A really great manipulator is someone who manipulates the man who tries to manipulate him.
Cricket the Dark Lord
:_:
"I'm hungry!"
She kept banging the container into the door, using the Force.
"Hey, is anyone out there?"
Bang, bang, bang.
"Listen up, stinking Alliance scum! I want some food!"
Bang. Bang.
She let the container drop.
"When I'll get out of this disgusting cell, I will pound you all to pieces!"
She relaxed for a while, snuffling and snorting.
Swearing helped. Yelling and shouting, too. Banging things managed to keep a faint impression of having things under her control.
It was like a meditation.
Very Sith meditation indeed.
Her cell's door opened.
"Shut up, Sith scum," someone snarled and closed them again.
She tossed the container at the door.
Then she realized her wrists were in considerable pain.
She was struggling too much; they were closing more tightly every moment.
She wondered if they would squeeze her hands out if she tried enough.
That reminded her of the battle with Abeloth.
That reminded her of Ben.
He didn't come.
Scum.
He was approximately as reliable as a Jedi. And that meant he wasn't at all.
"You out there!" she shouted. "I'm bored!"
The voice, to her surprise, answered. "Me too!"
She grinned.
"I need to eat!" she continued.
"And I need you to shut up!"
She started to knock at the door with the container again. And started singing in keshiri.
Was she becoming mad?
Maybe.
But she was enjoying herself.
The song was actually a lullaby, but she managed to shriek it so it sounded like a terrified rancor young yelling for his mommy.
"Come boy, come to your Mom, I will hug you in my arms, hug you until you will fall asleep, my boy, my prince, my sonny…"
"This is not Gallactic Alliance Best Vocalist!"
"And this is not a proper cell! This is a death cube!"
"That's the point!"
"Stars are sleeping stilly, my boy, my prince, my sonny, sun is already down, the moon is rising… Sleep, sleep tightly, until the sun will touch your face…"
The door opened again.
"Oh, fine," she breathed out, managing a theatrical cough. "I was afraid I will hoarsen."
Her new visitor marched across the small room to the steel table in its middle. "Sorry I kept you waiting."
Vestara eyed the person. "You're a Mandalorian, aren't you?"
Visitor raised his/her head as he/she unpacked his/her set of torturals. "Yes."
"I've studied your culture," she said friendly. "I think you are an interesting people."
She didn't see his/her face under the helmet, but she could imagine the look. "I heard people call us variously – murderers, warriors, dishonorable savages… not much people see us as interesting."
"What can I say?" she said with a smile. "I'm unique."
If the Mandalorian could throw a doubtful look through that T-shaped visor, he/she certainly did.
Vestara waited for mandalorian to react.
He/she ignored her.
When the whole gear was spread on the table, she took off her helmet.
She undoubtedly.
She wasn't the prettiest girl in the galaxy, but she had the hard-faced confidence that made people feel either secure of frightened.
She had dark curly hair cut in the perfect helmet-friendly length and dark brown eyes harder than durasteel.
Mandalorian iron. They were so hard and invulnerable like mandalorian iron.
This woman had to have a though life.
Vestara felt no real sympathy for her. Her own life was more than enough tough.
"I heard that mandalorian women are as tough as men," she said.
Mandalorian woman looked up at her, then donned a pair of crushgaunts she laid on the table before. "That's true," she nodded. "But we can cook."
Vestara wondered if it was a joke.
She didn't care to laugh.
The woman meshed her fingers and rapped the 'gaunts at one another.
Vestara knew what will come.
"We don't know each other," she said carefully, trying to keep on sounding jovial.
"That's right," mandalorian nodded. "That's why it isn't personal."
"I'm Vestara Khai."
"I know."
"Who are you?"
"Right now I am an employee of Senator Wan Norso."
"What's your name?"
"You don't need to know."
"I want to know."
"I am not here to please you."
"Why are you interrogating me when you're working for Norso?"
"Norso's shuttle was aboard the Phantom Rival when you boarded it. He took it personally."
Vestara tried to nod. "Ah."
The woman rounded the table and stood in front of her. "Besides, Jedi Skywalker asked me for help."
So they are friends enough for her to do him a favor.
"It's nice of you to be of help."
She shrugged. "He's paying."
"I will trade one answer for your name."
It had the intended effect. The woman stopped in motion and then stiffened.
"Do you need my name for some Sith tricks?" she asked then.
"No. I pledge my word."
Her visitor scowled, then nodded. "I take it, for what it's worth. But I want the answer first."
"Go on."
Vestara hoped she will give her the type of question she wanted.
"Where did you get those new ships? I mean those all-new. Like your flagship."
This was partly the type she wanted. But she still could slip this more or less without doing any harm to the Sith cause.
"We bought them," she replied, completely honest.
Mandalorian watched her for a too-long while, then nodded.
"Mirta Gev-Orade."
Vestara gave her a sweetest of smiles. "Hello, Mirta. I am Vestara."
Mirta offered her a scornful look. "Gev for you," she added.
To make this clear – Vestara knew she had either to try to sustain Gev's torture or speak. It was possible she will speak anyway, so she decided to start playing when she had the right position.
If she could, she would stretch her hands now with a pleasured expression.
This way she just twisted her hands to relieve her wrists and let her eyes narrow.
There was a wonderful way to manipulate people.
And she was just about to exploit it.
It would help if Gev was a man, but she was determined to play this on her anyway.
She doubted she would be clever enough to work this one out.
Gev was patting her knuckles.
"I have another bargain for you, Gev."
Gev looked at her. "I heard you are a solid double-crosser, Khai," she said, seemingly off-theme. "I don't like bargaining with double-crossers."
"I am not trying to cheat anyone." Just Ben. To remove the kriffing grin from his face.
"And I am supposed to believe that?"
"No. You are supposed to consider that."
Gev tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. It looked odd with all this armor she wore. "I'm listening."
"I need you to do me a favor."
"You want food?"
This wasn't a bad idea at all. She took the chance. It was a good idea to start with something innocent before using her to her villainous plans.
She grinned mentally. Villainous plans.
"Yes."
Gev looked doubtful. "That's low even for a Sith."
Vestara did something resembling shrug. She wasn't much able to shrug in her position. "I never liked our folk anyway."
"You can tell us all you know without this show. That would certainly let them have it."
I like show. "What would be in this for me?"
"You could have a better cell."
"With holovid?"
"Maybe."
"Without those stupid shackles?"
"No way."
"No deal then."
Gev shrugged. "Answer me and you'll get your food, laandur."
Vestara didn't understand her language, but she doubted that was nice. She nodded. "Ask."
"Who sold them to you?"
"No one from the Alliance, I assure you."
"Who?"
"I want a dessert."
"Deal. Who?"
"Ornians."
"Who's this?"
"More water."
"Deal. Who are Ornians?"
"Inhabitants of the Ornian princedom."
"Where is it?"
"Two portions."
"Deal."
"Unknown Regions."
Gev nodded. "Okay. I'll get you your food."
"Two portions, some dessert – with cream – and more water."
"Okay. But no spoon, no fork, no knife. And the water container is leaving with us."
Vestara nodded. "Deal."
"And forget the cream."
She grinned.
Gev carefully gathered up her kit – no one left anything in her cell so she could not misuse it – and left.
She took even Vestara's favorite toy, the black-and-silver water container.
Vestara would be low-minded, but she trusted she can put her deals with Gev to some use.
Other than getting food and fun.
When her cell's door opened, it wasn't Gev who went in.
It was someone else in mandalorian armor.
This armor was blue and green. Its helmet was apparently scorched, but it was all shiny metal.
"Your kai'tome," Armored said.
"Food?" she guessed.
He didn't answer.
"Where's Gev?" she asked.
Armored set the tray he carried down on the table.
"Feeding prisoners is beneath her dignity, ma'am," he answered.
She liked being called ma'am. "And not beneath yours?"
Armored-one shrugged, tugging at his helmet to take it off. "Gev's the boss. She's Mand'alor's bu'ad, after all."
"Bu'ad?" Vestara echoed.
"Grandchild," the boy – he had to be boy – said, shaking his head.
He was quite tall, maybe an ell taller than she was, soft-faced and green-eyed. He had blonde hair in a crew cut, more a stubble than proper hair.
"Oh." Vestara smiled at the boy.
His cheeks were slightly freckled and stubby. He glanced at the tray.
"Drink first, please."
He nodded, apparently bored and annoyed with that job. He raised the grey cup and held it to her mouth.
Vestara forgot her humiliating confinement and drank, once more relishing the simple joy of fresh water.
She gulped down the whole cup with one long chain of quick swallows.
Then she let go of the cup and let the Armored Boy lay it on the table, fetching a sigh.
She caught a sight of the content of the pot he was just opening and curled her lip.
"What's this?"
"Trooper rations."
"But what's this?"
"A soup."
"What soup?"
Armored Boy shrugged. "No one knows. No one cares. Better than gihaal, trust me."
"Gihaal?"
"Dried fish-meal. Smells like Hutt's breath."
"Ah."
He grinned a bit and placed the pot to her lips. Then he slowly started angling it. "Eat fill," he said. "Or haili cetare, as my Mama says."
Vestara knew she had no other chance of gaining her strength, so she drank.
The soup was unexpectedly tasty. There was hint of spice in its vegetable taste and now and then pieces of some meat. It smelled and tasted good.
She wondered why GA wasted its funds on good food for troopers.
But happy troopers are good troopers.
She emptied the pot.
"Does your mom cook well?" she asked.
Armored Boy shrugged. "She can cook the best uj cake in the whole sector. But her nerf roast's terrible. Too much spice. My sis is better cooker than Mama. She always says she's really a girl beyond price."
"How old is she?"
"Fifteen. She's here with us. She's guarding Norso's chambers."
Vestara knew that mandalorians were considered adult after thirteen. Her thoughts wandered to Ben, for who it was complete true, according what she heard.
"Why is Norso here?"
Mando boy looked at her. "I'm not going to slip you any information, ma'am."
She faked a dashed face. "I was just trying."
"Yeah. I know." He jerked his head toward the tray. "What do you want now? There is a nerf steak, some pasties and a fruit pie."
If her wrists and ankles weren't bind by shock-shackles, if her body didn't hurt like hell, if she had a fair chance of escaping, she would enjoy these moments.
She sighed, agonizing when she couldn't eat the food normally.
With her own hands.
She sighed again.
"Not hungry?" Armored Boy said, waiting for her answer.
"Give those pasties to me," she said, prostrated.
Armored Boy nodded and took one of the two pasties, letting her have a bite.
She chewed it, ignoring its gorgeous taste, the way the dough correlated with the mincemeat…
This was going to be a long day.
Vestara ate, ignoring the Armored Boy's improving mood.
He was enjoying being superior to her.
He can go to blazes.
Everyone can.
Vestara was sorry for herself.