»»—- Violent Delights —-««

What do violent individuals fear most?
Violence? I should say not.
By what do the cruel and selfish
feel most threatened?
All of them fear nothing
as much as they fear love.

Jan Phillip Sendker

Chapter Two: Approaching Fate

The Outer Rim of the Galaxy

Merrily speeding past the Greater Javin, Bespin Hoth and Berrol's Donn, the Razor Crest continued on its journey towards the Outer Rim of the Galaxy. The Mandalorian preferred avoiding major trade routes of the galaxy. He advanced through the empty space between planets and moons like a hot knife through thala-siren butter.

It suspended his trade in the region of vigilante. His decommissioned gunship was utilised as a transport vessel for his bounties. It was his living quarters, carbonite chamber and hideout. With the universe as his garden it made life bearable; until he could return to the hideout on Nevarro.

Din watched the vertical speed indicator, adjusting the joystick as he entered Anthan airspace.

"Clearance, Athan Spire Resort airspace," a voice rattled through the comms.

"Anthan Spire, requesting clearance via Razor Quest," Din pushed the joystick forwards, continuing his descent. "Flight plan route for Inner city."

"Anthan Spire cleared Razor Quest, Joka 2, flight plan route: departure frequency one-three-five, decimal niner, squawk four-seven-six-three," the air-traffic control droid said. Din programmed the numbers into his transponder, preparing the Razor Quest for the altitude change and route.

"Razor Quest readback request."

Din Djarin repeated the traffic-officer's information, having prepared his ship and himself for landing.

"Hold abeam Joka 2, gate 47," they said as the Razor Quest shuddered through the exosphere of Anthan Prime.

"Received," Din said. The resort was bustling as it breached the atmosphere's outer layer. Ships zoomed in front of Din's path; taxis, pleasure yachts and tours. Slightly grumbled by the overindulged disregard the planet had for manners, he switched his data feed into his helmet.

His visor came to life with non-visual and environmental information as well as a holographic view of his flightpath. The audio-visual sensors gave Din an intimate knowledge of his surroundings. In red, he saw the chit number and a dull red blip appeared.

The analytical data overtook the breath-taking beauty of the floating city. White spires, towers and lanterns drifted in and out of the visor's analysis; reading as concrete, marble or energy. Vast amounts of electricity was being absorbed and distributed throughout the resort. In the upper city, the readings were rapidly rising whereas the lower ridges of the hotels were falling.

Purple gases drifted on the horizon. The planet was uninhabitable despite its alluring lilac kisses. Din's visor lit up: Carbon dioxide: 96.5 %, Sulfur dioxide: 150 ppm, Carbon monoxide: 17 ppm and Nitrogen: 3.5 %. Lifeforce: 622,020,910,081.

Narrowing his gaze, he imagined millions of bugs swimming through the toxic waste that was their planet. Only insects could survive such a harsh terrain. He imagined himself walking along the planet, stepping through the fog and emerging as a silver knight beneath the mauve gysers spewing their poison.

Shaking his head, he returned to his destination. Joka was one of seventy landing bays for the resort. Din soared into the hangar and was left suspended in a queue of guests. He came to a stop with only the jittering rumble of his engine as company. Below, guests were exiting their ships and stepping onto the landing bay.

They were dressed in rich attire; soft silks, rich velvets and capes dragging across the floor. Some were tipsy, stumbling towards the entrance to the Spire. It was a night of festivities; an extremely busy, bustling night. With so many eyes, none would be on Din's bounty.

"Good evening sir," a droid buzzed through the comms. Din snapped his head towards the right-side of his ship. His gaze unhappily meeting a transportation and greeting unit. Its bronze, square body hovered beside his ship, eagerly awaiting entrance. "May I park your vehicle?"

"I'll land it myself," he said.

"I insist, sir,"

"I'm fine," Din checked the lock system, his teeth clenched on his words. "I'll do it myself."

"It is a complimentary…"

"Back off," Din wrenched the blaster from a storage cabinet below his feet and thrust it outwards, holding it firmly in the face of the droid. If he had to destroy the window to destroy a droid, he would do so with a smile. "I will do it myself," he brushed his forefinger down the trigger. With a squeak, the droid waved his spindly arms and offered a blubbering apology.

Following its movements, Din wavered his blaster and finally lowered it. He squeezed his eyes together. The exhale he exhumed relaxed his taught chest. His armour was wearing thin; not so comfortable or sleek against his skin as it once was. It had been hammered to fit him, but years of battering and battle had crinkled it like bent paper.

Rolling his shoulders beneath the armour, he gritted his teeth as each metal plate icily slid together. Two underworld bounties would provide enough Beskar for him and half a dozen foundlings. How they would watch him strut out of their hideout and into the sunlight; a symbol of Mandalorian brother-ship.

Flexing his fingers around the joystick, he pushed his ship forward and descended into the iridescent city.

Anthan Spire

Valyr stared at the glass wall, one hand tucked beneath her head and the other clutching resting on the silk pillow. For hours, hot tears threatened to spill but she held in each drop. She tried to imagine she was in her chamber on Unroola Dawn, with moonlight streaming through the sky-window and warm wind making the curtains flutter like Geonosian wings.

A disgruntled snort pulled Unroola Dawn away from her. This was not the rebel alliance's company; this was a healer named Frode.

Valyr glanced back at the man with a rather empty exhale. His beard was plaited and packed full of rune bead. She was unsure which religion he worshipped, but his physical appearance told her he was quite devoted. His chest, arms and back were tattooed with red squares which overlapped and intertwined to express a geometric language unknown to the common eye.

He snorted and rolled over, reaching a lanky arm out towards her. "My Dad's gonna buzz through in a minute, if you don't mind… jogging on," he said. With an uncomfortable hiss, Valyr slipped off the bed and out of reach. Frode patted her empty place and settled for the pillow, pulling it to his body with a comfortable nuzzle.

It was almost sweet, but Valyr felt a pang of offense that he didn't bother to open his eyes and find a human body to cuddle not a fluffy mound of cloth. She gathered her veil and slipped her uniform back over her body; carrying her undergarments under one arm.

The healing quarters were busy as she entered the corridor. Servants were bustling, tripping and running around trying to complete their tasks before the Luna Feast. Usually, slaves had to be calm and reserved in the medical bay. One fell against Valyr shoulder and dropped a dozen towelettes across the floor.

Valyr clenched her teeth. She turned on her heel and hurriedly bundled the servant's bits back into her possession.

"Blessed be with you," the servant stuttered, her cheeks flaming bright red.

Valyr touched the woman's hand briefly and squeezed it. "Calm. It's 'benevolences be with you.'"

"Benevolences… Benevolences be with you," she repeated. "I'm such a mess."

"This place is a mess. You fit in."

"Anka," the woman shook Valyr's hand, with somewhat of a fierce strength. The two women stood back up. "I'm a healer as well."

Valyr smiled tightly, brushing down her uniform. "Fantastic."

"Will you be at the Lunar Feast?" Anka pressed, holding onto the conversation which lasted several minutes too long for Valyr's liking.

"Yes, I will. I'm actually going to get ready now so… I should."

"You'll see me later, then." Anka held her towels tighter, her smile crinkling the wrinkles on her face.

"Fantastic," Valyr said again, retreating slightly. The hallway was getting busier, giving her sublime opportunity to slip into the crowd and disregard Anka's words. Frode's ignorance for her was tugging at her frontal lobe; blurring her judgement and ability to act morally decent.

How naïve Frode was to apathetically push her out of his bed. Using his father as an excuse. How beautifully lovely it would be to have a father that called their child. It must've been wonderful; excitedly waiting for the familiar hologram of a parent to pop up. Valyr imagined Frode's father was stout and hairy with a toothy smile that exhumed saliva whenever he spoke too fast.

Valyr felt heat in her eyes. It came quickly so she was forced to press her lips into a flat line. She burst through her chamber door and slammed it, frightening herself with the harsh bang. Her knuckles turned white as she held the handle – her very core wanted to squeeze the metal until it split and burst like a berry. It didn't. Intense anger, hatred and loss wracked her body. She released a frustrated cry and took hold of the closest object she could get her hands on.

It was a decorative vase blindly flying across the room and smashing against the clothing cabinet. It shattered and spat white crystals across the floor.

She clutched the necklace around her throat. It was a glass vial hanging on a white chain; cold and lost in the crevice of her collarbones. The soft grooves reminded Valyr of a time long gone. Perhaps there was a creature looking across the galaxy at the Yavin planet; and her past was still a present.

"Fuck you Frode," she hissed, storming across the room. "And fuck your father."

As she wrenched open the cabinet, the glass screeched beneath; hurting her ears. She clenched her teeth, her knuckles turning white on the door. With the other hand, she dug through the contents ahead of her until her nails scratched a hard surface.

Her red eyes drifted over the carbonite pod. She gently pressed her fingertips to the woman's face; her forehead, eyelids and cheeks. So smooth it was beneath her touch that she forgot it was a living being. Deep regret filled her, but also an overpowering sense of self-importance. Valyr had to be there and Nír had to be frozen in time.

They'd met briefly when Valyr was scouting the area for a possible disguise. Nír was perfect; mundane, unintimidating and boring.

The grandiose narcissism of the Anthan Spire Resort was reflected in its parties. With the expansion of the West Wing, they hired three hundred healers, servers and escorts to accommodate the new-suites, villas and cabanas. In the Eastern Great Hall, a celebration took place the night of Valyr's arrival.

She held her flute goblet gracefully, studying the guests with an egotistical air about her. The purple dress hung over her figure, cascading off her hips and onto the floor. It hid her scruffy boots and although she'd tried to scrub the mud off them, they remained filthy.

She lifted the goblet to her lips. Sweet wine kissed them, but it was allowed no further. After an elegant moment, she lowered the glass and licked her lips.

As it was nearing the middle of the party, many guests were disappearing with one another. Human desire change. It was rather humorous to watch middle-aged beings succumb to a need they didn't bother to hide behind maturity.

Valyr straightened her posture and headed for a woman who also stood alone. If the numbers in the room continued to dwindle, then her presence would be more noticeable. Large parties were the most intimate.

"Benevolences be with you," Valyr feigned another sip as she came to a stop beside the woman. "That's what they say here."

It was a petite woman in a puff-sleeved gown "Mm. I've heard."

"What have you hired you for?"

"I'm a healer."

With that, Valyr knew she had her match. She grinned over her goblet, looking at the woman over the rim with a flirtatious gaze.

"Yes," the woman continued, sensing Valyr's tonal change. "I know all about how the body works. Mirialan… Zabrak… Human."

"Do you have a preference?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

Valyr's smirk intensified. Her cheeks were heating up. In a moment of weakness, she pushed the goblet to her lips and drank it all in one tart, shivering gulp. To the great pleasure of both of them, the woman took ahold of Valyr's hand and pulled her out of the Great Hall and up a winding staircase.

Upon entering her room, Valyr indulged in a beautifully erotic kiss. Everything tasted of rich berries. For the few moments it lasted, Valyr forgot about the dramatic landing on Anthan, the stolen units and forgery. Then, she pressed a vial of medicinal anethestic into Nír's neck.

Breathing heavily, Valyr collapsed against the bedside table and shoved a piece of hair out of her face. She glanced down at the unconscious woman and prodded her cheek with a toe, making sure she was in a deep slumber.

"Great at kissing," she mumbled, pulling a carbonite chit from the garter around her thigh. "Terrible at combat." Adjusting the settings on the equipment, she separated the chit and placed four square electronic pieces around the woman's body. Having swiped the identification badge from the woman, she studied it as the carbonite grew over the body.

"Nír OP-4," she observed. "From a droid planet. That must've been a cold childhood. No wonder you couldn't hold a conversation. Just desperate for human touch."

Carbonite was a medical miracle for dying patients. You could freeze someone who was all alone and waiting for loved ones to travel a million miles. The melting process was ugly and painful, but those on the edge of death didn't notice much difference between that and waking up. As cruel as Valyr was for stealing Nír's life, at least she had years of it left.

"Or at least that's what I tell myself," Valyr covered Nír's figure with a fluffy coat and scraped the hangers across until she found her lilac dress. It was angelically soft; silky like the petal of a flower. In Anthan tradition, she was dressed richly and hiding an ugly, deceitful interior.

After bathing, washing her tears down the drain as well as yogre germs, Valyr slipped into the dress and discarded her healing garments. It was a single-sleeved gown. The cool evening air was delicious on her bare arm. For once, she wasn't sweating under her heavy uniform. If one of those bourgeoisie bastards got into a fight, she'd surely throttle them because she'd have to change and stop the celebrations.

Her vial hung on her neck, not matching the dress, but sitting there as a reminder of a past so raw that Valyr could scarcely allow herself to dwell on it too long; or she would crack open the glass bottle and burn her insides.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

There was a knock at her door.

Comments:

ManetteNevada: Two comments! I'm so happy you enjoyed the first chapter. I will be writing daily for this story and plan on uploading every several days! Thank you for reading xx

.2019: Thank you, my love! x

Naria4: Yay! Always a pleasure to wake up and see a new comment! I hope you enjoy this small update x

Almj31: Wahey! That's brilliant to read! Writing styles are so subjective but I'm enthralled with the response. Happy Reading! xx