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::When the past comes to mind::

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  • ::When the past comes to mind::


    ::Saharia watched as the people went up and back the bar area. She sat in semi-darkness, wondering if it was time to do a personal mission. Dreams had shown her what the woman who had transported her here had done, and there was a person who had to pay. SLamming the glass down on the table and breaking it, feeling blood run down her hands, an icy look hit her face as she remembered what had been done. Nothing would erase the anger she would always hold to what had happened, but someone still had to pay. Not now, there was still time for her power to grow, but soon. Soon. If her master was right then the time difference should be the same as this universes. if not, an old lady would die...::

    I'm coming sister, I'm coming and this time there is nothing you can weaken me with. You have already taken everythign awa from me

    ::She spoke to no-one, thin air, and her cold gaze caught someone as she turned away from them slowly. There was still much planning to do, and this time it would be foolproof, for the honour of the dead::

  • #2

    Always the same it was for the Zabrakian, he sat, watching, observing...

    Never to speak unless spoken to. His eyes did most of the speaking for him most of the time anyway, well, that was not exactly true. Zeta was not one for much for showing expression, but the eyes never lied on anything. The truth could always be found in one's eyes if one looked hard enough.

    Yet as Zeta's eyes fell onto Saharia, his eyes said nothing. His eyes seemed almost empty like. His face, empty of any and all expression. He simply watched her, thinking, but not assuming, that her actions could mean a many different number of things.

    He wondered what she was thinking of...

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    • #3

      ::Saharia remembered the name, Marion. She worded the mouth silently, a flash of ice hard anger, fresh and raw shining in her eyes. Almost with a smile of pity ofr the one she hated she laughed harshly. Oh she would make the witch pay.
      Aware suddenly someone was watching her she looked around frowning, Her sharp eyes looked around and fell ona man with red and black skin, though she did not say anything. If he wanted to stare at her then he could, she had matters in her mind now and someone observing another gettign angry was not foremost in her thoughts. Crush Marions bones to dust or let her roast slowly on a pit of fire? Or simply let her die by weapon. No, that is too honourable a death, Saharia would not allow it. Marion would not die in honour as a warrior but a traitor to her own people. Smiling at a pleasant though she sipped her drink and felt the heat go down her thoat, and she looked down at her bleeding hand as it was a pelasant sight. It would not be her hand next time. So much revenge, so much anger had never come out until tonight, what had brought it on?
      The talk with Dios. That had what brought it on. What would life be without those you know? Shame she knew the answer to that question.
      Glaring at a droid who came her way she watched as it made it's programmed speech and as it glided back, a little too fast than it usually did, and with a dent that had not been there before and had unexplainably appeared. Looking around at the bar again to see who was watching her, sure it was the man with black and red skin, she shook her head. What would it help, as long as it's not a jedi she would be happy enough. Patience was not in the catagory tonight. Looking at the man in the eyes she noticed he did not break a stare and nodded at him, recognizing one who was an observer of others. She nodded her head a little too stiffly in greeting and went back to her hand, the bloody hand getting wrapped in a peice of material from her top that she had just torn off.::

      I don't know what you observe of me, but if you must know let it be proclaimed someone will surely die when the time is right.

      ::Looking at her hand, the cloth was damn but she did not care. Half smiling at the man with black and red skin, one whos name of Zeta seemed to come in mind, she had heard it somewhere and a description, she went to the bar, to give the empty broken glass back and apologise for the blood all over it. There was no need to be rude or irrational in any circumstance::

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      • #4

        One thing was clear, no matter if he could tell what she was thinking or not, she was seeking revenge. He could feel and tell that much. He could see it in her eyes, and in the way by feelings in the force.

        His eyes seemed to look upon all of her very being, not missing one small detail about her presence. Detail was important to the Zabrak, especially when it came to people.

        His eyes slowly found their way to fall onto Saharia's bleeding hand. He had a feeling that she embraced that bleeding hand, craddled it. That bleeding hand was more than just a bleeding hand, he knew, it signified something more. He knew because of the way her eyes looked. Her eyes were not the same when she looked away from her hand....

        Zeta watched her eyes slowly meet his presence, she found his eyes and then nodded her head to him. However, he did not nod back, yet his eyes followed wherever her eyes met. He knew her eyes would fall back onto her hand, seconds before she would look in that direction.

        I don't know what you observe of me, but if you must know let it be proclaimed someone will surely die when the time is right.

        ...Already Saharia had said more than she needed to, and perhaps without even knowing it. The Zabrak smiled thinly towards her direction but she could not see it because she was still looking down at her hand. She'd hear his words though.

        Death is nothing new, it is the way that one dies that is so ever interesting...

        He knew, and his words indicated so, even hinted at such. He did not have to read her thoughts to know. It was in her eyes, and as everyone knew, the eyes said just about anything and everything...

        He watched her go up to the bar, returning her empty yet broken glass. He waited, silently wondering if his words had at all caught her by surprise....

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        • #5

          ::Saharia heard the words but did not outardly show it until she turned away from the obviously uncomfortable bartender. The bartender should have been used to sith tendencies by now, perhaps he was new. The way one dies? Oh there were plenty of ways::

          True, every life is new, and to each life it's death is new. But the concept of death is as old as time itself. There are many ways one would die, but that is what is to be contemplated for each indivudual case.

          ::She was still at the bar, looking sidewards at him. His words had caught her in midair, and they held much truth in them, a truth she respected. For Marion she did not know exactly what she would do but it would be very similar to the death her people had suffered. First the wings, then bleeding to death as acid was put into the wounds. An acid that was slow to work and very painful. Another method Marion had used. Perhaps this man had other ideas to add to her delightful recipe. She turned to look at him fully, noting his careful eyes. He was a very good observer, he seemed to knew that eyes told the truth even if the words did not. Respect for him grew, and she knew many things in her mind he would have already guessed. In a way it also annoyed her knowing someone could read her::

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          • #6

            Zeta still kept his face void of emotion as he observed her at the bar. He knew now, by way of her reply, that she was contemplating someone's death. The death of a particular presence still remained yet to be seen.

            Her glance was not to look upon him fully just yet, but that did not matter. He knew she was thinking. Perhaps he had provoked some thought within her.

            After a time she turned to fully look at him. So his words had sparked some sense of interest. Maybe not a whole lot of interest, but that did not matter too much to Zeta. His words had made a small impact, yet this was not something he prided himself on.

            He never prided himself on his observations either, even if they should happen to be correct. However, he would not deny that he enjoyed when his assumptions were right.

            He'd been silent in her mind for several minutes as he sat at his own table watching her. Finally, just when Saharia would maybe think that he would say and do nothing. He nodded his head to her, entering her thoughts once more.

            You speak of what is already on your mind. You contemplate death, but it is not your own. Someone else's.

            His eyes fell onto her bleeding hand once again, his words continuing.

            Your hand...it somehow triggers your thoughts. It is connected to your thoughts. I saw the look in your eyes as you looked down at your hand. That look is not the same as when you look away. Blood means something to you, especially when it is your blood that is shed. The color of red makes you remember...

            The Zabrak let his thoughts hang for a moment or two as he went to continue at observing her. Surprisingly, he never once seemed to ask this woman any questions. He still never assumed anything he said. His words were not facts after all, just opinions.

            Death will reach every one of us. Death to some, will come quicker than to others. The longer it takes for one to die, the more painful death becomes. As always, death of a being also brings forth great pain and suffering. A sense of loss, a loss that can never be made to return so that it will be a loss no more. So it is also known that death is not always pleasant, and some enjoy this, but then again, some don't...

            Zeta had only been observing her presence as he spoke to her, but now his eyes seemed to connect and lock with hers. His eyes lingered on hers for a moment before they fell away to look at her again as just any other person he was observing.

            ...For those that don't enjoy death, the color of red makes them remember. Not only does the color of red make them remember, but it sparks a sense of interest. A sense of interest to contemplate death. When one suffers from a tragic loss of death, say a loved one, one learns to enjoy death to some degree. They learn to enjoy death because they have pain and suffering and because they seek revenge for their loss.

            Through all of his words, Zeta's face had still remained void of emotion, but all too suddenly, perhaps unexpected even, he smiled ever so slightly. Such a small smile that it almost could not be seen.

            Has red now become your favorite color?...

            He met her eyes once again, and like before, he waited....

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            • #7

              ::Saharia nodded, her instincts had been right, he was an observer, and a good one at that.::

              Red I wear always wear to some degree, it not because I like it, nor do I hate it but because It reminds me that we are all mortal. I once was foolish enough to think I and those who I watched over were untouchable and I will not make the same mistake again. I do not thrive on death, and I do not hate death. Death just is. pain I enjoy.

              ::Blood, her blood, others blood. The blood in her viens from the legacy given by those who called themselves protectors of justice, peace. The jedi. Blood was much much more then mere blood. No, killing this person would not make her happy, or heal the wounds, but it was a price Maron would pay for what she had done to the Ambrellians. It was a pay back. She would enjoy making Maron scream, but not the initial death. She would enjoy watching the woman cry out in pain, cry out for mercy, mercy she had not given herself. Crying out with the very method that had been used for the hundreds who died on that battlefield...::

              Death comes to all. If I had it my way I would make her suffer and scream and let her live with that experience. But to leave her alive is to dishonour the warriors that fell.

              :;Realizing she had said far more than she meant to she scowled, she did not like the way her tongue slipped, and made her tongue a little tighter in her words. But one as perceptive as he would probably dissect them. She was sure he did not know of her home planets customs but what she had said was enough. Revenge on a murder, or murders could only be finished by the death of the murderer. There were very few exceptions to that rule. Very very few.::

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              • #8

                The more she spoke, the more she revealed herself to him.

                He watched her face change to an expression of a scowl, this only seemed to make the Zabrak smile more sinisterly. She did not like to be observed in such a manner, but Zeta rather enjoyed the fact, only slightly, that he had somehow managed to get to her.

                So you seek revenge, this is nothing new. Yet you can make her live and die, all at the same time.

                He was sure she would not understand what his thoughts gave way to, so he spoke more, hoping to make his point more clear.

                The mind and heart hold many things, but your soul holds a great many more number of things. Strip away every part of you, leaving just your soul, and you will find the core to your very being. Torture her soul, and you shall make her live and die, all at the same time....

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