Whispers in the Night (Slade)

[Jennica Sorsten]

'Midnight on Nar Shaddaa is never dull,' reflected the lone individual as they perched in a crouch on top of a low-rise apartment, while observing the latest of the many bar brawls that had turned into a riot. 'Especially with the variety of individuals that can be found in one underworld group or another throw into the mix,' the onlooker thought with an absolute lack of expression on her face. Continuing to watch for another dozen or so minutes until it was clear that nothing else was going to happen, Jennica rose to her feet and slid back into the shadows provided by the angles of the nearby buildings' lights, intending to return to the two-floor building she called home. On the way back, the young hybrid's mind turned to examining what had drawn her attention to the incipient altercation.

It was another fifteen or eighteen minutes before her path led her back to the joint residential/commercial that was both her place of business and home, and after habitually checking and double-checking to ensure that nobody had followed her, let herself in and reset the custom-made security system before making her way to the top floor. It wasn't enough to keep out anybody truly determined, but it did keep out casual attempts at theft. And that had been good enough to date. Showering and donning a loose-fitting set of clothing took but a few moments, after which the gray-skinned woman settled into a meditative pose on her bed, turning her complete attention to attempting to figure out how she had detected the events leading up to the riot.

So focused on her inward thoughts was Jennica, that she wasn't likely to notice any intruders right away.

[Slade Xandir]

The remarkably silent night on Nar Shaada was a good place for Blood to be, personally. It was the planet Slade had lived the majority of his life, other than when his time had come to a close at birth on Alderaan. Growing up a member of the Corvione on Nar Shaada, Slade had learned lethal things, grew familiar bonds whom he thought wouldn't ever betray him the way they had-
But as always, jealousy made desperate people do desperate things. To set the record straight, the ex-Corvione ShadowSuit Slade had cut down each individual member of the mafia after their latest stunt of converting Siya, a golden Twi'lek he had grown so fond of, into a Songbird. She had tried to kill him, and everyone had been murdered just due to how much it hurt him to see her be what they had made her into. An explosion sealed the deal, and sparing a moment to ensure that nothing moved or twitched that fateful day, Slade had left that planet, this planet, and swore never to return, again.

However, this was not his choice, anymore. Blood stood on the chipped duracrete banister that lined the top of a slightly abandoned building, overlooking the writhing life, below. No major fights or turfwars were breaking out as they typically had- it seemed every goon and perishable method of being had gone to wither away. The place seemed tamer, and as noted prior, a bit more silent.
The Force beckoned him, tonight.

The Dark Lord wanted to get out, to test his little leash he had holding Slade within. Even being here made the internal prisoner attempt turn away, close his eyes, anything to prevent him from going down memory lane. But it was too late. He knew these streets, and that very same knowledge fed the greedy Blood. Golden irises snapped to a figure moving through the lack of crowd, watching as they ducked through and into the hidey holes of darkness and such. He had felt her, that little special scent within the Force, brighter than the typical urchins that polluted the energy, a secret star who'd silently begged his grip to hold and keep. However, as he kept flight high to avoid her gaze, he hadn't hidden his scent within the Force, so surely he would be felt by her wary mental eye.
Quickly she had ducked into a building, one he had perched atop of before he lost visual sight of her.

Vexed that she had disappeared so swiftly, he looked around and found the fusebox, circuits tucked away soundly and working. Wrapping an inkly clawed hand on the rim, he used that same level of desire to find this girl and coupled it with the irritation that she seemingly hid from him these last 2 days. Taking those combined frictions of emotions, he drove the pair home into the fusebox, and strove to drain it of it's pulsation. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled with a frazzled shove, to which electricity of his own bolted out of his palm in one heated and starving arc. It struck and wrapped its own tendrils around and within the metal lid, bleeding into the circuits and with a simple suckle, the power that supplied this building was drawn into him, and the building went black.