Work Text:
Operations Report of Captain Malavai Quinn, regarding the behavior of Apprentice Ma’Ren Avadne.
Lord Baras, your apprentice is a singularly vicious instrument of your will. Her fighting skill is without question, and her effectiveness with the Force is visible even to those who do not use it. She completed her mission without hesitation. However-
Captain Quinn pauses in his typing, not relinquishing his posture long enough to let his face fall into his hands, but he does let it hang just slightly in frustration. It should be easy to describe the actions of this warrior. She is a fierce and powerful fighter with her two lightsabers. She succeeds in every battle she throws herself into, even ones where she should be overwhelmed by sheer numbers, and she has earned the respect of every imperial agent she has spoken to. Even the Sith begrudgingly give this woman their respect, not just for her accomplishments, but for her power. Mathematically, he keeps having to revise his assessment of her effectiveness in combat and an analysis of her weaknesses, because it seems like she has none. She overcomes every situation thrown her way, and what interpersonal weaknesses he’s observed wouldn’t be sufficient in killing her. If anything, her inability to live on ration bars and preferring cooked food makes it all the trickier to kill her.
But Baras had asked for her intent. What she wants to do. Her feelings towards him. And that is the trickiest part for him.
From what Quinn had determine, the apprentice has a careful sense of balance. Her actions are often cloaked in the dark side, but there is light too. If he had to suppose, he thinks that she acts in such a way that Baras will see her as dark, when in fact she is quite neutral. She’s pragmatic, but kind. Brutal, but merciful.
…she has an intricate sense of honour. She will not shy from a fight – and on occasion, she will even welcome it – but she will grant many the mercy of a clean death. She will kill as ordered, but if there is a way to minimize the loss of life
And perhaps thumb her nose at Lord Baras in the process –
She will do so. This is particularly evident with Commander Rylon, and in her sparing of Lord Rathari.
He has to think about what else to put in. Lord Baras wanted details, as many details as possible so that he could figure out where to put pressure on her if needed. A personality assessment was also necessary. Quinn begins to type again.
For all of her respect of authority, she also seems to delight in ‘riling people up’. I believe this is an execution of the Sith Code, which she quotes often: ‘Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power.’ She is impudent and witty, and takes pride in causing anger for her to take advantage of. She does so for everyone she encounters, and I believe those who do not rise to her taunts earn her deepest respect. I have endevoured to do the same, even when she breaks protocol and refuses to address me by my title.
Quinn does not add how many times she’s hit on him. In public, over comms, in front of Jedi and Imperial Forces, and in private. It’s, quite frankly, absurd, but it took all of his willpower not to fall to it. Ma’Ren Avadne has a sharp toothed smile that seems to be made to smirk, and she has a skillful command of words, knowing exactly what will make his stomach twist and his heart skip a beat. She’s fifteen years younger than him, and with the right phrase, she makes him feel like a floundering young man again.
“Quinn, I could kiss you.”
But he had not reacted, and the moment that he had communicated that, she changed. However, he makes that mental note that she finds him attractive, and that her flirting, for all of its impropriety and salciousness, is not serious. She is a beautiful woman – a Sith Pureblood, with dark red skin, golden eyes, short cropped black hair, and enough gold jewelry on her to fill a treasury – and she knows it, so she uses it to her advantage. She explained it once, that it helps her measure people. That and she can’t turn it off. “I may have a pure bloodline, Captain, but I am not the golden child. I survive by endearing myself to people. Flirting is the easiest way to do that, and I’ve climbed into bed with people for less. I made my way through the Academy on my own merits, but I know power and what it takes to get it.”
If anything, that is her weakness. Apprentice Avadne is desperate for approval and affection, although that is buried deep under a sarcastic and cutting façade. He raises his head back to its steady position and taps that addendum out.
I will work to further impress myself upon her and earn a place at her side. From that position of trust, I can learn more about her and find further weaknesses.
He makes a few more notes and sends the report off to Darth Baras, before he hears a knock on his door. “Yes?”
It slides open to reveal said apprentice in relaxed casual wear: trousers and high boots, and a loose sweater that hangs open to reveal a tight shirt around her bust. He has learned to survey a person’s appearance without looking away from their eyes, and he has to use that skill with all he has.
“Captain,” she practically purrs at him.
“Yes, my lord?” He stands, clasping his hands behind his back as he stands at attention.
Her expression shifts slightly, not that he can place the emotion behind it. Relieved, perhaps? Even so, when she speaks again, her voice is neutral, halfway to a command. “We’re about to land on Tatooine, and you’re coming with me. I want to see you work. You promised me a crack shot.”
He doesn’t smile, but his chin lifts slightly with pride. “I will be ready to join you shortly, my lord.”
I want to see what you can do up close.
A smile returns to her face, and it feels like he’s staring down a lion. “Excellent.”
Operations Report of Captain Malavai Quinn, regarding the behavior of Apprentice Ma’Ren Avadne.
At this point, your apprentice does not believe that I have allegiance to anyone but the Empire. She does not suspect a thing. Again, I thank you for the opportunity to prove myself, Lord Baras.
Your apprentice is unlike any Sith I have encountered in my career, my lord.
After a moments of consideration, he decides that he shouldn’t mention how her actions lean more towards the light than the dark. Her careful mercy is becoming more and more obvious, and while it does not always serve Imperial interests, it marks her as a good woman. He knows that this is a weakness – mercy can be a mark of the weak – and it’s right up there with her need for affection as something that can be exploited. But she excels, regardless of this weakness. She has taken it and turned it into a strength. She excels because she is merciful, or perhaps in spite of it. He’s still not sure. He will leave it out of his report for now – simply because it would be a waste if Ma’Ren was killed (and she would be, if it was revealed that she was veering away from being a true Sith). In the meantime, Quinn will simply take notes and see whether she will become a threat.
I would equate her, in my more poetic moments, to a dreadnaught. There is no obstacle that can stand in her way. She accomplishes your tasks perhaps with some sign that she has broken a sweat, but never a moment of hopelessness. She balances rhetorical skills with her lightsaber skills, and while she does not inflict cruelty constantly, she leaves awe and fear in her wake.
Quinn has been travelling with this Sith Warrior for a few weeks now, moving from planet to planet to chase the missions Darth Baras sends her. True to his promise that he would be an excellent asset, he has been alternating between piloting the ship and various other tasks. He also accompanies her often when they hit planetside, and her approving sounds at his combat skills have cemented his place at her side. This does not leave him much room for socializing, although Apprentice Avadne – call me Ma’Ren, Captain, it won’t kill you – seems to take offence to it. She will put the ship on autopilot the moment that it is safe to and drag him into the common area. Not that there is much in the way of company. The only other occupants of the ship are a young Twi’Lek slave named Vette who looks at the apprentice with awe and concern in equal measure, and the droid 2V-R8 who is just…terrified. Of everything. Especially of Apprentice Avadne, who looks concerned every time 2V suggests that she’s going to deactivate or destroy it. But the apprentice insists on it, and so Quinn ends up having to eat a meal or have a drink with the crew on the regular.
At least it gives him some further insights into the apprentice.
However, a weakness that is becoming readily apparent within your apprentice is her sense of mercy. It is tied to her honour, yes, but it is becoming more and more prevalent in her decisions. Perhaps this is meant more so out of spite against you than any real sense of kindness, but she has left even potential enemies alive. I noted this previously with Commander Rylon and Lord Rathari, but this is not the end of the list. I have attached a list with these names, in case this is something that you will want to pursue further with her or send additional agents for cleanup. I have spoken to her about this unorthodox action and her response was simply “they weren’t worth my time to kill them, and as they live, they will live in fear of the thought that one day I will change my mind and come for them again. Isn’t that worse?”
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.
She cooks her own meals, based on the idea that ‘those ration bars may be nutritionally dense, but they taste like absolute ass’, and we make stops occasionally for her to do so. She has even extended her cooking to the crew. I believe this is also a way to prevent potential poisoning, as she refuses to let anyone take part in the cooking but herself. However, if someone were able to sabotage the ingredients, she may not notice. Particularly as the food leans towards the spicy side.
On a personal note, the food that she cooks is delicious. Sometimes a bit too spicy for his taste, but it has officially ruined him for ration bars. He tried to eat one on a day that she took Vette planetside instead of him, and immediately regretted his decision. (Luckily, she had put leftovers in the cooler for him with a note attached that said ‘for Malavai’. Which that…was beginning to feel far too sentimental. That she had set food aside for him because she knew he’d be hungry.) She does take recommendations, and it has become a familiar sight for him to see her in the cooking area, sleeves rolled up on her jacket, up to her elbows in something.
I will be conducting further analysis on her as our journey continues.
“MALAVAI!”
His head jerks up at the sound of his name in Avadne’s voice and he turns his head to check the in-ship clock. Ah. Dinnertime. With a sigh (and a growling of his stomach that he firmly ignores), he signs the report and sends it off before rising to his feet. He checks his uniform in the mirror, confirms its spotlessness, and makes his way out of his chambers to the common area. “Yes, my lord?”
“Come and get it while it’s hot!” Avadne is wearing a different set of casual clothes today as she serves up the meal. It resembles something similar to the simplest Sith robes, although she appears to have cut the sleeves off to show off her arms.
“Thank you, my lord.” He takes the plate she offers him and sits down before he properly considers what is in the plate.
…it’s a simple curry, with flatbread and plenty of vegetables. More specifically, it’s his favourite.
He cuts a glance up to her, but Avadne simply smiles as she hands Vette a plate of her own. His heart makes an unfamiliar clench of sentiment, and he buries his face into the food to try and hide from it.
Operations Report of Captain Malavai Quinn, regarding the behavior of Apprentice Ma’Ren Avadne.
You have asked specifically for a description of the relationship between your apprentice and her new padawan, Jaesa Willsaam, my lord. I am more than capable of elaborating. On an initial glance, the two women share the traditional dynamic between master and apprentice, i.e. the apprentice owing everything to the master and having their life held in the master's hands. Padawan Willsaam is a swift learner, able to grasp both the tenets of the Sith Code and their application. Not to mention the strength of her power. I have grown hesitant to be near her, lest she sense my true loyalties. Not only with Jaesa Willsaam become a powerful Sith Lord one day, given the right training, but she could even be a rival.
On a closer look at their relationship, however, it reminds me of a pair of sisters. Padawan Willsaam looks up to your apprentice as though she is the coming of a new age, hanging off of her every word. They are thick as thieves, and Ma'Ren seems dead-set on teasing some of the Sith passions out from that rigid Jedi training. She even includes some allowance for Jaesa to make a fool of her, if only in the privacy of our vessel...
"Jaesa, Vette, where in star's name are my pants??!?"
There is a fit of giggling from a far corner of the ship, audible through Quinn's door. He looks up for a moment, puzzled, and gets to his feet. The door of his quarters slide open easily and he sticks his head out, peering down the hallway.
"2V," he asks the nearby droid, "what is going on?"
The droid jumps and seems to be shaking out of its exoskeleton as it replies, "It seems, Captain, that the Master's other companions have stolen a portion of her wardrobe."
The deadpan stare Quinn levels at the droid seems to make the shaking worse. "They are aware that this is an Imperial vessel. With decorum."
"Apparently not."
Quinn turns his head to follow the sound of Avadne's voice and stares for a moment at the long expanse of red legs in front of him. Her regular trousers have cut-outs at the sides to reveal glimpses of those legs (the muscles in them are astounding. Someone in Sobrik Station had said that they would love to have those legs around their head like earmuffs and as much as Quinn had to admonish them, he...understood), but now they are bare. She is simply wearing underwear on her bottom half - a pair of far-too-short shorts - and seems to have borrowed a dressing gown, billowing down her sides. She would look regal if she didn't look so foolish.
"It appears you are missing something, my lord," he says diplomatically.
"Your observation skills are unparalleled, Malavai," Avadne replies, her rolling eyes compounding her deadpan delivery. "My entire drawer of pants is gone. There is absolutely nothing that could be used to cover my legs, apart from my boots."
(Again, Quinn has to force his eyes to stay on her face and remind himself that he is fifteen years older than her and she is his commanding officer, it violates all protocol to find your young CO attractive.)
"I know Vette had a hand in it," she continues. "But Jaesa has been in my room and seen where everything goes. And kept me distracted so Vette could do her work."
Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Well, the ship is only so small."
The tone of Ariadne's voice is almost evil, a hint of the Sith creeping out, but there is a smile to balance it out. "Bring them to me. I will make them pay."
That is a direct order. Quinn's mouth twitches in a slight smile and nods. "As you command, my lord."
Quinn finds Jaesa first, predictably. He does a quick sweep of each room first, trying to rule out sound or obvious hints, and hears the faint giggle when he sets foot in the engine room. There are no crates for anyone to hide in - 2V keeps the place far too tidy for that - but the room is filled with pipes and mechanical items. He scans the area, sharp eyes taking in everything, when he has a flash of memory of a holo-movie when he was a child. So he looks up, and there is Jaesa, hanging off of a sturdy pipe like some kind of enormous monkey-lizard. She is giggling, although there is a slightly worried expression on her face. Perhaps he should critique her, but Quinn can't help the slight smirk at the edge of his lips, shaking his head slightly. "I don't believe you're in trouble, Padawan."
"Are you sure?" Jaesa looks worried. "Vette said it would be okay, but I don't want to disappoint my master."
Quinn has dealt with Jedi before with their unnerving stillness and forced neutrality. It always seemed superior and deeply holier-than-thou to him. Jaesa was like that when she first came aboard, but over time, Avadne seemed to have worn that down. Jaesa smiles now. She laughs, even though she is self-conscious about it, expecting to be told off for expressing her emotions too loudly (what a horrible thing, it seems, to be a Jedi). She doesn't fall face first into her passions and emotions like so many other Sith do, but she explores slowly. They have explored cantinas and gone on adrenaline-inducing adventures, but this seems...more fitting for a girl raised as a slave and servant finally having a chance to break free.
He finally settles on, "I believe Avadne approves of your actions as an opportunity for growth, although I believe she would like to find at least one pair before her holocom call later with Darth Baras."
"Yes, I would," the apprentice calls as she walks into the room, arms crossed over her chest. For all of her general ferociousness, there is a softness to her smile and posture. Again, he thinks of one sister teasing another. "Although I think it would be entertaining. See if I can pass off this as a new fashion statement."
Jaesa snickers and lowers her legs, hanging off of the pipe before dropping to the ground. "I think you may be able to convince him of it, Master. Although I hope he does not adopt the trend."
Quinn briefly considers the mental image of Darth Baras in booty shorts and instantly tries to wipe it from his mind. Now he just feels sick, even though he has no idea what Darth Baras looks like under his armour. “I certainly hope not,” he mutters, which apparently is hilarious to both apprentice and padawan.
“Have you found Vette yet, master?” Jaesa asks.
“No. That woman knows how to fit into small spaces. There’s no way I’m going to find her unless I tear the ship apart, or wait for her to reveal herself,” Avadne smiles and cocks an eyebrow at her padawan. “Although, if a conspirator was willing to be a snitch and sense where she is...”
“What’s in it for me, master?” The padwan crosses her arms over her chest. Quinn’s mouth twitches again. Clever girl.
Avadne taps her finger against her chin. She’s changed her nails – still gold tipped, but with flat edges and filigree rather than claw-like points. “How about a private shopping trip next time we go to Dromund Kaas? I plan to take you anyways, but I can make an appointment to have you all dolled up…”
Jaesa’s eyes flick to Avadne’s nails, considering, and she murmurs, “Your pants are in the cabin, in the emergency rations compartment. Vette is…” She focuses, and Quinn watches the power radiate from her, “in the pantry.”
Avadne pats her shoulder with a smile. “Much obliged, Jaesa. I’ll make the appointment tonight.”
Quinn returns to his quarters to the sound of shrieking laughter from the kitchen, and Avadne’s amused cursing. He finishes up his report quickly, finding himself far too amused to shove more personal details into it.
It does seem to work, as Padawan Willsaam moves further and further towards the Sith cause. An unorthodox method, but an effective one. It does make Padawan Willsaam a weakness of your apprentice, though. A worthwhile concept in case of future betrayal.
Operations Report of Captain Malavai Quinn, regarding the behavior of Apprentice Ma’Ren Avadne.
Your apprentice seems dead set on giving me more grey hairs, my lord. I have had to shift my general combat stance from damage to healing simply from all of the antics that she gets herself into. As I have said previously, Ma'Ren destroys every obstacle that is set before her. She appears to take such things as a challenge. The moment that someone says that a task is impossible to complete, your apprentice rolls up her sleeves and decides to make said thing, in her words, "her bitch".
"AVADNE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"
Never mind just grey hairs, Quinn is going to have a heart attack at this point. He ducks behind cover, warming up his blaster for a charged blast, while the apprentice hangs off of the back of a massive terentatek. Both of her lightsabers are embedded in its back and it lets out a loud roar of pain, tossing its head wildly as it tries to buck her off. But tightly she holds on, her teeth bared in a snarl. Blood flies from the swinging bodies, and he has no idea whose blood it is.
“SHOOT THE BLASTED THING, QUINN!” She roars, her voice vibrating with the opening notes that he knows will be a Force Scream. He’s far enough away to avoid collateral damage, so he takes aim with his charged pistol and fires into the wound his blaster is carving into the terentatek’s side. Then her lungs open and with a roar, she makes the Force rip through it.
(He thinks it sounds like she reached down into their soul, found all of the pain that has filled her life, and dragged it out to throw at her enemies. It sounds like it should rip at her throat as it comes out, barbs and all, but it seems to make her even more angry.)
The terentatek lets out another roar, still focused on the annoying thing on its back, and scrabbles with its claws to try and reach her. One nail manages to swipe at her leg, which makes her snarl viciously, and then he watches the beast begin to step backward, wobbling with pain. Quinn jumps to his feet, readying the kolto as the beast backs directly into the wall, slamming her between it and its weight.
“AVADNE!”
There is a brief moment of stillness before the terentatek is propelled forward. Avadne’s lightsabers pull from its back, and her legs are extended in a Force-assisted kick to shove it away. She looks rough, barely holding on, and Quinn instantly sends over a kolto spray to put some health back into her. The green spray coats her body as she charges forward, her stride strengthening with each step, and she leaps up again into the creature’s face. Quinn hears the familiar slashes of the lightsaber cutting and offers his own blaster shots to whittle it down. With a cry of pain, the terentatek falls to the ground, and Avadne chops its head off with a cry of her own. She stands for a moment, trembling with effort, before she sinks to her knees, finally letting herself feel the pain.
(How does the Sith Code go again? ‘There is no peace, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength.’)
He rushes over to where she kneels, her body heaving with breaths, and mends her wounds with all the kolto he has left. Her hands shake with the effort, the adrenaline coursing through her, but they manage to turn the lightsabers off and sheathe them.
“My lord?” He leaves the question open, waiting for her to give an answer.
She is quiet for a moment before a familiar sharp smile comes back. “Impossible, my ass.”
“I’d say you’re going to get yourself killed doing this, but I don’t think that bothers you,” Quinn mutters absently, focused on wrapping up a few of the wounds that the kolto won’t quite seal. Then his hands freeze as he realized that those words in fact left his mouth. Shit. The apprentice is quiet, although Quinn is keenly aware as his hands go back to wrapping her wounds, that she tensed up. “My lord, forgive me, I spoke out of turn.”
“No, you’re right,” her voice is quiet, tired. She doesn’t make a sound as he binds her wounds, but he can still tell that she’s in pain. When his eyes briefly flick up to her face, her eyes stare off into the distance, as if she can’t meet his eyes. “You look over my weaknesses often enough for your mathematical assessments, you tell me. Why do you think I do it?”
This is dangerous ground. This is very dangerous ground, and they just fought a nearly impossible to kill creature. Ma’Ren Avadne is not as capricious and tempestuous as other Sith, but horrible things come from people who undermine Sith. He doesn’t lick his lips or swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat, but it’s a near thing. He thinks over his words carefully, taking only a moment to put them together, and begins, “You have mentioned before that you are used to ingratiating yourself to people. That speaks to a need to prove yourself worthwhile of people’s attention.”
Avadne makes no sound, so he continues (avoiding the potential psychoanalysis of childhood neglect and a need for attention), “You’ve proven in your time at the Academy that you excel at doing the impossible, or at least things that others can, and that is what has gotten you the greatest respect and praise. Proving that you are exceptional through passing great obstacles. Combine that with some…” He can’t quite finish his sentence.
“Self-destructive tendencies?” Avadne fills in. Her voice is still tired, but the edges of the words are sharp.
Your words, not mine. “and it makes sense that you would, for lack of a better phrase, risk your life for validation.”
A laugh rips its way out of her throat, dark and bitter, and it reminds him faintly of the Force Scream. She shakes her head slightly, not incredulous, but in that way that people do when the horrible thing they expect happens anyway. “Guilty as charged, Malavai.”
Quinn finishes bandaging her wounds in silence, and he offers a hand to help her to her feet. For a brief moment, Avadne staggers, but she straightens almost immediately. Malavai doesn’t try to help her any further. Instead, she just rolls her shoulders back, puts on her pretend confidence, and says, “Let’s bring back some proof that we killed it then.”
“Of course, my lord.”
As they make their way back to the one who told them about this particular beast, Quinn casts a quick eye to Avadne. She looks none the worse for wear, but he thinks that he might see some wavering. When they part, he murmurs, “My lord?”
“Yes, Malavai?” Her smile is back to full voltage, charming and sweet.
“Well done.”
Her expression stutters, so pointedly fake for a moment, and her eyes go wide with surprise. For even a moment, he would dare say that she looks vulnerable. But as she recovers, her smile shifts to something a little more real, a little softer. “Thank you. You as well.”
His heart thumps for just a moment, the sentiment choking him, and when she warms up the speeder where they left it, it isn’t just the sun making him feel warm. She goes right back to her usual self, the moment seemingly forgotten as they traverse the planet, but if he stretches his imagination, he thinks that she might be just a little less reckless in front of him. Just a little.
Whether this speaks to a thrill-seeking nature, a thirst for a challenge, or another deeper issue, I cannot say without further examination. Perhaps she would be well-suited to an expedition with Mandalorians. She would undoubtedly win their respect.
Operations Report of Captain Malavai Quinn, regarding the behavior of Apprentice Ma’Ren Avadne.
We are approaching the transponder station above Corellia, my lord, and the plan is coming to fruition. She believes that you have instituted martial law on the planet to prevent any authorized ship from landing, so we will have to get a special transponder to bypass the ‘blockade’. I have calculated the odds of your apprentice’s survival to be 0.01%. She will either not pose a problem to you any more, or I will be dead. Either way, an ineffective agent has been removed from your employ.
This…feels more like a betrayal to write. He has been travelling with the apprentice – Ma’Ren, he has finally managed to push through his propriety enough to call her by her first name in his head - for over two years now, comfortable in his berth on the Fury, fighting alongside her. Alongside his following her orders as a commanding officer, he trusts in her judgement and skill. More amazing than that, she has never let him down. Not once. Perhaps sometimes her incomprehensible acts of mercy throw him off, but she always can explain them. And she certainly let him murder Moff Broysc.
(That was beyond satisfying, his pistol and her lightsabers destroying a man whose incompetence had hurt so many.)
Not to mention her new position. She was powerful enough to survive Darth Baras turning on her, and now she had drawn the eye of the Emperor himself. She had become the Emperor’s Wrath, and now she had turned properly against her master. That had been an interesting day. She’d locked herself in her quarters for a night, and when he finally managed to push inside to check on her, her face was in her hands, her makeup smeared. She pulled the door closed with the Force and asked him, voice low and cracking, I know the Sith are supposed to betray each other, but why was I not even worth his personal attention? Was I not good enough?
(Would she show such vulnerability to anyone else? Maybe not – so he put his arm around her shoulder and let her lean against him until she got control of herself again.)
He would, dare he say it, even consider Ma’Ren a friend. She is improper and charming, letting her sharp sarcastic façade fall to show him a warm person seeking companionship. She smiles at him, fangs showing, and he is starting to smile back at her. He won’t drop the address of ‘my lord’, not by a long shot, but he has become more willing to address her as ‘Avadne’ when she presses him to. She makes old man jokes, teasing him about their age difference, and the one time he let himself drop protocol enough to call her ‘whippersnapper’, she nearly fell over with laughter.
At her insistence, he has taught her as many skills as he can based on Imperial process. She can handle a blaster now, if pressed, and gained some better understanding of how to navigate Imperial bureaucracy.
(The day she’d threatened a Moff with blackmail and proper paperwork was the day that told him that if it were not for the age difference and the careful distance between them, he would be head over heels for her.)
She isn’t able to pilot the ship through an asteroid field, but if he is injured, she can take the helm and blast them away from a planet. Which she has, on occasion, when a mission hit a critical point on Belsavis. He doesn’t remember much from it, but he remembers her arms around his body, holding him tight to her as she leapt through the air towards the Fury, being placed in the medical bay, 2V working on him while the ship went into orbit. She even sat at his bedside afterward, worrying over him until it was confirmed that Quinn would be able to fight another day.
“You are not allowed to die, Malavai,” she told him, hands wrapped around his. “Not on my watch.” He hadn’t even had the strength for a soothing retort. He’d just leaned his tired head against the pillow and fallen asleep to her fingers running through his hair.
They speak between missions, discuss common interests, and when a mission is particularly stressful, she seeks him out. He has even shifted his work station from inside his chambers to the common area just so she can flop down on the couch next to him, putting her legs on the arm rest, and tell him some kind of story. He knows about her family, her powerful siblings who are currently squabbling over a family Darth position, the pressure to continue the family line, the screaming fight when she was caught in bed with a girl. He has, in turn, told her about his own family, his career, his problems. He may travel with the others in the crew, but Ma’Ren is the only one that he would openly seek out.
(Quinn doesn’t take downtime often, but he has blurry memories of an evening with Ma’Ren, his collar undone by two buttons in a scandalous turn of events, her unarmoured legs on his thighs, alcohol in hand, her telling jokes that pull tight chuckles out of him, the sound of her gold-dipped nails tapping on a bottle, her voice murmuring ‘oh Malavai, maybe there is hope for you yet’, the warmth curling in his stomach not just from the alcohol, but from time with a friend.)
He puts the report down and puts his face in his hands. He should have known. He should have known that this would happen if he tried to make himself a friend to her, that he would find her one of his own. He had to phrase this plan to Darth Baras as a death trap, this is his friend, a woman he respects more than anyone else in the bloody galaxy, and if she was going to keep rising and rising, he had to make sure that she was worth it. He expected that he wouldn’t make it off of this planet, wouldn’t make it out of the room that he had set everything up in, but if that was how the cards fell, so be it.
There is a knock on the door and he looks up in time to see Ma’Ren open it. “Malavai?” Her voice is a low rumble. “We’ll be landing soon. Let’s get those clearance codes.”
Propriety is his cover up as he sends the report and rises to his feet. Routine reminds him to smooth down his uniform to make sure it is in tip-top shape, but somehow, his heart isn’t fully in it. “Of course. I will be ready shortly, Avadne.”
She gives him a smile. “Are you worrying, Malavai?”
“Of course not, my lord,” Quinn says. “Simply anticipatory.”
“It’ll be a walk in the park, don’t you fret,” she steps closer and pats his shoulder, ruffling his uniform slightly.
“Of course.”
And here, we learn whether the Emperor’s Wrath is powerful enough to survive Lord Baras.
Personal Records of Captain Malavai Quinn:
It’s done. I didn’t die, and neither did she.
There are no more operations reports, or at least, not to Darth Baras. He betrayed Ma’Ren, as Darth Baras demanded, and when he failed, he turned his back on the man to stay with her.
The ‘Quinncident’, as Vette jokingly calls it, tore a hole in the trust of the crew. As much as the crew knew that he served the Empire first and foremost, it was still a shock. He can feel the looks that are sent his way as they board the ship, as 2V-R8 patches him up. And the day after…Ma’Ren summons him to her quarters.
Any time that he has interacted with Ma’Ren on his own, there was always the undercurrent of propriety holding him back, but he never felt intimidated by her position of power over him. Not just because she was younger than him, or because she was an apprentice, but because she never gave him a reason to be intimidated. She could kill him with ease, was infinitely more powerful than he was, was already forming powerful connections…but she was Ma’Ren. She was the woman who would sing in the fresher, but couldn’t carry a tune. She was the one who would use the force to hold things up, but then forget that it wasn’t active all the time and drop things, like someone who had lived in zero gravity. She was his combat partner and his friend.
Now…he didn’t feel afraid, per se, but definitely intimidated.
“My lord,” he begins, standing stiffly. Any of the ease he had with her is gone. It will make this easier when she sends him away. She sits in a chair at her desk, legs splayed in an entirely improper angle, her gold eyes staring deep into him.
“Quinn,” her voice is curt, and despite the previous impropriety of it all, the lack of his first name stings. He swallows and turns to her golden gaze. Her eyes rake over him before they finally soften. “At ease. I know why you did it.”
That does not put him at ease in the slightest. Even though his loyalty is first to the empire, to her second, there is still the burden of this truth. That he betrayed his friend for the Empire. “Yes, it was Baras’s orders.” He says, his voice as tight as his muscles as he tries to stare her down.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Yes, but not just that. You were testing me, weren’t you? To see if I was worthy of leading?”
Quinn has stood under the gaze of countless people who wanted to find his weaknesses and rip them open for the world to see, for their own benefit, to make him seem weak. He has stood tall against them, proved them wrong, taken a perceived weakness and made it a strength. But Ma’Ren looks at him with simple understanding, staring into the heart of him, and he feels his straight backed posture tremble.
How did she know?
He can’t make the words come out of his mouth. There’s too much, and he turns his head in shame, not able to look her in the eye. He can’t even move his head to confirm or deny the accusation. He knows the logic behinds his decision, knows it inside out, but somehow, it doesn't want to lay itself out before her.
She hums, and he hears the faint tapping of her gold-tipped nails against the table. “You had to make sure I was strong enough to survive Baras, strong enough to lead. I'm not blind, I know I have weak spots, you’ve noticed them over our time together, probably even exploited a couple. You didn’t want to kill me, but you, Malavai Quinn? You love the Empire. You can’t hand her over to a weak leader.”
He nods, unthinkingly. Yes. His voice is soft, as he explains, “If I was right, then you died without pain.”
“I knew that you were shooting to kill.” His eyes snap to her face, and her answering smile is fanged. There is no sarcasm. She looks…amused. Glad, even? “I am pleased you had that much backbone.”
He allows himself a brief shrug. “If I was wrong, then you’d kill me like a true Sith. Either way, the Empire is served.”
“But I didn’t kill you.” She taps the desk once, the metal on metal sound reverberating in the room.
That is the strangest part. “No. You didn’t. You…you spared me.”
“Of course I did.”
He remembers his own words. She will not shy from a fight – and on occasion, she will even welcome it – but she will grant many the mercy of a clean death. She will kill as ordered, but if there is a way to minimize the loss of life…
“You’re my friend, Malavai.” She says it plainly, with his first name as the crowning jewel to ease the tightness in his chest. “I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. Even when you betrayed me, it was because you ultimately were trying to protect me. To protect the Empire.”
…she will do it.
She steps forward, pressing away from the chair. There is not a hint of menace in her posture now. She is weaponless, without armor – she knew this wouldn’t come to a fight – and she walks up to him, arms opening slightly. He can’t move, can’t back away, and accepts it as she drags him into a hug. His face presses into her neck, and he stutters at first at the impropriety of it, but she growls, “Just hug me, you daft Imperial bastard, we can discuss decorum another time.”
She is warm, a furnace of heat. There is a thrum under her skin, something like the Force, like life, and it is addicting to feel. He wraps his arms around her and holds on tight. If his next exhale shakes him, she says nothing.
"You're my friend," she repeats. "And you won't do it again."
"No, I won't."
"If you do, I kick you into a sun."
"I understand."
She hugs him a bit tighter. "I value what you think of me, Malavai. Am I worthy to lead?"
It is strange to see and be seen with the comfort that it will never be used against you. It’s mortifying, the ordeal of being known.
"Yes. You are."
And yet…here they stand.
Personal Records of Captain Malavai Quinn:
I am aware that Makeb is a necessary planet for resource acquisition. Darth Marr has made that point very clear to us in our mission briefing. However, that doesn’t change the fact that Makeb has become, as Ma’Ren describes it, ‘a luxury shithole’. It may have been grand once, but between the sheer amount of distance to cross between each place, the damage from the isotope mining, and the damned weather, Ma’Ren has issued an unofficial executive order for us to never set foot on the planet again. That is illogical, but I can’t find the heart to disagree with her. Because this planet is awful, and I have been to Hoth, Tattooine, Quesh, and Belsavis with this crew.
Personal Records of Captain Malavai Quinn:
I am never drinking again. It should be noted, as a record of Ma’Ren’s strengths and weaknesses, that the woman can hold her liquor better than anyone on board the Fury. This includes Lieutenant Pierce, who seems to pride himself on his tolerance, and Broonmark, who processes alcohol differently than the rest of the crew. She outdrank us, outperformed us, and, bless her heart, deleted the security footage. And made us hangover breakfasts. I am more than a little grateful. My head feels like Ma’Ren stepped on it.
(Addendum: I told Vette this metaphor, and she has informed me that, in my drunkenness, I told Ma’Ren that if she stepped on me, I would say thank you. Apparently, Ma’Ren was quite amused and told me that I should ask again another time.
...I am considering launching myself out of the airlock.)
Personal Records of Captain Malavai Quinn:
It is my fortieth birthday today. While some of the crew members are not overly inclined to have a party, myself included, Ma’Ren made sure that it was celebrated. She made my favourite for dinner and presented both a cake (acquired from port, as apparently her culinary talents do not extend to baking) and a wrapped present. It looks to be a custom-modded blaster, with allowances to remove the modifications should I find the more suited for my weapon, and a piece of memorabilia of the War of Coruscant. Frivolous gifts, perhaps, but she also kissed my cheek and told me that she was honoured to be my friend. I did not express this statement out loud, sentiment of this gravitas is not part of my nature, but I am honoured to be hers as well.
She also called me a stunning silver fox, and when I said that I didn't have silver hair, she told me to stop dying my hair and then she could be honest. I have no immediate plans to comply.
(An addendum: apparently, that was not my entire gift. As a special gift not from her, but the Imperial military (with some sith pressure, I suspect), I will now be filing these reports as Captain Malavai Quinn, 2nd Rank.)
Personal Records of Captain Malavai Quinn, 2nd Rank:
Ma’Ren turned twenty-five today. Vette decided that we should go to Nar Shaddaa for her birthday celebration, and Ma’Ren followed with an amused look in her eye. Jaesa even decided to come along to ‘pretend to explore her passions more thoroughly’. I think she was just curious. Ma’Ren fully supports it. “It’ll help you see a life well lived,” she said.
Before they left, I presented Ma’Ren with the gift that I acquired for her. A set of gold jewelry for her throat piercings, with chains laced between them like a corset, and a matching necklace with a brown diamond in it. She immediately put them on, and thanked me profusely.
I forget sometimes how young she is. Twenty-five years old, and already the Emperor’s Wrath. She has done so much in so little time, and has more power at her fingertips than I have had in my entire life. I told her that I was proud of her and what she had accomplished. She nearly broke my ribs with how tight she hugged me, and I believe she started to cry into my shoulder.
WrathFull: i’m not doing it malavai
Quinncident: Avadne, it is a simple diplomatic event on Alderaan.
Wrathfull: alderaan is a snowy hell full of pretentious fuckwits and bugs that want to eat my face
Quinncident: …
Wrathfull: you can’t even fukin deny it
Quinncident: Perhaps you are right, but that does not deny the fact that your presence has been requested.
Wrathfull: m alavai i’m not going
Quinncident: Did I not mention that the dress code is formal and your outfit is being custom tailored?
Wrathfull: …
Wrathfull: are you trying to buy my cooperation with a pretty dress
Quinncident: Is it working, my lord?
Wrathfull: if you’re not currently batting your eyes i will eat rancor
Quinncident: Nonsense, my lord.
Wrathfull: i can feel that smirk from here malavai
Quinncident: I have no idea what you are talking about.
Wrathfull: how many diplomatic incidents am i allowed
Quinncident: Do you really believe we have been given a number in preparation of disaster?
Wrathfull: …
Quinncident: …
Wrathfull: …how many malavai
Quinncident: One plate of food to the face and three threats of violence. No drawing of lightsabers. And, I quote, “if the Emperor’s Wrath decides that tonight is the most opportune time to approach an ambassador’s daughter for a dalliance, she must make sure she doesn’t get caught, for god’s sake”.
Wrathfull: they know me so well
Wrathfull: you’re coming too by the way
Quinncident: My lord, I must insist against this course of action!
Wrathfull: awwww come on malavai
Wrathfull: i need you to protect my virtue
Quinncident: What virtue, Avadne?
Wrathfull: OUCH QUINN
Wrathfull: ... and to hack some computers while i make an appropriately distracting commotion
Quinncident: You just want to watch me get hit on by noblewomen.
Wrathfull: not my fault you’re hot for an old man malavai
Quinncident: I will put you over my knee, Ma’Ren
Wrathfull: oooh is that a promise
Quinncident: …
Wrathfull: …
Wrathfull: how about you come with me, i protect you from the old ladies, and i will sweet talk that moff like you’ve been wanting me to do for a month
Quinncident: …
Wrathfull: and i will apologize to that governor. properly. with groveling.
Quinncident: You do not need to grovel, my lord. That will suffice.
Wrathfull: you’re coming with me to the tailor
Wrathfull: we’re gonna match and we’re gonna look hot
Quinncident: If you say so, my lord.
Wrathfull: thanks malavai. really. Thanks.
Quinncident: It is my pleasure, Avadne.
Quinncident: Will you change my nickname now?
Wrathfull: not a chance in hell, you earned it
Personal Records of Captain Malavai Quinn, 2nd Rank:
Ma’Ren nearly died today. We were investigating a droid factory, there was an explosion that knocked us back, and the height that she fell from…
She hung off the edge of that abyss for what felt like forever. It was only a few seconds. She had no power to pull herself up and I couldn’t pull her up by myself. But she said…she said what she thought might be her last words to me. I’ll have them etched in my brain forever.
“Malavai. My brother in arms. My friend. I love you. It’s been an honour.”
And then she fell.
I don’t know how I got down there as fast as I did, but I found her at the bottom of the shaft and had to carry her out. She may not have had enough powr to pull herself up, but enough returned on the descent that she could cushion her fall. Still, it wasn’t enough to totally protect her. She broke so many bones. She didn’t even scream. But as we moved, she did put her face in my shoulder. She barely breathed. She held onto me so tightly. Every bump made her stop breathing for a moment, and her nails felt almost like claws digging into my skin. I don’t remember what I said, what sweet words I said to try and keep her calm, but she never screamed. Perhaps it is a part of being Sith, being trained not to show weakness like that, but it was almost unnatural.
Thank every inventor in the world for medical probes. I had enough kolto on me so I could stabilize her until we could get to safer ground, and then to another medical droid for more intense care. But she didn’t let go of my hand the entire time, and her jaw was clenched tight.
(Yet again, I remember that she is young. An adult, yes, but still so young.)
We have put her on bed rest until she fully recovers. Pierce thinks it’s my fault that she got hurt, of course, but I had nothing to do with it. She told him so as well, but does that stop him? Of course not.
I am writing this by her bedside as she sleeps. Vette will take a shift when I am ready to fall asleep, with Pierce following soon after. Despite the animosity we may share with each other, this crew is united by our loyalty to this woman.
Personal Records of Captain Malavai Quinn, 2nd Rank:
She’s gone. Ma’Ren is gone. I refuse to believe that she is dead – it would take something worse than the Eternal Empire to kill Ma’Ren Avadne – and I am determined to find her.
However, I must concede that there is a spark of despair in my heart. She is mortal. Perhaps she did die. I have been told that it would be healthiest to mourn my friend rather than persist in this troublesome search for her.
But it’s Ma’Ren. My friend deserves the best I can offer, and that means leaving no stone unturned.
…Ma’Ren, if you’re alive, please hold on. I’m coming.
Personal Records of Major Malavai Quinn:
Given the Empire's need for additional strength following the losses of the war with Zakuul, we need to make a connection with the Alliance. I have been sent as a representative, both to offer peace talks and support, and to create a contingency plan in case something goes wrong. I have placed an explosive device on Iokath in case of this.
On a personal note, I know why I am being sent here. I know who is rumoured to be in charge of the Alliance, and if that is right, the Empress wishes to press on my connections with her to get what we need. I understand this rationale – it is what I would do if I was in command – but I cannot help but feel that shadow. If the Alliance is truly commanded by the Emperor’s Wrath, then it is more than just a potential ally. It is a force that we need to get on our side. I am confident in my ability to work, but if it is actually Ma’Ren, if she survived somewhere out of my reach…
I just hope it's her. If not, then perhaps I can get the answer to the question I have been asking myself for five years.
…it IS her.
Major Quinn feels his heart stop as he sees a very familiar figure stride toward him and the very unruly Lieutenant Dorne of the Republic. He knows that stride, that smile, those hands resting idly on her waist in a feint of casualness when he knows they are inches from her lightsabers. Even without the revealing bodysuit...he knows that face.
The Alliance representatives – the SIS agent and Lord Beniko –stare intently at her (like she’s the next coming of something). Lord Beniko speaks, "We intercepted these two individuals as potential assassins, Outlander, but it appears that they had other agendas in mind. Specifically, a meeting with you."
Her eyes go sharp, scanning over them, before settling on Quinn’s face. Her mouth twitches, and when Lieutenant Dorne jumps in, trying to get a word in edgewise, Ma'Ren lets out a sound halfway between a hiss and a bark that shuts Dorne up immediately. “I will hear you out, Republic, but let me greet my friend before we get to business.”
The SIS agent opens his mouth, obviously trying to ease some ruffled feathers, but Quinn interrupts. “I don’t believe she was talking to you.” The Republic agents stare, Beniko raises her eyebrows, and Quinn feels himself smirk. “You have a moment, my lord, but then we have urgent business.”
It’s been years for him – and the time in prison had not made that passage of time easier – but it definitely hasn’t been that long for her. Whether she missed him was now irrelevant while she was in CARBONITE, no wonder he couldn’t find her if she was sitting in a storage room within the Eternal Empire. He expects her joy in seeing him, he expects some kind of dramatic response later. He anticipates…he doesn’t know what he anticipates. But the soft smile that spreads across her face - not a smirk, a smile, the softest smile he’s ever seen on her face when she’s sober - is not it. His eyes go wide with amazement, even as the rest of him stays rigid. “I owe you an apology for being gone so long, Malavai. It’s good to see you.”
Ma'Ren is restraining herself. He can tell that much, and while he maintains his professionalism, he lets himself relax, just a little. He knows that she will see it in his eyes, the set of his mouth, the slightest incline of his head. “It is good to see you as well, my lord.”
He sees her, and she sees him. They nod to each other, and then get right to business. Dorne won’t let them linger on personal interactions, and neither will the leaders that they represent. A decision has to be made.
…she chooses the Empire. Of course. He dreads to think what would have happened if she hadn’t. He would have tried to kill her, perhaps, but that is a possibility to puzzle over. When Dorne leaves, Ma’Ren slams a hand down on the console, cursing long and loud about the idiocy of leaders if they cannot make themselves get along to fight this indomitable foe, honestly, how the fuck do you expect your powers to exist if you can’t make concessions. Lord Beniko drags her back to the situation, gaze firm as she reminds the Emperor’s Wrath to attend to the situation at hand.
(He also sees the softness in Ma’Ren’s eyes when she looks at Lord Beniko. He has never seen her quite so soft before, and isn’t that fascinating, that Ma’Ren has caught feelings.)
The moment passes, and Beniko and Shan turn as though they are going to speak to their leader. However, Ma’Ren steps backward, crouching slightly, thighs tensing under her armour as she turns to look at Quinn. He knows that movement well, especially with the slightest glow of the Force as she gathers power, and braces himself. Shan frowns, not sure what is happening. Then Ma’Ren leaps with the Force, covering far too much space with the jump, and lands just before him to sweep him into a hug. It almost knocks the breath out of him, but there is no time to cough as the Emperor’s fucking Wrath holds onto him with every ounce of her immeasurable strength, lifting him off of the ground.
It is undignified. Massively undignified. It's so sudden, his body swaying on the edge of falling, that he has to wrap his arms tight around Ma’Ren’s neck for support. It’s not quite enough to stabilize, his body hanging off of her, and despite the immense impropriety, he has to wrap his legs around her waist. “My lord-” He protests, but Ma'Ren's arms tighten around him.
“Shut up, Malavai.” She growls, face pressed into his shoulder. The Force does not wash over him like it does when she is trying to convince him of something, but he feels the impact of those words, especially in that frantic voice. “Please.”
They look fools, and he knows it. (He is fifteen bloody years older than she is. He is fifty years old, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t be doing this, they look like fools, but oh, it’s her, only she would be this reckless and improper, oh, Ma’Ren, my friend…) Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Beniko and Shan staring in amazement. But those words convince him and, despite his discomfort, he holds her tight. In this moment, frankly, Malavai doesn’t give a shit what any of them think.
“Alright,” he manages, hoping his voice doesn’t crack with emotion. (He is a grown man. He will not break down in public.) He keeps his arms around her, buries his face into her shoulder in return (it smells like darkness and spice, with a hint of iron, it is so deeply her).
“Malavai, I’m so, so sorry,” she murmurs in his ear, holding him tight.
“Avadne,” he replies in a tight voice, still trying to process that it’s her, that she’s alive and here and he is in her arms. It is her – the Force throbs under her skin, and he would know this woman anywhere. “We are here now. And I am at your side.”
She finally lowers him down. Shan and Beniko have left to give them space, and Ma’Ren helps to smooth down his uniform. “Look at you, moving up in the world,” she taps his new pips (with short nails, her nails are short, Ma'Ren you hopeful horny dork), “You’ll be a Moff someday, I know it.”
Her confidence in him makes him soar. “I’ll prove it to you one day, my lord.” They catch up, walking around the room, and it feels so much like the old days. He tells her how he never gave up searching for her, and how they put him in prison for it. She tells him how it felt to be caught in carbonite, how she’s going to hunt down a tyrant and beat sense into him, how it has been to have the support of Theron Shan and Lana Beniko again. Good, she says, if occasionally infuriating with galactic politics.
He even finds the courage and ease to tease her. “Perhaps I should be worried about losing a place of favour with you?”
“You? Never!” Ma’Ren’s eyes go comically wide, playing along as she waits for the punchline.
“Even if I was to be replaced by Lord Beniko?” Quinn’s eyebrow raises, and he delights in the sight of Ma’Ren’s cheeks taking on a darker tone, flushing. “She is quite a strategic ally, and I see how you look at her, Avadne.”
Ma’Ren doesn’t shove him with her shoulder, but she looks like she’s considering it. "I have...hopes of a potential alliance. But I could never replace you, Malavai."
They stand shoulder to shoulder, looking out the window for a moment at the stars and the future ahead, and Quinn debates one last Operational Report.
Operations Report of Major Malavai Quinn to Empress Acina, regarding the Emperor’s Wrath, Ma’Ren Avadne
You think you will get me to betray her again for the Empire. I love the Empire and I will serve it for the rest of my days. But if you think that I will betray her again…
You will need to find another agent.