Fic: Pragmatism
Title: Pragmatism
Author: Elena
Fandom: Star Wars EU - KotOR
Summary: How Bastila Shan grew up, got a life, got hip, and got laid. Take it as it is, folks. Originally posted here.
The first time Bastila Shan met Dustil Onasi, it was winter on Coruscant, and Bastila had no home. The Jedi Temple had been closed two months before and the Jedi sent away. For their own safety, the Council told them. Bastila knew better - she knew they were afraid. How can you fight against an enemy you can’t see? By listening, Bastila told them, but they didn’t listen - to her, or to the enemy.
The Council hadn’t listened to her in years.
So Bastila set off into the bowels of Coruscant. The city spread further every year, and there seemed to be no way of containing it - the people would not be stopped in their insatiable lust for land. Bastila didn’t really care, though. She had more important things on her mind, like survival.
So it was a good thing she ran into Dustil Onasi, because Bastila didn’t know the first thing about survival.
~~~~~~~~~~~`
Apparently, they’d both had the same idea: stay in a large, densely populated area, and don’t be a Jedi. Dustil was very good at that. Bastila…wasn’t. She’d never gotten the hang of lying or hiding - Bastila was always very emphatically herself. She was too noticeable.
And that was why it was very easy for Dustil to find her. She was in a bar, dressed in dark, heavy robes with a double-bladed sword leaning against the table. Her hair was neatly pinned, her face clean, and her spine was so straight nothing but her very proper bum was touching the filthy seat and table. A solitary glass of water lay in front of her. She looked, in short, like a Jedi pretending to be a normal person. Dustil just shook his head and swaggered into the bar like he owned it, sliding into the seat opposite Bastila and smiling at her with all his charm - and Dustil had quite a lot.
“Hey, Shan,” he said quietly, and had the extreme pleasure of seeing Bastila whiten and reach for her weapon. “No need for that. If you don’t already know, my name is Dustil - we have a mutual acquaintance?” He kept his hand on his blaster until she warily nodded.
“I believe we do. That doesn’t explain why you are here, however,” Bastila said snottily, and Dustil repressed the urge to slap her.
“I’m here because I think we have similar goals in mind, and it’d only make sense to join our resources together to reach that goal,” he said carefully, making sure to disguise his intent as a seedy business dealing. “Would you be, um, open to a joining of forces?”
For a moment, he thought she would say no. His father had told him that Bastila was self-sacrificing to the extreme - more like stupid, Dustil had thought at the time - and wouldn’t endanger anyone, even if she would be safer because of it.
But maybe in the years since his father had last seen her, she had learned some sense. She said yes, anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Bastila thought Dustil was one of the bossiest boys she had ever met. He poked and prodded at her clothing and her language and her posture until she changed it - and then he poked and prodded her into something different. It went on and on and on, and she thought she would kill him some days. On those days, though, he would give her a knowing, sarcastic look, and she would blush in shame. Bad enough to fall back into bad habits - worse for this upstart puppy to catch her at it!
They fought even if she didn’t want to. Some of the things he said were just too outrageous for her to stand silent - like on the matter of armor. It was the first issue they clashed over - even if it wasn’t the last.
“I can’t, and I won’t,” she declared mulishly to him as he held out some light armor. “It will interfere with my Force sense. It’s not…”
Dustil just rolled his eyes in that aggravating way he had and thrust the armor at her more insistently. “The Jedi way? I thought that was the whole point of this exercise. Using the Force is like pasting a big fat target on your back for the assassins to shoot at you. Armor will take away the temptation, and it’ll help you blend in. Be reasonable, Bastila,” in the tone of voice that said she was being idiotic. “Wear the damn armor and be safe. I won’t travel with you if you don’t - you’re too much of a risk without it.”
Of course, she wore the damn armor - and spent the next week suppressing the urge to slap the cocky look right off Dustil’s face when she agreed to change her hairstyle, her weapons, and her posture. Brat-!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
All in all, Dustil thought the transition went pretty good. After that first fight about the armor - and boy, did she get angry easy - she pretty much accepted the changes in appearance. She looked different - but still good! - with the rough haircut and dye job he’d done, he’d managed to get her double-bladed sword off her with just a little difficulty (more like a screaming tantrum), and he’d finally gotten her to slouch her way around. The only thing he couldn’t get her to forego was hygiene, but Dustil assumed that some eccentricities could be permitted in an otherwise flawless denizen of the slums. Now, if he could only work on that accent of hers…
“Wake up, Onasi - we need to get moving,” she told him irritably from the doorway of their hovel. He could see that she already had pulled on her armor and had her blaster and shivs strapped on. The one thing Bastila had taken to in her new life was salvaging in the lower city, and Dustil sort of wished she hadn't. It was a little too hot for his taste down there.
“What’s the hurry, Shan?” he asked tiredly from the makeshift bed. They’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with another salvage crew last time they’d gone out, and he was in no hurry to get into the deep slums again.
Bastila just rolled her big blue eyes at him. “Get up, Onasi. The best way to avoid the other crews is to get to the salvage before them. There’s a nice scene of gang warfare fifteen levels down, and the bodies are still warm.” She showed him some exceedingly rare shields, and shoved it into the lockbox. “Nobody knows about it but me, but they will in about two hours.”
And what could Dustil say to that? He liked easy money more than he liked sleep. He got himself up out of bed and began pulling on his own armor and weapons, mindless of modesty. It wasn’t like Bastila, of all people, cared.
~~~~~~~~~`
If there was one thing Bastila really enjoyed in her new life, it was salvaging. It reminded her of her life before the Jedi, when she was just a small girl and her father would take her treasure hunting on whatever planet they were on at the time. Her mother hadn’t liked it, of course, but Bastila still remembered those days fondly.
Salvaging was much the same as treasure-hunting, only instead of looking for rare and ancient artifacts, one searched for money or tools or weapons on the bodies of the dead. After traveling with Revan, Bastila had no squeamishness left in her. Dustil…well, it amused Bastila that she was better at this than the great survivalist himself.
“Remember to check near the groin - they always hide their valuables there. And take their shoes, if they’re good; we can-“
“-sell them on the black market, I know, Shan!” he said irritably, and she almost giggled because he was green. Poor squeamish Dustil. He really wouldn’t have made a good Sith.
Bastila concentrated on pulling rings off fingers and guns out of hands, keeping half an eye on the way out. Meaningless bravado aside, she didn’t want to get killed over the salvage rights of stinking corpses. And that’s why she noticed the other salvage crew first.
“Onasi, hurry up and get moving,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the air towards her partner. “Vere’s here, and he looks upset, to say the least.”
“You don’t say,” Dustil enunciated with extreme sarcasm. “We can take him.”
Bastila just looked at him, and then looked at the formidable guards Vere brought with him this time.
“Okay, maybe we can’t.”
And then it all went to hell with the first poison grenade.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
When Dustil woke up, he felt great. Fantastic, even, considering he got shot at with a frackin’ disrupter rifle! Still, there’s nothing obviously wrong with him. There’s no scar and no pain, and Dustil suspected someone had put him into a healing trance. He looked around the room and cursed.
Apparently, that same someone had skipped town.
Dustil sighed and hobbled over to the lockbox. If he was lucky, Bastila had left him his clothes.
~~~~~~~~~~`
Bastila was not really surprised to see Dustil swagger into her bar six hours later. She’d only left twelve hours before - enough time to get to the other side of the planet. She hadn’t thought it would really stop him, though, and it didn’t.
“Hello, Onasi. It’s good to see you looking so well,” she said courteously, and downed another whiskey. Dustil just blinked at her.
“A little early in the day for that,” he said mildly, and it was true. It was only midmorning. Bastila didn’t really care. Unlike Carth and Dustil, she could hold her liquor. Must be a strange Onasi trait, alcohol intolerance…
“Wanna talk about why you took off?” he asked gently, and Bastila ignored him.
“Are you sure?” Bastila still ignored him.
“Because I think it’d be a pretty good tip-off to whoever’s hunting Jedi to yell ‘Why, Bastila, why? Why have you left your loyal Jedi Padawan alone in the dark?’, wouldn’t it?” he said mildly, and smiled. Bastila gave him the evil eye.
“Outside,” she said tersely, jerking her head toward the door as she got off her barstool. Dustil just followed with his damnable swagger and his terrible smirk.
“Well?” he asks impatiently once their in a niche in the wall. “What’s all this about? I thought we were doing good.”
“You almost died, Dustil,” Bastila said tiredly.
“So it’s ‘Dustil’ now, Bastila?” Dustil said daringly. “And I didn’t, thanks to your healing. Think how much worse it could’ve been without you.”
“You wouldn’t have been there at all if it weren’t for me!” she cried, and Dustil just laughed.
“You give yourself too much credit, Bastila. I would’ve have gone even if you hadn’t told me first. I need the money, as you well know.”
Bastila just shook her head despairingly. “You’re just a kid, Dustil. I shouldn’t have put you into that situation.”
And it’s then that Bastila saw Dustil get pissed. He hated it when people called him a kid - he hasn’t been a kid since his mother was killed and his planet destroyed, he told her later. “Well, excuse me, sister, but I’m an adult. I can decide for myself.”
And Bastila just gave him a superior look. “What are you, Dustil, sixteen? You should be home with your father.”
“I’m twenty, for your information,” he said flatly. “And I know you’re just twenty-four. Yippee. You’re a whole four years older than me.”
“It counts,” she snapped, and Dustil just shook his head.
“I’m not a kid, Bastila,” he said seriously. “I’m an adult, and you need to treat me like one.”
Bastila looked him up and down, all brave face and stern eyes, and something subtly changed within her.
“I guess you are, Dustil.”
~~~~~~~~~~`
After that, they stuck to bounty hunting, which was easier on Dustil. He was always good at hunting people, figuring out what they’d do in which situation. Bastila wasn’t as good, but her aim made up for it. And then they got a stroke of luck - all the good bounty hunters (and most of the bad) went off-planet.
“Mira told me there’s some big, bad bounty on Jedi now,” he told Bastila offhandedly as they shadowed a bounty through a public thoroughfare.
“Mira?” she asked, one eye on the man ducking and weaving ahead. “Who’s she?”
“You know, Mira? Bounty hunter with red hair, has a crazy Wookiee following her around?”
Bastila’s blue eyes widened in understanding - and then narrowed. “Isn’t she the girl who walks around in all weather with a bare midriff?”
Dustil grinned and threw an arm around Bastila’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, babe - you’re the only girl for me!” And then he ruffled her blonde hair. Bastila just sighed and shrugged him off. She was on the job, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Bastila frowned as she read the morning newscast. “This is strange,” she muttered to herself in her Coruscanti accent.
“What’s strange?” Dustil asked as he brought the caf. One black, two sugars for her, and one tan, three sugars for him.
“Well, here it says Dantooine is opening itself up for new colonization, even though the last I heard, Dantooine’s government couldn’t even fend off salvagers. And here it says that the Queen of Onderon is having her cousin Vaklu put on trial for treason - yet I know that six months ago he controlled the military with an iron fist. And strangely enough, Czerka’s stock is down. This really doesn’t make sense…” she said distractedly.
Dustil just blinked. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now, and we have a new bounty to get, worth a cool five mil creds.”
And Bastila turned the newscast off and paid attention to Dustil’s briefing. He’s right, after all. There’s nothing she can do. She’s not a Jedi anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
And then finally, three years after Dustil and Bastila met, Dustil got a message from his father. It said only a five words, but it’s enough: “Home safe. Jedi alive. Father.” Bastila, of course, is the first person he tells. Contrary to what he thought, though, she’s not happy - exactly the opposite. She’s actually upset.
“They’re still alive? I thought they were all dead…or in hiding, like us. Why have they reappeared?” she fretted, and Dustil caught her fidgeting hands.
“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy,” he asked concernedly, and Bastila just sighed.
“I’d just…I’d just gotten used to everything…” And she doesn’t let go of his hands.
“It’s all right, Bastila. We’re partners. Nothing will ever change that.”
And when they stand in the terminal and walk onto the shuttle to Telos, they’re still holding hands. They’re partners, after all.
Author: Elena
Fandom: Star Wars EU - KotOR
Summary: How Bastila Shan grew up, got a life, got hip, and got laid. Take it as it is, folks. Originally posted here.
The first time Bastila Shan met Dustil Onasi, it was winter on Coruscant, and Bastila had no home. The Jedi Temple had been closed two months before and the Jedi sent away. For their own safety, the Council told them. Bastila knew better - she knew they were afraid. How can you fight against an enemy you can’t see? By listening, Bastila told them, but they didn’t listen - to her, or to the enemy.
The Council hadn’t listened to her in years.
So Bastila set off into the bowels of Coruscant. The city spread further every year, and there seemed to be no way of containing it - the people would not be stopped in their insatiable lust for land. Bastila didn’t really care, though. She had more important things on her mind, like survival.
So it was a good thing she ran into Dustil Onasi, because Bastila didn’t know the first thing about survival.
~~~~~~~~~~~`
Apparently, they’d both had the same idea: stay in a large, densely populated area, and don’t be a Jedi. Dustil was very good at that. Bastila…wasn’t. She’d never gotten the hang of lying or hiding - Bastila was always very emphatically herself. She was too noticeable.
And that was why it was very easy for Dustil to find her. She was in a bar, dressed in dark, heavy robes with a double-bladed sword leaning against the table. Her hair was neatly pinned, her face clean, and her spine was so straight nothing but her very proper bum was touching the filthy seat and table. A solitary glass of water lay in front of her. She looked, in short, like a Jedi pretending to be a normal person. Dustil just shook his head and swaggered into the bar like he owned it, sliding into the seat opposite Bastila and smiling at her with all his charm - and Dustil had quite a lot.
“Hey, Shan,” he said quietly, and had the extreme pleasure of seeing Bastila whiten and reach for her weapon. “No need for that. If you don’t already know, my name is Dustil - we have a mutual acquaintance?” He kept his hand on his blaster until she warily nodded.
“I believe we do. That doesn’t explain why you are here, however,” Bastila said snottily, and Dustil repressed the urge to slap her.
“I’m here because I think we have similar goals in mind, and it’d only make sense to join our resources together to reach that goal,” he said carefully, making sure to disguise his intent as a seedy business dealing. “Would you be, um, open to a joining of forces?”
For a moment, he thought she would say no. His father had told him that Bastila was self-sacrificing to the extreme - more like stupid, Dustil had thought at the time - and wouldn’t endanger anyone, even if she would be safer because of it.
But maybe in the years since his father had last seen her, she had learned some sense. She said yes, anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Bastila thought Dustil was one of the bossiest boys she had ever met. He poked and prodded at her clothing and her language and her posture until she changed it - and then he poked and prodded her into something different. It went on and on and on, and she thought she would kill him some days. On those days, though, he would give her a knowing, sarcastic look, and she would blush in shame. Bad enough to fall back into bad habits - worse for this upstart puppy to catch her at it!
They fought even if she didn’t want to. Some of the things he said were just too outrageous for her to stand silent - like on the matter of armor. It was the first issue they clashed over - even if it wasn’t the last.
“I can’t, and I won’t,” she declared mulishly to him as he held out some light armor. “It will interfere with my Force sense. It’s not…”
Dustil just rolled his eyes in that aggravating way he had and thrust the armor at her more insistently. “The Jedi way? I thought that was the whole point of this exercise. Using the Force is like pasting a big fat target on your back for the assassins to shoot at you. Armor will take away the temptation, and it’ll help you blend in. Be reasonable, Bastila,” in the tone of voice that said she was being idiotic. “Wear the damn armor and be safe. I won’t travel with you if you don’t - you’re too much of a risk without it.”
Of course, she wore the damn armor - and spent the next week suppressing the urge to slap the cocky look right off Dustil’s face when she agreed to change her hairstyle, her weapons, and her posture. Brat-!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
All in all, Dustil thought the transition went pretty good. After that first fight about the armor - and boy, did she get angry easy - she pretty much accepted the changes in appearance. She looked different - but still good! - with the rough haircut and dye job he’d done, he’d managed to get her double-bladed sword off her with just a little difficulty (more like a screaming tantrum), and he’d finally gotten her to slouch her way around. The only thing he couldn’t get her to forego was hygiene, but Dustil assumed that some eccentricities could be permitted in an otherwise flawless denizen of the slums. Now, if he could only work on that accent of hers…
“Wake up, Onasi - we need to get moving,” she told him irritably from the doorway of their hovel. He could see that she already had pulled on her armor and had her blaster and shivs strapped on. The one thing Bastila had taken to in her new life was salvaging in the lower city, and Dustil sort of wished she hadn't. It was a little too hot for his taste down there.
“What’s the hurry, Shan?” he asked tiredly from the makeshift bed. They’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with another salvage crew last time they’d gone out, and he was in no hurry to get into the deep slums again.
Bastila just rolled her big blue eyes at him. “Get up, Onasi. The best way to avoid the other crews is to get to the salvage before them. There’s a nice scene of gang warfare fifteen levels down, and the bodies are still warm.” She showed him some exceedingly rare shields, and shoved it into the lockbox. “Nobody knows about it but me, but they will in about two hours.”
And what could Dustil say to that? He liked easy money more than he liked sleep. He got himself up out of bed and began pulling on his own armor and weapons, mindless of modesty. It wasn’t like Bastila, of all people, cared.
~~~~~~~~~`
If there was one thing Bastila really enjoyed in her new life, it was salvaging. It reminded her of her life before the Jedi, when she was just a small girl and her father would take her treasure hunting on whatever planet they were on at the time. Her mother hadn’t liked it, of course, but Bastila still remembered those days fondly.
Salvaging was much the same as treasure-hunting, only instead of looking for rare and ancient artifacts, one searched for money or tools or weapons on the bodies of the dead. After traveling with Revan, Bastila had no squeamishness left in her. Dustil…well, it amused Bastila that she was better at this than the great survivalist himself.
“Remember to check near the groin - they always hide their valuables there. And take their shoes, if they’re good; we can-“
“-sell them on the black market, I know, Shan!” he said irritably, and she almost giggled because he was green. Poor squeamish Dustil. He really wouldn’t have made a good Sith.
Bastila concentrated on pulling rings off fingers and guns out of hands, keeping half an eye on the way out. Meaningless bravado aside, she didn’t want to get killed over the salvage rights of stinking corpses. And that’s why she noticed the other salvage crew first.
“Onasi, hurry up and get moving,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the air towards her partner. “Vere’s here, and he looks upset, to say the least.”
“You don’t say,” Dustil enunciated with extreme sarcasm. “We can take him.”
Bastila just looked at him, and then looked at the formidable guards Vere brought with him this time.
“Okay, maybe we can’t.”
And then it all went to hell with the first poison grenade.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
When Dustil woke up, he felt great. Fantastic, even, considering he got shot at with a frackin’ disrupter rifle! Still, there’s nothing obviously wrong with him. There’s no scar and no pain, and Dustil suspected someone had put him into a healing trance. He looked around the room and cursed.
Apparently, that same someone had skipped town.
Dustil sighed and hobbled over to the lockbox. If he was lucky, Bastila had left him his clothes.
~~~~~~~~~~`
Bastila was not really surprised to see Dustil swagger into her bar six hours later. She’d only left twelve hours before - enough time to get to the other side of the planet. She hadn’t thought it would really stop him, though, and it didn’t.
“Hello, Onasi. It’s good to see you looking so well,” she said courteously, and downed another whiskey. Dustil just blinked at her.
“A little early in the day for that,” he said mildly, and it was true. It was only midmorning. Bastila didn’t really care. Unlike Carth and Dustil, she could hold her liquor. Must be a strange Onasi trait, alcohol intolerance…
“Wanna talk about why you took off?” he asked gently, and Bastila ignored him.
“Are you sure?” Bastila still ignored him.
“Because I think it’d be a pretty good tip-off to whoever’s hunting Jedi to yell ‘Why, Bastila, why? Why have you left your loyal Jedi Padawan alone in the dark?’, wouldn’t it?” he said mildly, and smiled. Bastila gave him the evil eye.
“Outside,” she said tersely, jerking her head toward the door as she got off her barstool. Dustil just followed with his damnable swagger and his terrible smirk.
“Well?” he asks impatiently once their in a niche in the wall. “What’s all this about? I thought we were doing good.”
“You almost died, Dustil,” Bastila said tiredly.
“So it’s ‘Dustil’ now, Bastila?” Dustil said daringly. “And I didn’t, thanks to your healing. Think how much worse it could’ve been without you.”
“You wouldn’t have been there at all if it weren’t for me!” she cried, and Dustil just laughed.
“You give yourself too much credit, Bastila. I would’ve have gone even if you hadn’t told me first. I need the money, as you well know.”
Bastila just shook her head despairingly. “You’re just a kid, Dustil. I shouldn’t have put you into that situation.”
And it’s then that Bastila saw Dustil get pissed. He hated it when people called him a kid - he hasn’t been a kid since his mother was killed and his planet destroyed, he told her later. “Well, excuse me, sister, but I’m an adult. I can decide for myself.”
And Bastila just gave him a superior look. “What are you, Dustil, sixteen? You should be home with your father.”
“I’m twenty, for your information,” he said flatly. “And I know you’re just twenty-four. Yippee. You’re a whole four years older than me.”
“It counts,” she snapped, and Dustil just shook his head.
“I’m not a kid, Bastila,” he said seriously. “I’m an adult, and you need to treat me like one.”
Bastila looked him up and down, all brave face and stern eyes, and something subtly changed within her.
“I guess you are, Dustil.”
~~~~~~~~~~`
After that, they stuck to bounty hunting, which was easier on Dustil. He was always good at hunting people, figuring out what they’d do in which situation. Bastila wasn’t as good, but her aim made up for it. And then they got a stroke of luck - all the good bounty hunters (and most of the bad) went off-planet.
“Mira told me there’s some big, bad bounty on Jedi now,” he told Bastila offhandedly as they shadowed a bounty through a public thoroughfare.
“Mira?” she asked, one eye on the man ducking and weaving ahead. “Who’s she?”
“You know, Mira? Bounty hunter with red hair, has a crazy Wookiee following her around?”
Bastila’s blue eyes widened in understanding - and then narrowed. “Isn’t she the girl who walks around in all weather with a bare midriff?”
Dustil grinned and threw an arm around Bastila’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, babe - you’re the only girl for me!” And then he ruffled her blonde hair. Bastila just sighed and shrugged him off. She was on the job, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Bastila frowned as she read the morning newscast. “This is strange,” she muttered to herself in her Coruscanti accent.
“What’s strange?” Dustil asked as he brought the caf. One black, two sugars for her, and one tan, three sugars for him.
“Well, here it says Dantooine is opening itself up for new colonization, even though the last I heard, Dantooine’s government couldn’t even fend off salvagers. And here it says that the Queen of Onderon is having her cousin Vaklu put on trial for treason - yet I know that six months ago he controlled the military with an iron fist. And strangely enough, Czerka’s stock is down. This really doesn’t make sense…” she said distractedly.
Dustil just blinked. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now, and we have a new bounty to get, worth a cool five mil creds.”
And Bastila turned the newscast off and paid attention to Dustil’s briefing. He’s right, after all. There’s nothing she can do. She’s not a Jedi anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
And then finally, three years after Dustil and Bastila met, Dustil got a message from his father. It said only a five words, but it’s enough: “Home safe. Jedi alive. Father.” Bastila, of course, is the first person he tells. Contrary to what he thought, though, she’s not happy - exactly the opposite. She’s actually upset.
“They’re still alive? I thought they were all dead…or in hiding, like us. Why have they reappeared?” she fretted, and Dustil caught her fidgeting hands.
“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy,” he asked concernedly, and Bastila just sighed.
“I’d just…I’d just gotten used to everything…” And she doesn’t let go of his hands.
“It’s all right, Bastila. We’re partners. Nothing will ever change that.”
And when they stand in the terminal and walk onto the shuttle to Telos, they’re still holding hands. They’re partners, after all.