The cantina was pleasantly quiet in the middle of the day. Not many folk around, had only been a couple regulars sticking to themselves, drinking in their preferred corners and leaving well enough alone. Kordath had waved to one or two as they left, and they had nodded back, not a word between the lot of any of them but plenty amicability and shared respect for a good drink and some space to have it.
The next figure that entered the bar had exactly neither of those qualities.
The extensively tattooed Mirialan stomped in like he had a bunch of thorn pears under his armor, scowling and pinch-faced and grumpy. He looked around, making a beeline for the register, but actually stuttered a step when he saw Kordath. His angsty frown deepened, hard enough to give him wrinkles, and he seemed to be warring with something before he turned in a huff and kept on stamping on his way, past the seated alien who stared after him. A grin crawled across Kord's face that he hid in his cup.
Everything about the kid screamed leave me alone but now, where was the fun in that?
He'd resisted the desperate desire to mess with the brat on Life Day, because he actually had some manners, and more importantly Zuji wouldn't have liked it. However, the holidays were over, and she wasn't here, and the idea of a little suffering on the boy's part was just too good. Slipping off his stool, the Ryn waited until the boy had finished whatever little exchange he had with Mick, the bartender grunting and going to the back, before he sidled over. He brought his drink with him.
"Well looky who it is, wassit, Roomba? Or just Broody? Thought you didn't like Mick's fine establishment here."
Broody did not reply. He locked his jaw — eesh, he could hear those teeth grinding, didn't that hurt? — and crossed his arms and stared straight ahead at the door where Mick had gone. Looked like he was even trying not to breathe. Kordath squinted at him, stroked his beard in faux contemplation.
"Didya nae have two ears last time I saws ya?"
The boy stiffened even more, spitting through clenched teeth, "No, y—" before he cut himself off. His fingers dug into his arms. Wow, the Ryn had seen beskar less rigid.
This was fantastic.
"Huh, coulda sworn ya did. That why you so bad at listenin' ta folk talkin' to ya?"
"We're not talking," hissed the Mirialan. "Go away and leave me alone."
"I'm just being friendly, mate. Ya could stand to take notes." He took a deep drink, just so he could belch in the kid's general direction. The twitch in his expression was priceless. "Why ya always in a bad mood?"
A grunt.
"Right rude of ya. I'm startin' to think ya don't like me." Which had been obvious enough at the Life Day fiasco when the Mirialan had all but tried to stare daggers into him and refused to explain himself when asked — but that was why this was fun. "Eesh, unclench, 'fore ya hurt yerself. Have a drink," he purred.
That got a hand to slam down on the bartop.
"No."
Kord drew back a bit, eyeing him.
"You lookin' for a fight, boy?"
"No, I'm not!" he finally snapped, whirling on the Ryn and gesturing harshly in denial. "You keep franging saying that but I don't! I don't wanna fight you, I don't wanna fight at all. Kriff off."
Kordath dropped his pleasant facade, glaring right back.
"Yer a right joy-sucking prick, ya know that, boyo? At the party, on Life Day o' all bloody things, being rude ta me, and ta any folk just enjoying themselves. Hell of an attitude you got there. What, one day so bad for you, you couldn't suck it the kark up, ya brat?"
"Kriff off."
"See? Just like that." He reached out and jabbed the kid's arm, emphasizing the point.
It happened in a blink.
The Mirialan flat out leapt across the room, exploding out of his spot in a surge of cold-shadow currents, lifting his hair for a moment as he landed. His glaring eyes were bright gold, mouth open, caught between a snarl and a scream.
"Don't touch me!" he shouted. He didn't uncoil from his stance though, looking like a panicked predator. "Don't you touch me. Just leave me the kriff alone already!"
"What is yer damn PROBLEM?" Kord gasped back yet again, exasperated. First the lad was a brat and an ass, judgmental of folks and cruel to them for it, lashing out all over, and now he was acting like the Ryn had murdered his mum or some kark. Was this some victim shtick? Or was he that full of himself, throwing a tantrum just because it was Kordath near him and he couldn't have his pissy way?
"YOU ARE, YOU KRIFFING DRUNK."
"I AIN'T EVEN DRUNK YET!" Kord exclaimed. "And I cope how I cope, boy, same as you and anybody else, ya don't get ta be a pissant about it."
The Mirialan scoffed at him. "I can smell it on you, just like every other time I've been forced around your stinking face. Not drunk yet today doesn't mean won't be and it SURE AS HELL doesn't mean you haven't been. You don't even remember me because of it, you don't remember what you did because you were too much of a damn drunk to. That's not coping, that's just sithspit, that's just another addict. Why should I godsdamn explain it to you, huh? You see I can't stand it so you rub it in my face. I don't want nothing to do with you! Just leave me alone."
Ruka turned and marched back to the register. Kordath stared at him a minute. He finished off his drink, tossing it back, and smacked his lips, testing the weight of the metal flagon.
Then, he lifted it into the air with a thought and flung it at the back of the brat's stupid karking head.
The kid jerked aside as if warned by the Force, but not fast enough— maybe he was distracted. The cup clipped him over the back of the skull, issuing a cry and knocking him a little forward so he had to catch himself on the bar. The Ryn laughed, doubling over with it. He almost missed it as the boy spun around, looking enraged, but his own danger senses warned him plenty in advance when the projectile came flying right back.
Yelping, Kord dove out of his seat and watched the flagon smash into the cantina wall hard enough to dent the metal. He frowned, looking back with a remark on his tongue, only for it to die and his fur to stand up when he saw every other mug floating in the air. And the chairs. And the knives, forks, and spoons. They hovered, menacing.
The Mirialan's lips were peeled back from his teeth. "Leave," he hissed, demanding, and Kord didn't appreciate that one bit.
The brat really did need a smack.
"That ain't your property, ya little karker," he said in response, sliding loosely into a ready stance, angled to the side. "And I ain't done here yet."
His senses yowled again, alerting him to the Mirialan's impending hailstorm as the Sith began to lurch forward. Kordath reacted in a heartbeat, effortlessly taking hold of that massive swell of Dark Side power the kid was drawing on and squashing it.
The items fell, clattering around him as he staggered mid-dash, stumbling to one knee. He gasped, staring at the fallen wreck of cutlery and furnishings, then at his hands, then looked up at Kordath.
"What did you do to me? Why does it feel so...far away…? Bogan..." Ruka whispered, stricken. The expression on his face was almost like he'd been punched in the gut.
Or, more like he'd had his legs forced open.
Kordath willfully ignored that brief observation as he snorted, "Aww, first time, huh? Brats don't get to play with powers, now, tsk tsk. Try that showy kark again, see how well it goes for ya."
The Mirialan hissed out curses in his own tongue at him, fists clenching, knuckles white and veins black against green. A single one of the chairs lifted into the air again as he sneered in clear exertion, using a hand gesture to fling the thing doggedly Kordath's way. The Ryn dodged with barely any effort.
"F-fine, franger," spat Ruka, recovering himself. He stood up again, teeth bared, and grabbed the amethyst and emerald blades he carried. "I didn't have the Force to use most of my life and I survived ganger puujas bad as you, kriffing try me!"
The Mirialan launched himself forward, vaulting up onto a table and jumping back down again, sprinting through the debris at the Ryn. He was pretty damned fast, just on his own. Kark, Kordath thought, releasing his suppressing grip and spinning to step aside of a vicious sort of punching-swipe with a dagger. A slightly clumsier strike of his right-handed blade followed, chopping too close to the Ryn's midsection for comfort. "Oi!"
Twisting seamlessly around the brat, Kord struck out with a quick hand, swatting the purple kukri right out of that looser grip. Ruka let it go without blinking or stopping, slashing again with the dagger and slicing the tail ends of the Ryn's coat. Was he trying to disembowel him?
Swearing, the shorter man tumbled agilely backwards, letting himself fall and roll. He sprung right back to his feet with a little extra boost from his muscular tail, which snatched up a plate in its grip to whip at his opponent. The Mirialan jerked to the side of that one, obviously guided by his senses, but not the second as once again Kord mentally stomped on his connection.
The improvised discus broke against a forearm jutting up too late, leaving shallow cuts. Ruka hissed.
"Heh," Kordath snorted through his nose at the pained expression. The Sith spat something else he didn't understand at him, and the Ryn replied, "E tu cha, peedunkee."
Snarling, the Mirialan charged him again, a slash of that emerald dagger followed by a swift punch aimed at his throat. Kordath jerked his head back, flowing away, arm spinning up to deflect another brutal strike and rocking his him to the bone. Yet again he was forced to focus on dodging and striking back, wishing he had even a second to slip on his knucklers, but Ruka just grew faster then. Too fast. The Ryn had to dip, duck, and spin away from those unrelenting, furious strikes, the boy's eyes bright gold.
Grimace firmly in place, Kord caught a punch, absorbing the impact and using his tail to tangle up the boy's legs a second, long enough to hold him still and crack a few quick punches of his own into the brat's face. The Mirialan didn't go down, though. The Sith spat through red teeth and shoved back, shoving Kord away, but not before the Ryn knocked his dagger out of his hand too. He caught it with his tail and flung it across the room.
Being disarmed didn't seem to matter to Ruka though; he just kept coming, sweeping in close with tightly-tucked blows aimed at every soft bit of flesh that Kord had. The Ryn retaliated in kind, two elbows and two hands and two knees, but he couldn't karking hit the kid. Not with how fast he was moving.
Thinking quickly as he clenched his teeth, he summoned a barrier around him in a blink, watching as the kid smacked right into it, full body. That stunned him a second, long enough for the Ryn to put some space between them, hopping over a few tables and once more taking just one easy breath to diminish his damn Force tether. Ruka's movements stuttered as he straightened back up, shaking his head like some akk dog.
"Done yet?" the Ryn called, looking over the cuts and bruises swelling on the brat's form. They gave him a mean little thrill, smirk twitching wide even as he panted.
Ruka only spat bloody mucus and sunk into another stance, seemingly inexhaustible.
Karkin' fine, Kordath thought. The Ryn raised his hand to instantly unleash a blinding flash, but the Mirialan was already clenching his eyes shut as soon as he saw Kordath start to move, throwing an arm up over them to boot. The furred man paused in surprise; he shouldn't have had any warning.
"You might not remember our fight but I do, franger. I know your little light tricks, I seen the tail, I get it. I remembered. I learned." He lowered the arm, all ugly sneering. "You wanna know what you did? What you taught me? You said two things. Not to judge someone without knowing KARK about them, huh, and to be a little more patient."
"I tell ya to run yer mouth in a brawl too?" the Ryn snapped.
"Drunk," was all the brat said, before his eyes sprang open and he jerked his hand, terrible intent scrawled over his focused gaze, and Kord heard the riiiiip of fabric as his coat tore all along its lower half and whipped off of him. The portion flew into Ruka's hand, all it held in his pockets and the lining attached. The Mirialan caught it by one cleanly-cut edge, and the Ryn realized what those earlier attacks had been all about.
The full bottle Kordath kept on him was, for some strange reason, the first thing the kid grabbed, not the grenades or knuckles, and he looked almost relieved as he chucked it up into the air across the room from him. From his other hand issued a short but violent surge of lightning, aimed right at the bottle, even as the Ryn finally let burning radiance burst from his palm.
Above them, glass exploded, and they were both enveloped in razor light.
