Nar Shaddaa

They stopped the engines on the rendezvous point. Moyr patted Gunnie's shoulder. "Get some rest. I've got it." Once she was alone in the cockpit she poured herself a glass and waited with feet on the console. The day had been such that if she wanted to analyse it as a whole she would probably fail. And it was not the end still. She hoped Durasay got the coordinates right.

The small craft appeared on her sensors fairly late. It would read as a Czerka vessel. As it came into short ramge, the hail would go lut.

"Red. It's me. That ship of yours have ship to ship docking? I don't have a vac suit, and I kind of actually want to see you." She'd hear pain in his voice.

---

Durasay sat in the cockpit of the small ship, hands still shaking. He watched the other vessel. Maybe he still had some friends left.

"The airlock bay is actually at the bottom, right beneath the cargo load. Think you can manoeuvre yourself gently in there or should I change position?" She mused amused, not letting him hear that in her voice.

"Don't worry Red, I'll be gentle." Maneuvering the vessel, hr slowly brought her in, until he lined the docking clamps. After securing it, he powered down the vessel, before making his way to the dock.

---

When it was opened, she'd see him, looking a little worse for wear. His coat and clothes showing signs of having taken heavy fire. He wouldn't move in till she invited.

She had pondered if to do away with the mask but in the end she put it on. She waited by the airlock, dressed in her tapewear and a jacket thrown over her shoulders. "Come on in, Durasay. You look like you could use something that is both antiseptic and anaesthetic."

He watched her, standing in that airlock. The mask, her, the events of the day and night. Violent, and vile. Now contrasted to the red fleshed twi'lek.

Stepping off the vessel, he moved straight to Wraith. It was a bold move. A hand to her throat, the other barelu lifting her mask. It was dangerous, it passionate.

He attempted to claim her lips once more.

To his credit, he got her by surprise, and nearly succeeded. She gripped his wrist, however, and slowly twisted the grip away, her lips opening slightly as his face was driven away. In her mind, she scolded herself for not gleaning his emotional state the moment she had seen him.

"I am not sure you've offering me your very best, Durasay... I find you rather depleted and unsettled."

With the finger of the second hand, she trailed along his jawline.

"But I enjoy how passionate you're becoming."

He cocked a smile. He didn't fight back, letting her take his hand away. "It's been a long day." He leaned into the finger on his jawline. After a long pause, he stepped back. "I think you might be right about the anaesthetic."

He relaxed his posture, watching her mask. "Better not at my best than clumsy. It's an upgrade."

"It is." She chuckled after she had released her hold. "And yes, it has been. Did you catch the GNN signal on that little Czerka thing?" She gestured for T3 to seal the airlock and walked toward the exit from the hold, gesturing him to follow. "Chems or just whiskey?"

"Just whiskey. A really big glass, though." He followed her, removing his trench coat, folding it over his arm. His uniform looked scorched, but not much more worse for wear.

"No, I missed it. Between Azanak and the facility..." He sighed as he followed her. "Plus... a lot of news came through the comms." He pushed his hair back, shaking his head. "I don't even know what I'm heading back to."

"I wouldn't assume you're heading back. Not yet." Moving in a way that would nourish his fantasies, she led him past the mess hall, fetching an additional glass, and into the cockpit, gesturing toward the co-pilot's seat. Then she turned on GNN on the holoprojector, letting him watch in silence. He got the full glass he wanted in the meantime.

"I'm in no rush." His yellow-amber eyes focused on her movements, before he shook his head. He easily slid into the co-pilots chair. He watched, as the holo showed the chaos on the Smuggler's Moon.

"Kriff. I had a message from Shaisha. I didn't expect... this." He took the drink in hand, taking it against his forehead, feeling the cold glass against his skin.

"Now what?"

"Probably getting some rest and waiting for further developments. We'll decide tomorrow whether or when to get back to the Smuggler's Moon. We can land in Jiguuna, I guess, but for now I think staying in the space is our best call."

She sipped her own whiskey.

"I was there, on the site where the barge crashed, with Vreysk. We disarmed the bomb we found, only to learn that there is at least more than a hundred linked to it across Nar Shaddaa. There was no way to sweep them even from strategic spots, so we focused on issuing warnings."

"Hopefully the warnings worked." He brought the glass down, taking a long, drawn out sip. "How's the Colonel doing? She... gave up a lot this afternoon." Another long sip.

He looked away from the holovid, looking out into the void of space.

"I'm glad you were able to disarm the bomb. The alternative..." He smirked, before looking back to Wraith. "I'd rather not think about that."

"She's sleeping in her cabin. She had her lost arm replaced by cybernetics."

She inclined her head.

"You know, I had been an independent logistics contractor before I became a Sith."

Even she just laughed at that.

"It was not a difficult bomb to deal with, especially that I had seen such a failsafe before."

"I believe the word you're looking for is Smuggler, Wraith." He laughed, a deep one. The first real one of the day. Relaxing quite a bit, he slid down into the chair.

"Maybe one day you'll tell me about that."

"Maybe one day I'll even sing about it. But you know how it is with pasts. Drawing them out lets the old spectres loose." She laughed with him for a moment, though her voice turned ironic by the end of amusement. "Tell me about Azanak."

"He was tied to Crescent Shadow. Had a suicide bomb vest ready. The Lady Cortess was able to talk him down to at least go for a fight..." Durasay began recounting the story. All the glorious and terrible details.

He may have emphasized getting shot a bit. How Jo'ren was a monster in combat, the bravery of the good Colonel.

The timing of Xeviousx aspirant.

"... And then I hit him with both blasters. He was takrn alive by Sith troopers. I'm sure by the time they are done, he'll wish I didn't go for stun."

A gentle smile creased her lips as she listened. "So the victory is yours and those you've associated yourself with to accomplish what you wanted." She nodded. "I am curious about the lessons you've drawn from the experience." She put the glass away, rotated on her pilot's seat and folded her hands on the knee, giving him her full attention.

"Always have back up ready to go. And have powerful friends you can leverage for greater gains." He mirrored her, leaning back in the copilots chair. His expression was a combination of exhaustion and slightly on edge calm.

"And you? I take it you've learned something about me?" He raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a grin.

Mainly he just wanted to hear her talk.

"That you have a better understanding where the line between success and failure runs, and you have in you what it takes to secure the former." She replied with thoughtfulness as she rolled her shoulders, leaning off the back support to the front, taking up her preferred on-edge position. "But I don't know if you realise why you ultimately succeeded."

"Because I am willing to what is necessary, no matter the cost." He sat up a bit straighter, watching the eye slits of her mask. He set his drink down on the console, then placed his hands onto his thighs, smoothing out his uniform.

"Because I create opportunities, and take every advantage of every resource I have available, Wraith." He tilted his head, eyes now wandering over her lekku... glancing down her form before returning to the mask.

"Because I refuse to fail."

"Now you're gloating a little." She chuckled. "Which is not a bad thing in itself as long as it does not obscure and obfuscate the lesson." Her lekku did what her shoulders had done just a moment ago. Was it some Twi'lek stretching routine?

"You've failed before and you'll fail again. Your refusal to yield to failure, determination and creativity that result from it, are together a factor that is necessary, but is not not sufficient. To secure victories consistently, you need for your power not to be incidental. To have a non-incidental power, you need to nurture your strength in as many situations in life as possible, but that in turn is determined by the intensity of your emotional motivation. Give it a thought, Durasay: where is your weak link?"

The Pantoran thought for a moment. Thinking of his failings, what seemed to cause him the majority of his stumblings. Picking his drink up, he brought it slowly to his lips. Feeling the cold liquid give that satisfactory burn on the way down.

"I allow my ego to get the best of me. Some call it arrogance, some call it narcissism. I'll over estimate my ability, and view others as... beneath me."

She tilted her head. "It's not too interesting what some say about it. If you position themselves above them, they will spite you and try to pull you down. What you call arrogance I'd call an idealism of self. To consider yourself worthy of greater things is a prerequisite of being a Sith. Your belief in your own agency and being destined to affect changes lesser people cannot is the very notion that brings about the thirst in your passions." She took a sip and put the glass away for a moment. "What weakens you is that you have led yourself to believe in shortcuts. That your passion alone, directly, can bring you victories. That you can will outcomes into this world without concern for strength and power. There are no such shortcuts, Durasay. You can substitute one strength for another but you have to mobilise it and hone it. You can't let your creativity sleep, your mind become complacent and dismissive of what the challenge entails. There are many types of power but to secure victory you have to secure a proportional power base. In the case of Azanak what carried the day were the right associations, the power of networks, of aligning motivations and goals of others with yours. But you did what was needed to secure them only after painful realisation that you had to. Draw a lesson from this. Focus on ways you can command social power in ways that give you material outcomes."

She paused for longer to let him digest it. "In this light, can you tell me what happened at the Czerka station?"