Competition on Korriban 1/3: Quinlan Vos
Title: Competition on Korriban (1/3)
author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
fandom: Star Wars, Clone Wars
medium: graphic novel
genre: adventure slash
pairing: Quinlan Vos/ Tol Skorr/ Dooku
rating: PG
theme: Thief
warnings: violence
disclaimer: Lucas, Ostrander, and Duursema own everything. I am nothing
summary: Skorr and Vos are in a race to obtain a Sith holocron from the planet Korriban for their master, Count Dooku. Ostrander's original dialogue from Clone Wars vol. 4 appears in italics, for continuity. I merely embellish. Beta by the one and only Phaedra Dahl.
Quinlan Vos had the palms of his hands pressed to the temple wall behind him, his dark eyes beneath the beetling brows, over the yellow tattoo, closed in concentration. It told him many things. That a huge predator lurked nearby, longing for a certain sweet taste from the past. That there were two more levels between him and what he sought. That there were more darknesses here than the ones before his eyes, that would gladly feast on him, more inevitably than any physical predator.
They think I've gone to the Dark Side. Good. Just what I want.
Dooku had dropped them here on Korriban, disposed to have his two lackeys compete for the recovery of Darth Andeddu's holocron. Tol Skorr had told him of it, but only after his rescue. The search had left the big man scarred by predacious claws. He still had two working eyes, though. And Quin himself wasn't above depriving the boot-licker of the glory of this prize, since he was all healed up and a worthy opponent. Though of course he didn't have brains enough to get there first, even if he knew the way.
Tol Skorr was letting him go first out of fear. That was the smartest thing about him-- his fear. Quin could work around that. It was astoundingly easy to bypass other beings' fears, often hypocritically referred to as scruples. Killing those who deserved to die, for example, or letting the fittest survive...
I'm simply deeper in the shadows.
The holocron was behind this panel. His hands told him that the failsafe, that would have killed him if he tried to open the panel a decade ago, had long since failed. One good whack with his lightsabre hilt and the stone crumbled, the very molecules weakened by the hungry darkness behind it. The Darth's presence, even after death, was strong, like a greasy residue after a too-rich, nearly indigestible meal. Quin's stomach churned with disgust, but at the same time it drew him. He wanted to hold it, let that nauseating energy vibrate his synapses. Because it was strong. Holding it, without triggering it, would prove him stronger.
I know what I'm doing.
He had it in his hands. Without actually drawing on its power, he let it goad him into running at full speed out of the temple, toward the sky. Triumph filled him, pulling the red lips and blocky teeth, surrounded by coarse black stubble, into a manic grin. The breeze of his passing fanned his long raggedy black locks out behind him.
He was coming to a broken causeway, which he was fully prepared to Force-leap, when a sudden blow from the side spun him around. The holocron flew from his hands, but never hit the floor. Skorr caught it, the ridges of scar tissue on his face seeming ever more rugged in the half-light, crinkling as he smirked, and inhaled the holocron's darkness like perfume. And he couldn't help crowing.
"Mine."
Skorr might be a second rate dark Jedi, but he was devious. Quin was lying there, winded, listening to what his hands told him about the living denizens of the temple, their positions, especially a certain one, to whose mind he sent a tempting image.... meanwhile, Tol Skorr was receding into a side passage, not too fast, as he was busy gloating, but perhaps a speech would delay him a little...
"Clever, Skorr. Letting me retrieve Darth Andeddu's holocron for you, then you strike." As he'd expected, the one he had called to was coming on fast, and Skorr had been surprised enough by the praise to stand still for a few crucial seconds.
"You've been here on Korriban before. You crashed here, and Dooku saved you. You know all the secret paths." If he weren't such an idiot, he'd know a delaying tactic when he heard it. But lucky for Quin, he hadn't underestimated the man's denseness. He was actually coming back, watching Quin stand up again, peering out from under the loose strands of his lank, fair hair with puzzlement.
"Do you also remember this-- SITH HOUND??? " A roar was heard, quite nearby, and the sound of huge claws scrabbling accross stone. Quin was grinning with real satisfaction now, and dismay was spreading over Skorr's face. "Of course you do. You bear its marks. It has a TASTE for you...for your BLOOD..."
Now the gigantic fanged muzzle of the half-lizard, half vornskr, had thrust itself between them, its piggy red eyes lighting up, as the expectations planted in its mind were granted, by the sight and smell of Skorr. He panicked most satisfactorily, dropping the holocron in his scramble for the hilt of his weapon.
"Vos! Blast you!--"
A mere hint of a Force-call, and the slimy artefact was flying into his hand again. Stay with Uncle Quinlan for now, little Darth, he told it... We're going on a fun trip. He Force-anchored it to him as he leaped, not close enough to be overwhelming, just to keep his hands free.
"Mine again." It was merely a parting taunt, from the other side of the causeway. He left Tol Skorr far behind, to face his demons on his own. Maybe if he were very lucky, the Sith-hound would win.
I can feel the fear in Skorr. I laugh at it. I feed on it. His fear makes me strong. It gives me the advantage. It is my ally.
He ignited his lightsabre as he ran, because he could sense the powers around him, roused by the holocron's proximity, calling out to it not to leave them, the Korriban that spawned it. He had to begin actively shielding against the shadows. To top it off, Skorr had killed his damn beast and was in pursuit.
I feel the Force as never before, at my command, pulsing through me. I use the darkness to fight the Darkness. No different than before...
I can feel the power of Korriban all around me, like a sea of shadows. I swim upwards through them, rising on my own will.
There was a ventilation shaft going in the right direction. He levitated straight up it, and Skorr followed. He wasn't doing as good a job, though; he kept banging into the shaft walls. He was probably trying to use the Darkness of Korriban itself, a crucial mistake. That Darkness didn't want Skorr to have the Holocron, either.
Quin had to pause at the top of the shaft, to orient himself. That gave Skorr the chance to slash at him with his wildly aimed red sabre blade, trying to overpower, because he simply hadn't any finesse. Even as he somersaulted and parried the big lug, Quin's mind was focused on the direction to go next. The Force told him that this hound-killer couldn't touch him, and his movements simply fulfilled that, as a matter of course.
I feel the connection between me and the ship, and use it to draw myself towards it.
There it hovered, the ship with Dooku on it. He could feel Dooku's awareness on them, sensing the holocron, greedy for it, homing in more on it than on him, the bearer.
He began to leap and levitate over the rooftops and monuments toward it, with Skorr in pursuit. One final leap, and he had reached the open hatch; Dooku hadn't even bothered to lower the gang-plank. He landed a bit low, and had to grab the hatchway with his arms, though, because Skorr had gotten him by the ankle. One good kick fixed that. But the ship was already rising.
He tried not to indulge the part of him that was satisfied by the sudden shriek of "Master!" from the plummeting Dark Jedi. He turned in the airlock, to watch Dooku barely exert himself to lift Skorr, and his weapon, upwards. The silver-haired aristocrat deigned to extend one hand out of the hatch; otherwise he betrayed not the tiniest sign of exertion.
As the hatch cycled closed behind him, Skorr threw himself onto his knees before Dooku, panting, face hidden in his escaped hair.
"You could have saved yourself, Skorr...Sometimes you disappoint me."
"Forgive me, Master, but it was all Vos' fault! I recovered the Holocron and Vos stole it from me!"
Skorr's outrage at being bested in a race for "his" artefact had caused him to leap to his feet, stabbing his finger toward Vos, snarling out of the Dooku-aping goatee he was growing. Quinlan couldn't help but smirk at the display. He disengaged the Force-tether he'd put on the holocron, and levitated it slightly above his two outstretched hands, offering it to Dooku with a bow, the wrist-wrappings that had loosened falling down from his arms like streamers.
"All that matters is who has it now-- Master."
Dooku kept his expression blank, but he received it upon his open palm with a marked inhalation. Vos was sure that he was getting a greasy pleasure out of the feel of it.
"Vos is right. It's only important that I have it. I consider you worthy enough to save your life...Don't make me regret that decision, Skorr.
"As for you, Vos.... I may have more work for you, soon."
Quinlan Vos looked up from under his heavy brows, dark eyes burning above the yellow tattoo, with undisguised smugness, aimed right at Skorr. Because Skorr's livid smouldering pout, blatantly there, for all he tried to mimic Dooku's cool, was delicious. He would feed it. And Skorr would come after him. And they would have it out.
part 2 http://community.livejournal.com/alphabetasoup/31212.html