[MM] October 2.2.1: "Killer" lyrics
(ooc: this is set after Vader’s first betrayal, when Galen goes in search of General Kota to ultimately create the Rebel Alliance. Oh yes, we‘re AUing it like mad bitches. Claire is
its_notluck, use of the Haitian and Nathan Petrelli not aimed at any specific journals, we‘re just abusing using them :P )
It's alright to scream
I'm screaming too,
Why'd you think I do these things I do?
For shadows haunted me like ghosts,
So I became what I feared the most
He had left no witnesses and every trace of his past behind, just as instructed, so when a soft, feminine voice called his name from the darkest corner of the cantina, his first thought was that the speaker would have to die, quickly and quietly.
“Starkiller.”
His fingers reached for his lightsaber on instinct, his nerves already dancing on every possible edge--he was getting so sick of scouring through every disgusting, seedy cantina between Cloud City and Nar Shaddaa--but cool logic won out over his frustrations. Quick, and quiet. A broken neck, a crushed windpipe, a quick twist and that soft, low voice would be silent, and never speak his name again.
He followed it to the source. She was slight of build, dark hair, light eyes, and dressed in the hodgepodge clothing of a bounty hunter; it suited her about as well as his own disguise suited him. He had seen the Twi’lek and their provocative dance, he had seen the icy calm of politicians, hardened stares of warriors, the judgmental wisdom and power of Jedi, the flirtatious smiles of courtesans. Somehow, she was all of them, and none of them, and some small part of him wanted nothing more than to kneel at her feet.
She was not a stranger, as he first thought. And neither was she alone. His fingers tightened into a fist at the sight of the man seated at her right, his dark-skin making him near invisible in the low light; he should’ve sensed his presence, the moment he stepped into the room, except that was what made the subtle gift the Haitians possessed so dangerous; he’d been blinded as soon as he walked into the shielded area. Supposedly the Empire had wiped them out, years ago.
Of course, they had thought that they eliminated the Jedi as well.
“Have a seat.”
He tilted his head at her and remained standing, defiantly. He watched the ignition of irritation flicker behind her eyes, this spoiled senator’s daughter, this girl that had grown used to giving orders and having them obeyed. She thought she’d made him defenseless, perhaps, but that was hardly so. “And here I thought you were smart,” she snarled, leaning back in her chair. “Sit down, before you draw too much attention to us.”
“I’m about ten seconds from being far beyond caring about drawing attention.”
“I’ll bet you are.” She stared at him. He stared back, assuming a bold stance and an arrogance he wasn’t entirely certain that he could back. “You're looking for Rahm Kota,” she finally said in that same low, dangerous tone. “I know where you can find him, and I know what your mission is. My father sent me to help you.”
It was so ridiculous, on so many levels, that he nearly laughed. Senator Petrelli was among the Emperor‘s strongest and most vocal supporters, and the implication that this child would know anything of Lord Vader‘s plans... “You’re wasting my time, girl.”
“Did you really believe Vader meant to rule the galaxy with you?” she remarked to his retreating back. “He’s biding his time with you, boy. Until he can find his son.”
He stopped. Perhaps for the same reason that he tried to catch Shaak Ti before she plummeted into the Ancient Abyss; there was a ring of truth to her words that was so real, one didn’t need the Force to hear it, to feel it. “Send the Haitian to the landing docks,” he murmured before he turned back around to face her, and--finally--sat down in the chair across from her. “And we’ll talk.”
“No.” It wasn’t the girl that spoke, nor was it the Haitian, who rose smoothly and without a murmur of complaint, but the man seated on her left side. “I’m not leaving you with this Sith trash, Ambassador, your father--”
“Shut up.” She didn’t even look at her companion as she rebuked him, dismissed him with a flip of her hand. “Go.”
“Ambassador--”
“I said, go.”
He wanted to smirk at the heated look he received when the soldier finally obeyed, but he kept his focus on the girl. He didn’t speak until he felt the shield that had been cutting into his connection to the Force slide away completely. “You know I’m going to kill you if I don’t like what you have to say.”
“You can try.” Arrogant, spoiled little bitch. He kept his expression neutral, refused to let her see that she was irritating him. “Your Master sent you into the universe to start a war, to form a rebellion. The Emperor isn’t a fool. He knows he has enemies and dissension all around him. He’s also known about you from the very beginning.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
She wasn’t. He didn’t relish the idea of violence for the sake of violence, but he wanted to wipe that smirk off of her face. “How do you know all of this?”
“Your mission isn’t going to achieve anything except to let the Emperor know exactly who he needs to execute,” she said as though she hadn’t heard him, lifting her glass of Durindfire to her lips. “You’re nothing to Vader or the Emperor but a tool. They’re using you, they’ll break you, and then they’ll toss you out with the rest of the garbage when they’re done.”
He clenched his fist. The glass in her hand shattered, splattering the florescent beverage all over the table in front of her and the snug armor she wore. He relished the way that smirk finally slid off of her face and anger flared. “I guess I’ve got your attention now,” she sneered, swiping a hand over the leather bodice. “You know I’m telling you the truth.”
“I know you believe it,” he informed her starkly. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to lie with your thoughts and emotions…”
He trailed off, and he saw by her triumphant smile that he’d just made her point for her. She reached inside of her armor and he sprung to his feet, knocking the chair over and drawing more than a few stares. She glared up at him disapprovingly and tossed something small in his direction. He caught it instinctively and recognized it the moment his fingers wrapped around it, though he doubted, seriously, that there were many left in the galaxy that would. A holocron cube.
“That’s everything you need to know to start your little rebellion,” she informed him as she rose from her seat and circled the table, moving to stand before him as he gazed down at the little blue cube. “Including General Kota’s location, his contacts in the Senate…and some things your Master wouldn’t want you to know about him. Do I have to tell you how to use it?”
His gaze lifted from the cube to her face. She was close enough that he could close his hand around her neck and feel the pulse of her life slipping away, close enough that he could see the flecks of grey in her green eyes.
He tucked the cube into his own armor and stepped back. “I can figure it out.”
“I’ll be in touch.” She leaned in closer still, and he thought that if he wanted, he could count the faint, faint splash of freckles on her nose, or taste the alcohol on her breath. “We could reshape this Empire, Starkiller. You could rule this galaxy. Think about what we’re offering.”
And then she was gone, in a whirl of perfume and Durindfire. She didn’t even look at him as she walked away, dismissing him as smoothly and easily as she had the Haitian and the little soldier that was so blatantly in love with her.
But he watched her. And wondered if he was looking at the retreating form of his most dangerous enemy, or his most critical ally.
He had a feeling that distinction was entirely up to him.
its_notluck, use of the Haitian and Nathan Petrelli not aimed at any specific journals, we‘re just abusing using them :P )
It's alright to scream
I'm screaming too,
Why'd you think I do these things I do?
For shadows haunted me like ghosts,
So I became what I feared the most
He had left no witnesses and every trace of his past behind, just as instructed, so when a soft, feminine voice called his name from the darkest corner of the cantina, his first thought was that the speaker would have to die, quickly and quietly.
“Starkiller.”
His fingers reached for his lightsaber on instinct, his nerves already dancing on every possible edge--he was getting so sick of scouring through every disgusting, seedy cantina between Cloud City and Nar Shaddaa--but cool logic won out over his frustrations. Quick, and quiet. A broken neck, a crushed windpipe, a quick twist and that soft, low voice would be silent, and never speak his name again.
He followed it to the source. She was slight of build, dark hair, light eyes, and dressed in the hodgepodge clothing of a bounty hunter; it suited her about as well as his own disguise suited him. He had seen the Twi’lek and their provocative dance, he had seen the icy calm of politicians, hardened stares of warriors, the judgmental wisdom and power of Jedi, the flirtatious smiles of courtesans. Somehow, she was all of them, and none of them, and some small part of him wanted nothing more than to kneel at her feet.
She was not a stranger, as he first thought. And neither was she alone. His fingers tightened into a fist at the sight of the man seated at her right, his dark-skin making him near invisible in the low light; he should’ve sensed his presence, the moment he stepped into the room, except that was what made the subtle gift the Haitians possessed so dangerous; he’d been blinded as soon as he walked into the shielded area. Supposedly the Empire had wiped them out, years ago.
Of course, they had thought that they eliminated the Jedi as well.
“Have a seat.”
He tilted his head at her and remained standing, defiantly. He watched the ignition of irritation flicker behind her eyes, this spoiled senator’s daughter, this girl that had grown used to giving orders and having them obeyed. She thought she’d made him defenseless, perhaps, but that was hardly so. “And here I thought you were smart,” she snarled, leaning back in her chair. “Sit down, before you draw too much attention to us.”
“I’m about ten seconds from being far beyond caring about drawing attention.”
“I’ll bet you are.” She stared at him. He stared back, assuming a bold stance and an arrogance he wasn’t entirely certain that he could back. “You're looking for Rahm Kota,” she finally said in that same low, dangerous tone. “I know where you can find him, and I know what your mission is. My father sent me to help you.”
It was so ridiculous, on so many levels, that he nearly laughed. Senator Petrelli was among the Emperor‘s strongest and most vocal supporters, and the implication that this child would know anything of Lord Vader‘s plans... “You’re wasting my time, girl.”
“Did you really believe Vader meant to rule the galaxy with you?” she remarked to his retreating back. “He’s biding his time with you, boy. Until he can find his son.”
He stopped. Perhaps for the same reason that he tried to catch Shaak Ti before she plummeted into the Ancient Abyss; there was a ring of truth to her words that was so real, one didn’t need the Force to hear it, to feel it. “Send the Haitian to the landing docks,” he murmured before he turned back around to face her, and--finally--sat down in the chair across from her. “And we’ll talk.”
“No.” It wasn’t the girl that spoke, nor was it the Haitian, who rose smoothly and without a murmur of complaint, but the man seated on her left side. “I’m not leaving you with this Sith trash, Ambassador, your father--”
“Shut up.” She didn’t even look at her companion as she rebuked him, dismissed him with a flip of her hand. “Go.”
“Ambassador--”
“I said, go.”
He wanted to smirk at the heated look he received when the soldier finally obeyed, but he kept his focus on the girl. He didn’t speak until he felt the shield that had been cutting into his connection to the Force slide away completely. “You know I’m going to kill you if I don’t like what you have to say.”
“You can try.” Arrogant, spoiled little bitch. He kept his expression neutral, refused to let her see that she was irritating him. “Your Master sent you into the universe to start a war, to form a rebellion. The Emperor isn’t a fool. He knows he has enemies and dissension all around him. He’s also known about you from the very beginning.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
She wasn’t. He didn’t relish the idea of violence for the sake of violence, but he wanted to wipe that smirk off of her face. “How do you know all of this?”
“Your mission isn’t going to achieve anything except to let the Emperor know exactly who he needs to execute,” she said as though she hadn’t heard him, lifting her glass of Durindfire to her lips. “You’re nothing to Vader or the Emperor but a tool. They’re using you, they’ll break you, and then they’ll toss you out with the rest of the garbage when they’re done.”
He clenched his fist. The glass in her hand shattered, splattering the florescent beverage all over the table in front of her and the snug armor she wore. He relished the way that smirk finally slid off of her face and anger flared. “I guess I’ve got your attention now,” she sneered, swiping a hand over the leather bodice. “You know I’m telling you the truth.”
“I know you believe it,” he informed her starkly. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to lie with your thoughts and emotions…”
He trailed off, and he saw by her triumphant smile that he’d just made her point for her. She reached inside of her armor and he sprung to his feet, knocking the chair over and drawing more than a few stares. She glared up at him disapprovingly and tossed something small in his direction. He caught it instinctively and recognized it the moment his fingers wrapped around it, though he doubted, seriously, that there were many left in the galaxy that would. A holocron cube.
“That’s everything you need to know to start your little rebellion,” she informed him as she rose from her seat and circled the table, moving to stand before him as he gazed down at the little blue cube. “Including General Kota’s location, his contacts in the Senate…and some things your Master wouldn’t want you to know about him. Do I have to tell you how to use it?”
His gaze lifted from the cube to her face. She was close enough that he could close his hand around her neck and feel the pulse of her life slipping away, close enough that he could see the flecks of grey in her green eyes.
He tucked the cube into his own armor and stepped back. “I can figure it out.”
“I’ll be in touch.” She leaned in closer still, and he thought that if he wanted, he could count the faint, faint splash of freckles on her nose, or taste the alcohol on her breath. “We could reshape this Empire, Starkiller. You could rule this galaxy. Think about what we’re offering.”
And then she was gone, in a whirl of perfume and Durindfire. She didn’t even look at him as she walked away, dismissing him as smoothly and easily as she had the Haitian and the little soldier that was so blatantly in love with her.
But he watched her. And wondered if he was looking at the retreating form of his most dangerous enemy, or his most critical ally.
He had a feeling that distinction was entirely up to him.