This is mostly definitely not the Rashemi wilds. Which makes sense, of course. A tear that returned him to the same place he was would be no tear at all. As for what this place is- that's a little harder. There's just so much going on. Light and sound and the heady bustle of more and stranger people than he even knew could exist. Flashing neon signs in alien script, a low pulsing bass beat that might be the backing for music being drowned out by the susurrus of the crowd, and in front of him, an enormous golden statue of some kind of slug creature with a rather dapper hat. A city of some kind, but none he has seen before.

Well, this is all remarkably tacky. Especially that statue. Ew.

Is anyone taking issue with him having appeared out of nowhere?

A brief disruption in the flow of the crowd that seems to have resolved itself.

While he stands still, some sort of flying platform bearing glowing words swoops down out of the sky to hover in front of him. The display flashes insistently in words he can't read, alternating with a colorful outline of a scantily-clad female with what appear to be tentacles on her head contorting herself around a pole.

Despite himself, he's briefly distracted. Both by the tentacles, and by the contortions. He's very far from the Rashemi wilds, isn't he. He can't even identify her pedigree. She must be a professional - no, stop that, he'll be annoyed with himself if he get distracted by pretty women missing most of their clothes while on another plane.

He doubts anyone's trying to arrest him with titillating pictures (though that would be novel, wouldn't it) so he ignores it in favor of trying to pick out languages spoken by those around him. Are there a multitude of them, or is just one major one?

Two big ones, and a smattering of others.

Hmmm.

He glances back at the flashing display, then murmurs, "Kele," and invites the sparrow into himself. The sparrow, curious thing that she is, is absolutely thrilled to possess him.

For half a second, his head swims with the sensation of too much information. But his purpose is clear, even if his mind is not, and the words on the screen in front of him snap to legibility. The sparrow Kele has never before encountered this language, but spirits are not things of language. They are of thought and purpose, and so if he pulls a spirit into himself, he can channel it to translate. With enough practice, anyway, which he has quite in hand.

Of course, to protect his mind from an over-eager spirit, he'll just be translating the one language. He'd rather not have his mind turn to sludge today, thanks.

LIVE - GIRLS - TWI'LEK - ON STAGE - THE HAPPY HUTT - CASINO BAR AND LOUNGE - OPEN 24/5

He resists the urge to giggle. Of course the first thing that greets him is an advertisement to a strip club and gambling den. Of course. This world is not so alien after all.

(Have you built a nest yet??? You shouldn't find a mate if you don't have a nest where will your eggs go!!! anxiously wonders Kele.

I have not, and will not, but am nonetheless flattered by the offer.

Okay that makes sense it was very nice of her but she should pick someone that's built a nest that's how you have safe eggs!!)

"No thank you," he says politely in Basic to the sign, attempting to shoo it with a hand.

Any interesting conversations that he can understand now?

Unless he actually hits the sign or starts walking, it's not going anywhere.

Most of what people are talking about revolves around mundane daily life, sex and shopping and celebrity gossip and drugs and have you got time to catch that new holodrama next week. Some discussion of potential business opportunities now that the war has flared back up.

He picks a direction away from the major crowds and starts walking, eavesdropping on casual conversation. There's a war, apparently, who's fighting in it, and is it likely spread here? Where is here? What are the major social structures at work, who's in charge?

Not many people are talking about the war. This city(?/moon?/planet?) is apparently somewhere many people come to get away from concerns like that. But there's two sides, an empire and a republic. People don't seem concerned about it spreading to this area of the... galaxy? The Hutts have some sort of neutrality policy.

And then one of the storefronts he's about to pass by explodes in a burst of lightning, and a pair of people come flying out. A woman in black robes with a snarl on her face stalks out after them, shaking sparks off a hand.

...

Gann takes several measured steps back, murmuring the otter's name to protect himself from electricity.

Is the general feeling of everyone nearby 'run away as quickly as possible' or 'watch the show'?

Mostly just 'give the show a wide berth and carry on with what you were doing'.

She stalks over to the two, who are cowering in fear. "Perhaps you were under a misapprehension as to exactly who you were dealing with. Do you care to revise your offer?" She raises a hand, and for a moment it looks like there are four arms, faintly purple trailing through the same motion,

Huh.

He recognizes that voice, and - restless spirits, what is going on with those things tied to her? Gann squints thoughtfully at her.

'Restless spirits' is actually a pretty good descriptor.

"You- We- I-," stutters one of the people on the ground.

"Too. Late," she hisses, bringing down her hand and unleashing lightning. He screams in agony. The other starts trying to crawl away. They don't get very far before she clenches her hand, ceases the lightning, and unclips a metal cylinder from her belt and strides over. She thumbs a button on the side and a thrumming beam of red light emerges. She stabs it down into their back and they stiffen with a gurgle, then relax, eyes glazing over.

'Murder voice' is certainly living up to her moniker, isn't she.

No wonder, though, with that mess of a spirit binding she's got set up - he sort of sees what she's done, she's obviously siphoning them for power, but she's greatly out-taxed the meager protections in place between herself and the bound ones. Not to mention how, if he's not mistaken (which he doesn't think he is), it looks like her power's starting to rot her from within, turning her into a walking corpse, not even well made enough to be called a lich. All of that's quite enough to drive anyone mad.

He could probably fix it. She's already got them under her control, the trouble is that they're using the connection for more than anyone would sensibly want, if he could just force their power to move in the proper direction, against themselves to stop them from bleeding through -

Gann remembers that he is still standing here, staring thoughtfully at someone who is very definitely murderous, and that maybe that is unwise and he should stop.

Too late, she's spotted him.

"You. Who are you?"

Well, he doesn't think she lacks intellect or memory, so his identity's blown the minute he opens his mouth. Might as well own it.

"A fellow voice in this madhouse we call life, who else?" he says, lightly. "Hello. I see that you've been busy."

Her eyes widen in shock.

"The... poet? How-?"

"No, not here. Inside. Now." She grabs him and drags him into the building whose window she recently blew out.

He magnanimously consents to be dragged. That is his story, and he's sticking to it.

"Asking would also have sufficed," he grouses, but he's consenting to be dragged, so he doesn't try to fight her off.

"I do not ask." There's a door in the back; she pushes it open with a wave of her hand ahead of them and fairly throws him at a chair while she shuts the door again.

"Explain your presence here."

He lands in the chair with minimal embarrassment. Practically a graceful landing, really.

"I found a tear to another plane, and decided to explore the other side."

(Hey!!! I was the one who found it!! protests Kele.

... I apologize for the attribution, I am trying to keep you a secret so she doesn't think to chain you like she's done with hers.

Oh!! You're keeping me safe, okay, thank you, you're a good shaman!

Thank you, I try.)

"I was just in the middle of that when you threw those two through the window. All else, I'm afraid I have only supposition."

"What do you mean, plane? Where are you from?"

"A plane is a - realm of existence. You can live in a single one your entire life without ever knowing that there's more, but step to the side with magic in just the right way, and you can move to another. I'm from Coveya Kurg'annis, allegedly, but they abandoned me in the woods for being too pretty." He smiles prettily, as demonstration. "So it's quite debatable over if I'm from there at all."

"Magic, hm? Not like we saw with that girl."

"I don't know what gave you the impression that in an infinite multiverse there was only one kind of magic," he says, patiently. "Mine is more like yours than hers."

"Before now I had no proof that there was an infinite multiverse or that any of that was more than a dream."

She pauses, and a predatory smile slowly spreads across her face.

"But you are here now." She stalks closer. "Do you recall," she purrs, "what I said I would do to express my gratitude?"

"I do," he says, mirroring her purr, and leaning closer to smile fetchingly, "but surely there are better uses for my tongue than - what would you do with it once it was out, hang it upon your wall as a trophy? Come now, talking's not all it can do."

And meanwhile, he reaches for his spirits, draws up a plan of attack for when this attempt to talk her down inevitably fails.

"But oh, dear sweet poet, the taking would be such fun." She runs a finger down his cheek and along his jaw.

"Of that I have no doubt, but if you haven't experienced all of my tongue's talents, shouldn't you expand your horizons before the chance is lost forever?" He reaches up to caress her hand gently, still smiling. There is no way this isn't going to turn into a fight, now.

As such, he'll start it on his terms. "For example: Yona."

His hand tightens on hers to a vice grip and his smile turns vicious, and he promptly slams the bear telthor into her. Bears aren't really creatures of finesse, so all of the finesse involved here falls to Gann himself, the bear providing the power behind it. This much power under his direct command is a rush - usually he delegates, sets a spirit to a task and supervises. He corrects and prevents mistakes, keeps the spirits from devolving into in-fighting, or straying off task. This is not delegating. This is commanding and steering a hurricane, a barely controlled cyclone of power that flows through him, dangerous and unstoppable and invigorating. Everything is under his personal command, no foolish spirits to muss anything up - but also no distance with which to spot mistakes before they become a problem. As much as he personally enjoys the rush of power, he prefers the satisfaction of a job well done. He prefers living up to his own expectations of skill.

Outright killing her is probably possible, and he wouldn't feel even a flicker of guilt if he managed it, but quite frankly, he's not sure he could. There are clearly variables here that he isn't familiar with, and even those he is familiar with make the prospect a daunting one. Those spirits she has bound to her makes directly killing her tricky, filling her body with energy even long after it should collapse. He could rip her spirits away, but then he has several wild and probably angry spirits to contend with, and the butcher herself. He doubts any of them would feel particularly grateful towards him. Maybe he could use the chaos to plane shift back to the Rashemi wilds, but that seems like giving up. Abandoning a fascinating dilemma in favor of safety, because he couldn't handle it.

He'll not admit that until it's actually been proven to him. The problem here is that her mind is clearly being influenced by her spirits. If he solves that, solves the thing that makes her so ridiculously and senselessly murderous, maybe he can actually talk her down. Maybe he can have some kind of guide in this world, instead of a corpse to join the other two outside, and a lot of explaining to do to any local authorities. Which sounds like a chore even if he does successfully talk his way out of it. He finds prisons tiresome, at best.

So he begins disentangling this knot of hers, rending open the mess of a connection with Yona's might. This effort is two-fold; it gets everything out of his way, and she's going to be reeling from the backlash of too many spirits, her ghosts and Gann's bear and Gann himself, in a messy, confusing, chaotic free for all in her mind that Gann only nominally controls. He sets the bear on the other spirits, and gets to reforging the connection properly.

She jerks backwards and lashes out with a wave of concussive telekinetic force. It's not as strong as it should be. Something is interfering with her ability to draw upon the ghosts' power. That should not be possible.

"What are you doing? Get out! They are mine and you will not take them!"

Ow. He keeps his grip on her by force of will and liberal application of bear spirit. Thank you, Yona. He is not going to be able to call on Yona much after this confrontation's done.

"Oh, do get over yourself, I don't want them," he snarls, "I just want to clean up your mess. I'm helping you."

"I don't NEED your help!" Lightsaber out and alight and raised for an overhand stroke, she charges.

Eep.

"Noted!"

He reads that as his cue to drop what he's doing and get far away. He leaves Yona to her spirit mauling duties, quickly bidding her to keep them under control but not to waste her power, then releases Occlus's hand to sprint away.

"Cetanwakuwa -" he hisses, raising a hand to send his hawk off to retrieve something from the elemental chaos.

A pool of water appears and rises from the floor, violently growing in size and engulfing Occlus in a tidal wave of sentient water.

The water hisses and flashes to steam where it touches the red blade, but it still stops her swing and knocks her back again.

Oh, good, he's glad to see he made a good choice with the water elemental. It seemed like the one most likely to do what he needed it to do. Fire would be better for outright killing her, earth would maybe hold her better but make one impressive mess, and air would just toss her around a bit instead of doing anything.

Unfortunately, he needs to be touching her to continue his finicky, delicate work work of fixing her damn mess. Which means getting within range of that charming red blade. This is inconvenient, because he does not want to quartered. It would be easier to just kill her -

(But you know you can help her!! protests Kele.

It's kind of hard to do that when she's actively trying to kill me.

She's sick, hurt! You can help her, right, that's what you do, you help spirits and people!

Wonderful. He wonders if Kele's slinging guilt on purpose, or by accident. But - yes, injured wolves do lash out, even when it would be mad, out of pain and desperation and impotence.

... I'll try.)

- but his sparrow is hardly going to let him hear the end of it if he just kills her outright. So he needs to figure out a way to solve this problem. He has the water elemental attempt to disarm her, as he tries to think of a better solution.

Her grip on the sword is quite tenacious, and rather impossible to dislodge. She swings it around, attempting to vaporize as much of the water as possible.

She's making steady headway against the water elemental; it'll be reduced to steam and innocuous puddles soon enough -

- but also drenching her as well. Hm.

"Cetanwakuwa," he murmurs, calling on his hawk again, this time to summon a bolt of lightning to strike at her from above. It won't kill her. Probably.

More energy, yes, just what she needed. She absorbs the bolt without flinching and immediately redirects it outwards, pushing the mass water off her to splash the walls.

And that is his cue to run.

Note to self: do not attempt lightning, it only makes her stronger.

She lashes out with the Force to trip him up.

"You can't run from me, pretty poet."

Down he goes, with an undignified yelp. Well, that's embarrassing.

"I think I disagree," he says, pushing himself back up. Clearly it's time to stop messing around, before she catches up to him and stabs him. "But if I depart entirely, Yona will eventually lose a handle on your spirits, and you'll have a delightful mess on your hands."

"I had them under control, before you decided to interfere. What do you even know about it?"

Eyeroll. "You have a different definition of under control than I do. You overtaxed the pathetic and meager connection's protections that were in place with too many spirits. It would perhaps do fine with one spirit, but with many, the entire system begins to slowly disintegrate. You were drawing power from them, certainly, but so too were they influencing, even controlling you. Even if the connection didn't eventually drive you mad - which, as I see, you're well on your way towards - you'd be dead within the year from the power rotting you from the inside out."

"You-" Her first instinct is to kill him for his temerity, his insolence. Her saber hand twitches.

But-

He's not wrong. Not entirely. The voices in her head have not been her own. She thought she could hold them down long enough, stay on top, have her goals served, not theirs. She should not be so quick to be killing this man, not when she might be able to squeeze his magic out of him. It would be something Thanaton could not predict. That she lost perspective enough to let that slip is troubling.

As for the last point- perhaps. She is as strong as ever, though the bolstering of the Force makes that difficult to judge.

That seems to have hit its mark - so his earlier efforts weren't wasted. He's already cleared her mind enough that she'll listen to him. Maybe he can just talk his way out of this.

"The longer we bicker," he says reasonably, "fighting this stupid fight of ours, causing copious amounts of property damage, the weaker Yona becomes. Eventually she will not be able to shield you from your spirits. I am trying to aid you, would you please stop trying to stop me?"

"Aid me how?"

"If I wanted to unbind your bloodthirsty spirits from you, I could have just done that. I had my chance. I might have even been able to survive the ensuing chaos without departing the plane entirely. I think it would be unwise to unleash them on the world." It's his story for the sparrow, anyway. "I would rather fix the connection you have with them. Let you draw power from them without driving you to madness or death."

"Why."

"Is it so alien a concept, that someone might want to help you?" wonders Gann, mildly amused. "I would like a guide in this strange new plane, and you already know of me. I would not like to have to explain to the locals why there are three corpses, three maddened spirits, and however much property damage would result from the aforementioned chaos. I enjoy enacting elegant solutions to problems instead of applying murder liberally until they go away. I'm not certain I could win a direct confrontation with you, and this is in many ways easier."

"Next time lead with that, instead of waiting until I remember that I said I would rip your tongue out."

"Would you have believed me before I had summoned Yona to keep your spirits at bay, if I'd said that they were driving you mad?"

"I might not have attacked."

"Ah, so it falls upon me to manage your bouts of madness appropriately, absolving you of all responsibility. I see. In that case - do please hold still, I need to relieve a bear spirit of her burden before you return to frothing bloodthirst."

"I would think not recklessly provoking the wrath of powerful strangers by assaulting them with unfamiliar magic on no warning ought to be common sense."

"I'm sorry? Which one of us was threatening to rip the other's tongue out? Do please remind me, my memory seems to have lapsed..."

He stands, and steps forward, offering her his hand.

(Spirits in reserve if this is an act.)

"That's why I said before it came to that, sweet poet." She eyes his hand and hesitates a moment before taking it.

"Ah, yes, because I knew that if you recalled an idle threat, you would feel unstoppably compelled to follow through. Therefore I should lead not with explanations of who I am and how I got here, but how I have a trustworthy magical procedure to enact without much explanation. Forgive me for leading with respecting you enough to not begin by attempting to manage your problems. Instead I foolishly gave you precisely what you were asking for."

He closes his eyes and returns to work. Hello again, Yona. Excellent job on handling the spirits, time to make them no longer your problem.

"It is a nimble one, isn't it. I do not make idle threats."

"Not even in dreams?" he wonders idly, but he's a bit too busy for banter, now. He got most of the work done earlier, but he still needs to finalize everything so it will definitively not fall apart, even under the strain of more spirits. It's tricky work, and if he tugs too carelessly it could strain the whole thing to the breaking point.

"That would be fundamentally inconsistent with my character."

"My tongue will have to watch itself then, won't it."

One last finalization in place - this is much easier to do when he's not in the middle of a crisis - and he draws Yona back and drops the held hand. All her power is returned to her, with none of the troublesome voices.

"Have I earned it mercy for my efforts?"

She waits for the impulse to kill him reassert itself. It fails to manifest. She can feel the full depths of her power again, but with none of the extraneous noise she'd become almost accustomed to.

"Hm. Possibly. We'll have to wait and see if I suddenly feel an overpowering urge to murder you again."

"Certainly. How long are we to wait, and what shall we do in the interim?"

"Well, it took months for me to become so unhinged last time..."

He laughs.

"So, I am to trail after you, aiding you in whatever endeavors suit you, until either you are quite satisfied with my services, or you find that you want to kill me? That's hardly incentive."

"You do not find my company so charming, dear poet? I am wounded to the very quick."

"Your company has little to do with it, I chafe at all perceived indentured servitude, be it charming or no."

"What do you consider incentive, then?"

"Ah ah, asking me to give incentive to my travel with you for you is hardly going to get me an honest answer. You could simply parrot whatever I say to keep me around as long as it suits you. Though out of pity, I will advise positive incentives, not negative ones."

"You are the one who wished a guide to this place. I have no similar need. With my power restored and you with no desire to remain assured I stay sane, I might simply leave you here amidst the wreckage."

"You are entirely free to do so," he says, brightly. "If you have no need of my expertise or knowledge to handle your spirits, then I trust you to have the situation well in hand, and see no need to press the issue."

"Fare you well then, poet. Do try to avoid encounters with other Sith. They are not nearly so pleasant as I." She turns and gestures open the door.

Why are you pretending you don't want to travel with her when you do? wonders Kele.

... Well when it's put in those terms, it all seems rather ridiculous, doesn't it. Ugh. You win, sparrow.

"Oh, fine," he sighs, dramatically. "If you will not admit your perspective, then I shall endeavor to for both our sakes'. I am a powerful, intelligent, and dashingly handsome individual with little direction or purpose, easily bored by mundanity, cursed to eternally wander the lands looking for passing amusement."

She pauses.

"And?" she asks, in a carefully neutral voice.

Aaaaaaugh this is almost physically painful, whyyyy is he dooooing thiiiiiis. Stupid sparrow. Pointing out logical fallacies with so much earnesty.

"And," he continues, carefully, "despite the attempted maiming, murder, and ongoing threats of eventual madness, I find you more than passably amusing."

"So you do find my company charming, dear poet?"

This is cruel and unusual punishment. She's clearly drawing this out for her own entertainment.

Well, he's not going to give her the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable. Time to turn the conversational tables. He is turning up the charm.

"Why wouldn't I? You're intelligent, witty, astonishingly powerful, and breathtakingly beautiful. I'd be a fool if I didn't appreciate your company."

"Mmm, am I now? That is... most pleasant to hear. But I am still leaving now. If you intend to keep my company, you would be well advised to join me."

"This place was growing rather dull," he agrees, airily, and he walks after her. "Is someone going to be offended about the window? Or the recent water damage?"

"Undoubtedly so. But so long as we are not here whenever they arrive to be, I find myself hard pressed to care."

"Ah, yes. The wailing would be grating."

"Quite. Especially as the proprietor of that particular property is likely to be in the employ of the Hutts. Their posturing is tiresome."

"It often is. Hutts?"

"The large slug-like creatures."

"The ones with the large, tacky, expensive statue, I see."

"An expression of his wealth and power, that he can afford to waste resources on something so frivolous."

"I am offended not by the expression of wealth and power, but by how completely and utterly it expresses a lack of taste."

"'Taste' is, for Hutts, a matter of how loudly one can flaunt their own importance. That statue is a paragon of its kind."

"Yes, I rather agree."

"Why are you in this city, again. With its tacky employers and terrible statues."

"I don't believe I ever said in the first place."

"Then, for the first time, why are you in this terrible, tacky city."

"Because it's an excellent place to disappear for a while."

"Ah. And how long do you plan to stay?"

"I hadn't decided yet. I don't suppose you have an opinion?"

"I dislike the..." he pauses, to consider the appropriate word. "Ambience of this place so far. Too tacky, structured, and dead, crowded together in a chaotic inescapable crawl. But it is new and alien, and I'll tolerate it for now. Though that might change if you expect me to endure large crowds."

"I avoid crowds as much as possible, myself. What sorts of places do you like?"

"What a difficult question to succinctly answer," says Gann, a little wryly. "After all, there are many different kinds of places that I like, for many different reasons. I can answer, if you like, but I warn you that I might wax philosophical."

"I think I might enjoy hearing that." Her voice has a teasing lilt.

He smiles, a little. Not the dazzling, flattering smile of before, but something - more subtle. Quieter.

"Very well. I enjoy the welcoming familiarity of a familiar forest, the peaceful tranquility of birdsong on the wind and the warm heat of the sun upon my skin, the joy and freedom of being far, far from anyone that might disturb it. I enjoy the majesty of monuments of those long dead - the ones still lived in, filled with overawed tourists staring wide eyed at the vision of a departed genius, but mostly the ones that have been abandoned, lost to time. Where all of the clever tricks and expensive trappings they used to cover all of their mistakes have fallen away, and all you're left with is the stark, brutally honest bones of whatever they'd made. Looking at all that was and seeing traces of what the architect envisioned, building half on supposition and half on imagination until it grows taller than whatever it had been when it was whole. I enjoy places where my talent and wit aren't wasted, where I can speak and smile and see the waves they leave on those that watch and listen. I enjoy places where I can watch, speak, and walk freely, and learn whatever crosses my attention."

"As ever, you fail to disappoint, poet. I know a few locations you might appreciate. As it happens, I am something of an archaeologist. When I'm not busy murdering or," she licks her lips, "maiming."

Gannayev snorts, amused. "Are those your only diversions from archaeology? There is so much more to life than maiming!"

"Is that so?"

There's the dazzling smile again.

"Oh, certainly. If you like, I could show you."

"Such an extraordinary claim surely bears... testing."

"It would hardly be fair to you to make unverifiable extraordinary claims."

"Fairness is not a fundamental property of the universe."

"I do not hold myself to the standards of the fundamental properties of the universe."

"So you're concerned about being fair to me? I'm touched."

"I can hardly say I'm bound by the desire to be fair to anyone in particular," he deflects, lightly, "but I don't see why I shouldn't indulge when I feel like it."

"Life without indulgences would hardly be worth living."

"It would certainly grow very tiresome very quickly."

"Fairness is not a thing I indulge in very often. Do you find it... enjoyable?"

"It is occasionally amusing to catch people unawares. I hardly seem the type, after all. With typical people, I can hardly say it pays off. With spirits, they are more inclined to repay fair with fair, with none of the unspoken bindings that so often come along with favors. I prefer dealing with them."

"Your spirits are different from mine, I think."

"Yes. Which is just as well. It would be so very disappointing if all the multiverse worked on the same set of rules."

"Quite. Though some things seem constant. You appear passably human, at least."

"Half. As I can tell, humans match up. Basic doesn't have a word for my mother's species, so I think not everything. 'Hag' is the closest available."

"That's more of a pejorative than a species descriptor."

"Is it? What a startling coincidence that was certainly unintentional."

"Not on good terms with our mother, are we?"

"I believe I mentioned 'abandoned in the woods.' Does that imply good terms?"

"I did not wish to ascribe any unwarranted significance, o gentle poet."

He smiles, and it is razor sharp. This man would probably make a very good Sith. He certainly has the anger for it, and the control.

"No significance present, merely justified contempt. Why would I care about her in the slightest?"

"That's not a question I can answer. But I can feel your anger." She licks her lips.

His anger flares, and he laughs, a little.

"Yes, well. Her mistake. I expect that she'll regret it." He looks away, inspecting a neon sign's advertised offerings as if he found them curious. The anger fades back to a quiet simmer. Before she can attempt to prod him again for her amusement:

"Empathy, then? That sounds uncomfortable."

"Not especially. I can choose to look, and I have enough control not to mirror."

He considers, then nods.

"Then I suppose it would be useful. And for those without your control? Are they are the mercy of others' emotional whims?"

"Only if they're exceptionally foolish and the emotions are exceptionally strong."

Gann nods.

"So if I encounter others with your abilities, I don't need to mind my own feelings lest they lose control of theirs."

"Not for that reason, no."

"Are there other reasons? Besides letting them have far too much information with which to attempt to manipulate me, presumably."

"Manipulate and predict. That is the main one."

That sounds like it would be an interesting challenge, actually. Someone reading his emotions and trying to use them to manipulate him, and trying to outplay them with his own emotional state. He smiles again.

"Good to know."

"But it's not as though my power is common."

"No? What are the more common hazards?"

"Mundane thugs. Blasters, grenades, shocksticks. Perhaps wildlife in places less thoroughly civilized."

The sparrow identifies these various implements for him, including how they're technological in nature. She's absolutely fascinated.

"No other types of magic present, predominantly technological wonders?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"And not everyone can access the magic present? Or does no one bother?"

"Not everyone can. The gift is inborn, and rare."

"No wonder the implication of fairness was a surprise."

"Mm, more that at the academy where I was trained, the criteria for graduation was surviving the instructors and other students' repeated attempts to kill me. And that the master I served afterwards tried to kill me and possess my body to prolong her own life. And that now her superior wants me dead for disrupting the social order."

"Ah. Yes, that would do it." He considers. "How powerful is the superior?"

"He is counted among the twenty or so most important people in the Empire. And his personal strength is such that I judged binding those ghosts an acceptable risk."

"Hm," says Gann. It certainly wouldn't be boring, would it. Helping her. It beats shoddily crafted barns.

"Do I interest you, poet?"

"You ask as if I have not already answered. Do you like listening to flattery, murderess?"

"I have encountered few bold enough to try it."

"And I have encountered few that I could call interesting."

"How unutterably tragic."

"I could say the same for you."

"But it does make the contrast more poignant, does it not?"

"And the discovery all the more exhilarating," he agrees.

"Exhilarating. That is a good word."

He smiles, then stops walking to give a formal bow.

"Would I have earned the title 'poet' if I chose my words poorly?"

"Mmm, I suppose not."

Their path out of the alley is blocked by a group of shadowed figures.

So it is. Gann glances at Occlus, then behind them, to see if they've been surrounded.

"Friends of yours?" he wonders, softly.

They have been.

"No. I do believe they intend to hurt us, if they can."

He resists the urge to giggle. It's been a while since someone tried to mug him. This time looks like it'll be funnier than the last.

"Well then, shall we go say hello?"

"Oh, let's."

He checks his body language so his approach is neutral and reserved, instead of a relaxed saunter. He wants to see what they say.

Accordingly, he's content to let them start the conversation.

"Now, now, pretties," growls the biggest. "We don' wanna rough you up unnecessarily."

Gannayev considers the biggest. His expression is neutral, despite his desire to break down laughing.

"And what would make such actions necessary?" he asks, somberly.

"Any sort of," his lip curls up, revealing impressively large teeth, "resistance t' coming with us."

"Oh? And where would you like to take us? What will happen when we get there?"

"Can't we just kill them? For once?"

"'For once,' she asks, as if I always ruin her fun," says Gannayev, to the biggest one. "Yes, of course we're killing them. I'm merely curious of the depths of their idiocy. Tell me, are you going to die because you thought we'd have money, or is there some other reason?"

Occlus sighs heavily.

"Fine. Hard way it is." He whistles, and one of the thugs behind them throws a net that expands and crackles.

She throws up a hand and halts it mid-air.

"Tooantuh," he says cheerfully, calling on the frog spirit for the first time.

The four thugs in front of him start feeling rather unhealthy. One's skin turns red and bloated and itchy, one starts twitching madly, one's brain feels like it's been transmuted to magma, and the last gains a fever, disorientation, and the urge to laugh uncontrollably.

"Oh, very nice."

The big guy has collapsed to the ground, clutching his head.

"They got Moxler! Kill 'em!" shouts one of the thugs in the back.

Occlus launches the net back at the speaker.

The others in back manage to get their blasters out while the ones in front mostly just fumble ineffectually.

"Thank you. Yona, if you would." This will be the last the bear spirit can provide, which is just as well; she's more for strength than finesse, and weakened as she is, she's not much good for that anymore. Best to just complete their deal and send her on her way.

Several swarms of biting insects manifest from nowhere, and the thugs with blasters are engulfed in a seething black cloud.

The thugs manage to get a few panicked shots off before collapsing. Occlus blocks those that happen to be aimed towards them.

The swarm moves on to finishing off the diseased thugs once the ones in the back have expired.

"Do we want to keep one alive for questioning?" wonders Gann.

"I don't see any reason to care about their motivations."

"Maybe mugging is different here than in my home, but ordinary muggers don't carry nets, nor do they ask for their victims to come with them. Perhaps they merely wanted to sell us into slavery, but if not - this seems remarkable well coordinated. Well, apart from the obvious. I'm curious."

"Slavers are common enough. It's likely this band works for some criminal gang or other."

He does not actually care enough to push any more; he shrugs, and the swarm devours the remaining thugs before dissipating into nothing.

(That was really mean, protests the sparrow.

They likely wanted to sell us into slavery, and have just as likely successfully enacted this against many victims.

But -

He sends the concept of slavery to the sparrow, which promptly shuts her up. ... That was maybe a bit harsh, but he doesn't find having his every action nitpicked particularly pleasant.)

"Do we care about the bodies, then?"

"Hardly."

He nods, agreeably. If they were likely to leave any part of themselves behind, he'd care about that. But as far as he can tell - and he can tell these sorts of things very well - they do not need any kind of assistance, and there will be no unsavory residue remaining.

"Shall we?" he says, offering her his arm and smiling prettily.

She takes it.

"Of course."

And off they go, blithely stepping over the horribly disfigured corpses of those that dared to oppose them.

So blithely!

They're not far from the spaceport. No one else accosts them, but they can't avoid the crowd any longer.

Gann can tolerate the spaceport for a little while. He doesn't like it, but he can tolerate it. With an understated expression of distaste, but it still counts.

To Occlus's ship! Wherever that is, Occlus will have to lead him.

It's in a bay all by itself. Sleek and black, with two wings coming forward in a menacing pincer in front of the cockpit.

It's like nothing Gannayev has ever seen before, strange and alien and beautiful.

"Your ship is lovely," he says, smiling at it. "Fitting that it should carry you."

"It was a gift."

"... From the one who attempted to kill and possess you?" guesses Gann.

"Yes."

"Ah. I apologize for bringing it up, then."

"It's past. I killed her."

Nod.

"... I suppose," he observes, "that makes it not a gift, and instead something you earned by conquest. Since if all had gone to plan, she would have been awarding herself with the ship."

"That would be one way to look at it. Let us board."

"Let's."

And now that's a topic that they can never, ever talk about again. Ever.

Onto the ship.

"Pirate!" calls Occlus. "Get us ready to leave."

A man with a dragon tattoo around one eye appears from behind a corner.

"Oh, hey Sith. Wasn't expecting you back so soon, huh."

Gann waves, cheerily making himself at home on the nearest couch.

"...and who's this?"

"Gannayev, hello. I successfully made myself useful."

"He will be traveling with us for a time."

"Right. I'll just- go start preflight, then."

Gann smiles brilliantly at him.

"Should I expect any other introductions?"

"My Dashade is somewhere around here. I don't expect Khem will much care about your presence."

Gannayev nods.

"Well, then I suppose the only question now is what we'll do with our time."

"What do you normally do on journeys?"