The Streets

*Drake stared down the woman who would very likely be the death of him though he would do so without showing any sign of fear simply because he was stubborn. For a minute he was starting to think she was finding him funny even though he had a serious look on his face. To him it looked like she just clued in that he was insulting her and yes calling her a poor their so at the moment she didn't seem to bright. He just rolled his eyes at her comments but he did catch the motion she was doing with the strange bracelet.

Since their conversation had started he had his hand resting on his knife but now he was silently tapping the side of the sheath with his finger basically it would probably look like he wasn't finding this all to amusing at the moment. Whatever was in that bracelet he was sure he could at least cut it with a vibro knife if not if she started to strangle him instead of fighting it he could try to shoot her. He had his options running through his head as fast as he could think of them. Either way if it came down to it he would probably end up fighting his ay out of here so if he was going to end dead or fighting might as well talk back maybe make her a little angry so she would stop playing around with him.*

Oh no of course I'm not saying you are a bad thief. *Drake said this with sarcasm*

*Drake stopped himself even though there was more he had wanted to say but he was sure this woman didn't seem like the type who would care to listen to anyone actually he was sure she thought very highly of herself and possibly thought everyone else was beneath her. He was actually starting to wonder why he was sticking around with this woman because anyone who made being a thief a profession was probably just an idiot anyway. This woman had no idea how much he would give to not have to live like this always just taking what he needed and killing those who wanted to stop him.*

Seriously what is it you want from me does a few credits mean that much to you because honestly you seem to be doing better than everyone else I meet on the streets. If you want to kill me then hurry up and get it over with already or if you are looking to get some kind of reaction of fear out of me then you are just wasting your time.

We'll he's no fun. In fact at the moment he seems rather bland, like a dimwitted boy who only says the obvious with no attempt at banter even, just a tone deaf expression. He didn't even try to act confident, but rather tried to act tough with his serious face and dry and direct sarcasm. I'm thinking he is scared and trying not so show it, typical man...maybe I should kill him. After all if he's like this now then he'll certainly be like any other worthless man in the future, a tough-a-nails bravado mixed with a rather inflated, yet unwarranted, ego to hide the clueless scared little boy underneath. Men are pathetic.

His subtle attempts to make me angry were amusing to say the least, but I'll play along and show him anger, just clinch my jaw a little tighter and I'll see how his attention to detail stacks up to his fantastic wit. Okay that was a little funny, but no smiles.

His flattery was nothing I haven't heard before. And of course I'm doing better off than common street thieves, they lack sophistication and intelligence...and in most cases the looks to do what I do. This kid seemed to lack the first two, but he certainly is cute, I'll give him that. Alright fun time is over, just slip my bracelet on to my wrist, give him a roll of the eye, and an irritated scoff.

"That's it?"

Now I just need to grab my bag and leave him standing there. I thought he might have been a fun toy to have around but he wasn't giving me anything. Oh well, there are more toys out there that I can have my fun with. Wow this bag his heavy...now I just need to figure out where to go. But first...

"You can keep the pocket change sweetie, you're right I quite obviously don't need it, I only went back there to hide the bodies and then saw you and thought it would be fun to make you sweat. But since you're obviously no fun then I guess it's time to part ways."

Now time to go, whoever those footsteps belonged to might come looking this way and I don't want to be here when they do. I'll just keep heading this way and change direction when this kid is out of sight so that I can't be followed.

*That red-haired viper. She knew exactly how to move around a man's rational thinking, so to speak. Why else did she snatch the drop on him those years ago? Well, as fate would have its way, Rowyn finds himself placed down the opposite end of the barrel this time with his finger nestled on the trigger.*

Belle!

Run, hide, not a nook in the 'verse I won't find you in!

*Damn foolish of an idea. A hunter taunts his prey whilst in stealthy pursuit. No......he means to make a show of this encounter. Another chase, perhaps? Rowyn enjoys theatrics. Playing off the subtle dramatic tones of the underworld's gritty solemnity. Constant, static schemes of a melancholic spectrum.

A glimpse. The brief mention of color's most vibrant creation.

Red

In a blink-or-miss moment, Rowyn catches sight. Combat boots against permacrete with the vibrations reverberating between the enclosed back-alley. His pace quickens into a steady jog. He grips the pistol tightly with both hands. Justice.....vengeance.....love.....which fleeting idea fashions this seemingly fruitless endeavor?*

*The shock of first seeing the girl having come out of nowhere when he had first seen her had long since been gone by the time they had made it here. What Drake had said he had said with complete honesty if she wanted to kill him get it over with and that she was wasting her time with trying to make him scared. He had been through enough in his life even at such a young age that he was able to accept death when it would ever it came for him. To him there wasn't much actually left in his life so dieing at this point wouldn't be that big of a deal.

While that woman from what he could seemed overconfident in herself and a bit stuck up Drake was more someone who didn't care anymore. Even though he didn't care fro much of anything in the world anymore he still had wishes such as to get off the streets but even he knew it was very unlikely. So when the woman just went up and left he was literally surprised and had a dumfounded look on his face as she walked away. She had actually left him alive that was something he hadn't expected since he had seen her kill those men and seen what she looked like now he could easily tell anyone whow as looking for her what she had changed into.

For a few minutes of just standing there even after she had turned the corner he just continued to stare at where she had been. He then quickly shook his head and stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket at least he was still alive that was something to he happy about well maybe. He looked back down the way he had came from while he was following the woman and he thought it probably wasn't a smart idea to head back in that direction so that only meant to head in the direction the woman had gone in which also could mean certain death if she was waiting to surprise him.

Either way his choices meant he was likely to get a beating so he took what he thought would be the less painful one the one he was less likely to get in trouble from if he survived. So he started to walk off in the direction the woman had left in though he was sure by now she was long gone which was good for him. As hew as walking he started to think what should he get with his new credits maybe some food or maybe he should save up for a ride off of this planet. Just the thought of what he could do with some credits for once was enough to brighten his mood a little as he continued on his way.*

*While basking in the faded neon lights of Nar Shaddaa, Nicholas was not unaware of the fact that he walked on streets made of blood. Not literally, of course, that would be bad for his soft black dewback leather boots. These streets were paid for by the Hutts and blood money, with contracts taken up by men like him. Hitmen.

The air of Nar Shaddaa had its own unique scent, one forged from death sticks, sweet perfumes, rust, mud, human sweat, Sithspit and blood...so much blood.

Kicking a well-dressed corpse with an open throat to the side, he watched as it tumbled down a ventalation shaft, leaving a trail of crimson life juice smeared along the wall in his stead. Nicholas wondered how often workers saw rich corpses on the smugglers moon. His pockets were a little bit heavier as he walked out of the alley way, wiping blood from the edge of his rare echani curved hunting knife with a gilded gold and krayt tooth hilt.

Back on the street, he tucked his blade safely under his coat, returning it to its family of various other blades, between the eight inch durasteel stiletto, and the four ince cortosis dagger. These three blades were arrayed on his right hip; they were the lesser of his collection ironically.

He walked down the street with a swagger that came naturally to him. He drew eyes with his features and his scarf. His crimson scarf hung loosely around his shoulders, though it didn't cover his lips and nose as it had moments before. It was his trademark. He had the scarf for years, it was woven of fine silk, so fine that women often fingered it as he chatted with them at bars. The same question always emerged, why did he wear the scarf. Some times he would humor them with a silly answer, other times he would say nothing at all, but he never told anyone the truth, and he never would. As for his face, it was a handsome one, with fine angular features that gave him a softer touch, betraying his more sinister nature. A head of chestnut brown hair tumbled just shy of his shoulders, and his emerald green eyes resembled the deep lushious forests of Naboo.

He smiled at a few blushing girls who were not as innocent as they attempted to seem, before turning right, then marched into the dark portal of a bar that looked to be a few notches too low for a man of his 'swagger'. The bar was called 'The Leaky Hyperdrive', a famous dive for some of the roughest guns for hire in the galaxy. Unbeknownst to the people outside, Nicholas was one of this bars most notable patrons, though he was not a gun for hire- he was a sword for hire.

The bar was a large rectangular room with bare metal panelling for walls. No money was spent on luxury in this bar, as the bar stools held no cushions, and the only lighting in the bar came from a few over head illuminators that left the bar in an eternal twilight glow. The bar itself was an elongated U shape, stretching from the back of the wall and halfway across the room. The bartender was a grizzled old mandalorian veteran who claimed to not be the owner of the establishment, though he was always the first to arrive, and the last to leave. His name was Rork.

In the bar, the scent of Nar Shaddaa was drowned out by the smell of stale alcohol and smoke from various pipes. Nicholas scanned from the left wall to the right, looking for his companions. Giving Rork a nod, he walked towards the western end of the room, to an empty booth. He sat down in the corner, kicking his feet up onto the table, much to the disapproval of Rork, who rewarded him with a smile and a tall glass of Corellian Ale before returning to the bar. Nicholas took a sip of the brew before leaning back and watching the room, waiting for his companions.*

[action:3leh69vr]Samson hated Nar Shaddaa. While he never had to put up with the conventional irritations that most would find here, he still found things that disgusted him. While his helmet spared him from breathing the stink of the smugglers city, while his power armor spared him from harrassment of bums and petty thugs, while his HUD warned him of environmental hazards, the city still managed to irk him. He found himself under the constant question of private security forces, Mandalorian mercenaries and crime lords. Then again, Samson was an item of high demand.

As one of the most feared mercenaries in the galaxy, Samson had earned the nickname 'Reaper' with an impressive kill list to solidify his rep. Even so, he was not for sale. While he was mere months ago, he found a job that he had taken a liking to. No sketchy contracts, no pesky bosses- it was good, clean, honest work...well as far as killing went at least.

Samson was a shock trooper, meant for heavy combat. He was a one man battalion, a walking tank, a wall of armor and firepower; he was a mandalorian, through and through.

After threatening to crush the head of the last man who pestered him, he managed to walk to the 'Leaky Hyperdrive' unmolested. Slipping into the shade of the bar, he allowed his HUD to do a quick scan of the premises.[/action:3leh69vr]

[quote="HUD Readout Interface":3leh69vr][color=#00FF00:3leh69vr]----------------
[b:3leh69vr][u:3leh69vr][size=125:3leh69vr]Scanning...[/size:3leh69vr][/u:3leh69vr][/b:3leh69vr][/color:3leh69vr]
[color=#00FF00:3leh69vr]Natural Visible Detection: twelve organics, three Electronic.Life.Signatures.
I.D Scanner Detection: CBaron 'Shiver' Bruno, Morc 'One Eye' Resuls, Jamie Consain, Hr'oth'nabacca aka 'Grizzly', Davos Santil, Henry 'Six Shooter' Leroy, Tywil Jagos, Arilla Samara, Kantos M'dilla, Nicholas Tulumni, Rork Ordo, Brock Silver, 2 Class 3 waiter droids, 1 Class C astromech droid.
Weapons Detection: Warning, multiple non registered firearms detected
Life Sign Scanner: 12 Life Signatures Detected

----------------[/color:3leh69vr][/quote:3leh69vr]

[action:3leh69vr]Samson noted Nicholas' presence visually; he chose to take up a booth in the western corner of the building. With his back to the wall, and his eyes facing the door, Samson had no doubt that Nicholas spotted him. He was not an easy man to miss.

The bar hushed when Samson entered. He made his way towards Nicholas, standing at the end of the booth. His armor didn't allow him the luxury of sitting down. He looked around as patrons eventually lost interest in him and returned to their drinks. There really was nothing that could not be seen in this bar, which was apparently why Nicholas liked it; though Samson insisted on meeting somewhere with less onlookers, Nicholas would hear nothing of it. In the end, Samson begrudgingly agreed, not wanting to be the stubborn rock of the group.[/action:3leh69vr]

[comlink:3leh69vr]Where are the others?[/comlink:3leh69vr][action:3leh69vr]His voice came from the helmets microphones, thick in its mandalorian accent.[/action:3leh69vr]

*This city stinks.
The stinking city of Sin.
The floor was lined with rubble and Sithspit.

Death picked his way through it,
Indifferent, and apathetic.
His eyes aimed at the floor.

He didn't need to see anything.
He could smell everything.
Blood, and lust, and greed and death.

The city of sin,
The stinking city of Sin
And now death was in its repulsive embrace.*

*The man known to most as Mr. Cross was not very eye catching; not so much as his handsome counterpart, nor the mandalorian. That was good for him though, it was better for him to be unseen. Being incognito was his best weapon. He pushed through crowds of eager gamblers and desperate whores, through aggressive thugs and petty thiefs, through crime lords and spice dealers. He pushed until he reached "The Leaky Hyperdrive"*

*He crossed the threshold
The one that split scum from villains
The one that blocked the smell of the city.

In the shade of the bar he looked around,
He scanned for familiar face among strangers.
He found three, Rork, Nicholas and Samson.

He needed four faces, not three.
Or at least three without Rork.
Where was Elux...

He crossed the room as a spectre
Unseen and unnoticed,
He made his way to the booth.

He sat down.
Now a leader, not a spectre
A leader of the fellowship.*

"Gentlemen...where is our beloved Elux?"

*He sat across from Nicholas; he didn't order a drink, but Rork brought him a whiskey anyway. Dante Decimus was no stranger in this bar. Taking his glass in hand, he waited for the arrival of Elux Lucis.*

Cities. I love cities. They are like bacterial colonies, full of explosive diversity. Nal Hutta was no different. All the lights, all the sounds, all the scents. My sensory units go haywire, and I love this. I don't know what it is like to be intoxicating, but judging by the pleasant confusion, I would guess that it is something like this.

I walk among men and women, adult and child. I hazard no more than a second glance. I wear the skin of a human, and so they mistake me for one. But I am not one of them. No matter how much I look like one of them. No matter how much I act like one of them. No matter how much I...feel like one of them. Beneath this layer of synthiskin lies advanced robotic equipment. They call me a machine, a cyborg. Even my crew looks at me differently, as if I am an...object. Sometimes this unit feels pain from the looks. All I want is to be one of them, not a freak...perhaps if I run, they won't find me. Perhaps I can live a normal life...get a mate.

A particularly loud noise rouses this unit out of its internal processing. Looking 90 degrees to its left side, this unit witnesses two organics. One is standing, holding an E-11 class blaster rifle [model number 54, serial ZXD-124643]. Recently discharged. Directly across from organic A is a second organic who appears to have sustained injury from a blaster. Carbon scoring suggests that the wound was sustained from an E-11 class blaster rifle [model number 54, serial ZXD-124643].

This unit's processing server has analyzed the situation. This is a class C intergalactic felony, known as armed robbery. This unit must act to preserve the well being of society from a threat to social order. This unit shall act with force if necessary.

This unit approached organic assailant.

"Excuse me sir, but as a witness to your class C felony, this unit is forced to act. This unit is placing you under citizen arrest until the proper authorities can deal with your crime."

The assailant organic turned to examine this unit. Judging by his facial expression and hormone releases, as noted by M.E.C social analysis amplification, the organic assumed that this unit framed its statement in a humorous fashion. The organic then pointed his E-11 class blaster rifle at the unit and addressed it.

"What? Are you kidding pal? Do you want me to smoke you too? You don't look so tough"

This unit took the time to analyze the organic counterpart. Organic stood at 1.68 meters, and approximately weighed 153 lbs judging by his size compared to average organic BMI. Judging by rapid heart rate, the organic is in a state of panic, and thus is not a hardened criminal. Unit's grip on E-11 class blaster rifle is weak, and can be exploited. Threat level, 2 out of 10.

Organic's hand is shaking, revealing fear. This is an ideal time for the unit to interfere.

*In a blur of movement, Elux's right hand shot out; he wrapped his fingers around the criminal's right wrist, then twisted it clockwise while applying pressure. The crunch of bones breaking under pressure was audible, even when the screaming of the assailant threatened to drown all other sound out. His hand opened, allowing the rifle to fall to the ground with a clatter as metal met stone.Elux released the broken wrist of the assailant.*

"This unit has broken your radius, ulna, and pisiform bones. This unit warned you. This unit will leave you to your fate as authorities arrive. Have a nice day."

*With that, Elux turned, exiting the alleyway. He did not cast a glance at the victim of the initial robbery. His vitals were strong enough to last him until authorities arrived, even the tardy-prone Hutt authorities. As he exited the alleyway, he continued to head west, following the waypoint on his HUD, set by his GPS. He had to meet his companions in a bar known as the "Leaky Hyperdrive".

Elux arrived at the door of the establishment thirty minutes later.*

Upon entering the entertainment establishment, this unit noticed a fair deal of attention was turned to it. Noting the hormone levels in all male onlookers, there was an abundance of the hormone known as testosterone, suggesting that they may take hostile action if provoked. Noting the females hormones, there was an abundance of sexual hormones around them, suggesting that they may propose mating. This unit was not incapable in such activities, however such things went against its primary directive, which was to meet fellow crew members. This unit noted their presence 34 degrees east, 4 meters away. This unit approached them.

*Elux walked to the table that sat Mr. Cross, Samson Ordo and Nicholas Tulumni. Sitting down, he set his hands upon the table, looking at Samson.*

"This unit apologizes for its tardiness."

That voice. I know that voice...but it couldn't be him could it? There's only one thing he could want and that is just out of the question. I need to get out of here and hide. Now I wish I hadn't left that kid, at the very least he could have helped me escape by taking a few shots, or distracting Rowyn enough to make a clean getaway. Maybe if I told Rowyn I was sorry for what happened last time we met he might just forget about it, after all, he and I used to be really close. Used to be...

No, I need to get away and as long as I can hide my trail well enough I can get away from him. But what if it was my imagination? I mean it was distant and I didn't hear it very well. No, I can't let my guard down, I need to assume he was calling me. I need to assume that he wants revenge. I don't think even I could persuade him to spare me the blaster shot to the head. I need to focus on escaping and I need to speed up.

*Purging all thoughts from her mind, save for self preservation, Isabelle quicken her pace to a sprint. She dashed left and right, down different alley's and finally made it into the street once more*

The street, this is good. Okay, I need to blend in somehow. Nothing to the left, nothing to the ri..wait. That old lady could help me. I just need to appeal to her.

"Excuse me ma'am?"

Out of breath and terrified should work just fine, and if not I have a few credits that I could give her to just buy what I need, though maybe I should just give them too her to keep her mouth shut.

"I need your help, there's a man chasing me and I'll pay you whatever I have for your scarf and your jacket. Please...think he wants to kill me."

Now a tear. Come on...YES! And hold out my credits to her, beg silently, aaaaaand another victory in my pocket.

"Thank you so much, you've just saved my life."

Offer a smile, add another couple of tears as I'm putting on the very smelly jacket. Gross. Now the scarf around my head to hide my hair, nod another thank you. And time to go, hopefully I don't throw up from the stench. I've just got to make it to the docks and get passage off this planet by whatever means necessary.

Gorram it, Belle! I said STOP!

*Taking one in the back of the head usually stands as a score to settle. Rowyn knows the skirt he's chasing. The history between them stretches all the way back to Onderon before innocent youths were dropped into a gaping maw. Hell, this kid knew one thing for certain: she was everything. After the death of his parents, Belle was there. After he murdered the assassins responsible, she was there. Yet when the time came to ditch the rock and start over.........she was gone.

And now they run into each others' lives once again under similar circumstances. Another chase, another planet, same score. Only this time, she won't be getting away.*



You can't keep running, Belle! 'Verse ain't that damn big!

*The sounds of his combat boots stamping against the permacrete increases as his sprint quickens. As he turns the corner, an old woman minus a few articles of clothing and a handful of creds points in the direction Belle ran. Every time Rowyn catches nothing more than a faint glimpse of red. This ends tonight. Here. Now.*

Belle! Give it up! You know why I'm here!

*Shortcut. The 242 devised a route in the event of hasty extractions. Jargola's thugs never figured why Rowyn and his boys had the drop on them each time. He ducks down a crowded back alley in hopes of coming out right in front of her. He keeps passing her. Red. Red. Red.And then.......

....right there. Checkmate.

Rowyn fires off a warning shot before training the pistol on this memorable vixen. Years of searching come down to this moment. Now........what will happen?*

Thought I'd never recognize you back on Honoghr? How many years, Belle? Everything we dealt with and you 'bout damn near take my head off!

Give me a reason. Tell me why I shouldn't repay the kindness.

*Wondering the street was a small figure that was slowly making herself walk along the streets. One would think of her as an old women that was a beggar. Wearing a very old ragging cloak with mouth holes in a few places. Sticking out a few place was gray hair, those that could see under her hood would see a mask across her face. With the places that was still exposed there was a lot of dirt and grim. In her hands was a walking stick of two colors.*

*In a very harsh voice with a bit of cracking to it also what one would think of old woman voice*

Got a few credits for old woman like me or maybe some simple work for me

*All day long she would do this as knowing what she would bring on if ones would know what she truly looked like or her talents she had, would only spell trouble one way or another. As she has learn from her past.*

He caught me? How the hell did he catch me? He seemed so far away and now there he is staring me down as I stare down the barrel of his gun. Maybe I shouldn't have left that kid behind, he might have been stupid enough to attack Rowyn and give me a chance to escape again. But he was right, I couldn't keep running forever, somehow it seems like he has my scent.

Hands up slowly to show I'm not armed, maybe if I surrender he won't shoot since I'm an old friend, but then again I did shoot him. Well I didn't know it was him until it was too late but still it's the principle of the matter. Maybe I can reason with him?

"Rowyn?-"

Why was my voice so shaky? Why is my heart racing? Wait...am I actually afraid? No. He just caught me by surprise and that hasn't happened in a very long time. That's all it is, I'm was off guard, right?

"Because it was an accident?"

Well that wasn't the right thing to say. For one there's no way he's going to believe me and two I did mean to shoot him, well not him as in Rowyn, but him the guy that was chasing me.

"No, that's a lie, I meant to shoot you but believe me when I say I didn't know it was you. Or I would have never taken the shot, I didn't know until after it was too late and the damage had been done, but I called for emergency medical and told them where you were."

Would the truth work? I doubt it, but hopefully the sincerity in my voice will tell him that I'm being honest with him. Now I just need to work up a tear. It's coming, it's coming, it's almost there, and there it goes, a tear to get things started.

*A tear? No. Definitely not. This kid went through enough tears upon the death of his parents to be caught up in 'touchy-feely' emotions now. Tricky dame like Belle had the drop on him once (literally) and Row's not about to let her con him again. Hell, if every battle-hardened vets let skirts dupe them into emotional traps, they'd be like the Alliance at the Battle of Endor. You know........the whole "IT'S A TRAP!" business?

No? Nothing? Oh, who gives a damn.

Rowyn's grip tightens around his dee-ell while his left locks around Belle's throat to keep her feminine wiles at bay. She tries anything new and a slug through the gut will be just compensation for two years in rehabilitation clinics. Yeah, he felt something deep down for this broad, but that strong cocktail of bitterly pissed-off flyboy with a garnish of cold, remorseless rodder serves up enough reason to disregard any lovey-dovey, romance sparking back-and-forth.*

How many years, Belle?! Thirteen, right?! We put up with 'verse knows how much and everything we had spaced right from your mind.

That's just.......peachy for a two-timing skirt, isn't it? Turn the blade on daddy first, then shut me out and the entire 'verse. Didn't think I knew that, did you? Certain bits passed over the waves now and again.

*Ah, damn. He had to go for her father. They were both seventeen at the time of her father's murder. Only difference: Rowyn was an officer with the Republic Navy fighting against Imperial Remnants and she turned master thief and assassin. He kept frequent tabs over the wave with the on-goings back home. Onderon changed drastically since he left Belle at thirteen. That one day. Everything changed.

The day he left the woman in red. Never a day passes he doesn't fall back to the memory. Parents murdered, life in shambles, but Belle.........damn it all, she was there. Rowyn falters as his mind flashes back. He possesses every right to leave her dead in the alley. Why this? Why now? His resolve stronger than a Wookiee. His grip loosens from both pistol and her neck. Backing off, he looks square in her eyes with a look only she's known. Of course, this fault of his opens up a perfect target for a master assassin.

Why should he care anymore, though?*

I never should have left you. Never tried making it back once the wanted persons report came over the wave. Thought a glitch in the system posted your warrant. All I wanted was for both of us off that damned rock. Make a go of it together, maybe.

Still hurts. Spot where you shot me. Reminder how I failed, suppose.

*Rowyn's index finger rests comfortably on the trigger while his thumb moves back to the hammer. Yeah, they've a history, but nothing will change the preparedness of a soldier's training. Call it a survivalist's outlook. He's not one to let the same skirt shoot twice.*

This is it, I can't breath. He's choking me and now he's going to shoot me. What the hell happened to the kid I knew on Onderon? He would have never done something like this to me. But then again I did shoot him. I bet he's enjoying this, I know he can tell I'm afraid of what's coming but it's obvious he doesn't care. I can't blame him for not believing me because we had known each other for so long, but-

Did he just say that? Did he just throw that nemoidian in my face? And now he decides to let me go? What was his plan here? Was he just trying to hurt me? Trying to pour salt in an still open wound?

What's this? Real tears? And now he's trying to play nice?

*She stood there, tears flowing down her cheeks at the mention of her father and when he's finished speaking she had gathered herself enough to slap him across the face. Her eyes had turned cold after he said what he said, her jaw was clinched. She was quite obviously hurt by what he had said and her expression and tone conveyed it well*

"rodder. Don't you ever mention that nemoidian again."

That's all he needs to hear, and that's his last warning about it. Now I'm leaving. No, he brought it up and now he's going to hear it.

"You want to know why I killed him? Do you really want to know? *Her eye's were full of tears as she paused for a moment* I was forced to steal everything so that he could make credits that he would spend on booze and a gambling addiction and what was my reward? I was beaten and raped nearly every night by my father and if he needed extra cash by his buddies. And who was there for me? You? No. Anyone? No I was alone while you were off being some damned hero when there was someone at home that needed rescuing. Well I saved myself, and if you want to condemn me for that then you can just go to hell. You and your precious Republic."

Now I'm leaving. I've had enough of men's bravado and condemnation when they look at me or know what I've done, or what I am. To hell with all of them for what they did to me.

"Shoot me if you want to, I just don't care anymore."

*Those were here last words as she turned and started to walk away*

*Some big damn hero. Yeah, that's Rowyn in a nutshell. Ace fighter pilot, precision marksman, learned medic, but a hero? Gorram nonsense the word. Heroes never make it home to tell the tale. Heroes never go through the pain of hearing others praise them with the word. True heroes are remembered as legends among men. Rowyn took this to heart his first tour out in the black. He suffered through more casualties during his first bit as commanding officer than on any other operation. Those boys never made the welcoming journey back home.

He did. Was Belle there?


No. She wasn't. Onderon became a metaphorical wasteland with nothing or no one to find. She never remembered. The night when they were seven years old. His parents. The assassins. The fire. She would hear this one last time. Once more as a reminder both share equal grief.*

A hero.........you would call me that......

My parents........were heroes. Yeah, I was the fortunate one, Belle. I had a mother and father willing to sacrifice their lives to protect me. How old were we when I came to you that night?

Seven, Belle.

*Here it comes again. Those menacing, glaring yellow eyes. Jewels from the pits of Chaos and teeth sharpened to razors dripping with the blood of his parents. Twelve horrifying hours passed from the abduction, torture, and witnessing the slow, agonizing death drawn up as a sickening show of inhuman cruelty. Knives, saws, cutting torches, every sort of imagery a child never requires. The gut-wrenching sounds of bones cracking, tendons snapping, flesh tearing, his mother screaming and father streaming off lines of expletives. But the cackling.........that unnerving, incessant cackling. Rowyn lets out his own laugh trying to explain this again to Belle.*

Seven. Years. Old. Tied to a gorram chair and forced to watch them torture, rape, flog, skin, and burn my mother alive. And my father? Oh, they must've had medical experience. They didn't stop. Imagine the sight of a loving father being skinned and bloody dissected while the blood trickles onto your face. Belle.......they stapled my eyelids open just so my little eyes wouldn't miss a beat.

You ask me why I never came back? How the gorram hell could I after that?

Didn't you see what they did to me? To my house? And when I finally caught up to them......who was the first person I came to find?

You.

*Corellia's known for pristine skylines and immaculate halls. What the officials would never tell you is the night a twelve year old committed double homicide and arson. While he was never caught, bits and pieces slowly began coming together over the years.

Rowyn stowed away on a transport from Onderon to the Core Worlds. Belle helped find waves regarding illegal movements throughout the 'verse. All he needed was a knife, garotte wire, and a pint of battery acid. Three days and he managed to track down the assassins responsible for that fateful day five years earlier.

Capturing the first proved relatively simple. Rowyn followed him closely to a hotel room where the knife came handy. Hiding under the bed, Rowyn slashed his target along both heels cutting the tendons cleanly. When the second came looking, the twelve year-old found himself highly outmatched. A lengthy bout ensued ending with Rowyn gaining the upper hand long enough to strangle the assassin into a temporary coma.

When both came back around, they were dangling by their feet with Rowyn standing at the opposite end of the room. No words perverted the moment. He knew the outcome just as they did. Death finally caught up.*

The same knife you used to kill him, I stole to torture them. Managed to sneak it back before you realized. I did.......terrible acts, Belle. Cut off fingers and toes. Gouged out their eyes. Slit their wrists, disembowled one of them. Poured acid into their wounds. These...............monsters....turned me into one of them. I burned both of them alive. Watched as they screamed in agony. That entire building went up in flames. Hundreds of people, yet no one ever found out. And the only person who ever knew.......was you.

Don't you see now? I had to leave. Had to escape from what I caused and who I became.

Who.....or.......what else could I have been without doing such?

*She could walk away without taking any of it to mind. Why should he care? Just another sob story amongst sob stories. One last bit of words separated him from walking away forever.*

Gorram it, Belle........I loved you. I just........couldn't bare keeping the monster I became around you. I was.......protecting you......




........from me.

Don't listen to him. Just keep walking, and I'll be gone soon and won't have to deal with him again...Oh to hell with it.

*She turns and looks at him with her teary, anger-filled eyes*

"Don't try to play that 'noble sacrifice, romantic gesture' card on me. You didn't love me, you only loved the thought that you were doing something good to 'save' me, but in here's some news, you didn't save me. You condemned me. You know there were nights that I wish he had taken it too far and I would have ended up the headline on the news? I wanted to die every single day so that pain would stop."

Fight it, don't let him see you cry anymore. Just take a moment and breath, hold back the tears.

"For years I was punished for something I had no idea what it was. For years I was abused in ways that most people only hear about in horror vids. And you know what, the pain never stopped, the headline never came but I can tell you this, that girl you were trying to save died a long time ago. You wanted to save her by abandoning her? You failed Rowyn."

*She shook her head as the tears began to flow down her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away as she stared at him*

"And now I'm all that's left. You wanted to save me and I guess in a way you did, you taught me how to turn my back on the universe now I'm leaving. If it makes you feel any better we can say it's to protect you, I guess that's supposed to take the sting away from having someone turn their back on you."

*Her tone was cold and mocking, as were her eyes which never left his as she backed away and they stayed on him until she turned and started to run*

That felt good, I've been waiting a long time to say that to him. I can't believe he was making light of what my father did to me. He made me the way I am, maybe that rodder taught me the skills, but Rowyn taught me how to turn off my feelings, he taught me how to keep anyone from hurting me ever again. And now he knew it. Goodbye Rowyn, I hope you feel at least half the way I felt when you left me cold and alone.

*That's it, darling. Stay for a few more seconds. Just long enough for Rowyn's plan to come around. Oh, how this night has been. Vengeance. Satisfaction. Closure. The Republic continues proving its use. Dawn will rise tomorrow, yet none of this night will come to haunt his memories. Belle's fortune can speak similarly. Neither will possess recollection of this night nor any shred of thought regarding their history.

Rowyn flips out the chamber of his revolver counting the stun rounds remaining. This cannon serves only to distract Belle from the copper droid scaling the walls a few meters away. Cop knows his duty. Granted, the droid despises Rowyn immensely, but when he receives opportunity along these lines he relishes the chance to carry out his assassination parameters.*

You're right, Belle. I did fail. Never a day the thought skipped.

Reason we're here now, isn't it?

*One shot. Two lives finally separated. Cop readies himself atop the roof adjacent to the back alley. He quickly assembles the rifle to perform Rowyn's fond farewell. A special cocktail awaits in the round sliding into the chamber.

The punch-line to a decade long bad joke.

The end.*

How many times did I ask you to leave with me? Start a new life on Naboo. Find peace. Love. Joy.

I.....condemned you?

*Give the signal. Nod your head and let this condemnation close. Cop rests his metallic finger upon the trigger. Rowyn jerks his hand and tosses the chamber back into the revolver. He gives the cylinder a long spin fashioning a round of suspense in the air. A familiar chuckle rises from his mouth at Belle's pity. Whatever and how many misfortunes after her father's death came from her doings. Rowyn finally figured her cause became lost. She consumed herself in the hatred felt from years of abuse, yet never found a chance to let go. Escaping from her fears by leaving with Rowyn fell out of thought. She looks around for blame ultimately burdening Rowyn with every shred. Our lives are reflected by the decisions made. Her life. Her fault.*

You've done that to yourself. Don't shift blame onto the mistakes you made.

You murdered your father.

You chose to steal.

You stayed behind.

I moved on.

*Looking up, Rowyn nods at Cop to make his move. A faint releases the projectile aimed for Belle. Fast acting as it is, she'll be under and without memory of Rowyn Pyotr or any interaction with him. Cop breaks down the rifle knowing his bit in this ruse complete.

She led a life leaving only memories behind. This time, she'll leave without the memories. Never again will this part of her haunting past return. Rowyn drops a crumbled photograph of two children, one brown haired and the other red, next to her with one line scrawled on the back:

From earlier days,

-R.S.P.

Storm's coming. Rowyn holsters his revolver as he moves back onto the streets. The nightlife's neon signs and imagery slowly consume his figure until only a shadow remains in the crowd.*

Why do I bother with people from my past, they always seem to disappoint me when the time comes and Rowyn is no different. He claims he asked me to start a new life, but I never heard a word from him since the day he left, his delusions of love and joy were a lie he told himself to comfort him from the truth. Nothing that happened to me would have happened if he would have stayed, nothing. And I would be a different me. I stayed not because I wanted to, but because I had to and now I can see that the alternative wouldn't have been much better. He's just like my father, he has no remorse nor compassion. And while I cried my eyes out for days when I heard what happened to his family, when I saw the pain that it caused him, he wasn't there to comfort me once. He thinks I take no blame in the person I became, he's wrong, my father was the catalyst, and I made the choices, but Rowyn, he was the variable in the equation, unfortunately for me the variable removed himself from the picture. From there I did what I had to to survive, I was the victim. All I have to do is run, run forever if I have to, and no one can hurt me again, not Rowyn, not anyone.

There was a time that I loved Rowyn Pyotr, the handsome guy from Onderon who was the one person in the universe that I could rely on. Now I see that he is just another man, a liar...a monster. He was just like my father, just like every man out there. Full of bravado and conceit, but nothing real to them, worthless sacks of flesh that can't be relied on or trusted. I'm better off-

Ouch! What was that? I feel...I feel...

*Isabelle fell to her knee before slouching over and falling limp on the ground with the dart sticking out of her back. She was helpless, almost paralyzed*

That son of a nemoidian poisoned me. I can't keep my eyes open, I don't know what to do. How could he do this to me? He said....There was a time that I loved Rowyn Pyotr...

But now that was just a memory...

*Isabelle fell completely unconscious there in the street where she was left for dead by the very man that had only moments ago was saying how he wished he'd never left her had literally shot her in the back. That act of cowardice and betrayal would never be forgiven and further cemented her belief that all men, even those she had once trusted, were evil*

*Unknown to anyone in the alley hiding in a dark corner just out of sight from the figures who were having a very heart breaking conversation was a small boy quietly listening. He had followed Isabelle out of the back alley when she had let him live and at that time saw man chasing her down the street. Out of curiosity he had followed them to where the man had cornered Isabelle and then began their conversation. He had hid in a small little hole in a wall where no one their size would be able to fit and so it was perfect for him since it was in a shadowy corner and a place no one would think to look for someone. At one point in time it was probably used as a drain for water or something since it connected to a back alley on the other side of here.

Within his little hiding spot he had heard much even learned of the hardships the woman who had let him live had gone through and her once supposed friend. It honestly made his life seem rather dull since all he had been was taken into slavery and forced to work to survive of course other than watching his parents get killed it all wasn't that bad. It made him feel sorry for the woman and he wanted to help her but the man she was talking to apparently had better skills in fighting than he did so it would mean instant death for him. All he could do was lay there on the ground hiding in his hole like a scared rodent as he listened to them.

Then the sound came of someone falling to over and onto the floor possibly dead and the dread filled Drake that he had possibly just let the woman who had allowed him to live die. Yet still he stayed there hiding as he heard the foots of whoever was left standing slowly walk away leaving the downed person to whatever fate may come for them. If they lived chances are some thugs would come and rob the body before they woke up the same would be if the person was dead. Drake stayed there until there was nothing but dead silence and then even after that eh stayed hidden for a little longer just to be safe.*

*Finally when he got the nerve to crawl out from his hiding spot he first poked his head out and looked around and was first glad to see his hiding spot coerced in shadow that way if he made a bad mistake he could quietly sneak back in and retreat to the other alley. Thankfully though there were no signs of anyone around though knowing how tricky some thugs could he checked the roofs to make sure no one was there. Once he was sure everything was clear he completely crawled out and dusted his cloths off as he stood up.

Drake started to take a more careful look around the alley and the first thing his eyes fell on was the body of the red haired woman he had met before. He slowly made his way over to her being careful not to make much sound just in case there was still someone around. When he made it over to her he slowly knelt down and gently poked her shoulder to see if she would wake up. She didn't seem to be moving much and that could mean she was dead so he checked her for a pulse to see if she was still alive. From what he could tell she was at least breathing which was good but other than that he had no idea what to do.

Sighing to himself he took his sweater off and folded it up and placed it under her head that way if she was going to wake up she would at least wake in somewhat comfort not just rolling around on the ground. Drake knew he had done all he could for her for now and so all that was left was to make sure no one came by to take advantage of an unconscious woman. So moving away a few feet from her to give her space Drake sat on the ground and pulled out his blaster and began to watch the alley entrance to make sure no one came down here to try and harm either of them.*