Temper, Temper

Posted on Sat Mar 22nd, 2014 @ 6:33am by Morgo Le'Shaad & Berry & Nimo Lemere

3,528 words; about a 18 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Berry's Cabin, Red Raptor
Timeline: Following "Modus Operandi, Evening

OLD

Twisting so she could gaze at Nimo from over her shoulder, her eyes were almost sly as she began to wrap her headscarf over herself once again, concealing all but her eyes.

“You already know where I think you should take your guardianship and insert it, Mr. Nimo. Berry and all her expenses are yours to handle now, darling—if you can manage it.”

Nimo’s nose almost raised to the sky. “I have, for longer than you’d guess.”

Berry just smiled happily at him, almost laughing. “Yeah.”

Nimo tried not to wilt at the reunion with his favorite black hole for food and money.


NEW


ENTER QUERY

Bright white letters glowed up at Morgo from the datapad screen within her hand. The thin device was a comfortable and familiar weight in her hand from many late nights devoted to research and compiling data together. Yet now her query was less on the side of academic and more…personal.

“Nimo.” Morgo spoke, voice clear and enunciation smooth, “Surname unknown. Suspected planet of origin-- Velusia.” The woman continued, watching as the information she entered filled itself out into the form onscreen.

“Suspected age: mid-20s. Height…” Morgo paused for a moment, calculating the man’s approximate height from previously watching him pass under the corridor’s entrance, “Height: 177.84 centimeters. Weight: approximately 75.2 kilograms. Eyes: blue. Hair: red. Suspected occupation: piracy.”

Morgo looked to the side, the dark fan of her lashes veiling her half lidded gaze,

“Suspected bounty: insignificant.”

Within a fraction of a second, Morgo had what she needed in her hands. As much as the Republic and the government of Velusia knew of Nimo, Morgo now also knew. Scanning the many pages of the file on one Nimo Lemere , Morgo proceeded to educate herself on the man’s past life. Mr. Lemere seemed quite knowledgeable about Morgo herself after all. A little evening of the playing ground was past due, Morgo thought.

Morgo’s clearance on potentially sensitive, galactic wide information had been revoked once she’d been renounced as a Scholar. It would have been little work to hack into the Republic systems herself, but it was simply easier to use another account. One Daneel Dreyfus would no doubt be receiving a system’s notification that his account had been remotely accessed on an unknown device, seeking confirmation on whether it was indeed him or a security breach that would need to be reported.

Daneel would most likely heave a long suffering sigh at the news, and undoubtedly the knowledge of just who had absconded with his password. Though frankly, it was his own fault that his password had been so easy to deduce.

y=-(sin(x^(1.9/6)+4)+(1/x))+10

The equation of the curve of Gransire’s golden arse, of course. Bored to tears as children by another grand speech by the young Grandsire, Egon Jotunnson II himself on the importance of Scholarship, they’d put their small heads together and gazed at the Grandsire’s pert buttocks for longer than what was probably appropriate.

And inappropriate was the only way Morgo could hope to describe Nimo Lemere’s exploits. Boy turned orphan, turned navigator, turned thief, turned pirate, turned rebel, tured part time bounty hunter and gentleman thief, Nimo Lemere was a colorful character with a unfortunate past and only one shared variable with Morgo’s own story.

Bería Z. Fieros.

If Morgo had any doubts as to whether Nimo’s loyalty to Berry was questionable, they were no longer relevant. As Morgo read on, it became clear that Nimo and Berry would sooner die for one another and their crew than betray each other, the strength of their bond beyond the boundaries of what Morgo deemed rationale.

Setting the datapad down onto her gray coverlet, Morgo contemplated the newfound knowledge of this Nimo Lemere, scoundrel and thief extraordinaire—ultimately deciding that this changed nothing. Morgo would still gladly knife him for the trouble he’d caused. The only thing that differed now was that Morgo knew his bite was less than his bark. His oversized, bleeding heart could be added to Morgo collection right alongside Berry’s after this was all said and done.

The part of her mind made irritable by the constant, angry, red pain of her burned shoulder—flayed raw by a grazing plasma shot from Nimo—urged that she collect his beating heart now.

But Morgo ignored it, just as she ignored the pain of her exposed and screaming nerve endings.

It was, however, markedly more difficult to ignore the incessant noise coming from Berry’s cabin. Pain, to Morgo, often acted to heighten her alertness and sharpen her sensitivity to her surroundings. And now was not an exception, as unwanted voices seeped through the thin, metal walls of her small room.

From across the corridor, Morgo heard Mr. Lemere speak, the masculine yet playful lilt of his voice unmistakable.

“Ugh, don’t you clean up around here at all?”

The man almost yelped, followed by a dull thud of something falling to the ground. Most likely a stray snack stuck in a blanket.

The sound of Berry’s laugh was bright and carefree, as a child’s laughter would be

“No. Also, thanks for that beetle. It was really tasty. Although a little salty…”

There was a small pause before Mr. Lemere’s voice came through, tinged with a little mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I dropped it in the water before I Left Velusia.”

In the privacy of her room, Morgo allowed herself an expression of utter distaste, which made itself known in a sound of contempt. Such standards of hygiene were a crime against mankind. But of course, Morgo was talking about sea pirates. The noblewoman didn’t even know why she’d expected more from them.

A giggle sounded from the part-Aquar girl, across the hall.

“Aw! You’re funny.” She said, obviously beaming from her tone, “So how’s everyone else back home?”

When Nimo responded, his voice was vaguely shadowed with doubt.

“I don’t know.” He admitted honestly to his ship Captain, “I haven’t seen or heard from them yet since last year.”

A telling pause in the conversation was all Morgo needed to know Berry’s mood had dipped. Morgo imagined a small frown tugging at the girl’s mouth.

“Oh…”

It was all Morgo heard from her.

“Don’t’ look so sad!” The man’s voice protested, “It was YOUR idea. Just so we could get stronger, right?”

Morgo imagined there was a nod from Berry, as no response was forthcoming. Still it was a curious thing they were discussing. Had Berry’s pirate crew disbanded before she left Velusia, to get train and get stronger? Morgo absently recalled how Berry would often exclaim how she needed to get stronger, the girl’s single-minded determination (quite frankly) ridiculous. It suddenly made more sense as to why.

The Velusian man’s voice interrupted Morgo’s thoughts as he deftly steered the conversation towards something that wouldn’t sadden his captain so much.

“Here, lemme see your scars.”

A sigh was heard, Lemere’s voice laden with such fondness that Morgo blinked at the sound.

Berry must have complied because Morgo heard an audible intake of breathe when Lemere spoke next.

“I know you heal well, but this is just too fantastic.”

There was naked disbelief flush in his voice as he continued, probably inspecting Berry’s battle scars.

“Don’t’ tell me your new friends are rich enough to get you into one of those tanks?”

Morgo smirked. Indeed they were.

“Yeah! Morgogo’s got one in her lab. AND she helped my scars heal faster.”

Morgo was sure Berry was positively beaming in her pride. But Nimo, it seemed, was less than pleased.

“…Did she now?”

It was all he said, almost hissing in its quiet vehemence. And Morgo smiled to herself, pleased. By all accounts, Mr. Lemere sounded jealous.

“Yeah, wanna see the tank?”

A pattering of a lone pair of footsteps was all Morgo heard running out of Berry’s room and towards Morgo’s lab. Too bad that Berry would find the door locked shut.

“No,” Lemere began, “I’m hungry Berry. Show me the kitchen.”

Lemere’s tone was vaguely sullen as Morgo heard another, more quiet and measured, pair of footsteps follow the first out of the room, and past Morgo’s own door into the Recreation room.

An enthusiastic shout signaled that Berry approved of their new course as the first pair of frantic footsteps tore past Morgo’s room and into the kitchen. From here, the voices became more muffled and indistinct to Morgo. But the pair of displaced Velusians were still speaking in obnoxiously loud voices.

The blunt sound of metal sliding and thudding dully, repeatedly against its confines was a brief lull in their conversation. Berry and Lemere seemed busy enough opening and shutting enough cupboards to break them. The noise was clamorous and irritating to Morgo’s pain-sharpened senses, and a muscle in her delicate jawline jumped.

When they finally seemed to find enough food to begin to eat, the noise stopped, and Lemere’s boyish voice broke through the silence once more.

“So I heard you’ve been up to a lot. Racing on Coruscant.”

The teasing affection in Lemere’s voice was quite clear. He'd clearly been tailing the trail of the Red Raptor crew for a while if he knew about Berry’s little Coruscantean track racing adventure. A muffled, food-stuffed sound of confirmation, morbidly gluttonous even through the walls, was all that answered Nimo.

A first, true and hearty laugh rang through the air from the man, the same kind of laugh Morgo imagined carried quite well in the salty breeze on the open sea.

“You never could avoid the public spotlight, could you?”

“It was for a guy so he wouldn’t get hurt!”

The pout was almost tangible in the girl’s voice.

But you’re a fugitive. At least on Velusia. You have to be careful.”

Judging by the weary concern in Lemere’s voice, it wasn’t hard to imagine that this was a plea Nimo had made often—to no effect.

“I know, I knooow. That’s why I’m not going to go into the compound at Jericho by myself.”

That brought Morgo up short. Berry had been planning to go into Jericho by herself?

The sound of a plate crashing to the ground made Morgo flinch slightly from her seat at the foot of her bed.

“…What did you say?”

Mr. Lemere sounded furious, his tone simmering from its quiet intensity.

“I said I was going to go into Jericho by myself.”

“And whose idea was this?!”

“Mine.” she replied. “Well, to go rescue some Jedi that were training me. But Morgo and Mr. Rezer were—”

But the sound of thundering stomps were already leaving the kitchen and heading straight towards…towards Morgo’s own room.

An irritated sound came from the back of Morgo’s throat, not wholly unlike the sound of bored feline. Cool grey eyes glanced down at the datapad at her side. With a touch of a finger, Morgo stopped the stopwatch clock and read the time.

23.56 minutes. Morgo arched a brow. How disappointing. By all calculations and behavioral predictions, Morgo had hypothesized that Nimo Lemere would angrily confront her at the 32 minute mark. Clearly she had overestimated this young man’s self-control. The dark pinpoints of her pupils stared down at the 23.56 minute time, disapproving.

By the time Nimo had gotten to her door and opened it Morgo was poised and prepared, sitting with legs primly crossed at the edge of her bed, facing the entryway.

When the door swished open, Nimo was greeted by the sight of a woman, the skin of her burned shoulder starkly red against the black fabric surrounding the injury. Her slender hands rested on her lap, with one finger resting on the trigger of a blaster pistol—aimed directly at Nimo.

“Welcome to my room, Mr. Lemere.” Morgo greeted pleasantly with a faint smile, “I don’t give a damn what you do outside of it, but in here I will not abide your poor manners. I don’t care why you’re here or the overactive emotions that brought you to my doorstep, but at my doorway and within my room, you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting your age—you will not shout, and you will not threaten me.”

Looking pointedly at the thunderous expression on the half-Aquar’s face through stray strands of blonde hair, Morgo raised a disdainful eyebrow.

“You will control your temper, Mr. Lemere. Or I will shoot you in the face. Is that clear?”

Nimo didn’t even bother to look at the pistol as he smiled tightly at her. “Oh yeah?” He took a step back so he wasn’t in her doorway, and thus not even in her room. He cocked an eyebrow, smirk widening. “How’s this, you kriffing noble?”

Then his brows lowered as he glared at her. “Now tell me about Jericho.”

Morgo tilted her tousled head of blonde hair as she fired upon Nimo, striking the edge of her own doorway, raining hot sparks down on the man's face. Crossing her long legs the other way, the daubs of dirt smeared on Morgo's face did nothing to lessen the wry intensity of her utterly indifferent expression. Pressing her dark, painted lips into a thin line, Morgo cast a thoroughly unimpressed look Nimo's way... like the man was being particularly slow on the uptake today and she was having none of it.

"So rude. First, tell me why you're here."

Nimo’s blue eyes widened in rage and confusion, having just put out a fire in his fiery hair. “Well kriff me. They just don’t make nobles like they used to, huh.” His eyes narrowed. “I just kriffing told you. I’m here to find out about your plan about Jericho.”

"No." Morgo clarified, deadpan, "Why are you here on Nadroj? The fact that you found your Captain here is happy coincidence. You were here before our ship even docked, and no one but our crew knew about our plan to venture into Jericho. So I repeat—why are you here?" Morgo paused, fixing Nimo with a sharp look, "Or more accurately, what business do you have with the Mandalorian Exiles?"

“They have something I want,” Nimo finally said after appraising her with a hard look. “Just like how they have someone you want, too.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “Although I have no idea why you would even bother.” Then he gave her a devilish smirk. “Was his bed really that nice?”

The red-haired man’s words were deceptive in their lightness, his tone as flippant as a fickle, summer breeze. Yet beneath such aloofness was a serrated sharpness to his words—belying the true emotions roiling underneath his cocky smirk. Morgo saw right through him. Jealousy and humiliation were ingredients Morgo was very familiar with mixing into her enemies. The outcome was always some variation of a poorly planned insult. Or a well planned attempt at murder.

“No actually.” Morgo replied, unflinching, “You can imagine how disappointed I was that the thread count of his sheets was less than 1700. Anything less than that simply bruises my delicate, noblewoman skin.” She added with a dry air of mockery to it.

For all that Lemere ranted and ranted about her utterly loathsome nobility, he obviously knew very little of them. Velusia might have been different, but on Dromache—to be a noble was to be made of Ouum steel, not glass.

Not waiting for him to scrape his offended jaw from the floor, Morgo pressed on.

“And to give you an idea of ‘why I would bother’.” Said Morgo in a low, coiling tone, readying for a strike of her own, “Well, I think you know enough about paying debts to buy freedom that I don’t need to lecture you about it.” Morgo added, her voice such a perfect imitation of Nimo’s flippant cruelty from before, that the effect was unnerving.

“Though my debt isn’t the kind that’s paid in 100,000,000 credits. Or should I say tears.”

Morgo sat as one untouched. As though she hadn’t just exhumed a man’s agonizing past and wrapped it around herself like a blanket to warm, as he watched.

Nimo’s brows instantly lowered as he stared at her. “How’d you know about that? Did Berry tell you?” He looked a bit confused, eyes narrowing a little as he murmured, “But she doesn’t even know what happened…”

“Who told you about that??” he snapped, eyes ablaze.

Morgo ignored his question, “I make it my business to acquaint myself with who I’m dealing with.” her gaze dropped to the young man’s shoulders and flicked up again, “But who you are is no longer the question. What you are, is. You know our aims within Jericho. Will you be friend or foe to us?” Morgo angled her blonde head slightly to the right as she studied him, “Will you help—or hinder?”

The hand gripping the blaster tightened a fraction.

“Of course I’ll help!” he snapped, almost snarled. “My captain is going into herd of sharks. You think I’d let her go alone?”

The half-Aquar almost sneered at her. “You really are a noble. No understanding of loyalty whatsoever.” He lifted his goateed chin at her. “So what’s gonna keep you from turning on us when you get what you want?”

The young man’s deliberate turn of pronouns was not lost on Morgo. Calling Berry and himself “us” and making Morgo the “other” in the equation, was quite transparent of him. A raised brow was all the expression she gave.

Pale eyes alighting on the sneering face of Lemere, Morgo’s voice was darkly innocent.

“The way you turned on your beloved Captain when you had stolen enough of the treasure you wanted from her?”

The lady snorted, “I think not.”

Nimo’s red brow twitched slightly as he frowned at her. This wench was certainly resourceful...but with knowledge came power. Her knowing what happened told her more than he could about his loyalty...and wrath. “I didn’t turn on her. I left.” He looked to the side. “It wasn’t like I was much use in the fight, anyway.” Then he glanced at Morgo. “Unlike you. Whatever your plan is, you must be pretty important in it to cast aside Berry.”

He crossed his arms, leather robe creaking slightly as he looked down at her. “So what’s it gonna be? You can leave if you want. But if you, in any way, hurt her…” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll make you pay in more< than just credits.”

Morgo nodded, for once without disdain in her eyes—only clarity, and a hint of knowing.

“I don’t doubt it.” Morgo said, eyes still locked with Nimo’s, her mind even now calculating all the possible ways Nimo could factor into a new and revised plan, “Nor will I leave or betray anyone. My continued survival against the galaxy is directly correlated to the continued survival and unity of this crew. It would be remiss of me to sabotage myself, don’t you think?”

Because if there was one thing you could trust about Morgo, it was her ongoing investment in herself.

Nimo peered at her, studying her—as if her cold, controlled exterior would betray anything. Then he frowned faintly. “Funny how money can’t buy you a new crew.” He smirked, almost triumphantly, at the failure of his favorite thing in the world. “So what’s the plan?”

Fingers dancing upon the screen of the datapad beside her, the device made a soft beep of confirmation as the commands she input appeared onscreen.

"This is."

For the first time since the beginning of their prickly conversation, Morgo smiled—a hideously smug thing across her pretty features, her long arm extended to the pirate, offering the datapad.

Nimo's blue eyes flicked down and across the screen in small, rapid successions, taking in what was being shown to him.

And red eyebrows climbed towards his hairline.

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