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Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Circle of Freedom
« Last post by Syren on October 11, 2025, 07:40:54 PM »“I heard you wanna lose yourself again
You’re running out of reasons to pretend
I heard you wanna lose yourself again.”
-Mansionair
Chandaar: Republic Capital
Surface: Ambaril: Downtown
Kinsa Cavanaugh returns to her flat, completely distraught.
Reflexively, she feels for the commlink Selene provided through her purse. At least she has a direct connection with her now, whatever that may mean. Her pulse quickens at the thought. The subject of their conversation was unsettling, to say the least. It is not beyond the RSB to make her an example. Hell, they were fixing to drag Kaytt out and make her the pinnacle of the perceived injustice they claim to have suffered at the hands of the more reasonable among them. Anyone daring to push back. Oppressors who paint themselves as victims. She understands what is happening and, while still smarting about it, that Selene was right. She is very much attached to her life. All her pretty things. The convenience and ease of it all, at least until recently. But she built it, driven by the need to escape the clutches of detached, thieving stage parents and create something of her own.
All of it threatened by things spiraling more and more out of her control.
She considers what Selene said about leaving, but her mind returns to the heel soaked in Agent Vrent’s blood locked in Kez’s safe, evidence that links Quinn to an active RSB murder investigation. She knows they would look for motive and means, and Quinn doesn’t really have either. As far as she knows, Quinn doesn’t know this person, having only briefly met when they collided outside her door searching for a necklace she knows was likely used in assassinating the Republic President. By now, Quinn probably doesn’t even recall which would hamper any attempts at interrogation. As for means, no weapon of any sort had been reported in relation to Vrent’s death. Small mercies, she supposes, although with a fall from that height, a weapon would not have been necessary. It also conjures a more sickening question: what if Quinn was sent there? Blacked out and capable of anything, which is what this really comes down to. The bleakest of realities. Whoever was controlling Janessa may now be controlling both her and her sister. That is the only conclusion she can draw for how the necklace was produced exactly when it needed to be to exonerate her. Close call, but too tidy. Now she’s stuck with the murder heels and completely freaking out about it. Kinsa just had to play hero for her crush.
Dammit, Selene.
Sighing, she shakes off the dread of opening the door to those kinds of questions. Ones that would lead her further into confusion and despair. The person or people responsible for whatever the hell is going on. A Force user? So played out, and playing right into the Republic’s hands. It could be what they want. Even manufactured evidence would advance their agenda. She’s got to focus on the present before time slips away from her, and she does something else. Something more heinous than she suspects she’s already done. One piece of evidence is secure, for now, so she would need to get rid of the rest of it.
Kinsa tosses her bag on the counter and scans the floor for the remnants of the couture she destroyed. They aren’t next to the barstools where she discarded them. Growing more concerned, she moves into the living room. She pulls pillows and tosses aside a blanket in search of them, not registering the change of light as a figure appears behind her in the foyer.
“Lose something?”
She whirls around with a gasp, arms up defensively in front of her. He steps further into the kitchen, swiftly rounding the counter to join her.
“Quentin…?”
“Hey, Kinsa. What’s up?”
Her surprise gives way to rage, “Wha…what are you even doing here? How did you get in?”
He shrugs what she feels is a little too casually, “Door was open.”
“Bullshit. What is this?”
“You broke the rules. Took something that doesn’t belong to you.”
She scoffs, “Quinn wouldn’t have let me borrow that dress if it were on hold. You were there! I know how that place works. Escara is cool; she knows me. Besides, it was a premiere! You make it sound like I wore it to brunch.”
“Look at you, overexplaining like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he laughs, holding up the heels she was looking for. One of them has seen better days, battered to shit against that gorgeously marbled counter.
“You came to grill me about a pair of shoes? What are you, like, The Menagerie’s secret police?”
“Where’s the left heel, Kinsa?”
Her eyes meet his, and in them she sees something she has never seen before. Her breath catches in her throat before she can manage anything, nearly a whisper, and one filled with accusation.
“Who are you?”
“Your sister’s boyfriend, of course, and a model student.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He smirks, an infuriating expression on him, but nods slowly.
“You know, curiosity doesn’t look good on you. But curious you are, wanting to poke around, when you should really stick to what you’re good at. Acting and aesthetics. Be beautiful and famous. That’s all you need to do.”
“And textures don’t look good on you. You are more of a basics guy, but what do I know, right? I’m just the dumb actress. Except, it appears we are both more than we seem. So, who the hell are you to break into my flat and tell me what I need to do?”
He holds up the damaged shoe, “Do you see that at the top? A fleck of something we both know is blood. I’m guessing there was more on the heel, which is why you got it in that pretty little head of yours that you had to do something about it. Call someone, say a lawyer, to help you out.”
“You’ve been stalking me?”
“That’s such an ugly word, and beside the point. The point is Quinn and how she’ll be implicated if you don’t consider your next move very, very carefully.”
She sneers, “What did you make her do?”
“Wrong question. All you need to do is get it back and say nothing if you want to save your sister.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Oh, sweetie. There is so much worse. The things you have done, things you can’t even remember. You could call the RSB, I’m sure they’d love to hear from you. There were a few agents who met a brutal end after swinging by to talk to you about your venture into the underworld. I bet they look fondly at wannabe revolutionaries in the courts. What do you think?”
Kinsa edges toward the kitchen, but he keeps pace before closing the distance more quickly than she thought possible. He grabs her roughly by the face, forcing her back against the counter with a hand clamped over her mouth. Then, wrenching her head toward him, he leans close.
“I bet you even think Kaytt was alive when you left her place that night. Don’t you?”
Her eyes widen, hands gripping the countertop, as she wilts under his chilling laughter.
“No, no, the RSB is reckless, sloppy even, but there needed to be a body. A headline. Someone the public would react to, and strongly. Division and fear are so much more powerful than hope. Works every time. Only one way to guarantee that outcome. A bit brutal, but that’s showbiz, baby. Nice work. A career-defining performance.”
Something in her breaks. Tears spill down her cheeks and over his fingers taut across her mouth.
“So sweet,” he says coldly. “Now, you are going to do exactly as I tell you. Get the heel back and bring it to me, or Quinn goes down in flames with you not that far behind her. This is not the time to be brave or get clever. We all know how you like to fancy yourself a certain kind of person, but let me be the first to assure you that you are not. You could be forced to do it, but I believe in you as an actor. Do not make me reconsider. The alternative would be so much messier for your fuzzy new friend. Is anything I said in any way unclear?”
She shakes her head weakly. He removes his hand to step back and drink in her terror. Hair strewn across her face, bleary eyes streaked with mascara run through with rivulets of tears, lipstick smudged against a full, downturned mouth, and a jaw set in disgust. Perfect. Quentin tosses the heels into a black satchel and heads for the door, pausing briefly to flash her a smile through his mask of civility now properly reaffixed in place.
“It was so great catching up. See you around, Kinsa.”
And when he is gone, so too leaves any remaining bravado she has. Every fear held at bay behind ignorance and delusion now floods her body. The things she has done. Was made to do. Agency stripped from her without her knowledge or consent. A violation. It sickens her, and as her legs give way beneath her, Kinsa sinks to the floor and sobs.
-TBC
You’re running out of reasons to pretend
I heard you wanna lose yourself again.”
-Mansionair
Chandaar: Republic Capital
Surface: Ambaril: Downtown
Kinsa Cavanaugh returns to her flat, completely distraught.
Reflexively, she feels for the commlink Selene provided through her purse. At least she has a direct connection with her now, whatever that may mean. Her pulse quickens at the thought. The subject of their conversation was unsettling, to say the least. It is not beyond the RSB to make her an example. Hell, they were fixing to drag Kaytt out and make her the pinnacle of the perceived injustice they claim to have suffered at the hands of the more reasonable among them. Anyone daring to push back. Oppressors who paint themselves as victims. She understands what is happening and, while still smarting about it, that Selene was right. She is very much attached to her life. All her pretty things. The convenience and ease of it all, at least until recently. But she built it, driven by the need to escape the clutches of detached, thieving stage parents and create something of her own.
All of it threatened by things spiraling more and more out of her control.
She considers what Selene said about leaving, but her mind returns to the heel soaked in Agent Vrent’s blood locked in Kez’s safe, evidence that links Quinn to an active RSB murder investigation. She knows they would look for motive and means, and Quinn doesn’t really have either. As far as she knows, Quinn doesn’t know this person, having only briefly met when they collided outside her door searching for a necklace she knows was likely used in assassinating the Republic President. By now, Quinn probably doesn’t even recall which would hamper any attempts at interrogation. As for means, no weapon of any sort had been reported in relation to Vrent’s death. Small mercies, she supposes, although with a fall from that height, a weapon would not have been necessary. It also conjures a more sickening question: what if Quinn was sent there? Blacked out and capable of anything, which is what this really comes down to. The bleakest of realities. Whoever was controlling Janessa may now be controlling both her and her sister. That is the only conclusion she can draw for how the necklace was produced exactly when it needed to be to exonerate her. Close call, but too tidy. Now she’s stuck with the murder heels and completely freaking out about it. Kinsa just had to play hero for her crush.
Dammit, Selene.
Sighing, she shakes off the dread of opening the door to those kinds of questions. Ones that would lead her further into confusion and despair. The person or people responsible for whatever the hell is going on. A Force user? So played out, and playing right into the Republic’s hands. It could be what they want. Even manufactured evidence would advance their agenda. She’s got to focus on the present before time slips away from her, and she does something else. Something more heinous than she suspects she’s already done. One piece of evidence is secure, for now, so she would need to get rid of the rest of it.
Kinsa tosses her bag on the counter and scans the floor for the remnants of the couture she destroyed. They aren’t next to the barstools where she discarded them. Growing more concerned, she moves into the living room. She pulls pillows and tosses aside a blanket in search of them, not registering the change of light as a figure appears behind her in the foyer.
“Lose something?”
She whirls around with a gasp, arms up defensively in front of her. He steps further into the kitchen, swiftly rounding the counter to join her.
“Quentin…?”
“Hey, Kinsa. What’s up?”
Her surprise gives way to rage, “Wha…what are you even doing here? How did you get in?”
He shrugs what she feels is a little too casually, “Door was open.”
“Bullshit. What is this?”
“You broke the rules. Took something that doesn’t belong to you.”
She scoffs, “Quinn wouldn’t have let me borrow that dress if it were on hold. You were there! I know how that place works. Escara is cool; she knows me. Besides, it was a premiere! You make it sound like I wore it to brunch.”
“Look at you, overexplaining like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he laughs, holding up the heels she was looking for. One of them has seen better days, battered to shit against that gorgeously marbled counter.
“You came to grill me about a pair of shoes? What are you, like, The Menagerie’s secret police?”
“Where’s the left heel, Kinsa?”
Her eyes meet his, and in them she sees something she has never seen before. Her breath catches in her throat before she can manage anything, nearly a whisper, and one filled with accusation.
“Who are you?”
“Your sister’s boyfriend, of course, and a model student.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He smirks, an infuriating expression on him, but nods slowly.
“You know, curiosity doesn’t look good on you. But curious you are, wanting to poke around, when you should really stick to what you’re good at. Acting and aesthetics. Be beautiful and famous. That’s all you need to do.”
“And textures don’t look good on you. You are more of a basics guy, but what do I know, right? I’m just the dumb actress. Except, it appears we are both more than we seem. So, who the hell are you to break into my flat and tell me what I need to do?”
He holds up the damaged shoe, “Do you see that at the top? A fleck of something we both know is blood. I’m guessing there was more on the heel, which is why you got it in that pretty little head of yours that you had to do something about it. Call someone, say a lawyer, to help you out.”
“You’ve been stalking me?”
“That’s such an ugly word, and beside the point. The point is Quinn and how she’ll be implicated if you don’t consider your next move very, very carefully.”
She sneers, “What did you make her do?”
“Wrong question. All you need to do is get it back and say nothing if you want to save your sister.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Oh, sweetie. There is so much worse. The things you have done, things you can’t even remember. You could call the RSB, I’m sure they’d love to hear from you. There were a few agents who met a brutal end after swinging by to talk to you about your venture into the underworld. I bet they look fondly at wannabe revolutionaries in the courts. What do you think?”
Kinsa edges toward the kitchen, but he keeps pace before closing the distance more quickly than she thought possible. He grabs her roughly by the face, forcing her back against the counter with a hand clamped over her mouth. Then, wrenching her head toward him, he leans close.
“I bet you even think Kaytt was alive when you left her place that night. Don’t you?”
Her eyes widen, hands gripping the countertop, as she wilts under his chilling laughter.
“No, no, the RSB is reckless, sloppy even, but there needed to be a body. A headline. Someone the public would react to, and strongly. Division and fear are so much more powerful than hope. Works every time. Only one way to guarantee that outcome. A bit brutal, but that’s showbiz, baby. Nice work. A career-defining performance.”
Something in her breaks. Tears spill down her cheeks and over his fingers taut across her mouth.
“So sweet,” he says coldly. “Now, you are going to do exactly as I tell you. Get the heel back and bring it to me, or Quinn goes down in flames with you not that far behind her. This is not the time to be brave or get clever. We all know how you like to fancy yourself a certain kind of person, but let me be the first to assure you that you are not. You could be forced to do it, but I believe in you as an actor. Do not make me reconsider. The alternative would be so much messier for your fuzzy new friend. Is anything I said in any way unclear?”
She shakes her head weakly. He removes his hand to step back and drink in her terror. Hair strewn across her face, bleary eyes streaked with mascara run through with rivulets of tears, lipstick smudged against a full, downturned mouth, and a jaw set in disgust. Perfect. Quentin tosses the heels into a black satchel and heads for the door, pausing briefly to flash her a smile through his mask of civility now properly reaffixed in place.
“It was so great catching up. See you around, Kinsa.”
And when he is gone, so too leaves any remaining bravado she has. Every fear held at bay behind ignorance and delusion now floods her body. The things she has done. Was made to do. Agency stripped from her without her knowledge or consent. A violation. It sickens her, and as her legs give way beneath her, Kinsa sinks to the floor and sobs.
-TBC