A/N: Hi, sorry this took so long to update. School sucks. Because of his
inspiration, this story has been dedicated to my best guy-friend Shane. He
inspired me to create it in the first place, for he is the fifteen-year-old
version of Darth Maul. (Although he manages to get beaten up, battered up,
and mangled up, he always comes through without the slightest care) HAPPY
BIRTHDAY, SHANETH OF LINCOLN!!!!
Chapter 5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Meal time, you lazy bums!"
Gantu the Khajiit, and his partner Rioku traveled down each line of cubicles, casting loaves of burnt, and crusty bread towards each hand, claw, beak, and tentacle they could see. Every last crumb was gobbled up with intensifying speed by the prisoner's hungry mouths, except one. Rioku threw the stale food into Darth Maul's tiny cell, but the Sith made no move to grab it. He only curled into himself on the cold, ashlar confinements like a kit fox, shaking, and coughing with pyrexia. His body gave off the rank scent of infection; a most undesirable odor indeed.
The cat nudged his partner, and smirked at the pathetic sight. "I'll betcha ten shillings he doesn't make it another three weeks."
Gantu stroked his mane musingly, and showed his fangs. "Two and a half." He looked at his partner, who smirked. "It's damn well time the last Quinya falls. 'Specially a Jedi Quinya." Rioku hissed, and spat on their decrepit prisoner's face. Laughing, the two stalked towards the end of the hallway, and climbed the stairs.
Now Maul was left alone. How he hated it. Shunned, tormented, bruised, and battered hate. Hate like a Sith. Like a murdering, unfeeling Jedi. No... Jedi were enemies, but they adored the force. They adored it like a Sith. He brought up his ungloved hand, and wiped the saliva from his eyes. The claws... nails like talons. Red nails like blood. He had once been pure, similar to white roses. Roses of silky, smooth white, sisters of the clouds. Watered, and trimmed, and proper, and pampered. Then it bled rain from the lonely clouds. Blood and hate. Drowning in the blood of anger, and suffocating in the darkness of hate. The blood of white roses. They grew wild, and smothered each other until there was only one left... one to inherit everything. But it was lonely... lonely for companionship.
"Shut up, you whore..." He whispered to himself, because that's all he was. Another man's prostitute. The spoilt prince's stress relief. Sidious wasn't coming back for him. The emperor obviously thought he was dead, and he was probably going to be within the next few days. Dying for a man who neither cared, nor protected him. But Darth Maul wasn't an idiot. He didn't need to pine for inessential emotions such as those. He was a Sith. Knighted as a dark Jedi who needed only hate, and anger to live. Not love, not friendship, and definitely not pity.
The door shrieked painfully, signaling its opening. Raphael's, and two unidentified pairs of steps pounded agonizingly in the warrior's throbbing head, and he sighed inwardly to himself. The prince was talking (quite loudly) obviously showing off his wide array of prisoners to whoever his next victims were.
%%%%%%%%%%
"Ah, yes. Our dungeons." Raphael drawled on, "Most of them are criminals sentenced to death row, or ... The Dark Brush, as most like to call it. We have a wide variety of species from every corner of the universe."
Anamaria concealed her sadness well as she stared at each miserable prisoner laying quietly in their cells. Her attention shifted back and forth from their host to offer a slight nod, or an 'I see' and then towards the ever-strengthening presence of the disembodied force she had sensed two days ago. Vespasian called forth all of his attention to the prince, trying to concentrate on his voice instead of the screams coming from their racking room.
The padawan recognized this place immediately, and caught the gasp that had threatened to escape her throat. She saw the door at the far end of the room, and turned to Raphael.
"Pardon my rudeness for interrupting you, "She began softly. However, their host only shook his head, urging her to go on.
"Um... If it is to his heir's will, then may he enlighten us on what lays behind that door?" Removing a hand from her long sleeve, she pointed a finger at the entree that had so desperately caught her attention. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw his eye twitch, but he masked it with a counterfeit smile.
"Ah... yes." He answered eerily, "Two weeks ago, our unidentifiable... how would you put it..." He paused to think, "Friends... yes, our most loyal friends left on a mission two weeks ago to siege the dark emperor's hideout, and yet they had no visual resource to know what he looked like. It seems as though his apprentice feigned being our prize, so that his master could escape to a safe zone in the galaxy." He stopped for a moment, as if contemplating what he just said. "Perhaps you might know him from somewhere?" Raphael inquired.
Anamaria looked to her guardian imploringly, and he seemed to get the message.
"Mayhap we might be able to look upon his face?" Vespasian probed, and the prince nodded, smiling a sly smile. "Of course." He motioned with his smooth hand to follow, talking along the way. This time, the padawan listened.
"Over the time he has been with us, my colleagues and I have tried various methods of interrogation, all of which he has not responded to until just recently. However, it's a shame that most of our fashions in probing information uphold long-term effects, and my bi- I mean, prisoner will be unable to comprehend much longer. Nevertheless, we are prepared to expend the Sith at any cost. We have other allies who would be more willing to help us."
Anamaria scowled inwardly, though her outward appearance was calm. They stopped in front of the heavily secured titanium door, and Raphael carefully unhinged the locks before opening the mass of metal, and ore to allow his guests inside.
The first thing that the girl did was pull her sleeve over the lower half of her face. The smell was so unbearably gagging, that it made her hackles stand on end, and she immediately let the force calm her into a noseless breathing. Vespasian didn't seem to mind. Of course, you wouldn't either if you didn't have a nose, would you? Raphael also seemed unaffected by it. But he was used to the smell of suffering.
Beckoning them forward, he led the two down a short hallway lit only by primitive torches, and stopped at least six feet away from the last solitary cubicle in his horrible dungeon. A cubicle that, as in her dream, seemed to be filled only with darkness. However, that changed when, unlike her dream, the cruel prince raised a pipe from the wall, and slammed it brutally against a titanium bar.
"Up, you rotten scab!" He hollered.
Anamaria made a move forward, but Vespasian's scaly arm stopped her. He gave the padawan a disapproving tone, and she backed down, although not wholeheartedly. Nonetheless, she was able to watch quietly as a silhouette on the other side of imprisonment shuffled slowly in a meshed array of shadows. Master and padawan stepped forward to take a closer look, but while her elder stayed standing, the girl knelt quietly beside the bars, her eyes meeting with a pair of lurid, and demonisque ones.
"Sith," Vespasian began, "What is your name?"
Maul blinked slowly, but did not reply. Raphael growled slightly. "Speak when those above you ask of it, damnable creature!" He snarled. However, the warrior still did not respond, and closed his eyes again, not bothering to open them. Anamaria felt coy sympathy find its way into her soft heart, and she turned harshly on the prince.
"Stop it. He is too frail to talk. Give him a rest."
%%%%%%
Argh. She said the f-word. The one word among many that symbolized weakness, mostly used for punishment or verbal abuse. Maul would have snarled at her in contempt, but to his grave annoyance, he found that she was right. He was too decrepit to even growl. However, because of the Jedi whelp's stand, Raphael answered, perceptibly aggravated, for him.
"His knighted surname is Maul. Darth Maul. But Kalaskein is what the Rektilos prefer to call him." The prince hid his knowledge quite well, pretending that he knew nothing of his prisoner's past. Coincidentally, though, he had no idea that the same warrior had died after trying to assassinate Qui-Gon-Jinn, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, but both Anamaria, and Vespasian knew his name well. However, for reasons of their own effect, they dare not say it before the dark face of their host.
"No..." The amphibious alien replied calmly, "I am afraid I do not know him. Forgive me if we are no help to you, but we must return to our quarters to discuss the importance of our truce." And he ended the conversation with a small tug at his mesmerized apprentice's robes. She snapped quickly out of her trance, although reluctant, and followed her master out the door from whence they had come.
Maul watched her leave, observing the whelp's every movement with his haunting eyes. How she swayed in measure from side to side as she walked, and how her chalky white hair danced in a ballet of molten snow; revealing, then covering her slender shoulders.
Jedi... Sidious had taught him all his known life that they were pessimistic fools. The knights, rather than control the force, and use it for power, had yielded into it like weak pigs. They hid in their 'secret council', very much compatible to yellow-bellied cowards, instead of fighting at the best opportune moment. That was what his master had said.
'Then... why did the whelp say those things to me...?'
It was true. When she had been kneeling beside his god-forsaken cell; after saying the f-word, the child had communicated with him through the force.
"Listen to me well, Sith." Her choice of words was unpleasant, he had to admit, but her tone was not. "I'm coming back at midnight. Try to stay alive until then." She paused, and her voice suddenly became soft, "Don't worry... I'm not going to hurt you." Then, she left. Like a ghost.
%%%%%%%
"Marie, please try to calm down..."
"Master, I am far beyond the level of consolation! That man we are trying to make truce with is a twisted monster! A psychotic freak!"
"Padawan, please... I know you are very upset. So am I... but we must have patience."
"Patience..." Anamaria's voice became a dangerous hiss, "Patience, master?! While we sit here and meditate, he's killing more innocents every minute!!! You think that just by having patience, and trusting the force, we can save those prisoners rotting away in their cells, but we can't!!!"
"But we can, my child."
The girl placed her head in her hands, and collapsed onto her bed. She felt like crying, so frustrating was this debate, but she couldn't. That was against her own personal edicts, and the edicts of those around her. Nobody liked a weak little girl. Suddenly, a webbed hand touched her shoulder, and the soft mattress sank to her right. Vespasian was consoling his padawan with all the tenderness of a father to a daughter.
Finally unable to stand the pain any longer, Anamaria let the icy tears fall through her slender fingers. To a certain phantasmal degree, she hoped affectionately that her master would not see his apprentice sobbing like a little girl, but to her disgust, his moist eyes caught the tiny diamonds beginning to form at her feet.
"Shh..." He whispered soothingly, and pulled her into his arms. He stroked her soft colorless hair, while she grasped his robes, and wept openly against his shoulder. "It's alright, Marie... you can cry..."
With tears running down her dark cheeks, cry she did. And with difficulty, also was she able tightly hiccup her next few sentences.
"M-Mas-ster... Y-You didn't s-see w-wha-at he d-did...! Y-You c-cou-ouldn't s-see what I s-saw!" Anamaria took a shuddering breath, "I-I saw... fear..." Another shaking breath, and she was able to calm herself somewhat, "Tyrant... T-That prince, I s-saw it in the S-Sith's eyes when h-he stared at me..."
Vespasian allowed her to pull away, for no matter how much he wanted to keep her safe in his arms forever, he knew that he could not. "What did you see, my padawan...? Hush, now... just speak slowly."
Indeed, the girl tried with all her power to keep her voice steady. "M- Master... I stared at h-him, the Sith... a-and I saw... I-I saw..." She could not seem to finish, and trailed off. The elder alien, however, urged her on with hopeful words. "Come now, child... tell me."
Seeming to be shocked out of an unknown trance by her guardian's voice, she shook her head, and continued. "I saw... the same thing you saw in me..." She whispered.
%%%%%%%
"My lord... plan's wake... full existence..."
"Excellent.... ready army.... week..."
'Then the clouds obstructed, and God said: "I have no clue."' Darth Maul swam quite ceaselessly through consciousness for (What he would later presume) about the next eight hours, drifting conversations of Raphael and one of his cronies lingering irritatingly through his mind. About now, he figured the consistency of his brain was cotton, after nearly two weeks of relentless torture, and the only thing that kept him alive was sheer will alone. However, the broken words, and speeches of his wicked caretakers played and replayed themselves unabashed over, and over again until he could take it no more. There was something going on here. Something big. Raphael had been too euphoric lately, and he left most of the torturing to his Khajiit followers.
'It's not my problem.' He stated wryly to himself
'Yes it is.'
'Shut up. It's the Jedi's.'
'The Jedi's, eh? Then why are you being dragged into it?'
'How in the bloody Hell am I supposed to know?!'
'Ooh... what about that girl? She said she would be here...'
'Exactly. And she's not. So shut your mouth, and let me sleep.'
'You know, if you fall asleep now, you're going to die.'
'Yes.'
'.....'
For the third time that day, the door leading into his cell opened, and the Sith lifted his head passively; however, the steps of this intruder did not resonate metallically like Raphael's did. Instead, they were soft, and padded quietly along the echoing abyss like a dog's would. Darth Maul waited with carefree interest, hoping silently that it was not just a shoeless Khajiit.
Indeed, it was not. Merely the whelp who had made the stupid promise to him earlier. She came perambulating down to hell with that strangely colorless hair bobbing directly with her movements, and she carried a small bundle in her arms. Noting the cold glance he gave her, she smiled ever-so-slightly, much to his annoyance, and sat her small rump beside him.
"Hello." Anamaria said. Her voice was soft, much ado to oppose the air of the dungeon. Darth Maul found that he wanted her to say it again.
'What in Hell am I thinking?!' He berated himself, and then settled back to his dry glare.
The girl smiled delicately, regardless of her uncomfortable feelings. She had to remind herself that even though it was a Sith she sat next to, he was still human (To a degree) and being human, he was deeply hurting. Both physically, and mentally.
"I brought something to keep you warm." She said, and showed him the blanket which had been the lump in her arms. He glared at it for a moment, and went back to staring at the wall. Anamaria, to some strange twist of emotion, smiled again at his repulsion of assistance. He obviously thought that he could take care of himself, and was currently failing miserably. So, she unfolded it, and slowly leaned forward to cover him.
Darth Maul's eyes suddenly slitted, and he let the most bloodcurdling snarl one could muster in a situation like this. Anamaria flinched slightly, jerking back, but could not tear her face away from his. Suddenly, he blanched, ending the exhalation with an asthmatic cough, and leaned forward to obtain a better breathing angle.
The girl, rid of her fear, and now plagued by pity, was able to see in the fugitive torchlight his nearly severed leg, which had become infected with dirt and all manner of filth. She was immediately disgusted beyond all recognition towards Raphael, the sardonic asshole, for he was the only culprit who could have created something as horrifying as this.
Slowly, as one would do in the situations involving wounded animals, Anamaria moved forward with her slim arms held above her head, trying to demonstrate how she was not going to hurt him.
Darth Maul stopped coughing after a moment, but his breaths were hollow, and lacking fullness. He tried to snarl at her again, but this only ended with him in a prostrate location: at her mercy. He hated to be at ANYBODY'S mercy; even his master's. Through dulled vision, he could see her inching forward, arms spread out like a squash vine, looking for all the world like she was going to hug him. Not being able to make any manner of evil, nasty noises to her, he twisted his frightening face into the most foul grimace a Sith could muster.
She didn't seem to get the point.
Managing to conjure up a vessel of strength he didn't even know he possessed, Maul tightly curled his black lip over a stained fang, and forced the words from a quickly constricting throat.
"Wench...... I demand you from my sight......" He hissed.
Anamria stopped, shot down by his words, but it did not show on her face much to his dismay. No, in fact, she smiled gently, and lowered her arms to the stone floor. "We're making progress..." That annoyingly jaunty visage of hers widened at the confused glimmer in his flecked eyes, "You talked to me."
A/N: *Sigh* As I stated before, school sucks. The mental strain is giving rise to frequent writer's blocks, and therefore taking me a heck of a lot longer to update. That and another story I'm writing for my friend. Well, next chapter soon. (I hope.)
Chapter 5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Meal time, you lazy bums!"
Gantu the Khajiit, and his partner Rioku traveled down each line of cubicles, casting loaves of burnt, and crusty bread towards each hand, claw, beak, and tentacle they could see. Every last crumb was gobbled up with intensifying speed by the prisoner's hungry mouths, except one. Rioku threw the stale food into Darth Maul's tiny cell, but the Sith made no move to grab it. He only curled into himself on the cold, ashlar confinements like a kit fox, shaking, and coughing with pyrexia. His body gave off the rank scent of infection; a most undesirable odor indeed.
The cat nudged his partner, and smirked at the pathetic sight. "I'll betcha ten shillings he doesn't make it another three weeks."
Gantu stroked his mane musingly, and showed his fangs. "Two and a half." He looked at his partner, who smirked. "It's damn well time the last Quinya falls. 'Specially a Jedi Quinya." Rioku hissed, and spat on their decrepit prisoner's face. Laughing, the two stalked towards the end of the hallway, and climbed the stairs.
Now Maul was left alone. How he hated it. Shunned, tormented, bruised, and battered hate. Hate like a Sith. Like a murdering, unfeeling Jedi. No... Jedi were enemies, but they adored the force. They adored it like a Sith. He brought up his ungloved hand, and wiped the saliva from his eyes. The claws... nails like talons. Red nails like blood. He had once been pure, similar to white roses. Roses of silky, smooth white, sisters of the clouds. Watered, and trimmed, and proper, and pampered. Then it bled rain from the lonely clouds. Blood and hate. Drowning in the blood of anger, and suffocating in the darkness of hate. The blood of white roses. They grew wild, and smothered each other until there was only one left... one to inherit everything. But it was lonely... lonely for companionship.
"Shut up, you whore..." He whispered to himself, because that's all he was. Another man's prostitute. The spoilt prince's stress relief. Sidious wasn't coming back for him. The emperor obviously thought he was dead, and he was probably going to be within the next few days. Dying for a man who neither cared, nor protected him. But Darth Maul wasn't an idiot. He didn't need to pine for inessential emotions such as those. He was a Sith. Knighted as a dark Jedi who needed only hate, and anger to live. Not love, not friendship, and definitely not pity.
The door shrieked painfully, signaling its opening. Raphael's, and two unidentified pairs of steps pounded agonizingly in the warrior's throbbing head, and he sighed inwardly to himself. The prince was talking (quite loudly) obviously showing off his wide array of prisoners to whoever his next victims were.
%%%%%%%%%%
"Ah, yes. Our dungeons." Raphael drawled on, "Most of them are criminals sentenced to death row, or ... The Dark Brush, as most like to call it. We have a wide variety of species from every corner of the universe."
Anamaria concealed her sadness well as she stared at each miserable prisoner laying quietly in their cells. Her attention shifted back and forth from their host to offer a slight nod, or an 'I see' and then towards the ever-strengthening presence of the disembodied force she had sensed two days ago. Vespasian called forth all of his attention to the prince, trying to concentrate on his voice instead of the screams coming from their racking room.
The padawan recognized this place immediately, and caught the gasp that had threatened to escape her throat. She saw the door at the far end of the room, and turned to Raphael.
"Pardon my rudeness for interrupting you, "She began softly. However, their host only shook his head, urging her to go on.
"Um... If it is to his heir's will, then may he enlighten us on what lays behind that door?" Removing a hand from her long sleeve, she pointed a finger at the entree that had so desperately caught her attention. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw his eye twitch, but he masked it with a counterfeit smile.
"Ah... yes." He answered eerily, "Two weeks ago, our unidentifiable... how would you put it..." He paused to think, "Friends... yes, our most loyal friends left on a mission two weeks ago to siege the dark emperor's hideout, and yet they had no visual resource to know what he looked like. It seems as though his apprentice feigned being our prize, so that his master could escape to a safe zone in the galaxy." He stopped for a moment, as if contemplating what he just said. "Perhaps you might know him from somewhere?" Raphael inquired.
Anamaria looked to her guardian imploringly, and he seemed to get the message.
"Mayhap we might be able to look upon his face?" Vespasian probed, and the prince nodded, smiling a sly smile. "Of course." He motioned with his smooth hand to follow, talking along the way. This time, the padawan listened.
"Over the time he has been with us, my colleagues and I have tried various methods of interrogation, all of which he has not responded to until just recently. However, it's a shame that most of our fashions in probing information uphold long-term effects, and my bi- I mean, prisoner will be unable to comprehend much longer. Nevertheless, we are prepared to expend the Sith at any cost. We have other allies who would be more willing to help us."
Anamaria scowled inwardly, though her outward appearance was calm. They stopped in front of the heavily secured titanium door, and Raphael carefully unhinged the locks before opening the mass of metal, and ore to allow his guests inside.
The first thing that the girl did was pull her sleeve over the lower half of her face. The smell was so unbearably gagging, that it made her hackles stand on end, and she immediately let the force calm her into a noseless breathing. Vespasian didn't seem to mind. Of course, you wouldn't either if you didn't have a nose, would you? Raphael also seemed unaffected by it. But he was used to the smell of suffering.
Beckoning them forward, he led the two down a short hallway lit only by primitive torches, and stopped at least six feet away from the last solitary cubicle in his horrible dungeon. A cubicle that, as in her dream, seemed to be filled only with darkness. However, that changed when, unlike her dream, the cruel prince raised a pipe from the wall, and slammed it brutally against a titanium bar.
"Up, you rotten scab!" He hollered.
Anamaria made a move forward, but Vespasian's scaly arm stopped her. He gave the padawan a disapproving tone, and she backed down, although not wholeheartedly. Nonetheless, she was able to watch quietly as a silhouette on the other side of imprisonment shuffled slowly in a meshed array of shadows. Master and padawan stepped forward to take a closer look, but while her elder stayed standing, the girl knelt quietly beside the bars, her eyes meeting with a pair of lurid, and demonisque ones.
"Sith," Vespasian began, "What is your name?"
Maul blinked slowly, but did not reply. Raphael growled slightly. "Speak when those above you ask of it, damnable creature!" He snarled. However, the warrior still did not respond, and closed his eyes again, not bothering to open them. Anamaria felt coy sympathy find its way into her soft heart, and she turned harshly on the prince.
"Stop it. He is too frail to talk. Give him a rest."
%%%%%%
Argh. She said the f-word. The one word among many that symbolized weakness, mostly used for punishment or verbal abuse. Maul would have snarled at her in contempt, but to his grave annoyance, he found that she was right. He was too decrepit to even growl. However, because of the Jedi whelp's stand, Raphael answered, perceptibly aggravated, for him.
"His knighted surname is Maul. Darth Maul. But Kalaskein is what the Rektilos prefer to call him." The prince hid his knowledge quite well, pretending that he knew nothing of his prisoner's past. Coincidentally, though, he had no idea that the same warrior had died after trying to assassinate Qui-Gon-Jinn, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, but both Anamaria, and Vespasian knew his name well. However, for reasons of their own effect, they dare not say it before the dark face of their host.
"No..." The amphibious alien replied calmly, "I am afraid I do not know him. Forgive me if we are no help to you, but we must return to our quarters to discuss the importance of our truce." And he ended the conversation with a small tug at his mesmerized apprentice's robes. She snapped quickly out of her trance, although reluctant, and followed her master out the door from whence they had come.
Maul watched her leave, observing the whelp's every movement with his haunting eyes. How she swayed in measure from side to side as she walked, and how her chalky white hair danced in a ballet of molten snow; revealing, then covering her slender shoulders.
Jedi... Sidious had taught him all his known life that they were pessimistic fools. The knights, rather than control the force, and use it for power, had yielded into it like weak pigs. They hid in their 'secret council', very much compatible to yellow-bellied cowards, instead of fighting at the best opportune moment. That was what his master had said.
'Then... why did the whelp say those things to me...?'
It was true. When she had been kneeling beside his god-forsaken cell; after saying the f-word, the child had communicated with him through the force.
"Listen to me well, Sith." Her choice of words was unpleasant, he had to admit, but her tone was not. "I'm coming back at midnight. Try to stay alive until then." She paused, and her voice suddenly became soft, "Don't worry... I'm not going to hurt you." Then, she left. Like a ghost.
%%%%%%%
"Marie, please try to calm down..."
"Master, I am far beyond the level of consolation! That man we are trying to make truce with is a twisted monster! A psychotic freak!"
"Padawan, please... I know you are very upset. So am I... but we must have patience."
"Patience..." Anamaria's voice became a dangerous hiss, "Patience, master?! While we sit here and meditate, he's killing more innocents every minute!!! You think that just by having patience, and trusting the force, we can save those prisoners rotting away in their cells, but we can't!!!"
"But we can, my child."
The girl placed her head in her hands, and collapsed onto her bed. She felt like crying, so frustrating was this debate, but she couldn't. That was against her own personal edicts, and the edicts of those around her. Nobody liked a weak little girl. Suddenly, a webbed hand touched her shoulder, and the soft mattress sank to her right. Vespasian was consoling his padawan with all the tenderness of a father to a daughter.
Finally unable to stand the pain any longer, Anamaria let the icy tears fall through her slender fingers. To a certain phantasmal degree, she hoped affectionately that her master would not see his apprentice sobbing like a little girl, but to her disgust, his moist eyes caught the tiny diamonds beginning to form at her feet.
"Shh..." He whispered soothingly, and pulled her into his arms. He stroked her soft colorless hair, while she grasped his robes, and wept openly against his shoulder. "It's alright, Marie... you can cry..."
With tears running down her dark cheeks, cry she did. And with difficulty, also was she able tightly hiccup her next few sentences.
"M-Mas-ster... Y-You didn't s-see w-wha-at he d-did...! Y-You c-cou-ouldn't s-see what I s-saw!" Anamaria took a shuddering breath, "I-I saw... fear..." Another shaking breath, and she was able to calm herself somewhat, "Tyrant... T-That prince, I s-saw it in the S-Sith's eyes when h-he stared at me..."
Vespasian allowed her to pull away, for no matter how much he wanted to keep her safe in his arms forever, he knew that he could not. "What did you see, my padawan...? Hush, now... just speak slowly."
Indeed, the girl tried with all her power to keep her voice steady. "M- Master... I stared at h-him, the Sith... a-and I saw... I-I saw..." She could not seem to finish, and trailed off. The elder alien, however, urged her on with hopeful words. "Come now, child... tell me."
Seeming to be shocked out of an unknown trance by her guardian's voice, she shook her head, and continued. "I saw... the same thing you saw in me..." She whispered.
%%%%%%%
"My lord... plan's wake... full existence..."
"Excellent.... ready army.... week..."
'Then the clouds obstructed, and God said: "I have no clue."' Darth Maul swam quite ceaselessly through consciousness for (What he would later presume) about the next eight hours, drifting conversations of Raphael and one of his cronies lingering irritatingly through his mind. About now, he figured the consistency of his brain was cotton, after nearly two weeks of relentless torture, and the only thing that kept him alive was sheer will alone. However, the broken words, and speeches of his wicked caretakers played and replayed themselves unabashed over, and over again until he could take it no more. There was something going on here. Something big. Raphael had been too euphoric lately, and he left most of the torturing to his Khajiit followers.
'It's not my problem.' He stated wryly to himself
'Yes it is.'
'Shut up. It's the Jedi's.'
'The Jedi's, eh? Then why are you being dragged into it?'
'How in the bloody Hell am I supposed to know?!'
'Ooh... what about that girl? She said she would be here...'
'Exactly. And she's not. So shut your mouth, and let me sleep.'
'You know, if you fall asleep now, you're going to die.'
'Yes.'
'.....'
For the third time that day, the door leading into his cell opened, and the Sith lifted his head passively; however, the steps of this intruder did not resonate metallically like Raphael's did. Instead, they were soft, and padded quietly along the echoing abyss like a dog's would. Darth Maul waited with carefree interest, hoping silently that it was not just a shoeless Khajiit.
Indeed, it was not. Merely the whelp who had made the stupid promise to him earlier. She came perambulating down to hell with that strangely colorless hair bobbing directly with her movements, and she carried a small bundle in her arms. Noting the cold glance he gave her, she smiled ever-so-slightly, much to his annoyance, and sat her small rump beside him.
"Hello." Anamaria said. Her voice was soft, much ado to oppose the air of the dungeon. Darth Maul found that he wanted her to say it again.
'What in Hell am I thinking?!' He berated himself, and then settled back to his dry glare.
The girl smiled delicately, regardless of her uncomfortable feelings. She had to remind herself that even though it was a Sith she sat next to, he was still human (To a degree) and being human, he was deeply hurting. Both physically, and mentally.
"I brought something to keep you warm." She said, and showed him the blanket which had been the lump in her arms. He glared at it for a moment, and went back to staring at the wall. Anamaria, to some strange twist of emotion, smiled again at his repulsion of assistance. He obviously thought that he could take care of himself, and was currently failing miserably. So, she unfolded it, and slowly leaned forward to cover him.
Darth Maul's eyes suddenly slitted, and he let the most bloodcurdling snarl one could muster in a situation like this. Anamaria flinched slightly, jerking back, but could not tear her face away from his. Suddenly, he blanched, ending the exhalation with an asthmatic cough, and leaned forward to obtain a better breathing angle.
The girl, rid of her fear, and now plagued by pity, was able to see in the fugitive torchlight his nearly severed leg, which had become infected with dirt and all manner of filth. She was immediately disgusted beyond all recognition towards Raphael, the sardonic asshole, for he was the only culprit who could have created something as horrifying as this.
Slowly, as one would do in the situations involving wounded animals, Anamaria moved forward with her slim arms held above her head, trying to demonstrate how she was not going to hurt him.
Darth Maul stopped coughing after a moment, but his breaths were hollow, and lacking fullness. He tried to snarl at her again, but this only ended with him in a prostrate location: at her mercy. He hated to be at ANYBODY'S mercy; even his master's. Through dulled vision, he could see her inching forward, arms spread out like a squash vine, looking for all the world like she was going to hug him. Not being able to make any manner of evil, nasty noises to her, he twisted his frightening face into the most foul grimace a Sith could muster.
She didn't seem to get the point.
Managing to conjure up a vessel of strength he didn't even know he possessed, Maul tightly curled his black lip over a stained fang, and forced the words from a quickly constricting throat.
"Wench...... I demand you from my sight......" He hissed.
Anamria stopped, shot down by his words, but it did not show on her face much to his dismay. No, in fact, she smiled gently, and lowered her arms to the stone floor. "We're making progress..." That annoyingly jaunty visage of hers widened at the confused glimmer in his flecked eyes, "You talked to me."
A/N: *Sigh* As I stated before, school sucks. The mental strain is giving rise to frequent writer's blocks, and therefore taking me a heck of a lot longer to update. That and another story I'm writing for my friend. Well, next chapter soon. (I hope.)