CC: The Crimson Covenant

[Syren]

Hesperidium

Surface: Diamant Island

The Bolerathon Tower is silent in the very early morning hours. The parties stories below and down on the beach have long since faded out. The whisper seems to boom through the room, jarring her from a deep sleep.

"Demaris."

She sits upright in the bed, rubbing her eyes.

"Hmmm? Muriel, it's the middle of the night."

But her friend is not moving. Muriel slumbers peacefully in the other bed, the sounds of her rhythmic breathing soft and even. Demaris looks around, confused, when she hears it again.

"Demaris."

This time, she recognizes the voice.

"Jedi Nevylinn?"

"Come, Demaris."

She pulls on a thin robe over the short nightgown and pads out into the room. There is no one in the hall or in the living room.

"This way."

And she feels it, pulling her toward the front door. She creeps out into the bright corridor. The security agents that should be posted are nowhere to be found. She moves across the hall to the door of the Masterton Penthouse. Of course. Nevylinn knew Melanie Masterton. She told her they were friends at the Jedi Academy. There was a duality in the way Nevylinn spoke about Melanie. A deep respect and reverence for the courage she had shown in helping to stop the Empire. There were also traces of skepticism and uncertainty at Melanie's superficiality, something the Jedi are supposed to free themselves of. Demaris can sympathize, having grown up in the same world of excess.

Demaris uses her powers to unlock the door and steps inside. There is a cool draft coming down the hall. She wanders silently into the living room where the balcony door is open and the sheer, white curtains dance in the breeze. There is a figure in the center of the room with their back turned.

"Jedi Nevylinn, I didn't expect to see you here. Is something wrong?"

"They know."

"Know what?"

"About you."

Demaris shakes her head, "No way, I did all the things you taught me. I was so careful."

"Were you?"

"Okay, look. One person does know. But that's all, I swear."

"Who?"

"Ples. I didn't tell him. He just…knew. But I get it; I know why we have to stay hidden. It won't happen again."

Nevylinn turns around, her face disintegrating into blackened, scarred skin.

"No, it won't."

The Jedi's visage disappears and in its place is a monstrous figure. It looks vaguely human but mutilated in a way that is too horrifying for words. It's mouth opens to reveal a set of razor sharp teeth that slice through already bleeding lips.

Demaris gasps, backing away.

It leaps at her and before she can scream it is on top of her, hand clamped over her mouth. A waking nightmare, the monsters she heard in her mind. She struggles but it lifts her easily, dragging her toward the open patio door. She tries to scream but it is muffled by it's hand. It hauls her up high and she stares with eyes wide as she fully comprehends what is happening before it pitches her over the side. Demaris disappears into the blackness beyond.

Dahlia steps out of the shadows. She hated having to do that but Demaris was grieving and curious. Combine that with Jedi training and suddenly she would be investigating like some Force-sensitive Gothic super slueth. And Dahlia didn't know. This whole time she had been concealing her Force signature. Impressive...for a newb. More importantly, she doesn't need someone digging into Donovan Atrii's death. The RSB's inconclusive report is where it should end. The Voss-Ra disciple joins her in the living room.

"Clean it up and I'll see you in the morning."

The Voss-Ra morphs from monster back into the security agent Georgie and nods. In the corridor, she pauses by the door of the Winton Penthouse and runs her finger along the cursive W. The Gellar security team got a mysterious call to investigate a disturbance in the lobby but would be back soon. It was enough time for her to be back in her room and Georgie to return to his post.

She taps on the vanity light in her room, staring at herself in the mirror. It had taken an unnecessary chunk of her afternoon to repair her face from the damage a resurrected Adubell had inflicted. The nerve of that bitch. Who the hell does she think she is bossing her around like that? The Sith student is supposed to kill the Master. It is their way. Except this time, the Master didn't stay dead. If Dahlia were her, she would have chosen another body. Adubell looked absolutely terrifying which, she supposes, is exactly the effect she was going for.

Aside from the not-able-to-be-killed thing, the most unnerving part of Adubell's reemergence is the insinuation that the Sith could somehow shed themselves of her.

She is Dahlia-fucking-Winton.

She is entitled to an entourage without the color commentary. They are a necessity to authenticate her cover. Things are progressing. She just didn't know Adubell was still a part of their progression. True, Demaris veering toward the light side needed to be stopped but she hoped for another solution. Surprisingly, it would be easier to explain than she thought.

The simplest answer is usually the right one. That's what all the procedurals on the Holo always say. Demaris lost her brother and that grief compounded by absentee parents was enough to qualify any subsequent strange or irrational behavior despite the best efforts from her dear friends.

Dealing with Ples would be trickier.

His father, Iver Aguilar, is the Direx Board ExO. Taking out Ples would draw way too much attention to her. However, he could serve a greater purpose, she thinks darkly. He is an Aguilar and House Aguilar, like House Gellar, Atrii, Dawning, Corinthos, Dyre and Nash control a majority of the Corporate Sector. Lady Masterton and the Mondder high society would be thrilled if she found herself a nice boy. Someone to fit snugly into those unrealistic and self-serving CSA expectations.

Dahlia curls up in bed, no where near sleep. She has her own agenda and she'll be damned if she is going to let Adubell rain on her parade.



-TBC

[Syren]

Hesperidum

Surface: Diamant Island

Muriel Monroe groans and turns over, stretching out across the length of the bed. The cool, salty ocean breeze lulled her into a deep and satisfying sleep. She has not felt this rested in a while. She sits up and slides out from under the thin sheet, noticing that Demaris is not in the other bed. In the hall, she can hear voices coming from the kitchen.

Trichelle is placing freshly baked rolls onto white plates, holding one up when she sees Muriel appear at the edge of the living room. She pads over and falls into a chair with a fresh cup of coffee that Kier hands her. Dahlia sits across from her and smiles. They were having a great time, a much needed holiday from the pressures of school and society and their great houses. Ples shuffles in rubbing his eyes. Dahlia pats the seat beside her and he slumps into it. Trichelle is all over the breakfast thing, a real housewife in training. Granted, their droids did most of the heavy lifting back in the Sector but she does have the touch setting up a fabulous spread. They eat in relative silence with the Holo on the background.

News reports of a Republic victory at Garqui dominate the cycle. Commentators discuss tactics and strategy and what this could mean for an Imperial expansion if Republic borders were shored up.

Only one of them is paying mild attention whilst pretending not to. A Republic win? That's never a good sign, especially if the Empire has any plans of toppling their enemies and expanding their territory. Dahlia wonders what Schrag is up to over there and if these are the plans Adubell said were progressing.

Ples glances around, "Demaris isn't up yet?"

"She must be," Muriel says through a yawn. "She isn't in her room."

"She's not?"

She shrugs, "She probably went for a walk."

"She did go on and on about those beaches the other day."

"Seriously," Kier says, "It's like she's never seen a shore before."

"Not ones like this. The shores at Viiperi Lake are all woodsy and lush. These are…magical."

The conversation chills Dahlia who is waiting for the security team to burst in with news of the battered body found at the bottom of the Bolerathon Tower.

But it never comes.

Trichelle and Muriel shower and head over to Iobatese Island to do a little boutique shopping while the boys rent water skiffs to cruise around the bay. Dahlia takes a long bath and contemplates her actions. Having a friend killed, especially after having her brother killed, isn't exactly the turn she expected the holiday to take. It was reactionary, desperate move to keep Adubell off her back. It is true her Master could strike her down at any moment and that does not sit well with her at all. The annoyance of it all is too much. She can't even.

The day passes in the languorous way they do on The Hessy.

How hard is it to find a dead rich girl in the sand? Georgie could not have throw Demaris that far, certainly not far enough to land in the ocean. Maybe she was on the sand then got washed out in the tide where the body would never be seen again. That would actually be the best case scenario even though she is prepared to mitigate the alarm and shock when Demaris is discovered dead. The story in her head, the tears of confusion, is all on queue.

Later, in her room, Ples walks in as she is dabbing on lipstick before dinner.

"I think we should look for Demaris."

Dahlia turns, brow creased with concern.

"She isn't back yet?"

"No, and her com-link is still on the nightstand with her purse."

"That's strange. A girl never leaves without it."

"Right," he says, frowning. "Muriel said pretty much everything is still there."

Dahlia straightens the strap to her dress and stands.

"Well, then ask one of the security agents. She can't leave without passing a few. Surely someone has seen her."

Ples and Kier talk to the agents outside but not one had seen her leave this morning or the previous evening after they all returned to the Penthouse. The crew is starting worry. Given Demaris' mental state lately, their minds wander toward the same dark conclusions. It wouldn't be the first time in this group, as Muriel's wasn't a success but that wasn't for a lack of trying. Trichelle is trying to keep everything light, straying from the obvious fact that this place is cursed and insists they go to dinner.

"If she's not back after that, we'll explore other options."

Everyone can agree on this but Ples lingers behind them as they file out into the corridor and move toward the lifts. He glances across at the cursive M as he passes and wonders if he should speak up about what happened. She did swear him to secrecy but with that stuff, one can never be too careful after all that went down. The Empire is no keener on the Force Sensitive than the Republic seems to be these days. He keeps quiet and plays along but the vibe throughout dinner is uneasy, false. They smile for the random cam's that swoop in on Dahlia as they cruise the West Iobatese Beach boardwalk. Thankfully, this meal is far more casual and they are able to eat alone in their own little world.

Trichelle suggests a movie but that is shot down since Muriel refuses to see anything her mother appears in. Kier thinks they should hit the club again but Ples is not in the mood, none of them really are.

Back at the Winton Penthouse, they find it empty.

Ples explains to the agents that their friend had not been seen in almost twenty-four standard hours. Dahlia provides enough tragic detail about who Demaris is so that the security team grasps the implications. A section of the team splits off to do a cursory search but something more comprehensive come morning.

He closes the door, grabs a beer from the counter and joins his friends on the patio. Everyone is spread around on chaises and stools, staring off into the distance. A downtempo beat blends through the house system.

They retire to bed early.

In one of the guest rooms, Trichelle shakes her head.

"We've been at murder penthouse for a few days and already someone is missing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"This place. It's completely haunted. You know, the rest of The Four weren't the only dead friends Karen Winton had. I'm talking trail of bodies."

Kier laughs, propped up on the bed.

"You are so full of it."

"Am I? There was, like, a massacre in this penthouse. An entire team of agents got butchered all over this place."

"That was so long ago, babe."

"Yeah and this place has sat empty for years waiting for a new batch of wayward, morally ambiguous teenagers to show up."

"Like, we've awakened something evil?"

"Totally."

He groans, "That's insane."

"Then where is Demaris?"

"I don't know. Probably wandering around thinking about how empty the void is or whatever. You know her; she's super weird like that. And after all that stuff with her brother she's gone a little…"

"A little what?"

"Crazy."

Trichelle makes a face.

"I'm not saying it's her fault or anything but she did have some crazy, fucked up shit happen to her. I mean, come on. Her brother gets nuked then her parents take off and she's all alone in that giant house."

"Muriel is alone in a giant house."

"My point exactly," Kier says. "Look how that turned out."

Trichelle sighs, falling onto the bed next to him.

"Point taken."

"Baby, sometimes people have to work out their shit their own way."

"Spoken like a true Kincaid. Suck it up, power through, deal with it."

"Then you'll let go of the crazy talk?"

"No more talk of curses."

He kisses her and she rolls over to tap the light off. Kier drifts off to sleep but Trichelle can't help but thinking that this is all par for the course with the Winton's. Morbid curiosity compelled her to accept the invite and come to Hesperidium but whatever is going on here, she's sure it's Dahlia's fault.




-TBC

[Syren]

Hesperidium

Surface: West Iobatese Beach

The music in Club Hex is thumping and the crowd bumps and grinds to the deep house cuts spun by a galactic-class DJ. Dahlia is lounged in one of the exclusive area's watching a flute of champagne go as flat as her mood.

Trichelle strides in and grabs a bottle of water. She exhales and falls onto the bench next to Dahlia.

"Did you hear? The Empire wants, like, peace or something."

"That's the word on the Holo."

"So crazy! I mean, what are they thinking? The Republic isn't going to fall for that."

"Oh, the Republic falls for all kinds of things."

"What?" Trichelle says, leaning closer.

"Nothing."

Dahlia has been stewing ever since she first heard the reports streaming out of Byss. Could it be true? She is seriously starting to question the Emperor's sanity. Throw in with the good and plenty's? Why? They are so…what? Irritating? Maybe. More like self-righteous pricks. And why wasn't she given the heads up? Hello, she is, like, totally integral to their plans and stuff. That Sith relic must be wreaking all sorts of havoc on the Speaker's psyche not the mention the disgraced RSB chasing their tails over the deaths of two prominent figures along with scores of civilians. The clashes with the Empire keeps them busy with external affairs so that they have little time to ponder the enemy within.

Unless…

Why not stir up some trouble in person in the Senate? That is, if they can finagle a spot at the already crowded table. It took Corellia damn near a decade. The chances of them scoring something like that seem pretty grim given their history. It's a new tactic, certainly not one she would have chosen, but the Emperor must have some kind of motive. She just wishes she knew what that was.

"I need some air," Dahlia says. "Why don't you round up the crew and meet outside?"

Trichelle nods, slipping back into the writhing crowd.

Dahlia saunters past the longing stares, down the stairs and out into the cool, night air. The salty breeze is a nice change from the stuffy club. Thankfully, the paparazzi already had their fill of them on the way in. However, they did seem to notice the change in their numbers, inquiring about the Atrii heiress.

It has been over a week since anyone saw Demaris. The security detail scoured the already edited tapes showing Demaris leave the Winton Penthouse and enter the Masterton. She is not seen again. They had searched the Masterton Penthouse but found no trace of her. No sign of her being there. No sign of her ever leaving. It is as if she just vanished. Everyone has more or less resigned themselves to the fact that Demaris somehow took off. Everyone except Ples, that is. Convincing him would prove more difficult but Dahlia has begun working her spell on him.

She lifts her eyes up briefly, catching the colorful swirl of the Coruscant asteroid field, feeling...something.

Down the beach, near the water, Muriel stares out into the dark ocean. The wave's crash and slide up the sand over her bare feet. Her blonde hair is tousled and caught in the breeze. Dahlia pads down toward her, heels sinking in the wet sand.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I just can't help thinking. I hope Demaris wouldn't…do what I did."

"Muriel, it's okay."

She turns, "No it's not, Dahlia. I wanted to die and if you hadn't been there I would have."

"Hey," Dahlia says, taking her hand. "I would never let anything happen to you."

This truth is tempered by Adubell's words. Allies or enemies. Aside from the power and fame and plotting, Muriel is really the only thing Dahlia does care about. It doesn't matter if a friend complicates things. It is nice to have the companionship.

Muriel smiles and they embrace as Kier steps out onto the sand.

"Get a room, you two!"

Dahlia laughs, "You wish."

"Every night."

Trichelle playfully punches him in the arm, "Are we going or what?"

Dahlia and Muriel join the others back on the boardwalk. Kier and Trichelle take the lead with Ples trailing behind them. Dahlia and Muriel swing their arms as they walk along. The hoverlimo takes them back to Diamant Island where they return to the Winton Penthouse. Everyone files inside except for Ples who lingers to stare at the cursive M next to the door of the Masterton Penthouse.

Dahlia takes his arm and leans on his shoulder, "Why so glum?"

"I just don't get it."

"Maybe it's not for us to get."

"What do you mean?"

She swings around to face him, staring into those soulful brown eyes.

"Not everyone takes comfort in the group as a whole. Some people need to work out their issues alone."

"I was trying to help her."

"We all were," she says, pushing cloudiness into his mind, softening the rough edges of his suspicion. "Maybe she doesn't want our help right now. And that's okay."

"Is it?"

"Absolutely. She wouldn't want you brooding over her this way. We came here to get away from everything and maybe she just needed to take that a step further."

Or a throw further.

"Demaris would want you to have a good time."

"A good time…" Ples says, dreamily.

She nods, leading him back to the Winton Penthouse.

"Yes. Now go see what everyone is up to. I'll be there in a minute."

Ples moves through the open doorway.

Dahlia glances back at the Masterton Penthouse. Sorry, Dem. This boy serves a better purpose than mooning around after you.

She slinks inside as the door hisses closed behind her. 


-TBC

[Medivh]

Korriban

Adubell had lingered at Hesperidium only long enough to confirm that an attack was made against the young Atrii.  She had witnessed the creature lift up Demaris, and throw her away, turning before she ever landed.

Winton had disappointed her.  Her instructions were that D'Cera had to do the kill herself and having a henchman perform the act was a cowardice in its own way, one that left Adubell feeling ever more contempt for the prodigal daughter.  What's more - that D'Cera did not do the kill herself left Adubell with a sense of foreboding. A sense of incompleteness.  But she could not linger, not even a moment longer, and had departed before the sun rose.

Her trip back to Korriban had been spent contemplating where the last of the jedi might be. Nevylinn, her sister, had eluded her, and now Adubell would need to seek her out.  Without Nevylinn, even the few youngling jedi that still survived, shepherded somewhere had no guidance, and would be easy pickings.  Certainly no one else could stand in the way of the sith ascension.

Here too, at Korriban, homeworld of the sith, that ascension was beginning to take yet another form.  In orbit, the former wheel weighed heavy with the planet's soil that had been packed inside.  On the surface though was the most dramatic of changes.

Formerly, the Korriban caves had been infamous for their size, depth.  But after months and months and months of millions of droids digging and transporting the earth away, the caves had disappeared, opening up to form a deep chasm instead.  And at the base, the sith temple, long ago hidden, was now unearthed, walls and columns standing seveal stories tall, vaulted ceiling built to withstand the weight of the mountain above it. A mountain no longer there.  Unadorned, on the outside, the temple stood imposingly up from the chasm's floor.

Adubell stood in the searing heat of the midday summer sun, standing over the chasm, looking down on the temple.  She could hear the whispers, the call of the sith ancients.  No longer insulated by dirt and stone - anyone with force sensitivity who stood near the planet would be able to feel their influence.  Feel their strength.  The very shadows the long dead lords cast, slithering like snakes over desert sand, and Adubell could feel them, entering her, strengthening her, compelling her forward.

She closed her eyes, channeling out her power, the power of the sith, reaching her tendrils across the galaxy in every direction, feeling for the emotions to make her stronger.
Anger.
Fear.
Aggression.
Hate.
They were everywhere, sometimes explicit, obvious, open hostility.  Sometimes simmering beneath the surface.  All of them, she fed off of. She channeled those emotions back to her.  The raucus passion of a billion sentients flooding to her.  She, Adubell, vessel and emissary of the sith.  Destined to bring their power forward. To make the chosen one the leader.  Adubell, the immortal.

The power was growing within her, her arms raising, spread wide with palms rising up.  The energy, black, dark energy coursed through her, mingling with the power of the temple below.  Those tendrils of the dark side expanding, growing, plunging to encircle the temple.

Swirls of shadows encompassed the massive sith temple, waves of the dark side, the ground beginning to quake, rumble, fractures in the ground, parts of the chasm collapsing - and the temple itself, rising.  The entire massive structure rumbling, dust shaking off as it lifted above the ground.

Adubell's own body began to rise as well, caught in the vortex of power she was funneling.  Her body rose parallel to the temple, first slowly, but as the chains of the planet began to fade, they moved faster.  black shadows surrounding both Adubell and the temple as they ascended, away from the planet, leaving a massive fissure where the temple had stood, rising like a rocket, higher and higher and higher.

The air was growing thinner, but encased in the dark side - and a machine besides - Adubell felt nothing.  They in unison left the world below, floating through space toward the gaping maw that was left open from the modified wheel.

The sith temple slipped inside, Adubell's hovering, prone body right behind, the very heartbeat of the sith, of the dark side coursing through her.  The temple found its place, a recessed part of dirt, landing with a heavy thud, the circle of dark energy exploding outward with a burst.

Adubell's body fell flat to the soil.  She was breathing heavy, drained utterly from the power spent, but satisfied in a way she had not been before.

There in front of her, the sith temple stood, in the very center of the wheel's structure, directly above the former central axis.  Already, droids were moving in to secure the temple's outer fixtures - duracrete that would bind it to the wheel's structure, holding it in place.  Where Adubell stood now, more earth from the planet would be brought, and sealed inside.  The sith temple, heart of the sith's power, would be buried, inaccessible to most - but influential to all.

Adubell felt the sith lords detach from her, watching their shadows return to the temple.

The darkness had risen. It would not be stopped. it would not be defeated.

TBC

[Medivh]

Korriban

Adubell was overseeing as the opening to the wheel's interior was being closed.  metallic casing and a series of temporary shielding housed the dirt and other relics, keeping it from floating off into space. The Wheel had obtained enough mass that it now had developed its own natural gravity, light enough that the vessel could still be pulled into hyperspace (with difficulty), but strong enough that it could hold things together.  Where once there had been a large opening, metal sheeting closed up the last gaps, formally making "The Wheel" into "The Sphere"

The interior was mostly filled with earth.  The former structure of the Wheel itself had only four access points that could be reached from the surface.  The inside cooridors had been largely left untouched, leaving living quarters for thousands - not to mention storage for an army of battle droids.  The 'spokes' of the structure heading inward would arrive at the central promenade, which had been home of the galactic stock exchange until the imperial attack.  Many of the computer systems lay intact - but the lower level of the exchange room had been gutted, a new turbolift shaft heading down, coming to a halt outside the old structure and at the foot of the sith temple that was moored in place by tons of duracrete.

Back in the station, the executive suite, above the exchange floor, still housed the control room that allowed control of the wheel's sublight and hyperdrive systems.  Both had been retrofitted to respond to the additional mass the structure now carried.

Meanwhile, the exchange itself served in a new capacity - it's enhanced sensors and ability to access markets and networks across the galaxy made it a useful tool for collecting information.

Adubell was sitting in the exchange, watching a dozen monitors as droids crawled on the outside of the sphere, checking each fault line and making sure everything was secure.

Her hands, meanwhile, were typing into a dozen systems.  Always searching, looking for the clue.
She came across encrypted messages all the time.  Imperial. Republic. government and military liked to think encryptions kept their words secure, from enemies, political opponents, and the public alike. Corporations as well liked to secure prized information in encrypted messages. Most of it appeared as white noise that no one would even notice. They wouldn't even know a communication had happened.

The Corellian Sector, like any other, had vast encryption messages traveling back and forth.
There was one though that caught Adubell's eye.  a signal that, like many other encrypted messages, was meant to look hidden.  But this one, it was coming from off-world. Another in the Corellian Sector.  But a quick follow up showed it had not originated from there.  It came from another planet, no, another planet. no another.  And it was time-consuming.  Whoever had set up these relays was an expert at decoys, and even Adubell with her immense mental and computational abilities, was taxed to track it down.  After about a half-hour, the signal vanished, and Adubell, in her curiosity, tried reconstructing the missing legs.  The chosen relays were not easily hacked from this far away, but she continued, working at it, slowly.  Another decoy. Another relay.

It was hours later when Adubell determined that the source of the signal came from Yag'Dhul, which added its own layer of questioning.

The southern regions of space were lawless, filled with pirate activity, and small groups of planets banding together in hopes of deterring threats. The Southern Protectorate included worlds like Eriadu, which Adubell had successfully used to set up the corporations that now owned much of the former trade federation assets. It also included Yag'Dhul, a small world known for its research before the chaos had spread there.

Why was someone from YagDhul sending an ecrypted message toward Corellia, and why go to all that trouble?

The communication was long gone, but Adubell would be keeping watch.  Watching to see if any future signals from the south headed toward Corellia.

And then, she would find out WHY.

TBC

[Syren]

Hesperidium

Surface: Diamant Island: Bolerathon Tower

Summer is winding down and the corporate kids have made quite a splash. The Imperial-Republic talks have everyone in a tizzy with the Holo devolving into screaming matches over motives and intentions. They collectively decide to avoid the news for the remainder of their vacation.

Ignorance is bliss.

For the others anyway.

Dahlia leaves the crew on the beach, needing some time to relax before her last shoot of the season. There would no doubt be a fuss from the Nalaa Grey production team before they wrap so a nap and some Zen time would greatly benefit everyone. She breezes into her room to find Karen posed on the bed staring at a picture on the nightstand. She doesnt jump, having learned to control being startled. Instead, Dahlia sighs lowly.

"You know, stalking isn't really a form of familial bonding."

Karen glances up, "Tough."

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm just checking in to see how well you've eased into my old life. Pretty swanky, right? All that money buys a lot of space between you and the average humanoid. Too bad it doesn't buy you a clue."

Dahlia rolls her eyes, "I see we've reached the cryptic warning portion of the conversation. Great talk, Kar. Bye now."

"Adubell is a problem."

She sets her purse on the vanity and turns around.

"What do you know about it?"

"The hideous boo-boo you thought you rid yourself of when you left her bleeding on the floor of a shuttle. How's your nose, by the way?"

"Fine," she says, touching it reflexively.

Karen smirks, rising from the bed.

"I see that's not all she bruised. Kind of difficult to maintain the ego when this unpredictable element is out there, isn't it? The suspense is killing me. What's that crazy girl going to do next? Will she ruin a premiere? Pop up at a parent-teacher function? Or worse, disfigure you as she did herself? We'll see how fast the public flees in terror when she gives you a face no one will ever forget."

"Stop it!"

The smirk is replaced with a smile.

"It's good to know you are growing as a person. Not that I don't understand the allure. Wealth, adoration, influence, the envy of others; I had it all. Until I didn't."

"That's because you failed."

"I suppose that depends on your interpretation of the goal."

"You wanted to become Imperial Empress and take over the galaxy."

Karen shrugs, "A girl can dream."

"That's all it was, a dream. They stopped you. She stopped you."

"Been brushing up on your history? How keen."

"Adubell told me everything. She told me you were weak. You could have had everything but you skipped out with that Valerie knock-off to go find yourself. You destroyed everything our father had worked so hard to build."

"The only thing he was working to build was a better future for himself. A production written by Alexander Winton, directed by Alexander Winton and starring Alexander Winton."

"So he's a megalomaniac. Why didn't you tell me Melanie killed you?"

Karen glances down, brushing crimson hair over her shoulder.

"It wasn't relevant and the only reason Adubell told you was so that you would turn against Rutherford and Celeste."

"She did more than tell me. She showed me. There was photage from the Centerpoint Station. I saw you face Melanie. You lowered your weapon and she murdered you. You let her kill you."

"Melanie did what she had to do."

"And she had to kill you?"

"She bought into our father's lies. The Jedi believed it so completely they never saw that he had been nudging everything into just the right place so that the prophecy would come to pass. It's not really destiny if someone else is pulling the strings. Melanie believed I was evil and that the only way to stop me was by taking my life. But the path I was heading down didn't end with me on the throne. It never did. Our father wanted to live forever and for that the happen we all had to die."

"That's not true."

"Why? Because Adubell says it isn't? Please. She was our father's lover. Of course she wants you to believe he was this great man with great plans for us. He drove Alexia into madness and used me and my friends to further a selfish goal. We fed the monster. The Republic was still scattered and unfocused. He was working the Empire and the Confederation. The combined resources would have easily wiped what was left of them out. And our desperate actions put him in a position to take it all. He just needed us out of the way first. I can just imagine what would have happened if he discovered you had been born right under his nose. You never would have left Naboo."

Karen laughs.

"The best part is, Celeste Masterton saved you. She and Rutherford made sure you would have a chance."

"They lied."

"I can see why you would think they were withholding. But instead of forming your own opinion, you take what this Adubell says and run with it. She fills your head with rage and your heart with hatred. Granted, she kidnapped and tortured you so the groupie bit isn't entirely surprising. She wants you to believe that there is no one you can trust so you cut yourself off from everyone. They are all enemies…except you don't quite believe that. Adubell is not wrong but she's not right either. Friendships can become liabilities; no one knows that better than I do. But they are worth it. They are the only thing that will keep you from going over the edge entirely."

Dahlia's eyes veer toward the picture. Smiling faces of teenagers on the beach below.  The same beach her friends are smiling on now.

"If you let her call all the shots and cut people out of your life, does that really help you succeed? She was once dead but now lives which means she wants the same thing our father did. And that can't happen with you traipsing around with your own agenda. Stealing the spotlight keeps the attention away from her nefarious plans but there will come a time when that no longer serves her interests."

Dahlia seethes.

"She wouldn't. I am the Daughter of Darkness."

"So was I. Trust me, sister," Karen says with a sly glare. "You have an expiration date."

The cam pans back slowly, away from Dahlia as Karen's visage disappears, through the open door and into the corridor where Muriel Monroe stands frozen outside the room. She has her back pressed against the wall with breath caught in her throat.

Muriel's wide eyes are full of confusion.

Daughter of what?



-TBC

[Syren]

Hesperidium

Surface: Diamant Island

The Winton Penthouse atop the Bolerathon Tower bustles with the sound of teenagers mobilizing. So much packing on the final day in paradise. As much as it pains them, the Sector Entourage must return to where they came from for their sure-to-be rousing senior year at Valor Prep. She shutters just thinking about it then realizes Gemma, Dane and their friends would be juniors.

Wild.

As Georgie packs the cruiser with their trunks, Dahlia does a sweep around her room with Karen's words reverberating in her head. It's like literally having an angel and devil on her shoulders. Alexia saying one thing and Karen another. A family battle inside her own head. Some may say that makes her crazy but crazy is cool these days and there is certainly enough of both in her family. There is an underlying motive. As much as Dahlia respects what Adubell taught her, she hates her and wants her gone. She would be damned if she was just means to her former Master's end. This is Dahlia's show and she intends to keep it that way. Karen did make a very serious point – the supporting cast is necessary, despite the danger or what Adubell may believe. If lines are drawn only between allies and enemies then she considers them allies of the social arena. Adubell sees them as enemies, hindrances to her ultimate goals, but if what Karen told her is true then she is already corrupted with plans that will one day find her a loose end.

Dahlia tucks the three-bladed lightsaber neatly into her purse, glancing up again at herself in the mirror. She is too young and too beautiful to be marginalized by something so grotesque. Adubell claims immortality but there are fates worse than death.

She would find a way.

Out in the living room, Muriel is staring through the wraparound windows to the glittering ocean far below.

"Are you ready?"

She turns with those soulful eyes wide and clear.

She worries for Dahlia after overhearing such a heated one-sided conversation, the contents of which she sat up nights wondering about. Nothing made sense since she could hear no responses. Visions run strong in their family from what she had read as did what many experts claimed was mental illness. The waters between clever and crazy are murky. Muriel does not come from a place of judgment, given her own problems, but she does not want her best friend to end up like her sisters.

Muriel extends a hand.

"Yeah, let's go."

They walk out together onto the landing pad where the silver and pink cruiser idles under the sun. Everyone takes their seats and straps in as Georgie closes the ramp and ascends into the perfectly clear azure sky. Kier starts a card game with a dazed Ples while Muriel curls up with a book. Trichelle touches up in a compact mirror, glancing over at Dahlia.

"This is going to be a great year. I can feel it."

Dahlia smiles, pushing crimson hair over her shoulder.

"No doubt."




-TBC

[Medivh]

Undisclosed Location

Adubell had stayed with Dahlia not one night but an entire week.  Each evening, when the little princess wanted beauty sleep, Adubell summoned her and they fought. ANd fought. And fought.  Dahlia may be powerful, but she was out of practice. She lacked the control. She lacked the DISCIPLINE that she needed. And she didn't even realize it.

It was on the fourth day of their secret meetings that Adubell pointed out a disappointing statistic - in all of their sparring, Dahlia's lightsaber had not shorted out. That meant Dahlia had never successfully struck her with the blade.  Sure, Dahlia had managed to toss her around.  Even succeeded in smacking her with flying debris. But her saber had never gotten past Adubell's defenses.

"You want to get rid of me?  Want me to leave you alone? Strike me with your saber.  Don't play with your dark side.  Anyone can do tricks. ANyone can make objects float, or crumble.  Hit me with your blade, and I'll give you the breathing room you so desperately want"

Dahlia had come at her fiercer than ever.  It was clear she was motivated - getting rid of Adubell, who had rained down on her parade - certainly worked wonders for her abilities.  Adubell had been put on the defensive more and more, but it was still two more evenings before Dahlia succeeded.  A heavy hour of saber battling, when Dahlia knocked Adubell's sword arm wide, then pressing the button to extend her own saber to the fiercer crimson red. Adubell had spun, but not before the blade hit her shoulder - and sputtered out, as it connected with the cortosis.

"There! I did it"

"Good. It took you long enough"

Adubell offered a hideous smile, disengaging her own blade.

"Now leave"

"I will - but first, there is this to say.  Anyone can kill someone they hate.  It takes the strength of a true sith to kill someone they don't.  Don't confuse sentimentality with cunning.  Or you will die. Just like Karen did.  You also will not be able to realize your full abilities until you take the life of someone who matters to you.  Sacrifice is the sith way.  Every sith lord has made the sacrifice to obtain their power. You will too, or you will be destroyed"

Adubell turned, beginning to walk away

"Oh, and one more thing - there is a fashion show in one month, scheduled for Chandaar.  See that you find yourself in the show.  There will be someone there you should meet"

"Who?"

Adubell turned back, just for a moment.

"Your destiny"

**************************
When Adubell returned to her ship, she found a message waiting for her.  One of her spies, sent to YagDhul, had found something very, very interesting ...

TBC

[Syren]

Corporate Sector

D'ian: Surface

Fall in Concordia is breathtaking with the leaves turning from gold to amber and scarlet but not everyone is in a festive mood.

Dahlia deters her stewing over Adubell with some casual campaigning. This proves somewhat disturbing. Although most of the students adore them, they also make a great effort to stay out of their way. Just like The Four and their friends. Only this time, there isn't some patsy moron hunk running interference. And it really wasn't just the moron hunk. Not really. There was a dangerous element which is exciting to some but manages to ward off most of the general public. They want to watch it happen but from a safe distance.

Trichelle rules with a gleeful malevolence where as Dahlia is just aloof. She always has been, even before the big Winton reveal. She and Muriel used to float around giving zero fucks without the dynamic yet stereotypical ensemble.

In all honesty, the sessions with Adubell invigorated her. Not like she would ever admit it. She needed the practice and it made her better. Like any mentor, Adubell pushes Dahlia into her darkest potential. Underneath that saber-resistant skin is someone who wants her to succeed. It would almost be sweet if it wasn't so sick. She had to heal all her wounds, usually small burns that were more annoying than painful but healing requires energy and time.

"Anyone can kill someone they hate. It takes the strength of the true Sith to kill someone they don't."

This has an uncomfortable truth.

How many people would have to die in order for Dahlia to get what she wants?

She reflects on this, weeks away from her eighteenth birthday. Those plans are light years in distance within the mind of a popular teenager. The Bon-Fire is this weekend and so she reaches out to Escara Wu while deciding on an outfit to inquire about the upcoming fashion show. As her contract contains stipulations for school, Escara did not consider booking her despite requests from several major labels. Thankfully, this would be over winter break. It's tight but doable. She is ecstatic to hear Dahlia would be on Chandaar and says she will relay the news. Inside twenty minutes, Escara calls with a personal invitation from Nalaa Grey herself to model the newest designs. There is talk of a beaded gown that is sure to be the must-have of the season.

More tantalizing than couture swag is whatever Adubell referred to as her "destiny." That's a pretty broad term and one she is smart enough to realize doesn't involve a designer dress. As self-involved as she is, Dahlia does pay attention. She knows the Empire and Republic had reached a deal that would inevitably lead to an audience on Chandaar. The Holo is ablaze with opinions on the subject and she relishes the turmoil it has already caused. They want an end to the war but consorting with the enemy poses a whole new set of risks.

The week flies by and on the evening of the Bon-Fire; Dahlia chooses a more understated outfit. The vintage, forest green, scoop neck, sleeveless, pleated dress is perfect. Her crimson hair is curled at the ends of loosely pulled back up and off her shoulders. Make-up is light, natural. She pairs the dress with a simple black belt, a beaded black shawl and round-toe black heels. It is a demure look befitting a Homecoming princess and since she is an actual princess that makes her the authority. The move is also a contrast to Trichelle's more severe outfit which makes her look exactly as icy as she is. Perception is everything and Dahlia Winton needs to soften her namesake to ensure the vote.

Valor Prep is bustling as the students and parents take their places. The pyre is set but first they are treated to several skits lampooning life in the Corporate Sector and at the school. It is all in good taste with a spot on impression of their Dean's speech about potential and responsibility. Rutherford and Celeste have a laugh and share hot cider with Iver Aguilar, LeVanya Monroe and Finn Dyre. For a moment they all forget the corporate bloodlust that drives them on Etti IV and enjoy the talents of their children.

The announcement of the Homecoming court gets everyone excited.

There are always five princes and five princesses nominated. And it always breaks down the same – a couple of athletes, the typical popular fare, a legacy or two and the nice guy/girl. It presents the illusion of variety. The court is paired up. Trichelle demanded to be escorted by Kier and Ples is paired with Dahlia. She takes his arm and watches Trichelle strut in front of the crowds with a rousing round of applause. Their names are called next.

"Princess Dahlia Winton and Prince Ples Aguilar."

The reaction is thunderous, deafening. She smiles broadly and waves as they carefully walk past their friends sitting in the front row. Gemma and Muriel are clapping enthusiastically while Dane's hand casually slips into Alka's, Roman sits dangerously close to Preston and Demaris looks crestfallen. Seeing them all together in support of her makes her realize she does care for them. Even Trichelle who glares at her as Dahlia and Ples takes their places beside them. Accordingly to Adubell, this is not the way of the Sith. Sacrifice is. Yet as a teenage girl, Dahlia likes being liked.

After all, what good is a ruler without any subjects?

Dahlia maintains her smile as the remainder of the court is called and assembles around the pyre. The rest of the Chin-Bret team and cheerleaders join them followed by the students and parents. The Dean says a few words wishing the team to victory and lights the pyre. The flames spread quickly and soon they are leaping high into the crisp night air. There are murmurs and more applause. The team chants and hollers as the cheerleaders execute a routine.

The orange glow of the flames, tinted with blue reminds her of sphere Adubell showed her - the heart of the galaxy. Their gorgeous faces are backlit and shadowed. Demaris glances over at Dahlia with her hands wrapped tightly around the arm of Ples' letterman jacket and feels a twinge of anger. From a distance, Tobias watches them revel in the shallow celebration, darkly pondering how they can think they are so much better than everyone else. The flames crackle and whisper with embers twirling up into the sky. It signifies a cleansing and rebirth. Those baptized by the fire often return more powerful than ever before but they must lose everything first. Dahlia is not sure she is ready to give up what she has acquired and wonders how long she has until Adubell returns to take it from her.




-TBC

[Medivh]

Korriban: Deep Space

"Mistress Adubell, the final checkout is completed.  The Wheel is ready"

Adubell turned to face the minion bowed near her feet.  The Voss Ra were not quite as capable as the infiltrator droids, but at the moment, none were at her disposal.  At least two were destroyed - one at Yag'Dhul, in a method Adubell could not explain, but apparently, because it had failed to realize the professor was still alive, and he attacked her with some weapon before dying himself.  A loose end to mop up.  A second infiltrator was killed in the failed attack on the Patten ranch. Another from that attack - the one sent to impersonate Mara - was unaccounted for, though Adubell didn't see her among the destroyed. At least, not before she herself was killed.

Ah, death.  Adubell had now died twice. Killed once by that brat Winton, and once by the traitor infiltrator.  Each resurrection left her with memories of her own death, harsh pain, and then the euphoria of rebirth, immortality, waking in a place lightyears away, brand new, and brimming with strength. It was exhilarating.

Her attention turned back to the slave.

"Order all systems go. Set the coordinates and activate systems"
"Yes, Lady Adubell"

The Voss Ra scrambled away to do his bidding, Adubell rising from her seat to the nearest console, where she could review the progress.  This chamber had once been part of the executive suite of the wheel, where the viceroy and administrators had resided.  An exclusive turbolift could transport them to the center of the wheel, where the Federation stock exchange once stood.  The windows once looked out on the space over the Besh Gorgan system.  Now, outside the windows was dirt, sand, rock.  The vast amount of the Wheel was buried beneath the huge quantities of dirt brought from the surface of Korriban, all save for the outer shell that had been created.  The internal structure of the wheel also included a new lift, leading from the primary structure to the sith temple, also buried in the mass.

Since the completion of the transfer of soil from the planet, the Voss Ra, along with literally millions of construction droids, had been working to adapt the Wheel's systems to the new mass it carried.  The hyperdrive had been designed for a basically hollow sphere.  The upgrades that had been going on for the past months meant the entire station could in fact, travel through hyperspace.  In that time, the Wheel - no longer a wheel at all, but a sphere, made of orange dirt and metal casings - had been towed away from the planet, to deep space.

No tests could be done on the hyperdrive. If it worked, the station would be sent to its final resting place.  If it failed, the station would rip apart the moment it entered hyperspace.  Failure was not an option, and Adubell had made the abundantly clear.

She watched as the timer lit up. Two minutes until hyperdrive activation.

Each portion of the Sphere checked in. Structural integrity checks. engine checks. deflector-field checks.

As the timer reached zero, she could feel the station begin to shudder, Adubell licking her gray lips with anticipation.  The shuddering grew stronger, and a loud whine could be heard across the entire station.  Then a massive jolt.

Then just as quickly, the sounds dulled to a soft hum and everything seemed smooth. The internal comm system crackled.

"Lady Adubell - we have successfully made the jump to hyperspace"
"Excellent"

Adubell returned to her seat, rotating the chair to face the monitor she had been watching.

There in front of her, was the battle of Patten Ranch, as seen from her eyes.
The fight against Gemma Masterton, armed and battling as a jedi. Then against her sister. Then against the traitor.

Adubell watched the footage, over and over again.  A machine could learn from their mistakes, and be made better, stronger, smarter.  Each time she watched, she learned something more about the fighting techniques of the three opponents.

Humans were so unoriginal. Next time, the fight would not go so well for them.

TBC

[Medivh]

(((My years may be off. Dahlia is now 17 years old - a senior in HS.  That makes it 13 years after the Battle of Centerpoint.  Between the destruction of Coruscant and the Battle of Centerpoint, we have two Phage attacks, and the Valerie Gellar governorship of Corellia (among other events). 19 years made sense in my head, but it might be 17 or 16 years)))

19 years ago ...

Hesperidium

The luscious resort moon revolved around the political center of the galaxy, Coruscant and itself was one of the most desired vacation locations to be found.  By some trick of the cosmos, the atmosphere retained almost all of the heat from the Coruscanti sun, allowing the moon to maintain warm temperatures year round, despite its distance and size.  In the tropical regions, there are a series of islands widely considered the gem of the moon. They are the reason people come here to let their troubles melt away. The largest island is called Iobatese which houses the central spaceport and government facilities. The west beach on Iobatese is where the entertainment district is located, full of restaurants and nightclubs such as the Bistro Bibliotheca and famous Club Hex. While there are residences on Iobatese it is the smaller islands that are the biggest draw. Stunning azure panoramic and white sand beaches, only the most affluent could even dream of owning a piece.

Emperor Palpatine had had a residence here, for all those times he just wanted to a vacation from being diabolically evil.

Perhaps the most stunning thing about the resort moon though was the view looking up.  amidst the faded backdrop of the galaxy of stars, one bright gem glowed brightly, the nearby planet of Coruscant.  From the surface of Hesperidium, it could be seen looking about the size of a quarter in the sky, and Coruscant sparkled with endless activity of a world-wide city that never slept.

The residents and visitors of Hesperidium were relaxing in the evening light, when they felt a massive tremor, an earthquake that rocked the entire moon - but what they felt was not coming from below.  Those outside fell to the ground as if a great concussive wind pressed down on them.  They could hear the noise growing louder - and then a loud flash.  Staring up, the sky was lit. Where Coruscant had been, a ball of fire, first expanding outward,and then after flames licking, reaching,, they suddenly turned in on themselves, the ball of fire being sucked into a darkness.  That jewel in the sky had disappeared.  In its stead, the sky filled with lightning, massive ionic storms, and what looked like from the surface a pool of dust.  Those on the moon stared up, frightened. What had happened to Coruscant, the center of the galaxy?


Today ...
Hesperidium had, by some luck, managed to maintain its orbit around the Coruscanti sun after it no longer had a planet to orbit.  It's climate had remained stable, warm and tropical, and within a few months of the destruction of Coruscant, the moon was again a tourist location.  A safe distance, they could watch the ion storms, without realizing what the Coruscant Asteroid Field often hid in its midst.  Monsters and machines.   Even if they saw twinkles of change, no one realized what it was.

But tonight, it was not just a mere twinkle.  As tourists and locals stared up at the night sky, watching and admiring the lightning, there was a sudden flash, and then standing amidst the storms, was a round sphere.  It was smaller than Coruscant had been - maybe 1/5 the size - and instead of the silvery gleam that Coruscant offered, this one gave off a rusty orange-copper shade, with small, barely visible lines of grayish metal.  The ball had appeared as if out of nowhere, now situated in the very center of the storms.  People watched in amazement as the lightning seemed to gravitate toward the ball.

Like most on Hesperidium, unless it interfered with their ability to relax, it didn't bother them, and after watching the spectacle, they grew bored and returned to their homes and beds.  When they woke in the morning, the sphere was gone - and so was the lightning.


Coruscant Asteroid Field
With a shudder that threatened to rip the station in two, the Sphere pummeled out of hyperspace near the edge of the Coruscant Asteroid Field.

A Voss Ra appeared at Adubell's door.

"Mistress Adubell  - the hyperdrive has been disabled from the journey. We will not be able to make another jump without extensive repair"

Fair enough - the Sphere carried too much mass, most machinery couldn't take it.  The hyperdrive systems had done what they needed to do.  They got the sphere to the Coruscant System.

"Activate the sublight engines, and begin moving to the final coordinates."

The Sphere began moving forward, slowly, carefully.  As it did, asteroids began to strike it, hitting the surface, denting in various places the metal or the dirt surface-structure.  Small craters appeared, but Adubell didn't care.

The lightning too was ignored.  Attracted to the metal frame, jagged streak after streak struck the Sphere as it moved, occasionally triggering a malfunction of some system or another, and yet the station moved on.

It was a few hours later the next report came in, telling Adubell that the Sphere had reached it's location, the very heart of the asteroid field, where the planet Coruscant had once stood.

"Set the station on a standard planetary rotation"

The forward thrusters were deactivated, and instead, a new set of thrusters were ignited.  Ever so slowly, the sphere began to turn, Adubell watching, monitoring the speed and trajectory. The computer was compensating for gravity from the sun and nearby moons, and various debris.  Within a few hours, everyone on the station was feeling the centrifical forces, and artificial gravity was slowly being powered down.

Adubell stalked out of the executive chamber, making her way to the turbolift that led to the surface.  She was alone at this moment, her minions had orders, and one was to not be disturbed.  As the turbolift doors opened into the Sphere's surface, she could hear the hiss of the depressurization.  If she had still been human, she would have died instantly. As it was, her hybrid body could only stand the exterior for so long before she would end up needing yet another replacement.

No matter. Her task would be finished in time.

Adubell's arms lifted, wide over her head, bending her neck downward, closing her eyes.

She thought to the battle, the fight with the young Masterton jedi, her sister, the traitor Infiltrator droid.  Focused on the hate that she had for all three.  Focused on the pleasure she felt as she killed the jedi, one by one.  In the pit of her stomach, she could feel it growing, the power. It began to radiate from the ground - the sith-infused earth of Korriban, up her legs, into her torso, pooling around her.  She lifted her head, eyes opened wide, black pools of darkness.  Electricity crackled at her fingertips.  The strength of the sith temple, buried below, channeling through her, as it had before. She was their vessel,their conduit.  Her hatred, her anger, her passion allowed them to use her as they needed.  Lightning extended from her fingers into the asteroid field that surrounded her.

Streaks of ioninc energy that seemed to move about at random catapulted toward her.  She didn't flinch as the first streak of lightning diverted downward, connecting with the blue fizzles at her fingertips. joining with her.  One. Then another. Then another.  The lightning didn't disappear - it extended from her fingers, stronger, further, wider.  She could feel their searing heat, their deadly power, attach to her. One streak then another.  The very energy spreading over hear head.  Until it was all there, all concentrated above her. Pulsing, wanting to escape, to destroy whatever it touched.  The energy swirled above her, between her two open hands - then began to spread, like a wave, out in all directions, over the entire surface of the Sphere.  The ion energy had been laced with the one who caused it - the Dark Queen, when Coruscant was destroyed, and now it danced and flirted with the sith power that it had connected to, it's color darkening from a bright blue to a midnight black, until the entire surface of the sphere was hidden behind a ball of dark energy.

Only then did Adubell's hands fall, her body collapsing to the earth beneath her.  She managed to roll onto her back, looking up at the barely visible sphere that encompassed the station.  The blackness in her eyes receded, and suddenly, she gasped, as she took a breath of air.

in her weakened state, she whispered.

"Welcome back ... Coruscant ..."

TBC

[Syren]

Corporate Sector

D'ian: Surface

Princess Dahlia gives herself an over the shoulder glance in the floor-length mirror of her bedroom. The outfit is stunning – a long dark green beaded dress, black heels, chandelier earrings, and a jeweled necklace given to her by the designers at Carteris. Her crimson hair is flat-ironed straight and spills off her pale shoulders with charcoal, black and emerald accents around her eyes.

"What do you think?"

Georgie grunts something but it sounds positive so she smiles. His thoughts are as clear as day and not quite as reassuring.

Gemma knows.

"Knows what exactly?"

Our true form. She saw through us on Corellia. She sees through me now.

"She has many talents apparently. If your cover is blown, you are screwed."

And you?

"I am too self-involved to know what's happening. At least that's what they will believe. You could have been sent here to impersonate my security agent in order to keep tabs on us while I was none the wiser."

She will never believe that. Gemma is a Jedi. The council has confirmed it.

"Yes," Dahlia says lowly. "I know. I saw. It's a problem, for sure, one that has to be dealt with discreetly. I can't move against her but that isn't to say she can't meet an unfortunate accident…like, say, an overdose. We are going to a party co-hosted by a notorious drug-dealer. The pressures of celebrity are numerous and substance abuse provides an escape. Perhaps Gemma indulges a little too much and becomes a tragic statistic, another star that flew too close to a sun."

She stops herself, realizing she is casually plotting Gemma's murder. It's surprising how easily it came to her. As angry as she is about the things she saw in the photage that revealed the extent of Gemma's lies, she hesitates in taking too drastic an action. Offing her sister would have significant implications and possibly disastrous consequences.

This is why Adubell thinks Dahlia is weak, that she is unwilling to make the difficult choices in order to advance their plans. Dahlia thinks the most severe course of action isn't always the best, especially when utilizing the knowledge she has can manipulate the game in her favor. Both Gemma and Dane could be valuable to her if handled appropriately. So far, Dane has proved pliable with the right direction.

Why can't Gemma?

"Scratch that. Find out what she knows tonight. If she discovers you then I guess you are off the team. She must be convinced I am oblivious to the danger you represent. Is that clear?"

He nods.

Dane pounds on her door, jarring her out of the moment.

"Are we going or what?"

Annoyed, she joins him in the hall.

He makes a face.

"This is an anti-party party. We're supposed to be rebelling against type."

She takes note of his tight, ripped black pants, boots and a plain black t-shirt. His hair is heavily gelled and slicked back.

"Are we?"

"That's what the invitation said."

"So you can read, great. Is that eyeliner?"

He reflexively touches his face, "Alka said it was cool."

"It does make a statement."

"Then why do you look like you're going to a premiere?"

She sighs wearily, "I'm rebelling…against surrendering wardrobe autonomy to those who clearly know nothing about style."

"This party is a rebellion. You can't rebel against the rebels."

They walk toward the stairs.

"Says who?"

Gemma is waiting in the foyer wearing a black romper with a silver belt and knee-high boots. Her blonde hair is blown out in a mass of curls and her make-up is darker and more menacing.

She also makes a face, "Dahlia, that outfit really doesn't-"

"Save it," she says, waving a hand through the air. "I'm not buying into the hype. I mean, how anti-establishment can Muriel really be?"

Cut to the Monroe Estate with blood red perimeter lighting and security agents posted on either side of the door wearing metal masks. There are strobes, blaring music and decals of the CSA with a slash of red spray-paint across it. Everyone looks like they stepped out of an industrial music video.

Dahlia, Dane and Gemma stand in front of the mansion staring.

Dane smirks, "Told you."

No doubt Tobias' influence helped create the look but Dahlia is surprised Muriel went along with it. This is their sheltered lives of polite parties and debutante balls twisted into an anarchist's nightmare. If their parents saw this they would freak out but that is highly unlikely.

Inside, the place is set for what looks like a gothic feast with black drapery and enough candles to take it all down in blaze of glory. The lengths some of the students went to with their costumes are actually fairly impressive. Some even don the blank mask of The Concealed, others prefer feathers and abstract makeup. A girl on the diving board by the pool wears a bikini, a black mask and a headdress as she sway's with a bottle in her hand. Give these uptight, spoiled kids a measure of expression and watch the sparks fly.

Demaris is in heaven. Finally, people who are speaking her language. She's always been the alternative girl, the one with the style a little too edgy for the proper Valor Prep. Now it seems others have some spunk in them as well.

Ples is shirtless with black leather pants and a white eye-mask. Kier looks like an old sentry with a chest plate and sandals. Alka poured herself into a burgundy, skin tight suit with a bulky, embellished belt.  Trichelle begrudgingly got into the spirit and went for a daring black dress with a hooded red cape. Preston's face is speckled in glitter with wings attached to his back. Roman is wearing gray coveralls with a utility sash.

Muriel emerges from the house on the arm of Tobias. There is thunderous applause and shouting from the revelers. The hosts bow and curtsy theatrically. Muriel dons a black corset, hot pants a spiked ankle boots. Her purple eye-mask and slicked back hair complete the look. Tobias looks like he starred in a slasher flick, black linen shirt open with splatters of red dye streaking his chest, neck and face.

Dahlia, Dane and Gemma join their clique by the pool.

Trichelle looks Dahlia over and says, "Why didn't you dress the part?"

"I'm not really a joiner."

In her peripheral, she spots Quentin in a black cloak flirting with the girl in the headdress. She has followed her suspicions to a source closer to home which brought damning confirmation. Quentin whispers something in her ear and they walk back into the mansion together. She rolls her eyes up. What a man-whore. Promiscuity may be a badge of honor to some but to Dahlia, it was a repugnant lack of self-control. Besides, sleeping with a bunch of neurotic, emotionally damaged fellow students is not her idea of a good time.

"Really?" Trichelle laughs. "Since when?"

"Since I plan on using this lapse in judgment against you in my campaign for Prom Queen."

She leans forward, trying to hear over the music.

"What?"

"Nothing, daling! My mistake."

Trichelle waves over at a few others across the pool while Gemma and Demaris dance with Kier and Ples. Alka rubs a finger down Dane's chest as he looks around, confused.

"Where's Roman?"

Preston is also gone.

Again.

Dahlia groans, walking away.

"Get a clue, Dane."

She reenters the house and grabs a drink, wandering through the throngs of people grinding all over each other. She reaches out through the Force to follow Quentin and comes to the door of a guest bedroom. Without hesitating, she taps the controls and brazenly strides inside.

Quentin is sitting on the edge of the bed with the girl standing between his legs. Her bikini top is pulled down and she turns as though this is only a minor inconvenience. However, her face changes when she sees who it is.

Dahlia levels her gaze, "Get out."

The girl pulls up the top and disappears out into the hall. Quentin leans back on the bed, amused.

"Change your mind?"

"Hardly," she says. "But we do need to talk."

"I'm more a man of action."

"I see."

She turns to reach for the door controls, locking them inside. This causes him to widen his smile.

"Then I shall act."

Her eyes go dark, pooling into pure blackness as he is suddenly pulled from the bed and thrown against the far wall. Immobilized and stunned, he tries to struggle to no avail. She moves slowly, purposefully toward him as alarm begins to register on his face.

"Wha...what are you doing?"

"You strike me as the kind of boy who likes it rough, someone who isn't afraid of taking risks. You took a considerable one showing up here with your outlandish story that was just the right amount of crazy for these kids to believe. Controlling family, a big-name Sector brand, incredible wealth, a bold bravado bordering on the delusional; you fit right in here."

The fear in his eyes would convince her if she wasn't so good at seeing through the façade. It is a manufactured reaction, one cultivated through careful training. For all intents and purposes, Quentin Swire appears like a real boy when in reality he is so much more than that.

"You're insane!"

"Am I?"

"You are just proving all the rumors about your family! All this time you were hiding your powers from everybody. You are dangerous!"

"So true," she says. "Except I'm not the only one hiding in plain sight."

"I don't know what you are talking about but you bet your sweet ass I am going to march downstairs and let all your friends know just what kind of girl you really are."

She presses on him more firmly with the Force, flattening him against the wall. With slightly more pressure she could crack his ribs but rides the fine line of pain.

He gasps loudly.

"You know damn well I could make you forget this whole thing ever happened. I could make you do anything I wished and you would be powerless to stop me."

"How could I possibly know that?"

"Because you are an Imperial plant."

The surprise on his face is priceless but well-rehearsed.

"What?"

"All those trips back and forth to Etti IV, come on."

"My uncle-"

"Ah, your uncle. That's the kicker. The real tell to your story. See, I was only mildly suspicious when I saw you coming out of Vex Sienna's apartment tower. Even more so when you rushed off the night of Kylie Miranda's disappearance. But it wasn't until I poked around a bit that I discovered the truth."

"Bullshit."

"I know, right? You were so careful. Your back story and past so seamlessly overlaid against the Sector databases but there was one piece of data you couldn't control, one that wasn't in any computer. You claim to be the son of Fediir Swire's brother, Osa who was killed in a fire in the Swire Textile factory fifteen years ago. His wife was devastated and sought grief counseling…from Celeste Masterton. You would think the effect of her husband's tragic death on her three year old son would have come up but nowhere in her case notes is there any mention of a child. In fact, there was discussion of the relief felt that this was not inflicted on any offspring. So you, Quentin Swire, are a bit of a mystery despite the official files having been ret-conned to include your lineage. You may be a Swire but you are not a Corporate heir. This piece of information would be more than just a little troubling to our peers who care so much about titles and legacies, don't you think?"

Quentin's smile returns.

"You are as clever and conniving as they said. The Emperor will be pleased."

Dahlia sighs, releasing him.

"Why the charade? You should have come to me."

"That wasn't the plan," he says, retaining his composure. "I was to dangle just enough suspicion in front of you to see if you'd bite. No one was entirely convinced you could see beyond your own reflection and investigate but once again, you have proved us wrong."

"Schrag should really stop doubting me."

Quentin becomes stern.

"The Emperor is a great man."

"I never said he wasn't. So, what's the play? Why are you really here?"

"Officially, to act as your contact within the Empire and assist as needed."

"You mean, to spy on me and report back? He doesn't trust me."

"He doesn't trust any Winton."

"I have more than proved myself."

"That doesn't put you above suspicion. You are an incalculable variable and need to be monitored to ensure you are not veering too far off-script, as it were. We can't have the Empire's plans spoiled now that we've made so many inroads with the Republic. Soon they will need us to defend them and our partnership will be solidified while the liaison ingratiates himself to the public at large, thanks in no small part to your tutelage."

"Barrett."

"That's right. It's good to know you care for him as much as he does for you."

"You know each other?"

"We were friends at the Academy."

"Friends?" Dahlia says. "I wasn't sure he knew how to make those."

"It was difficult but we forged a bond."

"Does he know you are here?"

"We are only told what we need to know. His feelings for you may have compromised his position in the Republic so we let him focus on that. He needs to be part of the discussion, a true influencer of policy."

"By now Speaker Leeds will be saturated with dark energy. He should not have many issues convincing him of what needs to be done."

"His cabinet and the Senate poses an obstacle which will require Barrett's unique brand of tactical savvy. They will be swayed by his prowess and appearance of protecting them. After you graduate, we expect your presence will continue to raise his profile."

"You want me to move to Chandaar?"

Quentin rubs his sore chest and neck.

"We realize we can't exactly force you to do anything. However, we were going to arrange for your acceptance to the University of Ambaril but your grades got you in easily. Turns out, you are not just a pretty face."

"Being smart is hot."

"So it seems."

"What now?"

"We become friends," Quentin says. "Maintain the integrity of the group. I will update you as information becomes available so you can carry on the with the good girl act."

"Who says it's an act?"

"Please. We all know you are evil, princess. You don't have to pretend with me."

He extends a hand.

"Allies?"

Dahlia's eyes return to their emerald shade as she shakes it.

"Allies."




-TBC

[Syren]

Hesperidium

Surface: Diamant Island

Dahlia breaks the surface of the warm, clear waters and gazes up at the monolith that is the Bolerathon Tower. She wanders out of the water and back toward the two chaise lounges parked beneath a large, tan umbrella. Muriel stretches out in a colorful bikini and adjusts her oversized heart sunglasses.

"This was the best idea."

"Right?" Dahlia says, drying off and falling into the empty chaise beside her. "I really needed to get out of there."

"I don't blame you. It's a lot to work through."

"I'm passed the worst of the emotional fallout, moved swiftly through the stages to land squarely in a washed out acceptance. I'm not sure if that's a sign of emotional maturity or a desperate need to feel normal again."

"Sounds clinical."

"My adoptive mother was a therapist so I'm well versed in the complicated mess of loss and grief."

"You know," Muriel says, sitting up. "Biology doesn't always play into what makes a family. You guys are more my family than my mother is. I don't even know if she realizes I graduated or that I'm not in The Sector. I could have been murdered and she wouldn't know until she saw it on the Holo."

"Not true, one of those pesky security agents would call her first."

"I'm serious, Dahl. Celeste and Rutherford loved you. I would give anything to know what that feels like."

Dahlia slips on giant, round sunglasses and pulls her hair back into a pony tail.

"LeVanya loves you, Mur. She just really sucks at showing it."

"Do you ever think about them?"

"My real parents?" Dahlia says, flashing back to all the lurid things Adubell told her. "Sometimes, more so here I guess. There is a picture of them upstairs. Karen kept it tucked in the vanity mirror. Even though she apparently seldom saw them, they were in her thoughts. All I know is the stories of them and even those aren't what they were really like. And the most upsetting thing is that the one person who actually knew them is dead."

"Didn't you talk about them?"

"I never thought to ask – like it was inappropriate or taboo. Sure, once I found out about who I was they filled in the wonderful pieces of how my mother gave me to Celeste Masterton for protection. What she didn't tell me is that my father most likely killed her just like he did Celeste's first husband. That I could sense from her, like she was holding back."

She realizes now this was to shield her from the more unpleasant details of her parent's seemingly tumultuous marriage. Adubell wanted nothing more than to paint Rutherford and Celeste as twisted, self-serving liars. And in some senses that may be true but they weren't evil. Not in the ways her family is. The Winton darkness goes much, much deeper.
 
"We should not spend our holiday moping about when there are cocktails to be made."

"Maker Almighty, yaasss."

As they pack up and leave, Dahlia stares up into the cloudless, blue sky, unable to shake a certain feeling.

Upstairs, in the Winton Penthouse, Muriel lights a joint as Dahlia orders drinks from the service droid. They dance, watch vids on the Holo, nap, order dinner and make more cocktails. Not a bad way to spend a day or weeks, depending on who is keeping track.

There is a message from Barrett they replay over and over. He sounds so awkward when he's not talking about defenses and tactical advantages but it's undeniably sweet. Their courtship has been a slow burn, and that suits her just fine. Everyone around her in The Sector was so busy letting their hormones drive them wild while she thought silly things about a boy she met in the Republic. Come Fall, she would be on Chandaar and they would be spending much more time together.

Muriel squints at her through the haze, "What's going through that mind of yours?"

A sobering truth.

"I've never had a serious relationship."

"So?"

"So, what am I supposed to do? We're high profile and the worlds will be watching. Popping in to dazzle for certain events with my little outfits and zippy innuendos is one thing but I always had the luxury of distance. What if I'm the disaster girlfriend?"

"How is that even possible?"

"For starters, I'm an uptight virgin with romantic ideals. He's this hot, broody, strategic genius who makes me feel like I'm not in control when we kiss. I don't see how this could not end badly."

"You can go slowly, it's not a race."

"Then why does it feel like I'm still in last place in the boy department? Trichelle has Kier, Demaris has Ples, Dane has Alka, Gemma has that spacey Patten kid and you have Tobias. How did I graduate high school without dating a single boy?"

"You dated Ples for, like, five microseconds."

"That doesn't count. I just posted up on his arm at parties. There was nothing there."

"You could practice on Quentin. He always seems available."

Dahlia gags, waving her away, "Siiiiick."

"Well, you have a modeling career and millions of credits."

"You can't take credits to bed."

"You can," Muriel says, sticking her tongue out. "But it's filthy."

They collapse into giggles then Muriel pads off to find more champagne. Dahlia picks up her glass by the stem and sways through the residence and out onto the patio. The sky is dark and littered with stars and the cool air feels wonderful after a sun-kissed day. She finds herself glancing up once again, the tug of an urge just beneath the surface.

Muriel appears holding an open bottle, "What's up?"

"I dunno," Dahlia whispers. "There's something…there."




-TBC

[Syren]

"All your moves that make me wanna run away
But I got stuck with faulty legs
I believe it's true that you would screw me
If I let you in my bedroom
And if I did then do I try to move away?
Cause I know you like mind games."

-Banks

Hesperidium

Surface: Diamant Island: Bolerathon Tower

Everything is a fantastical blur of fun.

Dahlia and Muriel really reconnect after everything they had been through over the years. The connection deepens in their time together even though they both know it cannot last forever. They have different plans for their lives but they use this time to reaffirm a friendship that had drifted.

Dahlia had greatly considered what Adubell told her – allies or enemies, there is no in between. This was tempered by her vision of Karen who acknowledged the potential liability but stated it was worth the risk. She doesn't believe everything can be broken down that way. Compartmentalization isn't healthy; Celeste taught her that. Some things need to flow from one area of your life to another. As long as there are boundaries and communication there wasn't a need for drastic action. True, Dahlia had wiped Muriel's suspicion and she justified that by telling herself it granted her friend freedom from unnecessary worry.

After a morning of pastries and elaborately concocted coffine creations, the penthouse com buzzes loudly. It startles them because they had been essentially undisturbed for weeks. Dahlia pads to the consol near the door and activates the cam.
 
"Hey, it's Tobias."

Dahlia turns over her shoulder, "It's your ill-conceived boyfriend."

"Tobi!!" Muriel squeals.

"Did you invite him to crash our party?"

"Of course not but he probably got bored. You know how it is on D'ian in the summer. There is only so much Viiperi Lake drama someone can stand. I can ask him to leave if he's not welcome."

"No," Dahlia says. "It's okay. Just because I'm not getting laid doesn't mean you have to spend a celibate summer with me."

She taps the controls, "Hi, Tobs. You lost?"

"Just cruising around. Can I come up? Your floor is apparently locked down harder than the mines of Kessel."

"That's the idea," Dahlia hisses, buzzing him into the lobby. "You can't access it from the ground level. Go to the top floor then all the way around the hall. I'll meet you there."

She slips into a pair of platform sandals and heads out the door. The penthouse floor is beautifully silent with only two residences and private access. Long ago, when Celeste Masterton inherited the tower, she sealed this floor behind a secret lift. Once Tobias rounds the hall on the floor below, he will come to a flat white wall that appears to be nothing until it parts in the center to reveal the lift doors. Dahlia is standing inside with her arms crossed when these doors open – except Tobias is not alone.

"What's up?" Quentin Swire says. "Didn't think you'd mind if I tagged along."

She conceals her surprise flawlessly and smiles.

"What part of 'girl's holiday' did either of you not understand?"

"Come on, Dahl. We couldn't stand it anymore, all the idle chatter and finger sandwiches."

"You want us to endure an afternoon of tea with Trichelle?"

She steps aside to let them enter.

"You poor things at the pinnacle of suffering."

They step out onto the penthouse floor with all the polished white stone and tactfully placed greenery. The long corridor extends to where two doors sit across from each other beyond which opens up into a spectacular panoramic sitting area.

"Not bad," Quentin says, looking around. "For a dowry."

She sighs as trio enters the Winton Penthouse. Muriel flies out of nowhere to grapple with Tobias. They make out fiercely, staggering away down the hall. Dahlia continues out into the living room where she picks up her drink from the table.

"I'm not nearly caffeinated enough for you."

There are giggles from the hall, the sound of a door hissing open then closing again. He smirks and looks her over.

"Where's my welcome kiss?"

She eases gracefully down onto a couch and crosses her legs.

"That would imply I was happy to see you. Also, gross."

"Come now, princess. I thought we were friends."

"On paper perhaps. In reality, we have mutual interests that require toleration and occasional conversation. I didn't think they would send you to check up on me."

"Who says they did?"

She sets her drink back on the table.

"Not stupid, remember? You knew my location and the duration of my stay so I'm curious as to why you thought showing up here was a good idea. It's not like my presence here is private, especially after what happened. People will talk."

"Let them," Quentin says. "That's most of the reason you are useful. You get people saying the things we want them to say. In this case, two friends joined you on your holiday for the last hoorah before higher education. I'll look for you on the quad."

Her eyes flare and she stands suddenly.

"What? Don't tell me they added you to the student body at UCA."

"Save me a seat in class."

She groans and moves through the living room and out onto the wraparound patio. The sun is just burning off the last of the marine layer, revealing a tantalizing palette of blue and green. Quentin follows slowly and takes it all in. She shoves him out of this moment of peace.

"I do not appreciate being monitored so closely. It's not like I've deviated from anyone's agenda. Schrag really needs a social life."

"The Emperor is concerned," he corrects her. "He wants…assurances."

"Of course he does."

"Your emotional state raises questions."

Dahlia's mouth falls open.

"Wait, I lost only parents I ever knew and I'm not even allowed to feel bad about it because it might jeopardize my loyalties? One has nothing to do with the other."

"We disagree."

"So disagree," she snaps.

"Your outrage is so hot."

"Don't make me break your face. I'm entitled to a little downtime."

Quentin cocks his head, "Entitlement seems to be your motive. Who can really blame you given where you came from? Sorry about your parents, by the way, but it's not like you didn't profit from losing them. All that money, you deserve the best. However, we prefer you don't fancy yourself entitled to an exemption from oversight."

"You're an asshole and I don't work for you."

"No, not directly but our mutual interests require certain performance markers. These are things that could be easily missed without the proper motivation. We don't want anyone or anything holding you back. You aren't the first Winton girl who got sidetracked by a series of circumstances. We need you to remain focused."

"I'm not losing sight of anything," Dahlia says. "I took this time to gather myself so I don't rush into the Republic emotionally compromised. I know what's expected of me once I arrive, the role I have to play."

"Oh good, I'm glad you remember you have one."

"Don't patronize me, Agent Swire. I'm not my sisters."

Quentin moves closer to her, placing both hands on the railing.

"Maybe not but that's a pretty low bar."

"Can you get to the point so I can get back to tolerating you?"

"You talk tough for a spoiled brat but the true extent of your power has yet to be seen. How far are you really willing to go?"

"You want a demonstration?"

"In some form or another."

Dahlia scoffs, "I'm not some minion you order around. I have risked much to get us here and at the very least you can show a little respect to the eventuality I represent for us."

"Respect is earned, your Highness. You've run some public relations, a few errands. Fluff. We need to know you are ready to take it to the next level and that your grief isn't clouding your perspective on our goals."

"It's not."

He smiles and stares into the distance. 

"We'll see."




-TBC

[Syren]

"We are gonna see greater heights
They’ll put our names up in neon lights
Rolling volcanoes in the night
Glowing in the dark like meteorites"

-Lights

Hesperidium

A premiere night on West Iobatese Beach: shopping at the boutiques, dinner at Bistro Biblioteca, dancing at Club Hex.

Dahlia is pissed the Emperor dispatched the douche-savant Quentin Swire to hover obnoxiously after suffering such a devastating loss in her personal life. It reeks of paranoia and begs the question of whether or not Schrag actually trusts her. She feels like she's played all her cards right and skated past the scandals that so oft plagued her sister. From a public standpoint, Dahlia is downright upstanding and this inquisition needs to be stopped immediately. She is not going to have every meter of her social life monitored for progress. She doesn't do tricks for the Empire's flunkies. 

Quentin brings her a glass of champagne and shrugs it off when she refuses to dance with him. Muriel is thrashing her hips against a mostly wasted Tobias and she wonders if that's the kind of thing Barrett would be down for. Sure, she's indulged a bit in the party department but by no means is she a skiff-wreck. Her tightly composed if not mildly condescending persona keeps everything in careful check. People are expecting her to lose her shit and it's difficult to be seen as a sympathetic character the public roots for when you are stumbling all over puking into the gutter.

Is it so much to want a little chivalry and romance in the modern age?

She sips the champagne and pushes Quentin off the edge of the slick bench they are sitting on. He leans on his arm.

"You know, you aren't really selling the whole friendly vibe."

"It was a friendly gesture."

"While I'm down here…"

Her head is held high, glaring down.

"Is that all you think about?"

"What else is there?"

"So many things that tiny brain of yours can't process but you are missing out. If you spent less time being a sleaze, you might actually enjoy yourself."

"Says the uptight redhead."

"You do realize that my poised exterior is what opens doors for us, right? If you want people saying the right things you must provide the proper influence. I'm having the appropriate amount of fun for someone my age."

Quentin smirks, "How would you know?"

"I read up on it."

"Well, your scholastic aptitude isn't what we're after."

"If you think for a microsecond I'm going to be anyone's true believer, you've got another thing coming. Schrag is brills with the strategy but he's got, like, no boundaries."

"Boundaries are meant to be blurred."

"It's almost cute that you think so," she says, finishing the glass.

He stands, raising his own.

"Isn't it though? Cheers to hoping someone finds your defrost button one day."

"I don't get you. You want me focused, you want me loose. I think you need to separate what the Empire wants from me from what you do. They are not the same thing and only one of those two might actually get it in the end. Spoiler alert, it's not you. Muriel! We're outs."

Muriel tugs on Tobi's arm and swerves toward the door. Quentin follows closely, mugging for photage as they exit. Dahlia's expression is playful but then Quentin holds her hand and it takes everything she has not to scream.

In the hover limo Tobias and Muriel fall onto the back seat, kissing hungrily and giggling as they race toward Diamant Island.
 
"Why did you do that?"

"Don't be offended. It was a friendly gesture."

"They'll run it," she hisses. "They'll think we're together."

"Quentalia – the newest it-couple! Calm down, it adds depth to that one dimensional note you call a public persona."

"Listen to me, you smarmy little shit. I understand how this world works. Clearly, you do not so do us both a favor and tone it down or I'll-"

"Or you'll what? Don't threaten me with a good time."

She inhales sharply, turning to stare through the window at the glittering lights of the Bolerathon Tower. She would normally reach for a comeback, something to silence his utter stupidity but she suddenly feels warm, amused by it all.

Back in the Winton Penthouse, Tobias withdraws a vial from his pocket and smiles deviously at the three of them.

"Anyone want another hit?"

"What's that?"

"Just a little spice, a rare and cerebral blend. Something to really put a spin on summer."

"Um, no," Dahlia says. "I don't think so."

"Surprise, surprise, its princess buzz kill. Too bad there was already some in all our champagne."

Muriel makes a face, "You didn't ask her first?"

He shrugs.

"I figured she wouldn't know a good time if it bit her in the ass so here's to Dahlia finally loosening up."

This isn't happening, she tells herself. It can't be. She is horrified; alarm spreading as she looks to Muriel for help but by then it's too late. That feeling of contentment ramps up into euphoria. They soon begin to peak and Tobias puts on some mellow music that seems to perfectly mesh with their states of mind. Any anger she felt evaporates into the peaceful warmth of the spice. Its as if someone pumped joy into the bloodstream, everything soft and intensely satisfying. Their skin is dewy, pupils dilated wide but Dahlia's expand further into near pools of darkness.

They dance in the dim lights of the penthouse, writhing up against each other slowly, without shame. Muriel twirls away, long blonde hair becoming blurs of color as Tobias spins sticks of light between his fingers. White streaks hang in the air then disappear with each drift of the breeze.

Quentin runs his lips along Dahlia's neck, pulling her close as they sway in the middle of the living room. Her lashes brush against his cheek as she looks up at him. He does not fear the darkness in her eyes. It calls to him. Their lips slide softly across each other and he smiles. The annoyance she would normally feel is swallowed within the chemical haze and so she leans her head on his shoulder and dances on.

The pulse is subtle, faint but then grows into ripples of power that wash over them.

Muriel veers away, holding her head as the memories taken from her return along with the realization of who took them and why.

"You stole them," she says loudly, stirring Quentin and Dahlia out of their rhythmic stupor. "You took them from me."

"Hmmm?"

"You are…evil…everything you said…you took it from me, made it so I couldn't remember…"

This rights things, if only momentarily.

"No, Mur…that's not-"

"I heard you…here...talking to someone. You said Melanie murdered your sister, that she let her….You talked about a reign of terror, people crying out for mercy."

Quentin's head rolls toward her, "Really? Cool, so cool."

"Muriel, I was kidding. You were worrying over nothing."

Things are spiraling toward a phrase she hoped would never be uttered amongst mixed company.

"You said you were the Daughter of Darkness."

Tobias stops dancing, "What of what now?"

Muriel's mind finally connects all the pieces, everything she previous dismissed as coincidence or jest. She only saw holes in Dahlia's story because she was closest, the one who knew her best.

"You are just like them, aren't you? Just like the stories we read? Stories about the darkness of your sisters and the horrible things they did. You are one of them – a Sith! That woman turned you and you've been lying to us this whole time!!"

Now Tobias and Quentin are staring at her, one with a look of confusion and the other of suspicion. Dahlia struggles to keep composed, breathing heavily.

"You're freaking out, Mur."

"I can prove it," she says, storming out of the room and down the hall. She is gone for what seems like an hour but returns clutching the hilt of her saber. Dahlia's mouth opens as a gasp escapes. "I remember now, I saw where you stashed this last summer and I didn't say anything, I didn't want to believe it but you made me forget."

"What is that?"

"It's a lightsaber," Muriel shrieks, waving it around."You became everything people feared about your family. Instead of learning from the things they did, you dove head first into all of it and kept it from everyone you claimed to care about!"

"Give it to me."

"No, how could you do this? I didn't want you to fall."

"Who's falling? I'm so lost."

"Shut up, Tobi. This just got interesting."

Dahlia is barely holding it together, "Give me the saber, Muriel."

"Tell me why you brought me here."

"I wanted us to spend time together. You are my best friend!"

"Friends don't erase other friend's memories. You brought me here out of guilt. Friends confide in each other, they trust each other."

"I do trust you!"

"Not enough, not with this."

"It's complicated."

"It's really not," Muriel says. "Tell me the truth. Are you one of them?"

Dahlia glances quickly between Quentin and Tobias but cannot conjure an answer that would suitably diffuse the rapidly escalating situation. She settles for sighing which Muriel interprets as an admission. She scoffs and storms out into the hall. Dahlia follows.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"You are totally fucked up, you can't leave."

"Like hell I can't."

"Muriel, you can't say anything. To anyone."

"I'm not going to let you silence me again, Dahlia. You can't manipulate your friends to suit your whims. That's not how a real relationship works and what's worse, I never thought you would do that to me. You either let someone in or you don't but you can't have it both ways. You may be able to craft an image of yourself for the public but I know the real you, the girl who didn't care about any of this and wanted to rise above it. You are my best friend and I feel like you betrayed everything that stands for!"

"I saved you!"

It is a line one cannot uncross. Muriel's tone becomes more measured, tears falling from her wide blue eyes.

"If this is how you see our friendship then maybe you shouldn't have."

Dahlia swipes the saber from her hand, accidentally igniting it. The long pink blade hums to life and startles both of them.
 
Muriel screams and flees down the corridor.

"Muriel, stop!" she shouts, hurling the saber with one fluid motion of her outstretched hand. It spins perfectly, guided by her will, until landing precisely through the center of Muriel's back. She is thrown forward by the sheer force and cries out as she hits the polished stone floor with a wet slap.

Quentin is standing behind her as she turns with an expression of terrifying calm.

Tobias pops out from the doorway then reels back toward the observation terrace when he sees Muriel's body and the saber protruding from it.

"Holy fuck, what…what the…?! What did you do?! What did you-"

Quentin raises a blaster no one saw him holding and shoots Tobias in the face. He drops instantly, unmoving.

"No witnesses."

Dahlia moves purposefully to retrieve and deactivate the saber.

The corridor is plunged into silence.

Quentin is keyed up, turned on by the thrill. He had read reports, heard stories about the power the Winton's possessed. Nothing could prepare him for this.

"Not a soul to tell," she whispers, running a finger down his chest.

Dahlia wanders past him, through the house to the patio where her energy continues to pulse. Ambient trails follow her with each movement. She turns and through a dark and ancient power she levitates from the ground with arms outstretched, head thrown to the sky. A black and purple sphere surrounds her and Quentin can do nothing but marvel at her magnificence as energy pours from the sphere up into the sky until she moves a finger over her smiling lips and everything cuts to blackness. 




-TBC