Ask Cloud Nine

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan ate another snack and wondered if that was part of why he felt so irritated at the moment. Lack of breakfast. He was distantly thankful Emryc had decided to pilot the speeder to their destination, something that left him to sort his thoughts in the relative quiet. He didn't come out of it until they'd arrive, whereupon he gave Emryc a half questioning, half appreciative look over the bandana.

He shrugged in response and found the angle to slip off his coat within the confines of the speeder, stretched out across the back of his chair for a moment before he placing it back in the speeder. Morgan similarly covered his face. He wasn't planning on politics but his work did go better if he didn't have a bounty on his head for some bit of wetwork or other.

His eyes narrowed. Of course there was security, Cloud City had a reputation to uphold and the corporate council wasn't the most co-friendly collection of capitalists. He began to stand very, unnaturally still. His Sight stretched out and focused forward and his eyes steadily scanned the outside of the manor. Cameras and dogs. It was always dogs with rich people.

"Please, don't be ridiculous," he replied in a voice tinged with humour, "I'd never do that to the poor dogs.."

His tilted slightly, ending the stillness. The cameras were the domed glass kind, tinted to prevent tracking where the lens pointed. Which was little impediment to him, seeing as he could spot how the lenses reflected within their casings regardless. But then there were the dogs.

Morgan took a deep breath. He had his focus back, it was doable. He'd definitely decided he needed food, though, on top of the other things that were bothering him. Sooner rather than later.

"I'm going to start moving soon. Stay close," he informed him quietly, then began to concentrate. Slowly in the Force his stormcloud aura began to flash, the distant thunder of bridled fury. His skin flushed slightly to a deeper silver and his eyes tightened. A low, purring growl started in his throat and rapidly descended in octave to a bass, even tone. An ordinary human couldn't hear it unless they were right next to him, but he suspected Emryc would have no trouble.

The Force carried his will on the sound toward the dogs, the echoes reaching their ears and burying through their flesh. It was a primal and feral sound that with the weight of the Dark Side triggered an equally primal response: Fear.

The two dogs froze in place, tails tucked and ears lowered, literally scared stiff and silent. Morgan's eyes darted left to right, a beat passed, and then he shot out from where they were at an angle toward the wall away from the gate, keeping to a reasonable but quick human pace. Too fast would actually be bad in this case.

His eyes passed over the wall again, watching the cameras, and he made added a quick curve to his path around where a camera was slowly passing toward. When they reached the wall he leapt and pulled himself up and over to land, quiet as a cat, on the other side. The rumbling from his continued, but he looked up to make sure Emryc was making it over without trouble.

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc watched as Morgan did...Morgan things. He half considered bringing up a cigarra to smoke and just letting the firrerreo do everything. His sensitive ears could pick up the unnatural noises that came from the man, the dogs suddenly flattening their ears and whimpering.

He followed Morgan towards the wall, keeping up with the other man. He wordlessly jumped up and leapt over the wall, landing with grace. He skirted around the grounds, looking around to make sure there weren’t any surprise guards. Emryc could see through the windows, a large fireplace roaring and comfortable couches lining an elegant living room.

Emryc knew that breaking anything would set off alarms and have security swarming the place. He glanced up till he saw a window in the second story that was open. Emryc walked over and hoisted himself up onto a low hanging tree branch. From there he darted forth and cleared the gap to jump on the overhang.

He climbed in through the window, stepping out into what appeared to be the bedroom. Emryc paused to glance at the ornate paintings that lined the walls. He lingered there for a few seconds before shifting focus back to the mission and making his way downstairs.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

He should have known he'd be fine. When Emryc moved he moved, following just behind and half climbing, half jumping up the tree. Into the manor he went, eyebrows furrowed with in concentration. He went through the window into after the other Sith and like a switch the sound from his switched off. He took a couple seconds to breath properly and sweep the room. Luckily Emryc seemed to have become briefly distracted by the art. Interesting.

Down the stairs, a step at a time. He could hear the crackling of the fireplace they'd seen from outside, sure enough. But he didn't hear the target. She had to be around somewhere.

Morgan crept down the stairs quietly with Emryc, eyes staring straight ahead. As they reached the bottom, there was the distant sound of a sort of rhythmic slapping and a pair of voices. Well, there were two of them now. On the other hand, Morgan was fairly sure they were distracted just now. So on toward the sound that came from the doorway into the lounge area.

He edged out at an angle from the doorway to get a look without directly coming around the doorframe and- yep, there they were on the couch, doing exactly what he thought they were doing. It was so... tame. Tch. He ducked back around and looked at Emryc, tilting his head. He leaned in to whisper quietly and low near one of his ears. Never knew what could pick up sound in these kinds of places.

"Quick, or slow?"

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc could hear the sounds from a bit away and he could guess what it was. He could imagine Morgan could smell a lot more than Emryc could hear. The thought almost brought a chuckle, but he held back. There was also soft romantic music playing in the background. Icy gaze trained forward as they arrived where they could see them going at it. Morgan spoke and Emryc stared for a moment.

“He’s got a nice ass, let them finish,” Emryc said curtly before spinning on his heel, “I’ll be in the kitchen,” He said simply as he walked off, looking around for cameras nearby. Nothing was activated, the cameras in house drooping. It made sense as Tilla likely didn’t want her little escapades to be documented. Apparently she had been discreet enough to where even their Sith contacts hadn’t factored this detail in.

Emryc made his way over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and finding an assortment of foods. He whistled to himself as he gathered some things, no doubt hearing the sounds of death in the background.

By the time Morgan arrived, there was a plate set for him at the kitchen counter with some freshly heated chicken and warmed bantha steaks, and a glass of wine. Emryc was across the counter, flipping through a magazine while biting into an apple.

The jazz music continued.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan just gave Emryc a flat look. Rear ends aside, what was happening was so boring they could bottle it and use it to make the galaxy's most common ice cream flavour. Beyond the secret and forbidden angle he supposed. Whatever. He turned back to watch them, making sure they were going to keep at it.

As Emryc wandered off into the kitchen Morgan disappeared through the edges of the doorframe, slow and silent.

A cry of pleasure was cut short by a wet-sounding crack and the transition from a second cry to scream suddenly replaced by the tearing of flesh and a frenzied gurgling, a vicious snarl replacing it. The gurgling stopped, and then it was only the fireplace and the goings-on in the kitchen.

Morgan stepped back through the door and brought with him the smell of fresh blood that coated his clenched right hand and peppered his shirt with micro-droplets, eyes glittering like gilded knives, skin flushed now for the second time. He went into the kitchen, passing by Emryc to the trash disposal where, quite casually, he deposited what used to be the woman's throat. Then he washed his hands, removing the blood from them and what he could from the sleeve of his shirt as his skin returned to its more normal tone.

He dried his hands on a kitchen towel and turned to look at Emryc and the food on the counter, then back again. Morgan smiled at him.

"Thank you," he said before digging in. With silverware, of course. He wasn't a savage.

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc gave a vague noise in response to the thank you, his eyes flipping through a catalogue of chronos that looked nice. He took another bite from the apple, keeping his gaze down, “You wrecked the rug, didn’t you? That was imported,” He grumbled as he finished off the apple and tossed the core into the same trash as the woman’s throat.

He cracked his neck and stretched, rising up from his seat. He looked around the kitchen for anything else interesting, finding some credits laying around. He had no qualms with pocketing it, along with a rather nice necklace that had been left behind. He reminded himself to nab the hefty diamond ring off the woman as well.

Emryc finished up in the kitchen, deciding he wanted to go stare at the paintings again. He passed by Morgan but then stopped. He took a few steps backwards and gazed at the other man, reaching a hand over to brush a few strands of Morgan's hair back into place that had been thrown off. His gaze was fixed on the hairline, adjusting it back before he wordlessly left again.

Whistling to himself, he made his way towards the dead bodies. He stepped over the mess, grabbing the ring and a very expensive chrono off the man. Emryc stood back up, pausing to glance at the perfectly shaped breasts of the woman - one of them torn open with the plastic out on display - and the finely crafted rear of the man.

“Shame,” He said simply before turning and making his way back upstairs. He wanted to know if the paintings were real or not. It was an artist that was known for abstract paintings. He simply stood there staring at it, attempting to decipher whether the pieces actually could have meaning or if it was some nonsense paint splattering sold to the highest bidder.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

The young Sith clicked his tongue. So what if it was imported? It's not like it was even an original piece. He focused on the food instead, cutting a piece off and biting it off the fork. No mind was paid to Emryc's looting of the place. Morgan couldn't blame him, considering. He'd join in for a thing or two if he wasn't hungry first. Priorities and all.

Emryc stopped moving, approaching from behind. Morgan automatically tensed a little, though he relaxed again when Emryc's hand only softly slid against his skin to move some hair where it was meant to be. He turned to look at him as he walked off, brows furrowed, then back to the food.

Before long there was again the sound of running water as Morgan washed and dried his hands for the second time, dishes left by the side of the sink in a neat little pile. Then up the stairs where he'd heard footsteps. He tilted his head toward Emryc and the painting, walking up next to him and staring at the bit of what some would call art. His hair was still where Emryc had left it.

"Oh. Good find," he suddenly said and reached forward, delicately gripping the framed painting around the edges with his fingers and lifting it off the wall mount. Behind it was a wall-mounted safe. Morgan turned to look at the painting itself, turning it so it was horizontal to the floor and looking along the flat plane of it. He paused. "I don't think the paint's printed on. Could be real?" He put it down on the bed. "Or a convincing copy. Not my style. This, though...."

He went off to a bookshelf and pulled something from it, regarding it in his hands. He turned around at Emryc and grinned, holding it up.

Amelie Leorna, a live concert recording only distributed at those very concerts and distributed on copy-protected audiocards.

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc eyed the painting for a moment, rubbing his chin in thought. Morgan came out of the blue and promptly began to remove it, “Hey what-” He watched as the move revealed the safe. Emryc sighed in disappointment - so this had been simply a cover up. It certainly worked on him as he preferred to contemplate the painting instead of guessing there would be something behind it.

He drew out his saber to cut through the safe, glancing around at the other paintings while he waited. A square size chunk of the safe fell out, smoke rising as he peered in to find various jewels and crystals. Emryc glanced over when Morgan spoke next, giving his usual bored look.

However, there was a sudden shift in his face when he realized what Morgan was holding. Frozen eyes actually went wide, jaw grew slack, “Is that…” He could only speak barely above a whisper. He switched off the saber and walked over to look at the audiocards, “No way..” He stared for a moment before quickly clearing his throat.

“Mind if I uh...keep that?” He asked rather awkwardly, clearly not used to being caught off guard or wanting something badly that someone else had. He didn’t have his usual confident air about him, his eyes repeatedly darting over to the audiocard.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan stared directly at the other man. This wasn't the reaction he'd expected, exactly, but he liked it. He liked it a lot. Morgan looked at the audiocards and back to Emryc. He grinned, making a show of it, a game.

"But what if I want them?" he asked in a teasing tone, leaning in a little. "I like her stuff too. What do I get out of it?"

It wasn't even a lie. He had three other audiocards of hers on his ship in his collection, though this small case alone contained at least eight. The fact Emryc seemed to appreciate them for the music rather than their pure material value was actually quite...

Morgan's face expression softened, shifted away from saying something else. He looked at Emryc for a moment, clearly considering something before he spoke. Then he smiled, slowly spreading across and gently brightening up his face. He didn't like playing a game just now.

"Fine. But," he held up the case, the face of the singer juxtaposed alongside his own, "I want to listen to it together. Deal?"

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc’s eyes narrowed slightly when Morgan brought up what he would get out of it. He didn’t even wait for Morgan to change his mind before he blurted out quickly, “I won’t shower for a week.”

Mercifully, Morgan changed his mind, dropping the games. Emryc obsessed with being clean and smelling nice so that offer spoke volumes about how big of a fan he truly was. He pondered the deal, glancing down at the audiocards and then back up at Morgan. He should have known the man could appreciate Amelie Leorna. He then thought of when the man had suggested reading together and how Emryc had brushed it off. A small smile graced his lips.

“Together,” He nodded and agreed. His gaze lingered on Morgan’s for a moment, a softness in the silvers just for an instant. It was as fleeting as a green flash during sunset. It was gone as soon as it arrived and Emryc was back to scooping out the jewels from the safe.

He packed everything up in a bag he found lying around. Emryc slung it over his shoulder before looking at Morgan, “Which one next?”

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

No shower for a whole week? That sounded more like a punishment. It wasn't exactly the worst, but Morgan wasn't terribly fond of old sweat. It had a sourness to it that covered the parts he liked. Fresh sweat, musk, the underlying scents that matched exertion and combat? Absolutely. Which wasn't something he wanted to think about right now.

Morgan's eyes flicked to the bed behind Emryc and then back to his face as he considered the agreement. Emryc smiled, just a little one, but it was the eyes that drew his attention. Undistracted by singing he actually caught them this time, the flicker of distant and burning stars hidden behind a layer of ice. He found himself looking at the side profile of Emryc gathering valuables for a second or two after the fact, then he turned away again. He wished he'd brought his jacket so he had a safe place to put the case, but for now he just held it close, by his waist, the same delicate and protective fashion he held his hallikset.

Which one next. His smile instantly turned into a cool frown. Dorian, or a party. He checked his datapad for the time. It was night on this side of Bespin and the lights were dimmed in Cloud City, but the party wasn't due to start for another two hours. Might as well get it out of the way.

"Still need to meet Dorian," he answered, venom lacing into his voice as he said the name. He turned back to look at Emryc.

"Think they had a nice speeder?"

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc made his way back down the stairs, heading towards the garage. Tilla was certainly wealthy enough to where he expected some nice rides. Emryc heard some noises as he headed down, walking over to spot one dog eating from the corpse of the man. The other was chewing up a breast implant as a toy. Emryc watched the display with morbid fascination before turning towards the garage.

“Still was a nice rug..” He grumbled under his breath as he kept walking. He switched on the lights and could see some expensive speeders. He took the time to inspect them, most of them vintage and useless on the road. However, there were some fancy new models that he stopped to inspect.

Emryc’s gaze drifted up to something that had a cover over it. He walked over to remove it and his eyes widened slightly. It was a sleek speeder bike, designed similar to the Imperial 614-AVA, but reskinned for civilian use and with room for more than one. It was black with red trimming and Emryc ran his hand over the surface of it.

“This,” He said simply, using the Force to bring over a helmet and popping it over his head. He tossed another to Morgan before he grabbed the keys and swung his leg over. He waited for the firrerreo to get on behind him before opening the garage doors. As soon as he kicked it on, the engine roared and trembled beneath them, coming to life as if it had been aching for it for ages.

There was a sudden lurch as Emryc jetted out of the garage in one fluid motion. He leaned forward, clearly thrilled at being able to drive this thing. They would become a blur as he whizzed towards the corporate district.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan leaned over for a moment to inspect the bike, appreciating the classic design. He deftly caught the thrown helmet, ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled it on. Smoothly he got on the speeder, walking up and then sitting down just behind Emryc. Seemed comfortable enough.

Emryc's new speeder launched out of the garage, controlled but quick all the same. His legs tightened on the chassis and he leaned forward against the acceleration, arms seeking out the closest thing to hold onto. Which was Emryc's waist. He didn't smell like sweat this time, probably for the best. Morgan quickly regained his proper balance but held on anyway. It was totally normal on a two seater bike, so hopefully he didn't mind.

The bike was impressive, quick and turned easily. Tuned up, modernized, and stripped of the weight of military gear the two of them were basically flying. When Emryc leaned into a turn Morgan followed like he should. When Emryc moved, he moved. The power, the rumbling of the engine, the speed was all a call to motion. There they were, passing the other rare speeder in a bike they'd just a taken from a pair of corpses, the both of them a verb in perfect view.

Morgan started laughing, an excited and joyful sound that resounded through his helmet just behind Emryc's head. For most of the trip he was distracted from where they were going. Just a little while.

Then they were close. His arms grew slightly tense against Emryc's waist and he drew back. He didn't want to be here. But he had work to do.

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc zipped in and out of traffic, expertly maneuvering around the various speeders on the path. It was clear he was enjoying himself, the wind rushing through his body and the sense of rush. He also took unnecessarily sharp turns or sped up in places that just so happened to make Morgan grip him a bit tighter.

Sensitive ears picked up that trilling laugh, a melody playing even through the roars of engines. A grin spread beneath the helmet, committing the sound to memory. He suddenly wished he had gone slower, the corporate district rapidly approaching before them.

He finally slowed down and parked the bike, sliding off and pausing to admire it again. Emryc took the helmet off, his hair more disheveled as he locked the helmet in. This was a ritzy part of the planet, and he doubted anyone would try and jack the bike. And if they did, he would perhaps hide Morgan’s snacks for a bit and bring him back along.

“Seems like you and Dorian have a bit of history,” He said as he glanced at the firrerreo, “This is going to be unpleasant, isn’t it?”

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan was cold by the time Emryc turned around. His eyes were gilded ice and the expression he wore was blank while he gently perched his helmet on the bike seat. He turned over to look at Emryc and ran his fingers through his hair to put it back where it belonged.

"It will be unpleasant," he confirmed quietly, the corner of his mouth curling into the shadow of a scowl for a moment before walking toward the building. Unlike the home this one had a security guard out front, private hire. He looked up from a data he'd been scrolling across toward the two new arrivals with mild curiosity and caution as they approached. Morgan offered him a datacard.

"Have a meeting with Mr. Atlos," he said in a clipped and professional voice. The card was run through and the intercom buzzed to let him know they were there. After a moment the door in front of them was unlocked and they would step through, guided through the halls by a secretary. The inside was a monument to corporate profits. Wooden floor panels imported from offworld, a variety of decorative art elements evenly spaced across the walls. They stopped in front of Dorian's office and the secretary informed them he was inside, then stepped away. She'd seen Morgan before, spoke to him casually but politely. He thanked her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The door slid open before them and, behind a large, curved wooden desk, lounging in a tall and very expensive hoverchair, sat a darkly furred Cathar with an unpleasant smirk on his face.

"Mr. Atlos," Morgan greeted as he walked in, bending at the waist to offer a small half bow.

"Morgan. So nice to see you again," the man replied in a purring bass and waved a hand toward the two chairs in front of his desk. "I've been thinking of you." He looked at Morgan carefully top to bottom, a greedy glint in his bright yellow eyes. Then over to Emryc for a brief sweep of him.

"Found a replacement for me already, have you?"

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc noticed the complete shift in demeanor, an icy chill that suddenly came over Morgan. That didn’t belong there. He followed the other man in, staying silent as Morgan did the talking. This was a segment of the mission that Emryc wasn’t briefed on, and it only piqued his curiosity. His eyes kept shifting to the side to catch Morgan’s demeanor, not used to this complete shift. The art and paintings were ignored entirely.

He didn’t repeat the bow when they entered the room with Dorian. Silver gaze surveyed the Cathar quietly, studying the way he looked at Morgan. At first it felt like an old lovers' spat, but the grin and the leery gaze suggested something far more sinister. Emryc’s jaw tightened and his fingers flexed just a bit, almost wanting to curl into fists. The Force hummed ever so lightly around him, a gentle ripple but the commanding presence only a Sith Lord could possess.

There was no growl, no fangs bared, but it was the presence of a beast prowling just within the surface. Emryc tilted his head slightly to the side, a soft crack of the neck resounding as that monster threatened to bare its fangs. It roiled deep within, under layers upon layers of ice. It lazily raked its claws along the surface, a flicker of yellow passing through Emryc’s eyes externally. He had to twist the chains around his wrist to yank the beast back, drawing it into its domain again. Begging to coax it back. It lingered, lusting for that scent it had caught, just for a moment before turning and obeying - very reluctantly.

It was the first time Morgan would get a glimpse of it. It was the first time he would see even a hint of the weaponized monster Emryc kept guarded several levels down.

It was a crest and a trough, settling back into a placid lake with a soft exhale. No, that was not how he operated. He pushed the thought aside, mind back to tranquility.

“We’re here for business,” He said curtly, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. Emryc had no desire to explore any scenarios that could potentially cause him to step out of line.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan stood stiffly, military and professional with his hands clasped behind his back, feet locked in place and eyes steady on the Cathar behind the desk. Beneath the surface the storm clouds roiled, rumbled, thundered, black and ominous, concealing some twisting thing that hid beneath the cover of the mists. It wanted to claw, strike, rend, remove this man from sight, never hear his voice, never see his eyes look at anything again. It wasn't the colourful flashes of feeling when he sang or the indifferent ring of lightning when he fought. It was simmering, seething, personal and intense. It was hate, pure and simple. It was the promise of a frozen winter, all biting winds and cascading hailstones. He hated the man, and it was only his discipline that kept him cold on the surface.

He caught on to Emryc's anger. Though that wasn't the right word for it. It was deeper than that, sharper, darker. Fury heated the air around him, fury at the man Morgan hated. It was impressive and terrifying in equal measure, he thought, that Emryc could bring to bear and kept concealed behind the ice in his eyes. All things considered, though, he was grateful for his presence. It was gone shortly after, but the reaction meant a great deal. It helped.

Morgan shook his head to decline the seat. He wouldn't move from where he was.

"Fine, then. Business," Dorian said, standing from his chair and slowly sauntering around it, the two meter Cathar's muscles rippling beneath what he wore. He settled in front of his desk to look over the two of them, then turned to Morgan. "The shipment?"

"Checked, packed, categorized, and labeled as requested," Morgan answered him in his clipped military tone, all business and not a drop of feeling. Dorian nodded in response, eyes not leaving Morgan's form.

"You have blood on you like last time. Red suits you best."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc listened to the dialogue play out, back and forth. He wasn’t often in the habit of being in missions where he was left in the dark. Though generally detached, Emryc didn’t have the deepest reserves of patience. He had already made it clear to the man that they were here for business, and it was immediately apparent that the Cathar had little desire to focus on just that. Instead, he trained his attention back on Morgan and spouted more words that hinted at a wretched and painful history that Emryc wished never to learn.

It didn’t matter how big or muscular the Cathar was. It didn’t matter how menacing he appeared. It didn’t matter what position he held.

He barely got the sentence out about Morgan being suited in red. He clutched at his throat then, stepping back a few paces. But it didn’t stop there as he began to reach for the silent alarm. His eyes began to bulge, red streaks appearing there. Blood began to run down his nostrils as he struggled to stand. It was an internal attack, one that saw him bleeding from his ears, mouth and nose. Blood began to seep down his eyes, his very insides being contorted and twisted.

There were sickening cracks and snaps, the grotesque rippling of snakes coiling and roiling beneath his flesh. Viscera were churning and his bones were snapping like twigs, the ribs suddenly jamming and piercing through skin. He was caught in a silent scream, dropping to his knees as he clutched towards salvation that would be denied. He vomited blood on the fine, luxurious carpet of his office, his nice clothing drenched in crimson.

It was slow, it was deliberate, it was patient. It took its time. It made him suffer. Emryc let the beast loose, he let it play with its food. He let it feast. He didn’t move a muscle as he stood there, eyes burning yellow and gazing ahead through the large window behind the Cathar’s desk.

Dorian couldn’t cry for help, couldn’t reach. He only knew pain beyond anything he could imagine, could only feel every bit of his insides being shredded, twisted and broken meticulously slowly. He wouldn’t have wished it upon his worst enemies. He was pleading and begging, and it was all silent. He regurgitated over and over again, but it was nothing more than blood and bits of tissue and bone. He begged for death, but it took its time. It took its sick, twisted pleasure.

After what felt like a century, he finally collapsed to the ground, the light leaving his eyes. The twisted grin had been contorted into a cry of agony, forever etched on his face.

Emryc didn’t look at Morgan as he calmly strode forth towards the man’s desk. He rifled through till he found appropriate files, a datapad and a comlink. Together it would supply all the intel they needed. He walked back, stepping over the dead body as he made his way out of the office.

“You can cancel all of Mr. Atlos’ meetings for the day,” Emryc said quietly to the woman up front as he walked past and silently made his way back to the bike without a word.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Of the many ways Morgan thought this meeting could end, he hadn't expected this one. It was the one he wanted most.

Dorian began to choke, the fury in Emryc clawing back to the surface and burying itself insidiously in the flesh of the smug Cathar. He grasped at his throat, he stumbled, he panicked. He couldn't reach the alarm from this side. He was suffering. Morgan's head whipped over to look at Emryc, eyes alight with the fires of the Dark Side, not even looking at the man who had drawn his ire. He should probably stop him, Morgan thought.

Then he turned back again and watched Dorian slowly and agonizingly expire on the carpet. He watched every detail with an expression of utmost and venomous contempt. He watched the blood spill and heard bones crack and twist. He watched him try desperately to escape, too weak and in pain to even crawl away, torturously torn apart by the shattered pieces of his own body from the inside, fine clothes soaked with his own blood. Morgan's eyes never left him. He thought red suited him best.

Dorian went limp at last and Emryc gathered some items from the office. With great care he stepped around the hot, sticky pile of blood and gore on the carpet and picked up a datacard and small package that lay atop the desk. They were meant to be theirs anyway. He turned on his heels and walked out along with the other Sith, shaking his head slightly at the secretary and indicating the door on the way out. They passed by the guard on the way out, busy smoking a cigarra and watching something or other on his datapad. He wouldn't learn his employer was a red stain on the office floor for days at least and the secretary had no desire to enter the man's office at the best of times. It was good enough.

Morgan walked up to the speeder, moved the helmet gently aside, and sat on the seat from the side like a park bench. He pulled a cigarra from a case in his pocket and perched it between his lips, a small electrical device lighting the end of it before he offered one to Emryc.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, the tension is his body beginning to melt away. He'd never have to hear that man's voice again, never have to see his face. Maybe Emryc would never know just how much that meant, and Morgan didn't know if he should thank him or not. His eyes slowly turned to look at Emryc, the ice in them having followed Dorian into oblivion. The warmth in them was paired with a fading melancholy as he looked at the other man. He smiled a little.


"Thank you," he murmured before looking away toward the ground and taking another drag from his cigarra. He'd ended up saying it. Even if Emryc hadn't done it for him, it was worth those two little words either way. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, shaking slightly with the rest of him as his muscles relaxed. He looked at the package he'd taken now perched in his lap. Dorian no longer needed to take up space in his thoughts.

Morgan laughed, sunny and musical as the coming dawn and birdsong. Dorian was just some dead man. He'd deserved his fate.

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc was silent the entire walk out, the beast still prowling and pacing, hungry for more. Once it surfaced, it was difficult to reel it in, and it had certainly enjoyed its feast. The half Sephi was almost on autopilot as he stepped out, quietly taking the offered cigarra and pausing to let Morgan light it. He didn’t look at the other man as he leaned against the bike, taking in a slow drag.

Smoke plumed from his lips, and he missed the warm gaze Morgan cast his way. Emryc only knew darkness then, golden hues slowly melting back into the silvers. It took its time, and his very demeanor was different. The man that stood next to Morgan then was a perfectly crafted machine, a dangerous animal that was programmed and designed simply to bring devastation. There was no smile, no warmth, no grin. It was hollow and distant.

A hand reached down to the folds of his clothing to draw out a comlink as he rapidly sent messages off to his contacts. Very soon, there would be an ‘emergency’ in the building that would cause everyone to evacuate. During that time, Dorian’s body would be moved out to make it appear as if he had jumped and committed suicide. Any evidence of the two men having entered would be wiped.

Emryc put the comlink away after it was done, gaze trained forward the entire time. He heard that laugh again. That laugh that always caught his attention. That laugh that did belong there. It didn’t cause any shift in him this time. Emryc simply stood there staring vacantly ahead, the cigarra dragging the only hint that he had a pulse.

And then he flipped it all upside down with a few simple words. Even his voice was hollow when he spoke, but the words would have the weight needed, “Red does not suit you best,” He said flatly.

He didn’t look at Morgan as he dropped the finished cigarra, stomped it out and walked past him. The council person was located only a few blocks away.