KotOR I: Orin Dakall

Orin was looking at him with narrowed eyes.



Shit, she thinks that I’m thinking about what she’d be like in--



He cleared his throat.



“Fine, you want to know why I don’t trust anyone?"



He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands.



"Five years ago. The Jedi had just finished the war with the Mandalorians; Revan and Malak were heroes; I was damn proud to have served in their fleet..."



He combed his hair back with his fingers and it fell right back into his eyes.



"It was completely unexpected when they turned on us, invading the Republic while it was still weak. Nobody knew what to think, least of all me. Our heroes had become brutal, conquering Sith... and we were all but helpless before them. Think about it... if you can’t even trust the best of the Jedi, who can you?”



Orin kept in mind how gung ho Carth was to be a soldier, and it made some sense. Betrayal by his leaders, sure. Still, he must know power corrupts. And even Jedi aren’t infallible. “I suppose you can’t... That must’ve been hard to take.”



What, she’s not going to tell me I’m a naïve idiot? That crack to the head must’ve been a doozy. He contemplated remarking that out loud, but that’d just invite another shouting match. I wouldn’t mind it if she wasn’t so good at pissing me off. I kind of like her when she’s mad.



"So that's it, then?"



"Yep."



Orin looked up at him, bothered by the reddish-brown streak on his forehead.



“I have blood in my hair, don’t I?” Orin’s face scrunched up in distaste as she tried to see the top of her head.



“A bit.”



“Why are we doing this again?”



“Fate of the galaxy.”



She sighed. “Have you noticed that we’re taking care of everyone else’s problems? Shouldn’t they be doing that themselves?” Her hand tentatively touched her now stiff and matted hair. She winced as it brushed the lump. “Aren’t we just encouraging sloth and an overall lack of accountability?”



“The Sith destroying the Republic and setting up a tyranny is our problem.”



“Sure,” she said, beginning to pick at the fresh scab on her head, “But then why don’t we just go take care of them on our own? Or, I dunno, run to the next galaxy over?”



“We have to get off the planet first, remember?”



“Yeah, but I still don’t think we require Bast--”



“Stop that.” He pulled her hand away from the scab and put his sleeve back over the wound, slowing the fresh trickle of blood. “You’re just like a kid. Honestly. You remind me...” He bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling.



“Of what?”



He looked down at her.



“A kid.”



The joke was there, but the delivery was off. Carth’s eyes were vacant, and unconsciously Orin looked above him to make sure he hadn’t been whomped on the head by an axe-happy Gammorean.



“Um, hello?”



Carth’s eyes closed for a moment, then opened, hard, his voice matching. “Malak and Revan and the Sith deserve to die for what they’ve done. And the ones who fled the Republic to join them are even worse.”



“Huh?”



“The dark side had nothing to do with why they joined the Sith,” he said, his voice dripping venom. “They deserve no mercy.”



Orin’s brain churned trying to catch up. “So... Your trust issues aren’t just because Revan and Malak turned.”



He leveled a harsh glare at her. “Good, solid, trusted men turned on us.”



Her eyes went wide and she raised her hands instinctively in defense. “I haven’t joined the Sith, Carth.”



He looked confused, then rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know. I... I’m sorry. I’ve become so accustomed to expecting the worst in others, and you’ve done nothing to deserve that.”



She looked a little surprised. “Really?”



He snorted. “Well, you’ve done a little to deserve that. Just stop making out with the enemy.”



Orin started. “How did you know I--”



“I didn’t.”



“Trickeeeey...” She waved a disapproving finger. “You know, it’s not nice playing mind games on someone with recent head trauma.”



“I didn’t notice any difference in your reasoning capabilities,” he said with a little grin.



“Hey! That’s because--”



“Your skull’s so thick that it takes at least two hits with heavy, blunt objects before you feel an effect?”



“No!” She tried shoving him playfully, but she was at an awkward angle and didn’t achieve much. “It’s ‘cause I keep my head in times of crisis.”



“HA!” Too late Carth tried to block his mouth with his hand, but his stream of laughter burst through.



Orin waited.



He kept laughing.



She raised an eyebrow.



Still laughing.



She punched him.



“Okay, okay,” he said, wiping a tear away. “Sorry.”



“I said no mind games.”



“Laughing at you is a mind game?” he said with a disbelieving smile.



“It undermines my self-esteem,” she replied with a mock-pout.



He chuckled, raising his hands as she made another fist.



“Sorry, sorry. No mind games.”



She chuckled a little in spite of herself, then took a long, reaching stretch, her head settling further into his lap.



Carth swallowed as he looked down at her. Her eyes had closed and there was something irresistible about the shape of her mouth. He wanted to trace the line of it with his finger...



Her eyes opened, somewhat heavily, meeting his.



“M’tired.”



“I can see that.”



“Bastila had better be worth all this trouble.”



He nodded his head indulgently, the pad of his thumb absently stroking her jaw.



“How much longer til the race?”



“I don’t know,” he said, “Maybe 30, 32 hours?”



“Ugh, I just want to sleep.”



Her stomach growled.



“And eat.”



She tried rubbing more crusted blood off of her eyelid.



“And shower,” she said with a yawn. “The galaxy can go to pot. Just sleep, food, and hygiene. That’s all I need.”



“Aw, but who’ll I play mind games on then?” He couldn’t help but grin at her cutting eyes. Her clear, blue, cutting eyes.