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Cheriss Ktrame

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R.949655786e97cffaba63f29a40de2d0c

Drifting quietly in the middle of space on a freighter, Cheriss didn’t have much else to do except sit in her seat in the galley(if one could even call it that) and wait to arrive at her destination. She and her associate Drane were meant to be supervisors on the trip, but with a crew numbering barely over two dozen combined with a slow-moving ship, they didn’t have much to actually supervise except for some loose wooden boxes in the galley that held various flavors of caf and tea. There weren’t that many, but they made the room feel much more cluttered than it should have been.

After watching the clock struck nine on the wall, whatever that meant, she turned to Drane. Might as well learn a thing or two about him when they were together, even if they might never see each other again after this delivery was over.

“Have any plans once we’re finished with this?” she asked, crossing her legs and tilting her head to the side just a little. “You seem like the restless type.” Though how anyone wasn’t on a trip like this was beyond her. The ship shuddered a bit then, rattling the table and the mug-vase on it, as it had periodically been doing throughout the entire flight. There was something with the engines, a crew member had said, but nothing to worry about. A portable stove with a tea kettle on it threatened to fall off the crate it was set upon, and Cheriss pushed it back against the wall with the Force. She’d have to talk with whoever left it there, but she had plenty of time left for that. Instead, she settled with a wry smile.

“I just hope we get there in one piece.”


@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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Drifting…but not dreary…
He’s listening…not weary.
To some, this was boring.
To him…it is…relaxing…

Drifting quietly in the middle of space on a freighter.
A man, that Sith, wonders if stars may yet take her.
The name of the freighter—it is the Dusk Breaker.
Enemies may try, a Sith thinks, no flayer…slayer.

Drane did not have much else to do except sit in
His seat in the galley—silently—and just…listen.
It was quiet, but not too much; vocals—like wind.
A woman is singing, piano’s breath…music lives.

It was a way to pass the time.
It was a way to relax the mind.
A crate is at the left and right.
Likes tea—coffee—also wine.
Words curve—like a snake bite.
Queue the wall’s clock: strike nine.
Learn a thing or two, two Sith might.
Drane T’keen, Cheriss Ktrame—night.
Dark as it, but they’re not Jedi Knights.
Though one Sith’s as bright as sunlight!

A man is sitting alone on a galley’s chair.
Eye on woman’s rose red lips, brown hair.
Bite of chestnut red; on ears dance strands.
Hair in a bun and her lithe nose is—a button.
No smile—on those light cerise lips of Cheriss.
Her eyebrows arc as words from lips might kiss.
Beneath dark brown slivers, those brows—whips.
Eyes into eyes—a Sith’s into a Sith’s, hers into his.
A man can eat a woman’s eyes; hers are chocolate.
Surrounding those seas is an ocean of pale pink skin.

A man sees all of this on a woman’s countenance.
It is a look that takes far less than it does a minute.
“Have any plans once we’re finished with this?”
Holds herself with form—crossed-legged Sith.
Her gaze is yet like horns—if daggers can kiss.
“You seem like the restless type.”
“Guess I am just that kind of guy.”
Oh yes—this Sith can also grin.
She can use the Force—A bit…
To keep a tea kettle in one piece.
“I just hope we get there in one piece.”

“We will get there, whether ease or difficulty.”
That Sith, a son of red sun, is certain of this.
“Time enough, I think, to talk of you and me.”
He shrugs—arms crossed—black gloves.
Music from above—a song—piano’s hug.
“As in, I’ll finish this trip, go where I please.
Galaxy’s edge, maybe…we shall yet see.”

Thus finishes speech. Her turn to speak.

@Sicadorito
 

Cheriss Ktrame

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“Yes, time is the one thing we have.” That was a good sign, however— to have too much time compared to too little. “You are optimistic.” The ship shook again, and this time she held the edges of the table to prevent it from sliding. She almost thought she heard a thump against the wall next door. Probably just some object falling off a shelf. However, the music coming from above hadn’t missed a beat.

“Galaxy’s edge… how mystical.” The shaking stopped, and she leaned back as the piano continued on in the background. “Which edge, if I may ask? Unknown regions? The mess they call syndicate space? A metaphorical edge?” Cheriss smiled, met Drane’s eyes. Gold-black, not an everyday sight, and not an everyday man. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker, that much she was getting, and in a way she liked it.

The music in the background swelled, so did the woman’s voice, before both settled back into the familiar rhythm and melody from before. Rise and fall… she could think of more than a few things that did that.

“Lovely song,” was all she said as she got up to pour a cup of tea. The kettle was still warm, and so was the liquid that came out. But as she brought it back to the table, she realized that this wasn’t the same batch she’d made earlier. It was dark, much darker than it should have been, and there was a strange odor coming from it that she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. The biggest giveaway that this wasn’t her own tea was the bubbling and fizzing that accompanied it. Frowning, she put it on the table and tipped the cup slightly so that Drane could see.

“Did you make this? It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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An optimistic Sith.
Should he be less?
Victory is in his fist.
A red sun can kiss.
Our Thyrsian son.
By sunlight touched.

The ship shook again.
As if it’s rocking a bed.
A man would let a table slide.
Could stop it, he has the time.
But a woman does so for him.
Of course, he doesn’t quite mind.

Begins to wonder about those engines.
Maybe something else is rather amiss.
If someone is worried, well it isn’t a Sith.
One way, other,his is a warrior’s business.

Galaxy’s edge…
Edge of a galaxy.
I have seen…the stars…
Bright light…in the dark…


In his mind, a man keeps his thoughts.
Like treasure in chest, they are not lost.
He has gold black eyes, they are not off.
She has brown eyes which his...linger on.

Mystical.
She says.
Typical.
Her breath.
Between teeth, it seeps.
Breathes—a rising chest.
Like a sun. Red sun rising.
But she is not a typical Sith.
158 messages to her name...
The Sith Order, she is climbing.
Lightsaber, not blaster; a ladder.
Queue that one quote about chaos.
Drane's more slayer than flayer, boss.


“Galaxy’s edge…
How mystical.
“Which edge, if I may ask?
Unknown regions?
The mess they call syndicate space?
A metaphorical edge?”

“Oh...you are free to guess. Just pick.”
A man sits, a Thysrian Sith, and grins.
“My lady. But I rather like the mystery.”

A man named Drane may go exploring.
See the stars…between worlds apart…
Drane's his name. And I came to slay.
But he’s a man with a heart and brain.

Cheriss mentions the music overhead.
Lyrics do not fly over this woman’s head.
To a man of piano, violin, he is impressed.
Some Sith prefer...skinning kittens at best.

Ave Maria…
As if theater.
A woman sings so elegantly.
Lyrics, breath; swelling chest.

“Might you pour one for me?”
A man sits, waits and sees.
But a woman is not a slave.
Not a servant. She’s a Sith.

Two cups are upon the tabletop.
Whatever this tea is, it smells off.

“I am not in the habit of brewing piss.”
Delicate accent—a calm deliverance.
Drane leans in—closer—gets a sniff.
Smells hair, skin, senses lips—a whiff.
A woman’s scent is…kind of like a kiss.
A consequence of proximity beside tea.
Though that black tea is quite foul indeed.
“I don’t know what it is. And I will not sip it.”

A man waves a hand to politely dismiss it.
Neither would drink, certainly not Cheriss.
Whatever vile contraption that this…tea is.
Unlikely is it alone. Probably more like this.

“Some table space, if you’d please.”
Flicks a wrist, levitates a crate of tea.
As a hand positions it upon that table.
Stories in tea—yes—rhymes and fables.
“And what indeed are we transporting?”

It was a rhetorical question.
They're delivering weapons.
Crates, cargo hold, naturally.
Table’s crate holds black tea.

The ship’s galley carries coffee.
Likes his coffee black, not sweet.
Both tea and coffee—dark indeed.
With fungus, yes, quite unnaturally.
“I’m suddenly not in a mood to drink.”

A man speaks, thinks, silently listening.
Mystical, musical heartbeats—the lyrics.
Tea, coffee—whether are of death indeed.
The Red Sun can hear it but doesn’t fear it.

@Sicadorito
 

Cheriss Ktrame

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“Hm. Neither am I.” Cheriss swirled the liquid around once as a final attempt to identify it before deciding that it was nothing she was familiar with. If neither of them had made it, she certainly wasn’t about to try it to see what happened afterwards, so she extended a hand across the table close to Drane’s cup. He didn’t seem to want it either. “May I?”

Taking her own drink and his if he gave his consent, she would pour them both in the sink, watching as the fizzing drink seeped into the drain. Some of it stuck on the side, and she rinsed it out as the water came on. In the end she washed her own hands too, despite not having touched the liquid at all.

“You’d think that we’d have better things to drink considering the value of our cargo,” Cheriss commented, returning to stand by her seat. She placed a hand on its crest and glanced at the crate on the table. How even that had growth in it made her wonder what the crew had been eating, and whatever intention she might have had of eating anything on this flight was completely off the table.

“I think I’d like a word with the captain,”
she decided. “Being holed up in here isn’t doing us any good.” She looked expectantly at Drane. “Want to come along? Might as well move around a bit.”

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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“May I?”
A shrug.
You may.
But
Why say
When you can
Shrug?

A man would give his consent.
He would give it to this woman.
A lady of firewood hair and eyes.
Now is not the place. Nor the time.

Drane T’keen is a warrior, not a whore.
To him neither is a woman, no, not her.
This Sith has only just met our Cheriss.
As Sith, as warriors, they’ve met before.

A man can shrug his shoulders and his lips.
They sure had nothing better to drink with.
They had no wine, no coffee and no tea.
Need a word with the captain…indeed.

The captain would not get away with this.
Our Drane is calm—untaken by hatred.
Yet this seems to be a broken freighter.
Must discuss—Captain of Dusk Breaker.

“Might as well
Move around a bit.”

“O indeed, I say.”
What definition?
Imagines dancing.
A kind of arm hug.
Eyebrows shrug.
Not like her ones.
Hers were whips.
Above lethal lips.
And so were his.
Kiss away pain.
Brows—blades.
“Want to
Come along?

And a man stands.
“Lead the way.”
Move along.
Move on.
Rage.
Hate.
Pain.
Nay.

A Sith is a Sith.
A shape is a shape.
Dark side looks for Drane.
So as to find that warrior within.
Find what it is that is his stirring emotion.
Drane T'keen, warrior Sith...Sith Assassin?

The music in this scene was limited to the galley.
But a man likes music so instead of IC it is OOC.
Ave Maria plays on, a man listens in, to the tune.
The scene changes to, not a brig, but the bridge.
Within it is what is called a captain’s ready room.

“We need to see the Captain.”
And a Sith is really not asking.
Guard has a twitch on countenance.
“The Captain is currently in a meeting.”

Drane arcs a brow.
Curves like a scimitar.
Tilts head, crosses arms.
“Rephrase: We’ll see him now.”

Then…he arcs the other brow.
Impossibility, a Sith has found.
His Sith Mind Trick did not work.
As a guard’s face twitches…jerks…

@Sicadorito
 

Cheriss Ktrame

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Cheriss briefly frowned when the guard denied them entry the first time. The captain was supposed to answer to her and Drane— what meeting could possibly be more important? The crease only deepened when the guard’s face twitched at the other Sith’s attempted mind trick. It wasn’t as if he were trained to resist the Force; this was just a regular guard, and it should have been easy to get past him.

“Let us in,” she said, placing a hand on the hilt of her lightsaber as she took a step toward him. After a moment, his face became expressionless, and the door to the cockpit was opened.

“There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” She gave him a hard look before walking into the cockpit. Sometimes a little threatening was all one needed.

The scene inside the cockpit was surprisingly quiet given that the captain and two of his co-pilots were standing in a huddle near the wall. Behind them, on a small table, was a cup filled with dark liquid. They weren’t talking, however, and the captain’s eye was dark purple as if he’d just been in a fist fight. The strangest part of it was that all three had their eyes on the two Sith as soon as the door slid open. It was almost like they’d known they were coming, and Cheriss didn’t like that.

“What’s going on in here? Is this the meeting he was talking about?”

“Yes. The captain has Joined Us. You will, too.”
The co-pilots smiled.

“Joined you? He’s been with you the entire time.” Then she recognized what they’d really meant. How had she not figured it out earlier? The pieces clicked— what she’d seen on the Holonet with what these men were saying in front of her. Their blank eyes, their sinister smiles, that cup that one of them had just picked up filled what that same vile liquid she’d dumped out earlier…

“Drane! Behind you!” The guard outside had his blaster drawn, pointed at Drane’s back as the captain and his two men began to close in.

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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Cheriss places hand on hilt of sword.
Beckons to ‘let us in’, steps forward.
‘Beckons’ is more of a command.
If a woman can kill, Cheriss can.
Well…that man does so reckon.

Inside the cockpit that was not a cockpit.
Bridge, captain’s ready room, kinda office.
A woman and a man walk in, arms crossed.
His are, anyway; unlike her did not look cross.

The scene inside the captain’s room was quiet.
Surprisingly. Not eerily. Not to Sith—So silent.
Music plays in the head that can imagine it.
Ave Maria again. A woman's voice can kiss.

Drane T’keen curls a corner of upper lip.
Not smiling or frowning—he’s curious.
He quickly recognizes the dark liquid.
Tea. Might’ve maimed my stomach...

Dark is not always good, he knows.
Well…dark is never good…oh no.
Darkness in a cup is so…twisted.
Our dark side isn’t part of this.
At least…he is not feeling it…

The Captain’s eyes are dark purple.
Eyes into eyes—a Sith’s can swirl.
A man has eyes—of black and gold.
Cap holds cards to chest; will fold.

There are three men in a ready room.
There are two Sith—ready to move.
A man stands still and he is listening.
May join my hilts for some slaying.

Unfortunately, of TV a man is no fan.
Drane T’keen much prefers to read.
Knows the Holonet—has a comlink.
Finally remembers the message and

“What about my behind?”
Turns his head to Cheriss.
The Force might guide him.
He relies on peripheral vision.

From the corner of an eye.
He catches him! Behind!
He sidesteps to the right.
Twists and twists his hand.
From a hand, a blaster flies.
Into the left hand of that Sith.
Sword hilt in right—ignites it.

-THROOM!-
In the room!

-FWOOM!-
In skull too!

The guard outside drops and dies.
Fingers unfurl from blaster’s handle.
Through the Force, room’s door slides.
Closes off the outside like a dying candle.

A warrior of the red sun turns around again.
Blaster in left hand—bolt had plugged a skull.
Lightsaber in right hand—both at three in total.
Need the Captain alive! Shoots co-pilot in head.

@Sicadorito
 

Cheriss Ktrame

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As Drane dealt with the guard behind him, Cheriss would extend the Force around the remaining co-pilot’s arm to jerk it to the side. The cup that he held emptied its contents onto the floor, and the man rounded on her furiously. However, he wouldn’t get much of a chance before his head was separated from his shoulders with a swing of her blade.

That left the captain, who appeared to have lost any sense of self-preservation. His glassy eyes revealed nothing as he lunged for the Sith with her saber still out, and Cheriss would extend a hand to push him back into the opposite wall. From what she’d heard there was no cure for a Joiner, but she wanted to find out for herself. She pinned him against the wall, watched him kick and squirm, lowering the tip of her blade to the ground. The way the red reflected off the spilled liquid on the floor made it look like blood; either way, she made sure to avoid stepping on it.

“Drane?” Her colleague had closed the door. That would provide some extra time to potentially extract some information from the captain, and her gaze went back to him. Emanating from him was a darkness, a writhing chaos that she wasn’t used to, almost an alluring call inviting the pair of Sith to peer into his mind. Their mind— the hive mind. The captain stopped wriggling.

“We can’t.” She found herself saying it out loud, though her voice was hardly more than a whisper. If they were to expose their own minds to the man, to the bugs, she was almost certain that the Killiks would engulf them. They would take it all, until there was nothing left but Them. The moment her gaze moved from him to Drane, the man started to fight her grip again.

“We have to kill him.”


@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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Even a Sith should sometimes be forgiven.
Really didn’t know these are Joiners OOC.
IC—well that’s another story—come see.
Actions have consequences...no kiddin’.

Can maybe handwave it being on the surface.
That Sith Mind Trick, that is. He wasn’t surfin’.
That said, a man’s mind was exposed—wait.
Maybe the guard’s hardly Joined. Headache.

That will come up via organic development.
A Sith is named Drane—is kind of elegant.
Likes tea but has standards and etiquette.
Whatever this new devilry is—decadent.
Putrid tea. Really? So very beneath me.

A man is not quite losing his mind.
Won a gun but is blinking his eyes.
At least he knows to avoid…liquid.
Blood was pretty but is disgusted.

It isn’t blood but more like bloody tea.
Darkness is a kiss but hard to breathe.
A man’s chest rises quite passionately.
Dark side is alluring—yes—So…pretty.

Drane T’keen—he wants to peer within!
Gaze into a brain—a hive mind—kiss it!
No, Drane! Stay away! Fight against it!
SLAY. SLAY. SLAY. O WARRIOR WITHIN.


“We can’t.”

“We can’t.”
He found himself
Saying it out loud.
Though his voice
Was hardly more
Than a whisper…
We can’t.

Maybe a fellow Sith knows more than him.
Maybe Cheriss knows more about all this.
If a man wants knowledge then it’ll be his.
This is…like fighting against a lady’s lips...

Ave Maria
—no more time for it
This is a Hitman’s Apocalypse!

“We have to kill him.”

“Then I shall slay it.”

‘Him’ was more...‘It’...at this point.
A woman pins It to wall like Kayden.
Back when she was in a hallway then.
Her 'n' Leh’Min. He pinned Quin. Voice.

A voice whispers within Drane’s brain.
He blinks. Stay away! No! Stay awake!

Cheriss keeps her grip on the Captain.
A Sith is a Sith but Drane isn’t Kayden!

Like Cheriss before him, Drane
Places a hand on the hilt of his
Lightsaber and he then takes
A step toward that Captain.
AND A SITH LIVES FOR THIS.

Bugs and Joiners and Killiks, oh my!
Drane lives for killin’, red sun so bright!
Will Killiks bring on galaxy’s apocalypse?
If anyone will do it—it ought to be the Sith!

Black silver hilt in right hand, scarlet blade.
Flicks a wrist, sword’s kiss, a Captain’s slain.
A head bounces after tumbling from a neck.
“Believe I killed him.” Blinks. “Yes. He’s dead.”

@Sicadorito
 

Cheriss Ktrame

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One clean swipe of a sword was all it took to kill the captain— and nothing more. He didn’t make a sound as his head rolled unceremoniously off of his shoulders, and Cheriss couldn’t help noticing how quietly he went. It was nothing like the screaming victims she was used to in Kayden’s company.

“Yes, he is,” she confirmed, though just to be sure she nudged his arm with the tip of her boot. Who knew to what extent the bugs could control their puppets.

As if right on cue, Cheriss saw that the sensors were picking up on a couple men coming down the hall toward them. Whether they were joined was the question, however, and she didn’t want to risk using the Force to find out.

“There.” The group was visible from the door now as they turned the corner, and at first glance they did look normal. Hopefully that was the case— one Joined captain was bad enough. But just as they were about to approach the door, the lights switched off, leaving the room pitch black. Cheriss could hear the low whir that was the ship powering down, and when she tried the buttons nothing was responding. Even the vents stopped pushing out air, and the only things that she could hear were her and Drane’s own breathing, the footsteps outside, the humming lightsabers inside, and the faint song that still permeated through the ship.

The door groaned as hands on the other side began to pull it open. But the moment it began to move, Cheriss would send a Force push in the men’s direction. When the men felt it, they would already be launched a good distance back in the hall, giving her and Drane some time to get themselves out of the corner they were in.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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Ave Maria.
To Drane, the sound's what matters.
It is not too much the lyrics business.
The singing. Musical instruments. Her lips.

Across the ship, the music—permeates.
In this Imp ship—Sith never hesitate.
Their enemies attempt to open gate!
Idiots—slaves—blind to their very fate!

A Sith casts a Force Push.
Name of the attack from hand.
Cheriss can make charcoal blush.
Right now, just two Sith, woman, man.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“You’re a Sith, Cheriss.
Bad feelings go with the business.”


A man looks at a woman before him and ponders that kiss.
It lasts for only a fleeting moment; peers away from her lips.
Battle’s this Sith’s business; can multitask but his mind flips.

FLAY. FLAY. FLAY.
FLAY.
FLAY.
FLAY. FLAY. FLAY.
FLAY.
FLAY.
FLAY. FLAY. FLAY.


Can you see?
A kinda...“E”?
Is it insanity?
That a sea?
In a scene?
It means..?
..Nothing..
..Maybe..?

Madness—mind aggression.
Just a writer’s expression.
Of the madness therein.
As if Kayden is Drane.
As if Drane is Kayden.
No need for explanation.
Remember a scene earlier
When Drane touched Joiner.

Something is definitely going on.
Not too sure yet what development.
Have to remember this is based on OOC.
Not knowing that Joiners are in our own IC.

The door had not lasted that long.
Long enough to begin to move on.
Though redundant we ‘move along’.
My head...it’s…something...is…wrong.

“Cheriss…do…you like…nightclubs?”
Yet, her answer does not matter much.
“Rave with saber, slayer! We are in one!”
Ready lightsabers; burn more than blood!

So they begin to make their escape from a room.
A Sith knows that only a Sith deals in absolutes.
It is a mistake to call their corner a kind of corner.
Drane believes in chaos—and believes in order.

Foes were toast the moment they open the door.
A Sith named Drane T’keen twirls across a floor!
Kissed by darkness, scarlet blade is like glowstick.
Heartless, dancing blade; murderous maiming Sith.

Blaster bolts soar overhead and come his way again.
He repels them, sends letters back to their wielders.
Lasers blaze in their heads, penetrate fleshy Joiners.
They might be sent by Killiks but the Sith—warriors!

His next approach into the action a kinda crisscross.
He slices through torsos and necks—life is thus lost.
But he goes for those who had fallen on the ground.
It takes only a moment and he grins; wears no frown.

A red light!
THE RED SUN.
This Sith’s burns bright!
FOR THE FIGHT. THE EMPIRE.

In the bridge, it is so pitch black.
That saber severs more than hacks.
The Sith light up the dark—”Ironic…”
Drane’s blades arc from his twin fists!

In the distance, at the bridge’s entrance: motion.
Reinforcements, Joined more or less—doors open.
In a nightclub light by three red strobes, Drane dances.
They are cadavers—obstacles to the Sith—he advances.

But it’s not a Force Push he casts from his hand!
Blades, dual flurry parry from a Black Swordsman!
He casts a Force Pull—yoinking bodies toward him!
Twirls his wrists, helicopter pilot, sever limb from limb!

@Sicadorito
 
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Cheriss Ktrame

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Cheriss couldn’t help but crack a smile at Drane’s remark. She did appreciate his honesty.

“You aren’t wrong.” The question about nightclubs earned him an amused shake of the head before she activated her saber. When the door opened, she would make her way out of the room with her fellow champion, playing her part in the simple, yet deadly dance of deflecting or out-stepping blaster bolts that flew their way. Soon the bridge was clear, and though it was soon evident that more Joiners were coming.

Drane seemed more than happy to deal with them, and when the first hand came flying off towards her she immediately realized that there was more of it coming. Cheriss moved out into the hall so that she had some more distance. Even though she couldn’t see particularly well without the lights, her saber provided enough for her to be able to fight her way through the oncoming infected crew members.

After dismembering two or three of them though, she felt another shaking of the ship and remembered that the engine room was still under their control. She was almost completely certain that this had been their plan from the beginning— and she wasn’t even sure that the machinery still worked. Whatever they’d done, she would find out.

“I’m going to see what on Malachor is going on in the engine room,”
she called over to Drane. “Better finish up in there!”

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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In the dark, lightsabers are bright.
But a Sith can see with other eyes.
No matter—so flies the dying light.
The Sith leave bridge and are alive.

“We are not on Malachor, Champion.”
Current scene is what you call a hall.
“We are yet on a graveyard of a ship.”
Behind them, silent death—not a call.

Music is still blasting in the ship.
It is a more lively upbeat version.
Of Ave Maria—voice still in pitch.
They move along—to that engine.

Corridor after corridor—kill more.
Joiners, blasters, corpses for floor.
Just target practice for those greater.
Left, right, left—corridor—of freighter.

They are getting closer now.
Moving along, move around.
“Mm, not an avid fan of A Dart.”
The Expanse: Whistling in the dark.

Drane T’keen shrugs his shoulders.
Navigating beside his companion.
“Goldman had an awful performance.”
Remembers scenes—a mind wanders.

At the end and overhead.
A sign above an entrance.
“That is the engine room.”
Says a sign: ‘Engine Room’.

@Sicadorito
 
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Cheriss Ktrame

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“Ever heard of an expression?” Cheriss rolled her eyes as she made her way with Drane down to the engine room. She wasn’t sure what to expect down there, but as soon as she heard the hissing of steam and the fizzing of sparks, she knew something was wrong.

There were no lights, but the red from her saber lit up the room enough for both Sith to see the damage that had been done. Pipes were bent this way and that, leaking water and fuel, and the control panel was as horribly disfigured as if it had been a thin piece of cloth clawed by a nexu. What was more, the tools and spare parts that might have been useful had all been dumped out from their boxes, scattered on the floor in such a manner that searching for anything of use would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

As a result, Cheriss had never hated anything as much as she hated those bugs right now.

“There’s no way this bucket of bolts will fly for much longer.” The only good news was, the Killiks hadn’t gotten to the stabilizers yet, nor the escape pods, nor gravity control. But the question was why. They were close by, and it wouldn’t be difficult to destroy those after the engines were cut up like this. But then she remembered the cargo they were carrying. Those boxes would be able to fit on the escape pods for sure, especially if there weren’t any living beings in them. And what more were the Joiners to the bugs than disposable tools like the ones in the engine room?

“They must be in the cargo hold.” But of course, just as she finished, the Killiks had to prove her wrong.

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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Killiks.
Has a ring to it.

Reminds a man.
Of a video game.
A certain Kilik.
Wields a stick.
Who is a man?
Name is Drane.
Thanks to a Killik.
May yet turn insane.

“Bucket of bolts.”
Drane offers a lol.
“I love alliteration.”
I hate this situation.
Drane has a headache.
It’s…eating…my…soul.

In the cargo hold, it is empty.
Crates and containers, I mean.
Yet there are no signs of enemies.
It is comfortably quiet, Drane thinks.

On my way, on my way to slay.
Open the gate…I decide fate.
There is darkness...in a lake.
The Sith…just want to play.


Nothing makes sense right now.
He wanders as she looks around.
He notices those escape pods though.
That might just be their only way to go.

With ship repairs out of the question.
Drane yet remembers he is a bastion.
They both are—those Sith Champions.
“I say we blow this ship. No suggestion.”

The Sith wanted to take out everyone in it.
Of course, like Cheriss...just as he finished...
The ship came to life; at least, the room did.
In the shadows—the lifeless—versus the Sith.

“Join us.”
Spoke one, advancing slowly, face so blank.
“Join us.”
Spoke another, a woman standing by a man.
“Join us.”
Over here.
“Join us.”
Over there.
“Join us.”
Over there.
“Join us.”
Over here.

Join us. Join us. Join us.
Join us.
Join us. Join us.
Join us. Join us. Join us.
Join us.
Join us. Join us.
Join us. Join us. Join us.

An…an…8?

“Join…you?”
Asks Drane.
“Join you…”

Ignites a blade.
In his right hand.
Points it at woman.
No, not her—Cheriss.

“...Join…us…”
This is the Sith.
And Apocalypse.

@Sicadorito
 

Cheriss Ktrame

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“Once we’re out of here, go ahead.” If he wanted to blow the place up after this, that was fine by her. Cheriss would give what used to be the engines one last look before turning to head out for the cargo hold. But there the Joiners were.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered through her teeth as she once again ignited her saber. Six of them, and they were blocking the entrance. Compared to before, this would be a piece of cake. She was about to move forward when Drane suddenly began to echo what they were saying.

Join… us.

“Drane, what is this?” Then his blade came to life, and instead of pointing it at the enemy, he pointed it at her. Cheriss lifted her own defensively in front of her, taking a step back.

“What are you doing?”

The Joiners from outside were beginning to filter into the room, and one of them even dared to offer Drane a cup of the black liquid.

“Join… us.” The woman spoke with a listless voice that was hers but wasn’t, and Cheriss extended a hand just as she held up the cup. It flew over to her, and she threw the cup with all of its contents onto the ground just like she’d done in the cockpit. It was only the hesitation for how Drane would react that stopped her from killing every single person in this room.

“T'keen, if you’re one of them…” She’d go through him too. But first, she had to be sure.

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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No more Apocalypse.
“Drane, what is this?”
“I am that is, Cheriss!”
And a man is the Sith!
And of death can kiss!

“What are you doing?”
“Scenery I’m chewing!”
He can chew scenery!
Good/bad kinda acting!

We must remember…
Drane didn’t drink tea.
Didn’t touch him or her.
No, he isn’t of a Joining.
Rather touched a Joined.
Mind to mind, void to void.
It can make you go insane.
Or will but remember a truth.
I believe in going with the flow.
Of things—and such as how in IC
Are Joined on the ship, O indeed.
But OOC I knew nothing of it, really.
So please do allow me to just roleplay.
With consequence yet, to a Sith—Drane.

The Joiners from outside
Were beginning to filter
Into the room, and one
Of them even dared to
Offer Drane a cup of the
Black liquid. “Oh thanks.”

Takes cup in his hand!
Madness takes the man!
He forgets to drink the tea!
Absentminded—spills at feet!

No one notices
Because Cheriss
Throws her own cup
As though it is but a bug.

Who…am I..?
Thinks a guy.
Mind in a cloud.
Kinda like Cloud.
Final Fantasy VII.
I...am...Revan...
My…name?
IS DRANE.


“Tkeen, if
You’re one
Of them…”


“I am Drane.”
Lifts right arm.
Lightsaber blade.
Pointing—her way.

“I came to slay.”
A warrior of fate.
“You must join us.
Yes…join...Cheriss...”


The others look to him.
His strength an advantage.
They can use him for the other.
Both would would join—him, her.

A Sith can grin.
His name’s Drane.
“My blade is the rain.”
Flies forward with blade!

Drane senses that Cheriss
Doesn’t want to join, no wish.
Drane is losing his senses yet
He hasn’t quite yet fully slipped.

Still, in this game we play.
This game called roleplay.
It is once more time, I think,
For one single sitting of PVP.

Drane’s right flank to his enemy.
Hilt in right hand, red blade pointing.
Leveled at Cheriss’ head—for a Joining.
Right foot forward, toward her, is moving.

In a stance of Makashi.
Drane is moving—quickly.
Makashi is like fencing.
Either way, they’re dueling.

So this is how a Drane is moving.
In this flèche, his right foot moves
As his left rear leg begins the attack.
The ball of his right foot is exploding.

Driving impulse to drive Drane forward.
Toward his opponent, sword in the lead.
It could in turn pierce Cheriss’ left shoulder.
But instead of bleeding it would rather burn.

In Drane’s fencing maneuver, however,
His left foot would just then be bursting
Forward and in front of right be crossing.
At the same time a hilt flies into free fingers.

Left hand ignites a blade—a -snap-hissssss!-
Like a snake with dubstep drums in its throat!
Kind of, something sommat, Drane just dunno!
A Joiner drummed on his brain and O so it goes!

Whether or not there was success with right arm
Stabbing toward Cheriss’ left shoulder, left arm
Swings left to right as left foot finds the floor
So digaonally is he swinging another sword.

His right leg had flown forward in a step-lunge.
As right blade had stabbed at her left shoulder.
Left leg followed forward as right leg was done.
With left blade swinging for the hilt that’s hers.

It would sever at her sword-arm’s wrist or hand.
Finishing his position would pit him with left flank
Facing wherever Cheriss is in this Sith’s stance.
A room of Joiners, two Sith, that woman and man.

Drane's advantage was whether she buys the feint.
His right saber could still stab her but isn't the plan.
The intention is to have her block for his right blade.
While his left blade crosses, slashes at her sword-hand.

A man as Drane has learned.
A woman’s voice can curve.
Like the lady in the concert.
Singing at 0:33—yes—her.
In chorus for The Witcher.
Our "Silver for Monsters".


@Sicadorito
 

Cheriss Ktrame

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Drane was out of his mind. If he wasn’t already Joined, he was clearly going insane, and that was enough for Cheriss to make up her mind.

He moved straight forward, his right saber heading for her left shoulder. Instead of blocking, Cheriss would take a step to her right, away from the sparking generator behind her and the lightsaber that aimed for her shoulder. She had no intention of letting him corner her, though it would be difficult getting out of this room with the Joiners watching at the door. Even so, a step closer was a step closer.

It wasn’t long before the other champion summoned his other blade and ignited it. However, as as the new saber began to slash at her right side, Cheriss would raise her free hand and send a bolt of white lightning at his left arm. Whether he avoided it or took the hit, his attack would be interrupted and his swing would end up going elsewhere.

“Drane. Think about what you’re doing.” Though the Joiners were still at the door, Cheriss knew that was where she’d have to go in the end. She’d cut her way through them if she had to to get out of here, but right now her attention was solely on the other Sith. “If this is how you’re going to treat your only ally on this ship, so be it."

@Die Shize
 

Drane T'keen

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And so the dance began.
She steps to her right.
His saber passes by.
Harmlessly to her left.
But Drane isn’t done yet.

Take off her hand was his intention.
If she blocked his right sword, that is.
Cheriss instead had interrupted him.
Inertia still propels and momentum.

His flèche would end with his left
Leg in front of his right leg while
Left sword is swinging left to right
Now so as to not become dead.

Cheriss was not blocking.
But Drane is still swinging.
If in an adjusted direction.
As lightning comes to him.

She attacked for his left arm.
His lightsaber plays its part.
Instead of connecting with
Skin, that red blade is hit.

That bright light from her cracks
Against his lightsaber—smacks
Energy into energy—absorbing.
Those dancers are still dancing.

After right saber had missed.
Its wielder had thus retracted it.
Whether Cheriss wastes her energy,
On the lightsaber lightning was biting,
Drane would have other saber free still.
Whether to incapacitate, maim, slay, kill.

“Drane. Think about what you’re doing.”
Drane! Drane! It rhymes with Drane! YAY!
“If this is how you’re going to treat your only ally on this ship, so be it."
“I must say…you look spectacular in black, Cheriss…yes…a black dress!”

And the Sith pictures the night!
As in death when it snuffs the light!
Is Cheriss in it? Is a cat also a kitten!?
Madness!? Yes. For now it is so written.

“I WILL FEED YOUR FISH!”
Drane is still not Kayden!

With his left saber still blocking her lightning.
Or just held up to block if she stopped shooting.
Drane had regained full control over his right saber.
So he swiftly advances for her, to hurt or just slay her.

He steps forward with his right foot, facing her front.
While keeping his left saber before him like a shield.
Whether her lightning, well, Drane’s blade’s a tongue.
Swinging diagonally—left to right—the edge she’d feel.

His right blade swings diagonally upward to his right.
The lightsaber would then carve a path at her right hip
Cutting all the way through her chest, exiting left armpit.
Is Drane insane? Truth remains. If successful, she would die.
The Witcher, "Silver for Monsters", and two monsters are Sith.
Drane T'keen and Cheriss (surname?) in a thread called Parasite.

@Sicadorito
 
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