I want to make this clear right now —I'm not continuing with this. So please don't ask me to. The inspiration struck me, and it was really just me having some fun.

Bastila took a deep breath, turning away from the corpse of her former opponent in a pivot motion, eyes scanning the swoop track turned battlefield. All save two were dead, it seemed… one of them the winner, the other Brejik.

The dark-skinned man was clad in loose clothing that consisted of a pair of pants made from denim material, and an open vest. He carried a pair of vibroblades that were wielded with a prowess that matched his heavily muscled form. Raw Force currents, untouched and unnoticed, flickered in his wake, and Bastila realised that this man was Force-Sensitive.

Just as she stepped in to help him, the dark man spun, one weapon hitting at Brejik's chest and another slicing a deep cut through the front of his upper legs. He then hopped onto one foot, using his momentum to finish a second spin and knock the Vulkar off his feet. Brejik fell, and the man descended. The helpless man raised his weapon to defend, but too late.

The last standing man kicked the still-twitching body of his dead opponent to turn him over, then crouched down and started looting through the man's belongings. When she saw him snatch her lightsaber from his belt, she made an indignant noise and stormed over to him.

His head turned when he heard her approaching, but she wasn't paying attention. She stopped in front of him, one hand on her hip and the other held in front of her. "That would be mine, thank you very much."

He stood, easily towering over her, and Bastila strongly resisted the urge to step back. She wasn't going to let some street thug intimidate her. She had the Force, and was trained to use it to defend herself. This was just some common convict, probably a hood his entire life. Knowing Taris, that wasn't anything short of believable. "Now, if you wouldn't-" she paused a moment, realising he wasn't even looking her in the eyes. "… mind?"

Then she remembered exactly what she was wearing. Something like a cross between a gasp and a squeak passed through her throat and escaped her lips, and Bastila glowered at the man in front of her.

"You."

When she tapped him on the arm—she'd have to reach up to touch his shoulder, and that would have looked ridiculous—his gaze shot up to her eyes. "Yeah-huh?" he asked, as if he'd done nothing wrong and this completely acceptable behaviour.

"What are you staring at?"

"You want an honest answer, or one that makes you feel better?" He paused in thought for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Well, with some girls it's the same one both times…"

She rolled her eyes, snatching her lightsaber out of his hand. "If you think that I am just going to sit down and become your-" he raised one eyebrow at her, and then it hit her. Her throat momentarily closed over, and she felt a sudden chill. It's him.

"I—I don't believe this…" Hand shaking, she shoved some strands of hair out of her face. "You're—" No! Don't tell him that! Recovering her composure, she continued, "You're one of the soldiers from the Endar Spire!"

He nodded, an amused smile creeping onto his face. "Don't think too hard, there." He tilted his head to the side, and she found herself immediately irritated by him. "And, I was just about to point out-"

"You know what?" she snapped, turning on her heel and walking away. "I don't have time for you. At all."

"But, your-"

"I don't want to know how you wound up racing for the Beks. I really don't."

"But there's—and we were-"

"We?" she mused, then grit her teeth. "Well, I highly doubt that the Beks were in this for anything more than money, as they seem to have abandoned you in battle."

"—But Carth said-"

"Carth!" She stopped dead in her tracks, then nearly toppled over as the taller man bumped into her. With a glare sent in his direction (and a sheepish grin on his part), she asked, "Carth Onasi, is he here? Alive?"

"Yeah-"

"That's the best news I've heard in a long time. Where is he? Take me to him."

"Uh, okay, but-"

Sick of any reasonable excuse that this man could come up with, she turned on her heel and started to walk away from him. "If you have any observations to make as to my appearance, I would suggest that you keep your mouth shut unless you enjoy great physical pain being imposed on your person."

A small amount of silence passed as he walked beside her, and she was glad to notice that his eyes were everywhere but her. He stopped before the exit from the swoop track and turned to face her, blocking her from shoving past him.

"Um, before we go greet your adoring public and find you some clothing, do you want to borrow my shirt?"

She paused. That seemed too… gentlemanly for the character that was before her. Her eyes narrowed, she commented, "Well, you seem to have had a sudden show of proper behaviour, but I am far more curious about the why as to-"

"You seem to have damaged your bondage gear," he interrupted, a sly grin sweeping onto his face. "We might need to replace that."

At first her expression was dubious, as she didn't really care about—

Then it occurred to her what he was saying, and she looked down at herself. Indeed, the top that had been thrown onto her was about to fall off—presumably by blasterfire sometime during the conflict. A deep flush covered her cheeks and she covered herself abruptly, glaring up at the taller man. He just grinned and held out his vest, which she snatched from his grip.

"Insufferable—you-"

"C'mon, Princess, we have a planet to get off."