Friends Under Purple Skies
Posted on Sat Mar 23rd, 2019 @ 10:45pm by Rusasha Djehuti-Lahan & Thane
Edited on on Sun Mar 24th, 2019 @ 9:49pm
2,669 words; about a 13 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter V: Unbound
Location: Outside of the Cain-Arch, Vlaand (Caanus)
Timeline: Afternoon (local time), after "Steward of the Arch"
OLD
That twit is so ridiculously bent! she thought with disgust as she was escorted from the residence by Vuul's security staff. A Geonosian has straighter legs than his crooked morals. He must have made a lot of grandiose promises to worm his way into office. Master Sotah was right to send me here. I wager his home is filled with a menagerie of terrible secrets, perhaps even Sith-related. He even dared to push a Sith history book in front of me! He knows the Order's zero-tolerance for Sith influence, especially in regards to the government. Such arrogance! There's no way I can let this go. The book alone justifies my presence here, and then there's Axion. Vuul's hatred for him seemed real enough. What is the connection there? There has to be some clue or a lead I could follow. Maybe if there was a way to sneak back inside. I may need to put my Shadow training to use again, but I don't know the layout, or the totality of his security systems. If only there was someone that could help...
"Magic kitty lady!" called out a familiar Ranat voice to her as she emerged onto the street from the front gate of the Vuul estate. "You live!"
The suddenness and close proximity of Haschel's greeting gave Ru a startle with an unexpected reaction. She released the most ludicrously cute kitten-sounding scaredy-cat yelp she'd let out in years. She face-pawed with total embarrassment at the girlishness of her shaken composure.
Gee, thanks, oh great and powerful Living Force. Ru thought with a sigh, blushing under her facial fur. Not exactly what I had in mind.
NEW
"Pretty kitty!" The Ranat beamed at the Jedi, the various torn and wonky whiskers lining his snout twitching with his unique brand of rodent glee. "Friend!" He announced enthusiastically and twitching with the exertion.
In the near-distance, standing at either side of the main entrance to the Vuul keep, were two armour-clad guards, their raiment dyed the same forest green as the coat of arms that emblazoned every relief carved into the structure they stood before. Several two-headed craaw appeared in their clothing, making it abundantly clear to whom they owed their loyalty.
By the way they offered the same derisory sneer to both the Ranat and to Ru, it was clear they held the same low opinion of non-Humans as many of the Caanans the Jedi had already encountered during her short and tumultuous time on the Outer Rim world. Her dismal reception in the Caanan capitol, even though she now found herself on the outskirts of the city, was only improved by the increasingly-heavy rainfall already matting her fur.
Beyond the Cain-Arch keep, which itself was built into numerous rocky formations and supported either side by towering walls made of the same dark stone, was the mighty mountain that loomed high over the entirety of Vlaand, visible for leagues in any direction on the ancient world, a beacon of both power and woe in the modern age. Protected as it was by innumerable unknown defences, as well as the Cain-Arch of House Vuul - the so-named Stewards of the Arch - was Vaarthul, seat of the ruling House Verus and safely nestled high atop the mountains outcroppings, accessible only by the path beyond the Arch or by approved vehicles.
From where Ru stood now, her height impressive against her diminutive Ranat companion, the distance from where she stood now to Vaarthul seemed almost insurmountable - an image the Verus forebears no doubt wished to propagate in Caanan prehistory. A sudden bolt of brilliant-white lightning arcing across the mountain's near-hidden peak only added to the sight's terrible mystique.
"Friend!" The Ranat repeated, now tugging at the Cathar's robes. "You help Haschel, now Haschel help magic kitty, yes? Way of good people, yes. Haschel is good people. Like his friend."
Rusasha blinked expressionless at the Ranat, her stark green eyes engulfed in deadpan perplexity whilst wondering why Haschel was so friendly, and what he meant by her helping him. Not that she minded being called pretty and magical as even Jedi were occupied with their own vanity at times, but the "kitty" part would have to snubbed at some point.
"Wait," it just dawned on her as a bit more of the drugs in her system metabolized, "you're that homeless fellow I helped in the alley next to the Keynesian Arms, aren't you?"
"Not homeless!" Haschel replied gleefully, shaking his head as a few high-pitched coughs escaped his tiny chest and throat. He wiped away a few flecks of blood from his furry chin as he carried on warbling at the Jedi. "I have hole," he explained simply, pointing back towards the city centre, "under old building, forgotten by Tall Pale Ones. Buried now, but Haschel have many things. Many shiny things. Pale Ones don't notice Haschel, or when Haschel find their shiny things." His tone then grew slightly sombre, and he cast his dark beady eyes to the dirt at his feet. "Pale Ones never notice Haschel."
Ru frowned as she sensed Haschel's sincerity. He was the first Ranat she ever met up close (those on Coruscant's impoverished lower levels often scurried in the shadows taking what scraps of food they could find or committing acts of larceny outside the notice of most citizens), but she knew of his kind; decent folk often down on their luck having lost the will to improve their lot in life. Ranats were often (and perhaps unfairly) viewed as being among the least likely to succeed among the galaxy's many sapient species, and among the least desirable in any given society.
In her years of charity work, she also noted that the vast majority of the homeless population on the capital world of the Republic were males from sexually dimorphic species. There were females too, of course, many of whom were single mothers with one or more additional mouths to feed, but society tended to provide more resources and care to them and the children over the males. In the years leading up to, and during the Paralles Administration, it became a taboo political point to discuss the misandry that was clearly present in the legal system. Study after academic study proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was a distinct bias against homeless men, and men in general, especially the ones that were desperate criminals stealing to buy another handful of deathsticks to help forget their pain, or were financially and mentally destroyed by divorce courts with judges that viewed men as disposable and responsible for shattered relationships even if they did nothing wrong.
Ru knew her own natural biases as a felinoid, and was self-aware enough to realize that without a Jedi upbringing involving the influences from compassionate paragons like Master Sotah and Loren, she would have dismissed the rat-like Haschel and just simply left him to die in the cold without a care in the world.
She sighed, mentally shook off that bit of shame when she was reminded about that darker side of herself, and said sympathetically, "It's true, but not this one. You've been trying to help me since I helped you. It's only fair we get properly introduced. My name is Rusasha Lahan. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
"You are not Pale!" Haschel replied cheerily, his little ears upturning at Ru's greeting. "You are Hairy! Hairy and kind."
She offered her paw to the Ranat in friendship while intentionally leaving out her title or status as a Jedi Knight. She learned early on as a padawan that announcing herself as a Jedi to under-privileged people rarely did much to build relationships or trust; it sometimes even made things worse. It was a sad reminder about the mixed public opinion of the Reborn Order. They weren't exactly seen on the same level as the great mythical heroes of the days of yore. Even over a thousand years later, people still spoke fondly about the legendary Luke Skywalker and his New Jedi Order that battled unimaginable evils to save the galaxy many times over, but no one sung praises of the great Jundal Quellus inspiring the people with tales of heroism. Indeed, there was little Ru herself could say of the Grand Master in a positive light, or any light at all. The old Chagrian was seemingly more enigmatic than he was inspirational; good for commanding the respect of his Force-sensitive subordinates, but not so good at earning their love or admiration.
The Ranat clasped the Jedi's paw with both of his own in excitement, pumping them quickly with an enthusiasm that bled all over her within the Force. "Haschel is honoured to meet Rusasha Lahan, esteemed friend of Haschel!" He babbled, still bouncing Ru's paw up and down in an extended, joyous greeting. "When Haschel first saw you, he thought he was going to be Haschel cheese soup, little yellow lumps dripping from Rusasha Lahan's whiskers." The diminutive rodent released Ru's paw and began fumbling in his tattered beige surcoat (the one piece of clothing he was actually wearing, save for the rope tied about his midriff), before producing a small and familiar leatherbound flask. "This is Rusasha Lahan's!" He exclaimed, forcing it towards her. "Magic potion saved Haschel's life. Haschel is indebted to Rusasha Lahan, esteemed friend of Haschel. Should change ingredients, though. It taste of rotten swamproot, and Haschel's gag reflex is not so good. Bleurgh."
"That's not exactly far from the truth," Ru said with a half-smile as she accepted the returned flask.
It was very basic Jedi consular survival knowledge put into practice. She knew rodents could handle anything, so it seemed a safe bet at the time, and it worked with a little help from the Force. It was basically a plant-based nutrient compound that was known to be safe on many of the galaxy's sentient life, except for the most bloodthirsty carnivores. If Haschel didn't have the digestive enzymes for breaking down plant cells, it would have made his condition worse, or killed him outright.
Ru started to walk a leisurely pace away from the Vuul manor gates, her hands clasped together to compose her thoughts while still feeling some of the after-effects of the drugs still metabolizing in her. Thought of which caused her stomach to growl like a grumpy pride lioness when the cubs took too much of the meat from the kill. "Oh my," she muttered with embarrassment placing a hand on her empty stomach. With Haschel by her side, she asked, "I'm utterly famished. I don't suppose you know a good place around here to dine? Preferably somewhere not close to this part of town."
"Oh, yes!" Haschel responded rapidly, nodding his narrow features at an almost imperceptible speed. Before Ru could even make a reply of her own, he had shot forward and clasped one of her paws again, pulling at her with surprising strength as he tried to lead her back towards the rain-soaked centre of Vlaand. Fortunately for Ru, the weather had let up, even if dark clouds continued to stretch across the deep violet sky overhead. "Haschel takes Rusasha Lahan to his favourite kitchen - not far! Owned by Chef Vreer," he continued babbling, "he is a Pale One, but a nice Pale One. He does not kick or spit at little Haschel."
The Ranat suddenly paused, as if remembering something. Dark, earnest eyes looked back up to the Jedi. "But Haschel has just remembered, he only has the fifty credits Rusasha Lahan gave him. Vreer does not take Republic credits. Does not trust them. Chef Vreer only takes saaphias!" Haschel appeared to become deflated, his little whiskers drooping with his expression.
Currency exchange wasn't a situation Ru was used to dealing with. With the day giving way towards sunset, banking establishments were likely closed already.
"Hmm..." she pondered whilst contemplatively stroking the fur on her chin, a mannerism she picked up from the Reborn Order's master-at-arms, the head of the temple's famous masked guardians. As the only one who didn't wear a mask, the master-at-arms was a powerfully built human man in his middle age who kept an immaculately groomed salt-and-pepper beard which he often had a tendency to stroke in deep thought when speaking with fellow Jedi. "You said something about 'shiny things' at your buried home. Did you happen to store any of these saaphias there?"
Haschel's ears twitched nervously, looking almost like he had been caught out by the Cathar. "Yes, yes!" He then declared, eyes returning to their usual excited posture. "Haschel has many- some - saaphias!" The excitement disappeared as quickly as it had come. "But Haschel's home is lost, crushed under the broken dens of the Pale Ones. All of Haschel's things... Holes are now too small even for Ranat. Pretty magic kitty would definitely not fit!"
"You'd be surprised the narrow spaces I've had to squeeze through before," Ru said nostalgically, then wrinkled her nose at the thought of one particularly smelly situation she was in as a padawan helping her master track down a dangerous fugitive in Coruscant's underworld. "Some of which involved raw sewage. Perhaps I may be able to help you again. Can you show me where you live?"
Once again, the Ranat's ears twitched. Even with the rapport building between the unlikely pair, it seemed the consideration of inviting the feline into the rodent's home - as destroyed and squalid as it may have been - still gave Haschel a pause for thought.
It quickly passed.
"Yes!" He declared, once more scurrying away into the city, gesturing manically for Ru to follow. "Quickly now! Grimmies will be by soon, and they are not so fond of nice little Haschel!"
Despite Haschel's promises, the journey to the collapsed apartment block was not as short as first indicated. Intermittently, spatterings of rain had found its way down from the dark clouds ahead, most light from Caanus' primary being obscured by the day's unpleasant weather. The Ranat had insisted on using as many alleyways and concealed shortcuts as possible, paying particular attention to avoid the local constabulary's patrols and security systems.
The day, being shorter than a standard Coruscanti cyle, was drawing to a close, and a cold wind was beginning to grip the streets of Vlaand. Numerous establishments like the Keynesian Arms were dotted along the streets, and for a short time Rusasha had been treated to the sights of a more affluent district, where the natives were dressed in regalia that would have been more fitting on the Core Worlds, sipping multi-coloured spirits from tall glasses outside of cleaner bars and restaurants. Very few noticed the two offworlders, but those that did watched the pair with mild interest or dissatisfaction.
From the short sample of Vlaand and Caanan culture the Jedi Knight was being exposed to, it was clear that both that and their architecture was stark and severe in their style. Grim, melancholic music that sounded as though it emanated from some accordion-type instrument, as if to pair with the gothic aesthetics, echoed from a nearby street to greet them and punctuate the last leg of their journey.
Finally, Haschel paused, and he pointed a claw at the dilapidated structure now facing them. Smashed glass and crumbled bricks were strewn all about the road before them, half-collapsed walls, floors and ceilings had all fallen into one another, leaving little semblance of a building's frame in their wake. Hastily-prepared barricades had been established around the perimeter of what was once an ageing apartment complex, but no authorities stood by to guard the fallen building from interlopers - or to protect over-eager youths from putting themselves in danger.
"This was Haschel's home," the Ranat said mournfully, little ears flat as his eyes regarded the rubble atop his lost hovel.
TBC
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