Ciphered Holos

She hadn't yet gotten the itch in her feet, a fact the Miralukan gave small thanks for given the ship was reasonably small and she was more than effectively trapped on it. Her hands traced the walls as if she needed that touch, fingertips feeling the contours and indentations in the hull before she pulled a glove off, pressing the palm of her hand against the wall, letting out a breath before her forehead rested against the wall.

"You can't fault me for doing what you yourself would do," he'd said, and Aran had felt it as effectively as a chain. Until she could break the control - and how could she when the after-effects of Proteus' serum were still untreated? - she felt the choice was stripped. But no she wasn't a prisoner, just an enforced guest. "If you want to be a prisoner I can hand you over to the Republic-" and the woman felt tension in her shoulders again.

It'd been mere hours after getting Sverdas back, the humiliation of being a joke again, the brunt of a fantastical joke for Shadow and Arkatorn and his companions, before she'd found herself in the Bucket plugging in coordinates. It was a whim, a fancy, to head to Imperial space, wondering what in the galaxy she was doing there until she'd seen something familiar. Heard a familiar voice. And then it'd made sense again and the shame had been back in full force, head rising and emotions snapping.

She'd been a good joke. She'd been their humor and entertainment enough - she wouldn't rail that it was unfair because they were sith and cared about being fair as much as she cared what color of shirt she grabbed. But if she wouldn't rail she also had learned at least something from the experience; she didn't try to fight directly. She just tried to turn, heading back to the ramp of the Bucket intent on making at least a slightly dignified exit. He'd had his fun - again - and shown she had no power.

None.

It'd have been more galling if she hadn't been trying to leave. But she'd gotten as far as putting in codes for the Bucket's door before she'd found herself turning around again. She'd come to a polite stop just short of the pureblood without realizing it, seeing a shift of Force as the Bucket's ramp lifted and she stood there.

It struck her how easily it'd happened. She'd always been able to fight, to rebel, to resist before but she had no way to do more than try and break the control after. And that had gone so well the night they were rescuing Sverdas... She'd managed a spasm of her hand that night, knowing she wanted to attack them, to escape and unable to act on the disconnected feelings. It’d gone as poorly as it could possibly have gone - the only way that ‘rescue’ could’ve gone worse would’ve been if Sverdas had stayed instead of accompanying them.

By managing to stick to civility she'd forcefully put her feelings aside, set them away to focus on what was quickly becoming her goal during her stay on Arkatorn’s large ship. Get free. Become stronger to get free. Be less of a joke and break free. Amass enough power that she could resist the domination of her thoughts... Somehow get free long enough to maybe escape and-

And what? Get herself killed? Get executed or carted off by an enterprising jedi shadow who did to her what Arkatorn himself aptly demonstrated was possible? And if Arkatorn made good on his threat to put the lies to her friends into the open, would she have anything worth going back to? Would she have a friend left who wouldn’t be willing to turn her over, or turn their shoulder to her? Would even Sriia be forgiving, given what Arkatorn had done to Sverdas- first kidnapping then some alteration they hadn’t had the time to unravel yet? She’d still taken his offered hand, accepted his help as he’d first phrased it, the offer he’d made at once different and a repeat.

If she had been stronger she might’ve saved Sverdas in the first place. If she got stronger she’d be able to protect her friends. As long as she kept herself focused on actions for someone else, she’d avoid the slope she often found herself falling down, and avoid power just for power’s sake.

She’d saved Doc, hadn’t she? Arkatorn’s comments had awakened the desire to play with the technique, Aran finding that with a screaming servant her target she was able to identify the over-ride for pain much faster. Even if she’d still hurt the servant until then but the emotions had been... so tempting. The terror had increased when his motions were no longer pain-filled but still outside of his control. And it had been so relaxing again, finding the lure and appeal of the dark side seeping into her until the actions had needed to be reined back before she found herself playing for the sake of it.

Lines, those small lines she needed to hold. She could grow stronger, more powerful, without falling to the desires to pursue power for the sheer sake of it. She had to be able to maintain that division or she’d erase another defining line between herself and her company. Company she found... almost as relaxing.

Almost as relaxing and engaging as the Lorrdian dancer had been. Confusion rose up among the myriad of emotions then as she remembered the feel of her muscles, her body. The way she’d moved too sinfully, the way she’d danced and shifted, leading but moving a-pace with Aran’s own efforts to keep up. She pulled her hand off the wall quickly, lifting the palm up as if eyes were there to stare at it.

It’d been so long since she’d touched. Before her and Xan had split, certainly, she’d pulled away from him. Her avoidance of touch meant that a little tap against a shoulder startled her but she’d felt so relaxed, so comfortable... and she’d wanted to touch; she’d been smiling she remembered, her experiment successful and the servant released. She’d wanted to relax that one degree more, feeling skin near skin in the ways that meant power and comfort twinned together in her mind, and this time the invitation hadn’t been turned down. She’d even forgotten Arkatorn’s presence after setting her ice-wine aside, the invitation accepted.

And touch had been so good. It’d been everything Aran treasured - intimate, personal, trusting. Exciting to match pace, the twisting of muscles as she moved with the dancer, letting herself embrace the moment and forget everything. While they’d danced she’d forgotten Arkatorn, she’d forgotten Sveradas, Sriia, Akkai, Bennet, Torlem, the Republic, the Empire - she’d just been.

When the dancing had ended she’d come back to herself with a feeling of rightness still settled against her skin. She was more relaxed and content in that moment than she’d been since fleeing Tython. It was disconcerting that she had been sitting next to what was classically her enemy, the pureblood preventing her departure and usurping her free will to keep her safe, but she felt settled. Even though she reminded herself what Arkatorn had done to her and her friends it didn’t shake the ease she’d found herself falling in to.

Ideas were coming back to her, ideas of how to manipulate the nervous system, ideas of how to make her control more subtle, and she wanted to know if she could control multiple bodies. But that required practice. It required living subjects to test her control on, test the refinement - how long it took her to get control of the body needed to be improved still. She needed to see if she could interrupt the impulses without having to induce her own lightning, make the control takeover be faster, more complete. Could she force words from a mouth? It’d require more control over the mind while also controlling the body - that might be more than she wanted to expend effort on just yet. She couldn’t see an application of that now, though...

She closed her hand into a fist, slamming it against the hull suddenly. What was she doing?! Here she was contemplating how to control... living beings.

She was thinking of the dancer again, of applications of the Force that had nothing to do with defense but instead offense... she shook her head. She patted her belt, pulling off the comm and cursing softly. It’d taken her this long to think of it and the one she needed she’d left on the Bucket. And her datapad was there too.

The suggested trip to Yavin Four wasn’t such a bad idea... if she could persuade Arkatorn to let her take her ship. A promise to not do more than fly to the planet... it might work?

Then she laughed.

What she needed to do was convinced Arkatorn to let her go and send her back without killing her. Otherwise he could let her fly the Bucket - but prevent her from wanting to talk to anyone during her trip. He could take the desire the wrong way and make good on his threat - was that what he’d done to Sverdas? - and remove her complicated feelings about her friends, to give her the clarity he threatened.

She needed to get out before she was so confused - about everything - that she’d take some offer of clarity to see if it’d help.