaningless fashion across the lower level of his quarters. He stared at the floor while he went in a philosophical sort of way, and he did not look up until much later. The first thing that his cold eyes landed on was the undisclosed panel up above that concealed his private room. Well, it was only partially private, because anyone who knew the command ship's makeup knew that it existed, and Dooku had probably been in there more times than Grievous knew about. Therefore, he could only assume that it was truly "secret" to most of the droids, and as expected, Athela. He went off his strait course and ascended the staircase. Over near the panel, there were week-old blood stains from her hands on the floor, but further inspection made him alarmed of something else. Something more serious, entirely.

There were marks along the side of the panel, where one would pull it closed.

Pushing the panel inward in an enraged haste, Grievous ducked inside. Running his hand along the wall, he triggered the lights, an eerie green, and spun around to gaze at the floor below.

The streaks of blood were there.

He hurried to the computers and bent down to where he could see the keys clearly. Horrified, he reached down a finger and touched one of the buttons that was unnaturally colored.

Athela had been here.

She knew about him.

Oooh...someone's in trouble. Just a heads up, I just rewrote chapter one, and I think it came out better than the original. You should all check it out pronto!