You stand in a room, nearly dark but for the pulse of rhythmic flashes of bright colored lights. Besides your opponent and yourself, you note a large number of bystanders who are sure to take exception to the coming carnage. Then again, knowing this crowd, they could just as easily find entertainment in an old-fashioned brawl. Spanky's is, after all, one of the more fashionable drinking establishments of Karufr.

The patrons seem to be a mix between the scantily clad women hawking their charms and the well-dressed gentlemen eager to part with their hard-earned credits. The odors in the tavern assault your senses and threaten to muddle your reflexes. Among them, you recognize over a dozen various types of stimulants—both legal and illegal—and the heady scent of, what is quite possibly, the most varied collection of liquor this side of the Galaxy.

The tavern itself is fraught with tactical advantages and disadvantages. Designed in the familiar style of all amphitheaters, the floor is slightly slanted toward a central stage where a lithe, twi'lek female is currently dancing. Littered amongst the floor are drink tables, heavily laden with glassware and other potential missiles. Uncomfortable, heavy metal chairs surround each of the tables in a semi-circle, so that the occupant's view of the stage is never hindered. The only exit, aside from the doorway where you stand, is a vaulted staircase—guarded by two very well-dressed, and heavily muscled, gentlemen—leading into parts unknown.

Small bars bracket the tavern on either side, filled with a glittering rainbow of bottles. Whatever is about to go down, you realize it would go down better with a stiff drink.

Dark.

Light.

Dark.

Light.

Dark, light, dark, light, dark, light—

Kordath Bleu d'Tana was going to have a seizure.

At least it'd put me outta me misery... thought the squinting Ryn, blinking painfully lucid gray eyes against the strobing rainbow of flashes that broke up the blackness of the room.

A crowd of sweating bodies swarmed the amphitheatre, rich-looking smoothskin ladies showing off, well, a lot of skin, and rich-looking men who probably didn't need those watches, not really. The air was hot and stifling and he inhaled deeply, nose whistling, the familiar and horrible combination of scents doing a bit to soothe his frayed nerves. The patrons flocked around tiers of tables and chairs, all being funneled down towards the central platform and the chromatic dazzle of expensive glass bottles behind polished bar tops on either side of it. A curvy, purple-skinned Twi'lek girl — always a good choice — twisted and shimmied in the soft glow of the footlights lining the stage.

On any other given day, he probably would've had thoughts about buying the lady a drink and how hard he'd disappoint her later that night.

Tonight, though, was not normal. On a normal night, Kordath would've been back on Selen, nice and happy and cozy on the good old floor of The Tipsy Rancor, curling up with a bottle of whiskey and the scuff marks on the ground - sweet, sweet ground, so much better than space, that. If he was in a sociable mood, Uji would probably be with him, which meant Satsi would be there. That, in turn, usually raised Kordath's chances of finding some finer company quite a bit, since the redheaded female did a really good job of promising maiming, killing and...eesh to any other lady that looked too long at Uji with a single glare.

Yeah, that'd be nice, the irritated Ryn thought, eyes darting suspiciously around as he moved further into the tavern via the prompt aid of somebody shoving him out of the doorway he'd been standing in for...well, awhile. The beefy Human who'd pushed him paused with a sneer, a Zeltron of indecipherable gender but with admittedly very nice legs clinging to his arm.

Kordath gave a practiced smile and said, "Right, uh, sorry mate, no harm done, heh..." with as much simpering as he could force into his voice.

The pair, clad in familiar robes, moved on, and the Krath's smile dropped into a grimace. Bloody Tallywhackers everywhere, and Gods, those flashy lights were killing him to top it off. As if his migraine hadn't been bad enough already.

Days he'd been more dried up than bloody Korriban. The second he'd fled the Nighthawk ahead of his crew and finished vomiting like usual, he'd headed for The Rancor to finally refresh himself - but when he'd gotten to the door, he'd found the bar closed for a 'holiday.' And the one after that, and after that, and the next six liquor stores on the block. Even the restaurants and the stores in the Citadel had mysteriously dried up, what with all their suppliers on 'holiday.' It was a city-wide epidemic.

He'd checked his hidey-holes too, damn't, and found nothing.

Four days later, he'd been wishing the collective hangover would just finish killing him already, when Celevon had suggested he just go looking off-planet. "'Try Karurf," the unnervingly grinning assassin had advised. “‘An establishment called Spanky's is rather good.'"

It was a trap. It had to be a trap. He'd done something. He didn't know what, as usual, but it was something. If all the clues weren't obvious enough, there was the way his fur was currently standing up straight all along his spine, his nerves twitchier than Arcia with the airlock opening mechanism on any given ship.

"Bumblefluff," muttered the Priest, deciding that whatever was coming, he was not going to be sober for it. Hunching his shoulders, tail twitching, the Ryn made his way into the crowd with ease, less just slipping around people and more moving with them and the natural, sticky, smelly flow of any taproom congregation. It was like letting the current pull him along, if rivers could be made of drunken lads and lasses, beer, and tiny bowls of snacks.

Despite the way his skin was nearly crawling right off the rest of him, Kordath made his way relatively unscathed to the bar on the east side of the room, across the amphitheatre from a shrouded door with two very muscley gentlemen looming in front of it. He weaseled his way up to the counter and ordered himself a drink from a vested Rodian, drumming his fingers on the bartop. The music issuing from speakers somewhere shifted, and the violet-speckled Twi'lek girl shifted with it, the beat rising to something electric that was a little too much like the sound of two droids going at it for his tastes.

A glass of golden whiskey was placed in front of him, and Kordath momentarily forgot his sorrows and ignored his senses clamoring in his skull. He inhaled, air whistling through his nose, hand curling around the glass and lifting it to his lips.

A beat of bass dropped, and with it, a very particular crack of sound.

The glass exploded in his face.

Fiery agony ripped through his hand, up his arm, along his mouth and nose and eyes, alcohol stinging at the shards of crystal embedded in his skin. The Krath fell right out of his seat with a screech, and a small crowd, including the bartender, gathered, looking from the smoking hole in the bartop to the wounded Ryn. Kordath whimpered, blinking against whiskey, blood, and tears and hoping that the spots in his vision were because of the pain and not because he was going blind.

"Oh, no, what happened?! Make room, make room, I'm a doctor!" cried a very familiar voice, causing the Ryn to whimper loudly again, more in fear this time.

Why was he not surprised?

A silver-haired, blindfolded woman appeared above him, parting the throng of onlookers effortlessly. She knelt next to him, checking over injuries - none too gently - and giving quick directions to the bartender for ice, a glass, and clean towels.

"It's fine, I'll take care of him. Here, look, he should be fine to stand, just needs some help. Oh, no, you're so sweet, but we'll be just fine. Believe me, I fix worse everyday!" she was saying, and then Kordath found himself on his feet, hauled along with his good arm flung over Atyiru's shoulder.

Even hurt, the Ryn had not one bloody doubt that he wanted to be far from whatever 'help' she had to offer right about now. He grit his teeth against a growl as he was 'escorted' briskly towards the staircase where those guards waited.

"What the frak, Blinky? Did you seriously just shoot me? What did I do now? What did me whiskey do to you?" the Priest hissed at his fellow Krath. There really wasn't any point in asking if it had been her or not: she was the only one with the closeted maliciousness and resources to pull this craziness off. He began furiously attempting to think of what he’d done to piss her off this time, but the list was...long. And blurry. Damn’t.

And people think she’s nice.

His Consul turned her head just slightly as they made their way up a shadowy set of steps, murmuring in his ear with a smile plastered on her face. "Actually, I was aiming for your head. But, you know how it is when I have to snipe in crowds. Much more concentration needed to be precise, you know, and I may have had a glass or two."

The Ryn was saved from the choice between another whimper or a growl as they reached the top of the steps as the Miraluka unceremoniously threw him into a new room. Kordath met the ground with his wounded hand and gave a cry, collapsing on it. Pushing back the urge to hurl, he rolled over and scrambled to get his legs under him, only getting a chance to glance around his wonderful new location before Atyiru pulled a DL-18 blaster pistol from somewhere on her scantily-clad person and aimed it at his feet.

"It's a tavern, Bluey! Let's dance a bit before we get down to business," she chirped with a white smile, pulling the trigger.

A drunken blind woman who can see through the Force wants me to dance or get shot. She’s gonna bloody shoot me on accident at this rate, thought the Ryn as he hopped from foot to foot, arm throbbing. His sleeve had soaked up what blood the shattered glass had managed to produce, the darkened material was stuck to him now. The face….droplet of sweat that ran from his brow made those wounds sting, suggesting they were still open. Annoying but not overly debilitating.

What was worrying was that she wasn’t letting up on that trigger, shot after shot was burning holes in the carpet around Kordath’s feet. The Ryn was slim, this was true, but a self abusive attitude coupled with a healthy diet of whiskey did not an athletic Priest make. As he bounced about, his tail lashing wildly in the air as the occasional stray shot came close to clipping it, he tried to take in the room. An exit would have been helpful, but the door they’d come through from the stairs was behind the mad woman with a blaster. He didn’t see any others, just a wide open window that presumably looked down upon the club below.

Private party room then, they probably rent it out to VIPs and the like. She brought me up here for what...to keep anyone from interfering? This is a world ran by Dark Jedi, she’d just have to flash her lightsaber and everyone would back off. Some other reason then…., he mused as he began to pant. Finally the blaster stopped firing, causing the Miraluka to scowl at the weapon as she moved to change out the power pack. Kordath swept the room again, noting the placement of the large coffee table in the center of a pair of arm chairs and couches. The Ryn was out of breath, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug when an angry female is armed and gunning for you. He wasn’t even sure if he’d gone around or over the back of one of the couches when he began to catch his breath.

“Are you hiding, Bleuboy? Really? You think that’s going to help your situation?” came the far to sweet voice of his friend and Consul.

“Can’t we at least talk about this, Blinky?” he responded with restrained hope, she was in one of her moods….

“Oh my, you can’t recall why I’m angry? What a shocker.” The Ryn winced at the deadpan reply, it was true that he’d angered her on more than one occasion with little to no recollection, but that was the kind of relationship every man and woman had to some extent.

Kordath glanced over the back of the couch, pulling his head back as scarlet beams of blaster fire put some smoking holes into it. “Okay, can I get a timeframe at least? Can I just apologize and offer to buy a few rounds? Can we NOT shoot the bloody Ryn?”

He shivered at the melodious laughter the slightly tipsy Miraluka let out, “Buy a few rounds? That’s adorable, Bleu, it almost makes me want to give you a few hints. Fine. Three weeks ago.”

Three weeks, three weeks ago….oh kark me right in the ear.

“Three weeks ago…..the latest….issue...of my little serial novel came out, didn’t it?” asked the Ryn, scuttling from behind the couch and diving behind an armchair, as a hail of blaster fire tracked him. The face that no one had come to investigate the noise wasn’t a surprise; the Ryn could still hear the thump of the beat below him. As he tried to huddle up behind the wide arm chair, he heard a chuckle come from the Arch Priestess.

“Yes, very good, and what did you do when I...approached you about that?”

“If...I recall, you were a tad bit miffed, heh.”

A smoking hole appeared in the carpet next to him, causing the Ryn to jump and scramble towards the backside of the other couch.

“Miffed, sure, that’s a word. I thought we’d discussed you no longer putting out those little stories about the Miraluka woman and various...’situations’. I was under the impression,” she paused in her speech to fire a few more bolts towards the Ryn’s cover, “that you were done writing your stories.”

“Publishing contract, luv, you know how it is! I had to finish up one more to fulfill the quota! It’s over now, I’m not obligated to write no more stories about Jin the MIraluka! And nobody really believes those little books is about you, Atty, come on!”

“I believe this last one was ‘Jin and the Feral Wookies, a hairy tale of survival’. Now I haven’t read this one yet, but-”

“Course you haven’t,” muttered the Ryn jokingly, never missing a chance to make a joke about his friend’s blindness. He yelped in surprise as the slip of a woman used the Force to push the couch towards him, nearly flattening the Ryn as it fell backwards.

“Not the time for the blind girl jokes, Kordy, especially not with what we’re discussing,” she growled.

“Like I said, luv, Blind Chicks the serial is done, no more stories, I swear on me mum,” he said, standing in the open with his hands up in the air.

“Oh I know, and I almost want to believe that, but that’s not why I’m angry with you, dear little Bleu. How did you make it up to me? How did you try and make it up to me?”

“I...took you out for drinks, I think? The rest of that night’s a bit hazy to be honest, I didn’t….we didn’t…?” Bleu looked at her questioningly, knowing she could sense the intent of his remark. A brief flare of warning through the Force got him dancing again as several blaster bolts nearly singed his feet.

“No, we did not. You offered to pay for the night, for the rest of week, if it made me happy. Very sweet of you and all. Except you kept inviting more and more people over to our table as we got drunker and drunker. Which was actually fun, it was a real fun evening for the most part.”

Kordath stood in bated silence, waiting for the inevitable ‘but’.

“But….,’ And there it is, he thought with a wince.

“...you got yourself distracted, some little Iridonian floozy showed up and joined us. Never met her before, and you didn’t know her, but she certainly had a liking to you, Bleuboy.”

“Wait, purple eyes? Petite little horns and some light blue tattoos on her face?”

The silence that followed his question was deafening for a few moments, before he sheepishly added, “Oh, right.”

“Anyways, she kept stroking your hair and playing with your...tail. Kept going on about how you reminded her of some stuffed animal her father gave her as a child, right before he went off and got killed by pirates or something. And lo and behold, not half an hour later, you were gone. A dozen people sitting at that table drinking, and surprise, all of them were on your tab.”

“Poodoo, guess I’ve got a helluva bill when I get back to the Rancor then, huh?”

“No. No you do not. Because I had to pay the blasted thing or they were going to call security down on me. Because you ran off with some floozy when you were supposed to be showing me a good time, Bleu.”

“...I’m sorry, are you feeling...jaded? Are you jealous?” asked the Ryn, amusement creeping into his voice despite his situation.

“Jealous? Of you and the little horn head? No, I’m feeling broke, angry, and betrayed by a friend. You promised me a good time that night, a night out on the town on your credit. And instead I had to spend a good portion of the Clan’s monthly budget on covering the blasted drinks, not to mention getting a cab back to the Citadel!”

“Oh...oh...bugger, Atts, I’m sorry, I really am. But is that reason enough to shoot your good pal, Bleu?” he asked, trying to give her the biggest set of Ryn eyes he could, throwing in a trembling lip for good measure.

The Miraluka cocked her head sideways, the blindfolded woman was ‘staring’ right at him. “Are you trying to do the whole ‘look cute and pity me’ thing? Nath told me you used to do that when she got angry with you as your Master, it was so pathetic she’d quit beating on you. Well that won’t work today, Kordath.”

He grimaced, it wasn’t often she used his full first name like that, “Comeon, I can pay you back, ya know? The Blind Chicks series did pretty well oh bugger don’t shoot me woman!”

Kordath jumped to the side as the mention of his stories freshly enraged the other Krath, causing him to fall to the ground and scramble towards the nearest piece of furniture.

“It’s not just the tab, Bleuy, it’s the betrayals of trust, it’s the blind girl jokes! It’s everything you do on a daily basis to get a rise out of me because you know I’m too nice to do something like this! Well guess what, Kordy? We’re not at home, nobody knows I’m here, and nobody knows I’m doing this!”

Oh kark she’s really gonna kill me.

It wasn't his best idea, in retrospect, to scamper under the coffee table.

The Ryn winced as a sharp crack pierced his quivering ears a heartbeat before glass rained down around him. He gave a short cry as the bloody shards found a cozy home in his hide for the second time that night, a cry that evolved quickly into a yelp when strong, thin fingers latched onto the back of his neck. His hands scrabbled at the broken-glass-covered ground to no avail as his enraged friend hauled him upright, and he had no doubt that the way his skull banged against the now-empty frame of the table was intentional.

Bits of glass ground against his kneecaps and shins through his pants as Atyiru held him on his knees by the fur at the back of his neck, too much like a blasted nexu kitten for the Ryn's liking. The Miraluka leaned over, lips ghosting over his left ear, and he shuddered from his nose to the tip of his poor, ever-abused tail.

"It would do you kindly to remember, dear Kordy-Kord, that I have the knowledge, skill, and Force-ability to flay the skin, fat, and sinew from one of your arms and leave it merrily attached to your body as nothing more than some striped-bare bones and cartilege. Oh, hey, maybe you could wave it at people as a prank! Wouldn't even have to wait for the holidays. How's that sound?"

The noise that the Priest made in response was answer enough to make the other Krath give a quiet, sinister chuckle.

"Kark, woman, I said I was sorry! What more do you want?"

"What do I want?!" She shook him by the scruff, barking out a harsh laugh. "I want to curl up in my karking bed with three bottles of brandy, Ivoshar, and my stupidface Hapan while absolutely nothing happens anywhere with anyone in this frakking Clan or the gods-be-damned Brotherhood. Buuuuut," Her teeth grazed his ear, just shy of painful, and he eep'd. "Since I can't do any of thaaaat I figured I'd have a little fun and just go wild! No scenes in the mess hall this time, no witnesses, no nothin'! So y'know what, Bluey, y'know what I want? YOUR. BLOODY. TEARS!"

"I can, eh, do that? Want me tears, heh, eh, not too hard, yup..."

Kordath jerked his arm up as he said it, clenching his eyes shut, the bits of glass and dust he held in his hand flying over his shoulder. Atyiru gave a cry, her grip loosening, and the Ryn dove forward, exchanging a few more cuts for a few feet of space between them. He used those precious few seconds to slip the pin of the grenade on his sash and get his feet under him, making a break for the door that the angry blind woman was no longer blocking.

A sea of smoke flooded the room at the same time that he heard the click of a trigger behind him. A terrible coughing fit accompanied a wild spray of scarlet blaster bolts over his head, forcing him to dive to the floor again. He rolled to the side, twice, and found himself nearly going right out the full-length viewing window. Kordath yelped as the ground disappeared beneath one of his legs. He scrabbled at the carpeted ground as that especial, sick sensation of gravity taking hold of his insides made him regret his earlier lunch.

For one sick heartbeat, he felt himself slipping.

Tanned hands clamping down on his arms and shirt saved him, and he looked up at his Miraluka friend with big eyes, distracted from the twenty different places where he hurt and stung by their precarious position. She had several small cuts on her cheeks and nose, face all twisted up in a grimace from the strain of her bad hold as she choked back her cough.

"G-give me...on-une g-good..reason...n-not to drop you..." Atyiru wheezed.

The Ryn chanced a look down and gulped. This uh, second story seemed a lot higher than just two floors. And that bar down below wouldn't break his fall very well. Much as he'd love to go swimming in whiskey, landing on an array of bottles like that was, uh, bound to be uncomfortably pointy.

Kordath turned his smoke-stinging gaze back to the Archpriestess and tried for a grin. "Beeeecause then you'd have to get yourself another old buddy Bleu?"

"You assume you're not replaceable."

"Ouch, Blinky, ouch. Me heart."

"Your heart?!" She shouted, which set off another hacking fit. Her hold on his sleeve slipped a few inches and Kordath shrieked.

"Not not not that, uh, you aren't uh, hurt, and justifiably so, and could we just not do this please gods Blinky please?!"

He swore the Miraluka growled louder than that Togorian Fade Turel had had.

"Please, Atty?" plead the Ryn, seeing his chance. Oh, she got mad in her moods when he pushed, sure, but she wouldn't just let him get maimed or killed — not unless she was the one doing it, anyway.

Actually, he might have better odds with the bottles.

"Ashla and Bogan take you, Ratboy," muttered the Miraluka with a curse, and then Kordath felt a twist in the Dark side as she heaved, managing to pull him up just enough for him to get a knee on the ledge. He quickly clambered to drag himself to solid ground, flopping down next to Atyiru where she lay on her stomach — must've taken a dive herself to catch him.

"I swear even my bloody gods are watching out for your stupid frakking useless hide, Bleu," she hissed at him, pushing herself upright and spitting on the ground. As he watched, those cuts on her face closed up, there and gone in a blink.

The Archpriestess reached for him then and he flinched, but no further beatings came. Instead he felt a cool wash of the Force that sent his pains running for the hills even better than a bottle of Tihaar. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"Does this, eh, mean you forgive me?" Her nails dug into his scalp and he backtracked quickly. "Er, I mean, that you'll give me a chance to make it up to you right this time?"

"It means," said the medic scathingly as she moved a hand to his mouth from a purse that had, like the blasters, somehow appeared on her scantily-clad person, "That you shut the blessed frak up and take your medicine before I change my mind. You didn't get anything to drink, right?"

He glared at her as the bitter pills dragged dry down his throat. She smiled back at him far too sweetly.

"One minute the lady wants you talking, dancin', then crying, then shutting up, can never make up them karkin' minds," he muttered, feeling slightly...floaty. Really floaty. Okay. "Saaaay Blinky, wha was them painkillin' thingies?"

Her smile widened. She stood up and walked out of his line of vision. The Ryn frowned, rolling onto his side and climbing to his feet.

Oh, he thought as the whole world went fuzzy and his legs buckled under him like they usually didn't until he was massively in debt and several bottles deep. ...Blinky, you...you...

And then all the swimmy furniture went dark and cozy black.

-=X=-

The night air was clear, cool, and blissfully quiet compared to the bone-thrumming beat of Spanky's interior. Atyiru Caesura Entar exhaled in a delighted sigh and then inhaled deeply.

Ashla and Bogan, that was better. Damned squirrely Ryn and his bag of tricks.

"Yo," called a gruff, familiar voice. "Didjya gets it?"

The Miraluka turned as her Zygerrian Fade peeled off of the wall of the tavern, flicking a cigarra from his grinning teeth. She smiled back at him and held up the small recording device that had been strapped to her thigh, tabbing the play button.

"’...Like I said, luv, Blind Chicks the serial...es did pretty well...reason enough...to write...o more stories about Jin the Miraluka! ...I swear on me mum...I really am...nd...get another...Publishing contract...’"

The recording was rough and broken, to be sure, but these days she had all sorts of access to the people who could make it sound like a flawless symphony if they cared to. With an order and a bit of tweaking, it would suit her needs.

Jax chuckled in his barking, huffing manner. "How hard didya hit 'im to get all o' tha?"

"...not that bad."

The Mandalorian snorted. "And then?"

"Bit of, uh, Renatyl. He's sleeping nice and soundly. When he wakes up, it'll be on the floor downstairs, surrounded by empty jugs and with very little recollection of the night, if those boys I tipped follow through. If he does have any questions, I have my little 'you abandoned me with the tab and broke my trust' story."

"Yer never gonna tell tha' poor fraktrain why you were really mad, are ya?"

"Nope!"

Jax just shook his shaggy head and started walking. The Consul sniffed, toying with the recording she held.

Extreme measures or not, she had to know what happened to Jin next, she just had to. Especially after Fistra had found the Miraluka with the Wookiees and thrown her wedding ring into the river! Talk about frakking cliffhangers.

The 'makeup' scene would be so good, dammit! Atyiru thought, biting her lip and hurrying after Jax as he hailed them a speeder to the spaceport.

“Atty…,” he started to say, holding his hands up uselessly before him. If the Miraluka had had eyes, she never would have blinked. The DL-18’s muzzle was aimed squarely at the Ryn’s chest, wavering along with his own nervous shuffles. Kordath allowed his gaze to stray for a moment, gauging the distance between himself and the door on the far side of the room. Scenarios cascaded through the Priest’s mind, ones that involved vaulting the coffee table and getting shot for his efforts kept coming up. Duck and cover behind the couch to his left seemed far more viable, but after the past few minutes Atyiru was likely expecting it. A few slow, deep breathes helped fuel the imagination as he stared at the small hole that would deliver his death.

Lowering his hands as if in defeat and sighing theatrically, which caused the angry woman’s brow to furrow in suspicion. Kordath smirked a little as he reminded himself how well Atty knew him, even as he palmed a knife from out of his sash. Sending a prayer up to whatever Gods or powers that might be watching over him Bleu threw the knife at the blind woman. He’d be the first to admit that he wouldn’t hit a blasted thing with it but it did provide him some much needed breathing room. Atyiru let out some choice words that would have surprised the Ryn more if he hadn’t heard some of the songs she knew when out on a bender, even as she tried to avoid the knife and track him with her blaster.

Kordath for his part was drawing on the Force itself to fuel his temporary escape. Power surged through his legs as he lowered himself and sprinted towards the doorway leading to the stairs. Blaster fire tracked above and around him, and only an inkling of danger allowed him to toss up a field which absorbed a blast before dissipating. With a dive he made the door and found he’d misjudged the distance greatly as he came down on the stairs rather than the upper landing. Grunting and yelping, the Ryn tumbled down the carpeted steps before bowling into the back of the knees of one of the guards at the bottom. Lying still for a moment to groan in pain and wiggle his extremities to insure he’d not shattered his spine...fingers...toes...tail...everything still seemed to work.

The guard seemed unhappy, and Kordath was certain the woman he’d spited upstairs was more than a little enraged at this point. Grumbling to himself as he got back to his feet the Ryn decided standing still was a bad move. With a push and a few shoves he was headed towards the same bar he’d had his woeful whiskey moment a few minutes prior. Keeping low and trying to avoid the attention of the security guards near the stairs, Kordath tried to formulate a plan. His brain churned through the details he knew of his...most of the time friend. This was all wrong, normally she didn’t go this far. Make him fight another Arconan for her amusement, sure, she’d done that before. But outright trying to kill him, well that was new.

No wonder she got me all the way out here, out of the Dajorra system. She’ll just say I wandered off to study something and never made it back home.

Switching gears as he spotted the slim silhouette of his Consul descending the stairway, he mulled over his other options. From what he knew of the Miraluka as a people, him hiding behind patrons was mostly pointless. But he was pretty sure Atyiru wasn’t so far gone that she’d start firing into the crowd blindly. He took a moment to smile at his own stupid little joke before moving on with his thoughts. Despite his situation, or possibly even because of some morbid last wish, his attention kept being drawn to the center of the club. With the music pumping away still no one seemed to be paying much attention to the scrambling Ryn or the murderous Miraluka. Up on the stage a Twi’lek still writhed to the beat, the focus of almost every eye down on the floor.

The night was getting on, liquor was flowing and people seemed to be enjoying themselves. Kordath could sense it without barely trying, it was one of the reasons he enjoyed places like this. One attuned to the Force could enjoy themselves simply by drinking in what revelry was going on around them. Of course that didn’t keep the Ryn from getting plastered as well, he reflected on with a grin as he watched the dancer move. A thought was tickling the back of his brain, an idea trying to form as he ducked into the crowd and moved towards the front. He was trying to be careful, keeping people between himself and Atyiru, hoping she wouldn’t chance anything but a clean shot.

While he couldn’t say for certain why he was doing it, his mind still frantically throwing up options. As he passed a table full of drunken business men, Bleu felt something press into his side. Stopping in his tracks, he slapped himself on the forehead with his left hand, as his right reached into his robes. Everything clicked into place as he pulled the smoke grenade out and pulled the pin, rolling it onto the stage and past the dancing Twi’lek. Smoke began to fill the back of the stage, and he pulled it’s twin out and tossed it up towards one of the bars. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back and screamed to be heard over the music.

“FIRE!”

First the people around him turned to stare at the apparently insane screaming man, causing him to sigh and point at the cloud of smoke behind the dancer. Then they got the message, screaming in kind and trying to push their way towards the exit. It spread outwards from there, the crowded club devolving into chaos as smoke filled the air and the drunken masses tried to find a way out. Kordath drew his remaining knife and headed towards where he’d last spotted his Consul.

She was gritting her teeth, blaster held up so it wouldn’t be knocked from her hands as people ran into her. The Ryn almost felt bad for her, but she had tried to shoot him. A lot. He also felt ashamed for not thinking of this exit strategy in advance, considering how often he angered the Miraluka. To a person so attuned to what was going on around them as the Force Sensitive blind woman was, the current situation had to be hellish. If she was even still trying to find him right now he’d be surprised. As he approached her head turned to affix her blindfolded stare on him, but he was already swinging the knife as Atyiru tried to lower her blaster.

Kordath let out a sigh of relief as the woman dropped, letting his knife fall to the floor as well as he kicked the blaster into the fleeing crowd. Kneeling down he put his hands under his friend’s shoulders and dragged her over to the nearest wall. He propped her up, checking the side of her forehead that the handle of the knife had slammed into. A lump was forming already, and probably a nasty bruise. Letting out a sigh, Kordath leaned down and gave his friend a light kiss on the top of her head. He’d have to leave for a while after this.

A month? Maybe two, yeah. Maybe she’ll have cooled down by then. I should go check out the Core Worlds for a few months. Hope she doesn’t send anybody comptent out to track me down, thought the Priest, leaving his Consul to sleep off the blow to the head.

Right, time to hit the spaceport and get off world before she wakes up.