Don't Wake Me Up, Rhia and Arken beat up drunks. Sorta.

[Arken Ischoron]

The Dangling Gundark.

You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Actually, that was a dirty, stinking lie - literally. This place was bad, but Arken Ischoron had been to far, far worse places, especially here on Nar Shadda. The moon was nothing more than semi-organized chaos, run by gangs and thugs, home to some of the worst crud in the galaxy that could speak, and nearly all that couldn’t.

So it was here that Arken had, of course, decided to follow up on a rumor he heard about a new personal shielding system that was guaranteed to stand up to a thermal detonator at point-blank rage - and be able to take blaster fire after that. This kind of technology was something he had to get his hands on, ideally before anyone else. His search was proving fruitless, however - three days and barely a whisper. The best lead he had was that one of the Hutts was storing it in a warehouse on the 32nd level of the aurek district - and even that was wonky.

The days searching had taken their toll on him, and he was unwinding among the patrons and dancers. Well, just the one dancer. The bar was a seedy collection of sentients and even a droid or two. Various games of chance, with nearly every participant cheating, were going on. Arken himself was sitting at a booth, all alone in the corner, wearing a long brown duster and a brown stetson, a blaster clearly strapped to his right hip. He’d been nursing his drink for a good while now, sipping on his Corellian sunrise, and thinking fondly of home.

More accurately, thinking fondly of Rhia.

She’d just up and gone some time ago, with no explanation, no goodbye, and no trace. He didn’t tell anyone else this, but he missed her, and felt a little bit ticked off at her just up and going without so much as a “so long”. They weren’t exactly the closest of friends, but she was the best one he had, and the time she’d been gone was a little rough. Not that the other Ischorons were mean to him, but he never felt such a kinship with anyone else.

He sighed internally and took a long sip. There was a commotion at the bar - he’d noticed someone being a little rowdy and raucous, stirring up trouble and causing a hell of a commotion. He hadn’t seen the person, but he’d heard her - insulting everyone within eyeshot.

“Oh yeah? Well, your buir’s a bantha-loving whore!” The crowd booed and shuffled. This looked bad.

Arken stood up, surprised. Mando’a? In this bar? Who’d be stupid enough to talk like that in this place?

“Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, furball! What’s the matter? Got fuzz all in your ears! Then I’ll show you just how far she took it!”

The crowd gasped. Arken rushed over, abandoning his drink, but not before there was one more yelled threat from the female.

“Bring it, hut’uun! I’ll tear every strand out from your ass!” She roared the last one, the challenge being clear. A stream of Mandalorian insults followed, as did a loud smash from glass shattering on the floor.

There was another crash and half the crowd fell over, prime among them being a tall, obviously pissed of Bothan - the likely target of the drunken Mandalorian insults.

Within seconds, punches had been thrown, and Arken found getting to the bar an increasingly difficult task. He ducked under a table as someone went flying over him, crashing off the top and onto the floor in a heap. Vaulting another table, he leaped over a collapsed patron and dove for a hole in the gathered brawlers, finally making his way into the center.

He spotted the girl - tall, dark hair and tanned skin, and a very atheltic, toned figure - though it looked like she’d been out of practice recently.

“Hey! Shabuir!” He yelled out, taking a defensive stance. That got her attention. The girl whirled around, fist cocked back and aimed for his face, and their eyes met.

They both froze at the sight of the other. He couldn’t believe it. Of all the cantinas in all the galaxy.

“...Rhia?!”

[Rhia Ischoron]

Dark eyes stared hard at the Bothan over the top of the hand of cards, piercing through the smoke that curled up from the glowing tip of his cigarra. Rhia watched the creature carefully, focusing less on his face and more on his sleeves. Long sleeves were already a red flag when it came to playing these games, and he was wearing a full blazer. It likely concealed far more cards than her simple jacket. On Nar Shaddaa, cheating was simply another rule in the game, but one you could start fights over. For the Mandalorian, that was win/win.

Flicking her gaze back to her cards, she shifted, stretching her long legs out beneath the table, feeling the skin-warmed plastic of the cards she hid herself. When she looked back up, she recounted the Bothan’s hand, and then her hand of cards concealed a gigantic grin. There was an extra one, hidden behind another. Without hesitation, she threw her hand of cards into the Bothan’s face, spitting, “Cheating kuhnt.”

The alien flinched back and then bared dozens of needle sharp teeth. “What?” He demanded, slamming his own hand down on the table. Rhia could see it in his eyes. The card game had just been the preamble for him too. This was the main event. Oh, the Force was kind to her today.

“That’s what I said. Dirty frakin’ cheater.” She said, a cruel grin slicing across her face.

“You’re just saying that...” The Bothan rumbled, “Because you Mandalorians are too stupid to win a card game legitimately.”

“Oooh...” She hummed, mocking him. “Least I’m not hacking up hairballs every five minutes.”

His clawed fingers flicked the cigarra against the wall, letting the embers scatter across the table. “Gimme something I’ll actually flinch at, bitch.”


That was her cue. With a roar, she stood, muscles bulging as she pulled the table from its loose fittings with a shriek of metal, and flipped it onto the Bothan, scattering their game and their drinks onto the table behind them, eliciting several more yells of surprise. Taking off her jacket, she threw it to the floor and then the rest was swept up in a haze of quicksilver adrenaline and alcohol. Rhia reveled in it, shouting insults, breaking another table’s worth of drinks when she flipped it and then grabbing the Bothan by the scruff of his neck and bodily heaving him into the gathered crowd.

One of the bouncers tried his luck against the Mandalorian, and found himself getting tossed over the bartop. Within seconds, the bar was nothing but chaos, darkness, and pain. In the center of the maelstrom, Rhia loved every single second, not quite as much herself as an embodiment of violence. It was a release, unleashing all her pent up aggression and anger without thought.

It was the Mando’a that caught the beast’s attention, and she spun on the offender, suddenly filled with excitement. Another Mandalorian? Finally, a fight worth her time. She closed the space between herself and the man with only a few strides, and snagged a handful of his duster, dragging him close. He did the same, grabbing her by the front of her shirt, and as they pulled close, the other Mando’ad’s face resolved itself in the smoke.

At the same time he said her name, she blurted, “Arken?”

Her shock didn't last. Pulling him even closer, she pressed her forehead against his, before meeting his gaze with eyes full of rage and pain. Tilting her head, she pressed her lips close to his ear, whispering, “Fight me, vod. Just fight me, don’t stop me.”

[Arken Ischoron]

The shock of seeing her face for the first time in far too long was short-lived. Their proximity ensured that all too well - she leaned in and whispered into his ear, something that got to him far more than it should've. It'd been ages since he'd had a good fight, and it'd been ages since he'd seen her face and heard her voice. The feelings that had been swirling around, the ones of him being unsure if he was going to kick her or hug her when he saw her, settled after her words.

He was going to kick her ass.

"You asked for it." With a grunt, he steeled his nerves, leaned his head back, and slammed it into hers, throwing some of his weight behind it, sending the girl staggering backwards - or, it would have, if he hadn't kept his grip on her shirt firm.

His own head hurting after the smack, he picked her up with both his hands, heaving her with some effort. "You frakking bitch. No contact for ages, and I find you here?!" With a large heave, he threw her over the bar, slamming into the drink rack on the back wall and sending drink bottles and jugs tumbling to the floor, shattering on contact. He vaulted over the bar, throwing off his hat and landing feet-first, standing over her.

[Rhia Ischoron]

"You asked for it."

A trill of anticipation warmed her gut just before her entire face exploded into stars and pain. Reeling back, she barely had time to recover from the surprise attack, before she felt Arken’s grip tighten and then the world was spinning. She felt the angle of his shoulders digging into her stomach, and then once the world stopped spinning, it was flying all around her. Or she was flying. Through the air.

Her body collided with the back wall, shattering everything into a rain of glass and duraplast. Bottles fell from the splintering glass shelves, and she fell with them to the sticky floor. Her back screamed from thousands of cuts and then the alcohol that splashed over the ruined flesh from the broken bottles. And yet, she laughed, flipping onto her back just as Arken landed behind the bar.

"You frakking bitch. No contact for ages, and I find you here?!"

That gave her a pause. When she left, she hadn’t realized she’d left others with personal grievances against her. Her concerns had been focused completely inwards, towards the ball of pain Ilian left in her chest. She couldn’t feel bad for Arken though. This was how Mandalorians settled disputes anyway.

Rolling to her feet, the woman used her inertia to ram her shoulder into the other Mandalorian’s stomach with a bellow of challenge, sending them both flying back and to the ground. Landing atop him, she struggled to regain her feet, and then with a grunt, crouched over him, raising her fist only to drive it into his face.

“Yeah, you got some big frakkin’ problems,” She snarled, raising the other fist to ram it into the side of his face with satisfying force. “Poor Arken, left behind on Mandalore!” She threw another punch, before going to grab one of the thick duraplast bottles and smashing it into a jagged weapon.

[Arken Ischoron]

His blood was starting to boil as he stood over Rhia, who had fallen in more ways than one. The thrill of combat was coming back, and something about this particular one really got him running. He stretched out his fingers and curled them, cracking his knuckles as she got to her feet, ready to do this. Before he could react, she'd gone low and slammed into him with her shoulder, the impact in his chest sending him flying. He hit the floor hard, the wind knocked out of him, and he coughed a few times. It didn't help that Rhia was still on him.

He felt her stand, small stars in his vision, and he barely caught sight of her rising right before her fist smashed into his head. Awesome, more stars. She hadn't lost much of her strength, if any. The hit still stung like crazy.

It almost felt good to get hit by a proper punch.

"Yeah, you got some big frakkin' problems." She punctuated the sarcastic jibe by slamming her other fist into the other side of his face. That one would leave a hell of a mark. This was gonna be an awesome fight, he could tell, despite the sharp pain in his jaw.

"Poor Arken, left behind on Mandalore!" Another punch to his face, and he blinked a few times, pale blue blood starting to stain his features. This was just getting annoying. She grabbed one of the bottles and smashed it on the side of the bar, preparing to drive it down towards him with a snarl.

He reached up quickly, intercepting her strike and grabbing onto her wrist. His right knee sprung up and slammed into her back as he yanked her arm back behind his head, pulling her and kicking her over him to land flat on her own back, their heads by each other. The Offshoot brought his legs up to his chest, then sprung them out, using the momentum to get to his feet. He whirled around, spitting out a little bit of blood from his mouth.

"Yeah, left behind while the whole camp wondered where you'd run off to. You ever think for a single gorram second about that place?" He stepped back and settled down into a hijkata stance, waiting for her to get up. If she wanted a fight, she was sure as hell gonna get one now. "Or were you too busy drowning your head in as much Corellian whiskey as you could drink and the company of as many Zeltrons as you could find?"

[Rhia Ischoron]

Tiny droplets of hot blue blood splattered across her fist and arms, mixing with the deep red from her splitting knuckles. It went completely against her profession, her pledge to heal, but that was the perfect example of how much of herself she’d lost. Hurting Arken felt so good.

Rhia’s dominance didn’t last long however. Before she could drive the jaggy edge of the bottle down on his face, his fingers encircled her wrist, redirecting the swing into the inside of the bar, to knock more bottles off the shelves. Then she lost her grip on the bottle as the air was forcibly expelled from her body by the knee impacting her back, smearing her blood over Arken’s pant leg. Arching her body, she shrieked at the ceiling as bits of glass were driven further into her flesh.

As Rhia was flipped over his head, she curled her body into a roll just in time, but landed clumsily, body spasming from lack of air. Chest heaving, she reached up to wipe the sweat from her eyes to see Arken already getting to his feet. She was so out of practice. Bending to bring her knees up to her chest, she gave a great heave, leaping to face the other Mandalorian.

”Yeah, left behind while the whole camp wondered where you'd run off to. You ever think for a single gorram second about that place?"

Spitting out a gobule of blood onto the ground beneath them, she shook her head, flipping her hair back away from her face. Behind her, a blaster shot shattered the digital clock that hung over the bar. All around them, the bar brawl still raged, heedless of the two Mandalorians’ personal bout.

"Or were you too busy drowning your head in as much Corellian whiskey as you could drink and the company of as many Zeltrons as you could find?"

Before these poisonous words reached her ears, Rhia’s body had been quivering with oncoming fatigue. After hearing them, however, a fiery rage rushed through her bloodstream, blocking out the pain and replacing it with wild fury. His words hurt. Apparently, rumors were already flying around at home. She was going to cave Arken’s skull in.

“Shut your frakkin’ mouth, chakaar,” she spat, hatred flaring in her eyes. She recognized the hijkata stance, somewhat practiced in it herself, but she was not deterred. Leaping forward, she kicked at him, dragging the blade of her booted foot down his shin, before swinging with her offhand at his stomach.

“How long’s it been, Arken? Or are you too busy screwing your little robots in your workshop?”

[Arken Ischoron]

She didn't look much better than he did. Her back was red from the impact against the bar, and she'd undoubtedly had more to drink than he did, but that didn't exactly make her less dangerous. Hell, it probably made her worse, if less accurate and clear. He took a deep breath, trying to get centered, to little avail. A blaster bolt exploded the clock above them, but neither of them even batted an eye at the flash and small bang. To Arken, it was just him and her.

The rest of the bar was pandemonium - fights were all over, people were jamming the doors trying to leave, and the small security staff was either hiding in fear or throwing just as many punches as the rest of the drunks.

Rhia seemed to be shaking as she got to her feet, but when Arken's words left, the shaking instantly ceased, and she fixed him with a wild eyed glare. He felt the anger from far more than just her gaze. Oh, he had hit a nerve, and he didn't regret a single thing he said.

"Shut your frakkin' mouth, chakkar." She jumped in, connecting with her solid kick right to his shin despite his efforts, and he grunted in pain - and that was before she dragged her foot down the front of his shin, eliciting even more pain. It felt like fire running down his leg, normally something demoralizing - but he was in the heat of battle here, and damned if he was going to let some stupid drunken disgrace to the Mandalorians beat him.

Of course, this was before she slammed into his gut with a fist, sending him staggering backwards, gasping for air and feeling like what little he did drink was about to come back out.

"How long's it been, Arken? Or are you too busy screwing your little robots in your workshop?"

The slight against his machines made him look up, the rage this time present in his eyes. That did it. His entire life had been machines for a while, and his life with the Mandalorians was machines. It was what he was good at - hell, one of the few things he was proud of, and damned if he was going to let some stuck-up abandoning whore tell him otherwise.

With a battle yell he surged forward, slamming into her with his shoulder and backed up with his weight. She seemed to be expecting it, bracing against the attack and pushing back with a grunt, but she still stumbled a bit. She shoved him off and prepared to counter, but he was already rearing back by then, and split-second second later, he slammed her across the right side of her face with a haymaker, sending her spinning. She caught herself, initially leaning on the bar with her elbow, then finally having it collapse under her and ending up with her back on the bar, glaring at him.

He recovered, shaking his hand. His knuckles had split on that one, blue blood decorating them and mixing with red smudges from Rhia. He took another deep breath before speaking. "At least I was doing something useful, instead of running off and screwing every living thing with a dick between here and Tatooine."

[Rhia Ischoron]

Seeing the impact of her words, the woman grinned, displaying blood stained teeth. She punctuated the smile with a crook of her finger, beckoning the taller Mando’ad forward. He charged, and a squeal of pain erupted from Rhia’s throat as his shoulder rammed into her front, but she curved over the blow, lessening the impact, and protected the vital points with her forearms. Still she was left coughing when she drove him off, and she wiped a trickle of blood from her lips.

As his fist came in contact with her face, she really felt the disadvantage of her drinking, and she didn’t have the presence of mind to activate her implants. With a slower reaction time, she could do nothing but stumble back, hip ramming into the bar. The woman struggled to face her opponent, but she’d landed on the access panel that led behind the bar, and the weaker material crumpled under her weight, leaving her gasping on the ground. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through her sweat soaked hair, trying to find the strength to get back up again.

"At least I was doing something useful, instead of running off and screwing every living thing with a dick between here and Tatooine."

Arken was quite good at motivating her. There were no more words for the pale bastard, her temper sealing her throat. All that was left in her mind was the need to hurt Arken more, to make him shut up. Kicking out her legs, she hooked her foot behind his leg, bringing him down to a kneeling position, and then she rolled up and sprung at him, pushing him against the back of the bar with her body.

Too close now to pull punches, Rhia tangled her fingers in his hair, and pulled as hard as she could, yanking his head back. Grasping with the other hand, she tugged aside the thick jacket he wore with a snarl, and dipped her head into the curve between his head and shoulder to sink her teeth into his flesh.

[Arken Ischoron]

He watched her fall as the bar access gave out beneath her weight. She looked terrible now, and frankly, so did he, but he wasn't done yet. He was going to absolutely beat sense into her until she got it or stopped moving. Ideally, the first one, but he wasn't about to hesitate for the second. She could take it.

Stepping over, ready to end this, he was surprised as she summoned up more strength, seemingly from nowhere - though he was sure his words had something to do with it. He really needed to shut up, and she was hellbent on ensuring it. Her legs shot out, hooking around his, and he tumbled down quickly, their ability to support his weight dwindling quickly anyway. She shoved him back with her body, slamming him against the bar wall. What glass was left shattered, but his coat managed to keep most of the glass from digging into his back. Sharp pricks of pain told him it wasn't entirely successful.

No sooner had he recovered from the slam did a sharp tug on his hair force his head upward, and he gave a short yell. She was fighting dirty here - just the way Mandos should when they needed to. He felt his coat get yanked aside and his mind didn't add up what she was doing before she did it - her teeth tore into him, and he gave another cry. She bit him.

She frakkin' bit him.

That was enough. With a roar, he picked up a bottle and smashed it against the side of her head, sending her head sideways and removing her teeth from his flesh with a crash. He then took the opportunity of her staggered state to deliver a savage headbutt again, sending her backwards to smash against the bar.

He quickly stood and summoned what strength he had left, then lifted her up by her shirt, gripping with both hands and tearing it as he did so, getting ready to throw her once more over the bar. She quickly wrapped her legs around his waist in desperation and pulled back, sending them both leaning forward, ending up with her flat on her back on the bar, him leaning over her, both his hands holding him up.

There was a pause as they both caught their breath, the heat of the fighting dying down and the heat of something else rising fast as he noticed the position they were in - and at that moment, Arken saw something in Rhia, mostly because it was true with himself as well. He spoke up, his words tattered and ragged.

"You're...you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

[Rhia Ischoron]

She nearly gagged as her teeth broke skin, and the taste of his coppery blood flooded her mouth, but once her jaw closed, she had a death grip on the other Mando’ad. His roar of pain was incredibly gratifying, but on its heels was the wild burst of pain from the bottle breaking over her skull. Crying out, she removed her teeth, and then shook her head, dazed. The strong smelling liquid soaked into her shirt, and then his forehead split her lip, and she grunted. Falling away from him, she held herself off the floor with her hands and knees but that was all she could manage.

Exhausted and beaten, she could barely see, but Arken wasn’t done. The neckline of her black tanktop was suddenly digging into her throat as he gripped it from the back, and then it simply gave out beneath the strain, ripping across the front. Rhia had few qualms about her exposed torso and bra however, especially when Arken was taking ahold of her by the middle, preparing to hoist her and throw her back over the bartop. Like hell that was happening.

Twisting in his grip, she managed to lock her legs around the man’s waist, desperately refusing to be tossed again, and scored a small victory, causing him to lose his balance. Her lower back hit the edge of the bar however, and she yelled in pain, back arching away from him and then back across the bar.

Rhia couldn’t get up again. She simply couldn’t. The woman lay on the bar top, head partially hanging off the other end, arms akimbo, and shirt splayed open. Her entire body heaved with the effort to catch her breath and weak laughter. Eyes blearily wandering the ceiling, she caught sight of Arken leaning over her, hands on either side of her head, and she became acutely aware of his closeness.

"You're...you're enjoying this, aren't you?”

After that, it wasn’t difficult for her brain to translate the adrenaline and excitement of the fight into another kind of stimulation, and she gazed up at him, pupils dilating, and face flushing even more. Her bloodstained lips quirked into a dazed grin, and then she reached up to wipe the back of her hand over her mouth. Arken... By the Force... Did she want to do that? Oh... Oh hell yes, she did, the fight having served a double purpose of both relieving her anger and riling her up.

But, a saner part of her mind spoke up. Arken was her friend, and she didn’t want to screw things up with him, just because they both wanted a good frak.

“You don’t want me, Arken,” She finally managed to breathe, trying to ward him off with a ill-aimed hand. Then she laughed, “I’m broken.”

[Arken Ischoron]

The rush of battle had vanished, and in it's place, Arken had a girl that he'd long admired in a compromising position with a torn shirt and chest rising and falling. It wasn't difficult to have the reaction he was having at this moment. She wiped her mouth, getting most of the blood off, smiling that charming quirky smile and her face flushing. He sighed slightly, smiling a little back down at her and wiping of some blood that was inches from dripping into his eyes.

Then she seemed to move out a bit and waved a hand at him, catching her breath enough to speak. "You don't want me, Arken." She laughed then: a sad, coughing laugh, far from the strong and confident laugh he'd heard before. "I'm broken.

He just blinked down at her, barely believing that he'd heard the words, then he leaned down and gave her a soft, warm kiss, a sweet moment as they both were bloodied and severely messed up - a moment of start contrast to the moments of violence that had preceded it. "The hell I don't, Rhia. And you're far from broken. Come on."

The bar fight was starting to die down, with only a few isolated scuffles still going on this long. He sighed, then gently stepped out of her leg's grip. He took another deep breath, steeling himself for this, then put one arm under her knees and another on her upper back, doing his best to avoid glass-infused areas. He then picked her up gently, cradling her in his arms, and he began to walk out of the bar.

No one stopped him.

Outside on the street, he began the walk back to his temporary lodgings, about three blocks away. It was gonna be a long walk. He didn't care. He'd been through worse and he had the strength to carry on then.

[Rhia Ischoron]

Black tendrils of unconsciousness pulled at the edges of her vision, but she continued to blink and shake her head, fighting it. She’d taken a real beating, and even now, she was bleeding freely all over the bartop through her shirt. With her head lolling, she didn’t see Arken’s incredulous reaction, until she felt his body move closer, pressing her down against the counter.

When her eyes snapped to his face, she suddenly found him close enough that she could count his eyelashes, and then his lips were crushed against hers, warm and tangy from sweat and blood. Eyes widening in shock, her entire body stiffened, and a moment of indecision found her. She felt like she ought to dissuade the other Mandalorian with a punch or something, but... She rather liked the kiss. It was gentle and sweet, breathtakingly so after the violence of the rest of their encounter.

Eyes rolling back in her head, both hands ran up his arms, to find a grip at the shoulders of his duster. Whatever Arken wanted to do, Rhia wanted to do it too. Immediately. But she was so tired. The kiss was broken with both regret and gratitude, and she fell back against the counter, swallowing rapidly.

"The hell I don't, Rhia. And you're far from broken. Come on."

“Oh, sweet stars,” She moaned in her throat. As his arms encircled her, she sat up, muscles trembling. As if sensing her weakness he started to lift her off the counter, and she realized that he meant to carry her. Oh, hell, no, none of that. Struggling, she broke his grip and found her feet, though she still leaned heavily on him, one arm thrown over his shoulders.

The bar had been left in utter destruction, and most of the patrons had either left or fallen unconscious beneath broken tables and chairs. The sight brought a pleased smile to Rhia’s face, but she was just as glad to get out of there. Outside, the warm breeze was more than welcome, running through her hair and drying the sweat on her face.

As they stumbled along, nearly slipping into unconsciousness right there on the street, doubt gnawed at her stomach. Did she want to do this? Turning her head she gazed at Arken’s face, as he doggedly led them... Wherever they were going. Didn’t matter, she trusted her vod.

So, did she really want to? Something told her that if she didn’t just... see, Rhia would regret it for the rest of her life. And however long that was, she hated regrets. She would go with him, even if she was still licking the wounds Ilian gave her. Maybe a good time with Arken would help sooth the hurt and keep away the loneliness.

The three blocks to Arken’s lodging were a thousand miles, and when they finally staggered into the small room, they still had to attend to their wounds. Picking bits of glass out of her skin felt like it took hours, but she knew the importance of it, and that kept her awake enough for it. Once that was done, though, there was no more preamble. She fell face first into the bed and slipped into nothingness.

[Arken Ischoron]

When Arken awoke, the first bad idea he had was trying to move.

The second bad idea was remembering what had caused him to feel like he'd been hit by an air taxi.

The last bad idea was glancing next to him and spotting a certain bloodied up Mandalorian lying on the same bed, shirt torn, curled up slightly among the sheets.

He sighed and cast his head back in time, and the night came back to him in fairly good detail. The ruckus, the fight, the kiss, the walk home, the near total vocal silence that had permeated the rest of the evening, and finally, the collapse onto his bed. The sheets, like their bodies, were stained with red and blue. That was gonna be an absolute bitch to clean up.

Of course, cleaning up the sheets was the least of his worries. They had a fight. He'd seen fights between Mandalorians before, but they usually just involved words. Even the ones that got to blows were observed in the dueling circle and kept some standard level of decency. There was absolutely nothing decent or controlled about their fight. It was brutal, it was emotional to a level he'd barely ever known, it was uncontrolled rage.

It was also one of the best fights he thought he'd ever had.

It had been incredible. He'd been wanting to tell her just what he felt for some time now, he'd been searching for her in his off hours, and he'd been longing to just give her a good punch in the face. Maybe she didn't really understand just what their friendship meant to him, or maybe she wasn't totally familiar with just how fiercely loyal he was to the people he knew.

His want to protect her went far beyond them both being Ischorons. She was his friend, and that meant that he would go through hell and high water if it meant that she would be okay. He'd follow her to the ends of the galaxy if he had to, and if she asked.

It stung a bit that she didn't ask, or even leave a note.

He sighed and shook his head, rubbing his face with his hands and immediately regretting it. He was getting mixed up inside his own head.

He stood, gingerly, gritting his teeth as his sore muscles rebelled. His shin was particularly resistant after it had gotten hit and ground down last night, but he'd been in this body long enough to know that he could really command it when he needed to. Moving slowly, he pulled off what clothes he had left and stepped into the small bathroom, leaving the door open a crack in case she needed something.

He took a look in the mirror and regretted it instantly. Large bruises and caked dried blood were all over, of both colors. The wounds themselves were clean - Rhia had made sure of that last night - but they hadn't cleaned any more than necessary. The bite mark between his neck and shoulder was clear, and he didn't even want to think about how his back looked. His face was bad enough, with a nearly split lip, shiners by both eyes, and one quite noticeable cut on his forehead. Another cut was to the left of his eye, start above his eyebrow and extending to an inch or so below his eye.

She'd really done an number on him.

And then he'd kissed her.

He'd kissed her. Oh, he'd heard stories of how Mandalorian sparring could be akin to serious foreplay under the right conditions, but they had just seriously been trying to kill the other. He smashed a bottle over her head. And then he kissed her when it was all done, and he'd fair sure wanted to do more than kiss.

That part hadn't really gone away, either.

He shook his head and stretched out, grunting slightly from the pain as his body said no. Turning on the water in the refresher, he got it steaming warm, then stepped in under the cascade of water and began to wash, sending a swarm of red and blue flecks down the drain.

The shower was nowhere near as theraputic as the fight had been, but it helped. They still needed to talk. That would be an interesting conversation. Hopefully this one would result in less violence.

[Rhia Ischoron]

The comfortable darkness began to fade, but Rhia grasped for every last shred of it that she could. Waking up was the absolute last thing she wanted to do, especially when every single part of her body was screaming warning signals of pain.

Even when her mind was fully conscious, she kept her eyes closed, wishing the world away. That was up until she felt the mattress being disturbed by another body, and her waking mind stilled, suddenly running back to the nightmarish experience she had with that Zeltron. Well, the sex wasn’t nightmarish, but waking up in another bed with another person was.

Crusted eyes opening to slits, she caught a glimpse of a man’s muscled back as he pulled his shirt off over his head, and disappeared into the 'fresher. The anxiety which gripped her throat eased away then; she recognized the pale skin. Arken. Over the next few minutes, she was able to piece together the events of the evening previous. When she risked making her muscles shriek in pain and glanced at the chrono, she found that it was still in the wee hours of the morning. They’d only been asleep for a few hours.

The two Mandalorians had fought earlier, and it had been an incredible, visceral, and wanton experience. It was rare for her to let her emotions sweep her away and take her that far. And she was feeling it, by the Force, she was feeling it. Pain, everywhere, but also complete satisfaction. No wonder it had gone where it had, and the moralist in Rhia wanted to scream at her for blushing at the memory of their kiss, but she smothered it. The woman was at a strange point in her life – nothing seemed to matter but the present, and she ignored all the consequences just because she could.

Turning onto her back, she choked over a groan at the pinpricks of agony caused by thousands of tiny wounds; the result of playing wrecking ball with her body. This would take some recovery. Easing into a sitting position, she put both feet on the ground, realizing then that her shirt was torn down the front, nearly coming off. Where she’d been sleeping was smeared with dried blood, as were her ruined clothes. With a sigh, she reached down and began to unlace her boots, kicking them off into a corner, before lurching to her feet, and shimmying out of her pants. Her belt was set on the side table, blasters, knives, and pouches all thunking against the duraplast.

The tatters of the shirt followed, flying across the room into the trashcan, and she wandered into the steaming ‘fresher, keeping at least some modicum of decency with her underwear. Despite her residual exhaustion, another thrill of excitement hit her, knowing that Arken was on the other side of the shower curtain. She didn’t immediately announce her presence, however. Looking into the mirror, she considered the swelling bruises and cuts that arrayed themselves over her tattooed flesh.

It took a little rummaging, but eventually she produced a first-aid kit, and began to liberally slather bacta over her face and neck. As she watched, the ointment went to work, lessening the swelling, and knitting the smaller cuts away into nothingness. Dropping the small tub to clatter the sink, she braced herself on the counter, staring into the mirror at the shower curtain behind her and the steam rising up over the top.

“How did you find me, Arken?” She said, eventually, heart starting to pound.

[Arken Ischoron]

Okay, the shower was actually getting better as time went on. The water was relaxing, pouring over him, washing the blood and grime from him. The wounds that had healed poorly were cracking open, and the sting of the warm water flowing into them was, oddly, a good hurt. He felt better, and after his night, that's what he wanted.

He wasn't really sure what do after this. Was she still gonna be asleep? What would he say or do? He'd kissed her, would that...would she even remember? How could he say anything to her anyway? What do you say to someone after you've mutually beaten the shit out of each other? “Hey, good morning, hope I didn’t break any bones.”?

He heard a small thump, and Rhia's voice came from the other side of the curtain. He’d been lost in his head he didn’t even hear her enter, so he jumped slightly. His heart began to pound. She was right there.

"How did you find me, Arken?"

He leaned back against the wall, wincing slightly as his back hit it. At least this was an easy question to answer, so he smiled a bit before he spoke up.

“Sheer luck. I’m here trying to find some new experimental shield tech before someone else does, with little success. I was there just trying to relax, and...well, there you were as well.”

He pulled the shower aside a bit, peering out and catching a glance of her, sitting up on the counter top, looking ruffled and torn up and beaten and yet somehow achingly sexy. Their eyes met, his face flushed blue, and he quickly put the curtain back, his heart pumping faster. That kiss was coming back in very full detail now. Seems like it never really left. He’d never seen her in that little, unless he counted last night. Even in the sparring circle, with no armor, she’d worn more.

“I was...I was looking for you a bit in my free time, but you just completely dropped off the grid. Makes sense, if you came here.”

He was tempted to ask her all sorts of things - why she finally left, why she came here, what she'd been up to, but he realized at this point that it didn't really matter. What did matter was that she was alive, and she was...well, kind of okay. He could've said a billion stupid things to her, like how he still felt some sting from her leaving with no word, or how she was an idiot for even doing that, but he didn't. Instead, he said something else.

"I missed you."