Drenched
by shike77

Chapter IV
Pavement

Notes: Wow. I dunno what to say—the sudden influx of reviews I got for that last chapter was amazing. I know it's not a big deal when you compare it to amazing people like Winterfox and Helena L, but this is a big deal for me and I love each and every one of you. And thank you so much for telling me about how the Ki thing was too soon—I guess I'll have to put more planning into this in the future. :P Posting this means leaving my comfort zone in the LOD section here, so this all means to much to me. Thank you.

Well. What's special about this chapter? I don't think it's anywhere near as amusing as the last one, but I do have the clever jokes in there (some, yes, are at Disciple's expense. Sucker). I didn't really intend for this to turn into a game novelization, but, like every other story I write, it's formed itself, and I'm just going with the flow. 'Slave to my Muse' indeed…

I have a query, for all interested; would you prefer a male or female Revan? Personally, I like taking the opposite-gender approach to the Exile and Revan, but I also hate how the male romance plot turns Bastila into some kind of sappy High School Fangirl. I'm not playing this story for the Romance, but I do want your input, since you're the ones who have to read it.

A quick notice – I have started up a play in school. We're doing the Lottery, (which is an amazing short story, and I think you can find it on the net somewhere) and we have a short rehearsal period before the show. Sorry to say, it cuts into my time quite a bit. I'm also crammed with work I have to do… so updates may or may not come in the long run. I love this story and I'm throwing as much at it as I can before the creative addiction to it runs away (these things happen to me a lot), but play is time-consuming.


Atton was rubbing his hair with a towel after a brief trip to the refresher, wandering around the Ebon Hawk, looking for something to do. He was thinking of getting Saer to play a round or two of Pazaak before they headed out—if she was still on the ship. While a little curious about the events of the previous night—technically, that morning—he felt that if he tried to press, she'd look into the matters of his past. So he decided to keep quiet about it. Whatever it was, he probably didn't want to know.

He saw Disciple staring slack-jawed into the cargo hold, a cup of Java long-gone cold in his hands. The scoundrel shook his head, hearing the subtle whistle of weapons in movement through the air. Saer was probably training, for all he knew. The woman could pull off some really bizarre movements in action—maybe she was just showing off again.

He poked his head in the doorway and stopped.

Saer had two vibro double-blades and, for some bizarre reason he couldn't fathom, was using them both at the same time. She used numerous combinations of wild spinning manoeuvres, slipping the weapons behind her back, force powers and her own skill with the blades to pull off whatever she was doing—surprisingly enough, with her eyes closed. She spun the two weapons about her like a demon on fire; sometimes she'd let go of one in favour of a two-handed manoeuvre, the weapon she left in the air moving as if to block incoming attacks. She didn't leave a weapon hovering for long; she snatched it out of the air as she ducked underneath it, sometimes leaving the other one to finish spinning of its own accord, held in place by the Force she commanded.

Neither man realised that they were still standing there, slack-jawed, until Mandalore walked up behind them. Atton nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the Mandalorian warlord, and turned to look at the man. The man they'd picked up on Dxun was impossible to read most of the time, what with always wearing the armour and all, but Atton figured that there was no way someone could not be utterly stunned when watching that woman throw those blades around like she actually knew what she was doing.

It had to happen some time, Atton thought; screwing up, that is. Her hold on the blade in her right hand slipped, slicing a deep gash in her left wrist. She swore, dropping both weapons as she ripped off the glove on that hand, then tossed it on the floor in favour of grabbing her wrist and turning towards the doorway.

Disciple promptly bumped into her, being on his way over to help her out in the first place. He turned bright red when it happened, and even Atton had to smirk.

"What-!" she breathed, but he only managed to force out a few useless attempts at an explanation as he clasped his hands around her wrist. A soft glow emanated from his hands, and he withdrew, his face almost as red as the blood on her hands. He looked down, momentarily, and suddenly paused.

Atton followed his gaze and was reminded of the scars on her wrists; he'd seen them on Peragus, when there were no gloves for her to hide them with. Regardless, he'd never gotten a good look at them until that moment. Not marks of battle or some adolescent depression spree, he realised now that they were signs her wrists had been bound for a long period of time.

"Where did you-?" Disciple started, and Atton tossed a towel at the Exile to interrupt.

"So, they teach you to fight like that in Jedi training or what?"

Saer walked over to another corner of the room, at which point Atton took the opportunity to stand innocently enough beside Disciple and mutter, "Nice try," without her noticing.

"Sorry?" the historian asked, still red, but the Exile turned around to look at them, preventing further comment.

"Atton, know a place to get a good pair of gloves anywhere nearby?" She held up the torn and blood-soaked pair. "I think these have seen the ends of their days."

"Sure," he replied, then glanced over at Disciple. "Hey, you going to come with, or is the ship a good enough place to hide today?"

The blonde man ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I might as well join you."

He rolled his eyes. "Grab your lightsaber, then."

"Hide it, too," was Saer's interjection. "Whatever I've been hearing about this Bounty Hunter truce probably doesn't stretch to you."

He frowned, confused. "A truce between Bounty Hunters?"

"Word has it that the Bounty Hunters can't touch her or each other while she's on Nar Shadda," Atton explained, pulling the blasters Saer had given him out of their holsters and making sure the energy cells were charged up. Plenty of rounds left in them.

Saer saw them and blinked, startled. "Right, I forgot to ask how those worked out for you."

"Great," he replied, slipping them back into their places. "What kind of lens is in these?"

She smiled a little, then shrugged. "Modified some lightsaber ones to accommodate for short bursts of light instead of a constant stream." At the look on both men's faces, she explained further, "There's some fragments of lightsaber crystals I've had on me for a while. They're not big enough for actual use in a saber, but it looks like they work in blasters just fine."

She cracked a healthy smirk at the look on Atton's face. Disciple looked intrigued, but didn't get to say anything before Atton asked, "So, you never tried these out beforehand?"

A shrug. "Didn't see any reason they wouldn't work."

Atton felt his eye twitch, but chose to ignore it. "Yeah, I'm sure you'd miss me a whole bunch if they blew up, too." Saer almost grinned at that, and the scoundrel chose to wander off of his own accord. "Yeah, I'll meet you guys on the ramp."

"I'll just be in the refresher, then I'll be ready to go," Saer informed them, ducking out of the room with the bloody towel over her arm.

s-n-s

"… Did Vogga even recognise you?"

"If he did, he didn't say anything," Saer mused, fiddling with her electronic journal. "At least he agreed to ship his fuel to Telos once we get rid of Goto."

Atton shook his head at that one, hands in his pockets. "And that's the part I still don't understand."

She glanced over at him through the mess of her hair as she absently moved out of the way of two kids darting between the two of them. Someone chased after them, apologising, but neither Scoundrel or Jedi paid attention. They were both used to the rush and pull of Nar Shadda—Atton having spent years there, and Saer on her third day in a row of fighting her way through the scum collected on the smuggler's moon.

"I mean, isn't the whole point of being on Nar Shadda to, y'know, not get the attention of everyone who's after you?"

She smirked at that, almost like he was amusing her in some way. "No, we're finding Zez-Kai Ell." At the look on his face, she almost laughed. "The Jedi Master with the enormous moustache in the recording."

He rolled his eyes at her, then shrugged. "No, we're doing things like, getting rid of the Soroccan and Exchange's pressure on the refugee camp, or uniting families, or whipping every single Pazaak player in that one Pazaak Den with the password, or bringing droids back to their owners—"

"Or dancing for Hutts to steal all the shit in their warehouse."

Atton made a face. "Hey, we walked right back in there and didn't even get caught. I think that should say something about my plans versus yours."

She rolled her eyes at him, almost laughing. "Oh, please tell me you're joking. The only reason we didn't get caught was because Hutts, just like the rest of the galaxy, can't be bothered to remember the face of anyone who dances for them. I'm sure that popped up in your twenty-second master plan somewhere."

He sent her a glance, then grinned. "I'm sure none of those bounty hunters would recognise you if you wore that outfit every day."

"What, and have both you and Disciple go through puberty again? Fat chance, buddy."

He made a face—mostly because of the dream he'd had the night before—but before he could even open his mouth to make a witty comeback, the other topic of conversation popped out of the crowd.

"What's this about an outfit?"

Atton grinned to himself, then swung his arm over Disciple's shoulder. "You see, my good man, me and Saer went and did a little cantina hopping last night…"

"It's not important." Was she blushing, or was it just him? Atton smirked, and he could almost see Disciple's interest in the subject growing.

"She danced for Vogga," Atton continued, regardless of Saer's indigence on the matter. "And the outfit she was wearing? Damn, it's hot."

"It doesn't matter, because we're going to-"

"What did it look like?" Disciple blurted, then glanced at Saer and immediately regretted it.

Atton, grinning like a nutcase, absently examined his fingernails. "I have it on the ship, if you'd like to see it…?"

"Wha-?" the look on her face was priceless. Pure, sheer and utter victory, on Atton's part. That, and he was so going to get his ass kicked, later, but he decided that this was all worth it. "You said you threw it out!"

"I lied," Atton replied, smirking. "Something you Jedi should be used to, I think."

Saer rolled up one of her sleeves, her left hand clenched into a fist. "Do you enjoy having your scrawny excuse for a spine where it is, Atton? I think not."

Disciple ducked out from underneath the scoundrel's arm and stepped neatly in between the two of them. "I don't think that-"

Atton rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to stick up for me, now."

Saer smiled, a sadistic smirk reserved for only when she was most serious. "I do, however, remember a conversation about pain sticks."

The colour drained from the brunette's face. "You wouldn't."

"How much are you willing to bet on that one?"

Disciple slowly felt his ability to get them all to walk away from the situation unscathed start to slip away. He figured it was something akin to bleeding to death; and equally as painful.

"How about nothing," he mused, but there was nothing to be done.

Atton's eyes narrowed, the glint of a challenge burning in them. "A date."

Disciple immediately felt his throat close over, and he lost all control over his voice box. Did the man have a death wish!

The surprise flickered in Saer's eyes, and she was immediately caught off-guard by his comment. She opened her mouth, and Disciple felt a twinge of… something when he thought she was going to reject his comment.

"I win, you buy. You win, I buy."

She narrowed her eyes, then, but was kept from speaking when he added, "Winner also picks the time and place."

Saer smirked, the challenge bug darting to her eyes as well. "Start saving your credits, because you're buying the most expensive meal this side of Coresaunt."

Atton returned her own healthy smirk, and Disciple felt just a tad out of the loop. Like he was just there to make sure neither one of them died in the attempt to prove who had the skills to match their egos.

"Isn't there something we should be doing otherwise?" he interjected, almost as a last attempt to make them see common sense.

"Not that I can think of," Saer commented, idly. "I'm sure the planet can manage to solve its own problems, for a while."

Atton nodded, smiling grimly. "So, what are our weapons?"

"Vibro double-blades," she replied, without skipping a beat. "Unless you want to use two of the single-bladed ones."

"Can I just say something?" That from Disciple was ignored.

"Single blades," he replied. "You go ahead with the double." He could already feel old knowledge trying to surface. He might have been disturbed by the revival of old techniques, but it had happened a lot in the past few months, and he simply started to count Pazaak cards in his head again.

"No Force powers on my part," she added immediately. Atton would have thought that put her at a disadvantage, but Disciple had talked to him about the Battle Ring on Dxun, and he seriously doubted it. "Lightsaber forms…?"

"Go ahead," he replied, perhaps too easily. He knew the weaknesses of each form of combat, and how to exploit them. She noticed his surety, and perhaps made a thought to herself not to use them. He would be a little disappointed, but he knew he'd have a hard time at fighting her, regardless. In fact, he'd probably lose.

"I'm sure we could possibly talk around this…?" Disciple tried again, but was ignored.

"Are we heading back to the ship, then?"

Atton nodded, knowing that neither of them had the required equipment on their persons. Hands in pockets, he smirked and turned towards where they'd parked the speeder.

They parked at the Refugee Sector Docks, neither Saer or Atton talking about the fight—Atton was vividly recounting some past Pazaak game to her, and, as usual, he did most of the talking. She might ask the occasional question, but she wasn't one for idle conversation. Disciple, crouching in the back, was ignored.

They parked the speeder and set up the security system, and Disciple took the opportunity (for the brief moment that Atton's mouth was shut) to ask Saer something.

"I must confess, I've been studying the recording of your trial extensively ever since you've given me permission to access it."

She turned to meet his gaze, and again he was forced to look away at the intensity of her eyes. When she'd trained him on Dantooine, her eyes had been the shade of deep blue that most of them remained—but the rim of bright red on the edge of each iris was new. He assumed she had acquired the discolouration during the war. He couldn't see how Atton could stand to look at them for very long; most people couldn't.

She didn't seem to notice that most she spoke to averted their gaze, so Disciple just occupied himself.

"I have been trying to find a deeper meaning behind your exile."

She looked confused at that statement, and Atton sent him a warning look that was ignored. "What do you mean?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

Knowing that he was treading on thin ground, he continued regardless. "Whether you realised it or not, your exile was really your choice."

Atton scowled. "Yeah, well I watched that thing, too. Didn't look like they gave her much of a choice to me."

Disciple nodded knowingly. "Yes, I considered that as well. Traditionally, however, an exiled Jedi can choose whether they wish to accept the council's decision and wander the outer rim, forsaking prolonged contact with all life, or they can choose to-"

"Argue their case," Saer interrupted, casually. "Try to prove them wrong." She had a habit of doing that—anticipating what a person was talking about, and then finishing off their sentences for them. It was annoying if you didn't know her.

Disciple nodded, noticing Saer's apparent lack of interest on the topic. That must have been her defence mechanism, he thought, although he was unsure on the matter. She didn't need to play tough or feign indifference—most of the time she didn't just seem to care about what was going on around her.

"I noticed that you didn't argue your case, once they exiled you. You defended your point of view, when they asked, but you didn't-"

"Look," she snapped, eyes narrowed. "They didn't want me there. I didn't need the Force to see that."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Atton almost stepped in between the two of them, but figured Saer would settle for hitting either one of them right about then, so he kept his mouth shut.

Disciple nodded slightly, a gentle movement that caused the expression in Saer's eyes to flicker. "Mical, you're hiding something."

Atton blinked, startled by the sudden use of the name. What, Disciple had a name? And Saer knew it? Okay, so having an optional name is real cool, he thought sarcastically, a slight bit of jealousy tingeing his confusion in the current matter. Soon, all the kids are going to be calling themselves Saber, or Assassin, and nobody's going to have a decent name because they'll all be 'too cool' to have one.

He sighed. "You're right. I was partially looking for a reason why I had left."

Saer glanced away. Atton wondered if she blamed herself for that.

In the meantime, he decided to interrupt again, with a roll of his eyes. "You know, if you left the Jedi, you probably had a reason. I think it's a little too late to be figuring it out now."

Disciple—Mical?—smiled. "True," he replied, "but as of late I have come to question my decision, just as Saer has come to question her exile."

"If you could refrain from talking about me like I can't hear you…"

"Yeah, well maybe she always did," Atton snapped back. "All it took was a recording to make her say it openly."

"I am standing right here," she muttered.

Disciple smiled. "I have only recently begun second-guessing leaving the Jedi Order, Atton; only since I met Saer again on Dantooine have I begun to question my actions."

Atton's eyes narrowed. He could feel himself start to get angry, but didn't try to keep it in check. "So what, just because Saer shows up, you start 'second-guessing' and 'contemplating on alternate courses'?"

The blonde frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Before I came into direct contact with a member of the Jedi Order, the thoughts of my past were not always on the forefront of my mind."

"Yeah, well Saer's not exactly a Jedi anymore," Atton shot back, clenching his fists. He always seemed to forget that she used to be a Jedi when it was just the two of them. But everyone else had this habit of bringing it up. Why didn't they just admit that Saer had no ties to the damn Jedi, anymore!

"She has regained her use of the Force—and, since she's obviously not Sith, what else do you suppose she'd be, Atton?"

The scoundrel shook his head with a laugh. "Do you honestly think everything's that black and white?"

Disciple looked taken aback by that statement. Atton, with a smirk, decided that he'd already won. "What do you think-" he turned, but stopped when he noticed that the subject of their argument had disappeared. "- Saer?"

They both turned full circle, finally noticing that Saer had left them while they were too busy trying to prove a point to each other to notice her slip away.

"Where the hell did she go?" he muttered, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, looking like he was about to start off to look for her.

"Wait-!" Disciple hissed. "Do you hear that?"

Atton paused, frowning. When it came to him a few seconds later, it started as more of a feeling than a distinct noise—a pounding in his chest as adrenaline began to creep into his system, the twitch of his fingers as his hands left his pockets of their own accord, reaching instinctively for his blasters. And then he heard the snarl of a lightsaber meeting metal, the whirl of it spinning through the air, and the hiss of it slicing through flesh.

The two men glanced at each other and took off in Saer's direction, Atton shoving past clueless idiots with his shoulders as he pulled out his blasters. Disciple, when stopped by a rather large and menacing-looking Wookie he'd just run head-first into, shoved with the Force and kept running.

He saw the white-silver of her lightsaber before he saw her; but there were also three Trandoshans he had to move out of the way, first. They were down in a flurry of blaster fire, and Saer used the new space to duck out of the way of a low thrust with a double-handled stun device.

Slavers? Atton thought, recognising the device immediately. What did she do now?

Disciple's green lightsabers were out with a hiss and he leapt into the fray, ducking and weaving underneath blades and blasterfire alike.

Atton took off a Trandoshan's head before he could slice off one of Disciple's arms, then bounced a shot off Saer's saber into another's eye. She wheeled about, slicing off the abdomen of the opponent currently in her immediate vision while moving to dismember the Trandoshan Atton had shot. Blasterfire took care of another opponent, reducing his head to a hole-filled mass. Disciple force-pushed the last through Saer's outstretched blade.

"If you two are done arguing the mysteries of the galaxy, I think there might be more on the ship," Saer snapped, turning and jogging off down the walkway towards the dormant Ebon Hawk. Jogging for Saer seemed to mean wind-sprinting speed for the rest of the population, and Atton struggled to keep up.

"What did you do now!" he asked, still somewhat behind. Disciple lagged, having to treat a minor injury of his own before following.

She replied as if she were just out for a nice evening stroll. "Would you believe me if I told you nothing?"

"With your reputation? Hell no."

She smirked a little, pulling out her com. "Anyone there?"

A series of frantic beeps and whistles was her only reply, and her eyes narrowed. "On my way, T3."

"What's going on?" Disciple, some distance behind.

"There's a bunch of them on the ship," Saer replied, somehow speeding up, leaving Atton to pull the most ridiculous full-legged sprint in order to even hope to keep up. "Sounds like we stole their landing pad."

Atton rolled his eyes, but had already fallen too far behind to make a snide comment. Saer charged up the cargo ramp, and Atton saw the flash of her lightsaber spinning as she disappeared from sight. He followed behind, whipping his blasters out to either side of him and gunning down a couple of Trandoshans charging out from each hallway. Another slaver whipped himself around, making a lunge for Atton. The scoundrel jumped back against the wall, and the Trandoshan found himself impaled on Disciple's lightsaber. The Jedi kicked him off and used the Force to clear them both an area out of the lizard-men.

All Trandoshans… what slaving company only hires—

Atton's eyes widened as he ducked below a stun-stick, swung around the corner ruthlessly. "Shit," he grumbled, blasting the hand that controlled the offending weapon before whipping around said corner. "We've fucking pissed off the Red Eclipse."

He had to admit, Saer's blasters were handy. They seared through any armour without a cortorsiss weave, and had pretty much the same effect as a saber. It bothered him slightly that he was using weapons that were only a couple strips of metal away from being lightsabers, but he shook the awkwardness off with a good kick to another opponent.

He saw the flash of yellow ahead, and made the connection to Visas. The Sith still creeped him out, but at least she had abandoned the traditional red of that order in favour of the yellow. Maybe it meant something to her, but he had no clue.

He bounced some shots of her lightsaber with one blaster, dispatching an attempted attack from behind with another. Visas removed the last in the room, and then Atton took off down the hallway.

The glow of Bao-Dur's mechanical arm was swamped by another grouping of Red Eclipse, accompanied by the green of Disciple's saber. They were fine on their own, it looked like. He darted down another hallway, towards the main room, where he immediately spotted the silver whirl that indicated Saer. Mandalore was blasting down Trandoshans left right and center, but they were more focused on eliminating Saer than the Mandalorian warlord.

Atton ducked under a pincer attack from either side of the doorway, dropping to one hand and launching a kick at one's knees while he sent a few shots at the other's face, knocking them both down. He switched his weight back to his feet in a crouching position, then sent a nice hole through the skull of the second.

He rose, then glanced at the set-up. Most of them were attacking Saer, still, although Mandalore had pulled out two vibroblades and had jumped into the fray to help her. One Jedi was a lot more menacing than a hundred Mandalorians, Atton knew, so he figured that Mandalore wouldn't make much of a difference in the long run to where the scum were pointing their weapons. And Saer was having trouble. One swing of her saber was enough to take down two or three of the slavers, but she didn't have enough room to even do that. She was cornered against the wall, punching and kicking like a madwoman—he recognised some of the Echani techniques in there, but most of it was purely knowing where to hit and how hard to swing. Her saber was deactivated, and she seemed to be using the hilt only, for the moment.

"Need a hand?" he yelled, gunning down one about to drive a weapon through Saer's back. Another in front of her tried a similar technique, but she shoved him into his comrades.

"Or five," she replied in between breaths, her hair falling into even more of a mess across her face as she ducked underneath a swing headed for her neck.

He smirked, dropping about six or seven Trandoshans with a flurry of blasts. He flicked the empty packs out of the weapons and re-loaded, absently sidestepping a Trandoshan who attempted to rush him. When the lizard-man moved his weapon to swing around, Atton dropped and delivered a fully charged blaster shot through his armour.

"Well, between me and Mandalore, there's four…" he smirked, unloading as many blasts as he could manage into the group surrounding Saer before a few of them swarmed him. He gunned down a few of them, but was forced to resort to hand-and-foot contact after a few moments. While he managed to take care of the three who had remained to jump him, Saer had managed to stem the tide of her attackers somewhat, so that she had some space to breathe. Atton raised his blasters again and cleared away three of them before getting the uncanny feeling that he had to duck.

So he did, just in time to avoid a double-bladed stun device. With a backwards glance, he spotted about three more behind him. With an unkind word or two pointed in their direction, he raised the blaster in his right hand and rendered the most immediate threat's brain useless. With his left, he kindly blasted out the kneecaps of the other two. They snarled as he rolled to avoid the falling corpse of the first, their advance postponed until they could grow new bones. Atton was pretty sure that he didn't know much about the random nuances of an alien's physicality, but he was equally as confident that a Trandoshan couldn't find replacement joints in a matter of seconds. He finished his roll by giving himself enough spring to pull back up into a crouch, one knee up and the other on the floor. The blaster in his right hand took care of the wounded lizard-men while he pegged off a few more that were still trying to use their greatly thinned numbers to swamp Saer.

Then the exiled Jedi got enough space to use her saber.

Atton winced a little as she reduced her opponents to nothing more than spare body parts. Spinning and kicking her way through the remaining Trandoshans, the hiss and hum of her lightweapon sent the two slavers who had just come in to turn tail and head for easier prey. Atton kindly ended them with a couple shots to the back of their heads.

As mentioned before, Atton did not pride himself on his knowledge of alien species. He knew a couple of foul words, insults, or other miscellaneous nuances that weren't in Galactic Basic, but other than that he was rather dismal. Saer, while fluent in a few languages, didn't have any use of Trandoshan in her vocabulary. So, they both figured they were lucky that she kept the Sonic Imprint Sensor on hand, as it immediately began to translate what the Trandoshan behind them was saying.

"You have crossed the Red Eclipse—we will make you pay."

She raised an eyebrow, kicking at a carcass with her foot. "What, like they did?"

Atton looked at the room around them, and smirked. "I think you'll have to run a tab."

Mandalore fell into a stance that betrayed the look of his armour. "If you two would knock off the smart-assed comments and fight the bastards…"

Saer smirked, tossing her saber from hand to hand. "It's in the books, then." She caught it with her left and deftly spun it, whipping the weapon behind her form and back in front again. "Looks like I owe you an ass-kicking."

The two Trandoshan on either side of the leader—Cahhmakt, he remembered dimly from somewhere—raised weapons to charge the exile, but a steady hail of blasterfire encouraged them to keep it a duel. Those that didn't drop pulled out their own blasters and returned fire, and Atton ducked into the hallway to avoid learning what dying by blaster felt like. He leaned out and took care of one that looked like he was going to go for Saer as Mandalore contended with a couple who were idiots enough to take him on.

In reality, the battle itself was rather anticlimactic; a few more shots and the rest of the slavers were done for, and when Atton thought to settle in and watch Saer to try and pinpoint a specific technique or style to her fighting, she whipped around in a blur of movement and sent Cahhmakt's head rolling.

She blew at the hair dangling in front of her face, then turned to face him. She raised an eyebrow at his position, leaning rather casually against the wall, and commented, "Cute. All you're missing is the cup of Java."

He grinned loosely with a shrug as she deactivated her saber. "What can I say? Holovids where pretty women fight are my favourite."

She rolled her eyes, hooking the weapon back onto her belt. "No, you like the part where they 'kiss and make up' in the end."

Even Mandalore had to chuckle about that one. Atton, not at all perturbed about how much she understood a man's fantasies, jammed his blasters back into their holsters. "Well, the corny lines don't do anything for me."

Bao Dur and Disciple walked into the room, the former limping. "Are they all gone?" Disciple asked, glancing every one of them over for injury momentarily.

"It would seem that way," Queen bitch of the galaxy remarked, slithering from her hiding place… wherever it was that she went off to hide while they were fighting. Atton sent her a look of contempt, but she ignored it. "Although I find it rather peculiar that someone managed to land us in an area currently claimed by a slaving company…"

"Well, not anymore," Atton added, poking a corpse with his foot. "Space, Saer, couldn't you leave these guys in one piece? This is going to be a pain in the ass to clean up."

"Whiner," she shot back, "You just can't appreciate my artistic abilities when it comes to slaughtering pointlessly." She glanced over at Disciple, who looked a little pale. Bao Dur didn't look too good, either, now that Atton actually paid attention. Neither of them could quite shake off killing on large scales—Bao Dur preferred to put the War behind him, and Mical… was just naïve. While Bao-Dur looked to be the only one injured of the pair, Mical had obviously exhausted himself trying to heal the Zabrak on his own during the fight.

"All right, I'll see you two in the med lab." She looked at the rest of the crew, but didn't seem to find anything wrong, and they watched her walk towards the dormitories. "We'll clean up in a few minutes."

Dragging the bodies out of the Hawk and throwing them over the railing wasn't as difficult at Atton had thought it would be—then again, having three Jedi on the ship did help some, even if Disciple looked more exhausted than the man probably realised. Even T3 pitched in, whirring and clicking as he used an impromptu plow to shove the bodies. When it was all said and done, the two men stood together, watching the space where the last Trandoshan had fallen.

"Do you find it hard," the blonde Jedi began, slowly, "to… cope with killing? Ending a life?"

Atton rolled his eyes. "These guys weren't exactly prime citizens, you know."

Disciple shrugged. "I suppose, but… What if they had families? What if someone was relying on them to come home?"

"They knew the risks."

Both turned to look at Saer, who was swirling a cup of Java, two others floating casually beside her. The steam rising off the liquid of the mug in her hand caused Atton to make a face. She took hers with a load of sugar, no milk, and hot enough to scald the face off a Rodian. He'd made her a cup or two over a game of Pazaak, and every time she still went back and added more of the sweetening crystals.

Disciple frowned, taking his cup out of the air. He sniffed it, then took a swig. Atton snatched his and downed it in a gulp, completely used to her habit of carrying objects in the air when she ran out of hands.

"They knew what they were heading into, associating with Slavers, working as them. Don't feel sorry for them, Disciple. No one goes into the slavery business to protect anyone."

The younger man looked a little less than satisfied with that answer, then nodded and politely excused himself. Saer and Atton watched him walk up the ramp.

"You'd think none of the Jedi were ever useful, looking at that guy," he muttered darkly, wishing he hadn't drank his Java so fast; his trigger fingers were twitching.

"It's different, with Jedi," she replied, calmly. She took another swig, and Atton winced. He could feel the heat rising off that thing, and it made him wonder how she didn't burn herself. "All Jedi feel death when it's around them—the rush in life force as it leaves their bodies…"

He watched her for a moment, and she shrugged. "At first, you really start to imagine little scenarios in your mind—you play house, giving them a family and a name, an intricate story for each life you end." She smirked bitterly, eyes dark as her hair spilled unchecked in front of her face. "I think it's worse for him, because of the way he connects with the Force."

When he looked confused, she continued. "He's a Consular. That means he has a strong connection to the Force in himself and in other beings around him. A Sentinel like Visas finds the Force in objects around them—it helps them blend into their surroundings, finding and drawing upon the energy that lives naturally in the world around them, and depending on the circumstances that arise they can become stronger or weaker."

He raised a brow. "And you?"

"The Guardians." She smiled, wryly. "We find the Force within ourselves; it manifests itself in our bodies, and the stronger our connection with the Force becomes, the more we understand our innermost workings and the faster we can move, the stronger we become."

He paused a moment, calculating all of this. "So… Disciple feels their deaths more distinctly than, say, A Guardian would?"

She nodded, content to not have to explain it further. He frowned a little in confusion, then asked, "So, how come I've never heard of it?"

"It's not like it's a big secret or anything, everyone at the Enclaves knows it," she complied, looking out at the decay of Nar Shadda. "But it's just something every Jedi has been told too many times, so we don't really remember that we actually have to explain it to someone else."

He stared at her. "So, what, the Jedi keep secrets unintentionally?"

She smiled again, but it was half-hearted. She looked down at the ground, as if she felt a blow to her pride every time Atton mentioned that he, personally, hated the Jedi. "No, not really. No one ever asks, that's all."

He watched her for a little while, the bright rim around her eyes blazing in the fading light. The runway lights began to brighten, and the effect was gone. Her face was bathed in the pale, unhealthy glow they offered, and he momentarily saw the sickly complexion of a Sith hiding underneath her hair. He looked away.

She laughed, suddenly, the sound light and soft, and she looked up at the direction the sky was hiding in, past all the towering skyscrapers. "I remember…" Her face was highlighted by the last remaining flickers of light, and all the skin that was subject to the runway's unnatural glow held the image of a Sith Lord.

He watched her, all at once entranced and utterly mortified that he could associate her with the Sith.

"I used to sneak out of the Jedi enclave a nights, for a bit of excitement. I always hung out at a cantina, and the bartender was nice so he kept an eye on me. He watched my drink for me and kept the local creeps away. Not like there's many to be found, on a planet like Dantooine."

Atton remembered the mercenaries, the untrusting glares of its citizens, and the salvagers, and thought that it must have been a very different place when she was growing up.

"One night was busy—a storm had blown over, and a couple of transports were stuck. I was ten at the time. I was at the Pazaak tables, and this creep walked up to me." She touched her lightsaber, and Atton looked at it for a long moment, admiring the twisting combination of black and silver alloys.

"Long story short, he wouldn't go away and I threw him across the room. Through the bar."

He stared, open-mouthed at her. "Well, his bottom half stayed where it hit the counter. His upper body didn't stop until it hit the wall."

When he didn't reply, she laughed. "The first thing I did was switch on a stealth-field generator and hide in a corner. Kavar found me there, and got me out without being seen."

Atton didn't find the same humour she did in the subject, but figured that the guy deserved it. "How much trouble did you get in."

She smiled, her eyes distant. "None." At the look on his face she elaborated. "Vrook was furious about that. "Kavar told him I'd learned my lesson, and wouldn't lose my control again."

Atton smirked a little at that. He hadn't seen much of the stodgy old stick in the mud, but his impressions of him were not so spectacular. Something along the lines of a severe lack in manners. That, and the old creep was exactly what everyone expected the Jedi to be these days.

He ran a hand through his hair, dark eyes darting aside. When he turned to ask her a question, she was gone. He frowned, then turned back to the ship, where she was walking up the ramp. She stopped, let down her hair, then started to run her fingers through it in an attempt to brush it as she started walking again.

Some things never change, he thought wryly as he followed her into the Hawk.

s-n-s

"You were the one recording me, not Disciple."

Atton paused at a turn in the hallways of the Hawk, Saer's accusing tone of voice giving him ample reason. Who…?

"So you found out," the old woman's scratchy alto. Atton figured that the look on his face must have been something, because he automatically got the wrong idea about the whole situation.

"Yeah, I did," was Saer's reply, and Atton figured that if she was going to lop off the witch's head, then he wanted to be around to see it. He stayed put, however, instinct telling him that he wanted to keep out of it for the time being.

When there was no reply from the older woman, Saer asked, "I suppose I get a lesson on this one, too?"

"You are becoming too close with them."

Saer snorted. "You've said this before." Atton could almost feel the rage burning from the blonde and gnawed on his lip, knowing full well that the old hag could feel it too. "Do I get another 'lesson learned' on this one, or are you just going to stand there?"

Kreia's voice was sharp and commanding, although it was a tone no one would listen to. "And neither do I approve of this relationship you have with the Fool."

Atton's heart thudded against his chest, although he couldn't fathom why.

Saer half-laughed at that one, although he could tell by the tone in her voice that it had set her off a little. "Who, Atton?"

"Do not think that you can hide the time you're spending with him from me. It is not healthy to be associating so closely with those you travel with."

He could tell Saer rolled her eyes, even without seeing it. "Kreia, I think I'm old enough to decide whether or not I want to spend time with my friends."

"Yes, I'm sure that thought has crossed my mind as well." She sounded perturbed as she continued, "As it stands, however, the relationships you are building are dangerous—you have no intentions of manipulating those you gather around you, and if they choose to betray you, I fear that you would fail to see it coming."

"I'll deal with that when and if it comes up." The sound of Saer's footsteps started up again, as if she was walking away.

"Yes, and you've done a fine job with those situations in the past."

Silence. A dead and utter silence that was screaming ten years' worth of pain and agony, like a wound not completely healed ripped open again. Atton frowned.

When Saer spoke again, her voice was low, and the tone she used made Atton wince. She'd never talked so… lacking in emotion around him. "You have no right."

She stormed out of the room and past him, then headed directly for the ramp out to the docks. Atton, startled, paused for a moment before following her. She was in a dangerous mood, again…

He caught the old hag's disapproving look, and he rolled his eyes. "Keep your Jedi 'wisdom' to yourself. She's pissed and I'm going to keep her from doing anything incredibly stupid." With that, he took off after her.

She was walking, albeit a little fast, but he still had to jog to catch up with her. "Hey," he called out as he slowed down to a walk, somewhat distressed when she didn't turn around. "Talk about a witch, hey?"

She grunted at him, noncommittal. "You heard all that?"

He shrugged, falling into step beside her. "Yeah."

They were silent for a while, walking side-by-side, and Atton had to wonder what Kreia thought was going on between the two of them. Sure, she was hot… and he had to admit that there were times when he found himself fantasising about her… but she had never shown any interest in him. As confused about her as he could sometimes be, there was nothing going on between the two of them.

"I need a drink," Saer interrupted his train of thought, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets.

He smiled. "I know just the place…"