Notes: We're back with Prime Time Coverage! (500+ words of action, adventure, or excitement with your chosen characters as the star.)
Let me tell you, this vignette went through quite the transformation. Up until a couple weeks ago, the whole second (and much longer) part of this story didn't exist in any way, shape, or form. In all honesty, I wasn't really loving what I'd originally written for this event, and I was getting a little discouraged. Then inspiration struck, and I suddenly had the very pressing urge to write… a Sith Lord bar night. o_O
But wait! That's not the end of these notes, because while this new and improved story might have started out as murder and drinking, it ended up becoming something else entirely. Something that sort of wrecked me emotionally. This whole thing clocks in at nearly 7,500 words, and it's weird and funny and messy and uncomfortable at times, but dangit if it didn't make me cry real, actual tears.**
For reference, this takes place in the latter half of 58 ABY, sometime after Festus and Allana ran into each other on Taris (section IV of What If This Storm Ends?), but before the events of In Dreams We Dwell (which takes place in 59 ABY). The title was partially inspired by the song I was listening to when I got the idea for this: "End of Line" by Daft Punk, from the Tron: Legacy soundtrack. Probably not the best of my titles, but hey, my brain is tired. :P
A huge thank you to Gabri Jade for the late-night text session that ended up spawning this idea, for her endless support as I realized just what this fic was becoming, and for betaing this on short notice, because holy cow, 7k+ words, guys.
**You probably won't cry real, actual tears the way I did, because I'm a big, emotional baby, and I was listening to some pretty heavy music when I wrote certain scenes. No, not the Tron soundtrack. :P
Enjoy!
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VIII. "End of the Line, or Creep II / Brute II" | 58 ABY | Prime Time Coverage
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Darth Festus has known from a young age that he unsettles people. It's one of the things he does best.
He sits atop a cargo crate in the dingiest, most decrepit docking bay in the known galaxy, watching some Dark Tide big shot do his very best to impersonate an intimidating and dangerous gangster.
It's a terrible impersonation.
There are three guys standing around the boss – well, not the boss, the majordomo, which is a stupid, pompous word – and four more guarding the exit. The henchman closest to Festus keeps glancing over at him, trying not to let on that he's completely creeped out by all the staring. Maybe he should smile at the guy. That'd really get under his skin.
Wait a minute. Is it Dark Tide or Death Wave? Or something else? It starts with a "D", whatever it is. Why do these gangs and crime syndicates always have such ridiculously obvious names? It reminds him of some of his Sith compatriots years ago. People with names like Darth Raze. Man, he hated that guy.
A forceful shove across the mental bridge between his twin's mind and his own. Pay attention, idiot.
Festus doesn't bother with a retort, mental or otherwise. He plants his hands behind him on the crate and leans back, letting his head roll to one side as he turns his gaze to his brother. Ferrus is standing opposite the Dark Tide majordomo guy, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the hydraulics for their ship's ramp. Pretending that he actually gives a damn about what the man has to say. He's got to hand it to his twin; he does actually seem like he's listening.
The boss is going on about this territory and that territory, and something about the spaceport and who's allowed to bring cargo through it. Usually, Festus would be much more aware of who these Death Wave guys are and why they're bothering a couple of no-account bounty hunters. But he's been a little preoccupied lately, ever since they had to leave Taris and find a new place to live. As for why they had to leave Taris…
Another mental shove, this one more irritated than the last.
"We'd hate for things to get… unpleasant," the majordomo is saying, barely concealing his sneer.
Festus sighs and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and he goes back to staring at the Death Wave lackeys. The one closest to him notices, again, and this time he turns to face him, eyes narrowed to slits.
"What are you looking at?" the lackey says with a hiss.
Festus doesn't move. He doesn't laugh or smirk or react in any way. Instead, he stares up at the man and says, "I'm looking at you."
The man's expression turns smug. "Oh yeah? And why the hell would you wanna do that?"
Okay, now he's going to smirk. "Because it's making you uncomfortable. And because in less than a minute, we're probably going to kill you all, and the more distracted you are, the better."
The man takes a step toward him, and everyone else, including their boss, stops what they're doing to watch. "What the hell did you say to me?" the lackey growls.
Festus cocks his head to one side. "I said, you've got about ten seconds to get the hell out of here, or you're going to regret it."
The henchman scoffs at that. "Yeah right. There's eight of us and only two of you."
"Four to one, huh? We like those odds." He glances over at his twin and grins. "Don't we?"
Ferrus uncrosses his arms and holds one hand out at his side, and he smiles back. "Yeah, we do." His lightsaber flies out of the ship and into his open hand, flaring to life mid-swing as he lashes out at the Dark Tide boss. The man stares back at Ferrus, stricken, a scorched trail slashed deep in his chest. He staggers back a step, and Ferrus shifts his weight, pivoting to kick the boss in the stomach, sending him sprawling backward into two of his goons.
The rest of the lackeys break out of their stupor a second later; the one nearest to Festus swings around, firing off a shot from his hip. Festus is already moving, dodging the blaster bolt as he draws his knife and launches off of the cargo crate. He stays low to the ground, kicks the man's legs out from under him, slashes through his femoral artery on the way down.
The next two henchmen come at him together, blasters firing. He throws his hands out, knocking them back with a burst of energy. Lasers singe his shirt, blistering across his skin, but he ignores it, reaching out to call his lightsaber to him.
Nothing happens, and he looks toward the ship to see that the largest of the criminals has intercepted his saber and is staring at it wide-eyed, as if he can't believe his incredible luck.
"Hey!" Festus barks, gesturing with his knife. "That's mine."
The man looks down at the hilt for a second before activating it. His eyes glow red as he gazes into its core and smiles wide. "Come and get it, tiny."
Festus shakes his head and sighs. "If you insist." He looks to the other side of the docking bay where Ferrus is tearing through three guys at once. "Hey, idiot! Give me your lightsaber!"
His brother growls something obscene as he stomps one of his attackers to the ground and skewers him. "You're such a pain!" he shouts back, tossing the saber in a low arc toward him.
As Festus ignites his twin's lightsaber, he sees The Big Guy take a step back, eyes darting around the room, maybe realizing that only a couple of his people are still alive. "Hey, wait—"
Festus doesn't wait. He lunges at the man, disarming him as easily as a master batting away a child's training saber; and before the man has time to plead for his life, Festus buries the crimson blade in his chest. As the lackey falls backward, Festus plucks his own saber from the man's grasp.
"Thanks," he says quietly, meeting the man's unfocused, dying gaze.
Silence settles over the hangar, and Festus turns to survey the damage. He catches his twin's eye, then throws him his lightsaber. Ferrus snatches it roughly from the air and glares at him.
"Did you seriously only kill two guys? Out of eight?"
Festus hooks his own saber to his belt and reaches up to scratch the back of his head as his eyes sweep the room again. The Big Guy and Femoral Artery Guy and… "Huh. I guess so."
Ferrus makes a thoroughly disgusted noise. "You're kriffing ridiculous."
"You're the one who said we shouldn't keep our sabers on us when we're docked, so technically you only have yourself to blame."
"Of all the times for you to actually listen to me." Ferrus puts his saber away and drags his hands down his face, leaving a trail of scarlet. "I need a drink," he mutters.
Festus looks up at his twin and frowns. "You should probably clean up before you head out. You'll scare all the girls away."
"What?" Ferrus looks down at his hands and turns them over, laughing under his breath. "I didn't even notice. How bad is it?"
Festus arches an eyebrow at his brother's bloodstained face. "Pretty bad."
His twin shrugs and lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. "You should come with me."
"I'll pass." He looks away, glancing over the bodies once more. He can sense his brother's eyes on him.
"I don't get you."
And there it is. He takes a breath before responding. "What else is new?"
Ferrus laughs again, but there's a bitter edge to it. "I mean, I know you're saving yourself because of your weird little crush or whatever—"
Oh, he's really going to punch this bastard right in the face—
"—but the drinking thing? Come on, you can't have one stupid drink with me?"
He finally looks over at his twin, meets his icy stare. Counts backward from five and exhales. "Fine. One stupid drink."
His brother grins, and for one moment he actually looks happy; and that's not really a word he even uses anymore, because what the hell in their lives could ever be described that way? But for that one fleeting, impossible moment, Ferrus doesn't look like the fighter who clawed his way past the other initiates on Korriban, or the Sith Lord whose brutal command of the Force rivals those with three times his experience, or the bounty hunter who can kill with his bare hands – he looks like Veeran Starskip, or at least who Veeran might have been, if things had gone differently.
"Come on," his brother says, still grinning as he reaches out to punch him in the shoulder. "You need to change, too."
Festus looks down at what he's wearing. "You do realize my other clothes look just like this."
Ferrus rolls his eyes, but this time there's a hint of laughter behind them. "Yeah, idiot, but these ones have blood all over them."
Festus examines his right sleeve, remembering Femoral Artery Guy, and he shakes his head. "You're so picky."
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A couple of Sith Lords walk into a bar.
It sounds like the start of a bad joke. A really bad joke. Or maybe the most amazing joke ever, he's not really sure. Technically it's not a bar, it's a nightclub – not that he can tell the difference – and they're not exactly Sith Lords anymore – although they still use the names and the lightsabers, and they still cause plenty of death and chaos, so he's not sure there's a difference there, either – and he's not sure what the punchline of this particular joke would be anyway.
Okay, that's a lie; he can think of one punchline:
A couple of Sith Lords walk into a bar, and everyone dies.
Wow, he's really terrible at this.
It doesn't take much to get them inside, just a well-timed mind trick, which Ferrus pulls off as easily as breathing. He wonders how many times his brother has done this.
The club is dark and crowded; the only sources of light are trails of tiny blue and green bulbs embedded in the ceiling and walls, mimicking the effects of bioluminescence. People of all species press in around them, some carrying on loud conversations, others sloshing drinks as they dance. Force, he already hates it in here.
His brother doesn't seem bothered in the least. He strides through the crowd like he owns the place, and most people shift out of his path without much fuss. Festus follows, eyes roaming the crowd. It would be real easy to kill someone in here. He wonders how long it would take these people to notice.
Ferrus waves him over to the bar, a curved counter shaped to resemble an undulating wave. Again, crowded. His twin finds a gap and leans forward over the counter, catching the bartender's attention. When she comes closer, Ferrus leans even further across the bar and holds up two fingers, saying something he can't quite make out over the noise. The bartender – a Kiffar woman with a wide smile – produces two small glasses from under the counter and fills them with a dark blue liquid. Ferrus flashes a smile of his own and grabs the drinks, then offers one to him.
Festus takes the glass and holds it up at eye level, examining the liquid from every angle. "This is what you've been so anxious for me to try?"
Ferrus shrugs and grins. "Sure. Now stop staring and drink it."
"And you say I'm weird." He raises the glass to his lips—
"No, not like that," his twin interrupts with a wave. "All at once, like this." He throws his head back and downs the drink in one gulp, smiling like an idiot when he's done.
Festus looks from his brother to the drink in his hand. "Why?"
"That's just how you do it."
"Right." He stares down at the dark liquid again and takes a deep breath, then imitates his brother's technique, swallowing the entire contents of the glass in one shot.
Oh, he thinks a bit distantly, maybe that's why they're called shots.
And then, less distantly, very immediately in fact, he realizes his throat is on fire.
He coughs and nearly drops the glass, glaring at his brother. "The hell?" he sputters, unable to manage any words beyond that. Force, it fragging burns.
Ferrus is still grinning like the absolute childish idiot that he is. "Good, huh? You'll get used to it."
Oh, like hell. "If you think I'm doing that more than once, you're the one who's crazy."
His brother says nothing as he takes the glass from him and sets in on the bar. He orders two more drinks, amber-colored this time, and steps out into the crowd. "Come on," he says, "let's find a seat."
Still trying to determine just how much of his throat was destroyed by that blasted drink, Festus follows his twin through the swaying mob. They stop at a half-circle booth near the edge of the dance floor, one that already has two deeply-involved occupants. Ferrus sits down next to one of them, a Twi'lek man, and gestures away from the table.
"Get lost."
The Twi'lek and his companion, a Theelin woman, stare dumbly at Ferrus for a moment before shifting their gaze to Festus. He stares back at them without blinking. "Now."
The two lovers shuffle out of the booth quickly and disappear into the crowd. Ferrus laughs under his breath and slides into the booth, placing the drinks on the table. Festus is slow to follow, still watching the crowd. Still feeling the burn from that damn drink.
"Come on, relax, we're fine."
He sits down next to his brother and frowns at the glass that appears in front of him a second later. "No," he says. "I told you, one drink."
"That was barely anything."
"Yeah, it really felt like barely anything."
"You know, for someone who can take every beating imaginable, you're being a real baby about this."
Festus picks up the glass and thinks how satisfying it would be to dump the foul liquid on his brother's head. But Ferrus is right about one thing – he knows how to take a beating.
"I just want you to know," he says as he raises the glass to his lips, "I really hate you."
Ferrus lifts his own glass. "Drink up, brother."
Stars, this one's even worse than the first. He slams the glass down on the table. "I don't understand what's so great about this."
"Give it a few more, you'll see."
"Why in all nine Corellian hells would I want to do this even one more time, let alone a few?"
"Because you need to loosen up, that's why." Ferrus waves to a passing server. "Two shots of Tanarin, and two more of the Saberdarts," he says, gesturing toward their empty glasses.
"You got it." The server, a human woman, smiles at them both, but she smiles extra wide at Ferrus, and his brother notices.
Festus watches the exchange in silence, waiting until the girl leaves. "I'm not drinking another one of those."
"Yeah, you are." Ferrus turns to him and smirks. "Come on, they're good. Plus they pack a big punch."
"You know, I've seen you drunk plenty of times. I can't say I find the experience appealing in any way."
"Because you've never actually experienced it, you idiot. And like I said, you need to loosen up. This'll help."
Festus pauses just long enough to hold his twin's gaze. "You say 'loosen up' when I think you really mean 'lose control'."
Ferrus shrugs. "Yeah? What's wrong with that?"
He doesn't answer. Control is all he has. Control over his reactions, his pain response, his enemies. Even the face he puts on for the world – unstable, unhinged, chaotic – is its own form of control. He's already given up too much control of his stupid feelings, and look where that's gotten him.
"I know what you're trying to do," he says quietly, staring at his brother across the darkened booth.
"I'm just trying to have a good time." Ferrus looks out at the dance floor, head bobbing absently in time with the music.
The girl returns with their drinks, and she lingers at Ferrus's side, making some inane comment about never having seen them here before. His brother leans back in his seat and gives her his brightest smile. Festus wonders how this girl would react if she'd seen all that blood earlier. He smirks at that thought and looks away. The lights in the wall have a slight haze to them now, and no matter how hard he squints, it doesn't go away.
Weird.
"Hey."
He turns to see another drink being pushed in front of him. Make that two drinks. He looks up at this brother. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. Go on, just get it over with."
He picks up the first glass, a clear liquid with a sharp odor. Why the hell is he doing this again?
"Frag," he mutters before downing the drink. Okay, that one wasn't so bad. Still disgusting, but at least it didn't burn all the way down.
Ferrus has already emptied both glasses and is shifting toward the edge of the booth. "Think I'm gonna go dance. You coming?"
He levels his twin with his most withering stare – or at least, he thinks he does. "Not a chance."
"Suit yourself." Ferrus points at the last drink on the table, the Saberdart, or whatever it's called. "That better be gone when I get back."
"Whatever." Festus leans back in the booth and props one arm along the back of the seat, waving vaguely in the air. "Have fun embarrassing yourself."
Ferrus smirks at him one last time before heading toward a small group of women on the edge of the crowd. They're a mixed species group, at least one Zeltron, one Twi'lek, and three humans – or near-humans; it's hard to tell in this light – among them. One of the girls stands slightly apart from the others, and that's who his brother approaches.
He can't hear anything they're saying, but he's gotten pretty good at reading people over the years. Granted, this is one area he's largely unfamiliar with, having little observational data to go off of. But based on the way she keeps glancing down and tucking her hair behind her ear, he assumes her hesitant smile is a sign of shyness rather than a signal that she's uninterested or uncertain. Ferrus holds out his hand, and she takes it and follows him into the sea of dancers.
Festus glances down at the drink in front of him, frowning at it. Maybe he could dump it somewhere or pass it off to someone else. Maybe leave it on another table. But that means he'd have to get up. Does he feel like dealing with the press of the crowd, or all the drunk revelers, or anything, really? It's so much easier to sit here and do nothing.
He tilts his head back against the booth and finds his brother again. Watches him through half-closed eyelids. He's not really sure what he expected to see – especially when it was perfectly clear from the moment they walked in here what the preferred style of dancing was – but somehow he wasn't prepared for the sight of his twin engaged in something so intimate. He remembers the bodies again, and how they stepped right over them, still spattered in their blood.
He thinks Ferrus might actually be the better liar.
Without meaning to, he finds himself picking up the drink, watching the dim light reflect off the glass and the amber liquid within. He lets out a slow breath, glancing in his brother's direction for a second before emptying the glass in one gulp. It still burns, but not nearly as bad, and this time he can feel that warmth shoot straight through him. Strange, but not wholly unpleasant. Maybe Ferrus is right.
Each song bleeds into the next, and he's not sure how long he watches, or even when he started watching again. It doesn't even feel like he's in his head anymore – more like he's floating just slightly above it, observing everything without the safety of the wall he's erected around himself. The connection between him and his twin restored, but muffled and hazy, sort of like his vision. Is that why he's feeling so warm? Or is it the damn alcohol?
Out on the dance floor, Ferrus dips his head to kiss the girl's neck, and Festus tells himself he's going to look away. Any second now. Now. Okay, now.
"Don't be so weird," he mutters, running his fingers around the rim of the empty shot glass. "You can't just stare at people like that."
—poor little psycho, do you think that's why she's so afraid of you—
Her voice echoes in his head – pay attention, I'm only going to do this once – and he sees that teasing smirk and remembers how badly he wanted to kiss her, then and every moment after. But he can never hide from the truth of himself like his brother does. She already knows how damned he is, and even he's not a good enough liar to pretend otherwise.
He finally manages to close his eyes, and that helps a little, but he can still sense the insistent tangle of his brother's emotions. Clouded, yet powerful enough to overwhelm. Dammit, he shouldn't have had those drinks. The barrier between him and his twin is pretty much gone, and it's not just that he doesn't want to be a weird third party to Ferrus's sexual encounters; he doesn't want his brother seeing into his own head, seeing who is in his head, and what he wants to do to her.
He sits there for a while, eyes still closed, trying in vain to block out the sounds and the stifling heat of too many bodies in too small a space. He doesn't know how much time passes, but eventually Ferrus returns to the booth, out of breath and smelling even more strongly of alcohol. Festus cracks both eyes open and turns his head just enough to look at his twin.
"Where's your girlfriend?" he says, trying to stay neutral, but unable to keep the contempt out of his voice.
Ferrus either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore his tone. He drapes both arms over the back of the seat and reclines against the cushion. "Went to find her friends. A couple of them might be interested in you."
Festus actually laughs at that, teeth clenched tight as he holds on to the empty shot glass. Gods, he's never fragging drinking again. "The hell's wrong with you?"
Despite the dampening effect of the alcohol, his brother's presence flares in the Force. "The hell's wrong with you? I'm trying to help you out, weirdo."
"I don't want your help. I don't want anything or anyone in this stupid place."
His brother's eyes narrow to a scowl. "I'm sorry I can't meet your impossibly high standards. There aren't a whole lot of princesses slumming it in places like this."
Festus inhales slowly. "You're ridiculous."
"No, you're ridiculous. Waiting around for something that's never gonna happen." Ferrus looks away, eyes roaming the crowd. He blows out an angry breath and turns to face him again. "Look," he says, not quite making eye contact, "you know you can just pretend."
"Pretend?"
"Yeah, you know… pretend it's what you want it to be."
He can't explain the sick feeling in his stomach all of a sudden, but it's almost overwhelming. "Is that what you do?"
Ferrus shrugs. "Sometimes."
"Right now?"
"No." His brother ducks his head for a second, then sneaks a glance at the girl he was with. She stands with her friends, smiling as they all talk over each other. Then she notices Ferrus and gives him a shy wave.
Oh, that's just perfect.
"You actually like her." Festus leans forward over the table, forcing his twin to look at him. "You're not pretending she's someone else. You're pretending you're someone else."
Ferrus's breath hitches for just a second, so fleeting anyone else wouldn't have noticed. But Festus does, because even when they aren't living inside each other's heads, he still knows his brother better than anyone.
"We killed eight people tonight," Festus continues, shaking his head. "What the hell are you doing? What plane of reality are you on right now?"
"Probably the same one you're on," Ferrus snaps, glaring at him. "You and your little princess, so perfect and pure. At least I picked a girl who isn't terrified of me."
And there's that familiar rage. The alcohol in his system may have slowed it a little, but it's just as hot and blinding as ever; and he still has to hold on to it with both hands or risk doing something he really regrets.
He grips the glass in his hand harder. "That's because she doesn't know who you are, idiot."
"I'm me," Ferrus grits out, fighting to keep his voice down. "I'm— dammit, it doesn't have to be all or nothing. I can be both."
"That's not how it works, brother."
"It's Veeran." His twin leans forward, pressing one clenched fist against his mouth as he breathes in and out. He lets that fist fall to the table. "Why can't you just say it?" he asks, voice shot through with quiet desperation. "Just once."
Whatever else you do, don't lie to yourself.
Festus stares across the table at his brother, that old, familiar whisper wrapping around his heart like a vise. "Because saying it won't make it true, no matter how much you want it to be."
"Veeran?"
He and his twin snap toward the sound of that name, so fast it startles the girl who uttered it. She's standing near the booth, and up close Festus can see she's human, or near enough, with sandy brown hair and wide, dark eyes. She looks between them, uncertain, as though she realizes she's said something wrong.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," she says, hesitating a little as she glances nervously at Festus again.
Ferrus stands and smiles at her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I was just coming to find you." He leans down and whispers something in her ear, and even in the dim light, Festus can see the blush spreading across her cheeks.
"What about your…?" She trails off as Ferrus starts to lead her away.
"Have fun," Festus calls out after them, not sure why he's saying anything at all.
Ferrus stops dead, still holding the girl close, and he blows out an irritated breath. "Iselle, this is my brother. He's in a mood."
His twin guides the girl back into the crush of people, toward her waiting group of friends. Festus spins the shot glass between his hands, listening to it clink against the plasteel tabletop as he watches. Two of Iselle's friends are chattering animatedly, and Ferrus says something to them, pointing back toward the booth. What the hell is he saying?
The two other women make their way to the edge of the dance floor, whispering to each other as they look in his direction. The taller one looks at least part-Zeltron, and her shorter companion is a Twi'lek with a pale complexion. Behind them, Ferrus and his little girlfriend break away from the crowd and head off to a darker corner of the club. Through their twin bond, he can feel his brother's anticipation, how he wants to pull Iselle close and kiss her like she's never been kissed…
Festus holds a growl in the back of his throat, trying to ignore the wash of sensation. He wonders if another drink would make it better or worse.
The girl's friends reach his table, and they glance at each other, still whispering. "Hi," the taller woman says, giggling a little as she smiles at him. "Your brother said you could use some company."
He stares up at her, eyes narrowing. "Nope."
She exchanges another look with her friend, then slides into the booth, not close enough to brush against him, but definitely within reach. "I promise we don't bite."
He thinks of Allana, of the way her gray eyes and her soft voice have burrowed their way into what's left of his soul – and then he thinks of the men he killed tonight and how their eyes glazed over as he stared into them, his hands slick with blood.
A couple of Sith Lords walk into a bar…
He sets down his glass and turns to face the Zeltron girl directly, and as she looks at him, he waits for that moment, the one where she will realize there's something wrong with him, and that she has no idea who she's dealing with.
There. He sees it flicker in her eyes, a spark of uncertainty and discomfort and fear. He can definitely work with that.
"You know, I murdered two people before I came here tonight," he says, slow and deliberate, making sure both girls hear every word, "and my brother murdered six." He tilts his head toward the dance floor and shrugs. "You might want to warn your friend."
The girl next to him leans back, eyeing him warily. "You've got a sick sense of humor, you know that?"
He shifts toward her ever so slightly. "I'm not joking."
The Twi'lek girl grabs her friend by the arm and pulls her out of the booth, and they both stumble away, frantic as they push into the crowd. Festus allows himself a small smirk, then scans the room for any sign of his twin. Still nothing. He can sense him, though, not far away, getting everything he wants.
Festus closes his eyes again, fighting against the effects of the alcohol to reach for his mental defenses. Gods, he hates this, maybe as much as he's ever hated anything. Too many people and too much noise and heat and he feels like he's going to be sick, and he sort of wants to beat his brother's brains in right now, and that's not at all normal – but then he isn't normal, is he? He never has been.
Maybe it's because he's blocking out one of his senses, or maybe the alcohol is starting to wear off a little; but he hears the gruff, urgent murmur almost as clearly as if it was coming from right next to him:
"He spotted both of them in here."
"Fine, but we have to make it quick."
His eyes snap open, and he shifts to look over the back of his seat. There's still a slight haze to his surroundings, but he sees them immediately – two men walking through the crowd, steady in their movements, sober, tightly coiled. Ready for a fight.
He frowns and sinks low in the booth. Word of their little docking bay massacre must have gotten back to the rest of the gang. He wonders if it's just these two goons or if there are more.
Festus slides out of the booth and starts to cut through the crowd, away from the men searching for him. He reaches into the Force, tugging at the frayed cord that connects him to his twin. Feels an answering rejection as Ferrus – flush with desire and more than a little annoyed at the intrusion – tries to force him out. He supposes that's fair. Really damn inconvenient, but fair.
He heads for the back of the room and sees a hallway branching off near the dance floor, over which hangs a neon sign announcing that public refreshers are to be found within. There's no sign indicating a rear exit in this direction, which could be a problem. He can detect several people tucked away back here – couples, from the sense of them – but there's only one person who burns as bright in the Force as his brother does. He's definitely back there.
The corridor is brighter than the rest of the club, though still not exactly well-lit; and it's not so much a single corridor as it is a series of mazelike hallways leading to multiple refresher facilities. Whoever designed this place must have been as drunk as most of the people here. Or maybe it's confusing because he's the one who's drunk.
He detects a spike of confusion from Ferrus, as if his little tryst has been interrupted, and he hears voices up ahead – the sounds of an argument. As he turns the corner, he sees the Zeltron and Twi'lek girls from earlier standing between Ferrus and Iselle, trying to lead her away while they block his path. Ferrus brushes the two girls aside and takes Iselle by the wrist.
"Get off of her!" the Twi'lek girl tries to wrench her friend away, but Ferrus is too strong for either of them. "Ada, go get help!"
His brother raises a hand, and Iselle's friends let out a scream as they're both pushed back against the wall, unable to move.
"Stop it," Ferrus orders, pain and confusion twisting his features. "Just stop."
"Iselle, run!" the Twi'lek girl yells, while the Zeltron girl begins shouting for help.
"No, Iselle, wait. Wait." Ferrus pulls her closer, holding her arms against his chest. He's as distraught as Festus has ever seen him. "Tell me what I did wrong."
She shakes her head. "Please, just let me go."
That's when Ferrus looks up and notices him there, and fury lights in his pale eyes. "What did you say to them?" he growls.
Festus stares back at his twin, struggling to form a response to this surreal scene. Before he can answer, Ferrus returns his attention to Iselle, his fury melting into desperation.
"He's screwing with you because he's mad at me," Ferrus says, softer than before, trying to placate her. "You can't listen to anything he says."
She glances over at Festus, then back up at Ferrus, uncertain. "If that's true, then let me go."
"I—" He looks down at his hands around her arms, and Festus can feel the turmoil barely contained beneath his brother's surface. Ferrus has never been good with emotions, or with pain, or with losing someone. He shakes his head at her. "I don't want you to go."
She's clearly terrified, but she doesn't look away. "Veeran," she whispers, "please."
His brother exhales, and he releases her. She steps back, out of arm's reach, and looks over at her friends. "Them, too."
The Zeltron and Twi'lek girls stagger forward, their invisible bonds cut. They rush forward to scoop up Iselle, pulling her away from Ferrus. She doesn't resist, but she doesn't turn and run either. She looks nearly as dazed and disoriented as his brother.
"Wait!" Ferrus takes a few halting steps toward her. "Gods, Iselle, would you just wait?"
Festus intercepts him before he gets any closer to the retreating women, pressing a hand to his brother's chest. "We've got bigger problems right now," he says.
Ferrus strains against his hold, staring past him. Festus glances over his shoulder and sees Iselle and her friends disappear around the corner. His twin stops struggling, and Festus drops his arm and takes a step back.
He knows the hit is coming, and he doesn't move to block it, or to lessen the impact. His brother's fist drives hard into his jaw, nearly knocking him to the ground. It's only through sheer determination and years of taking similar hits that he's able to remain standing.
He's always wondered what it would take to get Ferrus to punch him for real. Now he knows.
"Feel better?" he says quietly as he pulls himself upright, tasting blood.
Ferrus shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "You bastard."
Festus presses his mouth in a thin line and nods. "You can yell at me later. Right now, we've got company."
Ferrus looks ready to hit him a second time. "What are you…?" He trails off, staring at the entrance to the corridor. Festus turns and lets out a grim laugh. The two guys from earlier are standing at the end of the hall, hands resting on their blasters.
"End of the line, boys," one of the men says. "You've got nowhere to run."
Festus drags his wrist across his mouth, wiping away the blood there. He glances sideways at his brother and raises an eyebrow.
Ferrus glares at him. "I don't have my saber."
Festus huffs out a breath, blowing his bangs from his eyes. "I guess it's a good thing I don't listen to you, then." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his own lightsaber. "You'll just have to punch your way through them."
He thumbs the weapon to life, and the gang members flinch away from the sight of it, blasters snapping up on instinct.
"You're still a bastard," Ferrus says in a cold voice as he raises his hands toward the two men, ensnaring them in his invisible grip. They go completely motionless, unable to fight back.
Festus flourishes the crimson blade at his side. "I know."
He advances on the immobilized men, stabbing through each of them in turn. Then he deactivates his saber, and Ferrus drops the bodies. His brother follows after him, silent as they make their way back to the club's main room. The music seems even louder than before, but now there's a nervous energy in the air. Several sets of eyes turn on them the moment they leave the back corridor; he wonders if they heard the girls' screams earlier. The lights are dimmer out here than they were in the hallway, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust.
There are more Dark Tide gang members out here, prowling the edges of the club. He looks around the room and spots them… four, six, eight… dammit, twelve in total. That's not great. Not terrible, but not great. As he and his brother push their way through the crowd, their pursuers begin to converge on them. They must have really pissed these guys off, if they're willing to do this right here, in the middle of all these unsuspecting people.
The first man to reach them pulls his blaster, trying to get in close; but Festus ducks past his outstretched arm and positions the hilt of his lightsaber up under the man's rib cage. He ignites the weapon, killing the gangster instantly as the blade passes through his heart. The people around him scream, tripping over themselves to get away from him, and the rest of the gang abandons any pretense of subtlety as they raise their blasters and take aim.
Festus steps in front of his brother to deflect blaster fire. Behind him, Ferrus lifts a hand, sending one of the henchmen crashing into the ceiling before dropping him down on top of his companions. Their attackers fan out, using the crowd as a shield as they snake their way through it.
Panic sweeps the club as more and more people try to flee. Then a stray blaster bolt hits a shelf of drinks behind the bar, shattering them and spraying patrons with glass – and it's like a switch flips as everyone loses their collective minds. Festus climbs onto a table to escape the stampeding crowd. A short distance away, he sees Ferrus do the same. It might make them easier targets, but it sure beats being trampled to death.
Several gang members converge on Ferrus, probably thinking he's less of a threat because he doesn't have a weapon. His brother dodges their fire and knocks a couple of them back, but his position is tenuous at best, and his opponents all have blasters.
"Here!" Festus shouts, deactivating his lightsaber and throwing it to his twin. In the same instant he hears it activate in Ferrus's hand, Festus slips his knife out of his sleeve, and he grins at the lackeys taking aim at him.
"This is going to hurt," he warns them, diving off of the table and colliding with the first of his opponents.
As he fights his way through the gang members, he sees Ferrus leap off of the table, kicking one man in the head and driving him to the floor in one fluid motion. Even with so much noise around him, Festus can hear the sound of the impact. Maybe Ferrus doesn't need the lightsaber after all.
Then his brother freezes, eyes fixed on a point in the distance. Festus throws out his hands to knock back their attackers with a wave of energy. He follows Ferrus's gaze to the front entrance of the club, where panicked patrons are jostling to get out, and where Iselle is standing still amid the sea of bodies, staring back at them, heedless of her friends' attempts to move her.
"Hey, idiot!" Festus slashes at another gang member with his knife, catching him across the stomach. Really wishing he had his lightsaber back. "Pay attention!"
Ferrus jerks his head back and snaps the saber up to defend, deflecting blaster bolts back at three of their attackers, dropping all three to the ground instantly. Two more move forward to intercept, but Ferrus is moving now, too, and he grabs one by the wrist and flings him into the other man. Without pausing, he charges forward and body slams them both against the wall, then impales them simultaneously.
In a distant part of his mind, Festus observes the whole scene with a bit of wonder, because watching his twin brother in battle has always filled him with awe, even before he was ever willing to admit that feeling to himself. Back when he was a frightened, skinny, talentless kid who everyone wanted dead, his brother was there, daring anyone to come at him. Completely confident in his ability to come out on top, no matter the odds. Of the two of them, Ferrus has always been stronger, faster, more amazing. Festus managed to survive his childhood with the Sith, but he only ever thrived when his brother was beside him.
He catches one last glimpse of Iselle before her friends shove her out the door; she's still staring back at Ferrus, and even though her horror is obvious, she has a hint of that same awe in her eyes. For once, he wishes he'd kept his stupid mouth shut.
There's only one man left now, and he's clearly got more brains than the rest, because he runs for the exit. Ferrus reaches out, right hand closing into a fist as he yanks back. The man's fingers rake desperately at the air as he's dragged backward, straight into Ferrus's grip. His brother locks one arm around the man's neck, deactivates the saber, then shoves the hilt into the man's spine.
"No, no, please—"
The blade ignites, and the man goes limp. Ferrus holds him there for a moment, the hum of his saber filling the silence that follows. Then he switches the weapon off and lets the last gang member drop to the floor.
Festus wipes the blood from his knife and slips it back into the sheath under his sleeve. "Security forces will probably be here any minute."
Ferrus nods, his gaze once more on the entrance, now empty. He looks down at the lightsaber in his hand, then turns to Festus.
"Here," he says distantly, tossing the hilt across the gap between them. Festus catches it and clips it to his belt.
They both cast their eyes around the room, staring down at the bodies of the dead. Then Festus looks up at Ferrus, at the grim resignation etched in his face. He's never forgotten why he took his brother's place all those years ago; but watching him now, feeling the helplessness and even despair that fills him, Festus is reminded again of that choice and why it was the right one.
Sirens wail in the distance. They don't have long. They probably won't be able to come back to this planet again, not after this.
A couple of Sith Lords walk into a bar…
Festus laughs under his breath, unable to stop the smirk tugging at his lips, and he thinks fate must have a pretty sick sense of humor, too.
"Hey," he says as he catches his twin's eye. "You wanna hear a joke?"
.