The Godless Matron is home to many, resembling a micro-society for those who wish to live outside the typical 'rule' of the galaxy. The Lucrehulk-class battleship's massive hangars have been converted into dwellings as a result. Chute Town is the most notable of these makeshift towns. Many shops and storefronts have been constructed to take advantage of the higher volume of foot traffic. In addition, many ships and crews arrive into Chute Town to sell their "well-earned" commodities, weapons, or artifacts. It is commonplace to find the best and the worst gear the galaxy has to offer, it is only a matter of how big your pocket book is. The 'streets' are patrolled regularly by the crew of the Matron itself, leaving would-be miscreants to be more wary, lest they find themselves on the receiving end of a pirate's sense of justice.

It is built mostly out of spare durasteel panels from derelict ships, dismantled machinery, or any other source or material the pirates could scavenge. It spans the length of the massive portside hangar of the Matron, reaching from it's heavily protected reactor — hidden behind triple-reinforced blast doors and a guard retinue — all the way to the hangar entrance where the many incoming ships unload their cargo. It is more than a mile long, over five hundred feet wide and up to three stories tall, covering most of the floor. Chute Town's streets are a miniature maze, weaving in between buildings on several levels. Verticality is key for the masses of shops and bars to operate without interfering with one another. The main street is nicknamed Murder alley, mostly because all the weapon shops are prominently opened there.

Illumination banks are staggered along the walkways and buildings to provide enough light for the society to function. Still, the 'streets' are left dim with a low hanging fog built up from the collective humidity of so many people in one space. For those calling it their home, there is no such thing as 'off hours'. A large crowd bustles along at all hours, an exotic assortment of individuals from countless planets and the warring gangs that divvy up the territory within. It's the perfect place for those looking to disappear in the crowd.

Alara and her beloved Kiffar headed towards Chute Town’s tournament in Murder Alley with their Quarren friend Lexiconus Qor trailing behind them.

“It makes me sick how lovey dovey you two can be.” Lexiconus scoffed.

“Don’t be jealous, Squid.” Jorm smiled widely as he looked behind his shoulder towards the Quarren. “You got us to the ship to help ya win some pirate booty. Let me take care of mine as I choose.” With that, the Jester reached down with his left hand and flirtatiously squeezed Alara’s rear.

“Heeyyy!” Alara laughed out loud. “Not in front of Lexington!”

Lexiconus rolled his eyes and tightened his tentacles as his profile depicted he was trying to remember why he invited them. “Ugh… at least you guys are good fighters.”

“And that is why we have gotten you this far!” Alara grinned back at him.

“Halt! You two there! You in for the tournament?” A large Zabrak stopped the couple in their tracks, his hand extended out towards them. “Aye, that we are!” Jorm bowed semi-courteously. “Our Quarren friend here behind us is our manager. Where do we register?”

“We already have your names on the list and the posters. You’ve made quite the names for yourselves. I’ll lead you into the back rooms. Your manager will have to wait in the arena with the audience.

“Ugh. Fine. I need some air away from these idiots anyway.” Lexiconus pushed through the crowd and headed towards the large building ahead.

“Follow me, you two.” the Zabrak turned away and followed Lexiconus. Instead of following the Seer in through the large entranceway, he directed the pair to a small door on the side of the building.

Alara and Jorm lined up with the other fighters in a small changing room that was built under the bleachers themselves. Footsteps of the anxious gatherers thumped loudly over their heads.

“Which do you hope to fight, dear?” Jorm nudged the half-Sephi.

Alara’s amber eyes scanned the room meticulously and lit up with a smile. “That Rattataki over across the way. She looks simple enough.”

“Aye,” Jorm tugged the Aedile into his arms from the side, “You’d do well in any battle though. I’m hoping for the large oaf Trandoshan. They make a pretty mess in the arena.”

Alara hugged Jorm’s arms with hers and placed her cheek gently on his. “You win out there, okay?”

“Aye,” the Kiffar kissed her cheek sweetly, “You too.”

“Quit smoochin' and get on the platform! Its your turn!” The Zabrak from before thrust the couple forward and into the arena. Cheers and loud roars from the crowd filled the pair’s ears significantly.

“WHAT?” Alara hollered over the audience.”What do you mean?!”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” The male hollered back, “You two are going first! FIGHT!”

Alara and Jorm looked at each other as both of their faces contorted in realization and in confusion.

A siren blared, and the pair found themselves ushered into Murder Alley. Jorm’s glance around revealed no person closer than the force fields segregating the crowd from the quickly evacuated impromptu arena.

The faces behind the translucent wall of energy belonged to a manifold of species and portrayed a manifold of emotions. Cheering spectators mixed with annoyed customers, smug pirates belonging to the Godless Matron argued with anguished shopkeepers.

“Guess somebody skimped on their protection payments” he joked, gesturing towards the crowd. The shock faded from his bones, leaving only fatalistic acceptance and his trademark humor.

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Alara replied with a shake of her head. “I just wonder why they set us up.”

Jorm shrugged the question off. “Don’t care. Could even be Lex finally coming back at me for the fracas I put him in during that feud.”

A few steps down the ‘street’ put some distance between himself and his lover. When he turned to face her, his hands came up, and he settled into his swaying ready motion.

“Doesn’t matter, as you said. Welcome to the premature rehearsal of our hopefully-not-soon breakup!”

Alara answered his nonchalance with a piercing glare. Jorm almost regretted getting into this fight, but he grabbed a leather case with electronic binoculars from a stand to his left and hurled it at her head anyway.

Her arm shot up, closely followed by her temper. The former slapped the projectile aside, the latter drove her forward. Her fist shot through the spot Jorm’s head had vacated sideways a moment earlier, and a wild follow-up kick caused the Kiffar to cartwheel further in an attempt to flank her.

Alara would have none of that. Her body tensed and twisted to face him, then she unleashed a staccato of blows at Jorm just as his feet touched the ground.

Her first blows were partly defused by his sideward momentum, but they still forced the air from his lungs. His arms came up in an attempt to shield himself, but the woman had taken the initiative from him. Her relentless, bone-rattling onslaught threatened to drive him back despite his greater height and mass.

Jorm jackknifed backwards, his left boot shooting up. The steel bowl capping his toes found and sunk into Alara’s right side, below the ribs. Her elbow crashed down on his knee for the trouble, then she wobbled as the liver hit sent waves of nauseating pain through her body.

He shot forward, ignoring his tortured but apparently unbroken kneecap. Alara’s defense, crippled by pain, could not keep up with her fellow Marauder. Jorm came in low, placed his hands on her hip and chest bone, and shoved her backwards with everything his body could offer - and a bit more.

Alara lost footing and positively flew into the shack behind her, one of the few dedicated to food instead of firearms here on Murder Alley. She cleared the counter and crashed into an opaque plastic tank, which shattered under her impact. As she fell to the ground and out of Jorm’s sight, the tank’s liberated contents followed suit.

The Kiffar reigned his own temper in and didn’t pursue. The smell rising into his nostrils subdued his fighting spirit with wonder.

*Is that...*Jorm began in his mind, when Alara rose to her feet. “...Hot Sauce?” he finished his thought aloud. Alara’s piercing glare found his quizzical grin, challenging him to say something, anything, and live to regret it. He just couldn’t stop his mouth from working.

“Tasty.”

Unbeckoned, he felt the remainders of her restraint blown away by her erupting and all-consuming rage, like a house of cards in a burning tornado.

I shouldn’t have said that!

“You SCOUNDREL!” Alara charged towards her lover while hopping over various debris spewed across the ground that accompanied her fall. She darted side to side as she ran in attempts to confuse Jorm, but his smile before her only seemed to grow wider and wider. The half-Sephi wiped sauce from her brow and thrusted her arm forward just in time to slap the Kiffar in the face with a slippery hand. Her beloved Marauder yelped in the sting both from impact and from spice and jumped backwards as he nurtured the wound her hand left behind with his hands.

With a grin, the Mystic leapt forward in efforts to kick him down to the dust. His acrobatic grace was too quick, however, and Alara herself fell to the ground instead, landing with a thud. She let out a growl of fury and hopped back up only to feel a fist at her chest that pushed her back to the sand.

The Aedile grunted out to hold back tears and spat on the ground in front of her. She spun her body around and quickly tackled the Kiffar’s legs which brought him down flat on his back. With a push of her toes through the sand, she desperately reached to climb up Jorm’s figure to reach his dark-skinned face.

“Easy there, darling. I don’t think the audience paid for this kind of match.” Jorm chuckled and tried to sit up. Alara did not give him the satisfaction, and instead forced her right fist into his gut. The Battlemaster wheezed the remnants of his laughter out and lurched on his side. With a malicious smile, Alara continued her way up his limbs and pushed him downwards onto his back once more. She strenuously landed herself onto his chest, both legs at either of his side, and punched the chiseled face before her. The rage inside overtook Alara more and more after each blow she gave. Her head and fists began to burn uncontrollably until it felt as relief to harm her opponent. The Dark Side began to flicker in her eyes malevolently despite Jorm’s warnings and screams from the crowd which sounded completely muffled to her pointed ears. It wasn’t until the Kiffar began spouting up blood that she finally snapped out of her insane trance. Suddenly arms took hold from behind her and tugged the half-Sephi away from the scene. Alara’s head throbbed with pain and heat as sweat distorted what figure was now standing over Jorm in the arena.

“Get her into some water! Cool her down!” Lexiconus Qor’s voice echoed from ahead of her. She looked up through her dirtied, stained locks of hair and focused onto the arena as hard as she could. Once she saw her dear Kiffar’s face, both cut and bruised by her hand, she broke out into a desperate sob.

“JORM! I’M SO SORRY!” She began to fight the arms around her and kicked to get up. She felt a large, cold hand snap her neck downwards again towards the ground. Alara wouldn’t even give Jorm a second to hate her. He had to know she didn’t mean it. She struggled further in fear and anguish until she felt a large metal bar hit the back of her head. The world quickly dazed into a dark hue until all faded to black. She could just barely hear the words of Lexiconus tending to Jorm when she fell unconscious.

Focusing his non-corporeal senses on what he had only caught a glimpse of before, Jorm saw Alara’s radiating fury organize and weave into indescribable patterns. Then it descended upon his lover, cloaking her like a second skin.

Her lips split in a hungry smile. “I’m so not sorry for what will happen now. A sound beating will do you good, Jorm.”

He finally realized what Alara was doing. I’ve even dabbled in that technique myself, he thought. In that very moment, he did what decades on the wrong side of the law had taught him about unexpected encounters with a lot of power.

He bolted. Pushing himself beyond his physical capabilities, he ran down the alley, towards the force field furthest away. His mind raced, fishing for what little he knew about the harnessed rage Alara had embraced. He completely forgot his own injuries between the adrenaline and his thoughts.

I need time! A tingling sensation and a guttural shout in his back prompted him to sidestep, just to see a heavy club shoot through the air where he had just been.

The projectile continued its flight for another dozen meters before it crashed into the forcefield. A shower of sparks traveled along the translucent wall, illuminating it across its whole width.

Meanwhile, Jorm heard Alara close in from behind, her feet hammering into the ground like pistons. No turning back...

The Kiffar shifted his weight and adjusted his course, then jumped. His bootheels made the Forcefield explode into another shower of sparks, and another, and another, as he ran up on it - but it did not collapse.

Instead, it allowed Jorm to pass the corner onto one of Murder Alley’s walls above the stands, now wall-running in the direction he had come from.

Another subconscious nudge prompted him to kick off and drop back to the deck. As he fell, the half-Sephi passed him in flight like a beautiful, Force-fueled missile.

For the shortest moment, they were face to face, little more than an arm’s length apart. Jorm winked at Alara. Alara glared back.

Then he hit the deck, rolling to bleed off momentum. His foot slipped into the dent Alara’s empowered jump had struck into the metal as he whirled around to face her rebounding off the second-story wall.

Gotta admit, she’s magnificent like that, Jorm mused as she descended upon him. Her ferocious golden eyes locked with his laughing citrine ones, then hers widened in surprise as the Kiffar reached out as if to touch her. Alara suddenly hung in mid-air, suspended by Jorm’s telekinetic grip.

“I’ve got way too much fun with this,” Jorm chuckled as he threw her into another shop. The washed-out burgundy market tent collapsed under the impact, entangling the woman and muffling her outrage.

From the corner of his eye, Jorm saw a Gran behind the transparent barricade double over and wince as if beaten, and guessed him to be the owner. He shrugged it off and pooled his mental reserves.

How long has she been raging now? Twenty seconds? Thirty? No matter, here she comes.

The collapsed tent virtually exploded into metal scrap and reddish rags as Alara burst out of it. She launched herself right back at Jorm. A savage, unarticulated roar escaped her lips as she charged.

The crazy Kiffar held his ground this time. Again, he saw the woman’s frenzy weave around and support her in the Force. With a premeditated effort, he severed the strands holding the Force-weave in place, blowing it into tatters just as she had obliterated the tent.

Alara’s battlecry turned into a yelp as her feet hit the ground with more energy than they could absorb without the Force’s assistance. She fell against Jorm when her legs folded under her, and prematurely depleted literally bounced off him.

Jorm caught her by the wrists before she could hit the ground and upheld his mental assault. She struggled against his grip, but her burned-out muscles couldn’t contest Jorm’s remaining strength.

She kicked at him, but he plain ignored her weak hits with a smile.

She tried to renew the weave that had carried her so far, but Jorm doubled down and frayed every strand of torrential anger she tried to knit into something greater, making sure that energies which would be directed against him went to waste.

Finally, she just stopped. The fury ebbing from her every pore subsided. Jorm slowly let her glide to the floor, where she sat speechless, and panting heavily.

Jorm wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Tell ya what,” he addressed her, “you tap out now and I’ll treat you to a weekend in bed, meals included.”

She looked up at him and took his measure. It must have been as obvious to her as it was to Jorm that he had deeper reserves left. Her gaze wandered to his arms, where the bruises he had suffered by her hand earlier were already fading before she answered.

“One condition. Anywhere but here, preferably planetside,” she demanded. Jorm’s smile widened. “Done.”

Alara made contact with a guard and tapped out. The force fields shut down to admit medics, led by Lexiconus.

Memo to myself: Jorm, never break up with that girl in close quarters.