Midnight Rose

[Belle]

It was the sirens that woke Belle up. In this part of Coruscant, they were as regular as clockwork. Belle found she rarely needed her alarm anymore.

Stirring, Belle curled up a little tighter under her synthweave covers. Her apartment – little more than a single room with an adjoining closet-sized bath – was dimly illuminated by pale green light that filtered in through horizontal slats above her bed. The flickering lights of passing emergency vehicles colored the opposite wall. Belle reached out, fumbling for the timepiece on her bedside table. Finding it, she rotated it around. 8:17pm.

Yawning, she pushed the covers down and sat up. She stretched, her back arching like a cat, reaching one hand high into the air. The bed was far from fancy, but at just that moment, it felt like a warm cocoon. Reluctantly, she pulled her legs out, swung them over, and stood up.

The paint on the walls was chipped and cracked, spiderwebbing across the room. The carpet was marked with the legacy of the previous tenants: stains, here and there the burn mark of a cigarra, and something she really hoped was not the remains of a puddle of blood. Clad in a loose-fitting shirt and panties, Belle slouched to the screen controls. The slats opened wide, and she squinted as more of the neon green light from the club sign across the street came flooding in. The night was just getting started – only a few people were lined up in front of the Midnight Rose.

Belle keyed the slats back to their default position and yawned again as she made her way to the refresher, dumping her clothes along the way. The sonistream shower was low-tech by Coruscant standards, but for her it was a little slice of heaven, and she luxuriated in the steamy spray for far longer than was necessary for simple cleanliness. Stepping out, she wrapped herself in a towel, dried and brushed her long hair, and sat on the toilet cover to run a laser shaver across her legs and arms. It was nearly nine by the time she left the refresher.

Like most things from the club, the outfit was in poor taste. Belle couldn't be sure, but she suspected it had at least partially been modeled on the outfits of the flight hostesses up on Tier 1. Instead of the dignified air those projected, however, this was clearly designed with another purpose. The skirt ended uncomfortably close to her ass, and the top buttons of her shirt weren't just not supposed to be done up, but had been removed entirely. Over the latter came the green jacket, hem ending a few inches above the waist, a crimson rose embroidered onto the left breast. Belle worked on the nylons that ended halfway up her thigh, slipped her feet into the heeled boots, and inspected herself in the mirror. She felt gross. In other words, it was almost perfect.

The finishing touch was the hat. The stewardess cap went on, and the plastic rose that sprang from the top drooped to one side.

Sighing, Belle double checked to make sure she still had her entrance pass and left. Her heels clacked, echoing as she made her way down the stairs. There was an elevator, but after the machinery decided groaning the previous week, she'd decided to get in a little more exercise. Reaching the bottom, she made her way across the lanes of traffic. The glowing sign towered above her as she approached, the single red flower in the middle of the 'o' in ROSE burning bright. As gaudy as it was, it was hardly the only one – rows of similar signs illuminated the darkness, stretching in either direction in a rainbow of vibrant colors.

The bouncer that night was a Krogan. The red reptilian eyes followed her she walked by, shadowed under the giant headplate of the bipedal turtle-like humanoid. “Hi, Rex,” she said. The krogran grunted, which was more than most other people got. She figured he must have developed a soft spot for her after she screamed the first time she saw him. The krogan had had a good laugh, then.

Moving past the front door, she wrapped around into the small alleyway between the Rose and the next door motel. Down a short flight of steps, she knocked at a durasteel door. The two cameras high on either side of the portal whirred, focusing on her. There was a moment's pause, then a buzzer and a solid click as the lock released. Belle pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She wasn't sure she would ever get used to the smell. Even backstage the club reeked, flavored cigarra smoke, alcohol and sweat combining into a sickly melange. The red carpeted hallway beyond the door branched off into several open rooms. Wide mirrors perched above counter tops, all in a row, waiting for the girls to apply their makeup. Some of the seats were occupied, and she felt a few eyes flicker in her direction as she passed. She took some solace in that, no matter how ridiculous her costume was, at least she never had to do what they did.

The last door on the left was closed, leading into the waiting area behind the stage. She passed it, going to the end of the corridor. A door with a gold rose for a handle waited. She knocked.

“Come.”

The rectangular office was warmly lit, the reliefs on its wood-paneled walls outlined in light and shadow. The carpet continued, though now absent of any hint of a defect, and the pale green ceiling arched like the roof of a cathedral. A dark wood desk stood at the far end, facing two excruciatingly plush armchairs.

The man behind the desk reclined back. Even in that position, his head came even with her's. His floral patterned shirt was open, only the last few buttons done, exposing a wide cut of his bronze, muscled chest. His suit jacket, custom tailored (she knew because he had gone out of his way to point it out), hung comfortably across his broad shoulders. He had short, thick, pale wheat hair, and a sharp nose. His jade right eye peered at her, the left shrouded behind the dark glass of an eyepiece. It was supposed to be some sort of media/computer interface, but to her it looked like someone had got halfway through making a pair of sunglasses and just said 'fuck it.'

His name – at least the name he gave to everyone – was Jack. And as usual, he was smiling.

“Ah, it's you,” he said. “But ... you're a little early, aren't you?”

She held his gaze for a few moments, then he shrugged. “Well, I suppose that's no problem.” Jack gestured to one of the seats. Belle accepted the offer. The fabric seemed to enfold her, adjusting to her weight until it felt like she was sitting on a cloud. “I'm not going to discourage punctuality in my employees, after all.”

Jack opened a drawer in his deck and reached down to rummage through the contents. Belle's gaze to the walls on either side. The reliefs depicted a man that looked suspiciously like Jack standing atop a writhing mountain of people – mostly women – who were reaching up towards him.

“Ah,” he said, pulling out a stack of papers. “Here we go.” He put up his other hand as she started to rise. “Hey now, why the rush?” He grinned. “Take it easy.”

Belle paused, her hands on the arms of the chair, then sagged back. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.

Jack set the stack on the desk. “What is it, darling?”

“Why use these?” she pointed to the invitations, each one a free admittance to the club. The smile on Jack's face faded. “I mean, I'm not saying I know more or anything,” she added. “But isn't there a more... I don't know... a more 'high tech' way of doing things?”

The green eye fixed on her, staring. Then, abruptly, the smile was back. “You're right, there are easier ways to do it.” He gestured to the air, as if swatting away an annoying insect. “Spam in someone's mail server. Ads on the dataverse. You could even leave them smacked straight in front of their doorsteps. But they lack two things!” He held up his index and middle fingers. “One, immediacy. You have to break through their comfort zone. When a Rose Girl hands them an invitation, it's not some anonymous machine shoving it at them. It's not faceless. It's personal.” He curled his middle finger in. “And two, temptation.”

That green eye trailed down her outfit. “When they see a Rose Girl, they think: maybe I'll meet that girl there. Maybe all I have to do is go. It's free, after all, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see more. You understand?”

Belle nodded.

Jack chuckled. “Good girl. It's a Second eat Second verse out there. We have to stick together, right?” He picked up the stack of invitations again, holding them up for her. Belle pushed herself out of the chair and walked around the desk to retrieve them.

As soon as she did, she felt the unwelcome weight of Jack's hand against her back. “Go get me lots of customers, ya?”

He cackled as she pulled away and left the room, shutting the door quickly behind her. She was aware of a pain in her palm, and she belatedly realized her hand had curled into a tight fist. Her fingers loosened and she shook her hand, examining the angry red marks where her nails had been. No blood, at least.

As she walked back towards the alley door, a girl stepped out of the dressing room on her right. Taller than Belle by about a foot, she had bright, almost white blonde hair, cut short and off the neck, locks sweeping down to cover one half of her face. If the sweat and the fact that she was only wearing a g-string was anything to go by, she – Lily – had just got off stage.

“Oh!” The woman blinked, then smiled. “Hi, Belle.” Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. “Just starting?”

Belle nodded, trying to remain neutral. Lily must have seen something in her face, though, because her purple eyes flicked over Belle's shoulder to the door to Jack's office. “Did something happen?”

Belle explained what happened. “That sleazeball,” Lily shook her head. “Why didn't you hit him?”

“Are you joking?” Belle balked. “I barely make enough omnilium to live where I am.”

“Girl, if you keep thinking like that... Well,” Lily trailed off. She folded her arms under her chest. Belle suspected implants, but was too polite to ask. “Someday, you'll end up on that stage right next to me. Understand?”

“I-... that... I guess I do.”

Lily smiled, leaning over. “You know, I thought there was something special about you. When you attacked those guys harassing me? I thought: I've never seen someone so brave and so stupid.” She reached out as if to touch Belle's hair then, apparently, thought better of it. She stood back up. “You better get started. You know how Jack gets, sometimes.”

Belle nodded, waved goodbye, and headed out to do her rounds. “Not that stupid,” she grumbled as the door closed behind her. The sagging rose on her hat bobbed as she mounted the stairs and headed out onto the neon-lit streets.

[Belle]

The line in front of the Rose had changed during Belle's time backstage; a new set of customers were chatting with each other outside its krogan-guarded doors. Belle handed a pass to each of them – part of the promotion included a free drink at the full bar, and she wasn't in a mood to screw them over.

Or maybe she was interested in screwing someone over, and it just so happened that that peron's name was Jack.

Putting on the brightest fake smile she could muster, Belle walked down the neon length of Diamond Avenue. Caught at the intersections of desire and vice, the street was awash with promises of pleasure both overt and subtle. When she'd first arrived, she'd been told there was nowhere else with as much diversity as Tier Four, and they had certainly been right – just not in the way Belle had been thinking.

On her block, gentleman's clubs waged a colorful war with small casinos for the attentions of passersby. On the next, an entrepreneurial 'seller of experiences' was hawking his latest alchemical cocktails to anyone who would listen, the alluring shine of glass phials just visible in the shadows of his coat. Across from him were the women, those not as fortunate as Lily. Some were normal, or at least appeared to be. Most had clearly been altered in some way, or else were alien. There was one woman who changed her appearance every week – Belle only recognized her because of her handbag. Today she was sporting bronzed skin and blonde hair – normal enough, except for the cat ears and tail. She waved to Belle as she passed, and Belle waved back.

She got rid of a few invites outside one of the myriad of bars. Cheering erupted inside, and Belle caught the brief flash of a car spiraling out of control and exploding on one of the inside monitors. The F-Zero races were about one step short of pure bloodsport, and quite popular across all the 'verses, so she was told.

As she walked, her mind drifted back. Her first day on Coruscant had been a confusing one. After being scanned by some very nervous Empire agents, she had been abruptly released from custody and shoved out onto the 'verse's Tier One. It was a paradise compared to Tier Four – gardens, high, elegant buildings, a sweet aroma that seemed to emit from everywhere. There were the flying cars, and the bright glittering lights that sparkled like diamonds – real diamonds – in the night. And best of all: an actual sky.

Belle felt her eyes drawn to the pitch blackness above. Even though the neon lights would've drowned out any stars anyway, it was still hard to forget, even at night, that the oppressive weight of Tier 3 sat only a couple thousand meters above. As if on cue, the enormous vents that carried air to the surface opened wider, the low, industrial groan of straining metal filling the Tier. Like the sirens, it had become background noise to her at this point.

She hadn't been on Tier One for very long before she'd been picked up for vagrancy. Those first hours had been the worst. What was the Empire? What was a Tier? Was everyone like her and had just shown up one day? Why did she only remember a few things about her previous life? Everyone had had different answers: a force for justice, a tool of oppression, primary, secondary, yes, no, maybe, and the most common: I don't know. And with none of the apparent omnilium that the people here found so valuable, she had been passed down, person to person, custody to custody, level by level, before finally being dumped onto the neon streets of Tier Four.

A few catcalls interrupted her stroll down memory lane. Doing a reasonable impersonation of the routine she was supposed to go through, she left the men with a couple invites and a staged conspiratorial wink before continuing on her way, holding her sigh until she was out of earshot.

Dumped was the right word. Of course there were the criminals, the addicts, the opportunists preying upon the weak – all the elements that made up the grimy underbelly that teemed in the darkness below the surface. But there were others, too. Everyone the Empire didn't seem to know what to do with, or didn't want to figure out what to do with, ended up on the lower levels.

Belle had to admit, all things considered, she was lucky. She had heard that there were at least three more tiers below her's, each worse than the last. Tier Four had its problems, but at least she didn't live with the danger of being murdered for the clothes on her back.

The avenue stretched on and on, the buildings growing taller and cleaner as she approached the beating heart of the tier: the cluster of towers that rose like fantasy castles in the night. She felt eyes on her as she stepped under the bright lights and pressed invitations into increasingly reluctant hands. As she passed by a group, she caught a faint giggle and a few whispered words. Despite her best efforts, she felt a blush of embarrassment creep its way onto her cheeks, ducked her head, and walked a little faster.

It was almost midnight by the time she was finished. Her feet tired, she punched the last three invitations onto a lamppost, using some of the overly-ornate metalwork as a hook. Screw the cost, she thought: this time she was going to take the bus.

The nearest stop was just a block down, in front of a casino with wide, long stairs leading up to its doors. Tall, Grecian pillars stood on blocks on either side of the steps, supporting an overhang lined with lights. Belle hopped up onto one of the smoothly polished cubes and leaned back, letting out another sigh and taking a deep breath. The air smelled better here, but not by much. Belle loosened her boots, working her feet around in small circles as she waited.

Meeting Lily had been one of the few happy accidents she'd had since she'd arrived - which was terrible when she thought about it, given the circumstances. She'd been wandering Tier Four for a week at that point, her belly empty, her mouth dry, trying to find the little scraps necessary to keep going, when she'd heard a scream from the next alley over.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was moving in that direction. It was like something had been flipped inside her. All the hunger and thirst, all the yearning and worrying and wondering what she was going to do – all of it melted away.

There had been three of them – one on the ground clutching his groin, the other two wrestling with Lily, trying to grab for her bag. Belle shouted at them to let her go.

She remembered them ignoring her. She remembered tackling one of them to the ground. Everything after that was a blur; kicking, punching, and scratching everything she could reach. The one clear memory she had of the encounter was being slammed hard into the alley floor, her head ringing as her face was pressed into a stagnant puddle by strong hands – hands that abruptly vanished with a gurgle before one of the men slumped down next to her, still twitching as the aftereffects of Lily's pocket stun blaster coursed through him.

That, apparently, had been enough. The remaining two took off, leaving their disabled partner to be taken in by the Empire's security force when they arrived several minutes later. Belle had been reluctant to stay that long – she really hadn't wanted to deal with the Empire anymore. If they had found out she was a vagrant, who knew what level she might have ended up on next? Lily promised her that she wouldn't let that happen, and for the first time since Belle arrived someone was true to their word.

Her injuries weren't too bad – nothing life threatening, anyway – but Lily still ended up taking her to the clinic for a bacta job. After that she'd taken her back to her place, cleaned her up, then presented her to Jack. He'd offered her a job on the spot – no flashing her privates, no interacting with customers inside the club; just advertising it. As one of the girls later remarked to her, it was about as fairy tale a story as she'd ever heard in Tier Four.

“So this is happily ever after?” Belle muttered. Someone passing by looked at her strangely, and she belatedly realized she'd said it out loud.

She bit her lip. Hell no, this wasn't the end of the story. There were seven other gates up there; one of them had to be better than this. She just needed to scrape up a little more Omnilium, enough to allow her access to the upper levels...

The steady, pulsing hum of an approaching levibus snapped her back to depressing reality. Tightening her boots, she slipped off her seat and walked to the stop just in time to see the bus fly past her. “Hey!” she called after it. “Wait!”

The driver either didn't listen or didn't hear, continuing on. Belle let out a loud expletive, threw her cap to the ground, and made a rude hand gesture in its direction. Her nostrils flared, her chest heaving as she glared in impotent fury as it rounded a corner and drifted out of sight.

With trembling fingers she reached out, kneeling down to pick up her hat. The flower sat a little more askew than before, but at least it was still attached. She put it back on with a rough tug.

Slowly – very slowly – she calmed down. Even more people were staring now, though some had started to drift back to wherever it is they were going. Belle decided, no, screw the buses, she'd walk. But she sure as shit wasn't going to go down Diamond Street again. She'd had enough sniggering for one day.

Starting to walk, she turned a corner, heading a few streets over before turning again, heading back in the direction of the Rose. At least part of the route would take her through some residential areas which, at this time of night, would be mercifully pedestrian free.

Boy, was she ever wrong.

[Belle]

The sounds and lights of Tier Four's crown jewels faded as Belle walked, until the only thing she could hear was the thick heels of her boots clicking across cracked pavement. Lamp posts became fewer and farther between, turning from clear white circles to aging yellow oblongs that flickered as she passed. They weren't, strictly speaking, necessary - the vaultscrapers of the central district cast illumination that was as bright as any full moon.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since she'd woken up. She was just about to make her way back to Diamond Avenue to grab a bite to eat when she heard what sounded like arguing from down the next street. Belle continued down to the corner and peered around.

Three men were gathered in front of a building only a few properties down. Two of them looked like your standard high-class thugs – suits, shaved heads, and sunglasses – but the one in the middle of them was different. Standing slightly ahead of the two, his slicked back, pointed white hair shone in the oily light of an overhead lamp.

“Come on, you old bag. Don't make this any harder than it has to be,” the white-haired one was yelling. His voice was just this side of a cackle. “Just give us what we came for and we'll be out of your way.”

Belle froze as another figure entered her field of view. Striding away from the building the three men were facing, a small, bent-backed woman stopped with arms folded behind her.

The woman's voice was just audible. “Like I told your boss and the flunkies that came here last time, I'm not going to pay up.” Somewhere, a dog barked. “Now, scram.”

Belle's eyes narrowed. The old woman was brave but stupid if she thought she stood a chance. It was just her against three, and the men on either side of the white-haired one filled out their suits in a way that made it clear there weren't beer guts lurking underneath. These men were the definition of 'muscle,' the kind the protection rackets liked to employ when they wanted to enforce their 'business practices.'

“Don't fuck with us,” one of the men growled.

“Yeah,” his twin echoed, cracking his knuckles. “Unless you want us to break your legs!”

The white-haired man held up his hand and they stopped talking. “Well, you heard the boys,” he chuckled as they instead started to punch their fists into their opposite palms. “Last chance. After that, I guarantee they'll leave you hobbling around with a walker for the rest of your life.”

There was another bark. The old woman's lips twisted in a smirk and, to Belle's horror, she extended one hand, palm up, and beckoned.

Belle had to do something. If she didn't, the men were going to beat the woman to death. But what could she do? This wasn't like how it was with Lily. These weren't just random cutpurses out looking for an easy score. If Belle jumped in, she was probably going to end up just like her. Her legs trembled, refusing to move.

The leader smirked. “Well, you heard the lady.” He snapped his fingers. “Get her.”

“Stop!”

The two suited gorillas paused in mid-stride, their expressions rippling with confusion. So did the white-haired man's. It took a second for them to realize that the voice had not come from any of them, and they looked down the street, right at Belle.

She stood in the road, her feed straddling the center dividing line. Her knees were still shaking, but at least she could move.

“Who in the Abyss are you?” the spiky-haired goon demanded, bemused. In the background the old lady was pinching the bridge of her nose. Belle was close enough to see now that the constant barking was coming from inside the woman's house, a small dog yapping at one of the windows of her oriental-styled home.

“That's not important,” Belle said with all the firmness and confidence she could muster. In her ears she sounded like a nervous schoolgirl being called out by the teacher for passing notes. She reached into her jacket. They tensed. “What is is that if you don't leave right now, I'm going to call the police!”

The man blinked a couple times. His heavies looked at each other. Then all three of them started to laugh. “Bitch!” he cackled. “My boss owns the police!

“Aw, shit.” The man wiped his eyes with his thumb, letting out a long breath as his laughter petered out. “Ahh. Fuck her up.”

“Fool,” the woman shouted, “get out of here!”

But it was already too late for that. One of the huge men lurched in her direction and swiped for her. Belle dived to the side, just barely making it out of his reach. His fingertips brushed the edge of her jacket as she went to the ground, rolling a few times before coming back up. Her eyes widened.

As the second muscle man made as if to join in, the old woman sprung into action. Back straightening from its slouch, she leaped into the air. Hips level with the man's head, she spun, her leg whipping out and slamming against the side of his skull with a resounding crack. Fragments of broken sunglasses clattered to the pavement as if in slow motion, their owner's knees following, then the rest of him.

The lady followed half a heartbeat after, landing lightly, her arms folding again behind her back.

Belle was so distracted, she almost forgot she was in a fight herself. She felt thick, sweaty fingers curl into her hair and yank. She cried out in pain, wobbling on her heels, and swung her own foot out, hitting the man's bulky shin. She bounced harmlessly off.

Piggy eyes squinted behind shades, a grin spreading on the man's lips. He evidently hadn't seen what had happened behind him, or else didn't care. “Pretty flower,” he whispered. “I don't suppose y'wanna give it to me?”

Belle kicked out again, this time aiming center, and her thick heel slammed straight into his groin. The fingers in her hair tightened for a second, then loosened just enough. She pulled free as the man sunk to one knee, hands clasping his jewels.

She turned to run, took a step, and fell flat onto her face as the heel she had hit him with snapped. She winced, swearing as she tried to kick them off before standing, perched on the tips of her toes as she hobbled for distance.

The man's fist closed around her ankle and pulled. Belle was suddenly dangling upside down, looking into his pained, angry face.

“You're going to pay for tha-AAGH!” he started to say, then pulled back as her nails scratched red lines across his cheek. “Son of a bitch!”

His other fist drew back, clenched hard, and pistoned forward, punching her square in the gut. All of the air in Belle's lungs wheezed out of her with a strangled squeak, her vision swimming black as pain filled her body. Bile rose in her throat as she twitched.

There was a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, and without warning the large man let her go. She managed to turn her head enough not to come straight down on it, her shoulder slamming onto the pavement. She curled up, struggling to breathe, as the man took a few unsteady steps before flopping to the ground.

The old woman was standing above her, staring down with an expression of distaste that Belle had seen plenty of times in her mirror lately. She opened her mouth to say something, then her eyes went wide as ripples of blue light slammed into her from behind. The force of the white-haired man's stun blast sent her flying, tumbling over Belle's prone form and skidding before coming to a stop several meters away.

The man must have been fighting with the woman while Belle was scuffling. His casual clothes were torn, his pointed nose bloody, and one arm hung limp. This close, Belle could see his angular features, the twist of thin lips and the arch of high eyebrows. His good hand still held the stun gun trained on the old woman as he started to walk forward. “Didn't anyone ever teach you,” he wheezed, “never turn your back on your opponent?”

He chuckled, then spat blood. “Martial arts. What a joke.” He was next to Belle, now, and paused. “And you?”

Belle gagged as the tip of his boot pounded another blow into her stomach.

“I don't know who the fuck you are, but don't. FUCK. WITH. ME!” He punctuated each of his last words with another kick. He breathed hard, wincing. The dog was going crazy. “You'll get yours right after I finish this hag. No one crosses the boss and gets away with it.”

He stepped over her.

~+~+~+~

The rain was pounding, thick and fast from clouds of slate gray. Wind howled through the trees, whistling in the branches. She was scared, her face burning as the storm bathed her with its tears.

“Don't be afraid,” a voice said, and a hand reached through a hole in the bushes. It was a voice she trusted, that much she knew. With trembling fingers, she reached out.

“I won't let them hurt you.”

~+~+~+~

The old woman was stirring, pushing herself onto her elbows as the white-haired man approached, then stopped short. “What the-?”

Belle's hand was clutched around his foot. “No,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Stupid bitch! Let go!” He kicked at her again. Clenching her eyes shut, she whimpered and cried out as blow after blow slammed into her arms and chest. Her fingers locked tighter, and she wailed as he stomped on her wrist. He put his free foot on her head, grinding his heel into her cheek as the light began to fade.

He spat again. “Fine.” He lifted the blaster in her blurring vision. “Have it your way.”

As the darkness took her, she heard a piercing, shrill whistle and the sound of a window shattering. And then she heard, saw, and felt no more.

[Belle]

She remembered this smell.

What was it?

Flowers? …

… maybe …

Lilies?

When Belle awoke, she only did so reluctantly. Crawling her way out of the coddling embrace of unconsciousness, she became uncomfortably away of her body. Her limbs ached, her head ached. It hurt just to turn her neck. Her eyes, when they opened, were slow to adjust.

She was laying on the floor of a large, rectangular room, tucked under the covers of a thick futon. The hardwood flooring was polished, the faded color of mahogany, and was sparsely occupied along the edges by cabinets, empty racks, and what Belle assumed was a shrine. This last feature was the source of the smell – a fresh bouquet of flowers were placed in a tall-necked glass before it. The incense sticks on either side stood unlit.

Double sliding doors stood open on her left, letting the fading red light of a waning Tier Four afternoon spill inside. How long had she been out of it? It was actually harder to tell than one might expect. Along with everything else in this part of Coruscant, the hours of daylight bowed to the rule of credits, and no one else had more power than the kinds of people who preferred the concealment of night. Some days, the sun would rise and fall in the space of an afternoon nap.

Still, she figured it had to be at least a few hours. With a groan, Belle pushed herself up into a sitting position. Someone had changed her clothes, as well; her scuffed uniform lay neatly folded beside the bedding, and she was dressed in a simple button-down sleeping shirt and pants.

Belle was starting to wonder if she should call out for someone, pondering if it wasn't a better idea to get dressed and sneak out, when she heard a scampering scuffle of tiny feet coming from just outside the open doors. A moment later a brown streak shot into view. Barely bigger than a loaf of bread, the dog from before skidded on flailing paws as it overshot its intended path, paddled in place, then leaped into the room. It circled her several times, yapping loudly, before coming to an abrupt stop and sitting.

“You're awake.”

She looked up. Silhouetted against the setting sun, the old woman stood in the door, casting a long shadow into the room. As she had during the fight, she stood straight, her arms folded behind her back. Her clothes were strange – strange for Coruscant, anyway – and seemed to resemble a martial arts uniform, only cut in a way that resembled a set of oriental armor. Her eyes were bright and hard, silver shards of flint that seemed to cut into her, demanding she say something.

“Oh? Uh-...” Belle started to say, then coughed. A searing pain shot through her chest, stabbing like a dagger under her ribs. She held her side, wincing and stifling a hiss through gritted teeth. “Sorry,” she managed.

The woman held her eyes for a moment, then grunted. “No apology necessary. It's expected, I suppose, after what your body went through.”

Belle probed the shirt with her fingers. She was sore as the devil's asshole, but...

“Nothing broken,” the woman confirmed. “Anymore,” she added with a barely audible mutter.

“Thank you,” Belle said at last.

The dog barked. The woman shook her head. “I wasn't about to let some fool die on my doorstep. I have enough to deal with without the local 'authorities' poking their noses in.”

“Then the others...?” Belle trailed off.

The woman laughed. There was little humor in it. “Oh, them? A little worse for wear, but don't worry: they're still very much among the living. They won't be seeing the outside of a bacta tank for a while, though.”

Belle tried to think back and remember the moment she had lost consciousness. “How did you save me?” she asked, frowning. She had been pretty sure at that moment that she was about to meet her maker – or Omni, more likely.

“I didn't,” the woman said. She chuckled at the expression on her face. “It doesn't really matter. You're alive. Enjoy it.” She rolled her neck and shoulders. “You may rest here for a few more hours, but after that, I'd prefer it if you left.” Her eyes flicked down. “Keep her company, Mister Pickles. Make sure she doesn't do anything suspicious.”

With that, the woman turned and left. Belle had so many questions, she wasn't sure where to begin. First on her mind, though...

“Mister Pickles?” she asked the dog sitting by her side.

Pickles barked an affirmative.

“Nice to meet you.”

[Belle]

The drive back was quiet. The sun had already set beyond its artificial horizon, blanketing Tier Four in its familiar, comforting blanket of darkness. Street lamps flickered on, casting wan pools of amber light on the pavement, causing the shadows inside of the car to rhythmically pulse as they passed.

Belle stared into space, touching the torn shoulder of her uniform. The outfit hadn't been in good condition to begin with, but it definitely needed mending now. She supposed she shouldn't complain: it could have been much worse.

Belle glanced at the old woman – she'd never gotten her name. Whenever Belle had asked, the woman had evaded, or just ignored her. “So,” Belle said at last, breaking the silence. “Where did you learn to do all that?”

At first, Belle thought the woman hadn't heard her. “Do all what?” the woman said at last.

“Oh, come on. You know.” Belle gestured vaguely. “Where did you learn how to fight?”

They passed another lamp. Maybe it was the trick of the light, but Belle thought the shadows on the woman's face seemed to deepen. “Family tradition,” she said at last.

Belle continued to stare. When no further explanation was forthcoming, she sighed and looked away. Resting her cheek in her hand, elbow propped up on the door, she mulled over what she was going to tell Jack, and more importantly, what she was going to tell Lily. Jack's concern would probably be feigned, more interested in how much it would cost to mend her uniform than anything else. Lily, though, was protective of her.

Belle could already see it now, the look of worry in Lily's eyes, the silent insistence that Belle tell her everything that had happened.

That was the way it always seemed to end up. No matter how much she tried to help people, in the end, it was her that ended up needing helping. “It must be nice,” she said bitterly, “to be so strong.”

They passed the rest of the ride in silence. Belle signaled for the woman to turn onto the street in front of the Rose. The woman pulled up across the street from the club, the green aura of the sign burning on the pavement as Belle opened the door and rose unsteadily out of her seat. “Thank you,” she said at last. “For, you know... For everything. Miss...?”

“Yuki,” the woman answered as Pickles wormed his way out of the back and sat in the warm, recently-vacated passenger seat. “And you wouldn't need to thank me if you hadn't done such a stupid thing in the first place, you know.” She stroked the fur between Pickles' ears.

“I know.” Belle stood there, uncertain. Then, as Yuki revved the engine, she blurted: “Could you teach me?”

Another long pause. Yuki's eyes turned towards her's, boring into her. “No,” she said. “I won't.”

“Why not?” Belle demanded.

“Why should I?” Yuki countered. “The Omniverse is dangerous as it is, Rose Girl. Be happy you got through this night of it in one piece.” She revved the car again. “Curse your powerlessness if you want. Curse me if that's what it will take to make you happy. Continue to jump thoughtlessly into danger, or don't. Either way, I won't be responsible for you.”

Belle stood there, blinking. She hardly noticed as Mr. Pickles reached out his paws and shut the door. She caught a brief glimpse of Yuki's twisted lip as the car pulled away and slid down the street before vanishing at the next intersection.

Irritated, Belle turned to the apartments. She made it all the way to the elevators before remembering that they were out of service. Letting out a soft curse, she turned around and trumped her way up the long flights to her floor. There was a note on her door, written in Lily's handwriting, urging her to call.

Belle took the note down and crumpled it. The longer she could go before having to tell the story, the better.

Opening the door, she stepped inside. The lights were off. Good, no one was waiting for her. Locking the door behind her, she sloughed off her garments as she made her way towards her bed. There were still a few hours left before she had to confront reality.

Settling onto the covers, Belle stared at the dirty, stained ceiling, the old woman's words continuing to ring in her ears as passing headlights danced across the cracked paint. She rolled over, fishing around on the ground, and came back up with the crumpled bit of paper. She smoothed it out, reading it again in the dim light.

Maybe Yuki was right. Maybe she should just be happy with what she had.

She closed her eyes. At the very least, tomorrow couldn't get any worse.

[Belle]

Red and blue played across the wet pavement, casting chaotic colors as they flickered in rapid patterns. The edges bled into the burning neon green of the Rose's sign, faint rings of cyan and yellow that clashed strangely on the eyes.

The sound of the crowd was muted, barely above whispers as they hovered on the perimeter of the emergency vehicles that had circled the entrance to the Rose's side-alley. Their words slipped away from her, just fragments sticking in her ears. Words like 'beaten' and 'body'. She couldn't focus. The tips of her fingers felt unnaturally cold, her body shivering even though it was a warm night. The stretcher slid out of the darkness, coasting on anti-grav plates, and Belle felt that cold seize her chest.

Lily was unrecognizable. Her blonde hair was matted with red, and her left arm rested... wrong, somehow. Her face was so swollen it was hard to know she was human at all. The Rose Girl uniform she was wearing was torn, rips in the faded jacket and skirt exposing thick, deep bruises that ran up her arms and legs and across her exposed belly.

Belle stepped forward, shoving her way through the crowd. People complained. She didn't care. She didn't even hear them, her eyes focused on the motionless body. She reached the line of vehicles just as the stretcher slid into the back of the waiting ambulance, and an arm swung out to catch her, finally stopping her in her tracks. The medics were already starting to remove Lily's clothes, bacta packs being torn open and applied, neurodes attached to temples. She tried to break free, but the arm tightened around her, refusing to let her go. As the doors swung shut she felt an uncontrollable panic rise up, wrapping its hands around her throat. Without thinking she threw out an elbow. She connected with something hard, pain shooting up her arm, and the grip on her tightened.

"Knock it off," came the growl in her ear. It was Rox. The krogan held her as the ambulance activated its thrusters and lifted into the sky, followed swiftly by two of the cruisers. Flanking the emergency vehicle, they glided off, receding until they were swallowed up by the night, their flickering lights lost in the glitter of the city center.
She watched until they were gone, straining her eyes, as if by sheer determination she could reach out and bring them back.

The next hours were a blur. She and the rest of the Rose's staff were briefly questioned, their statements taken. Jack was livid. Belle had never seen him truly angry before, but now she could hear him shouting from down the hall, demanding to know what the police were going to do about 'them.'

'Them.' One of the girls had come out just as 'they' were leaving. There had been two. They'd brought their speeder into the alley and pulled Lily out before dumping her onto the ground. The girl said it was hard to get a good look at their faces, but she remembered what they were wearing:

Suits. And their heads had been shaved.

Belle knew it didn't prove anything. There were plenty of those kinds of men around - well-dressed apes masquerading as bodyguards for the wealthy and powerful. She knew it could have been just a coincidence. But she also knew that it wasn't. An icy lump settled in her stomach and refused to go away.

"Those bastards," Jack spat later, pacing around his room. "The Hell do I pay protection money for!? My best girl ... "

He slammed his fist on his desk, rattling datapads, bottles, a lamp, and the uniform cap Lily had been wearing - the only thing that had been left behind. Its dirty flower drooped. Belle couldn't take her eyes off it. It mocked her.

Jack paced a few more times before coming to a stop. "Sorry," he muttered, straightening a dangerously leaning stack of pads. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before leaning back and perching on the edge of the desk. "Tonight has been a nightmare, I know. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Jack laughed hollowly. "Bullshit." He unscrewed the cap on one of the many bottles arrayed across his desk and took a swig of pale blue alcohol. "But hey, you say you're fine? Whatever. You're fine." He scooped up an empty shot glass and poured himself another mouthful. "Me, I'm not that proud."

He offered her the shot. Belle looked away. Shrugging, Jack downed it. "Me?" he continued, tilting the bottle again with a chuckle. "Me... Well, right now, I feel like I could burn this whole worthless city to the ground."

Belle glanced up at him.

"Surprised? I guess I understand. I know what people think of me, a man of my profession. What kind of loser running a first rate strip joint cares about his girls, eh?" Another swallow, a shimmering drop running from the corner of his lips and down his chin. He wiped it off with the heel of a thumb. "When I got here, I had nothing. No food. No credits. I didn't even have a Prime. I was just pulled here by accident in one of the Emperor's great 'expansions.' The Empire's always trying to forget about us, the dumping ground of their paradise... I won't fib, I did a lot of unclassy shit back then. Anything I could to survive. I lived out of a durasteel packing container that had been used to ship droid units. I can still smell the oil... The only person who gave a damn about me back then was this girl. I couldn't understand why. She was a street walker. There were nights I probably made more than she did. There was no reason to give me a damn thing. But she did. She reached out, this beautiful dame, and she protected me. When I finally turned myself around... when I finally got this place... she was the first one I went to.

"That's right," he answered the question in her face. "Lily was - is - that girl. Damn woman... she wants to protect everyone. She was worried about you, you know. When you didn't show up for work last night..."

Belle's throat tightened. Her fingers knotted in the fabric of her pants. Her eyes burned. She didn't want to do this, not in front of him. That weakness... "It's my fault," she whispered.

"What? No." Jack put the bottle and glass down. He slid off the desk, and knelt, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. Surprisingly, though, he stopped short, instead resting it across his bent knee.

"Of course it is! If I wasn't so stupid, she wouldn'tve even been out there. That's why she was, right?" she demanded. "She's not a delivery girl, she doesn't have to wear that. She covered for me so that you wouldn't be angry, right?" She covered her face. The images kept coming, the dread, the terror, what Lily must've gone through. Because of her... She'd been targeted because of what Belle had done. "It's my fault... If I was here, she wouldn't be hurt..."

"Yeah, it would be you that'd be hurt. You think Lily would like that?"

She shook her head. No, of course not. Lily wanted to protect her. Lady Yuki had protected her. Even Jack was trying to protect her. And Belle? When she tried, she just made things worse. She got her friends hurt. Maybe even killed.

"Lily wouldn't want to see you cry."

Belle swallowed again, sniffed, and lowered her hands. Throat still tight, she nodded. Stronger. She had to become stronger. "Who did it?"

Jack held her gaze for a few seconds, then stood, making his way around to the back of his desk and taking his seat. "She'd yell at me for telling you anything about them."

"Please."

Jack shook his head. "If you're pissed, you're not the only one, but running off and trying to 'get revenge' is just going to get you killed. I'd never be able to look her in the eyes again." He puts his hands down on the desk. "Look. We'll be able to visit her soon, and in a while she'll be back. This is the end of it.

"I won't lose anyone else."

[Belle]

The creaking of the vents overhead sounded out, pealing like thunder. For all the little ways the designers had tried to simulate surface conditions - an artificial night sky, sunsets, even air currents and breezes - probably the most impressive part of the whole thing was the rain.

It wasn't real rain, of course. As big as Tier Four was, it simply couldn't house its own weather system. Instead, a network of sprayers deluged the tier at semi-regular intervals, hosing it down. Dirt and debris were carried by the flows downward, collecting in massive piles that would be delivered to the lowest level, while the water was circulated back up, cleaned, and reintroduced.

That water pounded down on Belle as she walked. The visit to the hospital had been excruciating. Lily floating in the bacta tank, and her not being able to do anything about it. The accusation pounded between her ears, louder and louder, a ringing that drowned out even the sound of the rain. Even when she closed her eyes, there they were, the images stamped behind her eyelids. The alley. Lily. The broken cap.

Your fault, each one seemed to say. Your fault, your fault, your fault-

"Miss?"

She opened her eyes. It took her a second to recognize the girl in front of her - the street walker with bronzed skin and blonde hair that she had seen a few nights before. She still had her cat ears and tail, the strap of her usual purse slung over one shoulder. In her other hand she carried an umbrella, water streaming off the tips.

"Are you okay?"

Belle looked around. Somehow her feet had carried her almost all the way back to her apartment. She was completely soaked through, her clothes matted to her body. "I'm fine." She had lost track of how many times she had said that already.

"Is there something wrong with your umbrella?"

Belle stared at her, uncomprehending. When the girl glanced down, Belle's eyes followed, and she realized she had been carrying one in her hand the whole time, its fastener still tight. "I-..." she trailed off.

The girl smiled sympathetically and stepped forward, bringing Belle under her cover. "You're the Rose Girl, right?" she asked. "I almost didn't recognize you out of your uniform."

When Belle pursed her lips and said nothing, the girl continued, her voice softer. "I heard about what happened." Her eyes lowered. "She's a friend of yours, right? Lily. We talk sometimes... How is she?"

The girl waited, holding Belle with her eyes. They were amber gold, the pupils vertically slitted. Belle could see faint marks like tiger stripes on the skin of her cheeks, slightly darker than the rest of her skin. "She's... she'll live," Belle mumbled. "Uhm. A week, they said, probably. I mean - ... a week to get out. Not to-..."

"That's good," the girl smiled, her gaze gentle. "Come on," she continued, "let's get inside." She reached out to take Belle's hand. Her fingers were warm, a stark contrast against the cold that had seeped into every inch of Belle's body.

Belle pulled her hand away. The other's eyes flickered with surprise, then sadness. "Lily is my friend, too," she said. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt her. I won't hurt you. I promise."

The girl with the feline features reached out again, slower this time. Belle twitched. A part of her wanted to lash out, to scream and knock the hand away. She wanted to throw her umbrella on the pavement and stomp it, snap it. She wanted to do something - anything to stop thinking, if only just for a few moments.

The hand closed around her's. She didn't pull away. "Where are you staying?" the girl asked.

Belle led the way to her apartment, up the long flight of stairs. The courtesan paused at the bottom, briefly looking over her shoulder before she followed. She made no comment as Belle opened the door, allowing her inside. Wordlessly, she started to help Belle out of her clothes, then retrieved towels from the bath to wrap her in. "What's your name?" she finally asked.

"Belle," Belle said with a shiver. The apartment had heating, but not enough. She clutched the towels closer around her. "What about you? What's yours?"

She smiled. "Nalia." She rested a hand on Belle's knee. "It's nice to meet you, Belle."

The thudding in her brain dulled. Perhaps she was merely tired. There was a faint scent, something of lavender, that reminded her of someone, though she couldn't place it at that moment. Those fingers were still warm as she brought Nalia closer, and for at least a little while, Belle didn't have to think at all.

[Belle]

The pitter patter of rain had stopped by the time Belle opened her eyes. Artificial sunlight streamed in through the shutters, gleaming like bright swords against the wall across from her bed. The blades were high on the wall - still morning.

She shifted, turning over and sliding an arm around the form next to her. Nalia was still asleep, her naked body half-tangled in a mess of sheets. Belle lay there for a while, her mind groggily slipping half in and half out of slumber, before finally pulling herself reluctantly from the comforting embrace of oblivion to confront reality.

She sat upright, stifling a yawn and brushing hair out of her eyes. She'd been taking the night shift so long that she'd expected to feel dead tired while the sun was up, but she was surprised to find that that wasn't the case. If anything, she felt invigorated, her head clearing as she rose from the bed, stretching her arms upward and basking them in the warm light.

She glanced down, catching a pair of golden eyes watching her from beneath half lids. She felt her cheeks darken. "Hi."

Nalia mumbled in acknowledgment, her arms and legs tensing as she arched her back, her striped tail flicking before she flopped back down. Eyes lazily closed, then opened again, a faint smile curling the corners of her lips.

Belle bent over, retrieving some clothes. She sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her garments to her with one arm, the other reaching out to stroke the woman's hair. "Thank you. For, uhm... you know," she mumbled.

Nalia giggled. " 'You know'? " she teased, then let out a small yawn, turning over onto her back. "You're funny. And sweet. I can see why..." she trailed off. "You're going?" she went on after a moment, "I thought your shift was tonight."

Belle nodded, starting to get dressed. "It is, but there's something I want to do."

Nalia's hand shot out, grabbing her by the wrist. "You're not going to go out looking for them, are you?"

Belle stopped, looking over. Nalia's eyes had that same look Jack's had - concern, tinged with fear. Whoever had hurt Lily, no one seemed to want to cross them. "No," she answered, putting her other hand over Nalia's and gently prising it off her's. "I promise."

She stood, finishing getting dressed, pulling on her jeans and T-shirt. When she wasn't working, she preferred to keep things simple. Slinging her arms into a jacket, she flicked the shoulders, then turned to the still nude woman in her bed. She wasn't sure what she should say.

Nalia spoke instead. "Have a good day," she purred with a vague smile, stretching out again with a sigh. "If it's okay with you, I'm going to sleep a few more hours."

Belle blinked. She exhaled with a grin. "Yeah, it's cool." It's not like she had anything valuable that could be stolen, anyway. "See you."

The walk back up the lane was strange. She was unaccustomed to seeing Tier Four in anything but shadows. The light was such a rarity, in fact, she deliberately took her time walking down her usual route, retracing her steps. It was a while before she was able to find the street she was looking for, and her feet were starting to ache, though admittedly not as much as when she was wearing heels.

Yuki's home was surrounded by a low wall, an iron barred gate opening onto a small, short path that led up to the front door. Even if it was situated in a more residential area, the incongruity of its oriental design stood out even more in the light than before. It was as if someone had carved a piece of land and transported it, building and all, and plopped it straight in the middle of this futuristic city-scape.

The gate was locked. To its side was a button, and just above it a small screen, the only piece of modern technology visible. Belle pressed the button, heard a buzzer. She waited. When no one responded, she pressed it again. On the third press, the screen flickered, but no image coalesced.

"Whoever you are, go away," Yuki's voice growled from a hidden speaker. "Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not interested."

Belle took a deep breath. "Miss Yuki? It's me."

"'Me'? Me who? Wait." A pause. "That girl? What do you want? I'm busy."

Belle licked her lips. "I want you to train me."

Silence. A full minute passed. Belle pressed the buzzer again, long and hard. The speaker crackled. "Are you deaf?" Yuki's voice hissed. "I told you-"

"I know you said no! Just please, hear me out!"

"I don't care what your reason is. Do you think if you badger me, I'll just give in? If you want power so badly, go get it for yourself. I won't have any part in it." A crackle, the sound of movement. "Now go away."

"It's not for me! Miss Yuki-"

There was another crackle, and all sound suddenly went dead. Belled pressed the button, but there was no buzzer. The swore under her breath. Fine; if she wasn't going to let her in, Belle would just come back later. There were plenty of hours left in the day. She could walk all the way to the hospital and back in that time ...

The hospital. Lily. Belle gritted her teeth and turned back to the gate. She didn't bother with the buzzer this time. Instead she jumped, reaching up, and grabbed the edge of the wall. She squirmed, pulled. Her fingers came loose and she fell to the ground with a yelp. She bit her lip and tried again, worming against the stone. She dug her toes against the wall, grunting and straining. She managed to pull herself up enough to shift her grip to the other side, hauling. With a mighty heave, she swung her leg up, catching the top, and with another, finally pulled herself over. She paused, perching on the edge to catch her breath.

"You really don't know how to listen."

Yuki was there before the realized it, the old woman's foot slamming against her sternum. Belle's breath wheezed out of her as she was sent flying, flipping back over the wall and landing with a crash on the sidewalk. Pain wracked her body, her vision swimming as she tried to take a breath. Above her, standing on the wall, the small figure stood, Yuki's traditional garb and hair fluttering briefly as the air pressure of the Tier shifted, her hard eyes glaring down, disdain etched in every tired feature. "Go. Home."

Belled turned over onto her stomach, coughing as she pushed herself onto her knees. Every part of her chest felt like it was bruised. "No." She breathed. It hurt. "I won't."

Somehow she managed to get one leg up, her hand resting on her knee. She pushed herself onto her feet. Her head swam and she wobbled, almost toppling over before she caught her balanced, spinning around to face the wall again. "I can't... Until you agree!"

She took a running start and jumped, her hands slapping the edge again. Yuki's foot immediately came down, slamming into her digits. Belle howled, her feet kicking against the wall as she writhed, trying to pull them free. She felt some of them crack. "Stupid," Yuki said, her tone even and uncaring. Abruptly the foot lifted, releasing Belle's hand. It hung to her side, the other still clasped to the wall's edge.

Yuki's foot slowly rested upon it. "I can break these, too. Is that what you want?" she asked, then pressed. It felt like a hundred pound weight smushing against her knuckles.

She should let go. That's what every instinct in her body, every bit of common sense in her brain was screaming at her to do. She could let go, go back, visit Lily and get her hand healed. Eventually her friend would walk out of the bacta tank, Jack would hand her her papers, and things would settle back down to normal.

Fuck that.

Normal was being weak. Normal was being protected. Normal meant other people getting hurt or having to rescue her. Normal could kiss her ass.

Her broken hand grabbed the edge of the wall. Excruciating pain seared like a hot needles stabbing through her fingers. Her eyes watered as she looked up.

Yuki stared down, her expression immobile and unchanging. The pressure on Belle's other hand increased. Her bones creaked. "Why?" she asked.

"They hurt someone I care about!"

Yuki tsk'ed. "Revenge," she muttered. "I told you."

"I don't want revenge! I want-..." Another finger cracked and Belle swore, tears starting to run down her cheeks from the sheer pain of it. "-Agh! You stupid old hag! I want to protect her! I want to protect them! And you!"

The pressure eased. "Me?" Yuki asked, her tone different, amused. "You, protect me?"

Belle glared up, her jaw tight, holding Yuki's gaze.

"You are kind of an idiot, aren't you?" She stepped off Belle's hand. "Oh well. You'd better come inside and get those treated. I guess morons can't help themselves, so it would be wrong of me to leave you like this."

She lightly tapped Belle's fingers with the toe of her shoe, sending her back down with another slam. "I'll be waiting inside."

"Thank you," Belle managed to gurgle.

[Belle]

Yuki finished wrapping Belle's hands, cutting the roll of gauze with a pair of scissors and securing the wrap with a clip. Belle gritted her teeth, trying to keep from flinching throughout the process. She failed - miserably. She didn't need the dull throb to know that the fingers in her left hand were broken. Her right was injured as well, though at least it was only one digit. It did mean that she was going to have a hard time making rude hand gestures for the foreseeable future, however.

"There," Yuki said. "That should hold them in place. No more climbing."

"Thank you." Belle managed to keep most of the sarcasm out of her tone. If she pissed the old woman off, everything she just went through might end up being for nothing. She breathed a sigh, resting her crippled hands in her lap, her legs crossed on the cushion below her.

She recognized the room as the one she'd woken up in before. It was still just as bare, though now it was missing even the futon. Just the shrine and a rack of what looked like wood weapons remained on the walls. The smoothly worn, dark paneled floor was devoid of carpet, and the sliding door that led out to the backyard was left open.

'Mister Pickles' was there, too, his too-big-for-his-body head rolling to the left as he gazed at her from his master's side.

"So," Belle said after a long, awkward pause. "How do we… start?"

Yuki snorted. "You're a pushy one." She gazed levelly at her. "You know, I never actually agreed to anything."

Belle scowled. The old woman smirked. "Relax. There's no need to make such a scary face." She stood, folding her arms behind her. "You say you want to protect people? A lofty goal ... If it's true. I've had many students that claim noble aspirations. Most of them never finish the training."

"What happened to them?"

"Some couldn't handle the demand, what it asked of them. For others the fire simply faded - whatever it was that drove them to come to me and to put them through so much, I guess it wasn't so important to them anymore. That's if their bodies didn't give out before their spirits."

"They...?" Belle trailed off. A long silence hung in the air, the unspoken word filling the empty space between them.

Yuki stared at her. "What you're asking for isn't child's play. Power - true power - comes at a price. If you're not willing to risk everything, you won't survive."

"Haven't I already proved that?"

"You've certainly proved you're stubborn. But what will that mean? Does it mean you'll stick to it until you succeed, no matter the outcome? Or will you rebel against what I have to say, and try and do things your own way?" She arched her back. "But I suppose before we answer that question, we'll have to heal those hands of yours."

"You have a bacta pack?" Belle asked hopefully.

A smirk. "Better." Yuki reached into a pocket of her uniform and extracted a fist-sized orb. It was green, semi-transparent, like a dull emerald. She walked over and placed it in Belle's hands. The weight caused a flash of pain that quickly subsided. Somewhere deep within the core of the jewel, a faint light seemed to glow like a sparking ember.

"That orb will draw what it needs from your body and stimulate the healing process," Yuki said. "With you, it should take about an hour to complete." She straightened, putting her arms behind her back. "For that time, you will focus your thoughts. Think upon it and nothing else. Don't move, and don't speak. The better you're able to concentrate, the faster it will go." She strode towards the open door. "I'll be back to check on you soon. Remember: concentrate!"

Belle stared as she exited onto the interior patio and turned, disappearing along the back of the house. Her eyes turned towards Mister Pickles, who stared at her with silent expectation. She shrugged, sighed, and closed her eyes. Once upon a time, before she'd been pulled out of her world, she'd taken some meditation classes. She'd never been very good at it. She'd never reached that level of 'nirvana' that they claimed was waiting, or that feeling of peace they promised. All she'd gotten instead was some serious cases of pins and needles. She'd much preferred the yoga classes, though for reasons she wouldn't be proud to admit.

Focus. Right. She took a deep breath, furrowed her brows, and tried to concentrate. She formed a mental image of the sphere in her mind and held it there. That had been one of the techniques they had tried to teach her: to focus on a single thing, like breathing, or a shape. For her it had been a box.

The mental image wavered. She refocused, trying to cling tighter to the image, but it was like trying to grasp hold onto jello. The harder she tried, the faster it seemed to fall apart.

The pain in her fingers was fading. Whether that was because of the jewel itself or simply because she wasn't agitating them anymore, she wasn't sure. Time crawled forward. Occasionally she would open her eyes, her vision stinging from the brightness outside. There were no clocks. The only way she had to guess how much time had passed was the movement of light and shadows across the yard.

Through it all, Mister Pickles continued to sit, his posture immobile, his eyes fixed upon her. For a crazy moment she wondered if he was meditating, too, but then his tail wagged and he yawned. Nope, just a dog.

The jewel was brighter now. What had been a small spark was now a glowing candleflame, a flickering light within the orb. She'd never heard of 'healing stones' before, and she suspected it was probably bullshit. It was clear Yuki couldn't get rid of her just by kicking her, so maybe now she was trying to bore her out. Was she watching right now, waiting for the moment when Belle slipped up? Another maybe. If it was true, Belle wouldn't give her that out.

Rolling her shoulders, Belle recentered her mind. She'd never had to focus for so long on a single thought before, and she was surprised how exhausting it was. She felt herself starting to nod off, caught herself, and stiffled a yawn. Ten more minutes - surely that was all it was going to take. No? Another ten, then... another... another...

When Belle came back to herself, the sun was nearly gone. Amber red light painted the walls of the courtyard in steep angles. The orb in her lap was burning bright. Completely suffused with green light, it glowed like a fireball in her palms. It had been far longer than an hour. Yuki was standing in the doorway, her arms folded behind her, her eyes hard with something - probably satisfaction.

Shit. She HAD fallen asleep. Belle tried to say she was sorry, but the words refused to come. Yuki strode into the room and knelt in front of her. Reaching forward, she wrapped strong fingers under Belle's wrapped hand and gave a hard squeeze.

Belle was prepared for pain, her breath hitching in her throat, but to her surprise there was none. Yuki gave another squeeze, then seemed satisfied and stood again. Belle guessed there were such things as healing stones, after all. "Good," Yuki said. "Looks like you're ready."

Belle tried to smile, but found even that was difficult. She must've been more tired than she thought. She opened her mouth to say 'thanks', but again found that the word died in her throat. She blinked. Her eyelids felt heavy.

No. Not just her eyelids.

"It's called a Kyuuketsu stone - the blood sucker," the old woman explained as Belle tried to move her arms. Her finger twitched. "Technically incorrect. As you see, what it eats isn't blood." She gestured down to the luminous sphere. "In ancient times it was used as a healing tool, but was abandoned because of the unfortunate ... side effects."

Belle's brow broke out in a sweat, her lethargically beating heart starting to trot.

"For our purposes, however, it has another quirk," Yuki spoke casually, walking around the edge of the room, lazily inspecting the faded illustrations on the walls. "The human body has two sources of energy: physical, and spiritual. When you move, when you breathe, when you commit to any action, you expend both of these to make it happen, even if it's something as simple as beating your heart. You use them so unconsciously, most people are never aware that the spiritual side of their power exists.

"The Kyuuketsu stone, however, does know. It's only interest is the power in your body, not your soul. It will drain you, and drain you, and drain you, until your heart can no longer beat. Once it's gotten its fangs into you, the only way to be saved is for someone else to remove it. Or, if one can, use their spiritual energy alone to move their body. Under normal conditions, it can take decades of meditation to isolate one's spiritual energies from the physical. But with the help of the Kyuuketsu stone, soon spiritual energy will be all you're left with. If you can harness it, you will have made the first step in the training. If you can't, well ... Remember what I said about the students whose bodies gave in before their spirits?"

Yuki's lip twitched in a smirk. "You asked me if you hadn't proved that you were willing to risk your life already, and you were right: you did. Now you're going to get the training you were begging for." She stopped behind Belle. "I'd say you have another hour to figure it out. Good luck."

She patted Belle on the head, and with that, she left again. Belle's sweat continued to bead, eyes transfixed on the swirling mass of energy within the orb.

Fuck.

[Belle]

She had until sundown. If Yuki was to be believed, one hour. One hour to live. One hour to die.

She could hear the sirens of an emergency vehicle whizzing by on Diamond street a few blocks over before fading into the background noise. Salvation might as well have been on the other side of the universe.

She tried moving again. Again, her limbs refused to listen, her body twitching as if she were bound into a straightjacket. The only muscles that seemed to have anything left in them were the ones that were keeping her slumped back from collapsing completely.

Panic rose up, clawing at her throat, strangling all thought. She knew she had to relax, had to think of a way out of this, but the tentacles of terror had wrapped her up, squeezing coherent thought out, leaving nothing but a tangled jumble of chaotic fear, one thought rising above the churn:

Shit. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Oh shit.

She thought she was ready. Just get training from an old woman, no matter what the cost? What a stupid ass thing to think. She wasn't that tough, and this wasn't a cartoon. Why hadn't she really let go of that wall? Obviously, she told herself, because she believed deep down that Yuki would only hurt her. All of what she was saying and thinking before was bullshit. Saying you were ready to die was easy until you were staring down the barrel of a gun. She shivered.

Was this who she really was, underneath everything? Was this how it was going to end?

No.

The thought cut through the rest like the edge of a gleaming sword, silencing the storm. The worry, the fear, the doubt, drowned out by a singular will:

Fuck no.

What was going to happen later, she couldn't think about that. Whether Yuki was even telling the truth or not, that was pointless. All she had to do now was one thing: MOVE.

Taking a distressingly shallow breath, she tried to recall the focus from before. It was difficult. Adrenaline still surged through her veins, and though the twitching of her muscles had been muted by the stone's power, the primal urges of fight and flight still clung like annoying cobwebs to the corners of her mind. She tried to shake them off, the muscles of her brow furrowing just slightly as she strained.

Her finger twitched again. She focused all her might, all her will on that digit. She tried to visualize the movement. She tried to detach herself from the act. She tried to pretend that she was pushing with grunts and strains all the energy in her body past her wrist.

Another finger twitched, then another. It was starting to work. Beads of sweat poured down her face as she tried to lift her hand. The orb in her palm pressed down, pinning her hand to her lap. It felt like trying to lift solid lead.

Still, she managed to command her arm to move. With a wheezing groan, her entire body trembling, her eyes rolled up as she lifted the ball a fraction of an inch. It was still no good - she had to lift it above her lap before she could drop it away. Her arm abruptly gave, the hand dropping back down. She didn't feel pain - only an all-encompassing numbness, phantasmal, as if her hand and arm were barely there at all.

She panted, drenched in sweat. How long had passed? It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, could it? Her fingers haphazardly clasped around the warm stone burning with her life's essence. Her eyes crossed behind narrowed lids as she hauled, her teeth gritting weakly. The stone rose again, then again - just a little more, she repeated to herself, over and over and over, desperation and determination fusing into a white hot point, stabbed again and again into the unyielding wall before her. With each mantra, it lifted. It was above the edge of her waist now. Almost there. She just had to move it-!

Her arm dropped again, and this time, so did she. In silence her body crumpled, falling forward like a puppet with its strings cut, trapping the sphere between her stomach and hands. It pulsed warmly against her.

The sun crept lower, more and more of the courtyard falling into shadow. Her body no longer existed to her, save for the uncomfortably perceivable beating of her weakening heart and the creeping cold that pressed in. Was it happening sooner than Yuki had said? Maybe struggling had just made things worse.

So cold, she thought, as the world swam black. So cold, like that day...

~+~+~+~

Rain pounded down on the leaves overhead, soaking through and dripping in thick drops around her. She pulled her knees closer to her chest, clutching tight as the drenching cold whistled in through the thick tangle of bush branches. Her tears mixed with the rain streaking down her cheeks, her sniffles muffled as a peal of thunder cracked overhead. Was anyone looking for her? Probably not. They'd never find her, anyway. She'd ran and ran, and now even she had no idea where she was.

She cried out. And suddenly, someone answered. "Don't be afraid," the voice said, and a hand reached through a hole in the bushes. It was a voice she trusted. With a trembling hand, she reached out to take it, clasping hard. It pulled her free and into a protective arm.

"I won't let them hurt you."

~+~+~+~

Belle felt a smile curl the corners of her lips. If they hadn't been there, what would have happened? What direction would her life had taken? She had never told anyone, but what she really most wanted in the world, more than anything, even more than going home, was to see that person again. And selfishly, maybe, when she did, to be able to be the hero for them that they had been for her.

It looked like she would never get that chance. 'I'm sorry,' she wanted to say to them. Heat stung her eyes unbidden. Somewhere in her chest, she ached. In fading thoughts, she reflected that it was sad the last thing she'd feel was heartache. Of course, she couldn't actually feel her heart anymore.

It took her a few seconds to realize what that meant.

Her eyes abruptly shot wide. No, she couldn't feel her heart anymore. She shouldn't be feeling anything anymore. Yet there it was, hot in her breast, stinging with a yearning. Impulsively, she reached out with fingers of will to grasp it.

The feeling burst through her in a rushing flood, liquid heat filling every pore, coming in a torrent. No, that wasn't right: the heat had always been there, waiting, she was only now coming to see it for what it was.

She could feel the orb still in her hands. She willed the fire in her back to straighten, and it obeyed, shuddering upward with her puppet's strings haphazardly reforged. She opened her eyes. The walls of the house seemed to shudder around her, buffeted in a silent gale as she lifted her hand. The burning eye of the jewel stared back at her as she held it in her gaze, her hair whipping against her cheek. She wasn't sure if she could manage to throw it, but she had come this far. With all her determination, she piloted her arm back, then hurled it with all her power towards the courtyard.

The orb dropped from her hand and sailed just two feet from her fingers before clattering to the floor, coming to a stop. The brilliant emerald fire flickered, then sputtered, then abruptly was extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.

Belle wobbled, relief flooding her, the feeling of heat fading. Her hold on it weakened, her heavy-feeling frame wobbled. She didn't want to fall forward, closer to the orb, and kilted back. She felt herself falling, felt hands catch her. Strong hands.

"Congratulations," Yuki said from somewhere above her. "You passed."

"Fuck you," Belle slurred, though it sounded like 'flurf fuu'.

"You're welcome."

[Belle]

The events of the Graveyard take place here

The ground fell out from under her, and Belle tumbled through empty space, falling end over end through the darkness between worlds. She knew this sensation by now - knew that at any moment she would come to an abrupt stop somewhere. She braced for impact.

It didn't come.

"So," an unfamiliar voice spoke, booming across infinity, its tone laced with amusement. "Made it through okay, huh? That's cool."

Belle twisted around, trying to see the speaker. The words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, surrounding her in all directions. She knew without specific knowledge of the magic the Spirit used that this wasn't normal. Someone, or something, had inserted itself into this space.

"Who are you?" she shouted into the inky blackness.

It laughed. The hairs on the back of Belle's neck stood up. "S'not important. Just checking in." The voice seemed to be fading. "Keep doing what you're doing, okay?"

"Hey!" Belle barked, but her voice, too, sounded distant in her ears. "You didn't answer-"

There was a sensation of slowing, a yanking deceleration that made her neck ache, of settling into place.

Belle opened her eyes, squinting as the overhead light of Yuki's bathroom blazed down into her aching irises. Her head felt fuzzy, hazy, waking from a dream. She had been falling, and then... And then...

What?

Something had happened. She strained to remember, but the harder she tried, the more it slipped away. Strange. That had been one insane nightmare. Everything up to the end of it was so... Vivid. Mickey Mouse, and the boy Blues. Even the Hero of Time had been there. Nights spent camping, the violence, the fear, the thrill of victory - she remembered it all.

She had to stop stressing out. She couldn't take more dreams like that.

With a sigh, Belle sat up. The toilet wasn't going to clean itself, after all. Maybe if she hurried, she could still catch Lily before she made it home.

Adjusting her rubber glove, Belle knelt by the bowl. She lifted the brush still clutched in her hand, then stopped.

She stared at it, a chill trickling down her spine. The brush was gone. Instead, clutched tight in her fingers, was a hot neon pink crowbar.

~+~+~+~

Yuki looked up as Belle exited the house and slumped onto the inner porch. Seated on the steps leading down to the courtyard, Yuki turned her attention back to her tea. Typical, she thought. "That didn't seem like a thorough cleaning," she said.

"Screw cleaning," the red-head snapped. "Lily's out, and I'm not wasting any more time here."

"She'll live," Yuki reminded her, annoyance creeping into her voice. "And you're not going anywhere until you've finished."

"To Hell with that."

Yuki stopped, the tea almost to her lips. Slowly, she lowered the mug, then stood up. She folded her hands behind her. "You made a commitment to obey my instructions," she said, her voice low. "Have you forgotten already?" She paused, then sneered over her shoulder. "Or perhaps you're ready to quit?"

Something blazed in Belle's azure eyes, something that Yuki had seen only a few times before. It was the same fire she had seen that day when she had crushed the girl's fingers, the same as when Belle had finally been able to move the kyuuketsu stone. It was the look that had convinced Yuki to take a chance on her in the first place.

"I haven't forgotten," Belle said. "And I'm not quitting." She pointed. "You said I could go if I hit Pickles, right?"

The dog looked up from his spot on the porch. Yuki stared at the girl, flexing her fingers, rubbing the pad of her thumb against her knuckles. "Yes," she said. "And you failed. Remember?"

"Well, I'm going to do it this time."

Yuki shook her head. "That's not how it works. You get one chance to do things right." She pulled her right hand from behind her back and stuck her index finger skyward. "One."

Belle's brow furrowed. "What? That's a load of crap. You've given me plenty of chances to get things right before. My ankles are black and blue from all of your damned reminders-!... Sensei." The girl added the last, again, like an afterthought. It was a habit that was quickly becoming annoying. "What's the real reason? Afraid I'll win?"

The provocation was immeasurably childish. The girl had no concept what true fear was. Moreover, she lacked the intelligence to grasp the basic lesson Yuki was trying to show her.

Still, there was that look...

"Hmph," Yuki snorted. She snapped her fingers. "Mister Pickles. Another lesson."

To her modest surprise, Belle bowed in thanks as the dog rose onto its hind legs. If nothing else, perhaps it had taught her some respect. The two students returned to the courtyard, and Yuki followed. They assumed the distance, and Yuki raised her hand.

"Begin," she said, her hand coming down.

A red blur shoved past her, displaced air whipping her robes. Belle was next to Pickles before Yuki could draw breath.

What in the Omniverse?

Pickles had leapt back to create some distance, but the girl's sudden speed had caught him off guard. Belle's hand lashed out, open palmed, seeking as the dog attempted to twist away. She struck the startled canine across the muzzle, sending him spinning through the air.

Pickles landed on all fours on the porch, staring, then sat, his tongue lolling out in apparent satisfaction.

Belle's chest heaved as she straightened up. "There," she panted. "Done. I'm going now. I'll be back tomorrow."

Yuki could say nothing to object. She stared as the girl retrieved her things and jogged into the house. She heard the front door open and shut.

Pickles whined. "I'm not angry," Yuki said. "Quit your worrying. You shouldn't be so easily caught off guard, however."

The dog barked an affirmative, his eyes hard, and Yuki knew he would take her words to heart. He was an easy student to manage, unlike some.

Her eyes turned back to the courtyard, to the twin divots Belle's feet had made in the grass. That was Shunpo, she thought. No mistaking it. But where had Belle learned it, and how? Had it been a fluke?

There were many questions - ones she would have to look into. Later. For now, her tea was cold. "Come," she beckoned, and Mister Pickles followed her as she retrieved her cup and re-entered the house.

[Belle]

The tower was a wonder of Empire technology - durasteel framework, plastisteel windows, automated security, and reinforced emergency doors. All told, it was more of an aboveground bunker than an actual building. Seventy stories tall, it jostled for shoulder space with the other mega-rises of Tier Four. Its bevy of floors were home to many businesses, some legitimate, most less so. Even Alexander Seagrave, who had been there for years, doubted he had met half the tertiary individuals that crowded the Sun Foundation's jewel twenty-four hours a simulated day.

He stood at the windows of his office on the sixty-third floor, his hands clasped behind him, looking out over the glitter of the city. Occasionally a passing hovercar's lights would play against the plastisteel, and through it he could catch himself in its reflection.

Tall figured, with shoulder length, straight black hair, he stared back at him from behind a pair of thin spectacles. His suit, which had been so pristinely pressed when he had awoke,  seemed long overdue for another preening. His face was pale, and he could see the shadows under his eyes. He looked like Hell, he thought. The small mercy was that there was little else to do for the day, just one last meeting before he could retire.

As if on cue, the buzzer on his desk sounded. Flicking his arm, he drew back the sleeve and brought his wrist communicator up.  "Yes?"

"Your appointment has arrived."

"Send him in."

Moments later, the double doors across from the desk hissed open. A lanky man with slicked back, pointed white hair strode through. He wore street clothes under a synthweave jacket, and his dark eyes shifted left and right from behind an angular pair of sunglasses.

"There's no one else here, Sylvester," Alex assured him. 

The man - Sly, he prefered to go by - shot a distrusting look at him. "Yeah," he said. "Sure."

Alex suppressed the urge to roll his aching eyes. Given Sly's previous employment history, he supposed a level of distrust was to be expected - if he were working for one of their competition, his little screw up would have earned an unhealthy amount of discipline.

Still, Alex had little time or patience to mollify Sly's feelings. "There are certain things the Sun Foundation expects from its employees, Mister Adams," he said. "Loyalty. Respect. Honesty." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Just to name a few. So, I'll ask you directly: what were you doing on Garnet Street that night?"

Sly shifted. His body language screamed how uncomfortable the question made him, and he attempted to mask it with an all-too-obvious smile. "Don't you already know?" he countered.
Alex sat at his desk. Picking up a pen, he slowly turned it over in his fingers. "I don't entertain foolishness, Mister Adams. Having somebody tell me what I already know is a waste of my time." He tapped the tip of the pen against the desktop. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Again: what were you doing on Garnet Street?"

Sly licked his lips. Another glance to the side. For a moment the faux-confident smile wavered. "Following orders, obviously."

Alex stopped tapping. The tone was cute, antagonistic. And yet...

Alex set down the pen and steepled his fingers, fixing Sly with a his stare. He had known so many men like him. The seas had been full of layabouts, ruffians, tricksters. Animals wearing the skins of men. Their desires were simple, base. Common. He and the man above him worked hard to impose order upon the natural chaos an organization made up of such individuals bred. Individuals who thought they were rather more clever than they actually were. "Whose orders?"  he asked, his tone even.

Again the shifty eyes. This time, however, the smile faded, and Sly remained silent.

Alex continued: "When we brought you on, you were given a territory." He tapped his pen on the desk again, and this time a holographic image of the city projected itself above the surface of the desk. In it, Tier Four was broken up, carved by lines and colors into distinct segments. Another tap, and the image's scope contracted, expanding one segment to fill the viewing plane. "This one. And you see this part here?"

Alex lifted the pen and indicated what appeared to be a divot along one edge. "We told you specifically that this area was off limits. We made that clear. I made that clear, as well as what happened to those who decided the rules didn't apply to them. So tell me, Mister Adams," he whispered.  "Whose orders were you following when you decided to walk into that zone and started demanding credits?"

~+~+~+~

Alex entered the lift and keyed his destination. The door slid shut, and he ruminated on the coming minutes. If one assumed Sly was telling the truth, then the answer was obvious: there was only one other person in the organization who could give an order that superceded his. 

The only question was why.

The whirring of the descending cabin thrummed, barely audible. Down he went, past the ground floor, into the sublevels that stretched for several more below. He exited at the bottom, breathing in the cold air and scent of ailing metals neglected too long. Droids could only do so much to stave off the inevitable. Tier Four's infrastructure was in dire need of repair, likely only to be noticed when the metaphorical dams finally broke.

The level was dimly lit by a few ceiling lights. Alex followed the long corridor, past several turns and barred doors. Sounds of misery echoed from inside, sounds that needled him with the faintest pangs of guilt. He strode on, at last coming to the door to the lab. Swiping his card on the reader and putting his face up to the biometric scanner, the lock clicked, and he entered.

Past the anteroom, past the preperation tanks and medical suites, he passed into the Egg.

It wasn't an actual egg, of course. Ovoid in shape, the enormous chamber was ringed around its inside by a retractable catwalk at its median. At the chamber's center, supported by tractor beams, was an enormous, glowing sphere. Fifteen feet in diameter, it roiled, a chaotic kaleidoscope of rainbow colors, never settling on one before moving to the next. The inside walls of the chamber were hexcombed, each hex containing a distribution node, some of which were in use. Thin cords of the rainbow stuff ribboned through the air, melting into the sphere. If Alex didn't know where it came from, he would be consumed by its beauty.

Perhaps it was that beauty that so enraptured the man standing on the platform. Staring into it, immobile, he was silent.

Alex put his hands into his pockets and walked over, standing next to him. 

The man's hair was brown, short. He was young - younger than Alex, at least. He still had the look of a boy about him, skin tanned, locks thick, eyes of amber.

"Hono-san."

The eyes turned towards him. "Alex." A faint smile. "Already done?"

Alex grunted. "It's not as if a reprimand takes much time," he observed. "People like Adams are easy to knock into line when they stray."

The boss chuckled. "I see."

"Did you tell him to go to Garnet Street?"

"Yes."

The directness of the answer surprised him. Alex stood in silence for a few moments, staring up at the boiling colors. "Why?" He asked at last. "You were the one who wanted to avoid antagonizing her in the first place."

"You're right, I did."

"And that's changed?"

"Alex."

"Forgive me, Hono-san. I know it's rude of me, but I'd like to know why we're taking such a risk."

The other was quiet. "I guess you could say... Curiosity?"

Alex shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "For that, you risked angering an Anomaly?"

A hand waved. "It all worked out. Adams and the other two are fine, and she's staying put." Hono leaned against the railing as he turned his attention once more to the sphere. "You worry too much, Alex. I know her. Oh," he paused, "what about the girl?"

Alex shrugged. He had almost forgotten about that. "The message was sent." He pushed his glasses up with a finger as he turned to observe the orb as well. "I doubt she'll be trying any heroics anytime soon."

[Belle]

"Again."

Belle panted, the stitch in her side stinging. Every muscle in her body was trembling. Sheened in sweat, she looked up at Yuki, standing across from her in the garden,  and attempted her best scowl. She managed to hold the expression for just a second before giving up, hanging her head again.

Yuki twirled the small flower she had pinched between forefinger and thumb with a smirk. "Giving up?"

The old woman sounded almost thrilled at the idea. Fucking old bag, Belle thought. "No, sensei," she said instead, throwing as much mocking into the word as she could muster. She took a few more breaths, steadied herself, and straightened up.

"Well, then?" Yuki held up the daisy. "Again."

Closing her eyes, Belle reached out for the power that was becoming more familiar with every passing day. She felt it in her belly, the warmth that spread through every fiber of her muscles, soothing the aches. But it was raw, frayed, and weak. When she had first touched it, it had been like grabbing hold of a live power line. The energy she felt now was like a static shock by comparison.

Gathering wisps of power into her legs, Belle's eyes narrowed as she turned her focus outward. She burst forward, air blasting out of her way as she closed the distance between herself and Yuki in the blink of an eye. The little trick she had learned on the Spirit's island failed to impress - Yuki almost lazily moved the daisy just out of the way of Belle's accelerated, grasping hand. 

Belle's momentum sent her flying past. She turned, skidding several feet, her sneakers leaving another deep set of tracks in the garden soil. She sprang again, this time not for the flower, but aiming directly for the woman. 

Yuki's small frame whispered with movement. She hopped, just the smallest tap of her foot sending her flying several meters backward. Belle gave chase, circling around the interior walls of the garden. The rest of the world was a blur, Yuki the only point of clarity in her vision as they approached one of the walled corners. The old woman was smirking. 

Almost ... Now!

Belle lowered her body, gritted her teeth, and surged to the side, cutting at a diagonal. Yuki was now between her and the garden's corner. Like a boxer on the hunt, Belle pushed forward, and Yuki stepped back, her shoulders bumping against the corner's walls.

"Got you," Belle breathed. 

Yuki glanced left, then right. She smirked, holding the daisy up to her nose. Her eyes sparkled. "Do you, now?"

Belle's legs felt dull and heavy, but to Hell with them, she didn't need them anymore. Channeling every last remaining iota of energy she could dredge up, she funneled them into her arms. "I do!" 

Belle's hand snapped forward, fast enough to make the air whip and crack. Her fingers clenched on empty air. "Now give... me... that... flower!" she yelled, punctuating each of her words with more strikes, accelerating until the space between them was filled with her hands.

Yuki's own moved fast, but not as fast as her's. 

There!

Belle hand snapped forward like a striking cobra... And plunged right through the flower as if it wasn't even there. It, and Yuki, had vanished. "Whuh?" Belle numbly blurted, then yelped as something hard smacked against the back of her head. Belle staggered, lost her balance, and sprawled into the corner as the old woman landed lightly behind her, still holding the flower up to her face. 

"Better," Yuki said, offering a rare encouragement, "but not nearly good enough."

The nibble of carrot and two-by-four stick routine.

Belle tried to sit up, but her body refused. She reached inside herself, but that power, too, flickered away, a small ember fluttering just out of reach. 

Yuki crouched down. Taking one of Belle's arms in her free hand, she lifted it up, then let it go. Belle's arm dropped to the ground with a thud, flopping like a dead fish. She 'tsk'ed. "Again?" She stood. "Mister Pickles."

There was an affirmative bark from somewhere nearby. The small dog came charging out of the bushes and to his master's side. 

"Take her in."

Another barked affirmative. Darting over, the canine grabbed the back of Belle's shirt in his mouth. Unceremoniously, he began to drag her across the garden, towards the double sliding doors that opened into the house.

[Belle]

Every day, Belle would wake in the early evening, head across the street to work, and rush through her route. She arrived back at the Midnight Rose in the wee hours of the morning, clocked out, slept, then woke up a scant few hours later to head to Garnet Street to train. She'd return hours later, exhausted, collapse into bed, and the cycle would repeat. It had become routine.

She knew it wasn't healthy. The grueling schedule left little time to relax, much less have any fun. The one night a week that she had off was usually spent trying to catch up on her mounting sleep debt. Sometimes, when she woke in the morning, eyes burning from the simulated sun, vestiges of sleep still wrapping its seductive fingers around her, Belle pondered quitting. Just give up, a little voice would whisper in her ear. Take this one extra day off. What's the harm? She'd close her eyes again. The memory of Lily's shrouded body being loaded into an ambulance would flash by. Sometimes, in the uneasy period between sleeping and waking, she thought that the ambulance was a hearse.

That would get her up.

Lily had been back at work for about three weeks, now. Her first day back, Jack had taken her off the poles and made her his personal secretary. Belle wasn't sure what he needed one for - he had never seemed particularly swamped or pressed for time. Maybe, like Belle, he felt some degree of responsibility towards her, or was trying to protect Lily in his own way. The idea of Jack being noble was alien, but to be fair, hardly the weirdest thing Belle had had to experience lately.

Still, with Lily back, things were at last settling down into something that resembled normalcy. And yet, not a day passed that Belle didn't think about that night, and not a time that she did when she didn't feel a twisting in her gut, a sick pang of guilt that mixed in with a foul coil of anger.

She had told Yuki that she wanted to protect people, and that was the truth - but it wasn't the whole truth. 

The truth was, she wanted to find those men. Truth was, she wanted to hurt them.

Belle tried in vain to pick up a sushi roll with Yuki's provided chopsticks. She had been attempting to get the hang of the utensils, but their mastery still eluded her. They could still recognize me, she mulled as she chased sushi around her plate with the sticks. And then Lily might get hurt even worse. Maybe I need a mask or something.

The front buzzer sounded. Across the table, Yuki glanced up, her expression hovering somewhere between exasperation and resignation. She locked eyes with Belle, then looked down, expertly plucking food off her own plate. 'Fine,' she seemed to be saying.

Belle rose, grunting at the soreness in her muscles, and padded through the house to the front door. She peered through the peep hole, squinting. Recognizing the blurry form in the near distance she breathed a relieved sigh, opening the door and walking across the short path to the outer wall's gate where Nalia was waiting, holding a lunch bag.

"You don't know how much I need this," Belle said as she snatched the bag through the bars.

"Chopsticks?" Nalia asked as Belle pulled open the bag.

"Chopsticks," Belle confirmed, hurriedly pulling out one half of a peanut butter sandwich and sinking her teeth in. "Oh Jesus,” she moaned around a mouthful. “You're a lifesaver."

Nalia smiled, her tail twitching. As Belle watched it, still chewing, something occured to her. “And you're still a catgirl,” she added, voice muffled, mulling over this fact with a slight frown.

Nalia's smile faltered. “Uhm. Yes, I am.” A tilt of the head, ears twitching. “Exactly how hard did she hit you today?”

“Hardy har har,” Belle muttered, swallowing. Admittedly, Belle hadn't known Nalia for very long – Hell, she had only found out her name a few weeks ago, the same night they had 'been together'... Still, she had been around long enough to know that the girl changed her look several times a week. “It's just usually you're different by now.”

Nalia smirked. She was wearing a simple white sundress. With a spin, she pinched the hem of her skirt and lifted it halfway up her thigh.“I thought you liked it,” she teased.

“I, er-.” Belle could feel her cheeks burning. She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. “I'm not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“You're thinking about it too hard.”

Belle snorted. “That's a new one.” She gazed upward, towards the 'noonday' lamps that illuminated the tier. “The old lady tells me I don't think enough, you tell me I think too much.” She 'hrm'ed grumpily. “I wonder which one of you is right.”

A hand touched her cheek, bringing her eyes back down. Moving to wrap around the back of her neck, Nalia's hand pulled Belle into the bars. Cold steel pressed against her cheeks as the woman's warm lips met her's. Smell of vanilla, taste of peanut butter. Nalia was right – she did think about things too much.

Nalia lingered before parting. “Okay,” Belle breathed after catching her breath. “Maybe you're right.”

Nalia rolled her eyes. She didn't even seem winded. “Just maybe?” she asked, watching as Belle took another bite of her sandwich. A moment of silence, then: “Well, since you brought it up: I actually might be different the next time you see me.”

Belle paused in mid-chew. Swallowed. “Oh. Yeah?”

“Client,” Nalia elaborated. “They hired me for a week! I guess they have some pretty specific needs.” She must have seen Belle's face, because she didn't continue further. “Sorry,” she said at last, looking guilty. “I didn't mean-”

“It's cool,” Belle cut her off. She couldn't stand that look. “Seriously! It's not like we're more than friends.”

Friends that shared intimate nights together. A friend whose body Belle's touch was exquisitely familiar with. Friends that kissed.

Tangled sheets. Sweaty skin. Scent of vanilla.

Peanut butter. Belle took another bite.

Nalia raised an eyebrow. “You're fine, then?”

Belle waved it off. “Of course I am. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

“Right,” Nalia said, eyes boring into her. “You're sure? I don't have to take the job...”

Belle smirked. “Now who's overthinking things?”

Nalia blinked, then snickered. “Fine. You're fine.” Her tail swished, ears twitching as she turned. “I'll see you around. Try not to let Missus Yuki beat you up too bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Belle answered, staring as she walked away. It wasn't as if she wasn't going to ever see her again. When Nalia was done with whatever it was she was doing, she'd show up again.

Ugh. I'm such a fucking dork.

Belle put what remained of her sandwich back in the bag and headed inside. Yuki was still at the table, sipping tea. Most of the sushi was still on her plate.

Belle sat down and pulled open the lunch bag. In addition to the sandwich there was a Corellian red pear, which Belle grabbed and took a bite out of. The juice burst on her tongue.

“So,” Yuki said, smirking ear to ear. “You're a lesbian.”

Belle immediately choked. She coughed and sputtered until Mister Pickles ran up, delivering heavy-pawed smacks against her back that dislodged the offending bit of pear. Belle gasped for breath, sitting back, wiping flecks of spit off her lips as Yuki cackled. “S-son of a bitch,” she wheezed. “What – No, sorry, Pickles, not you.”

Her cheeks felt like branding irons. “Are you spying on me?” she demanded.

“Don't flatter yourself,” Yuki chuckled. “You're just easy to overhear. All those smacking noises.”

“You ... heard that?” Belle felt like she could die on the spot and she wouldn't really mind. She sank back, wishing she could phase through the ground.

“My senses are stronger than the average person's. I know everything that happens in my home.” Yuki sipped her tea. Paused. “Also Mister Pickles was watching you and told me everything.”

Belle glared at the dog. “Traitor.”

Mister Pickles barked.

“So, what now?” Belle grumbled. “Are you going to lecture me on how immoral I am or something?”

“What? No. I don't care what you do with people for your ... jollies.”

Belle slapped the table with a hand, causing the plates to jump, and leaned over. “Then why even bring it up?!”

“Are you kidding?” Yuki's smirk widened. “Your reaction was priceless.”

[Belle]

Sylvester exited Seagrave's office. He walked down the short hall to the lift, boots sounding against the cold, unadorned floor, the walls starkly lit by the icy glow of the strip of lights that ran across the ceiling. Keying for the first sub-level, he sagged against the side of the cold, steel box as a faint mechanical whir rose around him, announcing the descent.


Like most, Sylvester had never asked to be a part of the Omniverse. Before, he had been just like any other kid: friends, parents, school. He slacked on the latter, but never hard enough to fail – that would have earned him a real ass-kicking from his dad, after all. His mother had been sweet and kind, for all the good that did. He lived in a corner of the suburbs, quiet and unremarkable and boring. A few years into high school, the prospect of freedom so tantalizingly close, it came, though not in the way he had ever expected.


The Omniverse commanded, and they all were slaves to its whims. He had been registered and dumped into Coruscant's lower tiers like so many pieces of garbage; like a rat that scrabbled on the inside of a bucket for escape. Seagrave told him an interesting statistic, once: eighty percent of the people that entered Tier Four never left. The streets were littered with the victims of this hard statistic.


Well, he wasn't a victim. While the others begged and scraped, Sylvester decided he would be different.


It had started small: taking food when someone wasn't looking, or snatching a credit or two from a street performer's box. He felt bad at first, but the guilt quickly faded as his seemingly endless hunger grew, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. When he got caught, his legs were faster than anyone else's. Or so he thought for a time.


As the lift beeped with every successive floor, he touched the scar that ran from brow to cheek with his artificial hand, over what had once been a natural eye. One lonely night, a gang of Stripes had 'educated' him on the cost of weakness. They hadn't left him for dead, no – they had very deliberately kept him alive, an object lesson to any pickpocket that thought they could filch from their crew.


They thought they had castrated the fight out of him. Maybe they might have with someone else. Instead, a liquid anger boiled up inside him, consumed his every thought as he floated in a hospital's bacta tank.


Once he was back on the street, he had tracked down the one who had taken his body parts from him.


Then, in a back alley on Jade Street, Sylvester took those parts in kind.


It was the first time he took a life.


After that, people started to take more notice. From that point on, there was something different about him, something that had nothing to do with his missing limbs. Something that he had gained – an edge to his thoughts, a willingness to go further than anyone else. He fell in and out of gangs without care of the enemies he made – he was young, stupid, and thought that a knife and notch in his belt was all that mattered.


And Hell, who could blame him? He got a new hand and an eye, almost the same as before. He got credits. He got food. He got a place to sleep. He never had to beg from anyone to get where he was. He was as much a self-made man as anyone in Tier Four could be.


The lift blipped, higher pitched this time, and the doors slid open. Sylvester stepped out, hands in coat pockets, and headed towards the armory. Officially it was open only to the tower's non-automated security. Unofficially, it was a place that any 'operatives' or 'agents' could stock up for their 'enforcement.'


Sylvester snorted. Mister Fancypants could use all the sophisticated words he liked. In the end, he was just as much a street thug as Sylvester himself – Sylvester just had the balls to admit it.


Sylvester pulled out a card from his coat pocket and swiped it at the reader by the door. Obediently, it hissed open.


Even before being abducted into the Omniverse, he had always hated being told what he could and couldn't do. That wasn't unusual – plenty of people liked to go their own way, or at least pretend like they were rebels. And like so many, Sylvester had never really grown out of that 'phase.' So when 'Lord Hono', as he liked to be called, offered Sylvester a chance to go into the forbidden zone? He had jumped at the chance. He never dreamed that he would have that kind of trouble with an old woman, a girl, and a dog, of course.


The shelves inside the armory were neatly stocked behind a thick, durasteel mesh. A square portal had been cut out just above a desk surface that passed through the barrier, allowing the humanoid, faux-gold plated droid on the other side to interact with agents.


Sylvester placed his ID down on the counter top. The droid – ABB-Y5 - inclined itself over, its glowing, unblinking eyes scanning, then straightened up. “How may I assist you today, Master Adams?” it asked. It had no lips, only a small, rectangular hole where a mouth should be.


“Today, Abby?” Sylvester smiled. “Today you're going to help me get even.”

[Belle]

Tier Four's restaurants shared many qualities in common. Most were staffed by droids. Most provided the same style of edibles – greasy, calorie ridden, addictive. Most weren't what Jack would have called 'quaint', which was why he preferred the coffee place at the corner of Lapis and Jasper. The owner had gone through pains to try and recreate a little piece of the 'real world' that he remembered. Though the essential structure of the shop remained – durasteel and unforgiving – it had been dressed with a striped awning. Several potted plants – probably plastic, but convincing nonetheless – were lined underneath the transparent pane that offered a glimpse inside the shop. Outside, where he sat, were several mesh tables and chairs, the latter cushioned, the former shaded from the harmless Tier Four illumination by umbrellas.


It was a little piece of exquisite denial. If only but for a little bit, one could pretend they were in a better world.


Jack pulled out his pocket dataverse and checked the time, then took another sip of coffee from his half-empty mug. As he put it down, his cup softly clinking against the plate, the seat across from him scraped away from the table, and a girl sat down. He smiled. “Problem?”


Nalia shook her head. The blonde's cat-like ears twitched. “No,” she said. “Just a little late getting started. Sorry.”


Jack waved it off. “Don't worry about it.” He rubbed his thumb across the handle of his cup. “So. Any problems?”


“No,” Nalia breathed. Her ears half-flattened against her head. An interesting tick. Jack wondered if she controlled that herself, or whether it was unconscious. Either way was impressive. “Nothing,” she repeated. “It went just like you wanted.”


“Good.” Jack leaned back in his seat, draping an arm over the back. “I know this was an unusual request. I just want to thank you for agreeing on such short notice.”


“You don't have to.”


That's how a lot of people would have thought about it, Jack supposed. It was just a job, no need for thanks. But Jack wanted to be better than most people; more, he wanted her to understand that he was. “Don't be silly. I put you in an awkward position.”


Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out a credit chit and placed it delicately on the table between them. “What we agreed to, plus a little extra.”


Nalia's tail twitched, her ears folding more.


“You don't want it?” Jack asked, his voice quiet.


“I didn't do it for your sake,” Nalia said, and there was no hiding the disgust in her voice. Still, she reached out and snapped up the chit, stuffing it into her bag.


An odd tone. Regardless, Jack put on a smile. “Be that as it may, you still deserve something. Don't you agree? You did such a good job, after all.”


Nalia glared at him. “Question,” she said.


“Shoot.”


“Why?”


Jack had been lifting his cup to take another sip. He paused, the rim a fraction of an inch from his lips, and slowly lowered it. “To protect us all.”


He raised his other hand as she opened her mouth. “Please, listen. I know you don't think much of me, but it's the truth. The men who attacked Lily: you know who they work for, and what they're capable of. As sick as it makes me feel to say it, Lily … Lily was lucky.


“That's why I couldn't risk that girl doing something to rile them up even more! I still don't know what she did to piss them off in the first place, but you saw how she was that night – she might have done anything. What I needed wasn't a friend or a shoulder to cry on. What I needed was control – enough control to make sure things didn't spiral out of hand. And your pheromones did the job.”


The temperature around Nalia felt like it had dropped several degrees. Her eyes were fixed on his, glaring with enough intensity that he felt like he might burst into flames at any moment.


“Does she know?” Jack prodded, quiet. “Know that you're a change-”


Nalia's fists slammed down on the table top. His cup tray bounced before tumbling off the side and shattering. Her amber eyes flashed, and for a moment, both the whites and the irises turned pink. The slits then reformed, the vibrant color fading away to its previous amber.


Several heads had turned in their direction. 'Nalia' pushed her chair back and stood, stalking away without another word.


Maybe he had gone too far. But, while he was grateful, she was being unreasonable. She knew what could happen if the Sun Foundation decided to make an example out of them.


Jack signaled to the serving girl as she approached, then apologized and promised to pay for the mess before settling back to enjoy the rest of his coffee, letting out a long sigh of relief.


For now, at least, they were in the clear.


~+~+~+~


Belle had just finished the first half of her sandwich when the buzzer rang again. Sighing, she rose from her seat, grumbling at her 'master's continued, amused cackles, and padded down the hall to the door. If it was Nalia again, she could just imagine the look on Yuki's face. She hoped it wasn't; Belle had been embarrassed enough for one day.


Belle stopped at the door, her hand half extended as she paused at that thought. And just why should she care what Yuki thought, anyway? It wasn't as if she was her grandmother. Hell, she wouldn't even call them friends. They were teacher and student, nothing more, nothing less. If Belle wanted to suck face with someone, that was her business and no one else's.


If the old crone was going to spy on her, Belle wasn't going to be ashamed. She took a deep breath, forcing a smirk. “What is it, babe?!” Belle shouted loud enough to be heard across the house. She grabbed the handle and opened the door. “C'mere and give me another-”


There wasn't anyone at the gate. Instead, all she saw was the barrel of a blaster inches away from her face.


“-kiss?”


The blaster's tip blazed hot red. A burning lance pressed between her eyes, jabbing like the stab of a white-hot poker. Belle barely had enough time to register the pain, let alone yell, before a second impact cracked the back of her head, making her see stars.


Her vision swam in and out of focus. She had been knocked back by the force of the blast clear across the hall. Her brow sizzled and her ears rang as a dark shape rose from its crouched position in front of the door. It stepped inside, gun still raised, a lanky figure... A lanky figure with slicked back, pointed white hair...


It's him!


The same man from before. The same man that she had seen trying to rob the old woman. The same man whose gang had taken Lily and beaten her to the fraying thread's edge of death.


The gun was still pointed at her. There was no point in him asking her any questions – he had already announced he was there by the sound of his blaster and crashing of Belle's body against the wall, and every second he wasted brought Yuki or Mister Pickles closer.


Still, he waited for one. “You again?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Well. That makes this easy.”


Dammit!


The gun's barrel slightly rose as the hand holding it tensed. Belle went to lunge, but her brain still seemed to be struggling to reconnect with her arms and legs, and instead she flopped onto her side.


Move!


The muzzle flashed, blossoming crimson as the bolt left the barrel. A blob of something whipped across Belle's vision in the same instant.


No pain. Smell of burnt hair.


Mister Pickles bounced and slid across the hall's polished floor before coming to a stop. He whimpered, smoke rising from a scorched patch of fur against his side.


The man whipped his blaster around to cover the door where the canine had come from, frozen, apparently listening. Belle's gaze slid from him back to the small dog's crumpled, twitching form.


She felt sick. Bile rose in her throat, anger, or perhaps it was simple self-loathing. After all her talk, after all her whining about wanting to change, wanting to protect, she was still being saved. The people she cared about were still getting hurt because of her.


Why had she even bothered? What was the point?


Apparently satisfied that retaliation wasn't coming, the man turned his blaster back the other way – towards Mister Pickles, and stepped closer. Any second, Lady Yuki would come from behind and take him out.


Any second now.


Another step.


Any second.


Step.


Belle didn't understand. Where was she? She should have been there by now. If she didn't come...


The man kept moving.


Stop it.


His steps halted, standing above the small, shivering form.


Stop … !


The gun lifted in a gloved hand once more, taking aim and settling.


Yuki wasn't going to get there in time. It was too late. Even if she did, the man could still fire before she closed the distance. The only one close enough was Belle.


Something wrapped its hands around the neck of the despair inside her and squeezed, shaking. 'What was the point?' it screamed at her. What was the point?!


It was for this, you asshole!


Now GET. UP!


~+~+~+~


Staring down at the prone form of the canine, Sylvester suddenly froze. Something pressed against his back, a nothingness, like the sensation of being watched, only a hundred times stronger. A sensation he had only felt once before – in the presence of Lord Hono.


Sylvester turned around, goosebumps lacing his arm all the way down to his artificial hand. His eye and mechanical limb worked in tandem, syncing to bring his blaster to bear on the hunched figure standing behind him.


It was the girl.