Myrkr's Open Terrain

She was gonna let it go, she really was. As previously said, it's not cool to beat up your sort-of allies, even if they deserved it. Malora had followed him as he paced, determined to get him and his champion fighter status on her side. But his words struck a very raw nerve, and all the pain from the trauma and all the rage at her helplessness in this last year broke abruptly through her fragile focus. It filled her up and it kept on going, boiling over, and in that blinding moment, there was only one way she could see to deal with it.



And, hell, the guy actually invited her to try it.



So, in all her scantily-clad, dressed-to-the-slutty-nines pretend slave girl glory, Malora swung around as she passed him and threw a few fury-fueled punches, beads in her hair swinging and clinking. They were well aimed, but slow, and he dodged them like afterthoughts. Mal didn't even wait to see if they landed or what he was gonna do about it, she just kept going, kicking, punching, one after the other, a tireless, constant, but messy flow of attack that began to have nothing to do with the asshole in front of her and everything to do with the invisible demons that haunted her day and night. She'd carefully kept them at bay, ignored them, pushed them away with a devil-may-care attitude and a whole 'lotta smuggler sass, but now they were out and she had no kriffin' clue how to get them back in this time. So Malora fought the air around the champion (gotta get this guy a name soon) with no particular style or thought, no finesse, no particular target except his scarred flesh, anywhere would do, but if she hit him in the nuts, that's a bonus. She hadn't hit him once so far. Kriffin' champions. She could never hit Wade, either.
He was blurry. She figured that was the angry tears in her eyes. Angry blood pounded through her body. Angry grunts left her lungs. Angry muscles pushed her forward.



Angry thoughts drowned her.

"I'm not helpless, never have been," she blurted out almost as soon as the words left his lips. It sounded more like a knee-jerk response than a firm declaration, and as she clutched at one of the pillars, doubled over in exhaustion, Malora wondered who it was meant to convince; the guy in front of her, or herself? He was right, though. About everything he'd said. Which was weird, he knew nothing about her and he didn't seem like the intuitive type to her. Not that she'd admit to most of it, not right now, not ever. Scenes from her past flashed in front of her eyes, intensifying even as her adrenaline rush abruptly ended. She shook her head, blinked then back with effort, and in the aftermath of her emotional volcanic mini-eruption, waited for herself to fall apart.



She didn't, of course. She never could quite get that far before her defenses bounced back into place.



"Look." Malora straightened, the sudden wave of exhaustion passing. Weird. Really weird. All of this was weird. She swallowed, moistened her lips, and tried not to look at the gigantic dent in the wall behind him. The desire to beat something up still strained under her control, but it was just a simmer now. Time to refocus here. "Ignoring the fact that I just actually landed a kick and …broke a wall with your back… which doesn't happen at ALL in my world, so whatever they're putting in that fruit, well, you must eat like a shit ton every day because I haven't seen anyone move like you do since Wade. I wonder if he ate fruit, too. Obviously not this fruit, but…" Refocus. Refocus. C'mon, Malora, kick the nerves, you've got boys to rescue. Mal cleared her throat, closed her eyes for a minute, and squashed the urge to grab another nonsense-thread and run with it until her problems were far away. "Uh... okay, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. So let's start over, because I don't have time for anymore detours."



The smuggler leaned on the pillar, icy blue eyes watching him carefully. "The name's Malora. Karana Malora," she said, giving him a mock salute. "I'm a whole 'lotta things to a whole lotta people, but right now, I'm the cavalry, and I'm here to rescue my crewmate. Now, you gonna help me? Or should I break another wall?"

"Oh, please, this shit-hole?" Malora snorted, bringing her brows together incredulously. "I've seen better arenas. Grimo throws a sad party in comparison; you should be out in the 'verse, playing with the big boys, and I think you know your talents are wasted here."



She had her Why Wade Is Amazing speech ready to go, and she opened her mouth to convince the gladiator he should help when her own statement dawned on her. Mal's expression shifted with her thoughts, eyes narrowed. She pushed off the pillar, crossed her arms, and leaned on one hip as she watched him curiously. "And if you know that…then why are you still here?" she mused. "You're not a prisoner, as far as I can see. Maybe you owe the Hutt a favor? Maybe you're taking advantage of Myrkr's Force-suppressing powers, hiding out or something?" The smuggler tilted her head a little. "What's your name anyway?"

She grabbed his wrist and jerked his hand away from her chin, her face frowning in irritation at his choice of wording. No, not irritation. That was too mild a term. It definitely earned a punch in the face, at the very least, but he was a pit fighter. To him, knuckles to the nose was probably a show of encouragement. No, if she wanted to set him straight, she'd have to do it without violence. This guy was really racking up some asshole points, though. If this kept up, she might as well just open a tab and save it all for payday.



His question hung in the air. Inside her mind, Malora paced the floors of her thoughts, turning over different words as she tried to come up with the absolute best way to answer him. Though, answering him wasn't the hard part. Convincing Gladiator (well? What the hell else am I supposed to call him!) to join her on a rescue mission that would probably destroy his Champion status on Myrkr was the hard part. The guy had a point. If all he was really interested in was fighting and Champion luxury, why leave? Why spend the time trying to build up to all of this on some other planet? Here, he was pretty much guaranteed to keep title and comfy bed for as long as he wanted. Obviously, he hadn't fought Wade yet, because if he had, he wouldn't be here. But what does a guy like him want? What the hell could she offer him that would be any better than what he had here? Did she even have anything? What tactic should she use? Emotional manipulation? Sex? Run a long con to get him to come with her? No, she was too out of practice for that. What would he respond best to? Should she beat him in a fist fight (ha-ha, one lucky kick and I'm already knee deep in delusions of grandeur)? Appeal to his sense of…honor? Did he have one? Is that even a valid idea?



Am I done thinking about this now? Why am I even thinking about this? Thinking never works for me, I should stop trying it. No more thought-snowballs. Just open your mouth. Let your instinct talk for you. You already know what you wanna say.



…WHY AM I STILL TALKING TO MYSELF?



Malora shut her brain up, opened her mouth, and let her instinct take over. "You ever had friends? Hmm? People you cared about?" Her voice was firm but quiet, and there was a solemn tint to her expression. "Ever had a family? Family. People who love you, no matter how many ways you screw up? People who would willingly take a bullet for, walk through fire for, who watch your back when you're lookin' the other way; they fight by your side through good 'nd bad, ignore that easily collectable massive bounty on your head because you mean more to them than the money, people who, for no logical reason, would willingly share that heavy load of shit the 'verse just dropped on your shoulders, day in and day out." Mal swallowed, a tiny, sad little smile at the corner of her lips. "People who would tear the skies and the planets apart looking for you, should you ever go missing." The smile faded. "Trust. Loyalty. Bonds stronger than blood. A family. A crew. You ever had that, Gladiator? Wade did, with me and the rest of my crew. He worked hard to earn it, we all did, and if you've ever known that feeling…that feeling of sitting around the galley table with people you know you belong with, drinking weak caf and cracking jokes about the latest mission, or gearing up together for something you know won't be easy, but it'll be okay, because you've got someone on either side ready to get you through it…" Malora never broke her gaze, never faltered over the words. "Knowing that, feeling that,… and then losing it, having it ripped away from you unwillingly… It's the worst hell I can think of."



She paused, a little freaked out at the amount of soul she'd just bared (and the amount of words she'd used, she's really not one for monologues), but kept it under control because somehow, telling Gladiator the raw, unfiltered truth in her mind felt right, like she needed to tell him about this and he needed to hear it. There was a sense of déjà vu about the whole thing that she couldn't quite shake, a hunch that wouldn't come into the light. It was a little distracting, but she handled it, because she wasn't done. Malora's expression melted a little, a slight imploring note in her voice. "Maybe he doesn't deserve your help. But he needs it. I need it. Wade and my crew never failed to find me when I was lost. He saved my life, more times than I can remember. Now let me do the same for him. Help me, and come with us. I can't promise fortune and glory. But…I can promise you'll never have to sleep with one eye open, or face your demons alone."

"Uh…"



It took her a few seconds to snap back to reality. Maybe a full minute. Okay, minute and a half. Add another thirty seconds to find her voice under all the adrenaline screaming through her body, and ten to remember how to use it. You'd think living life on the edge would have given her a better handle on the extremely unexpected. Usually, she took it in stride. But given how her daring rescue and the rest of the past eight hours had panned out, well, it's hard to blame her stupefied reaction. It wasn't really even the fact that he'd just up and kissed her. Guys did that all the time, and to be honest, she liked the 'all of the sudden' style, regardless of situation. No, it was the effect it had on her, mind and body, that had her all dazed and confused. Like…some kind of serious connection was made, and it wasn't new but it wasn't familiar, and it felt like he was trying to learn something about her as opposed to just liking the way her boobs looked in that slave outfit, although he did like it, by the way, and she didn't kriffing have time for this right now, but holy Whills that was damn good…



Malora blinked, reeled her jaw in and up, took a deep breath, and it all spilled out in one long monotone blurb. "The 'Run, hard to get to unless you know a crack pilot, Red Shift, been there plenty terrible grub and drinks'll kill you if you're not careful and so will the occupants Rianne En Arr sounds familiar but can't put a face to the name so if I've met them I can't remember although I'm surprised I remember anything these days I'm really bad with names and faces in general so if you're looking for information you're talking to the wrong girl, and what the hell was that?!" Her tone grew sharp by the end. She gawked at him in something close to anger but not quite there, gesturing to her lips and his previous actions. "What-…why would you-… who said you could even-…Ugh! You know what? Never mind, I don't even wanna know! You just wait, wait 'til Wade hears about all of this, he's gonna rip you a new one so fast...HEY." Mal stormed towards him and grabbed at his arm, trying to spin him around to face her. "Myrkr to Asshole. Are you even listening to me? What's so important about the Red Shift? Who's this shapeshifter person? You wanna find them or something? You wanna hit up the Red Shift? Is that what you want? Sure, I'll take you right there, we'll find your Rianne, just as soon as you quit dickin' around and help me find Wade. So let's go, Gladiator, chop chop, and don't touch me again or I'll make sure you ride the whole trip off-planet gagged in a crate."

…Kriff, the curve-balls were flyin' nonstop today.



Malora stared at him. Not the 'BRB Going To Narnia', checking-out-for-a-minute-because-I'm-tired type. No, this was a straight up kaadu-caught-in-headlights, 'WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK JUST HAPPENED', 'Excuse Me While I Shit A Brick' kind of stare, and to be honest, she had no idea how long she stood their gaping at him. Maybe it was seconds. Maybe more. Either way, when the smuggler finally picked her jaw up off the floor and gave her brain a good slap, she crossed her arms, salvaged what she could of her devil-may-care attitude, and tried to look marginally less like the absolute idiot she felt like at the moment.



Because there was no way, definitely no kriffin' way that the ninja-caveman asshole in front of her was Wade Connors.



Mal laughed. He was kidding. Of course he was kidding, like, that's impossible. She laughed again. He'd join her in a second. Anytime now. Just a joke. A bad one, but a joke. C'mon, Gladiator, LAUGH already. Why so serious? He wasn't laughing. Dubbleyew-tee-eff. WHY.



Her laughter died rapidly. Malora uncrossed her arms, narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and edged towards him. She stopped about an inch away on her tip-toes, neck craned to look him in the face, frozen blue eyes meticulously combing every angle for familiarity. She saved his eyes for last, because despite her brain not accepting any of this, she knew, in her gut she knew. There was no mistaking those sharp, brown eyes. Not for her, at least.


A muscle in her forehead twitched. Her heart thudded under the bustier, blood beating in her ears. Malora took another look. And another. And one more for the hell of it. And then she backed up, crossed her arms again, and leaned on one hip like it was every other day. "Naaahhh." She frowned, eyebrows risen, shaking her head in denial. "Nope. Nope nope nope. Nooo sir-ee, uh-uh." She paced the floor a little, expression stuck to her face, talking in disbelieving tones to herself out loud because, hey, the guy probably already thought her a nutcase, why not reinforce that theory? "No. No. No and no. Just no, that's all, no, impossible, definitely not, no no no, n-to-the-o, no way in hell, can't be, just can't, and no again, because NO." Mal wheeled around, stared at him again, turned away, turned back, did it all again as her brain scrambled to catch up with her growing realization.


She stalked towards him, clearly ready to say something, but her gaze caught on his bare torso instead. Not because it was a nice bare torso. Which it was. Obviously. But anyway, scars. There were scars. EVERYWHERE. And she realized now why they'd seemed somehow familiar. Because they were. She reached out, absent-mindedly tracing a few of them with her fingertips as memories surfaced, linking the past with what she was seeing in the present. She brushed at the one on his right shoulder, smiling a little in spite of the memory it brought up. Xaxan Zadicus had left quite a mark… Realizing what she was doing, Mal pulled her hand away, looked him in the eyes once more, and ran through the events of the past day.



The notes in Galen's file had mentioned the mental loss as well as a physical 'transformation'. Pit fighter Champion…the way he moved…his scars…loss of memory…his eyes…what he knew about the Red Shift interaction…



Malora swallowed, took a deep breath, and finally considered the possibility.




Everything else fell into place like dominos. Her expression shifted rapidly, unsure which one it wanted to settle on now.





Initial acceptance. Joy. Unbridled relief. Love. Life-is-shiny-again. "…Oh my God! …Oh my God!!!" It's him! Wade!!



Embarrassing realization: I'm a blind moron. "Oooh. My. God." And the award for Biggest Oblivious Idiot Of The Century goes to…



Utter horror: I-just-kissed-my-sort-of-older-brother-figure-and-why-hasn't-this-happened-before. "…OH MY GOD. NO. WHAT. OH MY GOD." NO, MALORA. DON'T LIKE IT, YOU DON'T LIKE IT, YOU DON'T LIKE IT. BAD. VERY BAD.





She scrubbed at her lips, smacking down her desires, unable to reconcile visions of big-bro, white-knight, not-a-sexual-bone-in-my-body Old Wade with this new, shiny, sexy 2.0 gladiator version that kissed people and looked at boobs. It was bizarre. BIZARRE. This can't be Wade. This was not Wade.



But it was.



Mal grabbed him around the throat in a surprisingly strong grip, eyes a little crazy, and dragged his face down to her level. "If you're trolling me, pal, I promise you…" she growled, letting the threat hang.

"Well, you weren't as big of a dick as you are now. So there's that." She thought about staying where she was and gaping at him some more. She thought about laying into him for the 'miss at me' quip. But the tone in his voice was…different, serious, and something about it told her to tread cautiously. If she wanted Wade back, if she wanted him to come with her, well, her next words were probably gonna count towards whether that happened or didn't happen. Better choose 'em careful-like.



So, of course, Malora took off her filter and opened her mouth. "But it wasn't bullshit. Any of it. That's how we saw Wade. Er..you." She followed him to the bed, sitting beside him, still feeling like this whole thing was way unreal. "You were the crew superhero, our frontline tank in a battle, our rescue crew when one of us went missing…usually me. Happens a lot." She leaned back on her hands, frowning at the wall across the room. "You've pulled me out of some pretty deep crap more than once. Guess it became your 'thing'. 'Where'd Mal go? Kidnapped again? Well, someone better tell Wade.' You were really protective of me, and of the rest of the crew. You even punched out Adrien Draykon for messing around with me in the 'fresher, which, by the way, was totally my choice." Malora paused, uncomfortable under his gaze. It was like Wade was looking at her…but it wasn't Wade's face, and she figured they had a long way to go before she could get used to that.



"So, yeah. You were great." Oh, here it comes. "But you were also a show-off of the tenth level. Not that you didn't have a reason to be, I mean, you scored a perfect ten on anything battle-oriented. But you had to win, at everything, had to have the last word, last punch, last drink, whatever. It was obnoxious. You were also a major white-knighter with a pretty big hero complex. If it had a heartbeat and was in trouble, you had to save it. You could be abrasive and block-headed, and a legit goody-two-shoes, too. And, uh..." She paused, tapping her fingers on the bed. "…We were all pretty sure you were some kind of eunuch, too. Or asexual ex cult member or something. Old Wade never…y'know." She raised her eyebrows a little in hushed indication. "Like, ever. I mean, the guy could look at a pair of perfect tits and go right back to his ninja training like he'd just been bird-watching. I'm talking total immunity to anything boner-inducing. He was-..you were not into it. At all. So, yeah…" Malora laughed a little in memory. "…if I flipped out when you came near me with anything other than 'pure intentions', it's because not only have you been my older brother figure for the past, like, however long it's been since you rescued me that first time…but you just didn't do that as Old Wade. To anyone. Especially me."



Weird how easy saying Old Wade became after a while. "And, in my brain, you're still…well, old you." Malora tilted her head a little to look at him. "What's with the face-lift, anyway? Wanted a stronger jawline?"

"A memory?" Mal ignored the urge to pull away, but looked at him like he was nuts. "Uh…what...kind of memory? …What are you doing?" She felt his touch there, at her temple, and then… She twitched a little in surprise at the light tingling feeling on her skin around his fingers. "Woah…wait wait…"




"No wait!" She grabbed his hand away from her head like it was on fire. "Uh…" If she were the kind of girl that blushed, well, she'd be doing it. He'd said 'kiss', and that's what her mind had pulled up. Fantastic. "That was-…I was just…" Mal gave him a tight smile, blinking as she beat that particular memory into submission and sent it back into the depths of her brain. "I don't get it. So you read minds now, or what?"

"Ugh." She rose, scowling at him. "Okay, story time is over. C'mon." Malora snapped her fingers at him, eyebrows raised. "Let's gooooo! Time to blow this joint. I came here to find Wade, I found Wade (I think), and now…" She swept her hands towards the doors. "…now, we can go, right? Wrench is waiting with the ship, and once we hit atmo, you can mindmeld me all you want."



Excitement. They were so close, SO close to piecing the crew back together. And she had Wade again. Sort of. The guy had some upgrades that would take getting used to, but HE WAS HERE! Alive! And not a partial Jekk or anything! She made a mental note to ask him about Jekk activity later, since he'd used the words 'personal demon horde' a few times, and there wasn't much else he could be talking about. Malora smiled inwardly at her triumph.



And then she looked down and remembered what she was wearing and where all her ass-kicking shit was. Locked up in Grimo's vaults, probably.



"Uh… so I didn't actually plan this far ahead." She frowned at her boobs. "Like, the whole escape thing. Any ideas? Because I'm betting we can't just walk out the front door, and unlike you, I'm not good at killing with my bare hands."