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[2 Months Ago] Karth and Jace - The Rusty Wrench
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| Karth_DeQora | Date: Friday, 03 Dec 2010, 11:32 PM | Message # 1 |
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| Coruscant, 24 BBY "You look better with shorter hair, more distinguished." The woman's voice was soft; delicate as an Alderaanian flower but still containing a strength about it. If there was one thing certain about Jedi Knight Daneira Farris it was that she was anything but weak. She was the strongest among them, if anything; because she had unshakable faith in her convictions, to the point of being stubborn in some of her peer's opinions. And despite this strength, of both body and of will, her beauty was what truly astounded others. Delicate features: a thin nose that curved ever so slightly at the tip, eyes that sparkled with a brilliant azure tinge, and hair that shone a glossy black in the light of the Coruscanti moon. It was odd to find moonlight on Coruscant, even to a passing tourist that much was obvious; but to a Jedi that had spent her entire life exploring the magnificent cityscape, there was always a place where it could be found. At current, such place was an abandoned apartment building in the Coruscant slums; its tenants having moved on to greener pastures years ago and having left the structure to its fate. Her male companion's eyes never left the transparisteel window; his obsidian eyes focused intently on the horizon, wandering aimlessly to the silhouette of the Jedi Temple. To most Jedi, the Temple was home, it was where they belonged. To Karth, it was a cage, a cruel reminder of how wrong the love between him and Dani was; at least in the eyes of the Jedi Council. It was because of this outdated (and in his mind, absurd) tenet that the young Jedi were forced to hide their relationship from their friends. It was why, instead of being together in the Temple, they were in a seedy apartment, in the slums, at two in the morning. His attention was diverted only after she had crept up behind him and snaked her arms around his belted waist, her slender cheek pressing hard into his back. If he listened closely, he'd hear the steady rhythm of their hearts beating in tune; as they had for the last four years. Gloved hands emerged from the folds of his maroon jacket as he spun to face her; placing his own hands along the small of her back, touch gentle but reassuring. It was as close as he could get without outright saying no harm would come to her. "I thought so," he replied while fighting the grin curving at his lips. "Silas always said I looked like some greased-up fringer more than a Jedi. In the end I suppose he was right." His voice trailed off as the memory of his former Master came to mind. Silas was an old man, with a kind heart, and he'd been the closest thing De'Qora had to a father in his youth. Silas hadn't made it out alive on Bellassa, the planet where Karth had met Dani four years earlier, and where the two had prevented the death of the planet's governor. He often wondered what his Master would think if he were to see him now, holding a fellow Jedi in his arms. He suspected that his old master wouldn't have one thing to say about it. Dani chuckled, a melodic sound that often soothed his frayed nerves. Having just returned from the front lines for a week-long furlough; Karth had forgone debriefing the Council on the status of his fleet in favor of spending time with her. With the Clone Wars spreading to every system and every star, the time they'd have to spend together grew shorter and shorter. Even if it lead to him being lambasted tomorrow morning, he'd spend his first day on Coruscant with her. "Oh I don't know, Karth, you weren't greasy enough to keep my hands off you." He said nothing, just allowing the silence to take control of the room as he held her. He'd only a few more hours left; sooner or later somebody would notice a speeder missing from the Temple hangar, and they'd have to return at separate times to avoid suspicion. Oh, how he hated those moments; sneaking around a Temple full of Jedi was never something he felt was worth practicing until he'd met Dani. It was worth the effort, at any rate. A stubbled chin came to rest on a soft bed of raven hair; his head tilting down ever so slightly so as to allow him to inhale her scent: an intoxicating, flowery aroma, both stimulating and soothing. "Well it only took us nearly killing each other for that to happen;" Karth joked, memories of their assignment to Bellassa swimming inside his head. There was a time when Karth had thought there was no way he could possibly hate her more, look how that turned out. His comm unit broke the silence that followed; forcing him to tear his gaze away from hers to check it. "That's I'lari... they've noticed I'm not in my room." "We need to go." * * * Kolatill, 2 Months Ago The sound of a toolbox slamming against a durasteel floor prompted Karth's break from his reverie; his one remaining eye shooting open and scanning the darkness of his room. A string of curse words; some Karth was surprised to find he'd never heard before, drifted up from the floor below, from his garage. Vash... why don't you just bring the whole damn city down on us, you dolt? Karth's "assistant", Vash, had decided it would be an excellent idea to make as much noise as possible at damn near three in the morning. Added (04 Dec 2010, 0:32 Am)
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With an exasperated groan; the former Jedi stumbled out of bed, cursing the light that now penetrated the shades covering his barred windows. Today was the one day he'd planned on keeping the shop closed, too; after a near-miss with a swoop bike the day earlier, Karth could have used the sleep. Still, the day was salvageable, he'd pop downstairs, put a boot in his employee's ass, and return to his dreams. These days they were the only time when Karth was happy. * * * On the ground floor of the Rusty Wrench; amidst the grease-slathered ship components and stacks of overdue payments strewn about the "reception" area (which consisted of little more than a desk and a small terminal), a green-skinned Nikto frantically attempted to shove a collection of worn tools back into their rightful places. He'd failed to notice that his employer had made his way down the stairs and now stood at the entryway, dressed in a dirty tank-top and cargo pants, sunglasses now covering his eyes in an attempt to hide the sickening deformity where his right eye used to be. The wound itself, in conjunction with his cybernetic left forearm and hand, were the result of Karth biting off more than he could chew during his Jedi days. The exact size of the bite having been single-handedly challenging the newly-christened Darth Vader in the Jedi Temple and losing, badly. It was through sheer luck and Karth's knowledge of a forbidden Force technique that allowed him to slow his heart-rate to near-death levels, that he'd made it out of there alive.
Man, Myth, Administrative God. Also plays a mean kazoo.
Jace Varitek: In Northern California we just have gangs of vigilante interior decorators.
Message edited by Karth - Friday, 03 Dec 2010, 11:35 PM |
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| Karth_DeQora | Date: Wednesday, 08 Dec 2010, 6:23 PM | Message # 2 |
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Colonel general
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| Vash swore again, an incoherent string of Huttese curses barely audible over the sound of the tools once again crashing to the floor as he lost his grip. Karth couldn't help but smirk; he'd found Vash when he first came to Kolatill, the Nikto having lost his family in the Clone Wars and had managed to scrape together a life as a beggar when the Jedi came upon him. When the Rusty Wrench was opened, Vash was the first person Karth had gone to. At current, he was the only friend De'Qora had. Clearing his throat; which startled the Nikto and once again sent his tools flying, the Jedi broke the silence. "Need some help, old friend?" "H'chu apenkee, pateessa. Kee chai chai cun kuta?" The Nikto shot back, a wry smile forming on scaly lips. It was a friendly greeting in Huttese, the equivalent of saying "Hello my friend, what are you doing here?". In response to said greeting, Karth could only shrug. "I'm up now, thanks. Guess I'll go work on the swoop, seeings as I'm not getting any more sleep today. Do me a favor though-" he added as he made his way to the garage, stopping to grab his toolbox along the way. "-If it decides to go up in flames again... don't wait an hour before you take me to the med center, ok?"
Man, Myth, Administrative God. Also plays a mean kazoo.
Jace Varitek: In Northern California we just have gangs of vigilante interior decorators.
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| Jace_Varitek | Date: Saturday, 11 Dec 2010, 1:05 AM | Message # 3 |
 Generalissimo
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| A pair of tired boots on tired feet came to rest in the entrance of the shop. There, Jace Varitek stood. Pensively. Some would say it was the will of the Force that had brought him to this place, but Jace—a former Jedi, now apostate, and a fugitive from "justice"—did not believe in "the will of the Force." If the Force had a will, he couldn't help but think, it was a sadistic one indeed. What then, chance? No, it could not be chance alone that had brought him here. For the deeper he ventured into the Kathol Sector the more he felt, for the first time in a long time, that he knew where he was going. Each world took him closer to something that seemed, in some way, familiar to him. What it was, he didn't know. Where it was, he didn't know. But here, on Kolatill, he sensed that he was nearer to it than he'd ever been. The feeling had haunted him as he walked the windswept streets of this distant world, even as he felt compelled to peer over his shoulder, as he often did, to see if he was being followed. And indeed he was. The Kathol Sector wasn't a part of the Empire, and Jace had hoped to elude his pursuers here. But it didn't seem to have stopped them. Nothing seemed to stop them. There were fewer of them now, of course, and the uniforms had disappeared at the Kathol border, but they were here all the same. It was only a moment ago, on the street outside, that they had come close enough for Jace to sense them distinctly—he had closed his eyes and surrendered his senses to the Force as he'd strolled the street, and he had become suddenly aware of them and what they intended to do. An image had appeared to him; of himself from behind. He had felt a tactile sensation; of a hand grasping a pistol. The Jedi Knight had opened his eyes and returned to the moment just in time to hear the footsteps behind him quicken. He quickened his pace, too. And so did they. Then he really moved. Within moments, he had lost them. A left turn here, a right there. Across this street, around that corner. Just as the Jedi had eluded the Empire from planet to planet, now he did so from street to street until, at long last, he came to stand in the entrance of the shop. He glanced up at the sign and noted that it was called The Rusty Wrench. Well, he thought, it wouldn't do to just stand there. He wandered in the direction of one of the shelves, glancing around the shop as he did so. He saw the one-armed, one-eyed man, but he promptly looked away; Jace had always made a point—too much of one, perhaps—not to stare at the disfigured. He glanced at the Nikto for a moment and nodded to him with the sort of smile that seemed to say "Just looking, thanks." The Nikto, bumbling though he was, seemed to understand him. And so Jace retreated, alone, in the dimmest part of the shop that he could find, looking at a spare part here or there, but always being mindful of the street through the front window. Something about this shop seemed fateful to him. Or, he thought, it could be the fact that there was simply nowhere else to run. It occurred to him very suddenly that he may soon be compelled to use the lightsaber he had hidden away in his nondescript tunic.
Jace Varitek
Manager/Administrator from January 2003 to Present
My recent posts here, pre-2009 archives here
"When my information changes, I change my opinion. What do you do, sir?"
—John Maynard Keynes
Furthermore, a dancing Wookiee:
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| Karth_DeQora | Date: Saturday, 11 Dec 2010, 7:13 PM | Message # 4 |
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Colonel general
Group: Administrators
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| Something touched on the edges of his mind then, almost as if the Force was calling out to him after nine long years. Since the war's end and the scattering of the Jedi; Karth's skill with the Force had dwindled somewhat, the result of both a weakened body and a poignant need to not use the Force unless absolutely necessary. Even here, on a planet beyond the Outer Rim, the threat of the Empire still loomed over them all; like a an eclipse of the sun that shrouded a planet in darkness, so to did the Empire envelop the known galaxy. In his youth he would have attempted to fight; he would have died fighting them... but not now. Karth passed the feeling off as but an anomaly; in this apathy he'd forgotten the feel of it all. A few moments after Jace had entered the decrepit shop; De'Qora emerged from the back room, having forgotten one of the many tools Vash had left on the floor. His steps were heavy, Jace most likely would have heard them were he paying any attention. It wasn't until he was on his way back to the garage that he caught a glimpse of the newcomer, and almost immediately afterwards, Karth grabbed Vash by his arm and threw him into the office. "Vash!" he hissed, sunglasses sliding far enough down his pointed nose so that his gaze pierced into the poor Nikto's soul. "Please tell me you didn't let this guy in... after I'd specifically instructed you that we're to stay closed today?" When his assistant's response was a string of illiterate babble, the Jedi decided he'd have to take matters into his own hands. It wasn't so much that Karth hated customers, it was more the way that this young man acted that had set off Karth's mental alarm. For one, the heavy tunic, which could easily conceal weapons, not to mention how Varitek had retreated to the corner of the store, almost as if he was hiding from something... His body language and demeanor were, as best as he could attempt, non-threatening, and he slowly ambled his way over next to Jace, being careful not to startle him in any way. It wasn't until he was right behind the young man that he cleared his throat; taking care to make the horrible noise as loud as he possibly could.
Man, Myth, Administrative God. Also plays a mean kazoo.
Jace Varitek: In Northern California we just have gangs of vigilante interior decorators.
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| Jace_Varitek | Date: Sunday, 26 Dec 2010, 11:08 PM | Message # 5 |
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| At any other time and place, Jace would have been perceptive enough to sense the familiar presence of Master Karth De'Qora. Well, not too familiar. Jace, and most Jedi of his age, had known of Master De'Qora more than he'd known the man personally. But he'd still seen the Jedi Master on the Temple grounds on occasion, and never forgot the time that he had witnessed him best Master Koon in a practice duel. At any rate, he had known him well enough to know his presence. And it was a distinct presence, at that—supremely confident, but not arrogant as most of the other Masters seemed to be, in Jace's opinion. But here, now, the ordinarily perceptive Jace was too distracted with his ordeal to focus his feelings on the shop keeper that cleared his throat behind him. The sound caused him to tense slightly, but he resisted the urge to reach for his lightsaber, or his pistol for that matter. With a small, used GravTech detection matrix in hand (in truth, Jace didn't know what it was), he turned deliberately to face the man. "I'm just looking, but thank—" he paused. Even having lost an arm and an eye, and aged as he had, there was something, at last, recognizable about Karth De'Qora. Jace's eyes widened with recognition, then, an instant later, his gaze darted to the door where his duo of pursuers had entered the shop. The duo, both human, one with conservatively short, blond hair ("Haircut," as Jace identified him in his mind) and the other with darker, longer hair, a beard, and a spacer's jacket ("Spacer"), cast subtlety to the wind as they drew their blasters, set to stun. Evidently, they deemed the shop secluded enough to corner Jace and do the deed. No customers, no witnesses. Except the shop keeper, of course. It became clear that Spacer would have a go at Karth, while Haircut went for Jace. This said a lot—Haircut was in charge, and he was probably more dangerous. Spacer might, indeed, have been simply a spacer or, perhaps, an Imperial pilot assigned to bring Haircut here on his mission, and back him up if need be. Vash, meanwhile, was still in the back of the shop, but no doubt the Imperials would have no trouble disposing of the bumbling Nikto once—if—they were finished here. Spacer stepped beside one of the shelves, close enough to use it as cover at a moment's notice, and steadied his pistol unimaginatively at Karth. Clearly, he didn't expect this one-armed, one-eyed old man to pose any danger. He made to pull the trigger, aiming his shot at the old man's good eye, as much to practice his impeccable aim as to blind the man for good—as a stun blast to the eye undoubtedly would. This said even more about the duo; Spacer was arrogant, while Haircut was the more professional of the two. Jace was still retrieving his own weapon, opting for the lightsaber since there was no need for pretense anymore with Karth here. He had no time, as he steeled himself for Haircut's next move, to consider how, and why, Karth was here on Kolatill, and how, or why, Jace had come to be here in his shop. Survival first. Existential questions later. He cleared his thoughts as best he could and readied himself to use the Force, if need be. It was then that he recognized Haircut as a customer in a tapcafe on Kal'Shebbol a few days ago. Jace had been suspicious of him then, and now, of course, it was clear that he had had good reason to be.
Jace Varitek
Manager/Administrator from January 2003 to Present
My recent posts here, pre-2009 archives here
"When my information changes, I change my opinion. What do you do, sir?"
—John Maynard Keynes
Furthermore, a dancing Wookiee:
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| Karth_DeQora | Date: Tuesday, 28 Dec 2010, 11:59 PM | Message # 6 |
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Colonel general
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| To put it bluntly, the men whom'd chosen to invade Karth's shop (and home) had effectively signed their own death warrants. His stance was, to start, relaxed, while he wasn't about to let "Spacer" have the first move, he permitted himself several seconds to calculate his next course of action. How he longed for his saber to be at his side, at the moment the weapon had been gathering dust on a dais in his room on the second floor. His mind also drifted to Vash, hoping the bumbling idiot stayed in the garage; last thing the two Jedi needed was someone's trigger finger reacting to a third body in the room. So, weaponless and, for lack of a better word, irritated, De'Qora's gaze trained itself on the man before him. As soon as he saw his finger on the trigger, the former Jedi made his move. He was deceptively fast for a man in his late thirties, and in the blink of an eye his right hand shot forward; a surge of concentrated Force energy propelling towards the bounty hunter at breakneck speed. Even if the man could find time to hid behind the shelf, the sheer force of the blast would have toppled the makeshift cover and at the very least left him with a very, very bad headache. In the event that failed, Karth had already begun to move, tucking down into a roll in the hopes that, should his gambit fail, he'd be able to close the gap relatively quickly and avoid a stun bolt to his only remaining eye, far be it from him to allow himself to be stricken blind. If he were able to bridge the gap quick enough, "Spacer" would soon learn about Karth's deceptive strength as well. A lifetime of battle and tough skin forged on the battlefields of various worlds gave the Jedi the advantage in this fight, that much was certain. He could feel Jace as well, though the boy's intentions were unclear to him, he'd no doubt Varitek could handle himself. Perhaps if Karth's attacker was dealt with quickly enough he could catch the other by surprise, all that was certain to him was that neither man could leave the shop alive. Haircut, meanwhile, was less cavalier than his partner. He knew all-too-well the danger a Jedi could pose if they weren't taken care of swiftly, and it wasn't long after Jace had spotted him that the bounty hunter's finger tightened around the trigger, sight aimed directly at Varitek's heart, and had already gotten a shot off.
Man, Myth, Administrative God. Also plays a mean kazoo.
Jace Varitek: In Northern California we just have gangs of vigilante interior decorators.
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| Jace_Varitek | Date: Friday, 21 Jan 2011, 9:57 PM | Message # 7 |
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Generalissimo
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| Throwing a lightsaber was an art, and one that was rather beyond Jace's abilities with the Force, and he knew it. Well, he knew he wasn't good enough to use the Force to throw his lightsaber, in the sense of directing it to its target with fatal precision. The Jedi Knight had always been better at directing the Force inward, to his emotions, perceptions, etc., rather than outward to objects like his lightsaber, or Haircut's blaster pistol. But that didn't mean he couldn't toss his lightsaber at Haircut, and use the Force to guide himself as he did so and ensure that he tossed it in just the right direction, at just the right speed. With the weapon in hand, and its blue blade ignited with a snap-hiss, he moved—just as Haircut pulled the trigger. The blaster bolt struck the shelf that Jace had been perusing, but Jace wasn't there. He had pivoted about the shelf, his eyes closed, the lightsaber resting loose in his palm. In one, fluid motion, he used the momentum of his pivot to his advantage, and released the lightsaber blade first, pressing the hilt with his palm to send it decisively on its way. The Jedi Knight then lost his focus and clattered to the floor—below a shelf, mercifully, and out of Haircut's line of fire. But as Jace regained himself, Haircut had a more immediate problem; the lightsaber (its only real weight being its handle) sailed gracefully at him, having rotated just enough in mid-air for the blade to come diagonally at Haircut, and thus immensely harder to dodge. Spacer, meanwhile, managed to hold onto his pistol despite being thrown to the floor, and thoroughly disoriented, amid a pile of old starship components. He ended up in a sitting position against the wall, his vision clearing just in time to see the bleary form of Karth coming at him. He raised the pistol with as much discrimination as he could muster under the circumstances and fired everything he had, or tried to. If he managed to get off more than one shot, the imprecision of his aim might actually complicate things for DeQora, since one shot at him, another to the left of him, and another to the right, etc. would make avoiding the stun blasts a nuisance. Spacer couldn't be sure if he would have the time to get off that many shots, however; already he felt like he'd been disoriented on the floor for an hour, while a part of him understood it had only been a matter of seconds.
Jace Varitek
Manager/Administrator from January 2003 to Present
My recent posts here, pre-2009 archives here
"When my information changes, I change my opinion. What do you do, sir?"
—John Maynard Keynes
Furthermore, a dancing Wookiee:
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| Karth_DeQora | Date: Saturday, 22 Jan 2011, 4:35 PM | Message # 8 |
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Colonel general
Group: Administrators
Messages: 1157
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| Karth found it an honest surprise that Spacer had managed to get a shot off at all; what with the full force of being blown back into a wall, but even though it was a minor annoyance the former Jedi didn't flinch or hesitate in the slightest. The first shot and the following two did present a rather difficult position for De'Qora, but even as he saw the blue bolts speeding towards him he'd already planned his next move. The sheer momentum from his sprint came to bear on his right foot, and with a little help from the Force Karth had pushed off with all his might, sailing deftly over the oncoming web of fire and out of harm's way. He wasn't finished, however, while there was still a slight chance Spacer could have recovered enough to get another shot off; Karth moved at a rate of speed the bounty hunter would almost certainly have thought inhuman. Mid-jump, De'Qora's body twisted into a graceful flip, ending up with his right foot bring all his weight to bear down on the man sitting dazed on the floor before him, were Karth fast enough he'd have delivered a swift and painful kick straight to the man's chest; the force of which would--hopefully--shake the pistol from his already-slackened grip. Haircut, meanwhile, found himself in a far more difficult predicament. He'd hunted several Jedi in his day, but the tactics displayed by this particular one differentiated far from what he was used to. Prepared well enough for perhaps a frontal assault, the spinning blade angling towards him had caught him completely off guard. Eyes widened, body twisted in some futile attempt to dodge the missile, he took the blade straight at the shoulder, completely removing his entire right arm and immediately cauterizing the wound. His scream was horrific, body threatened to go into shock entirely as he fell--hard-- to the cold durasteel floor; his severed right arm (and pistol) now laying several feet beside him.
Man, Myth, Administrative God. Also plays a mean kazoo.
Jace Varitek: In Northern California we just have gangs of vigilante interior decorators.
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