What Has Passed

The Rodian smiled, a dark gleam in the dim, smoky cantina. The acrid stink of sweat, dirt and illegal mind-destroying substances rolled off his body in waves potent enough to knock others out.

The bartender, noting where the green-skinned hunter was moving, said nothing but began to remove the few breakables around the serving area. Saem was a decent enough fellow, a firm believer in tit for tat, so when the dark figure slinked in from the side door, he didn't say anything to the unlucky Rodian.

"Buy a drink?" the green hunter demanded, sitting across from the blonde human girl.

"No." The voice was quiet.

"Come on, I've got lots of -"

"No." The voice was still quiet, but firm.

"So you want to play hard to get, eh? Well, well." The Rodian reached out, his suction-tipped fingers centimeters from the girl's arm when he began to hear a familiar whine. He turned, his purple eyes dull with anger as the blonde was momentarily forgotten.

The girl sat there, not really paying much attention. Her head was bowed over her lum mug, not having looked up the entire time.

"Who in the Fourth Circle of Oblivion are you?"

"Someone deadly."

The Rodian later swore he didn't see the shadow figure move, but seconds later, he was on the floor, his left arm four feet away under someone's boot.

"What are you?" the distressed creature asked, cradling the stump of his shoulder.

"The light that defeats the dark - Justice." The light caught the figure just right, so that the dark eyes and gleaming white teeth convinced the Rodian he really didn't want to be here.

He began to crawl backwards until his back slammed into a bar stool, then clambered up and ran out.

Removing the cloak, the woman underneath slid into the Rodian-vacated seat. "Priire."

The blond woman ignored the dark warrior pointedly.

Reaching out, Nom Da'Gara snatched the fist out from underneath her friend's chin. With the minimum of effort that had made her such an efficient Mechanic, she had the grey glove off and the familiarly scarred hand in between her pale ones.

"Renjiro Seijoutai Priire. I will break each bone in your hand. All twenty-seven."

Without looking up a quiet voice spoke."If I was still the Hawkbat, you wouldn't be doing this."

Nom countered the accusation. "If you were still the Hawkbat, I would have no need to do this." The ex-law breaker sighed. "Priire. To mourn is all well and good. To attempt to allow others to kill you is not."

Priire finally looked at the woman. "Who says I'm trying to get myself killed?"

"I am, little Priire," Nom answered in Dathomiri, using the diminutive that implied a close relation.

The ex-mercenary noted the stiffening of the warrior witch's features, betraying how difficult this was for Nom.

"You are not a rock, nor an island. For a rock never cries, and an island never feels pain. You are human. While that is not something I aspire to be, it is what you are. Come."

Priire finally slid out as Nom pulled her long leather coat around herself. "Also, Priire, you have forgotten to clense my pot. I do not appreciate sabaac cards in my cooking utensils."

The life warrior stared as her friend gave a weak smile. One day, Anakin Skywalker, when you believe yourself safe, I will repay you for the destruction you have caused in so many lives...