Pirates are a rowdy lot. It is a fact rarely questioned and merely accepted by those who deal with them regularly. While the Herald’s crew is no different, the band's leader has a different approach to facilitating their tendencies. To this end, one of the Matron's smaller hangars — designated Hangar Zerek — has been recommissioned as a combat arena... or execution chamber.

Once a dedicated repair bay, Hangar Zerek is still equipped with fabricator arms and an assortment of Trade Federation droid parts that have fallen into disrepair. A squared off section, including illumination banks at each corner, designates the intended 'arena'. The section is denoted by active shock fences, run by nearby generators. It is here that the crew lets off steam, with the hangar bay sealed.

The hangar itself still has a fully functioning force field that comes into play when matches are meant to become more interesting, or when it comes time to jettison troublesome captives. The hangar bay doors peel open, leaving only the active field to separate the arena from the vacuum of space. The control mechanisms for the hangar doors can be operated manually from the control booth or on a set timer, including the force field's toggle switch.

The control booth is the last segment of Hangar Zerek worth noting. Doubling as an observation deck, it is the only obvious entrance to the hangar. All maintenance hatches and access-ways have been sealed in advance, though the catwalks crisscrossing along the upper layers of the hangar remain. The booth itself is sealed, providing a safe haven for when the force field comes down.

The vastness of space had a feeling to it that was hard to describe. The infinite. An expanse of nothing that meant death for so many species within the galaxy. It was always so close, to those who traveled within its vacuum, yet deceptively far away. That deception fell to the wayside standing within Hangar Zerek. The hangar doors had been fully retracted, leaving only the force field separating the combatants within from being sucked into the void.

"Now now," a voice rang out. The overlay of static was thick, warping the tone of the voice as it echoed within the derelict space. "You're going to be putting on quite the show for us or, well... Would be a shame to have to hit this here button."

The threat was clear. the combatants remained exposed within the hangar proper and the only thing between them and a sudden, violent exit from the Godless Matron was the master control panel.

"Beebeep."

"I would like more tea, thank you."

Kadrol Hauen stopped just past the pylons of two illumination blocks and stared.

With his Master Brimstone attending to his business on the Herald’s ship, the new Brotherhood trainee had thought to find some decent opponents to spar with in the rumored brawling hangar. None of the scenarios he’d been prepared for, however, had included the sight presented to him now.

A woman with silvery hair sat primly next to a rusted R5-model astromech droid. A traveling thermos set was laid out on a blue cloak spread over the pockmarked, bloodied floor. She spoke again, "Mmm, that's lovely. Now, where was I? My uncle Handy. Technically speaking, he wasn't my uncle, but Miraluka don't much care for such technicalities. Family is family. Yes?"

"Beeeboop!"

"Exactly! Ashla and Bogan, my friend, I've never heard someone put it so eloquently. You are an excellent conversationalist."

"Beee!"

"Honestly! But yes, Uncle Handy. Forget best mechanical harvesting droid, he was one of the best men you'd ever meet. I miss him."

"Beeboo."

"Your cousin worked fields too? On Alderaan?! Goodness, I'm sorry!"

"Bwoohhp."

"Oh, sweet thing, come here."

As Kardol watched, she enfolded the droid in a tight hug.

”Beeeeeeeep!” went the R5 sharply, shaking. A tiny mechanical arm that would have once held a circular saw struck out from one of its compartments, stretching at the woman uselessly.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Stepping forward with a flicker of dark robes, the Plaguien pushed his hood back off his horned head and glared menacingly. He drew his training weapon, his cloak angled to show off his assortment of more mundane blades in a display of strength.

“Be quiet!” he demanded harshly, expecting the girl to cower. Instead, she merely lifted her head, smiling at him. Her face was covered with a strip of cloth. Blind and stupid, what a combination…

“Hello,” said the dark-skinned Miraluka, releasing the droid. “Would you like to join us?”

“I...no I will not join you! Just stop your inane babbling. You’ve got no idea what that droid is saying, do you?!”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that I damned well understand it and its repeated assertions that you go away and die horribly!”

“That’s not very nice to assume.”

“I speak Binary!” he snapped. The infuriating madwoman didn’t seem ready for their fight, and her nonsense was grating.

“So?”

“So I know what it’s saying! You don’t!”

The strange woman smiled again. "We don't need words to understand each other."

“Enough already!” growled the Zabrak, “draw your weapon!”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? This is an arena!”

“I don’t really care what this place is for — I didn’t come to fight. Just got a bit turned around on my way through. I’m here to meet with the Captain. It’s a big ship though, and I’ve the misfortune of having trouble with signs.” She waved a hand in front of her face, her grin pointed. “The men here seem to expect some sport, but I’m not about to give it. Much better to take some time to make a new friend.”

The R5 gave another beeping yowl as she patted it.

Around them, spectating pirates booed and cursed. That’s it, thought the Marauder. He’d just decapitate the wench and get a new opponent.

Standing firmly as his tutors had indicated, he deliberately gripped his training blade in two hands and darted forward, his strike aimed carefully for her head. A frown flashed over her features, and she lifted a finger, waving it at him.

“Stop that,” she commanded, as if to a child. Kardol found himself hesitating, and slowly skidded to a stop. She spoke again, tone water and wind. “You don’t want to fight, my friend.”

“I...don’t?”

“What’s your name? Tell me. Mine is Atyiru.”

“Kardol,” he answered, unsure why.

“Kardol. Come sit.”

Still somewhat confused, the Zabrak started to do so, when blaring klaxons snapped him out of his stupor. His head whipped around as the hangar doors began to retract. A shimmering force field flickered into life between the bay and the open, hungry blackness of space.

"Now now," blared a static-stricken drawl from over the bay’s speakers. "You're going to be putting on quite the show for us or, well... Would be a shame to have to hit this here button."

Kadrol was still confused as to what was happening, but he did know what he heard. He was told to fight. He was told to fight a blind woman. A small voice of his master in his head told him it wasn't right, but nevertheless he was prepared to live. Kadrol stood up from his spot at the table, pointing, saying “May I see your droid?”
The woman patted the dome of the little droid, and in a voice you might talk to a baby in, said, “Our guest would like to meet you.”

“Vreeooo,” the droid beeped. Kadrol let out a whimper of a laugh. “Can I keep your droid?” He asked, sincerely. He unstrapped the blaster rifle on his back and carefully aimed a shot at the woman's forehead. Even without having anticipated the shot, the shot merely hit the top of her dominant shoulder. Shouting to himself and the droid, he swore in binary code: “01000100 01100001 01101101 01101110 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100001”(also vrooeoopeeoooep (binary) or Damn it!(basic)). The Miraluka drew her brilliant cyan bladed lightsaber. “I tried to be your friend, I really did,” She muttered Kadrol reattached his blaster and drew his saber, but then realized why the lady was being so weird. “Oh, That's what was happening.” He said awkwardly. “Let’s give them what they want, but only go until disarmed. No kill, ok?” “Fine.” Atyiru replied. The two faced each other, blades drawn. Atyiru struck quickly, and it forced Kadrol to stay focused to block each attempt. The zabrak might not have hair, but he still had sweat glands. The only reason he hadn't gotten hit was him knowing where he would need to place his blade to block hers. Their attacks and parries were in no rhythm. One would come low to the left, then high right, low right, then high right, and all over the place, the strikes kept coming back and forth between the two combatants.

Neophyte Kadrol Hauen did not meet the minimum required word count for this competition. This match ends in disqualification.

Kadrol will receive 0 points while Atyiru will receive 0.66 points for 1 post made.