Hands curled unconsciously as Aran sat bird-like perched on the edge of the railing, overlooking the majority of the street. Cat-calls and screams, yells and hoarse bickering were the blanketed sounds that made up 'normal' for this part of Nar. It was refuse and blood and guts here, dirty streets and dirty people, cheap and discordant. Floating above the place was a tangle of threads and knots, sickly alluring and teasing, dark and tainted and oh-so just within reach. She could lift her hand up and pull on one of them and study it, learn the fears that made it.
She could play with it, and that frightened her more than Aran could put into words. She knew she could play with it again, study it, read the Force, and as amply demonstrated when the captives attacked their would-be rescuers, her old style was a detriment against foe.
She didn't know what she said or did, specifically, to cause Jean and Mildred both to be.... defensive. She knew she attacked Mildred and judging from how well-healed she was, she had attacked well, at least a few times before she'd been taken down.
It was dangerous to owe anyone unnamed favors but she felt she had to offer something in restitution; she couldn't undo the damage she'd done to her few victims. Ahn'akiir was, in the scheme of things, better to owe favors to. She owed the same to Eron - Vivek - and would give him the same offers. She hid a wince; un-named favors to a Darth and a Master Jedi.
At least with Eron she knew he didn't have a sense of humor so he was unlikely to ask anything she might regret. Her hand rested on the folded up pile of discarded robes, the heavier - but more protective - footgear set aside.
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