A Game of Dejarik
Irish translations:
Seilide anseo – Snails are here.
Siobhan – Sho Vone
Sadhbh – Sigh-ve
Múinteoir – Schoolteacher
Cad é an scéal – What's happening? Literally translates to 'What is the story?'
Tá brón orm – I'm sorry.
Open Chandrilan – Loosely modelled on the Open Sicilian Defense
Amadán - Idiot
Another month passed without much event, and Roisin found the rhythm of her new work. The staff had accepted her, and she had struck up friendships with several of them. They talked and sang in their own language in the kitchens making long monotonous hours easy. The only hiccup was that Roisin had a shadow. A Commandant shaped shadow. Her walks to market or evening breaks showed that he was a cornerstone of the academy, consistently out at drills, lecturing instructors as they marched down hallways and once, she even caught him late at night on the concord with a group of students when she couldn't sleep. Even still, she found her lunchtimes in the garden readily interrupted by the crunch of gravel. He sat at the other end of the garden, on a mirroring bench and ate his lunch. That was all. He stared at her the entire time but hadn't approached her since that warm Spring afternoon. Now she knew his rank this behaviour made even less sense. He could force her to sleep with him to keep her job. He could blackmail her into doing what he wanted with a hundred reasons considering Roisin's past. He could threaten her family. All of this she expected from a member of the Empire, particularly one of such high rank. What she didn't expect was whatever this was. When he finished eating, he continued to sit in silence for a few moments and then abruptly would leave without a backwards glance. Once the fear had worn off, the horrible jump in her stomach when he appeared in the shadow of the heavily ivied garden portcullis, she found this oddly amusing. On this rainy day in what passed as 'Summer' on Arkanis she walked back through the long wet grass of the kitchen gardens towards the kitchen entrance once he had abruptly disappeared. She had spotted a plucked bloom left on the stone bench where he had sat, and she idly twirled it between her fingers as she made her way back inside. Without the pitfall of romance the commandant's attention left her feeling amused. It was pleasant. Vaguely titillating. Nothing more.
"You're serving again today." Siobhan, the older red-headed lady who had been so kind to Roisin when she started, said to her while rolling her eyes. She plodded on, the basket of fresh molluscs ready for a boiling pot of water.
"Seilide anseo!" Siobhan sang as she placed the basket down by the disapproving figure of the head cook. Roisin went back her task of kneading white bread, a charming anachronism which the higher officers above them insisted upon rather than the very capable mechanical arms that usually did this work. Their mistake really. She couldn't knead bread for shit. Once the arm wrenching task of kneading and proofing was done, she flew up the stairs to her small bedroom to change for the evening. She took care with her hair and its wild fly-aways, applying moisturiser to her face and arms. She didn't bring any make up with her for this post and what little jewellery she possessed was still in her childhood bedroom in a metal box gathering dust under her bed. It would have to do. She was here to work, not look good for Imperials.
What Roisin had taken as a once-off task had since become a regular feature of her work. The serving staff had to be highly vetted for obvious reasons, proximity to food and poison being a constant well-founded worry of the Academy. With the recent addition of kitchen staff, the Academy had assumed they could get on well with both roles. Even with her obvious Republican leanings the Academy clearly hadn't seen her as big enough of a threat to warrant barring from this tedious work. While she found this mildly insulting, she didn't complain, the credits from her wages slowly accruing in her account towards her inter-planetary ticket. Roisin was called on a lot as she did mostly preparation and cleaning in the kitchens. This meant very long days, but she didn't mind. Work meant she didn't have to think, and Roisin desperately wanted to not think for at least a few more months. She descended the stairs dressed in the black, plain dress of the serving staff – stretched tight across her hips and chest. They were supposed to serve with hair down to keep a pleasing eye for the upper echelons. Typically, the female staff serving were petite with shining dark hair and symmetrical faces. Her waist length red hair hung down her back in curls, thread through with braids and white stone beads, which the Commandant's wife had commented on every single time she had come down to serve this past month. Roisin had witnessed only one 'punishment' so far, one of the younger girls, Sadhbh, who had dropped a plate on the floor from nerves. The metal switch, some random missing part from an old droid, had slashed her palm with a fleshy thump. Roisin had struggled to get the horrible whimpers of the young girl out of her mind as she lay down to sleep for a whole week. This is who the Imperials were, she reminded herself again, this is the Empire.
Apart from the Commandant's wife, the officer's wives hung about these events to manage appearances and watch the staff. The officers tended to be the teaching staff, rather than the more senior members who visited from time to time. Men and women with titles such as Moff and one polite older man called Pellaeon rarely brought their wives with them. The old fashioned meshed awkwardly with the glaringly modern on all of Arkanis but no more so than at the Academy where underfloor heating sat oddly with historic fireplaces. Where droids used on the main campus passed by in single file, their heavy footing wearing precise intersecting lines in the abundant wet grass below them. The 'back rooms' so called, were old professor's quarters, repurposed for the sake of the servants needing space to prepare. The rooms had high vaulted ceilings and high-tech equipment such as holoprojectors had been inelegantly shoved into corners within the space which accommodated an extensive bar. While Maratelle Hux and the others claimed to be watching the staff for mistakes, in reality this was just an excuse for them to all get roaring drunk in the back rooms.
Roisin had seen images of society ladies on Coruscant with wild hairdos and outfits that cost more than her family would make in a lifetime draped around their slender bodies for one single evening. There was a holochannel devoted to the mind-melting extravagance of Core planet fashion which she had watched as a teenager. She considered that stupid extravagance as she looked at this group of women, seeing a pale envious shadow of Coruscant high fashion. All the women were very tall, with perfect hair and skin. All human, like everyone else at the Academy. Some had tight updos while others had effortlessly styled shoulder length hair. Most were wearing some kind of ridiculous looking hair ornament or animal skin on their person. They also all clearly liked a drink and so the serving staff needed to swing between the curtailed social scene in the lounge and the wild constant topping up of the back rooms.
One woman, decked out in Kamino pearls was loudly describing her son's high ranking in combat training as a cadet at the academy. At the right moment, the other women would laugh in response to her vague attempts at humour. The laugh was an automatic thing, Roisin had yet to see anything like real mirth reach any of these women's eyes during her serving tasks. Another woman in a grass green dress with gossamer sleeves had turned the attention to her son who was too young to join the Academy but had shown clear 'academic promise'.
"So Maratelle, still no news for us?" another woman in yellow asked cutting across the boasting, simpering at the group. Maratelle's thin-lipped expression of annoyance gave Roisin the bounce in her step to begin preparing another round of drinks for the officers in the lounge outside.
"No. No news to report." She said in a clipped manner.
"We thought… surely there may be some news by now?" an older woman, with artfully twisted grey hair said, the concern in her voice not reaching her eyes.
"No. He still will not…" she trailed off as the other women looked away. She continued on, clearly drunk. "He has no interest."
Roisin had to hold back a snort of laughter. An empty sex life was the least this nasty woman deserved.
"Well, there are other ways to get pregnant." Her friend said, gripping Maratelle's perfect hand. She pulled it away from her with annoyance.
"I do not want to discuss this." She said coldly. The conversation in the group ground to a halt. Maratelle shook her glass in Roisin's direction who hastily refilled it with a golden wine. She took a sip before launching into a rant that Roisin had already heard on six separate occasions.
"My family's credits paid for this horrible academy on this horrible little planet." She said, gesturing at the fine opulence of the rooms they currently occupied. "Now I'm stuck here in this horrible little place, when I should be gambling in Canto Bight or attending the opera at Coruscant." The other women nodded their heads in silent, mournful agreement – the sore spot of the Empire's failure still fresh for them all. Roisin felt a rising giddy feeling as she contemplated suggesting some synonyms for 'horrible'. Maratelle caught her glance as she passed with a tray of drinks in hand.
"The fat one is serving?" Maratelle Hux asked caustically as Roisin walked by, leaning back in her seat. Roisin wouldn't be offended by a remark from what looked like a haunted pencil in a dress. She proudly marched into the officer's lounge, an intimate set of rooms with a large ornamental fireplace and several heads of indigenous and off-world animals stuck to the wall. She stood at the edge of conversations, face carefully blank, waiting for these officers to acknowledge she existed. They would take a glass and disdainfully wave her away without looking at her once. She absolutely loathed these worms. Worm 1 and 2 had just waved her away so she went to serve the only drink left to Commandant Hux who was sitting with another man in deep conversation. Upon Roisin's arrival the other man stood up and excused himself to the bathroom. She carefully lowered the tray for him to take his drink and stood expectantly, waiting to be dismissed. They did not look at each other.
She felt cold fingers suddenly grip the back of her knee and then slide up under her dress very slowly. A firm hand rested on the back of her upper thigh and caressed the skin, squeezing delicately. Without a second thought she took a side-step and glared at him, tray clasped between her hands. She warred with herself to bring it down on his head. His chin tilted up, looking genuinely amused that she was contemplating violence. The other officers hadn't noticed, and they stood like that for a moment, her glaring down at him. His beard had grown out more since she had last been in such close proximity. He quirked an eyebrow and she wet her lips, unsure what to do. No one had ever touched her so intimately without permission before. She got a hold of her temper and held the tray flatly, turning away from him. Maratelle Hux watched her walk by, her eyes like grey steel. As Roisin left, Maratelle followed her out walking far too close behind her. As Roisin turned the corner to make her way to the backrooms, she felt an iron grip around her upper arm. Maratelle, drunk, had pulled her into an ornate alcove typical in the hallways of this floor.
"Were you flirting with my husband, you whore?"
"No."
"I saw you staring at him. My husband has no interest in ugly Outer-Rim trash" she hissed at her. Standing closer to her, Roisin could see the fine lines of age at her eye corners. She couldn't be more than a few years older than her. She maintained eye contact with Maratelle, staring into the slightly bloodshot eyes of the far taller woman. Moments passed. Maratelle seemed to calm down or pull her tangled mess of emotions back in at the very least. She let go of Roisin's arm, leaving a red imprint of slender fingers. She dropped her arms and for a moment just looked at Roisin, tired and miserable, before recalling her mask. She waved Roisin away impetuously before stepping back into the hallway towards the back rooms.
"Go back to your work. Don't look at him again." She said over one delicate shoulder and clicked away down the echoing hall.
She needed a moment to breath. This stupid drama was not something she signed up for. She stayed in the alcove, thinking furiously. This nonsense was not worth losing her job over. She was still in the alcove when she heard a step behind her and felt apprehension at the idea of a drunk Maratelle Hux coming back for round two. She began to explain herself:
"I'll come back now, just give me a- " she was cut short by the feeling of strong large hands grasping around her waist. Commandant Hux pushed her against the wall, his very hard erection pushing into her backside. She gasped in shock and looked over her shoulder to find the same intense eyes staring at her that peered at her across the garden. He was pressing into her and moving his hips ever so slightly.
"What will it take." He said in her ear, his warm breath ticking her skin.
"What?" she gasped.
"What will it take to let me fuck you?" he stated plainly, as if he was ordering a drink from the staff. She rolled and he let her pin him, grabbing his arms and pushing him against the wall. Her hair was falling in cascades around her shoulders. She pressed him into the wall, bodies flat against each other, her breasts pressed to his chest. Her heart was racing from anger and excitement. He was giving her that appraising look again, like when she had contemplated smashing him over the head with the tray.
"I don't let people fuck me; you pig." She snapped, and because she was perverse and wrong and stupid, she followed this. "I fuck them."
His eyes widened slightly, and he grinned at her. He looked younger without his usual dour frown.
"Brendol?" the shrill voice of Maratelle called into the corridor. She froze but he seemed completely non-plussed still staring at her with that stupid grin on his face. His lack of response spurned her on. Roisin very gently moved her left hand to his chest as his wife called, running her fingers slowly downwards as if she was going to cup him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, completely unworried about being caught by his wife.
"Are you hard for me Bren-dol?" she whispered, putting emphasis on his name as her hand slowly reached his beltline. "Would you like me to fuck you?"
"Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to, woman?" he said lightly, his accent making their whispered conversation even more lurid. Maratelle's heels clacked down the marbled floors past them.
"Come, let me taste you." He said, trying to pull her further into the shadow of the alcove and she clucked her tongue in disgust. She pulled out of his grasp and walked out into the hallway, past a livid Maratelle and back to the serving area.
She slept very badly that night, feeling like she was playing with fire again. The same horrible, doomed feeling that had engulfed her at her old job. She missed the kids, teenagers really, of her school with a horrible ache. The respectful chorus of "Múinteoir" when she strode by. The loss of her temper and her reason after that afternoon outside of the library when she had finally confessed her feelings to him. It had started with a small gift. That was all it took, for some reason, for Roisin to fall head over heels in love. He had given her a holobook from his family's extensive collection, The Legends and Fairy tales of Arkanis. The gift had been passed to her on her birthday with little ceremony, but it had turned her world upside down. It gave her hope, which was the worst thing anything could receive in situations like these. There were other small things. His eyes. His voice. His honesty to a fault. People had commented on how well they matched; strangers assumed they were a couple at parties. He was in love with someone else, no matter how estranged they were when Roisin met him. She shouldn't have told him how she felt. It was pointless. She had-
"Roisin! Cad é an scéal!" Siobhan said loudly, waving a hand in front of her face. She pulled back from those horrible pinprick thoughts and focussed on the woman in front of her. She had been peeling root vegetables for hours now and the monotony had drawn her to dwelling.
"Tá brón orm." Roisin said gently, before sliding effortlessly into Basic when she saw Margaretta, the red-faced head cook, enter the kitchen. "I was off in another world."
"You have been summoned to the Commandant's office." The head-cook said, white arms crossed in disapproval, staring at her pointedly. Roisin and Siobhan looked at each other, confused.
"Why?" Roisin tried to say as lightly as possible, but it came out nervous and high.
"He has questions about one of your work references. You better not have lied for this position, girl." Margaretta shouted after her as she peeled off her apron and made her way out of the kitchen. She went up the rickety elevator to the top floor, one she had not had any reason to visit until now. Her soft shoes squeaked down the long empty hallways, but she had rightly assumed that he had taken the Dean's imposing office when she saw the steel plaque by the door, so incongruous amongst all the marble and Arkanis wood. There was a large dark wooden door, carefully crafted with sea creatures in relief, similar to the ones that washed up on shore around Cnoc Gorm. She knocked gently on the door, to hear a brusque 'enter' from the other side. The nervousness she had felt down in the kitchens had only increased as she got closer to the office and now, she felt a little sick. She had played with fire and now she was going to get burnt to a crisp.
She struggled to open the door but pushed through to the other side to find Commandant Hux sitting behind the same beautiful hand-carved desk the Dean of Studies had once sat behind years ago. The room had changed to include a luxuriant rug in alien patterns as well as several strange pieces of art which must have been from off-world. He sat behind the desk, looking expectantly at her.
"Are you going to force yourself on me?" She said immediately, one hand still on the door handle.
"I have no interest in that." He snapped so quickly she removed her hand from the handle and stared at him. He stood and walked around his desk.
"You suggested we play a game of dejarik last time we spoke. So, let us play." He said, gesturing towards an empty board and two plush chairs in a comfortable sunspot by a view of the rolling green hills around the Academy. She continued to stare. He called her to his office to play holochess? He expected some stupid peasant, didn't he, she thought and ungracefully pulled out the chair to sit down. "I'll play." She said. He took his time to sit down, leisurely pouring himself a drink without offering her one before he took a seat. The Naboo style crystal tumbler was half-full of a dark purple liquid Roisin had never seen before.
They set the board which was a far more tasteful holographic than the silly creatures she would play with against her father in the evenings when she was younger. The pieces were slender miniatures of the Empire, white and black stormtroopers, TIE fighters, and two strange figures as the centre pieces, one hooded and another a gleaming metal. Could these be- The Commandant cleared his throat, and she was distracted from her thoughts. He stared at her across the board, a smirk splashed across his face, already gloating at his future victory. The sudden extinguishing of fear she had felt a moment ago was now replaced with the warming feel of competitiveness. He wasn't firing her, for now.
"What are your terms?" she said, knowing she was goading him. This nonsense with him was staving off the boredom, the blackness, for at least a few hours. He picked up his drink and sipped leisurely.
"My terms?" he said, almost lazily, tilting his head to the side.
"Well, what will you get if you win?" She asked, already irritated by the arrogance dripping off his every word.
"A night between your legs." He said promptly, like it was obvious. "And you?"
"Your cap." She said without hesitation. He paused and his face reddened. She had pissed him off.
"Absolutely not. What would you want part of a commandant's uniform for?"
She was digging a hole, but she couldn't stop. She needed to throw herself into something, to throw something into the black hole of her numbness.
"I'd like to wear it while I touch myself at night." Lying through her teeth. She wanted to embarrass him.
His face flushed even redder, somehow. He swallowed.
"And you'll let me watch." He said, almost a fact. She raised an eyebrow at him which he took for agreement. "Begin."
He confidently moved a black stormtrooper to e4 on the holoboard. A popular opening move, she knew well. She immediately moved a white stormtrooper to e5.
"How do you like to touch yourself?" he said quietly, his blue eyes reflecting back the holo projection between them.
"You'll have to find out Commandant." She said and watched him as he moved his pilot piece into f3, again responding immediately to move her own TIE fighter to e6. A deep thrill went through her as his piece moved lackadaisically to d4. From his face she could tell he wasn't aware that he had stumbled into an Open Chandrilan Defense. She smiled and quirked an eyebrow at him, but he barely looked at the board. There was no one way she was going to let this amadán win dejarik against her.
She needed to line up her pieces correctly and slowly pull him along until his Emperor piece was left defenceless but still circled. Then her Palace pieces could reach their targets. It had been so long since she had played a new opponent in dejarik that she found herself smiling as she leaned over the board.
"Are you a virgin?" he asked, moving one of his TIE fighter pieces across the board in an L-shape. She snorted in derision, and he leaned back in his chair, observing her.
"Would you prefer me if I was?"
"No." he said, staring down at the board again and shrugged. "No one wants a soldier who has never been on a battlefield before."
This man is so strange, she thought, every time I think I pin him down he changes again.
"Where did you find this dejarik set?" she asked in turn as she played another stormtrooper. His eyebrows furrowed and mouth disappeared into his beard. An odd expression.
"It was a gift. From a loyal Captain of the Empire." He said cryptically. He added, "You met him on your first day here."
"Ah yes." She said, another flash of annoyance as she remembered that conversation and Commandant Hux's description of her people. This was really wrong, she thought, she shouldn't be doing this. Even still, she could feel that dull aching throb low in between her legs. One she hadn't felt in months. She was enjoying it too much to stop now.
"Have you – have you ever taken it up the rear passageway?" He asked, face and neck now completely flushed. His eyes flicked from her to the board repeatedly, measuring her reaction to the question. She was painfully aroused and not exactly sure why.
"You could always offer me credits to find out." She teased, knowing she would never take them.
"I do not want to pay." He said between his teeth, eyes suddenly snapping hot and angry. She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Only a joke." She said lightly but the damage was done. He was angry now, a dark thunderstorm on the horizon.
"So, when you win." She started, already fully aware that she was going to checkmate him in four moves but happy to distract him. "When you win and you secure that night with me, what will we be doing? More dejarik, perhaps?"
He took several moments to answer, in between three leisurely sips of his drink. It took him some time to calm down, she observed.
"I was a very young Junior Officer in the Republic during the Clone Wars, you know. No time for women. No time for anything but war." He drummed his fingers on the table beside the dejarik board. She inclined her head, encouraging him to continue. "I am a very busy man. I was not aware. That I had… preferences. That I enjoyed women…"
He trailed off and straightened his uniform in what Roisin was coming to realise was a nervous gesture. There was a flash of something else across his face which was gone before she had even tried to understand it. The familiar cold smirk of arrogance returned as he made his move. She knew it would be a mistake to mention his wife, so instead she stayed in silence pretending to contemplate her next move. Her palace pieces were almost in place, and she was amazed he hadn't noticed the formation. A beeping noise from his desk drew their attention.
"I need to take this call." He said, dismissing her regretfully.
"That's okay. Checkmate in two moves." She said confidently as she stood up from the table. "You can send me over your cap when it suits."
"How-" he snapped and glared down at the board.
"This lazy peasant clearly picked up some tricks." She said breezily as she walked out of the office.
After dinner service, which she was now formally excused from serving, she got back to her room early and eagerly pulled off her shoes, rubbing at her sore swollen feet. On the bed there was a white box. She opened itto find delicate tissue paper, which she pulled apart slowly. She pulled out a piece of frilly material she didn't recognise and after some examination realised she was holding a very transparent white babydoll nightie in her hands. Below this was a Commandant's cap. She held up the lingerie to the light, seeing the delicate material go sheer. This left nothing up to the imagination and was completely different to her usual wrinkled linen pyjamas. Looking back at the door to make sure it was closed she pulled off her work uniform and underwear. The material of the chemise felt cool and softly kissed her skin as she put it on. The lace straps helped support her breasts, but that was all, leaving her uncovered and flashing. She put his stupid cap on her head and laughed aloud, one of the first true laughs she had had in months. She had 8 months left until she was off this miserable planet. Perhaps they wouldn't be so bad after all.
